#he is indeed five foot seven and I would like 2 come kick it
Text
beside one another | part 2 | din djarin x reader
part 2 to this little story! i’m a sucker for “there was only one bed,” but i’m an even bigger sucker for “sleeping together without sleeping together.”
---
Part 2
2.9k words
Mentions: None really? There’s no smut!
---
Mando doesn’t come lay down beside you that first night after you leave Cantonica, and it’s not looking like tonight will go any better. It’s… disheartening, to say the least, but you’re not entirely sure he doesn’t want to.
Everything was good the morning after the two of you slept together. The baby woke up in a fantastic mood, and Mando was able to capture his quarry with ease. The ride back to the Crest was a quiet one, but you still enjoyed it.
It was like everything went to shit the minute you set foot in the ship.
The quarry kicked up a fuss with Mando in the back of the hull, and the noise upset the baby. You and Mando managed to handle everything, and takeoff went off without a hitch. But then Mando got a comm from Greef Karga, and the two of them spent a long time talking in the cockpit about a new high-value quarry. Greef said he would give Mando the puck if he came to Nevarro by the next day, and Mando of course agreed. The two of you were headed that way anyway, and why wouldn’t he rush to pick up such an expensive assignment?
Flying through hyperspace, you made yourself and the baby ready for bed just a couple of hours later. Mando took his dinner in the cockpit while you showered, and it was like the two of you were completely out of sync after that, you winding down while he was just getting started.
You lingered by your little bed for a while, the baby sleeping soundly in his pram, but Mando hardly seemed to notice. He was busy doing this and that, tracking all throughout the hull. Finally, you not-so-subtly announced that you were going to sleep, and it was enough to make him pause for about half a second.
“I’m going to look over some of my weapons and do some maintenance on my armor before I turn in. Let me know if I’m being too loud.”
You tried not to look completely defeated, though it felt like your heart crumbled to ash in your chest.
“Alright,” was all that you’d said to that, and it took everything in your not to cry as you mustered up a smile.
After overthinking the last thirty-six hours for the better part of forty-five minutes you finally did fall asleep. You woke up just before the Crest broke atmosphere, and now you’re trekking through the bazaar with the baby on your hip, on your way to the meeting. Personally, you don’t think your attendance is necessary, but Mando feels otherwise. The way he talks, everybody wants to see you and the baby, but you’re not sure that’s true.
Hearing the Child’s squeals of delight and Greef playfully tosses him up in the air brightens your mood a little bit, and you’re less gloomy as you slide into the booth beside Mando. As per usual, they get right down to business, discussing the ramifications of taking this assignment. The quarry’s worth a fortune, but he’s hiding out on Hoth of all places. It’ll be a long journey over there, and the weather will be absolutely shit once you arrive. There’s not much in the way of a proper city on that shithole, save for a few small outposts, so you’ll need to stock up before you leave Nevarro. Despite all of this, Mando still says yes, and you don’t blame him— the price is just too good to pass up.
You barely have a second to breathe before Mando’s hauling you back to the ship, already listing off things that need to be done. The first thing you do is survey what clothes you, him, and the baby have, plucking at fabrics, checking for defects in the garments. You and the baby will be fine inside the ship, but Mando will be out in the elements. You mend a few of his thicker shirts and decide that those will get him through until he can find lodging.
The baby sits by as you inventory virtually everything else on the ship as well. Food, medical supplies, blankets— nothing is too trivial. Mando hangs back as you prepare for a massive shopping trip, saying that he has to visit the Armorer before he leaves. You’re distracted while he’s talking, but you do take him up on his offer to take the Child along with him.
By the time you’re done eating and bathing late that evening, you’re ready to fall asleep on your feet. Mando gets the baby down for the night, and though you’d love nothing more than to snuggle up next to him, beskar and all, you don’t have the energy for games. He’s a grown man— if he wants to lie down with you, he will.
… He doesn’t. Or at least you don’t think he does.
To be frank, you’re not even sure Mando sleeps at all that night. He wakes you up after seven or eight hours, telling you that the Crest will make landing on Hoth soon. The baby’s already been changed into his warmest outfit, so all you have to do is get yourself dressed. You pull on a couple of extra layers and then go about your usual morning routine, nibbling on some breakfast and entertaining the Child until the Crest breaks atmosphere.
You’re actually on Hoth for all of about fifteen minutes before Mando moves to leave, and only as he’s walking out the door do you realize what he’s about to do. It’s not like you’ve been angry with him these past few days or anything, but…
“Mando,” you blurt, catching him just before he opens the side door. He turns to you, and you’re suddenly wonder if beskar is a good insulator. “…Will you let me know you’re safe every so often? Just whenever you can?”
He nods, simply staring at you for one long moment.
“I’ll be back soon.”
And then Mando’s gone, exiting the Crest in a gust of icy wind that cuts you to the bone. The anxiety sets in almost immediately, clawing its way up inside your chest. There’s nothing for you to do now except wait, and you think that’s the worst part about all of this.
It feels like it takes an eternity, but two days do pass. You spend most of your time talking to the baby and tidying up, washing a few loads of clothes, wiping down a surface or five. You also worry about Mando, you worry about him a lot, but it’s the kind of concern that plays in the back of your mind like a song on loop.
Finally, just before you fall asleep that second night, Mando sends you a comm. You bolt straight up in bed to answer it, almost overwhelmed by the wave of relief that courses through you at the sound of his voice. Mando seems tired but otherwise okay, telling you that he’s at an outpost several klicks away. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, taking great comfort in the fact that he’ll be sleeping in a warm bed.
“You’ll hear from me again soon,” and then it’s radio silence for three straight days.
Out of menial tasks to do, you try to sleep the days away, lounging in bed for hours at a time. The Child seems to be content with this, napping on and off and playing quietly when he is awake. Your head swims with images of what Mando could be up to, and few of them serve to comfort you. You’re not sure what about this mission has you so worked up, but you are, agonizing over every little scenario and circumstance. It’s the weather, you think, and the fact that this planet is so desolate. If he gets hungry or tired, there’s so few places for him to seek refuge. More than anything, though, your heart seizes at the very notion of Mando being cold. Something about that thought upsets you more than all the others, and it’s the hardest to shake once it enters your head.
The comm crackles to life again on day six, and you nearly burst into tears when you hear the message.
“I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
Just like the first time, a virtual tsunami of white-hot relief washes over your entire body. Every muscle in your body suddenly twitches to life, and it’s as if you were never sedentary in the first place. You fix a quick dinner, something hot and easy to gulp down, and then you throw two blankets and a change of clothes for Mando into the ship’s little dryer. There’s no harm done if he doesn’t want them, but you think it would be better to be safe than sorry.
Not even two minutes after you’re done with these chores, the back hatch creaks open, two sets of footsteps clanging against the metal. The quarry is surprisingly calm, speaking in a level, even tone even as Mando tells him to step into the carbonite chamber. You hear the freezing mechanisms engage, and then the Mandalorian is coming down the little hall and right to you.
Frost clings to every bit of him, the curves of his armor glittering under the artificial light. Even still, Mando looks good, he looks strong— you see no obvious signs of injury, and nothing about his stance or demeanor indicates that he’s in any pain. Still, you worry, so you ask if he’s alright, hiking the baby up on your hip.
“I’m fine,” Mando affirms, nodding slowly. “You?”
“Me and the baby are great,” you say at once, because you are. “Better now that you’re back.”
Mando nods again, and not for the first time since you met him do you wish you could see the expression on his face.
“You ready to get off this fucking planet?”
You can’t help but laugh. “Yes, Mando, I’m ready to get off this planet.”
An amused huff through the vocoder, and then Mando’s headed for the ladder. You find a comfortable, stable place to sit, bracing yourself as the thrusters rumble to life. The ship lurches, and then you’re climbing up up up through Hoth’s atmosphere, headed most likely for Nevarro.
Mando’s gone for maybe ten minutes total, but he comes down with an empty bowl nonetheless, confirming that he did indeed eat his dinner. The baby clings to his father from then on, though Mando doesn’t seem to mind, holding the little bug on his hip as he does a bit of quick unpacking. You’re content to watch the two of them together for a while, something warm blooming in your chest every time Mando turns to look at you. You can’t believe you were ever upset with him before he left, and for something so trivial as not wanting to share your bed. His affection would make you happy, yes, but nothing could ever compare to how you feel in this moment knowing that your little family is safe and complete.
It doesn’t take long for the baby to tire out, his eyes already drooping and Mando sets him down gently in his pram. You tell the Child goodnight, stroking his face with a gentle touch until you know he’s asleep. Mando clicks the pram shut, and then it’s just the two of you alone in the silence of hyperspace. It’s gotten late, and you yourself aren’t too turned off by the idea of going to bed.
You go to your little pallet on the floor, fussing with some of your blankets as Mando walks behind you. He sidles up to the ‘fresher door, declaring, “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay,” is all you, fully expecting the conversation to be over. But then Mando pauses in the doorway, head turned in your direction.
“Make up the bed for us?”
It takes you about four whole seconds to process the words coming out of his mouth, and even after you’ve discerned their meaning, you decide that this must be a dream. But no. No, Mando’s still looking at you over his shoulder, the question still hanging in the air all around the both of you. Remembering yourself, you nod.
“I— Yeah. Yeah, I’ll make up the bed.”
Mando nods, and then he’s gone.
Heart pounding in your chest, you begin immediately, dragging Mando’s mattress out of his bunk, sliding yours up beside it. You throw a big blanket over both of them, folding the edges under and praying they’ll stay together during the night. It’s in this moment that you remember the things you put in the dryer earlier, and you curse yourself as you rush to turn it back on. The blankets in there will be fine for you and Mando to cover up with, so you just throw down a couple of pillows and call the bed done. And it’s a good thing, too, because the water cuts off in the ‘fresher not a second later.
Knocking gently on the door, you call out to Mando. “I have some clothes in the dryer for you,” you say, and it feels so strange to just talk to him right now. “You know, if you’re still cold.”
“Let me have them,” Mando calls back, and then the ‘fresher door opens just the ittiest bittiest bit. You hand the clothes over with your head turned, and then Mando emerges minutes later looking so unlike himself.
He’s got the helmet on, of course, but everything else is gone. The beskar, the boots, the utility belt— it’s just him, just his body dressed in plain clothes and a pair of socks. Mando’s by no means a small man, there’s no debating that, but he looks… softer like this. More approachable. You like it.
“Go lie down,” the Mandalorian commands, the tone of his voice picking at something hot and raw inside you. Needless to say, you rush to do as he says.
Mando walks around for a moment, checking on the baby, looking to see if the hatch the cockpit is closed. You watch him closely, nervous energy churning in the pit of your stomach. Finally, he comes to you, standing above the little bed you’ve made here on the floor.
“Close your eyes.”
Once again, you don’t hesitate to follow his directions. There’s a click, the sound of shuffling, and then you feel Mando sliding into bed beside you.
“Open your eyes, cyar’ika.”
No vocoder, is all you have time think before something not unlike panic seizes your body.
“Mando, why don’t you—?”
“Just open your eyes,” he presses, and… and there’s nothing there.
All you see is inky, all-encompassing blackness, the entire hull void of any and all light. You take a moment to become accustomed to seeing without being able to see, reaching across the bed to gauge where Mando is next to you. It’s a shock to find him so close, but you’re not about to complain.
“Is this… is this allowed?” you ask, growing shy when Mando takes your hands in his own. He tugs you forward, and you go willingly, tucking yourself up against his chest like you’ve been doing it all your life.
“Can you see me?” Mando asks.
You shake your head. “I can’t see anything.”
“Then it’s allowed.”
The urge to bicker about this hasn’t left you, but it’s certainly fading fast. “But you’re not supposed to take your—”
“I’m not supposed to show anyone my face. Never said I couldn’t take my helmet off.”
Mando’s correction is a gentle one, but his words are enough to lay the subject to rest. The two of you lie beside one another like that for a long time, breathing, becoming accustomed to being in each other’s arms. You can’t remember the last time someone simply held you, though your mind conjured images from a time long past. They’re just vague little whisps of memory, flashes of you laid out in a shopkeeper’s bed on Tatooine, but you don’t remember that being nearly this good. Mando is warm and solid in front of you, and he holds you… You’d say he holds you like you’re something precious, but you aren’t sure if that would be going a step too far.
Some small, insecure part of you is sure that this is going to be ruined any second. Mando’s going to decide he doesn’t want to do this, or worse yet, he’ll decide that he wants more and you’ll have to tell him you’re not ready for that. It’s not like you haven’t—
“Your pulse is fast,” Mando says, making you flinch in surprise.
“What?” you ask stupidly, because… what?
“Your pulse,” Mando repeats, “it’s fast. Why?”
And if you weren’t anxious before, you certainly are now. Leave it to a fucking master warrior to comment on something as miniscule as your heartbeat…
“I— I’m nervous, I guess. To be here with you like this.”
Mando rubs your back with one strong, warm hand, and think you might actually start purring.
“You don’t need to be,” he murmurs. “Sleep, cyar’ika.”
And though nothing Mando’s said is actually very comforting, you do relax.
Minutes later, the two of you are sound asleep.
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
Elora Series-2
Back at it again with part 2!!
I am slightly sleep deprived excuse grammatical errors.
TWs: mention of drugging, possessive whumper.
Clyde Anderson wasn’t an idiot.
He was reckless, maybe, and a little crazy, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had left a completely clean crime scene; not a single strand of hair was left behind, not a single lost eyelash, nothing. As soon as Elora finally gave in and passed out, he took the SIM card out of her phone and crushed it to bits with his foot, though he kept the device itself to dispose of farther away. It didn’t take him long at all to secure her wrists and ankles with thick rope, just to ensure she couldn’t try anything in the off chance that she woke up before they reached their destination. Once she was tied up properly, he shoved her and her bag into the trunk before getting back into the driver’s seat and speeding off.
The drive was long, but not terribly so; it was just about two hours, driven straight through. That was another of the geniuses to his plan; they’d be crossing state lines, twice. That, on top of the squeaky clean scene, made Clyde confident that the police wouldn’t have even the slightest chance of ever finding Elora.
In all honesty, he didn’t know what he was going to do with her. He had a couple of plans, but after that, he was lost. It didn’t seem plausible to keep her forever, but a body to hide would complicate things even further. He could let her go, eventually, but he’d have to rough her up pretty bad to scare her out of telling anyone about him.
Overthinking was a demon. That was a problem to be dealt with later. All he knew at the moment was that he had to have her, and now he did.
Ever since some drunk guy at the bar started rambling to him the wretched bitch who killed his niece, curiosity had eaten at his soul, itching to know more. They became newfound drinking buddies, and he pressed the other man for details every night out for weeks, yet somehow came off without any suspicion. Clyde asked for all sorts of things-her name, where she was from, how she knew his niece-and Dante always answered without question.
The gist of the story he was given was that Dante’s niece, Wren, had been dating this girl for years, which he had never liked in the first place, but one day, when they were sixteen, she took Wren up a mountain and killed her. Clyde had a feeling that wasn’t the entire story, but he truly didn’t care. His fascination was with the Elora, not what she’d done three years ago.
He truly didn’t need much information from Dante, anyways. After a few basic questions, he got everything else he needed from facebook stalking.
And now he’d been watching her for almost five months.
It still felt surreal that he’d finally talked himself into biting back his worries and taking her. He couldn’t explain his feelings about the situation if his life depended on it, but something felt so viscerally right now that she was finally with him, just a few feet away in the trunk. It was as if Elora had always belonged to him, and now things were just as they were supposed to be.
He had her. He finally fucking had her.
About thirty miles away from where he grabbed her, he tossed her SIM-cardless phone out of the window into a soaked ditch on the side of the road. Even if the device was recovered, it wouldn’t have a chance of turning on after soaking in rainwater for so long.
The rest of the drive passed uneventfully, just as Clyde had hoped. He never stopped once, and was incredibly careful to drive lawfully so as to not attract the attention of any cops.
Their final destination was a shitty apartment in an even shittier town in Connecticut. The name Pleasant Park Apartments poorly hid the harsh reality of asbestos-filled walls, cigarette butts lining the sidewalks like snow, and neighbors who were either always too high to give a shit about anything or just naturally apathetic on their own. Clyde had been there for seven years, and was numb to the conditions at this point. He used to live in a nice condo on the better side of town, but after some bitch that couldn’t take a damn joke got fired from his job as a mechanic that paid a pretty penny, he couldn’t afford it anymore. His new job as an insurance agent hardly covered rent for the shithole he had now, but it was all that he could get. At least the coworkers weren’t shit.
After parking the sedan close to his building, Clyde took Elora’s bag out of the trunk and slung it over his shoulder, then proceeded to lift her out of the trunk, holding her beneath her knees and around her back in a bridal carry. She was still completely limp, her body almost jelly-like in its unconscious state. He didn’t anticipate just how heavy she’d feel when he had to carry her up three flights of stairs. By the time he put his key in the door of apartment 307, he was panting heavily, more than ready to drop her in the bathroom prison he’d already prepared for her.
The bathroom was obviously not an ideal location; a basement would have been preferable, but in a two bed two bath apartment, there wasn’t another place to put her. The spare bedroom was too close to the outside and had windows-what if a cop patrolling around looking for druggies heard her, or she lifted the blinds to signal for help? The master bath and bedroom weren’t options for the same reason, and neither were the kitchen or the living room, with far too much open space to properly contain Elora. That left the small guest bathroom in the hallway; the door to it was directly across from the front door of the apartment, but that was the only negative. It didn’t have any external walls, and was easy to rig into somewhat of a cell.
It wasn’t anything fancy, but it wasn’t awful, either. Clyde had never used it, sticking to the master, so it was clean, but the decor was straight out of the eighties, with yellowing floral wallpaper and a big white mat that had begun to grow mold from the surrounding humidity in the center of the room. The bathtub was straight ahead from the door, and the very clearly aged toilet and vanity were along the right wall, lining up with the showerhead.
Clyde did indeed drop Elora, kicking the door closed behind himself then immediately heading over to the bathroom and all but tossing her into the tub. He flinched, though, at the sound of her head smacking against the hard tile that lined the side walls. That was probably overkill-even he knew that.
He didn’t have time to fuss over it, though. He didn’t know how much time he had until she woke up.
A week prior to the kidnapping, he’d purchased a length of heavy duty chain and a few padlocks from a local store. With a bit of ingenuity, he figured out a way to rig them to the bathtub’s faucet without having to install any sort of extra hardware into the walls to prevent them from slipping off. All it took was the tension of looping them around both the faucet and the handle that controlled the water and a few extra wraps around; after being secured with several padlocks, there wasn’t a single plausible way for the chains to be pulled off of the wall. All he had to do after that was secure the loose end of the chain to a pair of handcuffs with another padlock, and he had all he needed to keep Elora exactly where he wanted her to be.
He untied the ropes from her hands and feet, replacing those around her hands with the cuffs. He didn’t worry about securing her feet in any way, as the amount of chain left after the jerry-rigged suspension between the handle and faucet was so short that she would have to hunch over to stand, anyways. She wouldn’t be able to go far with that.
He double-checked everything before leaving the bathroom, each padlock, each individual chain link, and the bathroom itself for any hazards that could be within her reach. There were none. Everything was utterly perfect.
Satisfied, Clyde turned off the lights, closed the door, and headed into his bedroom which was just a door away down the hallway, a gleeful smile on his face.
-
Elora awoke slowly, in several stages. At first, she couldn’t even tell that she was waking up at all, as wherever she was, it was pitch black. She then realized that she was in fact somewhere, and that somewhere was unfamiliar. She bolted upright with a start. Her head ached horribly from the sudden motion and she flinched, sucking in a loud breath. Ow, shit. Confusion then hit her. Where was she?
The memories came next. She jerked her wrists back abruptly and heard the clanking of metal, feeling tightness around her wrists as something resisted them moving. It kept them together when she tried to pull them apart, as well..handcuffs?
Her first instinct was to scream and jerk as much as she could, fighting chains that she couldn’t even see. She thrashed as hard as she could, her throat feeling raw as she screamed for what felt like an hour.
Soon, though, she fell silent. Dead silent. She swore she could hear footsteps, and they were getting louder. Maybe someone was coming to help her? This could all be a huge misunderstanding.
A door she didn’t even know was there opened and she held her breath. A small amount of light came into the room, but it seemed to be dark outside of wherever she was, too.
She watched as a shadowy figure reached into the room, flipping a light switch. Bright fluorescent lights crackled on immediately, and Elora blinked, her eyes having become accustomed to the darkness.
She whipped her head around to look at the figure after her eyes adjusted. They panned to his face, first; he was a man, with a scraggly goatee and brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed or cut in a long time. His eyes were brown, the whites bloodshot. She could see it in his face that he was slightly overweight, and his skin had an almost-sunburned appearance despite it being the middle of November.
His mouth started moving. He was speaking. His voice was rough and loud.
“Hello.”
Elora’s eyes then panned down to his body. She recognized the clothes he was wearing. She recognized them. It had been too dark to make out his face when she was being kidnapped, but she remembered his clothes. A gray tee shirt and straight-leg jeans. He took her. He was the one. He-
She began screaming again, and then she heard him laugh at the sound of her cries.
Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas
#elora#elora larkin#new series#elora series#no whump on main#whump#whump fic#whump oc#whump writing#My writing#whumper#creepy whumper#possessive whumper#lady whump#physical whump#kidnapping#psychological whump
15 notes
·
View notes
Link
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski, The Witcher (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Original male character(s) & Original female character(s)
Characters: Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet, Aiden (The Witcher)
Additional Tags: Fluff, Adoptive Father has Emotional Crisis, (mentioned animal death)
Series: Part 2 of I know that if I need you / You're just a hug away
Summary:
Snapshots into Isobel's and Gerden's live in Kaer Morhen's walls.
(Credit for the amazing universe this is set in goes to @inexplicifics)
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
It has been four months. Four months since he brought her to Kaer Morhen. A laundress instantly takes a shine to the little girl, takes her in, feeds her. He visits as often as he can. At least once a day.
She grows so fast. At first little Isobel could fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. Now she is kicking and giggling and waving every time he comes to see her.
When she starts teething, he holds her despite the cries hurting his ears, lets her chew on his fingers, his hands killed hundreds of monsters, some of them humans, some of them not monsters at all.
At nine months old she calls him da-da. He disappears into the mountain and doesn't come down for a week.
One of the Vipers, Letho corners him as soon as he returns.
"You can't disappear like that." He says, "She missed you, and you missed her."
His legs feel like lead, can hardly lift them on his way to the laundress’s room. He missed her ever since he stepped out of the gates, what if she forgot him. What if she doesn't want to see him. Little Isobel, Isa, shrieks and throws herself forward where she's sitting on a heavy quilt.
"Dada, dada, dada." She babbles.
"I'm sorry Isa," he replies, cradling her in his arms, it hits him how much bigger she has gotten since he first took her from her mother's lifeless arms.
"I promise you, for as long as we both shall live, I will never leave you without an explanation." He murmurs into her soft, blond hair.
When Isobel is about one year old, she takes her first steps towards him. Later that night he stands at the battlements and cries quiet tears. Talking to a woman he only knew for a handful of seconds.
When he goes to bed that night, he may or may not be smiling.
At two years old she starts using him as a climbing structure, knowing he will catch her when she falls. She enjoys helping him in the stables and her foster mother in the laundry. She also starts to become stubborn and loud and using bad words Lambert must have taught her. She hits him in for the first time when he won't let her feed the wild, young colt that still needs to be ridden in. He and Aiden share a bottle of the good ale that evening, spiked with white gull.
"She doesn't know that the colt would hurt her," Aiden says, looking far wiser than he actually is, "You were keeping her safe. Also, kids that age, she will probably have forgotten about it tomorrow."
"The fuck do you know about kids?"
Come morning, she has indeed forgotten about it altogether.
At five years old she is finally old enough to understand when he tells her that he is going away for some weeks. Still, she cries and demands to sleep in his bed the night before he leaves.
"I love you, dada," she says when he lifts her up and carries her back to her room.
"Love you too, kitten." He whispers into her hair; it has gotten darker over the years. Sometimes he wonders if it is a sign. When he returns a month later, he can see her on the battlements over the gate, smell her honey and lavender scent in the air. He walks a little faster, Ivy, his horse, the horse that had carried them both to safety, huffs behind him.
When the gate opens, he hardly has time to drop the reigns when she is already sprinting at him.
About seven years after Gerden first held Isobel. A bard rides through the gates. The lad looks and smells terrified. His steed is laden with very little baggage. He takes the horse from Lambert and Isobel rubs it down.
Gerden leaves again two months after that, the journey takes longer than anticipated. He returns home three years later, footsore and without a horse, it had been killed by ghouls in Rinde.
Isobel runs towards him like she does every time he leaves the Kaer. She is taller, grown at least a foot compared to when he last saw her. Isobel hugs him around the chest, gripping tight and not letting go. Dropping his pack in the dirt, Gerden wraps his arms around his daughter, breathing in honey and lavender and hay and saddle oil.
"I missed you papa."
"Missed you too, kitten."
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
NozelxOcReader
Captain’s Requests ch2 (part 2/2)
The Captain’s return and you help prepare a thank you meal in appreciation. Afterwards you’re given a formal invitation to join the Magic Knights.
Captain’s Request chapter 2 (part 2/2)
You roll over and sunlight streams in through your window onto your face making you squint as your eyelids flutter open. With the sun pooling in it has to be at least midmorning, apparently yesterday was more exhausting than you thought. Or at least eventful. Pushing yourself up you decide it is best to get ready for the day, slightly surprised your family hasn’t gotten you up as you dress for the day. A green v-neck sleeveless top with a white undershirt for modesty. Over the top a lighter green wraps around from hip to under your chest with the remainder of the other top hanging down in front and back like a loincloth or high slit dress. Meanwhile your pants are leather with the leather looking like layered wraps a few inches down your thigh to your feet with the strap wrapping around the arch of your foot. Putting on a pair of simple boots you open your door the makings of a mouthwatering meal wafts to your nose. Curiously you go into the kitchen finding your mother who smiles at you.
“Morning (Y/n). Sorry for not waking you, I thought it would be better to let you sleep a little after yesterday.” Catching her peering into the oven you raise a brow at it but smile thanking her.
“Thanks mom. What are you cooking for, we aren’t expecting anyone are we?” Grabbing an apple you bite into it as the sweet, crisp juices move along your tastebuds.
“Well, the Magic Knights are back in town it seems like, and I was thinking you could invite Miranda over for a good home cooked meal. She’s been at the Capital five years? Seven? And besides she hasn’t visited in ages, it’s been well over a year. If she comes you could invite her Captain as well or the others.” Listening as she speaks you raise a brow in response.
Swallowing another bite you tip your head. “Mom, they are going to be busy I’m sure and probably not in Carney long-.”
“Exactly, so once you finish that I want you to make some buns and go catch Miranda.” Bustling around the kitchen she takes out a batch of buns she already made and grumbles. “(Y/n), you have to do this. I can’t get this right, and if we are having Magic Knights over we can’t have these!” As she flicks one you watch nervously when it makes a solid thump.
Polishing off the apple you throw the core away and push up your sleeves starting to wash up before starting on the dough. Bread flour, water, butter, oil, honey, salt and most importantly yeast. Mixing for a good while you take it out and start kneading it until you place it back into the bowl with a towel over it. Setting it up out of the way letting it rise undisturbed. Rinsing your hands again you look over to your mother, who is currently working on seasoning some other dish. “I’ll go into town now mom. I’ll be back to help and finish the bread soon.”
Getting a nod that was good enough for you. Leaving you open your grimoire and use your transformation spell, shifting into a hawk taking off towards Carney. In this form you notice things easily missed as a human, and from up high you can practically see all of the town including the church up on the hill. Eyes spotting Miranda and her Captain you give a shrieking whistle diving down towards her. Turning her head up towards you she doesn’t duck or so much as move a muscle out of the way.
Yami letting out a puff of smoke speaking before you even turn back. “Oh hey Blondie. Sunshine your friend’s here.”
Halting your dive a few feet from Miranda you pull up shifting back and smile at her as she narrows her eyes. “What? You know I wouldn’t hit you.” Grinning a little you get hazel eyes narrowed at you making you chuckle.
“Uh huh. Sure.” Shaking your head you give her a little hug pulling back glancing between her and the Captain. About to speak as a yell is heard from inside the church making you all turn.
Another puff leaves Yami’s lips as his eyes shift to the church doors. “What did that idiot do now?” Rolling out the double doors Finral lands face first in the grass kicking up a surprising amount of dirt.
“Let that be a lesson to you, you flirtatious little scamp! This is the house of God and you should be ashamed of yourself!” Seeing Sister Marletta in the doorway you cover your mouth with a hand.
“Sorry….Sister.” Croaking out face down yet the rest of you politely greet the sister while Miranda apologizes for her squadmate’s behavior. The two reminiscing a bit while Yami stares Finral down.
“Okay, what the hell did you say?”
Explaining himself Finral had asked why Sister Marletta devoted her life to God being so young and having so much promise. Ouch. Yami shaking his head. “You damn idiot.”
Clearing your throat a bit you look to Finral. “Well Sister Marletta has been with the church for a long time. Over 20 years, Miranda even was in a church group with her where Marletta looked after the children for the day.”
“Huh, that explains why Sunshine is so friendly.” He states as Miranda is apologizing and catching up with the sister yet. Meanwhile Finral sits up holding his head and you walk over to help him while waiting for Miranda.
“You alright?” Helping the man up he blinks staring at you and is clutching your hand between his own in moments.
“Ah! Thank you for being concerned for me my lady, but as a Magic Knight this is nothing I assure you!” He still grips your hand and you want to pull it away as he continues. “A kind and beautiful woman as you must have a lucky man at her side no?”
Blinking you haven’t experienced anything like this in your life so it catches you off guard. “Uh, no. No I don’t.” Behind you Yami tsks and inhales through his teeth as if you made a mistake giving a shake of his head.
Your expression turns from confusion to annoyance rather quickly as Finral speaks again. “Oh how unfortunate, but perhaps we can call this fate?! I don’t have anyone either, would you be my girlfriend?” Eyes closed he nearly sparkles at you in delight as you see the other Captains behind him walking up.
“No.” Right now you could give Nozel a run for his money with the distaste on your features. “Besides that I don’t have time to waste dating anyone.” Yanking your hand away you give an annoyed huff leaving two of the three Captains behind Finral amused, and Yami busts out laughing behind you.
“Well dang if that doesn't sound familiar I don’t know what does.” Grinning Yami eyes Nozel while snickering as the Silver Eagles Captain stares him down clearly not amused. Turning to Yami you see Miranda was by him again and looking about ready to beat Finral making you raise a brow.
“Were you flirting with her?” Shaking his head frantically, Finral denies it and gives a startled scream while Miranda comes at him.
“I’m your superior!”
“Say Blondie.” Attention shifting back to Yami questions you a little. “What did you come out here for anyway?”
“Well my family wanted to invite Miranda over for dinner, you’re welcome to come as well Captain Sukehiro, and your other squad member- Finral correct?” Turning your head you are a little nervous addressing the other Captains. “Captains you’re welcome as well, there is more than enough. Of course if you’re busy I understand, but it is a small way of thanking you all.” Your friend stopping mid assault of Finral he ragdolls more than relieved and Miranda looks to Yami.
“Food? Hell yeah, I’m staring! Julius didn’t let us eat before leaving!” Stomach growling Yami sighs, placing a hand on it wincing.
William blinks looking intrigued while Fuegoleon smiles with his arms crossed, and much to your surprise they accept. Nozel however scoffs. “Of course you would have time Foreigner. Your squad ranks the lowest while we on the other hand have more important matters to attend.”
Hand on his heart Yami acts hurt with Nozel’s words just irking the royal further and Fuegoleon places hand on his chin. “Well, the Wizard King did tell us we are excused unless a major emergency appears. Besides that if we are needed we all can be contacted immediately. I think it would be nice to take Miss (Y/n) up on her offer.”
William nods as well, “Indeed. It would be rude to turn down her offer after all.” Nozel’s head swivels at the other two in disbelief as his features twist into a scowl.
“C’mon Prissy Pants. Besides, you could stand to lighten up a little bit, and in any case no one is leaving unless I give you permission to use my ride.” Yami’s thumb pointing at the spacial magic user while Nozel’s gaze narrows.
A little worried you speak up eyes flitting back and forth between the two Captains. “If Captain Silva would rather return to the Capital that is fine. I don’t want to inconvenience any of you.” Feeling Nozel’s stern gaze you dare a glance and cast your eyes sideways slightly.
“Hmph, well at least you understand. Unlike some fools.” Glaring at Yami the Black Bulls Captain rolls his eyes in response.
Fuegoleon rumbles over the group, his voice commanding the attention of everyone including yourself. “Nozel if we are needed we can leave, but this is the least we can do after (Y/n) helped us. Besides it seems like she was hard at work already.” Chuckling a bit at you while your cheeks heat a bit. Slightly embarrassed you smelled like baked bread and other homemade goods in front of them. Yami mutters about that being the reason he was so hungry and Miranda scolds him about always being hungry.
Listening to the chatter around him Nozel crosses his arms watching the Crimson Lions Captain, just what was the lion planning? Eyes narrow in suspicion he doesn’t say a word as he simply has to go along with this madness.
“Hey, mans gotta eat!” Flexing a bit you shake your head, did they always act like this? You worried they would have been strict, but the only one who was so seems to be Nozel Silva. Not that it is a bad thing it just means he is serious about his work and takes pride in it.
The gentle tone of William Vangaence making you look at him. “You can expect us there.” You’d almost forgotten he was there, he's been so quiet! Giving a warm smile you return it gently.
“So, Blondie. When can we pop over?” Butting in Yami seemed more impatient than ever to get some food as you glance at the sun for a moment.
“Two or three hours. I’ll come get you when we’re finished with everything.” Gazing at the sun longingly Yami sighs.
“Sunshine, can’t you make that thing move faster or something?” In response Miranda scoffs muttering that she wasn’t the Wizard King.
Shaking your head you gaze at the other Captains thanking them silently, and your grimoire flies open again as you shift taking off into the sky.
Even though you can’t see it you can feel a certain eagle’s gaze on you until you’re out of sight.
~
Finishing the last of the cooking you dart out of the house and fly back to town while looking around Carney for the Captains. You spot them in the central square so you circle once, and glide down turning back to your normal shape in the green glow of your mana keeping your features hidden until fully shifted. All eyes turning to you as Yami grins. “Finally! Let’s go get some food!”
Chuckling you nod speaking lightly to ease any tension. “I hope you can enjoy yourselves Captains.” To which Yami scoffs.
“It’s free food and besides when you flew in earlier the damn smell was like a bakery!” A blush rises to your cheeks at the praise and you clear your throat a little glancing away.
Unsure how they wanted to get there you are about to ask when Yami whirls on Finral who gulps understanding. He seems to want to retort back, but refrains, and opens a portal gesturing for you to go first. You step through followed by Nozel who lifts his chin, seeming more than happy he doesn’t have to waste his magic transporting Yami. Fuegoleon, William and Yami follow. Along with Miranda and finally Finral in tow closing the portal.
With your arrival your mom bustles out from the house smiling and giving a greeting to the Captains. She obviously is excited and you could swear she has fixed up her hair since you left. “Captains nice to see you, we will be eating shortly. Just a few more things to get ready.” Striding over to a small pile of wood she grabs and places several pieces around a large log making the others raise the brow while Yami scratches his head.
“Uh, so we're using logs to sit?” Blushing you realize how silly this must seem to the Captains and rush to explain. Especially since a pair of violet eyes seem outraged with the suggestion as Captain Silva’s head turns sharply in your direction.
“We’ll not exactly, my mother uses Transmutation Magic. She can turn one thing into another such as water to wine.” Rubbing the back of your neck nervously, your voice is shaky in your embarrassment. “The house is a bit small for this many people, I apologize. But we will do our best to ensure you’re comfortable Captains.” Thankfully your words appeased Nozel since his shoulders ease a little.
Your mom meanwhile is oblivious to what just happened as she gives a wave of her hand as her grimoire flips open. Flicking a finger her mana flows over the items as her magic morphs the items in front of your eyes. From the large log in the middle is a long ,and elegant wooden dining table with a polished top the smaller logs into matching polished wooden chairs with ornate carvings on the back.
Behind you the Captain’s watch intrigued while Yami lets out a long whistle. “Damn that’s pretty nifty.”
Nodding solemnly Fuegoleon crosses his arms smiling while glancing over at your mother’s handy work. “Indeed, it is clear where you get part of your abilities from.” You glance away a bit embarrassed at the Captain’s praise, and it doesn’t help that the other Captains seem to agree. Even Nozel was regarding you with a rather appraising gaze.
Thankfully Yami breaks the tension. “So which one of these chickens are we eating?” Eyeing the hens striding around the yard you glance between them and the Captain shaking your head.
“None of them.” Blinking he looks back past the house into a pasture a way off pointing.
“Okay, which one of these cows are we butchering?” You sigh shaking your head unsure what to make of the Captain right now.
“None of them either.”
“What? Well what are we eating then!? It better not just be plants, I know I smell some meat there!” Leaning back an arm comes out to ease Yami away from you and you smile softly at Captain Vangaence.
“Thank you, and we have it prepared already. My family stores the extra in Carney and we get it as needed. Besides we don’t kill or butcher the animals ourselves.” Receiving a simple ‘oh’ you shake your head again. “Captains you can go ahead and sit. We’ll bring everything shortly.” Smiling, you start to head towards the house while the Captains take their seats.
Nozel at the head of the table, to his left Fuegoleon with the chair next to him empty and Finral filling the next one over. On the other side across from Finral is an empty chair once more, then Yami, Miranda, and finally William across from Fuegoleon. Returning you give everyone a glass along with a glance from the corner of your eye as your sister takes a seat by Yami across from Finral. Like you she has blue eyes and blonde hair, although her’s is much lighter in tone. Unfortunately for you though she is several inches taller. As if you don’t look short enough with Yami or Captain Vermillion even your sister and mother are taller.
Pouring water out for everyone you are extra mindful around Nozel, but thankfully he seems to pay little mind to you or anyone else. Coming back up and finally pouring your sister a glass before yourself you overhear Yami prodding at your sister with a few questions. Oh boy.
“So you’re the older sister huh?” Inwardly you shake your head, she has chosen the worst spot to sit. Then again sitting across from Yami wouldn’t have been any better.
“Yeah.” Glancing up from her book seeming mildly confused and bored as she returns back reading intensely.
“Hm, so how old are ya?” You go and get some plates setting them out coming back to Yami still pondering. “So you’re 29, huh that’s how old Nozel over there will be in a few months. Fuegoleon also turned 30 not too long ago...”
You don’t like where this is heading but seeing your dad walk up you gasp seeing his forehead. With him bleeding you excuse yourself, your sister making a face with the blood unable to look while you run up to him. He is always getting hurt it seems, shaking his head shrugging it off as nothing you scold him. “No, it isn’t alright. You could have been hurt badly enough you couldn’t walk back and you never told anyone which field you were in”
“I’ll be okay. I got my little nurse to look after me.” Chuckling as you scowl in response you get him inside to clean up shaking your head.
The eyes of three other Captains on you as you do, there is no doubt you can assess and take control of a situation. Something they all noticed yesterday and something a Magic Knight needs to do should the situation call for it.
Returning you find your sister is arguing with Yami, and she is not happy with him. As a result you’re not happy with her.
Sharply saying her name while meeting her eyes. “That’s enough. Even if you don’t agree with what Captain Sukehiro says, at least be polite about speaking with him. If you wanted to leave the conversation you could have excused yourself to help our father.”
“I’m the eldest, I don’t have to listen to a child.” She snaps back and it is quite ironic.
Voice staying level and say her name calmly while meeting her gaze yet. “Then start acting like it. If you don’t like it you can go inside to eat. No one forced you to come out here.”
With her nearly growling at you it is hard not to be embarrassed in front of the Captains. Her eyes boring into you with hate, quite fed up with you and you know why. She never has liked you or paid you mind unless it was for you to do something like her. Any Other time or when you get attention from your parents, like last night from helping the Magic Knights she probably heard a fair bit of praise from your parents.
An apologetic gaze from you to the Captains earns a smile from William and Fuegoleon. While Nozel looks at your sister dismissively with a slight turn of his head. Yami snuffs out his cigarette glancing at your sister from the corner of his eye, seeming to be in disbelief she is nearly the same age as him. Miranda on the other hand looks ready to murder and you hold up a hand giving a nervous smile to try and defuse her. Finral who has to be across from your sister seems like he would rather be anywhere else and that he regrets his decision to sit there.
Seeing your mother come out you rush to meet her halfway and take the items from her. “I’ll take these mom.” Thankful for the distraction you rush back over setting the baskets of fresh buns on the table one for each end. Still trying to clear the awkward air you speak gently. “The rest will be out shortly, careful with the bread it just came out a few minutes ago.”
As if nothing happened you smile and shift gears ready to please the others, even if your sister is being especially rude. The only reason she came out was likely just for the food, or your parents told her to come out and interact.
In no time though you have placed all the dishes and Yami grins.
“All right, this is what I’m talking about!” Helping himself he piles his plate high with mostly meat you notice and you begin to hope that enough food was made for everyone. It never occurred to you that Captain Yami may eat as much as he did, along with that Captain Fuegoleon wasn’t exactly a small man either. You’ll just have to wait and see.
Only seating yourself once they begin to eat as you give yourself an average serving on your own plate. Thankfully there is enough for everyone and then some. Taking a small piece of meat, some cooked fresh vegetables, and various other dishes you had made with your mother.
With everyone eating you earn a few compliments on the meal causing a blush to rise on your cheeks. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Ignoring the glare and eye roll from your sister on the praise you’re getting she finishes quickly. Getting up, leaving her plate and going inside making you sigh. “I apologize for my sister’s behavior, Captains.” You murmur softly while standing, abandoning your own meal for now to get her plate and bring it inside.
Beside you Fuegoleon smiles a little shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have to apologize for the mistakes of others, but thank you for your concern. You’re a kind yet strong woman.” Picking up your sister’s plate you give a shy smile.
William picking up from the other side of the table. “Agreed, most people would have lost their temper in that situation I believe.” Beside him Miranda mutters that she would have, making you chuckle shaking your head.
“Don’t worry I’m used to it. Excuse me a moment.” Turning towards the house you head inside just as your mother pops out to check on the Captain’s. Leaving you to quickly scrub the plate and wash your hands trying to hurry back.
“(Y/n), are you making sure everyone is comfortable?” Inquiring your mother gives you a look and you nod smiling. “Good, Captain’s I hope everything tastes okay.” She sees Miranda and gives her a smile. “Good to see you again Miranda, hope you’re staying safe and out of trouble.”
Smiling your friend nearly seems like she is plotting something as her eyes shift side to side. “Safe yes, though I can’t make any promises on not being in trouble.”
Shaking his head Yami grabs Miranda and has her in a headlock. “Haha. What are you talking about? You are the trouble you idiot.”
Despite Yami’s lack of answer Finral pipes up. “It is wonderful ma’am thank you. You’re a wonderful cook!”
Laughing a little your mother shakes her head. “I didn’t do all of it, a fair bit was (Y/n). She made the bread, seasoned the meat and several other things.”
Hearing this praise you blush deeply and hide your face in embarrassment. “Mother…”
Trailing off you nearly groan as Fuegoleon chuckles a bit looking at your mother. “You should be very proud of your daughter. She did excellent and she was quite the help yesterday.”
William echoes the praise while Yami grins and says he could go for some more meat. A voice surprising the other Captains and you greatly.
“It’s palatable.” Even though it is a simple remark the fact makes you happy even Captain Silva seems to be enjoying himself.
Yami laughs with a mouthful of food. “Haha coming from him, that's high praise so I’d take it!”
Nozel however doesn’t take kindly to the remark as his brow twitches and eyes are closed. “Can you at least try to act like a Captain and not humiliate the Magic Knights? You’re acting more outlandish than usual Foreigner, although considering your Squads reputation it isn’t surprising.”
Fork raised to his mouth, Yami swallows another mouthful still chewing. “What was that Prissy Pants? I couldn’t hear you over my chewing.”
Mauve eyes twitching irritated Nozel turns his head away refusing to give Yami anymore attention. “Tch.”
Thankfully somewhere between that interaction your mom was back inside, and just as you’re about to sit at the table you sigh hearing your sister from the house. Seeing what she wants as you inwardly sigh and scream. You really shouldn’t leave them for too long. It would be rude, but all Hell would break loose if you don’t do this for your sister. Because you are being too ‘lazy’ if you don’t.
Stepping outside again you apologize gently with a troubled smile. “I have to get something from the basement for my sister, I’m sorry.”
None of them are too bent out of shape though, thankfully, and Yami raises a finger. “Hey you got anything to drink than this water? Like some beer or something?”
Brow raised you shake your head a little. “We have a couple bottles of wine, but those are my sister’s.” Sighing Yami seems defeated until Miranda pulls a bottle out of her infinity pouch. One time she visited a year ago you swear she had even a kitchen sink in that thing, and it isn’t ever any bigger than a coin purse. Turning your back you smile hearing the faint chatter from them as you head inside and down to the basement.
Once in the basement you have to use the light, but it seems like the magic powering the switch ran out. It seems like you’ll have to go in blind, stepping off the last wooden stair onto the stone you give a startled shriek as light suddenly bounces off the walls from behind you. Whirling you face the source eyes wide only to see Captain Vermillion!
Hand on your beating heart you take a breath. “Captain Vermillion, I-I’m sorry. You startled me!” His own normally regal and stoic face being one of shock at the moment. Turns into a warm smile relaxing you.
“No, I must apologize to you. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you’ve done so much for us I’d see if you could use some help. It appears so.” Purple hues gliding to the flipped switch that still isn’t working and you give a slight smile.
“It seems so, thank you Captain. I appreciate it, shall we?” Nodding at you to go ahead you do. The main part of the basement being open with in the middle on the back wall being a short hallway with a doorway to another smaller room on each side. One a storage room for canned goods and the like. While the other is covered in a large woven area rug with a small couch and bed along with a few other things to make it homey. In the corner near the door sits a small heating stove for extra warmth. Going into the one on the left you head to the back of it and crouch down in front of the wooden wine rack. Checking a couple bottles until you find the right one.
Behind you Fuegoleon’s voice is a warm and welcoming reminder you’re not alone down here. “Did you come down here because your sister asked you to?”
Glancing back at him you nod. “Yes, she is a bit much at times, but she is my sister so of course I’ll love her no matter what. Though I do think I warned you yesterday she hates me.” Chuckling a little he closes his eyes with a warm smile, you weren’t forced to do any of this. You’re just a kind person even with the harshness of your sibling. Slowly standing you have the bottle in hand glancing up at him.
Curiously Fuegoleon asks to see the bottle as you blink and nod handing it to him. The man holding it up inspecting the label, lips parting about to speak. “Is this made in Carney? I think I remember seeing this around the Capital when I was younger, before the trade between here and the Capital was cut off.” About to answer him, his eyes widen in surprise when a small form hops on the end of his nose. Your own eyes wide as well while you try not to laugh.
A small jumping spider had hopped off the bottle and onto the Captain’s face, turning away you try to not giggle. “Ah, hold still a moment.” Amused as well he nods and you use your communication spell. “Spider can… you please get off the Captain’s nose please?”
“Huh? What’s a nose?” Turning the spider faces down at you, explaining to the little arachnid it turns back and hops in surprise seeing Fuegoleons purple eyes staring down on it. “Oh- I’m sorry!” Voice small and high you smile and it hops back to the bottle while you hold out your hand to take it from him. Glancing at the cork where the spider sits.
Both of you looking at one another laughing at what just happened.
Babbling back to you and Fuegoleon the spider tells how she was stuck down here forever. Glancing down you speak up softly to her. “I’ll put you outside alright, just when you see my sister hide or you may be squished.” Agreeing you take off the spell and you walk up the steps with the crimson haired Captain explaining a little of your magic when asked.
“Smaller animals like spiders aren’t very talkative normally, when they do it is limited and like trying to keep the attention of a child. While animals like birds, can be gossips and spread or hear information to one another. Thankfully bugs really don’t talk or have anything to say, that way I don’t have to feel bad about swatting them.” Both of you giving a grin.
“Interesting, so in a way it depends on the animal's intelligence?”
Pondering you shrug. “In a way I guess. You can go on ahead, and thank you again.”
“Of course.” In a few strides he leaves the house cape fluttering behind him.
Stepping outside a moment you put out the spider and she starts spinning her web while you go to bring the bottle back to your sister. Returning to the table as Fuegoleon has seated himself already and Yami looks at you.
“Oh, there’s the happy couple. Fuego says it was about a spider on his nose or something? I don’t know. Say blondie how many kids you want?” In shock you gap at Yami.
“What are you..? Captain Vermillion helped me yes because the lighting didn’t work. As for your question I’ve never thought about it. I don’t even have someone I’m with.” Face a million shades of scarlet you shake your head.
“You kidding me? It doesn’t matter how many she wants, have you seen those hips? She could pop them out like that!” Snapping her fingers Miranda speaks in a bit of playful jealousy which just embarrasses you further.
“Miranda! Captain Sukihero!” Sitting abrupting you take a drink to try and hide your burning face. There is nothing more you want right now then to dig a hole and bury yourself!
Holding up his hands Yami leans back a little. “What? I’m just trying to help, I mean your parents gotta have someone to give them grandkids your sister won’t.” So that is what had your sister so steamed when you returned while setting the table.
“Foreigner this is hardly a matter you should have any input. Besides that I think it is safe to say you’re nearly drunk.” Eyebrows slanted down with his eyes closed and arms crossed Nozel scowls.
William has a hand on the brow of his mask as well sighing almost embarrassed for you. “Yami,was that necessary?” Shifting his head a little he glances at Miranda beside him. “Please don’t encourage him.”
Even Finral seems embarrassed, and only Captain doesn’t even blink as he seems to be pondering something else entirely.
While brewing in your own embarrassment you hear your mother come up. “(Y/n) did you offer the Captains any dessert yet?” Head popping up you shake your head explaining you had to get something for your sister and she sighs. “Well you sit here and relax a bit, you’ve already done a lot today. Is everyone alright with apple?” With no objections your mom serves all of you and you finally lift your head a bit more hoping the treat will dissipate any lingering awkwardness from the latest remarks.
Said dessert is a simple fold-over apple tart with a powdered sugar glaze drizzled on top. Simple yet tasty. At least you hope as they try it, William’s lips turning up in delight, Nozel goes for a second bite, Fuegoleon seems to enjoy his quietly and Yami eats his almost whole. Seeing Miranda’s face you laugh a little. “I reminded her you don’t like apples, so we made a pear one for you.” With everyone happy your mom goes back inside and you sigh relaxing when asked more sensible questions by William.
Swallowing your bite so you don’t speak with your mouthful you gesture to a nearby apple tree, nearly hidden around the corner of the house. Chatting with almost everyone and answering questions when asked it is easy to forget you are speaking to high ranking Magic Knights. Clearing everyone’s plates you glance at the sky.
“I hope you could relax a bit and enjoy yourselves Captains, especially with the treatment you received in Carney yesterday. Hopefully in the future people will be more welcoming, especially since someone from there is a Magic Knight as well.” You give a smile to Miranda as Fuegoleon also stands drawing your attention. His eyes on you intensely.
Clearing his throat worry passes through you for a few moments hoping you didn’t do anything wrong. “(Y/n),” having your full attention he continues. “As the Captain of the Crimson Lion Kings I’d like to invite you to join my squad. You’re strong and determined. That is exactly what I’m looking for in my squad.”
All you can do is stare in a bit of shock and awe. Did he really just ask you to join the Magic Knights, and the Crimson Lions at that? Before you can think too deeply on it a cold voice breaks through.
“She will not be joining your squad Fuegoleon.” Attention on Nozel his piercing eyes meet your own and you don’t feel intimidated for once. Instead he seems to be addressing you almost like an equal. “The Crimson Lions would be a waste to join. You’ve shown to be useful and that your magic is powerful.” Chin lifting his eyes nearly stare into your soul. “I’m giving you the privilege to join the Silver Eagles. I would hope you accept and not waste the opportunity.”
“Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on there you royal jerks! Who says you get first dibs!? Besides it’s obvious she’s going to join my squad!”
Mauve eyes shifting to Yami, Nozel stays composed. “Why would she do something so foolish as to join the worst squad in the Magic Knights?” Stating this Nozel almost seems to take pride in the fact he practically outed Yami from the running.
On the other side of Miranda, William watches the exchange in silence until Yami notices the Golden Dawn Captain’s interest. “Oh no you don’t Goldie! Don’t tell me you’re getting in on this?!”
Giving a smile he nods at Yami. “Well, her magic is useful. It would be a waste not to have her in the Magic Knights, whatever squad she joins would benefit greatly…” trailing off the masked man chuckles a bit as Yami stands up shouting.
“It’s bad enough I have to compete with these two, but you too? Nuh uh! Besides I got something you three don’t!” Gaining their attention Yami holds Miranda up as she yelps and fights being held up like a kitten by the scruff. “I don’t see any of you having her best friend on your squad. So it’s obvious I have all three of you beat- even Goldie and Prissy Pants here. No offense Fuegoleon, but you’re not trying to be underhanded about this.”
Still held by her Captain Miranda seethes. “Yami, I will burn everyone else at this table along with you if that’s what it takes to let me go. Just because I’m short doesn't give you a right to manhandle me!” Little sun bursts of heat come from her body and Yami drops her like a hot coal. Leaning down and puffing out some smoke on her face.
“As your Captain, Sunshine, I don’t think I give a damn what you think. I’m not losing to Goldie here or Nozel! Not my fault Fuegoleon jumped the gun before I could ask.” Arms crossed watching Yami, Miranda adds a little more heat as his cigarette catches fire making him look down at it. “Now that’s a problem, but Sunshine you don’t help me and it’s toilet duty for a week.” Grinning with the still burning cigarette in his mouth she gulps, and her cat-like expression turning to one of pleading.
Eyes turn back on you as you fidget under the scrutiny, but finally you sigh closing your eyes. Quiet for a few moments and speaking surprising everyone meeting their gazes. “Captain’s I’m honored you’re even asking me, but I have to refuse. I’m not interested in joining the Magic Knights”
You can’t even take in all their reactions before Yami leans over and is in your face rather loudly. “What the hell do you mean you refuse?! Are you crazy? Sunshine, knock some sense into her will ya!”
Finral raises a finger up chuckling nervously. “Uh, Captain Yami Sir? I don’t think that is making us look very good-.”
“Shut up Finral!” Squeaking as he is scolded Finral shrinks back into his seat squeaking out a ‘yes sir’.
Shaking your head you give a bemused expression with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Following your gaze back at the house they get their answer why. “You saw my father earlier, he is getting older and I can’t leave him to do everything himself. My sister sometimes helps, but I can’t exactly rely on her, and my mother doesn’t always know what to do. I’m honored just having been asked, but I’m sure you can find someone else better suited to the Magic Knights than me.”
Before anyone else can voice their opinion Fuegoleon, who has been quiet again until now, speaks up. His voice rolling over everyone. “If helping your family is your main concern there is another way you can help them out. No matter what squad you join you’ll be paid monthly wages, and you’re free to send that to your family. Just part of a month's wages would secure your family for some time I imagine.”
Giving a gentle smile you are grateful for him trying to accommodate you. “That would be nice, but it isn’t exactly about the money Captain Vermillion.” With a troubled smile you explain. “This farm has been in the family a few generations and is practically all my father knows. Even if we did need money he would keep on doing this because it’s the life he’s grown up with. The best I can explain it is with you being Magic Knights you do your jobs even if you get hurt. Because you’ve dedicated yourselves to it and it is what you think is right. The same is true here.”
Between the mixture of gazes you notice how hard Fuegoleon is thinking and Miranda catches your attention. “(Y/n), can we speak inside please?” Not even giving you a chance to reply you’re dragged inside and you huff in confusion as the door is shut behind you leaving the two of you in the kitchen. “What are you doing?!” She hisses out at and in response you recoil a bit holding up your hands in defence.
“What?” You nearly squawk out at her in confusion, taking this chance to do a few dishes glancing at Miranda periodically.
“Why did you just tell him no? Now he is gonna be pushing you to answer!” Glancing out the window at the Captains you turn back to her confused.
“Captain Vermillion? He doesn’t seem pushy at all.”
Scoffing she crosses her arms shaking her head. “He is a leo honey trust me, he may be a good man but he gets what he wants. That man isn’t going to give up until you’re on his squad. Besides that you got three of the best squads gunning for you, they aren’t going to stop until one gets you.”
Still in disbelief you shrug. “Well I gave my answer, and that is that. There isn’t much I can do. I meant what I said.”
Nodding she sighs at you while watching you scrub the dishes. “Well you could at least tell him you’ll consider it. That way they all calm down a little, besides I really don’t want to be on toilet duty when we get back to base.”
Flicking some water off your hands you chuckle washing them off and drying them. “Alright, if it will calm you down. I’ll tell them I need some time to consider before deciding anything.” Arms crossed you raise a brow at her. “Is that better?”
Going to the door with you she nods. “Better.”
As you come out with Miranda four pairs of eyes focus on you intensely. The most intense being Captain Silva’s and Captain Fuegoleon’s. Captain Vangaence’s is mostly relaxed and waiting while seeming friendly. You can still swear his presence is oddly familiar yet you’ve never met him before yesterday. And Yami, well… he is giving off a look that practically says join or die.
Heart pumping loudly you let out a shaky breath breaking the silence. “I’ll consider joining one of your squads.” Yami grumbles sitting back, William and Fuegoleon smile gently.
Nozel meanwhile seems satisfied with your answer for now. “We expect you to think about this carefully, depending on which squad you join could decide your future.”
“Get off your high horse Prissy Pants.” Yami grunts and looks at you. “Besides before any of you even can get your letters out I’ll have mine sent already.” Grinning his eyes slide to Finral who sighs. Since when did he get turned into an errand boy? Oh yeah, since he joined Yami’s squad.
Softly William’s gentle voice puts a stop to any arguing with his simple question. “As of now which squad would you say aligns with your interests the most (Y/n)?”
Caught off guard you look at Captain Vangaence thinking for a moment glancing down. “I’ve… never really thought about it before. Until now I’ve never considered joining the Magic Knights, but perhaps the Crimson Lion Kings.”
Upon hearing this Fuegoleon raises his head nearly triumphantly while Nozel scowls at you. William smiles thoughtfully and Yami doesn’t seem any happier than Nozel. The eldest Silva stands up gazing cooly at his fellow Captains, eyes landing on you one last time as he speaks. “We’ve spent enough time here, the Wizard King asked us to ensure that there were no further abnormalities and we have.” Eyes sliding to Finral, the spacial magic user stiffens up getting the message.
“Y-yes sir!”
Yami doesn’t get to say anything as William stands as well signaling they were indeed done. Fuegoleon nodding while he turns back to you full of pride. “I’ll give you some time to think this over. No matter what you decide it’s been a pleasure to see you at work.” Unsure what to say you shyly smile nodding, there is nothing else to say as they start to gather up.
“Thank you again Captains.” Smiling you are in good spirits as Fuegoleon turns towards you a moment.
“Don’t forget my offer now, be expecting a letter in a day or so. Consider that your formal invitation to the Crimson Lion Kings.” Grinning at you it is too contagious not to smile back and nod.
Watching the exchange a pair of sharp eyes watch the two of you. “Don’t be so sure she will be joining your squad Fuegoleon. You’re not the only one who wanted her.” Surprised by this you glance to Nozel, but he was already turned away from you heading towards the portal Finral has made.
A thought crosses your mind as he is about to be the first to step through a new portal. “Captain Silva!” Stopping the royal Captain keeps his back to you while you’re barely able to get out the rest in your nervousness. “I’m sorry about how I spoke to you yesterday, that was uncalled for and I shouldn’t have been so rude.”
Back still towards you he does however turn his head to regard you over his shoulder, giving you a nice view of his regal profile. Mauve eyes studying you closely for a moment and his lips part as you wait in nervousness.
Interrupting him however Captain Yami pushes Nozel through. “Ah, get in there Mr. Royal. Can’t keep you from your duties after all!” Grinning at you the Black Bulls Captain gives an almost military salute. “I’ll make sure my squad has a room for ya Blondie!” Miranda follows shortly after Yami, and gives a wave while rolling her eyes with you at her Captain’s words.
Captain Vangaence and Vermillion nod leaving as well as Finral who winks. Once they are gone you shake your head smiling in disbelief and amusement. Turning away you head into the house to finish washing dishes as today's events play in your mind. The most prominent being the proposals from not just one, but four Captains each wanting you to join their squad.
You never thought something like this would even be possible, but perhaps if you really did the Crimson Lion Kings would be a good choice? Your ideals seem to align well and you get along with Captain Vermillion well enough, although Captain Silva wants you as well. Intimidating as he is, it still was still a shock hearing him want you after your first encounter… and Captain Vangaence seems kind enough even if he was quiet. Miranda’s Captain though, you aren’t going to even think about that. Considering the letters you’ve received detailing what has happened with them. Joining any of the squads would be helping your family out that significantly would be a big help to make their lives easier. Of course with how busy the Captains are you really don’t expect them to make time to send a letter to one commoner girl in the middle of nowhere.
You’ll just have to see how things turn out.
~
Turning sharply Nozel glares at Yami as lights his cigarette, the seemingly near permanent scowl clear on his face. “Foreigner just what do you think you’re doing?”
Gently puffing the cigarette as the end lights up he blows out some smoke watching his fellow Captain calmly despite the irritation from the other. “You were about to ruin it back there for all of us. She apologized for how she spoke, but it wasn’t good enough right?” Mauve eyes narrow saying nothing, it was clear he didn’t like you telling him off the day before in the first place. “She apologized, but didn’t take back what she said about you being wrong. Would you rather that or someone who goes back on their word?”
“What I do is my business, you have no right to interrupt, and I will not tolerate a commoner talking with me so familiarly despite knowing my ranking as a Royal and Captain.” His fellow Captains close their eyes while Fuegoleon lets a small smile play on his lips.
William gives a gentle shake of his head. “Even if you didn’t like how she initially spoke she was helpful you have to admit that.”
Grinning at the royal Yami decides to add a little more. “Besides that, what happened to her magic being ‘useless’?” Grinning with his cigarette between his teeth at Nozel the other scowls back giving a scoff of dismissal.
“The first use of magic she displayed was hardly useful, along with that feathered pest that follows her about.”
Head tipping William smiles. “Well that ‘pest’ as you put it, did provide us the information we needed through her spell. I’d call that fairly useful.”
Arms crossed and head nodding Fuegoleon adds to what the other three Captains say. “Indeed, even without the other spells she has quite an impressive amount of mana. I’d dare say it can rival royalty like ourselves Nozel. She would have potential even without the other spells. Joining one of our squads can only grow her abilities more.”
Eyes like daggers the Silver Eagles Captain turns his back on the others starting to walk without another word. To him it is ridiculous, all this fuss over you a common girl, but Fuegoleon is right. Your abilities are what made you stand out, your mana control isn’t sloppy and the type of magic you possess has proven useful. The only thing that bothers him is how much he has been obsessing over the idea since Fuegoleon first showed interest. You’re a commoner, nothing special. If you don’t join his squad he simply will move on, but the thought of that doesn’t sit well with him.
To Nozel there is no question on what squad you should join, but he wasn’t going to give that lion the chance to pull ahead of him again with such useful magic. That Foreigner wouldn’t be a problem, but William Vangaence may prove more difficult than it first appears.
Beside him another’s footfalls echo on the cobblestone, it seems that Fuegoleon is returning to his squad as well. Glancing to the side their eyes meet and Nozel makes it a point to show he isn’t letting up on this.
“Is everything alright Nozel? You almost seem bothered by something.” The grin in his voice grates Nozel’s nerves to no end as he scoffs looking ahead once more.
“Don’t be ridiculous Fuegoleon.” Tone nearly scolding the silver haired royal isn’t going to let on to his rival that anything is on his mind. Saying nothing more the two walk in heated silence back to their squads in the Capital. Each thinking on how to convince you their squad would be the best choice.
~
Finished with the dishes you sigh and stretch glancing outside. Today was simply exhausting, and as you step outside the house flipping open your grimoire. “Wild Magic: Protection of the Pack.” From your spell three large wolves form, shaking themselves and nose against you. To anyone else it would be intimidating having three nearly lion sized wolves so close, but you know them. Their eyes blazing the same green as your mana, as if they are an elemental type magic you command them silently to stay and guard the house tonight. They may be separate beings able to think, but they are made of your magic acting like any other spell under the will of the spellcaster.
Giving each a few moments of attention you head back inside, feeling safer knowing your family is protected tonight.
#reader x nozel#oc x Nozel#Black Clover#black clover nozel#black clover fuegoleon#black clover william#black clover yami
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Syncytium - Chapter 2 - Ferrum
Title: Syncytium - Chapter 2 - Ferrum
Words: 5,707
Rating: T
Fan Fiction link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13712482/2/Syncytium
Full chapter below the cut. I’d recommend the fan fiction version, however, which includes all the italicized words which are not emphasized here.
September 11th, 7:30 AM
Darkness.
A light flicked on. It flickered a moment before settling. A pen sharpened... and subsequently broken. Whoops. A vase with three roses delicately placed right near a picture in frame with four occupants. Perfect.
Pinky clasped his hands together, sighed deeply, and tipped his square rimmed glasses down a little, the better to address his eager pupils.
"Good morning, class! I am Dr. Ronald Pinkus, Professor of Trozology!"
And he wrote upon the blackboard behind him with vigor as he said it, accidentally flipping the 'k' in 'Pinkus'. He turned back towards the crowd.
"But you can call me Pinky! Ha-ha-ha!"
It was a carrying little laugh, bouncing and pinging excitedly off the walls with a lonely echo.
"I'll be your teacher this semester, and that's because, well, I'm the only teacher of this subject!"
He giggled again. No one said anything.
"You'll be instructed on the topics of Poitilism, Narfonics, and, of course, Trozology. Allllllllll grades are final, except, of course, when they're not, in which case... I'll get back to you on that!" said he, chuckling to himself once more. "Now, are there any questions? Anyone? Yes! Nilly."
If Nilly had raised her hand, no one noticed. But, then again, no one seemed to care. Perhaps it was because Nilly had no hands to raise in the first place. Perhaps this was because Nilly was actually a sack of flour. Or perhaps it was because all the "students" were made up of things like an empty bottle of soda, a bag of corn chips, two toilet paper rolls stacked one on top of the other, and a plunger. Whatever the reason, only Pinky seemed to have recognized Nilly and her very silent question. He didn't seem to mind, however. On the contrary, he positively beamed, acknowledging his pitiful excuse for a pupil-laden classroom as if they were real mice, voles, hamsters, and shrews hanging onto his every word like campfire kids to a spooky story.
"Well, I'm glad you asked that, Nilly, because I happen to be verrrrry versed in the subject!" Pinky snickered, eyes half-lidded as he picked imaginary dirt from his fingers, looking in the direction of his students with a very devious smirk indeed.
Several doors down and around a corner, in the middle of a long hallway, a locker was being absolutely mutilated. Books, pencils, various household tools, and a half-eaten burrito wrapped in tin foil were carelessly tossed onto the floor, its aggressor in a state of pure panic.
"Ohhhhh, shoot. Where are they?!" Gadget growled, hair a little unkempt as she flung a notebook over her shoulder, almost hitting a passerby in the process.
"Hey! Watch it!" the boy mouse shrieked, dodging out of the path of the wayward notebook just in time.
Gadget didn't even seem to notice as she continued to tear through her locker, muttering angrily to herself as she threw a pencil case onto the floor. It burst open. One of the pencils popped out, rolling all the way across from the locker and underneath the door of room three-nineteen. On and on the little chartreuse pencil rolled, finally coming to rest with a soft 'plink' against Dr. Globetrotter's desk. His ear twitched at the sound and his head peered around the side of the desk at its source. There sat a thin, yellow pencil. He picked it up, frowning, and set it down on a far side of his desk.
"As I was saying," Globetrotter rang, clearing his throat, but he'd barely reached out for his mug of steaming hot coffee before the class was interrupted yet again, this time by a very haphazard-looking and goggle-less Gadget.
"Sorry I'm late," she mumbled, head down and gaze firmly directed at the floor as she shuffled past a barrage of staring eyes to plop into her seat between Maisy and Tillie. Gadget shut her eyes tight. She, along with everyone else in the room, knew what was coming, and they all held their breath in anticipation.
The unpleasant echo throughout the room was palpable as Globetrotter set down his mug, glaring.
"Oh, well, I suppose we all can just excuse Miss Gadget here from arriving two minutes past our start time. Obviously, she has more important things to do than be punctual. I guess my precious hours of time spent preparing for this class that will help all of you get a proper education simply don't matter in light of one tardily-inclined, mucilage-chewing student forgetting their pack of lime-flavored gum right before 7:30, is that right?"
Sarcasm dripped like venom from every syllable, causing Gadget to shrink ever lower in her seat. Somewhere in the class, journal boy jotted down "tardily-inclined" and "mucilage-chewing" under the ever-growing list of Globetrotter insults. Maisy glared at their teacher, but, like every other student, she didn't dare say anything. To retort meant a week's worth of detention, and they all knew that it was better to bite the bullet now than suffer the consequences for a harsh retort later.
"It's not like I spend all night grading your measly excuses for a thesis, carefully combing every paragraph for even a sliver of intelligence, while you're at home watching reruns of Dukes of Hazard..."
On and on it went, ironically cutting into his so-called "precious time" to teach. On and on he rolled, all the way up until 7:55 AM. The only good thing about it was that it was twenty-five minutes they didn't have to spend studying. Some had taken to drawing little sketches in their notebooks, others took the opportunity to sneak in a snack or two, and Tillie was full-on knitting.
Finally, he reached the end of his spiel. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Now... Seeing as that's hopefully enlarged your minds a little, please turn to page eighty-seven of your textbooks, as we delve into the absolutely incredible topic of Meiosis."
"'Incredible', my arse," Maisy muttered. "Couldn't find your goggles, huh?"
Gadget shook her head, too embarrassed to give a verbal reply.
"Oh, leave her alone. We've forgotten our fair share of trinkets before," Tillie whispered, putting away her knitting. "What are you so upset about? I thought you had hearts for Globetrotter."
Maisy didn't reply, but shot another scathing glare at Globetrotter as she pulled out her textbook.
"Trusting that we won't have any more interruptions," bit their teacher, shooting a look at Gadget as he said it, "I'd like you all to turn your attention to..."
Bang.
Everyone jumped, including Globetrotter. He turned behind him to stare at the wall. What...?
"A-As I was saying, please direct your attention to..."
BANG.
Nobody jumped this time, but Globetrotter once more turned sharply 'round to inspect the wall. The heck?
A few seconds passed. Nothing. Perhaps someone was just doing maintenance... in the unused classroom?
"Kindly direct your atten-"
BANG!
"Graaaaaaaaahhhh!" Globetrotter growled, storming out of the classroom and followed by a host of eyes watching him go. Gadget cautiously sat up in her chair as he went.
Down the hallways he trundled, shoulders hunched, every footstep a declaration of annoyance as he made for door two-ten, pushing aside the occasional student or teacher who dared cross his path. It was fortunate the door was a little ajar, for he kicked it open with such force that it flew open, BANGED against the wall, and reverberated so heavily that it shook the walls. Had it been closed the door handle probably would have broken along with it.
"What in CURIE'S name are you DOING?!" the angry little mouse shouted, smoke practically steaming off of him as he fumed, his fiery gaze trained squarely at the tall, lanky mouse in front of him.
Pinky was in mid-swing, one leg raised high up in the air as his paws clutched firmly around a wooden baseball bat. He was dressed in full baseball attire, and his classroom had been very primitively set up to resemble a sandlot of sorts, each of his "students" serving as the players. Globetrotter's explosion had thrown him off only a smidgen. If anything, Pinky beamed and waved at the newcomer.
"Mr. Globetrotter! You're just in time for the home run! Or... you would have been if you hadn't thrown me off just now," he giggled.
"Would you kindly explain why you're using your room as a sports arena?!" Globetrotter snapped.
"Oh! Well, Nilly here wanted to know if I was well-versed in the thrilling art of baseball, and I couldn't turn that one down 'cause, you know, I am. Hmhm!"
Globetrotter turned to look at this "Nilly", arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.
"That's a sack of flour," he retorted, unimpressed.
Pinky gasped.
"How rude! He didn't mean it, Nilly. Did you, Brain? Say you're sorry to Nilly!"
"It's Brian, and I am not apologizing to an inanimate object! And I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from playing baseball in a classroom! Don't you realize you're disturbing the peace - upsetting my students and keeping me from my work?"
"Ohhhhhhhhh. Is your classroom on the other side of that wall?"
"Yes."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Got it, Brain! We'll play baseball later, shall we?"
"You shall."
And with that, he stormed off... right into Olivia, in fact, who was in full delivery mode. The force of their impact knocked her backwards onto the floor.
"Ah! My letter!" she screeched, reaching for a little yellow note that had slipped out of her hands.
"Hmph," Globetrotter muttered, completely ignoring her as he trudged back to his classroom.
Olivia watched him go, reeling back a little at the slam of a door five seconds later.
"Ooo. Too angry. Too angry," she mumbled to herself, sprinting up to classroom two-ten and peering inside.
Pinky was now hard at work not playing baseball. All the chairs, tables, and "students" were being reshuffled to resemble a normal classroom again, the big television in the back rolled up to the front behind the main desk to serve as a new source of entertainment.
"Sorry, class. Baseball is canceled for the moment," apologized Pinky, hooking up the tv as Olivia tip-toed into the classroom and carefully shut the door behind her. "Oh well. That's why I brought my Honeymooners tapes, "he exclaimed, whipping out the tapes from the stand's shelf in a flourish. He was just about to pop one in when a light cough caught his attention. He turned around. There was Olivia smiling at him.
"Oh! Hello, Olivia!"
"Hello, Mr. Pinky," she said, a little shyly this time. "I've got something for you."
"Another letter?" he asked, taking it from her and reading:
Dear Mr. Pinkus,
I must regret to inform you that baseball or sports of any kind are not allowed in the hallways and classrooms. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I also appreciate my job, and I can't very well keep it when there's a home run going on a few doors down. This is for your own sake. I do hope this reaches you before Globetrotter does...
Sincerely,
Mrs. Judson
"I think baseball in the school is a wonderful idea," Olivia piped up as Pinky read the letter, his ears lowering a little as he went over each word. "I heard we used to have a field, but... they got rid of that years ago." Her own little ears, round and pink, drooped at this. Pinky thought a moment.
"Well... perhaps we could make a petition?"
"Petition?"
"Certainly!" said he, setting down his tapes for a moment. "We could write up a letter saying we'd like a baseball stadium back on the lot, and if we get enough signatures..."
"We'll get one!" Olivia gasped, tiny hands tucking up against her chest in excitement.
"Well, maybe. It still has to pass the board of directors now, don't it?"
"We'll get a lot of signatures then. You get the form, and I'll get people to sign it!"
Pinky smiled.
"You've got yourself a petition there, Missy! I'll draw one up tonight!"
"Good good!" Olivia exclaimed, bouncing up and down, tam-o'-shanter bouncing this way and that. "So what do you teach?"
"Oh, a little of this. A little of that," Pinky said, dodging the question. "Do you like The Honeymooners?"
"The Honeywho?" she asked, shuffling about his desk and picking up one of the bunsen burners to peer into it with a curious eye.
"Now don't tell me you've never heard of one of the best television shows of all time!"
"Not really. I don't watch a lot of tv."
But whatever Pinky said next in response to this she didn't catch, for she had just discovered his notepad, and of the number of colorful stickers coating it, one in particular stood out to her. She gasped again.
"Is that a radish rose whatchamawhoozit?!"
Pinky was caught off guard. He stopped mid-sentence, stared at her, and slammed his hands down on the table, making her jump.
"You know what a radish rose whatchamawhoozit is?!"
"Look!" Olivia said, sweeping off her tammie, the better to see her fluffy ears. Hanging from each ear was a small earring, both shaped like radish rose whatchamawhoozits. "My mum used to use them for parties! I always liked them."
Pinky went wide-eyed.
"My mum did, too! You know... you're the first mouse I've met who knows what that is."
"I'm surprised most people don't know what that is!" Olivia giggled.
"Me too!" Pinky chuckled back, eyes a little misty.
For a moment they just stood there, smiling at one another, two radish rose whatchamawhoozit buddies meeting for the first time. There was something very comforting about it.
The slow tick, tick, tick of a wall clock nearby brought Olivia back to Earth, and she stepped back shyly.
"I... probably should go," she said, smiling. "She's probably waiting for me."
Pinky's face fell.
"We-.. uhh... would you like to stay for just a minute longer?"
"Sorry, but I really do have to go," replied Olivia regretfully, looking very much as if she didn't want to.
"Umm... what else do you like to do that's... not watching tv?"
"Well... umm... I do like to sing."
Pinky beamed, dug in his box, and pulled out a microphone attached to a small radio-looking device.
"Do you like karaoke?"
Olivia beamed.
Several doors down and one wall over, Globetrotter had everyone in a stupor. Gadget could barely keep her eyes open, one of the boys had taken to drawing circles over and over again in his notebook, and Maisy's brother was actually snoring. Perhaps Globetrotter would have cared if he hadn't been so engrossed in the exciting subject of Meoisis, one hand clasped firmly around a nearly-drained cup of coffee, the other brandishing a thick ruler at the blackboard behind him.
"The initial metaphase takes place when the homologous pairs travel along the metaphase plate. Kinetochore microtubles from the spindle poles attach to the-"
He stopped. His ears twitched. Some of the students lifted their heads, shifting in their seats. A distant sound of singing could be heard, just beyond the wall. Globetrotter frowned.
"Um. The microtubles attach directly to-"
It was soft at first, then it grew - louder, louder, louder. Pinky and Olivia's singing had escalated from a light hum to a crescendo and climbed all the way to the top in a full on opera. The student with the journal counted down on his fingers to his friend: three, two, one...
SNAP!
Right on cue, Globetrotter applied so much anger... or... pressure, rather, to his ruler that it snapped clean in half. Journal boy made a mark in his book: t'was the fourth one snapped this semester, apparently.
For the second time that morning, Globetrotter stomped out of his classroom, although this time he was followed, not by one student, not by two, but almost the entire class, albeit tepidly. Although he probably wouldn't notice them, considering the state he was in, caution was still advised... at least to a degree. Ronald Pinkus was in for it big time and they couldn't afford to miss this. They'd heard the rumors: that when Mr. B. got this flustered he'd actually physically vibrate, lose all mastery of the English language, and sometimes even spout intense poetry at the accuser. It was one of the only exciting things that happened in his classes and they sure as heck weren't going to pass up the opportunity when it presented itself.
Science room three-nineteen's teacher had barely managed four steps out the door, however, when he was approached by a tall lady mouse in a green dress. All the students moved back a pace, retreating into the classroom.
"Ah! Mr. Globetrotter. I was just coming to remind you that the teacher's conference is this weekend at 5:00 PM."
"Yes, Ms. Weatherby. I'll be there," he scratched, barely containing himself.
Ms. Weatherby stepped away, not the least bit perturbed, whether due to pure naivety or a lack of concern none could tell.
She was barely two feet away when Globetrotter continued his trek, down the hall and around a corner. His students followed at a careful pace. He'd just turned the corner when a boy vole with glasses knocked into him, his homework flying everywhere.
"M-Mr. B! I-I mean, Mr. Globetrotter!" he stammered, shaking from head to tail.
"What is it?!" Globetrotter growled, impatience growing by the millisecond.
"I-I-I just wanted to ask about the upcoming assignment. Is there any way I could turn mine in just... a day late? M-My mother is sick in the hospital, you see, and-"
But he was abruptly cut off as Globetrotter shoved him aside with a sharp, "NO!" to boot.
"O-Or I can just turn it in on time then! N-No biggie! Eheh...!" the vole stuttered, clutching the few remaining papers to his chest ever so tightly and quickly picking up the rest before running off. He jumped as he almost ran into Globetrotter's entire class. Gadget reached out a hand towards him, as if to apologize on Globetrotter's behalf, but Maisy stilled her with a shake of the head and a clutch of the paw. They tip-toed on.
Globetrotter was almost at door two-ten when plump Mrs. Judson came flying down the hallway.
"Globetrotter! Don't you even think about touching that door!"
The little mouse grumbled.
"I have EVERY RIGHT to open that door!" he shouted, already trembling. A couple of the boys in the crowd started bouncing up and down excitedly. This was just getting better and better. They might actually get a full show!
"You don't know what that poor boy's been through. He might be a complete boob, but you leave him alone! Let me talk to him," Mrs. Judson spouted, paws on her hips as she went face-to-face with Globetrotter.
"Mrs. Judson," Globetrotter replied, full on vibrating now, "If you don't get out of my way, I swear I'll report you to the principle for unlawful involvement in a teacher's affairs!"
"Hmph! 'Unlawful involvement.' There's no such thing."
"Oh, isn't there? I can MAKE it a thing! And," he added, voice low and threatening, "I'll tell them about Marley."
Mrs. Judson went wide-eyed.
"You wouldn't dare."
"I would," Globetrotter seethed.
With brows furrowed and lips tense, she turned in a flourish and marched off, shooting his class a harsh glare as she rounded a corner, shaking her head at them.
"You watch your step," she hissed.
Some of them exchanged worried glances. It was incredible Globetrotter hadn't even noticed the crowd following him; so enslaved by anger was he. It was almost impressive. The entire group collectively held their breath as their teacher, fuming, flung open the door.
"WHAT THE BLAZES ARE YOU-"
But at this, he stopped, for what met Globetrotter's eyes rendered him speechless.
"Aaaaaaand wwwwwwwelcome to the show!"
The room was unrecognizable. A sparkling blue floor complemented an equally sparkling purple stadium decorated with red velvet curtains, all so dazzling that Globetrotter had to rub at his eyes to stop himself from going blind. The entire place looked like a game show one might see on tv - Wheel of Fortune or Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Energetic, happy-go-lucky music blared on a little radio in a corner, completing the effect, and a seemingly disembodied voice, all flamboyant and hospitable, dominated the scene.
"Come on in! Take a seat!" remarked the voice, which turned out to be Pinky's as he scooted Globetrotter into the room and onto a chair right next to Olivia, who waved at him.
"That's my new teacher!" she whispered excitedly to him, pointing at Pinky, who was fully decked out in a purple suit and bow tie. Globetrotter sputtered.
"Now, h-h-hold on! I need to tell you-"
"Why, yes. You do need to tell me your name, good Sir!" interrupted Pinky, holding up a microphone right in front of Globetrotter's face. "And you are?"
"I... ma... puh... G-Globetrotter, b-but that-"
"Ladies and gentleman, give it up for GLOOOOOOBETROTTER!"
An invisible crowd cheered. Olivia clapped.
"And your name, young lady?"
"Olivia!"
"OLIVIA!"
More clapping.
By this time, all of Globetrotter's class was pressed up against two-ten's door, eagerly peering in at the activity with wide, bugged out eyes.
"Now, folks, you know we just completed the singing competition, with an outstanding performance by little miss Olivia."
The invisible crowd cheered again, and Olivia blushed.
"But now it's time for the moment you've all been waiting for! Drum-roll, please," requested Pinky, and right on cue... there came a thundering drum-roll.
The entire class was now shuffling into the room, taking spots at the back that had actually been set up for a proper crowd. They filled every seat.
"TUUUUUURBULENT TRIVIAAAAAAA!"
Clapping and cheering from the invisible crowd on... the radio? another dimension? ... was now mixed in with actual applause from Globetrotter's class. He turned to stare at them, flabbergasted. He had an actual audience?! How embarrassing...
Two pedestals, each with a big red button in their centers, rose up out of the floor to rest in front of Globetrotter and Olivia.
"Now, you all know the rules!" Pinky continued, gesturing to a giant board behind him that was laden with a plethora of different topics. "Our contestant with the most points picks a topic, and both try to answer it! Whoever gets the most points at the end of the show wins!"
And he jumped up and down at this, Olivia mirroring him as she bounced around in her seat. Globetrotter was silent. He wouldn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. Every time he opened his mouth to voice his complaints, no sound came out, as if he was so caught off guard by the affair that he simply didn't know how to react. And rightly so. He simply had no words for this.
"Olivia! You're up first, my dear, so pick a subject!"
Olivia stood up in her seat, thought for a moment, then pointed at one of the topics.
"Ummm... I pick... Science!"
"Science it is! And heeeeeere's your question!"
And the little box marked 'SCIENCE' flipped over to reveal a small paragraph, which Pinky read out:
The first known telescope was submitted as a patent to the Netherlands government in 1609 by which spectacle maker?
Someone slammed down on their red button.
"Yeeeeeeeeeees?" Pinky questioned, sporting a wide, toothy grin.
Surprisingly, it was Globetrotter who answered. He actually was standing up out of his seat, looking mad as a hare.
"That's preposterous! It was patented in 1608, not '09, and the answer is Hans Lippershey!"
"CORRECT!"
Ding ding ding ding ding! went Globetrotter's big red button, as it flashed on and off a luminous green color. He sat down almost shyly in his seat, as if surprised he'd found himself out of it, as his entire class clapped and cheered. He turned to look at them with an expression of absolute surprise.
"Congratulations! You've just earned ten points! But Olivia is still in the lead with thirty. What's your next topic, Olivia?" Pinky asked, an open hand gesturing to the board.
"Ummmm... music!" she piped.
"You got it!" Pinky exclaimed, as the next little box labeled 'MUSIC' flipped over. Once again, Pinky read aloud:
Who composed this famous piece?
And a deep, booming tune played loud and clear throughout the room. Olivia slammed down on her button.
"Go ahead, Olivia!"
"Mozart!" she shouted out, but...
EHNG!
Wrong!
"Ohhhh. I'm so sorry, Olivia! But it's not Mozart! Do we have any other takers? Anyone?"
Globetrotter's button rang again, albeit with a bit more hesitance this time.
"Globetrotter!" Pinky shouted.
"That's obviously Beethoven," Globetrotter muttered, arms crossed indignantly.
"CORRECT!"
Ding ding ding ding ding! rang the little button again as ten more points went up on Globetrotter's side of the scoreboard. The crowd went wild. Some of his students had actually gotten popcorn from... somewhere, and looked as though they were having the time of their lives.
"Go, Mr. B!" some shouted out, and, "Trotter! Trotter!" others cheered. "You can do it!" one gal said. Globetrotter's ears perked up a touch. They were actually... supporting him?
"Oooooo. Globetrotter's giving you a run for your money, Olivia! Better pick a good one!" Pinky egged on.
"Hmm. I piiiiiiiick... mathematics!" she shouted, standing in her seat, two pink paws set firmly on the pedestal in front of her.
"Let's see that math question!" rolled Pinky, pointing at a box with 'MATH' written on it in big, bold letters, and reading out:
The square root of 6,428 is...
Before Pinky could even list out the options, Globetrotter's red button was punched.
"80.1748090113!"
"CORRECT!" Pinky yelled, and the crowd exploded. He was now tied with Olivia!
Globetrotter actually went slightly pink in the face as his class whooped and hollered and cheered him on. He almost dared to smile a little. This was... actually... kinda fun...?
"Aaaaaaand now! For the FINAL question! This one... is a TIE BREAKER," Pinky exclaimed dramatically. At this, all the lights dimmed at once, with spotlights thrown on Globetrotter and Olivia only. "Since you both have thirty points each, I'll be picking the question," Pinky continued. "Whoever gets this one right... is the ultimate winner."
The music boomed just as dramatically. Globetrotter actually swallowed thickly. The crowd went silent.
"Here... is your final question, in 'Entertainment'," said Pinky, and he read out:
Which character in The Honeymooners was known for his catchphrase, "Bang, zoom, right to the moon!"
Globetrotter began to sweat, not because he was oblivious, even though it was common knowledge that he rarely watched tv, but because he was embarrassed that he knew the answer. He had to answer, though. Surely, the kid wouldn't know. Would she...? And yet...
SLAM! went Olivia's paw onto bright red button. No way.
"Olivia?" Pinky asked, all ears.
"Mary Poppins!" she rang out.
ENGH! went her button.
"Ohhhhhh. I'm sorry, but that's not the right answer! Globetrotter?"
He was sweating all the more now. He'd surely be teased forever for this, but he couldn't not answer a question he knew the response to...
"Globetrotter? Ten seconds!" Pinky countered.
"Come on, Trotter!" one of his students shouted.
"Yeah, you can do it, Mr. B! Come on!"
And more shouts... and more... and more built up, until finally...
SLAM! went Globetrotter's paw on the big red button.
"Yeeeeeeeeees?" asked Pinky.
"R-Ralph Kramden!" Globetrotter shouted out, eyes tightly closed.
A pause. And then...
"CORRECT! GLOBETROTTER WINS!"
The din was deafening. Balloons and confetti actually fell from the sky as the lights went up all around Globetrotter, Olivia, Pinky, and the entire class as triumphant music was played. Olivia was jumping up and down, actually hugging Globetrotter, not at all perturbed that she'd lost, as the crowd poured out from their seats to congratulate their teacher. Globetrotter was completely stiff. How the heck was he supposed to react to this?
"Congraaaaaaaatulations, Globetrotter! Let's see what you've won!"
There were no show girls, so Pinky himself had to run off-set, grab a selection of items, and fly back onto the stage in front of Globetrotter.
"You win: an orange juicerator, a block of Worcestershire cheese, and a week's supply of paperclips!"
All these he dumped into Globetrotter's hands. Everyone clapped and cheered, and the celebration might have gone on forever had the bell not rung.
"Oh! That's the bell! Time to go, everyone!" Pinky directed, and they all filed out of the classroom, Globetrotter and all, Pinky bringing up the rear. He was still in his purple outfit. "Everybody go on to your next class! Go on! Thanks for playing!" he said, spending an extra second or two to thank Olivia for being such a good sport and handing her a bag of chips. She beamed, thanked him, and skipped off, crunching on them happily. Globetrotter remained, the only participant who hadn't quite taken it all in.
"What... just happened?" he asked, turning to stare at Pinky, his bulky prizes still clasped in his arms.
"You'd better get back to your room, Brain! Your next class is about to start!" was all that Pinky said as he gently pushed him forward, ducked back into his classroom, and shut the door behind him.
Globetrotter just stood there for a moment, staring at door two-ten, before looking down at the batch of prizes he was still holding. Without a word, he slowly, almost drunkenly, meandered back to his classroom. With some difficulty, he opened the door, set down his newfound possessions upon his desk, and breathed in and out, slowly, deeply...
What... had just happened? Never in his life had he ever experience anything like that, not in this school, not in public, not... anywhere, for that matter. It was a time-waster. It was ridiculous. It was... fun? He hated to admit that to himself: that somewhere, deep down, he'd managed to enjoy something so asinine. And yet...
He took a minute to go through each of the "prizes". An orange... juicerator, it was called? It was a portly thing, about half the length of his forearm, and sporting a curved spout that looked a bit like a faucet. How pointless. Unlikely he'd ever find a use for such an item. He'd never even heard of the thing until now. He tossed it in an unused drawer. The second was a block of Worcestershire cheese. That wasn't... all bad. He quite liked this type. In fact, it was his favorite. How did that bumbling idiot know that? Last of all was the "week's supply of paperclips". Handy, he supposed. Nothing wrong with some extra tools for one's classroom. These he put in a top drawer that was visited much more frequently.
He sighed again and stuck his hands in his back pockets. Something crinkled against his right paw... Huh?
He pulled out a note.
Thanks for playing with us! You have a lovely smile. - Pinky
Globetrotter blinked, taken aback, and was caught off guard at a sharp knock on his door. He tossed the note in the trash.
"C-Come in!" he stammered.
It was two of his students: journal boy and his friend.
"Sorry, Mr. B! We forgot our backpacks!" journal boy said, as the two mice ran to grab their packs. But as they headed back towards the door, they stopped. "By the way, um... congratulations, Mr. B!"
"Yeah, that was awesome!" his friend exclaimed.
And with that, they exited the room, closing the door behind them.
Globetrotter stood rooted to the spot. He'd surely die from all these positive comments. Never had he received so many before; at least, not under this roof. He peered into the trash can, paused a moment, then extracted the little note from it. He read it again:
Thanks for playing with us! You have a lovely smile. - Pinky
He settled on those last words again, for they stuck out to him.
You have a lovely smile.
And for a moment, though no one could see him, though no one was watching, he held the little note close to his chest, closed his eyes... and smiled.
-----------------------------
Author's Notes:
- Ferrum is the Latin term for Iron (Fe), which is sometimes found in paperclips.
- The nickname "Mr. B." is actually an obscure reference to another fandom I'm in. If you want the full story, message me. Heh.
- Globetrotter's reaction to Gadget being late was inspired by a friend's story in which one of her actual teachers would respond in a similarly harsh fashion to late students.
- Yes, Olivia's radish earrings are absolutely a reference to Luna Lovegood's equally unusual earrings.
- All of the information about meiosis I got directly from Wikipedia.
- The game show part of this story was my favorite part to write. Originally, I was going to have the whole thing be a lot more low-key, but this is technically a cartoon world, after all, so I figured... why not go all out?
- I finished this at 1:35 AM last night, two days after a surgery and while in pain. I have no regrets.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mo Dao Zu Shi: Chapter 5
Masterpost
Previous chapter
Only a few days passed before Wei Wuxian realized that he may have made a mistake.
The donkey he had stolen was way too hard to please.
It was only a donkey, but it refused to eat anything other than fresh, tender grass with dewdrops hanging from the leaves, and shunned any blades which showed the slightest hint of yellow. When they passed by a farmhouse, Wei Wuxian stole a few stalks of wheat to feed it, but it only chewed a couple of times before—“pfeih!”—it launched them back out, its spit louder and more resonant than any human’s. Not only would it barely eat, it also refused to move, and if Wei Wuxian tried to make it, it would throw a fit, jumping and kicking at him with its hind legs. His life suffered several close calls. What’s more, its braying was agony to the ear.
It had no redeeming qualities as either a mount or a pet!
Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but think fondly of his sword. It was most likely hanging on the wall of some grand clan now, exhibited by the chief as a trophy of war.
Dragging the donkey with him come life or death, he ran a few lengths of road toward a large field belonging to some nearby village. The glaring sun beat down from above, and he sought shelter under a big scholar tree on the embankment between the rice paddies. The thick shade beneath the verdant leaves was dark and cool, and there was an old well where the villagers had placed a bucket and a ladle so that passers-by could quench their thirst. Once the donkey had run here, it absolutely refused to budge. Thus, Wei Wuxian jumped off, slapped its venerable hindquarters and said, “You sure must be a magnificent, prosperous being. You’re even fussier than me.”
The donkey sneezed at him.
While Wei Wuxian passed the time a hundred different ways, a group of people trekked in his direction along the crisscrossing paths in the distance.
They wore bamboo baskets on their backs, linen shirts, and straw shoes; they had the rustic, earthy appearance of rural villagers from head to toe . Among them was an almost delicate and pretty young woman with a round face, who had perhaps walked under the harsh sun for too long and wanted to sit in the shade and drink some water. But when she saw the donkey tied to the tree, braying and stomping discontently, and the wild-haired lunatic with red and white pigment smeared all over his face sitting next to it, she became frightened and wouldn’t approach.
Wei Wuxian had always considered himself protective and caring of women, so seeing her state, he moved to create space for her and went to bother the donkey. Only once the travellers saw he was harmless did they relax and come near. Each and every one of their faces were bright red and drenched in sweat, some fanning themselves and some fetching themselves water. The young woman sat by the well, and, seemingly knowing Wei Wuxian had intentionally made room for her, gave him a tiny smile.
Among the group was a man holding a compass, who gazed out into the distance. He then looked back down, bewildered. “We’re almost at the foot of Dafan Mountain. Why isn’t the needle moving?”
The compass he was using was no ordinary compass; its markings were different, and its needle didn’t point north. It wasn’t a compass of the cardinal directions, but an “evil wind compass”, used to locate fierce, malignant spirits. Wei Wuxian knew then the people he had met were a family of poor, unaffiliated cultivators. Outside of the illustrious, moneyed houses of cultivation, who spent their spare time contemplating the poetry of white snows and sunny spring days, there were also quite a few of these kinds of small, unrefined, closed-off, and self-taught families. Perhaps they had rushed from the village to beg for shelter from a big house that they had some relation to. Or perhaps they were out on a night-hunt.
The middle aged leader waved everyone toward the well for water and simultaneously said, “Your compass is probably broken, once we get back I’ll get you a new one. We’re less than five kilometers from Dafan Mountain, so we can’t rest for long. We’ve suffered the winds and the dust the whole journey—if we relax here, the people behind will pass us, and all our effort’ll be wasted.”
Indeed, they had come to night-hunt. Many cultivators, fond of literary pursuits, called roaming the four corners of the land, exorcising evil spirits “roving hunts,” and since their prey typically came out at night, the hunts also became known as “night-hunts.” Though there were many houses of cultivation, only a few became truly famous. If their ancestors had not accumulated prestige and prosperity, ordinary houses could only earn respect and reputation through their own achievements, and climb the hierarchy of the cultivation world by their own sweat. Only by seizing a brutal monster or calamity-bringing spirit would their names start to have weight.
Seizing evil things was what Wei Wuxian was best at, but the few days he’d been running around on the road breaking into graves, he had found only minor ghosts. He still lacked a ghost that could help him trample his opponents, so he decided he would also go to Dafan Mountain1 and try his luck. If he found a useful one, he would catch and deploy it.
The cultivators had now rested enough and were preparing to take off. Before they left, the round-faced young woman took a half-green, half-red apple from the basket on her back and passed it to Wei Wuxian. “This is for you.”
Wei Wuxian reached out to receive it with a big smile on his face, but the donkey raised its head, bared its teeth, and bit at the pro-offered fruit. He hastily grabbed hold of it. But when good fortune came, so did clever ideas; seeing the donkey endlessly salivating over the little apple, Wei Wuxian picked up a tree branch and a fishing line, tied the apple to the branch, and hung the apple in front of the donkey’s head. The donkey smelled the fragrant scent of the apple, and lusting after its sweet flesh, chased the fruit that was always just a little out of reach. Head raised and charging ahead, the animal ran faster than any colt Wei Wuxian had ever seen, leaving clouds of dust trailing behind it.
The donkey didn’t stop running, and thus they made it to Dafan Mountain before nightfall. Wei Wuxian only figured out how to write the mountain’s name when he reached its base. From far away, it looked exactly like a venerable, open-hearted, squat Buddha—thus it was Dafan Mountain, and the small village at the foot of the mountain was therefore called Fojiao Village.2
The number of cultivators who had gathered far exceeded Wei Wuxian’s expectations. It was a mixed crowd, like a lake where both dragons and schools of tiny fish swam. The cultivators wore a dizzying, blinding array of colours and resembled a parade of restless flowers as they walked up and down the street. But for some unknown reason, everyone had a nervous expression on their face. They couldn’t even spare the attention to laugh at Wei Wuxian’s ridiculous face.
In the center of the main road, a crowd of cultivators gathered, speaking solemnly. They seemed to be arguing and spoke loudly enough for Wei Wuxian to hear them from a distance. At first the discussion was calm, but it grew more and more agitated as it progressed:
“I don’t think this place ever had any soul-eating beasts or ghasts in the first place. That’s obviously why no one’s compass needle has moved.”
“But if there really is nothing, how could seven of those villagers have lost their souls? They couldn’t have all come down with the same bizarre disease, could they? I’ve never heard of such a disease!”
“Just because the compasses aren’t pointing to anything, does that necessarily mean nothing’s here? They can only point in a general direction. They’re not that accurate, so they can’t be completely trusted. It’s possible there’s something around here that can interfere with the needle.”
“Don’t you remember who invented these compasses? I’ve never heard of anything disturbing the direction the needle points.”
“What exactly do you mean by that? Why are you asking such weird questions? Of course I remember evil wind compasses were invented by Wei Ying, but just because he invented something, doesn’t mean it’s gorgeous and perfect. Aren’t people allowed to question him?”
“I didn’t say you weren’t allowed to question him, or that his things were gorgeous and perfect. There’s no need to spew mud everywhere, your highness!”
They began to argue in a different direction, and Wei Wuxian rode his donkey past them, laughing merrily. Even though so many years had passed, his ability to whip cultivators into verbal duels and tongue clashes had not diminished. “Once you hear the name ‘Wei,’ you’re forced to fight”—so the saying went. If there was a vote on who possessed the most extensive and long-lived fame among all cultivators, who could win against him?
In all fairness, the cultivator who had questioned him wasn’t wrong. The evil wind compasses in use were only the first edition, and indeed left something to be desired when it came to accuracy. Originally, Wei Wuxian had worked to improve them, but who told people to destroy his home before he was done? So he had no option but to inconvenience everyone and continue to force the inaccurate, first edition compass on them.
In any case, most things that eat flesh and chew bone were low level, such as walking corpses. Only refined, elegant, high level beasts and vicious ghosts could eat and digest souls. To consume seven in one go—no wonder there were so many houses gathered here. This prey was no small matter—it was only natural that the compasses made a few errors.
Holding the reins tightly, Wei Wuxian leapt from the donkey’s back, grabbed the apple, and held it in front of the donkey. “One bite, just one bite. Hey! You almost bit off my hand.”
He took two bites of the other side of the apple and shoved it back into the donkey’s mouth. While he reflected on how he had been reduced to sharing an apple with a donkey, someone collided with him from behind. He turned and saw a young woman who, even though she had walked straight into him, seemed to find him beneath her notice. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, her lips were molded into a slight smile, and she refused to tear her gaze away from a certain direction.
Wei Wuxian followed her line of sight into the distance, where a solemn black mountain top lay—Dafan Mountain.
Suddenly without warning, the young woman began dancing.
The dance was wild and violent, as though channeling a beast baring its fangs and brandishing its claws. Wei Wuxian watched the young woman with bright interest, but another woman lifted her skirt and ran towards them, threw her arms around the dancing girl and cried, “Ah-yan, let’s go home! Let’s go home!”
With all her strength, Ah-yen threw the woman off and continued, smile still plastered on her face, as though animated by some kind of hair-raising obsession. The older woman had no option but to chase the girl all over the street, wailing, tears dripping down her face. To the side, a street peddler said, “Hell’s bells, Blacksmith Zheng’s Ah-yan’s run out again.”
“I feel sorry for her mother. Ah-yan, Ah-yan’s husband, and her own husband, not a single one’s in good shape...”
Wei Wuxian strolled around the village, eavesdropping, collecting bits and pieces of idle chatter from the people he walked by, and pieced together the strange sequence of events that had unfolded.
On Dafan Mountain, there was an old graveyard housing the people of Fojiao Village’s ancestral graves, where the villagers would also bury and raise grave markers for unnamed corpses on occasion. One evening several months ago, when thunder rolled and the sky flashed with lightning, the wind and the rain pounded down upon the area, scouring the mountain the entire night. A patch of earth atop Dafan Mountain collapsed, triggering a landslide—this patch of earth happened to be the exact patch on which the graveyard was located. Thus many old graves were destroyed and others were exposed to the elements. Lightning struck, blasting and blackening both the coffins and the bodies inside.
After this episode, the people of Fojiao Village became extremely uneasy, prayed for blessings, and then rebuilt the old burial mound, believing that this would settle the matter. But who knew from that point onwards, Fojiao Village would suffer so many cases of lost souls?
The first victim was a lazy bum who was poor as a rat and spent most of his days loafing about. Because he enjoyed going up the mountain and catching birds to pass time, he just so happened to be stuck on Dafan Mountain the night of the landslide. Though scared half to death, he was blessed with good fortune—nothing happened to him, at least on that night. But strange things began to occur only a few days after he returned. He suddenly found a wife and was married with much fanfare, sparing no waving banners or beating drums, claiming he would live a life of merit and virtue and pass his days with this promise in mind.
The night of the wedding, he drank himself blind, fell into bed, and didn’t get up. When his new wife called his name, he didn’t react, and only when she pushed him over did she discover that her groom’s eyes were blank and lifeless and his body was as cold as ice. Aside from the fact that he was still breathing, there was little that distinguished him from a corpse. He ate nothing, drank nothing, and continued on in this state for many days before finally being peacefully buried. The poor bride became a widow despite barely having been married.
The second was Ah-yan from the family of Blacksmith Zheng. The young woman had just been betrothed, but only a day after, her fiancé was bitten to death by wolves while hunting on the mountain. After she found out, the same fate befell her as befell the lazy bum. Happily, however, her disease somehow cured itself after a period of time. Yet from that point onward, she began to suffer from lunacy. She went outside every day to dance for people, smiling the entire time.
The third was Ah-yan’s father, Blacksmith Zheng. To date, there had been seven victims in total.
Wei Wuxian mulled over the matter and determined it was most likely the work of a soul eating ghast, rather than a soul eating beast.
Though the difference between their names was only one word, they were entirely disparate beings. Ghasts were a type of ghost, but soul eating beasts were a type of fae. According to Wei Wuxian, the sequence of events was most likely this: the landslide demolished old graves and lightning split open coffins, releasing a long dormant ghast from among the bodies. If this was the case, the state of the coffins and presence of any seal traces upon them should suffice for confirmation. But the Fojiao Villagers must have already long re-buried the burnt coffins elsewhere, and reinterred the bodies—there would be very few vestiges of the ghast's resting place.
In order to climb the mountain, Wei Wuxian took the sloping road from the village. He hopped on his donkey and slowly ascended. After traveling a while, he encountered some people wearing dark expressions climbing down.
These people had cuts and scrapes on their faces, and seemed to be talking to each other all at once. The sky was dusky, and they all jumped in fright as they ran face-to-face into someone made-up like a hanged ghost riding atop a donkey. They shouted angry words at him, circled around, and continued down the slope at rapid clip. Looking back on them, Wei Wuxian wondered whether they had been defeated by their intended prey and were now returning from their night-hunt empty-handed. He pondered a little more, slapped his donkey’s hindquarters, and the two clambered up briskly.
He had left at the perfectly wrong time and missed the group’s grumbling.
“I’ve never met anyone so unreasonable!”
“He’s the head of such a big house, why does he have to come here and compete with us for a single soul eating ghast? He must have killed plenty when he was young!”
“But what can we do? We can hardly do anything about him being a Clan Chief. Whichever house you offend, you must not offend House Jiang. Whoever you offend, you must not offend Jiang Cheng. There’s nothing to do except pack our bags, accept our fate, and go!”
________________
Translation notes:
1 Wei Wuxian, having only heard the name of the mountain, mistakes 大梵山 (lit. “Big Buddha Mountain”) for the homophonous 大饭山 (lit. “Big Meal Mountain” or “Big Rice Mountain”).
2 Fojiao means “Buddha foot.”
Next chapter
Masterpost
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Red Queen Fan Fiction - Paradise Refracted Chapter 4
Warning! Contains War Storm Spoilers! Warning!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
Find this on AO3 and on wattpad
Evangeline POV
I kept looking after Elane, futilely as she was invisible, but the pulse of her pendant gave me a hint to her general direction as she moved away farther and farther.
You’re still a fast runner, love.
I forced my focus back to the enemies at hand, charging toward us. I started to pull at guns and threw them away and changed the ways of their bullets. As if a bullet could hit me, when this was the first thing a magnetron child learned. It was to stupid to come at a Samos with guns but then again, often they weren’t aimed at me, but at my comrades. If those were cowards, they’d keep me close and use me to protect themselves. Which would be stupid as well, since I had other things to do than play bodyguard. I was here to fight and dispatch the enemy magnetrons.
Although I’d happily play bodyguard for Elane, if she let me.
Instead I dashed towards the raiders, always staying in motion, dodging and deflecting blows and missiles coming at me while looking out to make hits myself. By now, the enemy magnetrons had divided between those riding these demonic cycles and those fighting on foot, four in each team. I gritted my teeth, well aware of the odds – and of the challenge. The battle on day before yesterday had been a joke compared to this. Then again, this was exactly what I was training for. What I longed for. I charged at their circle, yanking on the machines to destroy their formation and distract them while their comrades on foot gladly accepted my invitation to fight. They came to assault me, but either I deflected their shards and needles or warded them off with shields of my own, formed quickly from the light sheets of metal on my armour. I kept on running, feasting on their frustration. When the riders closed in on me, I jumped, pushing myself off and away from their machines, using the higher ground for a surprise attack at the foot soldiers. Two went down dead, one was injured.
Let’s see if they’re also good at deflecting blows.
I barely touched the ground before jumping again and I spun in the air as the cycles cruised around me. I grinned as I dismantled one machine and used its parts to stab its rider in the perfect, lethal place, then proceeded to cut the throat of a fourth raider, using their armour to push them against the injured raider on foot to finish her off.
For a second, I allowed myself to breathe, before falling again into a run. There was a point to my lack of heavy armour, as I tried to become lighter and lighter. To run, and to fly, something only the best magnetrons ever mastered, and which would give me the edge to win.
I could hardly call it “flying” so far, to be honest. I jumped, higher than most human could, and stayed so for seconds with the right metal anchor. Pitiful, compared to Father’s prowess, and I heard his voice in the back of my head. But it didn’t matter. I’d improve, become stronger, faster, deadlier. My feet landed in the face of raider number six, making him oblivious to the spike stabbing his back, right through the heart. I rolled off, hearing a faint sound in my ears, like the ring of a bell. Or the pulse of Elane’s pendant. Don’t look for her, I scolded myself, trust her. She knows what she’s doing, she’ll take care of herself. And if necessary, she’d take off the pendant and leave me in the dark about her whereabouts while I had my own battle to win.
There were two enemies left now, a foot soldier and a rider. The latter had reactivated their cycle and was about to roll me over. As if. The other one was hesitating somewhere behind me, more of a backup than an aggressor.
“Time to finish this!” I yelled.
In the distance, Barrow’s lightning ruled the sky, dispatching animosi raiders and their huge familiars; probably those the Montfortan animosi couldn’t control and chase off.
I ignored the faint thought of Mother, still in Norta. I forgot about father, dead because I hadn’t warned him. “He wouldn’t have listened,” I snapped, and charged towards the cycle coming for me.
I couldn’t have changed anything, I shouldn’t feel guilty. And today, I’d best him anyway, prove that I was a Samos through and through, a woman who won and had no fear.
Fear was in the raider coming for me and they changed their course, offering me the chance to attack by ridding them off their machine with a mighty shove just as they drove a curve. They weren’t as surprised as I anticipated though, tossing a spray of metal at me the same moment they were back on their feet.
Damn. This was the first blood of mine drawn today, but I couldn’t let that stop me. I warded off the other splinters in the air and grabbed my opponent, a fraction of my mind scouting the area for the last raider, who was still waiting but had to be ready to engage at any second. I had to make this quick. I threw them over my shoulder, about to kick, but they pulled me off balance. I rolled off, checking on the left-over shards and shoved them away a little with a thought. Was my foe aware of them as well?
I got up again, the raider circled me. I formed a sword and attacked with a feint, they blocked, raising their own new sword now. They loved this challenge, this kind of duel, too much, maybe even enjoying a battle with another master Silver. Did they – all the raiders – miss this part of the past, their homes? Deep down, I could relate to that. I missed the Rift, longed for it. I would’ve loved to be its queen, or just its warrior at the side of Tolly and Elane. The Rift had been home, had been my paradise, and I’d lost it. I scream, fuelled by rage and pain, pain that would not go away, so I had to push it out of my soul.
I tossed my sword at my opponent and rammed my shoulder into them. Only a distraction, another feint while I pulled a needle-like splinter into the back of their head, killing them instantly.
I panted, my head spinning toward the last raider. This had taken too long, I had prolonged the duel needlessly. No matter. I ran, hardly as fast as in the beginning of the fight. Was that even more than five minutes ago? The raider offered to resistance as I crashed into him, getting both of us on the ground. I drew a blade and pointed it at his throat. “Checkmate,” I hissed.
He said nothing, shuddering. He was helpless below me, and young, almost a child. Finally, a sound left his mouth.
“What?” I snarled.
“Yield …” he whispered, desperation in his dark eyes and sweat of fear on his brown skin. I froze, doing nothing, and so I took in his agony for seconds, seconds that had to be torture for him. But … I could not look away, because I knew that feeling, that fear. Because I’d felt the same way when my father –
I jerked away in a rush, as if that made up for the last moments. “You yield,” I said aloud, tonelessly. “So you’re my prisoner.”
He nodded.
“Good.” I cuffed him in a symbolic act, then lifted my hands to show my comrades I was done here. “I have a prisoner,” I shouted, pulled him up and moved towards my allies, when I felt the pulse of Elane’s pendant moving closer, to my deep relief.
Barrow glared at me when we reunited at the transports. “You took a hostage?” she sneered.
I shrugged, although I knew why it upset her. “He surrendered, I accepted. Should I have killed him? Let him go? We need his information, Barrow. Or don’t we, General?” I looked at Farley. “Wasn’t that a secondary point of this operation?”
Farley hesitated, her eyes as unfriendly as ever. “Indeed, Samos,” she confirmed finally. “However, that was Haven’s job.”
And Elane appeared as if on cue. “And I’ve accomplished that mission,” she said, handing a bag to Farley.
I leaned out of the transport as we reached Ascendant despite the warning comments I earned myself. I didn’t care. I’d killed seven persons this morning and was only slightly exhausted, no one would get the better of me. Never again.
I smiled as I scouted Tolly, watching the outskirts of the city, squeezing Elane’s hand. I jumped out of the rolling vehicle despite further protests and dashed to my brother. His face was cut and bruised and I had to swallow my anger and thirst for vengeance. Think strategically, Samos, I reminded myself. He’s alive and seems unharmed otherwise.
I hugged him. “We were right, Eve,” he mumbled, “the city was attacked.”
“It’s okay, you’re alright?” I asked. “No casualties?”
He shook his head. “Only a handful of dead foes, but …”
“But this was only a warning,” General Farley said behind us. Tolly straightened at her appearance, yet she didn’t even look at him. Her complete disregard was almost a greater threat than he infamous glare. When her gaze finally found him, what would she do to him?
“Haven was right, Samos,” she continued. “The raiders work with the Lakelanders, she found the evidence. Seems like those little mermaids intend to attack Montfort before they try for Norta again.”
@mareshmallow @akingwithnodreams @clarafarleybarrow @redqueenfandom @wrenskonos @kihlorn @inopinion @samanthaslytherin @hannaharies @enchanteurlivres @lilyharvord @ihnejgafa @runexandra @silverasthedawn
#red queen#evangeline samos#evangeline x elane#war storm#war storm spoilers#elane haven#evane#paradise refracted#paradise refracted ch 4#scarletguardsource#ptolemus samos#diana farley#mare barrow#angst#action
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Something in the Water.
Genre | Camping / Friends to Lovers AU.
Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.
Words | 25,836 words.
Conspectus | Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward, mismatched gang of pals. This is made all the more apparent when they rock up at ___’s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, as if it is a natural time for any college student to be awake.
But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend, slamming his fist against her front door.
Warnings | Loads of swearing young adults. Terrible jokes that made my eyes bleed and would one hundred and ten percent make Kim Seokjin proud. A lot of banter. Relatively slow build to tent sex. No, not literally having sex with a tent, just inside– I’ll stop.
Judging by the angle of the sunlight filtering through your blinds, remaining to hover only just above the horizon, it is clear that it is currently a time that you should still, most definitely, be completely dead asleep. Whoever is pounding their fist against your front door seriously needs to piss right off. Otherwise, your early-morning murderous tendencies will begin to take form in 1. your barely suppressed rage, and 2. the baseball bat hidden underneath your bed.
For an infinitesimal moment—amidst you weighing up the possibility of being granted parole if you were to enact second-degree murder on your front doorstep—the knocking stops. But before you can truly appreciate the pleasant buzz in your ears from the sharp, repetitive sound fading into a comfortable silence, the screeching tune of your ringtone flares to life on your bedside table.
“Mother–“ You slam your hand down on the device, blearily looking at the screen to swipe your finger across the ‘answer’ button before continuing to scream into the speaker– “Fucker! Leave me in peace!”
“Never. I have coffee. Answer the door, hoe–”
Mercilessly hanging up, you roll onto your back with your eyes closed. A low, guttural groan emits from your chest due to the voice of your best friend, Kim Taehyung, attempting to bribe you into coherency with your sole point of weakness. And he fucking knows it.
It is an agonisingly difficult decision to make. You could leave the plush comfort of your toasty bed, snatch the coffee out of his hands, and then slam the door back in his face. Or, you could simply abandon the delight of having a coffee until later when you can make one with your own devices. This way, you can snuggle ever deeper into your pillows, and let sleep lift the dreaded weight of being alive from your conscious for a few more hours.
But the further you dwell on the issue at hand, the rising con of the entire dilemma continues to raise its ugly head. That is, Taehyung is not a man who easily gives up. He refuses to take rejection as the immediate answer, most especially when it comes down to you. So, even if you were to put either plan that ultimately results in avoiding him as much as possible into action, he would burn up his phone battery with persistent calls to your cellphone. Even if you turned the device off, he would resort to beating that door down until his fists are no more than bloody stumps at the ends of his wrists.
Thus, the undesirable fact of the matter is that, either way, you are going to have to face Taehyung. And you really do not think you are currently sane enough to do so because, really, is anyone sane if they can be a fully functioning human being before eight in the morning? You rest your case.
As if on cue, the knocking starts again in an increasing staccato. You faintly consider taking the baseball bat with you. Although cracking his skull open may not solve all of your problems, it will at least get rid of three.
You swipe your phone from the bedside table and disconnect the second call trying to ring through. After swinging your legs off the edge of the bed with a disgruntled sigh, you navigate your way through the house with your eyes mostly shut. Your shoulders bounce and thump against the walls while you lethargically progress towards the source of the continuous sound, pounding away like nails being hammered into your temples.
You barely notice in your half-asleep state that, the nearer you approach, the more apparent the sound of boyish voices on the other side of the barrier—separating you from your source of hot, liquefied energy—comes to be. So when you abruptly unlock the front door and swing it open, you are channelling too much focus into ducking out of the way of Taehyung’s knocking fist—which nearly punches you straight in the face—to immediately realise that it is not just him who is trespassing on your front yard.
Expect the unexpected, is always the motto that labels your group of friends. Evidently, today is no exception.
Crookedly parked on the curb that marks the end of your parent’s property is Kim Seokjin’s dual-cab Hilux. The tray is piled high with what seems to be camping supplies in an array of canvas and polyester materials, all strapped down by knotted ropes. The owner of the vehicle himself stands with his hands on his hips. His expression is affronted as he debates about something unintelligible with Kim Namjoon, who is seemingly inspecting a tyre. You make out the words wheel alignment before you focus your gaze onto your one, true tormentor.
Taehyung, without a single takeaway coffee cup in sight, stands on your doorstep with his empty hands hanging limply at his sides. You suspiciously narrow your eyes, and guilt leeches into his tone as he says, “I don’t have coffee, but we’ll be getting some on the way.”
“Rude,” you pitifully kick at him, and he swiftly dodges your foot with practised ease. “What time is it? And on the way to where?”
“Probably just coming up to seven in the AM,” Taehyung chirps, as if it is such a humane time of the day to be this energetic. You can already feel your body sagging with sheer dread at the ungodly hour of the morning, wishing to collapse into the soft cotton of your sheets as your eyes slip closed once more. “But on the note of where, we’re going to the lake that’s three hours up north to get slizzard like lizards. So hey, come camping with us!”
“What the hell,” you grunt, resting your forehead on the doorjamb. You crack one eye open, squinting blearily against the morning sunlight. You can barely comprehend anything that your best friend—who you are slowly beginning to realise has no concept of forewarning people who prefer to sleep-in about such elaborate events—is saying. Your gaze narrows onto a certain someone who is now flailing in the distance over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Is Seokjin wearing pink crocs?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Hmph.”
“So are you in, or are you in?”
You glare at him. “It sounds like you’re not giving me much of a choice on the matter.”
“I’m not,” he grins like a million-dollar lottery winner. “All you have to bring is a pillow and a bag of clothes. We can share my tent and the double-mattress.”
“And exactly how long have you known about this camping trip?”
“Since last night. Jeongguk suggested we invite you, but that was at like, eleven-thirty, so I knew you would already be asleep. I messaged you, though.”
The latter end of his sentence goes unheard. Your hearing zeroes in on that particular name with a riveting jolt of electricity up your spine. Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. Jeon I-want-you-to-fuck-me-ten-ways-to-Sunday-and-back Jeongguk. Suggested we invite you.
You sound a lot more breathless than you should. “You… you what?”
“Texted you,” Taehyung huffs. You bring your phone to chest-level and light up the screen to see that, indeed, Taehyung had sent you two messages just before eleven-thirty last night.
Received [23:28PM]: tHe PaL oF aLl PaLs
get your vodka face on hoe, we goin’ camping
expect chauffeur at ass crack o’ dawn
“Huh,” you murmur, scowling at the message. You then direct your glare at Taehyung, who seems to legitimately believe that the texts were the perfect forewarning of his arrival at such a sacrilege hour of sleep. “Well I’ll damn be–”
“___!”
Quite literally out of nowhere, Jeon Jeongguk himself leaps onto the patio beside Taehyung, nearly knocking him over in the process like a bowling pin, and successfully startling a screech out of you.
He is the twenty-one-year-old college sophomore who Park Jimin, another addition to your small family of friends, has shared dance classes with since the beginning of last year. Jeongguk was still a freshman then. But he was eventually dragged out to meet the rest of you at-the-time sophomores and seniors for a night down at the college tavern. A place that was highly frequented by the suffering second and third year students.
In your defence, you were beyond the point of a little tipsy by that time of the evening. Thus, your exceptionally loud proclamation of: “Oh my god, he looks like a tiny, baby bunny!” as the first words that the poor kid heard from anyone was mostly excused to your severe lack of sobriety. It was also quick to be smothered by Taehyung, who had covered your mouth and put you in a five-minute headlock. On the other hand, everyone around the table had sputtered into drunken laughter and very vocal agreement.
Albeit he was slightly flustered by your ebullient announcement—and the even more boisterous response that it received—Jeongguk took the remark as a compliment. Rather than, you know, a warning sign that he should pack up his things and run for the hills while he can. Yet, from there onwards, he secured himself a position in your tight social circle as the family favourite; the precious kid that you would all pride over and adore.
Indeed, young, freshman Jeongguk was a darling combination of baby fat cheeks, spindly limbs like a sapling, and large, bunny teeth that would often rest on the jut of his lower lip when he was deeply concentrating. The kind of cute that you want to tuck into your pocket and protect with every inch of your own life, which all seven of you did without question. Besides, it was no hidden secret that Jeongguk lived for the attention. He was always leaning into palms when they would ruffle his hair; nuzzling into fingers when they would cup his cheeks and coo over him; pressing against arms and shoulders on Hoseok and Jimin’s small, ratty couch during Friday movie nights to sap all the body warmth that he could get.
As the year progressed and the friendship ties with the newest addition were sewn all the tighter, you never took much notice of the fact that Jeongguk would brush away the hands of the other guys, and declare his preferences for the only person who was sans a third leg. AKA, you. And to nobody else but you, the sparkle in his eye when you would douse him in your affections was nothing more than that: his eyes catching the sunlight. Frankly, you had no intentions of believing it was anything beyond the midday illumination that was flickering in his iris. Even if Taehyung would be waggling his eyebrows in the distance, and Jimin would be nudging your side with his elbow, making irritable sounds of assumption that would only cease once you grabbed his arm and bent it behind his back.
But it was not until after the winter break that the greatest threat to your existence came to rear its head in a process that you honestly should have foreseen. Jeongguk’s very own kind—the precious fledglings still teetering on the edge of their teenage youth in the two years that surpass its defining bracket—have always been the number one casualty to such lethal evolution, after all.
College puberty.
It is exactly as it sounds. Where general puberty draws the path between childhood and becoming a teenager with the sprouting of hairs in places that no kid could have ever imagined, and the muscle pains that pull infant limbs into jumbles of gangly and awkward; college puberty is precisely the same. Except jacked up on steroids and protein powder, with a side-serving of flirtatious and audacious.
Victim number one, Jeon Jeongguk, slipped into this precise trap while you were studying abroad up until the end of those holidays.
Coming home, you were expecting everything to be the same as when you had left. For the most part, everything was. Your parents were still working abroad nearly every week. Seokjin was still studying like a madman with the fierce intent of making the most of his college tuition. Yoongi remained to have square eyes from staring at the producing software on his desktop for eight hours straight per session. Namjoon had not stopped writing strange Facebook posts about existentialism and the flawed concept of reality hours after midnight. Hoseok had burned himself through two pairs of sneakers, and had practically wore away the lacquer that oiled the floorboards of his dance academy’s practice room. Jimin was still partying like tomorrow would never exist, and was sticking his dick inside of anyone, anything that would give him the consent to do so. Taehyung, of course, had remained to be a pain in the ass that you loathed to adore.
Taehyung had also texted you a slew of emojis the minute your plane landed on the soil of home, jumbled amongst random words such as “muscles” and “bunny”. Hinting at your foredooming. In all of your stupidity, you had not considered in the slightest that maybe the guy was onto something.
Nonetheless, from what you could see, nothing at all had changed during the two months of your absence. In other words, you were completely oblivious and utterly defenceless to the slaughter that your heart and underwear had been bound to endure. A fateful occurrence that had come to fruition on the first night that you had met up with the gang at the college tavern.
The moment you had entered the bar on that fresh, chilly night was when you had noticed the anomaly on the otherwise picture perfect graph of unchanged constants. That teeny, infinitesimal dot of difference was leaning against the service register, waiting for the next round of drinks to be served up so he could take them to the usual table where the rest of your friends were already tipsy.
At first, standing frozen in the entrance of the tavern with the door slowly swinging shut behind you, you could not believe that it was him. You had even briefly considered that he was a close relative or a freakishly similar doppelgänger, who just so happened to attend the same college as the rest of you.
Because Jeon Jeongguk did not have shoulders that broad the last time you saw him. His jeans were never that snug around his newly sculpted ass. Nor did they hug his larger, solid thighs in such a way that not even a finger looked as though it could fit itself between the denim and his skin.
But all of the doubt that was sprouting from your certain identity misplacement had been washed away by a tidal wave of shock when the Jeongguk-lookalike who, in fact, was your very own Jeongguk, turned away from the bar.
A tray of eight pints had been loaded onto his exposed, veiny forearms that bulged from the rolled-up sleeves of his navy, button-down shirt. In the midst of that ninety-degree swivel, his eyes had vaguely passed over your wholly still figure before doing a double-take. Beer foam had slushed over the edges of the glasses in the abrupt whiplash when he noticed that it was you who had been stunned into a silent gawker.
Jeongguk had opened his mouth, closed it, and then repeated the action like a startled fish. All the while, you had stared at his face with an expression of growing disbelief as you had taken in the lack of baby fat cheeks; the newly sharpened edge of his jaw; the mature set to his eyebrows that were on complete, unadulterated display with the way that his dark fringe had been styled away from his forehead. It was a sight that was utterly unacceptable, and so totally not the adorable Jeon Jeongguk that you had farewelled at the beginning of winter.
But apparently, while you were gone, Jeongguk had discovered the campus accommodation’s gym and the 4oz jar of Suavecito Pomade that Namjoon uses liberally on his own hair. An unpredictably toxic combination that had kept you rooted in position while Jeongguk had hastily placed the tray back down on the bar to free his hands.
“___!” he had exclaimed in a tone that was three notches deeper, blasting you with his traditional bunny grin that was suddenly not as endearing as it used to be. Rather, it was a fierce, heart-melting juxtaposition to the entirety of his primed form and projected overwhelming desire into your very soul.
Jeongguk had then strode over and lifted you with startling ease into his arms, murmuring a gentle I missed you into your hair. His touch was a defibrillator reviving your unresponsive heart back to life. Melting into his chest, you had finally caved with a grin of your own and wrapped your arms around his neck.
It was there that a distant part of you had wholeheartedly accepted that you were a fucking goner. Jeongguk officially had his foot stuck in a trap that was designed to drag you down into your own personal hell of tantalising imagination and drool-worthy daydreaming.
That is, Jeongguk, physically, had transformed into a panty-dropping man. Yet he still honed the heart of gold that knew just the right ways to tempt your own.
Fast forward seven months: Jeongguk is now on your doorstep in low-riding grey sweatpants and a black Puma hoodie that matches his same-branded sneakers. He rakes a hand through his distressed bed-hair, wearing a grin soft with sleep. Taehyung is still recovering from the bump that nearly barrelled him off the patio and into your mother’s beloved petunias, theatrically balancing himself against the wall.
What the fuck. He looks unfairly handsome in sweatpants.
“Jeongguk,” you breathe, smiling; trying to not make it obvious that you feel like the walking dead. “So I hear you’re the reason behind this rude wake-up call.”
“Guilty as charged,” he admits, oozing confidence, even at this absurd hour.
You wonder—certainly not for the first time—whether it is just a switch that never flicks off when you are packing an extra fifteen kilos in muscle weight. The comfortable wear of polyester does nothing to hide it, either. It only makes the harsh angles gentler, warmer, as if you might sink right into his chest like maple syrup if he was to wrap his arms around you. Something sweet fizzes in your stomach at the thought.
You only realise Jeongguk had continued to speak once he lowers his head so that your eyes are levelled. He leans in with a quirk of his brow and a cheeky remark of, “You in there, ___?”
You blink, focusing back on him. Jeongguk’s newfound proximity allows a waft of oaky cologne to drift into your senses, sending you into a mild state of delirium. In a meagre attempt to dispel the heat that trickles into the high points of your cheeks, you pinch the bridge of your nose and squint your eyes closed in faux irritation.
"Yes, you ass," you mutter, and Jeongguk’s chuckle recedes as he straightens up. You open your eyes to teasingly glare at him, all the while he wedges his balled up fists into the pouch of his hoodie with a grin.
You fix your gaze on Taehyung, who is brushing off his torso and observing the interaction with a peculiar glint to his iris, which you choose to ignore. "So, what's the plan?"
At that, both of their expressions light up, voices stumbling over one another as they simultaneously say, "You're going to come?"
"Did you really think I was going to say no after you guys dragged me out of bed like this before seven? On a Saturday?” you huff with a twinge of exasperation. They at least have the common sense to look a little sheepish amongst their excitement.
"That's the spirit!" Taehyung hoots, bustling through the doorway and gathering you in a hug that quite literally squeezes a groan out of you. You barely have the chance to reciprocate before he is pulling away and setting his large palms on your shoulders, lips curved in a grin that screams mischief. You one-hundred-and-ten percent have no desire to delve into the reason why. "And chill, man. I promise you can sleep during the drive. Turn that frown upside down and get your things.”
Taehyung looks over his shoulder at Jeongguk, who watches the two of you with his tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek. But it morphs into something tender when Taehyung continues to say, "Jeonggukie, help her out."
"What– No, that's fine!" you fluster, a burning sensation climbing up your throat as you recall the catastrophic state of your bedroom. You grab at Taehyung's wrists to pry his hands from your shoulders, eyes wildly darting between them in a mild panic. "Bag of clothes and a pillow, right? I'll be out in five minutes."
Taehyung gives a sound of acknowledgement before walking back over to Seokjin and Namjoon, whereas Jeongguk remains to hover at the entrance. He looks faintly disappointed, though perhaps you are not nearly as awake as you initially thought, and you mistake the drop in his expression. To ease the atmosphere, you stick your tongue out at him. Then, you turn on your heel to go make the most of those five minutes of peace. Lord knows that Taehyung is already counting down the seconds.
But you are stopped in your tracks by the sound of Jeongguk's voice chasing sweetly after you, tinted with a shade of innocent goading.
"Cute pyjamas, ___," and you can hear the damn grin in his tone, which brings your attention to the apparent lack of that hangs from your figure.
You wear nothing but a tattered shirt, stamped with the faded logo of your university. You received as a freebie during orientation week two years ago; an old, stained thing that is two sizes too big and terribly revealing of your legs. Most of all, it is beyond far from the definition of cute.
Feeling the embarrassment begin to spread to your fingers and toes, you whirl around to bite back with a cutting remark, or perhaps, throw your phone at him. But Jeongguk is already gone like the sneaky motherfucker he is. Thus, you resort to internally screeching at your lack of decorum before storming away to collect your things and change into something substantially more adequate.
By the time you are locking up the house, the sun has climbed a few inches higher, and you are feeling vaguely more human. Your softest pillow is hiked under your arm; a duffel bag is looped over your shoulder by the strap. The daggy, makeshift pyjama-wear has been replaced with a white summer dress, partially covered by a cropped, coffee-cream knit sweater. Jeongguk and Namjoon are already in the car, with Namjoon riding shotgun and Jeongguk seated directly behind him. Seokjin is nowhere to be seen, and Taehyung is leaning against the ute’s tray, irritably tapping his foot like you are a student who is late to class.
"That felt more like seven minutes to me," he brusquely comments, and you ceremoniously flip him off.
“I was saving you guys from my morning breath,” you retort, making a show of running your tongue over your minty, pearly whites. You bat your best friend out of the way with your pillow. “Move aside, slick. What’s the rush, anyway?”
“He’s having separation anxiety from Jimin, who’s carpooling with Hobi and Yoongi,” Seokjin says, popping out from behind the mountain of camping gear. He circles the vehicle in his vibrant pink crocs to stand right before you, regarding your belongings. “Hm, you’ll have to keep those at your feet. They would fit in the tray if somebody hadn’t brought–” His voice rises, leaning back to narrow his stare at the window of the passenger seat– “A goddamn chainsaw!”
Distinctly, you can hear the squeaks of the shoddy window attempting to be briskly wound down. Your eyes remain glued to the haphazard collection of tents and mattresses. “I don’t understand how a chainsaw fits into this equation?“
“Firewood, you sons of bitches,” Namjoon spits scornfully. His head is tilted at a ninety-degree angle to fit through the small gap, made by his feeble attempt of winding the glass down. “I’m saving us the time and energy of scavenging for shitty branches that can barely catch flame. So bow down to me and my genius thinking, peasants. I’m King of the Forest. The Messiah of the Lake. Lord of the–“ Thankfully, Jeongguk cuts Namjoon off with a firm kick to the back of his seat, causing Namjoon to yelp and yank his head back into the car to try and twist the nipples of the youngest.
Taehyung, Seokjin and yourself all spare glances at one another before collectively rolling your eyes. The three of you wordlessly move around the Hilux to jump inside and get the show on the road. Seokjin puts the gears in neutral and starts the engine to warm it up as Taehyung opens the backdoor. Inside, Jeongguk is all bunched up and cosy in his corner of the vehicle, taking in your change of attire with drooping eyelashes and a sweet smile. Your best friend ushers your now flustered self forward with a dramatic sweep of his arm, but you shake your head.
“You take the middle seat, it’s roomy enough,” you say, lifting up your pillow and swallowing the feeling of your heartbeat. “I want to lean this on the window and get the shuteye you promised me.”
“Fair call,” he says, pursing his lips. He almost appears reluctant, but you choose not to question it.
Taehyung climbs in beside an obscurely disgruntled Jeongguk with you following on his heels. You firmly shut the door behind you and place the bag at your feet, leaning forward while you do so to look past Taehyung and scrunch your nose up at the youngest. At that, Jeongguk’s taut expression melts into an endearing little grin that has your heart bounding against your ribcage.
“Alright kids, ready to go?” Seokjin vigorously whoops as he steadily drives the ute off the curb, which is reciprocated by varying levels of excitement from the rest of you. Taehyung throws his arms up and cheers; Jeongguk gives a noncommittal fist pump; Namjoon merrily dances until he painfully cracks his elbow against the centre console; you fluff your pillow up against the window and then bury your face into it.
“Nams, get on the beats, my dude,” you hear Taehyung say. A familiar hand jostles your knee. “___, will you be able to sleep with music playing?”
You peak out of the downy plush with one eye cracked open. “At this stage, I could sleep through the apocalypse. Go for your lives.”
“Sweet!” Taehyung squeezes your leg before releasing it, and you return to your corner of facial comfort. “There’s nothing like the early-2000 hits of a So Fresh CD before eight in the morning.”
His statement is met by two groans of distaste and a sole vociferation of agreement, which distinctly sounds like Namjoon. The pair of them shuffle through a small stack of CD’s, deciding on which So Fresh year to kick off the three-hour trip with. The Hilux picks up a monotonous reverberation that vibrates through your muscles, tingling your bones and making them feel slack and heavy.
Despite the dreadful time of day, you cannot deny the excitement that flickers inside of you at the thought of going on an adventure with your best friends for the first time in years. Camping had been a regular occurrence once Seokjin and Yoongi earned their licenses. The seven of you would always head to the lake that Taehyung’s parents and your own would holiday at when you were both kids.
Now, it is a rarity to indulge in. It is hardly common for all seven of you to have matching schedules of free-time outside of university and your respective part-time jobs. The last time you went as a group, all but Yoongi and Seokjin were seventeen, the two of them being eighteen years old, which was at least five years ago. None of you even knew of Jeongguk back then.
That thought settles tight in your stomach; a knot of exhilarating uncertainty, tightening with the knowledge that he was the one who said to bring you along. There is no doubt that, over the past seven months, a small bud of something has planted itself within your chest. A something that carefully and unsurely blooms with every new interaction that you have with Jeongguk. Whether it be catching him staring at you from across the room, spending your free-time on a Wednesday studying together at the library, or the frequent manner in which his fingertips brush your sides, shoulders, lower back, in the most tender of ways. So gentle that, sometimes, you hardly even notice it.
Sure, the both of you have been friends for nearly two years, at this stage. But the level of tentative intimacy and hazy tension has steadily grown since Jeongguk’s transformation. The basis of your every interaction has become centred on stolen glances, private smiles, and flirtatious comments that have you biting your lip, cheeks glowing with heat.
Jeongguk hardly hones a shred of the adorable, young aura of his freshman year anymore. Maybe that is why you could only ever see him as the little brother of the group back then, no matter that he was twenty-years-old and knuckling down on his first semester for Screen Production.
Now, he catches attention like a Venus flytrap. It took a while for the group to get used to it. Though it quickly became commonplace that, wherever the lot of you would go, Jeongguk was bound to be pulled up by anyone and everyone who would try to weasel the ten-digits of his phone number out of him.
And much like the carnivorous plant, Jeongguk lures in the unsuspecting prey with his unbearably appealing looks and charming personality. He practically has the poor victims drooling all over him like lapdogs, desperate for attention. Yet at the very moment they believe they have him, perhaps gingerly placing a hand on an area of his body that hints with lustful suggestion, the pin drops and Jeongguk snaps shut. The warm smile freezes over into a icy facade. Whatever sentence he was speaking is curtly severed at the centre. He quickly downs the rest of his drink, and abruptly brushes past the suddenly perplexed prey, who watches on with wide, stupefied eyes as Jeongguk strides away without a single glance back at them.
It tends to be convenient for you, as this kind of incident usually occurs right around the time you are stuck in a sticky situation with an overly drunk guy who cannot take a goddamn hint. Jeongguk always magically sweeps in to save you with an arm around your shoulders and a hard glare directed at the drunkard.
“Why do you do that?” you had asked one night, arm looped through his own as you had walked down the empty streets together. You were staring up at the murky night sky; vodka still tasted toxic on the roof of your mouth.
Jeongguk had hummed, feeling warm against your side. “Do what?”
“Abandon a solid opportunity to… y’know,” you had given a vague jerking off gesture with your free hand, slanting your gaze to him with a raise of your brows, “relieve some stress? You always get up and leave them, right when they’re just about ready to take you home. You butter them up for it too, like a real dick cheese.”
He had looked down at you then, remained silent for a while, contemplation dancing around in his eyes like the stars pinwheeling above. You had been on the cusp of certainly intoxicated, a pleasant heat soaking your limbs, vision attaining a fuzzy vignette at the edges. You had sworn there was a secret hiding between his damp, rosy lips. But it may have merely been the shadows playing tricks, for the boy had stared right back at you and bit down on his truths.
“I start realising they’re not worth my time.”
“Truly, a dick cheese,” you had scoffed, and Jeongguk had done nothing but laugh in response until his lungs could no longer manage.
So, whether the feelings are requited is another question entirely. Maybe, you are waiting for him to snap shut on you too; to realise his time best be wasted elsewhere, crushing the bloom of something that is beginning to spread dangerously close to your heart. Maybe, that is a thought for you to push aside and deal with when you are alone and can sort out your feelings. You refuse to be woken up this early just to have your good mood dampened before the trip has truly begun.
Ten minutes into the drive, and the four boys are singing along to the lyrics of Because I Got High by Afroman. With your temple bouncing against the pillow, and a smile tilting the corners of your lips at their theatrics, you slip back into the slumber that you deserve.
When your eyes pry open, a film of softening lethargy blurs your vision, and you feel toasty.
The sound of Island In The Sun by Weezer and the loud thrum of an engine steadily grows in your hearing. The bliss of unconsciousness slips away, leaving your memory muddled for the first ten seconds of returning to reality. Then, you remember your friends at your doorstep at the break of dawn; the spontaneous kumbaya camping trip; a promise genuinely fulfilled for you to gain the few hours of sleep that you had lost as a result.
Slowly, you blink away the bleariness and listlessly bury a knuckle into your left eye socket, effectively speeding up the process. Once you are almost able to see clearly, you gradually realise it is not a pillow that you are cosily tucked against. Rather, it is Taehyung with his arm curled loosely around your shoulders.
Placidly, you breathe in. The mouthwatering, roasted scent of steaming hot coffee fills your senses, leaving you absolutely salivating for a taste of the liquefied heaven.
“Tae,” you croon groggily, languidly moving your head from where it is pressed to the side of his chest. You rest your chin on his shoulder and lick your dry lips with anticipation. “Give me the…“
Your sentence trails off, caught somewhere within the second of comprehension where your gaze focuses on the face of your best friend, looking down at you attentively.
Except it is not Taehyung.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” trickles honey sweet into your ears. An icy, horrified chill rushes over your body, like you have been dumped butt-naked into the Arctic Ocean.
“Oh,” is all you can say, staring wide-eyed at Jeongguk for a passing breath. You unintentionally bask in the proximity before you lurch back from him with a strangled squeal. Taehyung makes a sound of protest when Jeongguk, startled, rips his arm away from you and crashes against the person who was supposed to be sitting in the middle. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry Jeongguk, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you–”
“It’s fine, I was cool with it,” Jeongguk shrugs, wearing a darling smile that renders you a little too breathless for your liking. Then, he lifts his hand towards you. His long fingers hold a takeaway cup of the sole thing you have been dying for since you were so rudely awoken.
“‘Give me the coffee’ was it?” he continues from where you had initially left off. The corners of his mouth climb higher as you greedily grab at the cooling caffeine, taking a sip from the plastic lid without an inch of hesitation. You barely manage to withhold a moan of delight as the strongly roasted flavour graces your tastebuds.
“Lifesaver,” you pleasantly hum as a way of thanks. Drinking another mouthful of coffee, you readjust yourself to lean against the window, facing Jeongguk, who plucks his own coffee from the cardboard tray positioned on the centre console.
Jeongguk continues to watch you with such intrigue that you nearly wish to ask him if there is something on your face. Your knee remains to rest against his own; hard to avoid when his thighs are just that big. The middle seat is not exactly fitting for someone as broad and bulky as him. Well, not that you are complaining. He slightly sways his leg side-to-side in a fidget, knocking softly against your own and sending fizzles of electricity through your nerves with each bump.
You clear your throat of the built-up grogginess, asking, “When did you guys stop?”
“About fifteen minutes ago at the usual gas station we go to, the one that’s half an hour out from the lake,” Seokjin says, nursing his own cup of coffee. In the review mirror, his eyes cut towards Taehyung, who is bunched up against the opposite window to you and singing along to the music. “But that wasn’t the first stop. Oh no, we stopped three times before that so Taehyung could take a leak on the side of the road. Lord knows where all that piss is even coming from when he hasn’t had any liquids since last night. He’s on a piss ban, now. No more stops.”
“I’m right here, asshole,” Taehyung barks loudly over the music, face screwed up with distaste as he folds his arms like a stubborn infant. You smirk around your coffee cup, amusement hardly contained. “What if I need to go again?”
“No more stops,” Seokjin firmly states, expression stoic. Taehyung huffs indignantly. “We’re like, twenty minutes away from the lake, now. You can hold it; piss out the window; I don’t give a shit. We’re not stopping again.”
“Want the rest of my coffee?” Jeongguk impassively asks, nudging Taehyung with his elbow and presenting a taunting grin, proffering him his own takeaway drink.
Your disbelieving laughter for having the nerve to mess with Seokjin is quickly steeped into a shriek—-paired with three others of varying pitch—as the aforementioned rapidly swerves the Hilux into the opposite lane. Your bodies are flung from right to left as you scream, desperately clutching to your coffees and each other. Almost immediately, Seokjin swerves back into the correct lane with an expression fit for murder. All the while, Rivers Cuomo tranquilly sings on an island in the sun, we’ll be playin’ and havin’ fun in a fine juxtaposition to the situation.
The car is stunned into silence as it straightens up. Seokjin continues on driving as though nothing ever happened—like he did not nearly guide you all to your deaths in a fit of rage.
After a forbearing pause, with vigilant movements like he is trying not to wake a sleeping dragon, Namjoon effectively cuts off the next song by ejecting the CD. He checks the backs of the other covers until he seemingly comes across a track-list he likes. Popping the So Fresh: The Hits of Summer 2007 disc from its casing, he then inserts it into the player before silently skipping through all the songs. Once he reaches the thirteenth track, he turns the volume up.
He stares right at Seokjin, whose eyes remain fixed on the road with a determination to not appease him, as the steady tempo of Ne-Yo’s When You’re Mad starts to fill the car. When the first lyric hits, Namjoon throws himself into an over-exaggerated, dramatic lip sync; wild hand gestures, pained facial expressions and all.
You swear you hear Seokjin say, I’m going to kill every last one of you. But it is hard to tell amongst the hysterical laughter that resounds through the backseat in a grand cacophony. Namjoon does not let up, and neither does the laughter exploding like fireworks in your belly—not until Seokjin finally cracks a smile at his best friend when he passionately mouths, baby I don’t know why it’s like that, but you’re so damn sexy when you��re mad.
You lift your hand to wipe at the falling tears of hilarity, only to notice an unfamiliar weight against your palm. Pressed warm and comfortable between your knuckles. When you suspiciously glance down, it is to see a hand holding your own.
Jeongguk’s hand, specifically.
It happens in two stages. First stage: you stare dumbly at your entwined hands. Clockwork ticks and clicks in your brain as it processes the image that your vision observes; wondering how, let alone when on earth these two metacarpi came to be joined.
Although his hand is much bigger in comparison, your own manages to fit snugly within its grasp. Your palms are pressed cosily against one another in such natural placement that you would suspect holding hands was nothing new; a habit developed during gradual, intimate time. Jeongguk’s fingers—long and calloused with bitten nails—rest gingerly on the back of your hand. His thumb, crossed over your own, idly glides up and down the length of it in a tender gesture that has the tips of your ears warming. The heightened thrum of your pulse suddenly becomes cognisant at the under of your jaw; audible in your hearing as your eyes follow his thumb back and forth, back and forth.
Second stage: you panic.
Rather than an external, fling-his-hand-away-like-it’s-fire panic, it is more an internal screech of dreadful embarrassment. It fills your chest like beach sand; hot and heavy. It is not that you do not want to hold his hand. It is a nice hand. A very warm appendage that connects to his blue-veined wrist; to his scarred elbow; to his sturdy bicep; to the rest of the fantastic being that is Jeon Jeongguk.
But that is precisely the problem. This is Jeon Jeongguk. You are holding his hand. A hand that you have thought about having down your panties more times than one. A hand that you are not sure whether you should let go of, or if you should keep holding onto it, or if Jeongguk is even remotely okay with this unexpected situation. For all you know, he could be as in the dark as you were for god knows how long.
But the thumb runs over your own again, catching on your smaller knuckle before it descends to your nail. Honestly, there is no possible way that it could be a subconscious action.
Tearing your eyes away from your interlaced fingers for what feels to be the first time in a slow-burn eternity, you dart them between Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung. All three of them are completely absorbed in belting out Happenin’ All Over Again by Young Divas, unaware of the mental breakdown that is occurring on the leftmost side of the backseat. But, if anything, it concretes your decision.
Pulling yourself together, you inhale deeply, feeling your lungs balloon as you remind yourself that this is Jeongguk; your friend. He will not be weird about it. You always touch each other. You always lean on each other. You never hold hands but sweet baby Jesus on a fucking pogo stick–
You jostle his hand in your own. It is just a faint jiggle; a motion that could go by easily unnoticed if he was not particularly paying attention. Though Jeongguk instantly ceases his participation in the singalong and tilts his chin down to look at your hand, which now slightly quivers within his own.
Slowly, he drags his eyes up to meet your own that watch him like a deer sensing a predator. Not an inch of surprise or consternation swells within his sombre irises. If anything, tinges of amusement dance about his pupils in flecks of lighter brown, catching the sunlight that filters through the passing pine trees. They illuminate like filaments of copper.
Jeongguk smiles. He fucking smiles. He knew the entire damn time and did not think to utter a single word.
“When– When did this happen?” you stammer quietly through tight lips. Your frantic eyes flick between his own, which steadily begin to change from bright and curved to something wider, distinctly stricken.
“You didn’t know?” Jeongguk begins to frown, brows pulling taut at the centre. You marginally shake your head so as not to be too obvious.
“No idea.”
“But it happened when the car flung– When we– You grabbed– Oh,” Jeongguk stumbles and fumbles until he comes to his private realisation. Confused, you watch on as Jeongguk seemingly appears at war with himself. His gaze darts around the car, as if he is trying to join the pieces of his mental puzzle together. Then, it settles back on your own, eyes soft and his expression even softer, cheeks minutely pinking and wow, is he really blushing?
There is a fond squeeze of your hand, small and endearing. Petals wildly blossom between your ribs as the corners of Jeongguk’s lips colour with benevolence. His fingers are painstakingly slow in their withdrawal from your own as he mumbles, “All good.”
Smiling back as casually as you can manage, you repeat his words. The tears on your cheeks are already dry, yet you feel an undefinable urge to wipe at them until you have rubbed your skin raw. “All good.”
Retracting your hand to lay it limply in your lap, you finish off the last of your coffee. You try to not concentrate on how it feels indescribably empty, like it has never experienced the sensation of not being held before.
“Look at you, ___, playing Chinese whispers with Jeongguk and leaving me hanging out to dry,” Taehyung interrupts, faux sulking by jutting out his lower lip.
You roll your eyes and ignore the rise of heat to your cheeks when you notice the cocky grin that plasters itself to Jeongguk’s expression. A vast contradiction to the abashment that was settling on his features no more than ten seconds ago.
“If I recall correctly, it’s you who is having separation issues from Jimin,” you lean past Jeongguk to sneer at him. “I thought I was supposed to be your best friend, you traitor.”
“You are my best friend,” Taehyung tuts, then splays his palms towards the both of you, gesturing them in circular motions like he is cupping something round. “But I can’t deny my ‘must-hold-Jimin’s-giant-ass’ callings. My hands are feeling weak already.”
“I’d say that’s a creepy calling, but I kind of agree with you,” Namjoon pitches in from the front of the cab. “Jimin has a succulent ass that is destined to be caressed at all available times.”
“Ay, finally someone who understands me!” Taehyung crows, reaching over to clap Namjoon on the shoulder with a wide grin. Jeongguk and yourself glance at one another, utterly deadpan.
“Are you feeling as sick as I am?” he asks, and you nod.
“Like I wanna projectile vomit all over Seokjin’s seats.”
“Don’t you dare,” the owner of the car bluntly states, and you crack an apologetic smile at him through the review mirror reflection. The poor guy has already endured too much this morning.
“Oh shit, it’s The Black Eyed Peas! Let’s pump that shit up!” Taehyung hoots, and Seokjin immediately twists the volume knob of the radio to its full capacity, drowning out the rest of the steadily descending line of conversation.
Pump It sharply blares through the crackling speakers, thrusting everyone into an overboard rendition of the 2007 classic. Limbs fling this way and that as interpretive car dance is made in the limited space. Jeongguk leans into you with his hands cupped around his mouth to shout the louder! part at the rest of the car, which you are quick to join in on, circling your palms around your lips and yelling alongside him.
The hand holding incident is not forgotten, only pushed to the back of your thoughts for now.
Nobody registers the sound of a seatbelt clicking open during Fergie’s verse until the squeak of a window being rolled down becomes apparent. All attention is directed towards Taehyung, who has manoeuvred in his seat to be kneeling, facing the open window. The purest moment of speechless stupefaction occurs, akin to what it would be like watching a velociraptor casually stroll down main street.
That moment is shattered when the sound of a zipper being undone is heard loud and clear.
“Holy shit–”
“Taehyung, don’t–!”
“You said the window, so the window it–“
“Stop! I’m fucking pulling over, you pissing maniac!”
The cusp of midday is approaching. The trees are beginning to grow denser with the telltale signs of nearing the campsite; winding around the bending road in a barrier of lush green and thick, sturdy trunks. Everyone has stripped out of their hoodies and sweaters. The early summer heat slowly filters into the morning, settling on skin in a film of salty stickiness.
All of the windows are wound down. The warm wind carries the sappy, elevating scent of the pines throughout the Hilux. The richness of it soaks into everyone’s senses in a refreshing aroma that uproots memories of being young and carefree; oblivious to the reality of growing up. When you hang your arm out of the window, palm facing the sky, golden sunlight pools in your hand. With fondness and euphoria, you smile.
“Are you excited for your first time seeing the secret spot, Jeonggukie?” Seokjin calls out above the music and wind, beginning to lay weight on the brakes as the turn-off approaches.
Before Jeongguk can answer, Taehyung is hooking an arm around the younger’s neck, yanking him roughly into his side and grinning like a fool. “Yeah dude, you’re officially in now. You’re one of the cool kids!”
“There’s not a single thing that’s cool about you guys,” Jeongguk teases, effortlessly wrestling his way out Taehyung’s spindly arm. Jeongguk pushes his fringe out of his eyes, and there is a tender edge to his features that has your heart constricting. “But I’m keen. I’ve heard so much about this damn lake over the past year that I hope it lives up to the expectations you’ve all set. I’m anticipating a lake made of liquefied gold, and a campsite that comes with full bars of reception and free wifi.”
Namjoon barks out a sharp laugh. “What, so you can keep in contact with all of your side hoes that blow up your phone twenty-four seven?”
At that, Jeongguk flushes a deep rubescent hue and hangs his head while the rest of the boys join in on poking fun. Something heavy and uncomfortable settles in the pit of your stomach at the thought. Jealousy, the voice in the back of your mind suggestively whispers. Though you tear out its vocal chords and cast your eyes back out the window.
The weight eases just a little when you hear Jeongguk murmur it’s not like that amidst the fray. The thought has you feeling slightly guilty. It is not as if you are dating Jeongguk, or that anything explicitly more than friendship exists between you.
So, you bend your elbow against the sill and lean your head atop it, staring at him and voicing words to save him from the onslaught.
“It’s nothing special, just a lot of dirt and trees and water, but there are plenty of memories down there,” you nudge his knee with your own, which has him jolting in surprise. You cannot help but tilt your lips at the sight. “I completely forgot you haven’t been to the lake yet. It feels like you’ve been with us forever.”
“Sentimental, but true,” Namjoon adds in as the ute slows right down, turning down the ‘secret’ trail that weaves tightly between the trees and leads right to the campsite; the lake’s edge. “I’ve thought about that for a while now. I swear that every memory I have of being down at that campsite, I can see Jeongguk somewhere in the picture. We’re all living in the Mandela Effect.”
“Isn’t that when there’s mass false recollection? Nobody but you said you have memories of Jeongguk being with us. It’s only you with false memory, dude,” Taehyung points out.
Namjoon turns around in his seat so that he can incline his chin towards you. “___ said she has memories of Jeongguk being with us.”
You raise an eyebrow. “No, I said it feels like he’s been with us forever. My brain ceases to place Jeongguk’s face anywhere in the memories of us being down there. It was only the seven of us, and before that, it was just Taehyung and our families.”
Namjoon suspiciously squints at you. “I’m telling you, Jeongguk was the one who had the snake in his tent at three in the morning.”
You shake your head. “That was Hoseok.”
“… Jeongguk was the one who set his shorts on fire when we were all leaping over the campfire?”
Taehyung raises his hand like he is swearing to an oath in a courtroom. “That, as unfortunate it is to admit, was me.”
Namjoon looks deeply disturbed. He flicks his gaze between you and Taehyung before it lands on Jeongguk, suddenly appearing rather uncertain. “You’ve never been to the lake before?”
“I have,” Jeongguk unexpectedly pipes up with a wicked grin that has three sets of eyes on him, staring roundly, utterly unsettled. There is something disconcerting about the glint of his pearly canines, though the why only becomes apparent when you glance out the window.
Namjoon jabs a shaking finger towards Jeongguk, his tone near hysterical. You try to not sputter into a fit of laughter.
“See, I fucking said–“
“It’s because we’re here, you moron,” Seokjin punctuates by shutting off the engine. The ute is now parked along the tree-line of the lake’s campsite. Jeongguk hilariously waggles his eyebrows at Namjoon, who is now staring deadpan at him.
“Screw you,” Namjoon snaps, and it is all that is needed to set Jeongguk into a howling bout of laughter. He skilfully avoids the digs and punches that Namjoon tries to land before scrambling to safety outside of the car, once the rest of you have lumbered out.
With a deep breath, you take in the scenery; unchanged, no matter the years that have passed.
It is a spacious area of soil, moss and roots. Though it quickly becomes cramped and homely once the entire camp is set up; tents and chairs and the shades of the makeshift kitchen; surrounded by the thick expanse of the forest that breaks off and slopes down to the left at the shore of the lake. The circle of rocks that forms the handmade fire pit is still situated off-centre to the clearing. The dirt at the centre is a shade of grey, tainted with old ashes; past flames that heard singalongs and ghost stories from two generations worth of friends and family.
The tiny wooden pier—with its pillars coated in generous layers of slimy, green, congregated lake particles—remains to stretch out from the dirt and rock declivity into the massive body of water. The lake catches the sunlight by the handfuls; its surface glittering gold. Floating roughly ten metres deeper from the end of the jetty is the pontoon; a five-by-five buoyant platform that has been anchored in place for as long as you can remember. The rust on the metal ladder has never deterred anyone from using it, and you are certain that the case will be the same this weekend.
“Wow,” Jeongguk suddenly says from beside you, watching the dust motes dreamily float through the cascading sunlight. Warmth fills your stomach at his awed, delighted expression that slips down to stare at you. “For some dirt, trees and water, it looks pretty amazing.”
“Are you calling me dirt, trees and water?” you mock with a grin that only grows wider as Jeongguk looks away, smiling with a groan. He ruffles your hair and does not saying anything to refute it.
A glow sits high on your cheeks and the stars sparkle in your eyes. You trail after him as he circles the Hilux to help untie and unload the camping gear with the other three boys.
“Hey losers, took you long enough,” Hoseok calls out from the other side of the small clearing. He is reclined in a camper chair between Yoongi and Jimin, who are sitting in similar fashion. The three of them look like the cats that got the cream with their two tents already pitched up, ready to go, cold beers in hands.
“We had to pick up the extra package because Seokjin is shit at paper-scissor-rock, not our fault,” says Namjoon, pulling out a set of camper chairs to hand off to Taehyung. It takes you a stagnant moment to realise that he had just briefly directed his gaze to you.
“You guys did paper-scissors-rock to choose who would have to detour and pick me up?” you scoff. Mild irritation niggles at the forefront of your mind as you, with an unintentional amount of misdirected aggression, yank a tent from Jeongguk’s hands. He noticeably bites his tongue to hold back his laughter. “Bunch of dicks, I tell you. I’m never waking up at the ass-crack of dawn for you guys again.”
“It wasn’t to decide who was picking you up, it was to decide which car Jeongguk was going–” Jimin is quickly cut off by the clip of Yoongi’s palm to the back of his head, breaking into a yelp as he cowers away from the boy in all black and his quick reflexes.
Confusion settles across your expression, brow pinching as you stare at the scene. You wonder what on earth Jimin possibly could have meant. The scepticism stretches all the further when you look back to Jeongguk as he passes you a bag full of kitchen utensils, noticing that his features are twisted into a vague grimace of awkward humiliation.
Before you can part your lips to question it, Yoongi tilts his chin down and narrows his gaze over the top of his sunglasses. “Why are you all looking so traumatised, by the way?”
“Taehyung,” says Seokjin in a monotone as Namjoon simultaneously says, “Jeongguk.” Yoongi silently gives a single nod of acknowledgement; not needing, nor wanting to hear any further.
Jeongguk chuckles evilly. Taehyung is looking downright offended.
“I can’t help it that my bladder is the size of a pea-pod. All I was doing was following direct instructions, thank you very much,” Taehyung argues, dumping the mattress the both of you are sharing into the dirt. You cringe at the fact that you have to sleep on it later, hoping no ants or other teeny bugs attempt to crawl into its fabric to then find home on any inch of your body in the middle of the night.
Seokjin thrusts a gas bottle at Taehyung with a sickly sweet smile, bumping it into his stomach with an oof. “It was a figure of speech, you delightful little shit.”
“Some things are best left a mystery,” you hear Hoseok mutter, and the smile returns to your lips.
You good-naturedly roll your eyes at your best friend, whose disgruntled pout slowly begins to dissolve. Taehyung has never been one who can stay angry for too long at a time.
The rest of the tray is unloaded within fifteen minutes. Gear is strewn around the campsite—from flashlights, tarps, coils of rope, air mattresses, frying pans, picnic-ware, and everything in between—as everyone calls shots on where they wish to set up their tent. Taehyung, of course, manages to score the worst spot on the soil. Right where the sunlight will be hitting the nylon material the moment it peeks over the tree line. You cannot help but groan, since there is genuinely nothing worse than waking up sweaty within what feels to be a tightly sealed space heater.
Seokjin and Namjoon lumber off down the walking trail that leads to the fresh water shower to see if it is still in good, working condition. Jeongguk swiftly gets onto setting up his own two-man tent. Jimin and Hoseok pitch the canopy for the ‘kitchen’ in record-breaking time, with Yoongi dragging the fold-up table, gas bottle, burner stove, and coolers underneath it. They methodically arrange all of the food, fresh water and utensils within the area.
On the other hand, the rich enthusiasm you had been feeling for the trip quickly dissipates into a sour taste at the back of your throat. Taehyung, as much as you love him, is the worst possible person to be paired with for camping. He is too easily distracted by the more fun things to do, like a fascinated toddler riding out a sugar rush. Such a mood snowballs further downhill when Jimin and Hoseok, finished with their duties, strip their shirts and announce that they are taking to the water for a dip.
Taehyung, who just dumped the contents of the tent bag in a disorderly heap at his feet, looks towards the two boys as they start off towards the lake. Then, he averts his blank gaze to you.
“Don’t,” you firmly start, pointing at him with what you hope is a convincingly intimidating look. “Don’t you even dare think about it.”
His expression is devoid of all emotion, masking his thoughts. “We can always go for a swim and then pitch the tent.”
“No, we’re doing it now to get it over and done– Stop taking your shirt– Taehyung!”
“Jeonggukie can help you out,” Taehyung, with his tee hanging around his neck, prompts with an incline of his head towards the aforementioned. Jeongguk looks up in the middle of hammering the last peg of his tent into the earth, obliviously raising his eyebrows at Taehyung. “You’ll do that, yeah, dude? Help ___ pitch up our tent?”
Jeongguk wipes the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead and drags his eyes from Taehyung to you. He proffers a tilt of his lips that has the sour taste deliquescing into honey, laving over your tongue in golden, sugary gratification. “Can do. Not all of us are useless around here.”
“That’s a jab I’m willing to take from you,” Taehyung solemnly nods, continuing to take his shirt off before shooting you—who is staring daggers at him—double finger guns and a wink. “You’re the best. I promise I’ll make it up to you in ten boba coupons.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever, you just remember that,” you wave your best friend off with a half-hearted sneer, ushering him out of the way so you can crouch down and start sorting out the tent gear.
Almost immediately, a larger presence joins you, smelling of salt and earth. When you meet Jeongguk’s eyes, stained glass that reflects mirth from across the small pile, you squint with disapproval and mutter, “You shouldn’t have to do this, Jeongguk. If you had of said no, he would’ve been guilted into helping out like he should be.”
“I wanted to help you,” Jeongguk shrugs and sets aside the bundle of collapsible poles. He takes the rolled up tent and stands up to unravel the nylon.
You cannot deny the fuzzy feeling that forms along your nerves at his pure sense of goodwill. As you piece one of the tent poles together, Jeongguk lays out the deconstructed tent, coming back up to your side to take the other collapsed pole. He repeats your actions with it, and then continues his train of thought with, “Besides, it’s his loss. Who could leave somebody as cute as you to fend for yourself?”
For a moment, you are certain your heart has stopped. Completely and entirely. Not even an EKG could show any positive signs of life; flatlined on the monitor. Your hands freeze and you slowly blink, reprocessing what Jeongguk had said in such a casual manner, like he was doing nothing more than discussing the daily news.
Somebody as cute as you.
The defibrillator charges, starts you back to life, and you drag your gaze from the pole in your hands to view Jeongguk’s expression. A tiny smirk colours his lips into something dark, conniving in a way that suggests he knew exactly what he was doing; how it would affect the feeble vessel dully thudding within your chest. It takes a second longer of sudden silence for him to meet your stare.
He raises an eyebrow, utterly unperturbed. You swear to all of the gods that this boy is an enigma, set on laying you upon your deathbed.
“Taehyung, what the living and breathing fuck,” Yoongi is heard blurting out. Both you and Jeongguk snap your eyes away from one another, focusing on Yoongi, who’s staring agape from the kitchen table with disgust at the man whose name he just vociferated. “What are those?!”
“So you say that about my pants, but not about Seokjin’s pink crocs? Your crush is showing, man,” Taehyung exclaims as his fingers yank at the zips just above the knees of his cargo pants, a feature you genuinely believed was only there for decoration.
Well, that is until Taehyung starts shedding the calf material like snake skin while everyone else watches on completely horrified. Never did you once realise you could be so scarred by the ugly transformation of cargo pants into a pair of cargo shorts until this very moment. Yet, as always, Taehyung is set to defy the odds whilst simultaneously conjuring your every horrendous nightmare into an equally atrocious, waking reality.
“Twenty boba coupons, Taehyung,” you declare, shuddering as you watch the ends of his pants be flung over his shoulder as he wordlessly struts towards the lake. The material lands haphazardly on Jimin’s camper chair.
“And five each to compensate for the rest of us!” Jeongguk calls, shaking his head when Taehyung continues to ignore the both of you, other than giving a middle-finger salute.
Your best friend then kicks up a jog onto the jetty, gaining speed as he reaches the end. There, he leaps high into the air. The fuck you guys! is shouted loud and clear before he plummets through the lake’s surface. From their relaxed, sunbathing positions on the pontoon, Jimin and Hoseok laugh hysterically over the scene.
When you hear a metallic click, you flick your eyes away from Taehyung swimming towards the pair of boys to Yoongi. He now holds the two scraps of cargo at the end of some cooking tongs, staring levelly at yourself and Jeongguk.
“Once the fire is ablaze, we’re burning these.”
Not an ounce of disagreement is voiced by either of you, just firm nods of agreement before returning to constructing the tent.
You would think Jeongguk was a born camper by the speed at which he helps you set it up. He easily clips the poles to the nylon, raising the material into a mini dome of black and grey. This has you lamenting the position of it in the clearing all the more. Once the sun comes into contact with the dark, conductive fabric in the early hours of tomorrow, you and Taehyung will be steaming like lobsters crammed in a boiling hot pot.
Jeongguk sends you tiny, secret smiles all the while, humour colouring the corners of his mouth every time your eyes happen to make contact. It certainly leaves the devious little comment he had made before Yoongi’s outburst unforgotten. An abundance of questions gnaw at your thoughts with each recurrent flash of his teeth.
When you think about it, the compliment was stated like it was merely no more than a simple observation. It was made rather offhandedly, like it is a given, known fact that you are cute, and there is nothing more to it than that. But the simper that had curled his mouth in such a smug, knowing manner, paired with the composed raise of his brow, completely throws you off.
You spiral so deep into a tangent of borderline-prurient supposition that your shoulders jump when Jeongguk gingerly knocks his knuckles against the right as he walks past your crouching figure. Whether he notices it or not is indiscernible by the way that he continues to casually stride away. His broad, toned back faces you. The black material is deliciously stuck to the divot between his shoulder blades with perspiration, running your mouth dry.
“Sweatpants and exertion in the summertime are a bad match, I’m gonna get changed and then we’ll go for a swim, yeah?” he says, looking over his shoulder as he unzips his own tent to see you nod in agreement. He shoots you a final, dazzling smile before he crawls inside.
Stop overthinking, he’s just your friend, you mentally admonish, tucking the wet-weather shade and the last of the spare pegs back into the tent bag. You get to your feet, stretching your muscles until they are nice and taut before shaking them loose. It would be wholly welcome if your wandering thoughts could just as easily be dispelled.
If anything, enacting such motions makes you realise that Jeongguk was not wrong about the heat. Your flimsy dress sticks to your underarms and between your breasts; your bare thighs are slick and the skin rubs uncomfortably with your movements. You push your hair back from your face, quietly groaning with mild disgust at the salty dampness that clings to the strands.
Looking out to where the boys leap into the cool water from the pontoon, goosebumps raise along your arms at the sheer thought of slipping into the lake’s refreshing body. The heat would leech from your skin the deeper you swim, it always does. You thank your early-morning, barely awake self for having the sensibility to put your swimwear on underneath your dress, preventing you from having to climb into the box of heat behind you to get changed.
“___.”
The sound of Yoongi calling your name snags your attention immediately, and you draw your eyes from the sparkling surface to look at him. From underneath the kitchen shade, tongs and cargo strips out of sight, Yoongi stares firmly at you. Ever so slowly, he drags his gaze to your left, proceeding to intently look at what you realise to be Jeongguk’s tent—rustling from his movements within. Then, he gradually returning his eyes to you.
There is a pregnant pause, watching one another in silent, perplexed communication. The realisation of Yoongi’s intentions only hits once he gives you the most suggestive eyebrow waggle, which has your lips parting in a horrified gape. Heat sits high in your cheeks as you blink at him and try to find your voice, tongue suddenly feeling terribly numb.
“W-What the f–“ you begin to sputter, quickly cut off by Yoongi grinning widely like the damn Cheshire Cat—directed not at you, but over your right shoulder.
“Shower’s working?” he asks as Namjoon and Seokjin plod back into the camp, to which Seokjin smiles and nods. And god, for all the evocative gestures Yoongi was just making at you, the guy fucking melts at the sight of Seokjin. Taehyung was seriously not wrong in that department.
“In perfect condition, the filter is looking a little out of wear, but it should manage for the weekend,” Seokjin confirms, winking at Yoongi. You nearly giggle at the sight of Yoongi’s reaction: flushing a vibrant fuchsia from the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears. Namjoon even has to call out his name twice to get the lovesick fool’s attention.
“Yoongi… Ay, Yoongi! Let’s go slice and dice a tree.”
“What– Dude, you really fucking brought it!” Yoongi’s momentary confusion shifts into sheer elation when his eyes land on Namjoon struggling to lug the chainsaw out of the Hilux’s tray.
He abandons his post in the makeshift kitchen and jogs over to Namjoon, helping him take it out. Making eye contact with Seokjin, you shake your head while he rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the shade.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he cautions, flipping open one of the coolers and rummaging through the ice until he pulls out an unopened bottle of lemonade. Namjoon shoots him a withering look.
“My IQ is 148. Stupidity is not possible, my good friend.”
“You once put a metal ice-cream scoop into a microwave to heat it up, so I rest my case. ___, do you want a lemon vodka?”
“Please,” you beam at Seokjin, only realising at the offer how parched you are.
Jeongguk shambles out of his tent at that moment. His dark fringe is plastered to his forehead. If your throat can run any drier, it certainly does at the sight of his tensed thighs and calves, stretching long and tan from his red board-shorts. You shamelessly stare at them as he emerges because damn, who wouldn’t.
“I’ll have one too, thanks,” Jeongguk requests, wiping a palm over his face and then back through his hair, wincing at the increased amount of moisture. With his fringe messily pushed back, you swear to god that not even Niagara Falls could satiate your thirst.
“You were in your tent for a while, Jeongguki,” Yoongi, noticing your brazen survey, hums aloud as he follows Namjoon towards the walking trail. His cunning eyes are settled on you when he saunters past; that same, suggestive smirk from before toying at his lips in a jeer. “I wonder what on earth you were doing in there to get you looking so hot and bothered.”
Jeongguk frowns, like the punchline flew right over his head. “Pumping up my mattress?”
“Oh,” is all Yoongi responds with, features moulding back into impassive.
You sneer at him with great pleasure, sticking your tongue out like a child. He mouths a fuck you before turning on his heel to tread after Namjoon into the forest, and you mentally flip him off. The sly little shit.
Jeongguk watches the pair venture off before sliding his eyes back to you, scowl still intact, thick eyebrows drawn to the centre. You swear that the deities above must be testing you. When you believe his sightliness has reached its peak, he goes ahead and frowns, surpasses the deities themselves, and breaks all known laws of attractiveness. Mother of god.
“Did I miss something?”
“Huh? O-Oh no, definitely not,” you wave your hands dismissively, scrambling for a vastly different topic to distract him with—and yes, to distract yourself from the raunchy visual Yoongi had just planted in your mind—before the poor guy catches on. “Hey, we’re going for a swim, right? Let’s do that.”
You probably nod with too much vigour, and that grin might be slightly maniacal. But Jeongguk shrugs in agreement and takes to removing his shirt.
Your concern of him believing you have quite possibly gone crazy within a span of ten minutes is completely wiped away when your fingers reach for the hem of your dress, beginning to tug upward. For the other boys, they have become used to seeing your body practically bare of a scrap of clothing throughout salt and sand summers while you all grew up. So it is plenty natural that neither Seokjin, nor the three other friends who are now floating closer to the shore, hardly cast your figure a second glance when you shuck off your thin dress.
This may possibly be why you are completely startled when you catch sight of Jeongguk, mid-peeling off his shirt, to see that the firm edge of his stare is solidly trained on your exposed body. Well, save for a mustard two-piece swimsuit that hugs snugly to your hips and breasts; the smooth skin there sparkling with dewy sweat.
Although the sunlight is filtered through the foliage of the surrounding trees, you feel thrice as scorching than you did with the dress on. As if you have stepped directly into an exposed patch of the golden beams, and there is not a single barrier beyond the ozone layer to quell the intensity of the ultraviolet radiation.
Rather than the sun being its genesis, the warmth that licks like flame across your skin arises from the heated way in which Jeongguk takes you in. He drags his eyes from your toes to your knees; passes over the build of your thighs; carefully assimilates the yellow material that is fitted to your hips. Continuing upward, his gaze slides up the slope of your waist and stomach; lingers a moment too long on your chest that is bunched in the suddenly suffocating bikini top. Then, at long and agonising last, he settles on your face: bottom lip taut between your teeth, eyes wide and honest.
You swear that if you were to lick the tip of your finger and press it to any expanse of your skin, the flesh would hiss and sizzle. Jeongguk has kindled a fire within you that steadily grows with the hunger that darkens his eyes, fuelling one another into ardency; reducing the rest of the world into a slate of nothingness. It is then that you begin to feel startlingly aware of how intimate this open ogling is—being greedily taken in by Jeongguk, bit by bit, through the diligent manner in which he drinks up your figure like you are fine delicacy served on the platter of a starving beast.
Slowly, purposefully, Jeongguk proceeds to remove his shirt. His eyes remain on you the entire time, smugly gauging your reaction as you watch the toned stretch of his tan torso come into view. The extensive time that he spends at the gym throughout each week has most definitely paid off, if the chiselled plains of his pecks and abdominals are anything to go by. You always knew he had the body of a Calvin Klein model; blatantly perceivable whenever he would wear muscle tees that reveal his carved biceps and veiny forearms, or tight-fitted long-sleeves that shape to the outline of his burly figure. But none of the above could have possibly prepared you for the sight of him on complete, unadulterated display. Not even Photoshop could get a guy looking this good.
A throat is forcefully cleared, loud and conspicuous, making you wonder just how long the two of you have been eating one another up like nobody’s damn business.
“Here,” Seokjin, throat-clearer, says tersely. He peremptorily holds two red cups, expression twisted into one of censure at the blatant eye-fucking occurring right before his own eyes.
You are the first to break contact, turning on your heel to approach Seokjin and quench your Sahara desert thirst. You swear you hear the softest groan made by Jeongguk when you do so. Around the burning that creeps up your throat, you cannot deny the triumph that shoots through your veins in adrenaline at the possibility that yes, Jeongguk just groaned at the sight of your ass. Holy shit.
“Thank you,” you murmur as you take one of the cups from Seokjin, immediately bringing the rim to your lips and taking a hefty gulp. Bitter lemon and the harsher note of vodka tastes like sweet relief as the mouthful washes over your tongue.
When the smell of soil and sweat tinges your senses, you stiffen slightly. As Jeongguk takes the other cup, he grins as though Seokjin had not just bared witness to such an amorous interaction in broad daylight.
“Swim?” Jeongguk proposes, lips still curved in a beautiful half moon. When you wordlessly nod, he turns to face Seokjin, who is still appearing vaguely traumatised. “Wanna come?”
“N-No, I’m fine right here! There are still things to be unpacked! You kids go ahead!” Seokjin immediately maunders, sculling back a good quarter of his lemon vodka before beginning to purposelessly fiddle around with the utensils on the table, making himself seem occupied.
Jeongguk shrugs and looks down at you, tilting his head in the direction of the lake.
“Let’s go then,” he says, lips tilting higher, and you hardly have the chance to utter sure when Jeongguk briefly, tenderly, presses the pads of his fingertips to the small of your back.
A thrilling zap is sent up your spine as he ushers you towards the pier. Distantly, you wonder if the fleeting touch has allowed him to feel the boiling heat of your bare skin; the unmitigated affect that he has on you. But just as soon as the contact is made, it is retreating from your body, and the pair of you are leisurely walking towards the lake.
You take a sip of your drink, hoping that the liquid confidence will kick in without too much delay and slacken the stiffness of your tongue. Though before you can conjure a sensical sentence to try and verbalise, Jeongguk is wedging the hand that had touched you into his pocket, leaning closer so you can catch his words.
“Thanks, by the way,” he says softly, and you raise your eyebrows at him while he continues to stare ahead. Fascinated, you watch his jaw work as he takes a mouthful from his cup. The bone is sharp enough to slice a damn cake.
You nearly forget to respond amidst your ridiculous gawking. “Huh? For what?”
“Redirecting the conversation in the car about me having ‘side hoes’ into conspiracy theories.” Jeongguk’s smile is small and tentative. He rubs a palm against the nape of his neck, glancing down at you before his eyes return to the glittering lake. Admittedly, you have to commend his efforts to not lech over the fantastic cleavage that your swimsuit top provides. “I don’t want you– I don’t want anyone to think that’s true. That I message those people back, or even give my number out to them in the first place.”
An ease settles on your tense shoulders. The both of you relax into conversation like neither of you are nowhere close to almost naked, nor that you had so openly leered at one another no more than two minutes ago. “It’s fine. I don’t want you to think that we think it’s true, either. The boys just like to tease; you should know that by now.”
“Yeah, but these days, it feels like their teasing is always falling on me,” he sighs, and you nudge him with your elbow. A dusting of pink blooms on the peaks of his cheeks, which he tries to conceal by having another sip of his drink.
“Ah, it’s because you turned into a muscle bunny, Jeonggukie. They’re jealous.” You say lightheartedly, swilling the liquid in your cup. “But I never realised you were Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson’s distant cousin underneath all that. You look like you could take on The Hulk and have a fair shot at winning.”
Jeongguk burns brighter at the fact that you even noticed—though he would later swear that the rubescent glow is due to Seokjin mixing too much alcohol into his drink.
Nonetheless, Jeongguk laughs and raises an eyebrow. Trying to not make it obvious how the compliment has ignited a warmth in his chest as the pair of you reach the rocks that slope down into the water. “I’m sure The Hulk would have me flat on my ass within zero-point-five seconds. Besides, I forgot this is our first summer together. You didn’t get to witness me shirtless when I was scrawny from living on packet ramen during my first year.”
Together, he fucking says. Your heart near slams right through your chest, and you start to carefully tread down the rocks, both arms held out to maintain your balance. “Ha, you’re right. You were introduced to us, when, the middle of last summer?”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk confirms, heedful of your movements down the slimy rocks, on alert to reach out and catch you upon the chance of any slip or fall that you may make. “That was more when I was hanging out with Jimin. It wasn’t until the semester commenced again at the start of Autumn that I began spending more time with you guys. I don’t think I’ve even been to the beach with all of you yet.”
“In that case, it looks like we’ve got a long bucket list to go through this summer,” you smile, feet coming into contact with the squishy bedding of the lake. You wrinkle your nose as the wet soil makes its way between your toes. “There’s a specific beach we go to that’s east of the hill. A secret spot, just like this place. Taehyung’s parents and mine have been friends since their college years, and I swear to god, they’ve sought out every hidden place in this state. They can’t stand tourists.”
“Seems like it.” Jeongguk smiles in return. He begins to manoeuvre down the slope with ease now that you are safely in the water. Well, until he continues to say, “By the way, your swimsuit is pretty. That colour really suits you,” because then you are whirling on your heel in a fluster to face him at too high a velocity.
Your feet slip out from underneath you. As you fall backward, Jeongguk’s smile drops to an expression of panic and he reaches out to latch his fingers around your wrist.
Thus, not only do you collapse into the lake, but you haul him in along with you.
Luckily, where you stand is hardly knee-high. So despite the fall on your ass hurts like an absolute bitch, your hair remains mostly dry outside of the splash, and you miraculously manage to keep your cup of goods high out of the water. Really, the main issue of the whole fiasco is that you pulled Jeongguk right on top of yourself, so now he is caged around you, arms bracketing your frame, a thigh wedged between your own and his face too temptingly close.
An expression of surprise is plastered to his features while he recovers from the fall, which only becomes all the more adorably shocked when he realises that you are mere inches away from one another.
“Hi,” you hesitantly simper, and Jeongguk stares at your mouth. So painstakingly obvious in his ways that your heart no longer thuds from the adrenaline of the fall, but the propinquity of his damp, rosy lips.
His voice is low, a rumble in his chest. Mimicking your desultory smirk, his dark eyes sparkle like obsidian jewels. “Hey there.”
“I didn’t realise you liked the swimsuit this much,” you giggle, coming out a little shaky with the onslaught of nervousness; at the thought that you could lean forward two inches and his mouth would be slanted against your own.
Jeongguk cutely scrunches up his nose, and lifts a hand from the sludgy bed of the lake to playfully spatter water onto your face. You whine in complaint while he laughs.
“Oh my god, are you guys okay?!” you can hear Jimin screeching from the other side of the pier, followed by a series of splashes and then a much louder, “Taehyung, let go of my ass, for fuck’s sake!”
Completely ignoring the concerned calls, Jeongguk grabs his empty cup as it floats past—an unfortunate victim to the collapse—and fills it with speckled lake water before raising it towards you. The corners of his mouth lift all the higher as he says, “To swimsuits so pretty they nearly make you drown.”
In the not so far away distance, you can hear a chainsaw revving to life, followed by a stream of maniacal laughter. You lift your red cup up to tap the rim to Jeongguk’s with a grin, wondering what on earth the rest of this day has in store, and whether the soft twinkle of his eyes means something more than innocent friendship.
“Cheers!”
The heat that had plagued the afternoon eventually simmered down to a comfortable warmth. The kind that does not arise sweat from pores, and allows freedom in the area of wearing thin shirts and denim shorts without the concern of an unwelcome, chilly breeze. With the dwindle of the scorching temperature, the daylight had gradually smudged into an inky purple evening until the clear navy—speckled by silver starlight—was all the sky knew.
But the eight minds that dwelled beneath it? Not so much. A few rounds of beer pong that mostly replaced the beer with straight vodka and gin could do that to even the strongest of drinkers.
So, with livers processing excessive volumes of alcohol, and eyes glazed by a drunken shine, the lot of you had swam, made banter, and played old camping games that traversed deep into the night. Yoongi and Namjoon had literally laid to rest an entire tree, and ended up hauling at least a month’s worth of firewood into the camp. Yoongi had also managed to hide the strips of cargo pants underneath the logs in the fire pit; unbeknownst to Taehyung, who was miserably losing a game of beer pong to Jeongguk at the time. Hoseok, Jimin and yourself had managed to play four mean games of Presidents and Assholes; a means of waiting for the dismal match between Jeongguk and Taehyung to come to its ceasefire so the three of you could finally have a turn on the table.
At dinnertime, Seokjin, in a pink apron to match his hideous pink crocs, had called out from his position at the portable stove while clicking a pair of tongs like a one-armed crab. “Who wants a sausage in a bun?”
“Yoongi will have your sausage between his buns,” Taehyung had proceeded with an evil grin, which was quite literally slapped off his face by the flat of Yoongi’s palm the second the words were out. An unceremonious wrestling match was then fomented in the soil. Neither of them won; they were too drunk to land any proper hits.
Truly, the night had proceeded like any of the other camping adventures. Well, beyond the fact that frequenting frat parties had strengthened you all to consume more booze than last time, which had consisted of two six-packs of beer shared amongst the group. And you had still managed to throw up the next morning.
The only notable difference was Jeongguk’s presence.
Since the moment you had unintentionally dragged him into the lake, you had been catching him staring whenever your eyes dared to drift in his general direction. Every time, a rush of heat would join the moderate warmth that had already settled in your bloodstream; a concomitant of each sip that you would take from your drink. Whether you were helping Seokjin dole out food to the rest of the tipsy campers, or if you were being dragged into the water for another swim by Taehyung, Jeongguk was always close by with his softened eyes resting upon you.
They would innocently flick away once you would notice. But not without sending you a gentle smile, first.
Stop, you had told yourself when Jeongguk had lifted you up in drunken celebration, hooting at the top of his lungs after you had won a round of beer pong against Seokjin and Namjoon. Don’t overthink it. You’re just friends.
And although the hot afternoon had calmed considerably, it must have remained stored within the tent that you now share with Taehyung.
Midnight has passed, and everyone has retreated to their own sleeping quarters. Within your own oven-like abode, you are sprawled atop the lumpy mattress, the blanket kicked off, sweating like nobody’s business. It is the kind of gruesome slickness that feels like a film of slime coats every available surface of your body, creating a disgustingly greasy effect with each slight movement that you make. As if your joints are over-oiled hinges and butter has been smeared across your skin.
You lay there in drunken deliberation, deciding whether you have the energy to crawl out of the tent and slip into the cool waters of the lake. But your decision is unequivocally made when Taehyung—snoring like an engine—rolls onto his stomach and effectively spreads his limbs like a starfish, leaving you to bunch up against the other side of the mattress with a resonating groan.
Screw it, you think, tying up your sticky hair into a bun and peeling off your ratty pyjama shirt, soaked with perspiration. You replace your panties with your dried bathers before unzipping the tent door and climbing out. Drowning in the lake sounds nicer than drowning in my own sweat.
The fire still burns at the centre of the camp and you cringe away from its emanating heat, heading straight for the pier. Even though the full moon sheds enough silver light for you to see almost as clear as day, you opt for the ladder on the side of the jetty, rather than the rocks. You are not particularly wishing to slip on them or the soggy bedding—again—in your significantly worse level of sobriety. Cracking your head while nobody is around to stop you from bleeding out—or to drag your knocked unconscious self out of the water—is a highly unappealing thought.
The rotting planks of the pier creak and sigh beneath your weight. You cannot help the relieved exhalation that escapes your lungs once you make your way down the ladder and come into contact with the cold, silvery surface of the lake; the water acting as a soothing balm that slips over your figure. You continue to descend until you are releasing the metal bars and pushing back. The water rushes over your shoulders in refreshing bliss, and you can practically feel the oily sweat be washed from your skin. You kick your legs to keep afloat and gather a handful of water to splash over your face, moaning once more at the glorious exhilaration of ridding the viscid perspiration.
On a split decision—knowing that you will not be departing the lake anytime soon—you leisurely breaststroke towards the pontoon, keeping your head above the water so that your hair does not get wet. Maybe it is because you are still experiencing the effects of the vodka churning through your system, but you reach the buoyant platform much quicker than usual. Skirting around the edge, you reach for the rusty rungs. They leave a bronze grime on your palms as you climb, and the cool water cascades from your figure as you emerge from the lake.
Before you can even rest your knee atop the pontoon, your heart is dropping to the pit of your stomach. Because right there, reclined on the platform, is none other than Jeongguk, propped up on his elbows and gaping at you.
“H-Hey,” he says, surprise colouring his tone. You try to not slip your eyes down his bare torso where droplets of water still cling, glittering against his muscles in the starlight like tiny diamonds.
“Jesus, you nearly scared the life out of me!” you laugh. With a huff, you pull yourself up onto the pontoon and—in a small stretch of confidence that you swear is fuelled by the alcohol—crawl until you are much closer than the large space requires. You flip onto your back beside Jeongguk, to which he looks down at you with slightly wider eyes. You smile up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing out here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs, staring at you a moment longer before letting his elbows give out so that he can lay flat against the plastic surface. Perhaps, it is the balmy atmosphere. But you are certain that the increased temperature on the left side of your body is due to the proximity of his body heat, which has you biting softly onto your lower lip to hide your smile. “What about you?”
“Same. The tent has turned into the equivalent of the sun’s surface, so I decided to take a dip to cool off,” you cringe, recalling the stickiness that you were enduring only a handful of minutes earlier. “Taehyung snoring like an ogre was the cherry on top of that cake.”
Jeongguk laughs, lightly rocking the pontoon. You bask in how sweet it sounds; treacle that slowly drips over your heart, coating it in sugary enchantment. His finger pokes into your side as he calms, twisting it in a screwing motion as he grins and teases with, “All gross and sweaty, were you? Are you a sweat-head, ___?”
“Ugh, rude ass.” You groan in embarrassment, knowing that he is most likely visualising you all disgustingly sweaty. You smack his hand away, and his laughter starts back up again; much louder. The sound carries across the open, empty lake and travels through the surrounding trees. Caving in with a small grin, you shove at his shoulders. “Shut up, you’re going to wake the entire forest!”
“Make me,” Jeongguk sneers, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up so that he can see your expression. His eyes twinkle darkly as they observe you, and the tilt of your lips fades into something more serious; demure at the blatant suggestion behind his words.
“Don’t tempt me,” you quietly taunt back, and Jeongguk smirks at the reciprocated intention.
“What would you do?”
For a moment, you simply watch him, drinking in his facial features that are situated so unbearably close. He is genuinely handsome; the kind of guy that fits the aesthetic of somebody your parents would welcome into the family with open arms. Yet he attains that alluring, almost amorphous sexiness like a mask he slips on whenever he so desires—at the times he deems it most required.
When you are so near, you can make out the light blemishes from his teenage acne, the scar that cuts minimally across his cheekbone, and it makes you realise how young he still is. Jeongguk may have endured classic college puberty, but he remains to be the same boy that you first met when you were too drunk to completely remember the encounter. Withal, he has that same, pure heart that pumps liquid gold through his veins and arteries.
Bringing to life a boy that you, admittedly, might be falling for.
You sniff. Parting your lips, you say, “I’d drown your sorry ass.”
The disappointment that darts across Jeongguk’s expression is fleeting, though you effortlessly catch onto it, grinning innocently up at him. He coughs, looks off into the distance and then back down at you, muttering, “Who’s the rude ass now, huh?”
“You, it’ll always be you,” you jokingly deride, and Jeongguk rolls his eyes, a man defeated.
He remains to stay propped up beside you. His gaze skims over your features in silent contemplation, calculation, and he rubs his lips together as though a question is hiding on his tongue that he does not have the gall to voice. A few seconds pass with you feeling the warmth creep higher in your cheeks, and Jeongguk exhales deeply through his nose.
“Can I ask you something?” he virtually whispers, the words coming out tender and unsure. The corners of your mouth lift upwards as a means of comfort and encouragement.
“Sure, go ahead.”
If it is even possible, his tone slips into something softer, obsidian eyes melting as he murmurs, “What do you think of me?”
“In what way?” you solicit, biding time to mull over your response. The steady thump of your heart slowly begins to kick up.
“Like, I don’t know how to say it,” Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair, and your eyes trail along the bicep that flexes with the action. Something hot and heavy lays upon your abdomen before you drag your gaze back to his complexed expression. “Do– Do you, perhaps, look at me in a different way than you do with the, uh, other guys? Do you think I’m a decent human being? Fuck, I don’t know, that was a stupid question to ask–”
Resting your palm atop his own, planted flat between you to keep him supported, reduces him to silence. Jeongguk’s now wide stare drags from your face to your fingers that squeeze gingerly, placatingly, over his knuckles before returning to your eyes. The way that he looks right now, so innocent and confused, has your heart absolutely swelling in your chest.
“Jeongguk,” you start, drumming your fingertips against the back of his hand. “I think you’re wonderful, honest, and kind. I don’t mean to stereotype, but the guys that go through the changes that you did–” You sweep your gaze up and down his toned torso, and the left side of his mouth slightly quirks– “They usually don’t come out with the same mentality as they had before. Their personalities change completely with this newfound overindulgence on confidence that they attain with their suddenly spectacular physique. I mean, you’ve always been a cocky little shit, that’s for sure. But you’ve never let that control who you are at heart. You haven’t abandoned us now that you have every girl on campus trying to get into your pants, and now that the guys from the football team are imploring you to join their frat. It shows us– Me, that you’re genuine, and that you’re still that same sweet guy. You’ve just packed some muscle over the top of it.”
Slowly, Jeongguk nods, taking in all that you have said with a small, pleased smile playing on his lips. Then, he is jestingly narrowing his eyes at you, firmly stating, “You know I meant it before when I said I don’t care about those girls, right?”
“Yes, since you keep drilling it into my head,” you roll your eyes. Though before you can properly retort, Jeongguk is adjusting his position until his body is pressed to your side. His face hovers closely above your own—near enough for you to feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your heart gives a single, solid thump against your glass ribcage; daring to break through.
“That’s…” Jeongguk murmurs, his eyes languidly studying your features, zeroing in on your tongue as it darts nervously between your dry lips. “… Because I don’t want you to believe I think of anyone else.”
Then, Jeongguk starts to lean in, glacial in his progression though oh-so determined. And despite the opportunity you have desperately been yearning for has suddenly become imminently tangible, you cannot help yourself when your hands plant firmly against Jeongguk’s chest, roughly shoving him back.
You catch the faintest glimpse of betrayal on his features before he topples off the pontoon and crashes into the water with a yelp.
When he arises from the lake with a dramatic, floundering gasp, you are bent over yourself on the buoyant plastic, slapping a hand against the platform while using your other palm to smother your hysterical howls of laughter. At the sight, Jeongguk’s expression becomes as stony as marble, glaring at you.
“That was mean,” he punctuates the last word with a point of his finger. You only just manage to tame the fit of cachinnation to a modest stream of giggles as he slowly slinks underneath the water’s surface. When he arises once more, it is several feet away from the pontoon, heading towards the shore with the back of his head facing you.
“Aw, you’re such a baby,” you huff, sliding off the side of the pontoon and into the lake that is now marginally cooler than when you had first entered. It licks a chill against your jawline as you keep your head above the water. Ahead, Jeongguk makes no effort to turn around and face you, already striding through waist-high water to the rocks.
You earnestly do try your best to swim forward. Though after a day of such an early awakening, followed by intense physical exertion, your limbs quickly begin to feel the exhaustion like lead, keeping you bobbing in place a few metres in front of the pontoon. Giving it another go, you manage a single stroke of your arms and a weak kick of your legs, which barely pushes your body forward another foot. Only then do you let yourself crack as you swallow the small growth of fear; how the water is beginning to feel like quicksand, dragging you down.
“Ah, Jeongguk, c’mere and let me hold onto your shoulders,” you call out, feebly treading water with your tired arms. “Please, my muscles are locking up and I’m gonna drown!”
The water is at Jeongguk’s knees when he turns around. His figure is backlit by the campfire, and you can practically feel the muted anger at your treachery leeching from his skin and surging through the water to encapsulate you.
“Well, well, who’s the baby now?” he smirks ruthlessly, but he is already moving forward through the water. “Maybe I should just let you go.”
You sputter, watching him swim closer. “In that case, have fun explaining my dead body to Taehyung tomorrow.”
“I will. Nice knowing you.”
“Jeongguk!”
“I’m kidding, stop being such a wuss,” Jeongguk grins, gliding effortlessly towards you with the moonlight glimmering on his wet skin like smears of starlight. You cannot help but jolt when you feel his fingertips graze at your waist beneath the surface. “I can even stand here. Look. Put your damn feet down.”
Instead of obliging him, you go for what he surely considers a much more preferable option. You slide your hands up to rest on his shoulders while you wrap your legs around his hips, catching him by surprise. Silently, Jeongguk stares at you, as if waiting for your next move. You distantly wonder whether he can hear the erratic pounding of your pulse when his large hands deliberately slip down your waist. His palms ever so lightly curve over your ass before settling on the undersides of your thighs, drawing you close enough to feel his breath on your flesh again.
“Jeon Jeongguk, you’re my hero,” you quietly tease, sliding your palms further up to lay carefully against his throat. Your thumbs brush the damp skin there. Jeongguk trembles.
Despite this show of vulnerability, he smirks. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth before releasing it to quip with, “Ha, and does this hero get a reward from his princess?”
“Depends if he’s nice enough,” you murmur. When his nose brushes against your own, fingers squeezing gingerly at your bare thighs, you are certain Jeongguk feels the shiver that rushes beneath your skin.
“He can be.” The soft whisper is warm and enticing as the words are exhaled onto your lips.
It is all the reassurance that you need to close the distance.
A sensation akin to fireworks lights up in your chest. It colours your insides in a vibrant spectrum and wakes your nerves in fizzling, vivid sparks. Jeongguk’s hot, pliant mouth is overwhelming as it melds to your own, like the anticipation of finally kissing him has reached its boiling point, bubbling up inside of you and spilling over the edges in total euphoria.
The feeling is so stimulating that you whine quietly into the kiss. This is met by a tiny moan that hums from the back of his throat, and is immediately followed by the tip of his tongue prodding at the seam of your lips; carefully pushing through the tender flesh to test the waters. He tastes like beer and lemonade and the tacky sweetness of the marshmallows that were roasted after dinner, swiping against your tongue and your lower lip. You lock your fingers at the nape of his neck to deepen the movements, subtly bringing about a titillating edge that is all the more heightened when his fingers clutch tighter at your thighs, slipping higher to clutch just underneath your ass.
It truly is nothing but innocent until Jeongguk shifts his thigh between your own, enabling you to perch upon it within the water. And with the slightest, accidental nudge of your knee as you wriggle closer to him—his mouth—you feel the semi-hard bulge through the thin fabric of his board shorts.
At that, Jeongguk breaks away from your lips. His own are parted and glisten with a delicious, rosy swell to them that has your heart racing. His brow pinches into a small, unsure frown, as if he does not know what to say, nor knows if you noticed what your bare skin had just touched. But god, you cannot help but admire how incredible he looks after kissing you. How something this harmless can stir him into such a mess; can cause tendrils of lust to swim in the dark pools of his eyes.
So, to properly convey your interest, you stare directly at Jeongguk as you slowly roll your clothed centre over the firm muscle of his tensed thigh. You softly gasp at the way his taut skin rubs perfectly against your folds, your toes curling with pleasure.
Before you can even think about doing anything else, Jeongguk is lunging back in for your mouth like a jaguar on its prey.
Now, he kisses with ferocious ardency. His hands abandon their positions on your thighs to fit over your hips, coaxing you into continuing your lascivious ministrations. A whimper lodges itself in your throat, bubbling against Jeongguk’s tongue as he groans and drags your sensitive cunt back and forth on his thigh with the determination to satisfy you. Your nails dig into the skin of his neck as you feel the coil of desire begin to tighten with every stroke.
How he even manages to do so, your mind is too delirious to deliberate. But Jeongguk somehow flexes his thigh all the tauter, and it forms a prominent ridge in the thew. A moan tears from your lungs at the way the hard angle grinds deeper between your clothed folds, rubbing roughly against your clit and sending you bloody mad.
“We’re–” You try to speak when Jeongguk pulls away for barely a moment before he dives back in, licking his tongue against your own and drawing a soft whimper from the back of your throat. You break away from the warmth of his mouth to continue, and Jeongguk decides to travel his lips further south, pressing and nipping against every expanse of jawline and throat made available to him above the water’s surface. “J-Jeongguk. I’m not having sex with you in this grimy lake, I swear to god–”
His mouth reaches your own again, silencing whatever words remained on the tip of your trembling tongue and kissing you hard through a grin. Despite the situation, the thought this sneaky little shit manages to surface in your mind.
When Jeongguk finally speaks, his voice has become raspy and thick. The sheer depth of it almost has you pushing aside your concerns about hygiene and disease to let him have you right there. “Still gonna let me fuck you though, right?”
“That’s the general plan, yes,” you breathe with an encouraging roll of your hips, air hitching in your lungs over the thrilling sensation.
Jeongguk rolls his head back with a groan. He digs his fingers tighter into your hipbones before his expression lolls back into view—dark and urgent with the right corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that has you shivering. He pulls you so close that your torsos are pressed completely together. His hand leaves your hip to reach for your own balanced upon his shoulder, taking it underneath the water.
Jeongguk presses your palm against the prominent girth of his cock, which floats against his shorts and arches impressively long, effectively leaving you salivating.
“L-Let’s get out,” you insist, giving it a delicate squeeze that has Jeongguk’s jaw tensing. He looks so utterly desirable that you cannot help but lean forward and skim your lips along the sharp angle.
Once you reach soft the nook under his ear and suck at the skin, Jeongguk exhales in a rush. He curls his fingers into your hips with a shudder as you lave your tongue over the bite in time with you pulling a languid, yet tight stroke up his length.
“___, aren’t we getting out?” he breathes through a chuckle. You teasingly nip at the lobe of his ear. This earns you a pinch on your ass, which has you jolting closer to him and away from his hand with a protesting yelp.
Jeongguk snakes the same hand up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pushing you back until your face is before his own. And boy, does the sight of his eyes—pitch black and hooded with carnal lust—make the coil in your core winch all the tighter.
Glancing between your own, he grins. The pearly white canines appear like predatory fangs in the pale moonlight. “Out.”
“Fine,” you cave, pressing a final peck to his plush lips before you skirt around him, moulding your chest to his solid back and sliding your arms over his shoulders. Jeongguk, with a disbelieving huff of laughter, swims with you clutching to his torso like a koala until the shore grows too shallow to do so.
Unlatching, you allow Jeongguk to help you stand up on the mushy bedding by the offer of his hand. The pair of you trudge through the waist-high water to the ladder, with you climbing up the rungs first. You squeak when your rear is greeted by a light smack the moment it emerges from the lake, and you immediately stop in your tracks to accusingly look over your shoulder at Jeongguk.
A devilish smirk curls at his mouth. The culprit does not even giving two shits about the fact that he has been caught red-handed.
“Can’t help myself when it’s such a great ass,” Jeongguk shrugs in explanation. You roll your eyes and twist back to continue making your way onto the pier. The lingering sting admittedly has you hoping he will do it again sometime.
Hauling yourself onto the wooden planks, you begin to defiantly stride towards the campsite, leaving Jeongguk to tag along behind. You hear the water cascade from his body as he pulls himself out; the metal rungs creak underneath his weight. Then, there is the increased pace of his footsteps, steadily approaching you in a jog just as you step off the jetty.
Before you can even comprehend it, Jeongguk is swinging you up into his arms bridal-style. He smothers your shriek of surprise with his mouth in a bout unexpected accuracy, his smiling lips landing directly upon your own. Even after he pulls away so he can navigate, he does not put you down, and rather curls you close into his spectacular chest. You try your absolute best to not salivate at how insufferably hot the situation is—the way that he carries you with ease as if you are weightless; tensed and bunched around you in a tantalising combination of golden skin stretched over magnificent thews.
Entering the site, Jeongguk places you back on your own two feet, albeit they are slightly unsteadier than before he had picked you up. When you first slunk out of your tent in your slick and sweaty state, you had avoided the heat of the fire as if it had teeth. But now you stand as close to the edge of the pit as you can bear, facing the flames with your eyes closed and impatiently wishing that the warmth would dry your skin and bathers in an instant.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, has more straightforward thinking. He grabs a towel from where they all hang on a low branch behind the makeshift kitchen, and then walks back to you and guides you a few steps away from the fire. He drapes the coarse material on your shoulders and begins to vigorously rub you up and down with avid determination, soaking up as many of the droplets as he possibly can. Then, he moves on to his own body, sparing you a gorgeous smile in the process that you reciprocate.
“You can wait in the tent, if you like,” he says quietly as he ruffles the towel against his damp hair.
You nod in agreement and start towards where it is pitched, though not without sliding your eyes down his chest to his soaked board shorts. You bite your lip at the sight of his cock straining against the red material, looking much larger than it had felt in your hand.
Jeongguk must notice, for in the middle of drying himself, he reaches down and grasps a large palm around his crotch. He jostles his dick with a lewd smirk that has your skin tingling with desire. “Like what you see, huh?”
At a lack of response due to the sheer stupefaction the action has forced upon you, you childishly poke out your tongue before turning on your heel and dashing towards his tent. Even in your flustered haste, you do not miss the way he softly chuckles and mutters cute.
It is not until you are unzipping the entrance that you realise your hands are shaking. A mixture of nerves and excitement travel all the way down to your toes, and your heart practically vibrates in your chest as you climb inside. You admire Jeongguk’s cosy space of a blow-up double-mattress with striped navy-and-white sheets; his sports bag full of clothes and hygiene commodities is shoved into the leftmost corner by the door. Unleashing your hair from its tie, you let it descend onto your shoulders before reclining on the mattress, head resting against the sole, downy pillow.
You wring your fingers together as you stare up at the green, nylon ceiling and wait. Anticipate.
Should I take my bikini off? you wonder, brow pinching, wiggling your toes about to ease the edge off your heightened nerves. Or would that be too abrupt for him to see the moment he comes inside? Maybe he’s into stripping his partner–
Amidst your internal contemplation, you do not hear the dull thumps of Jeongguk’s approach until the hanging tent material that comprises the entrance is pushed aside. His gaze hardens as he enters, and it sweeps over your stretched out figure before he turns to zip the door closed. Afterwards, the silence is almost numbing. It prickles your skin into tiny goosebumps, raising the hairs along your arms and the nape of your neck. All the while, Jeongguk kneels at the end of the mattress and surveys you with a lecherous glint to his eyes, drumming his fingers against his thick thighs.
“Take your bikini off,” he finally murmurs in a tone lower than you have ever known it; commanding in such a way that you have to restrain yourself from literally scrambling to abide to his order.
At a commendable pace, you lift your torso high enough so that your hands can unclasp your top. You make a show of slipping the straps down your arms before you smooth your palms down your waist. Hooking your thumbs beneath the mustard material hugging at your hips, you lift your legs perpendicular to glide the bottoms over your thighs, knees and ankles. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your veins at the muffled grunt Jeongguk makes at the sight that your purposeful position allows: your pussy peeking out from between your thighs; wet and waiting to be worshipped by him.
Once you are completely bare and you have lowered your legs to lay flat against the bed, Jeongguk sedately climbs on top of you. He appears like a dark and hulking shadow with teeth, and the view is so primal that you whimper with a surge of need. Completely trapped in by his arms, all you can do is expectantly stare up at him and demurely blink while he takes a moment to drink you in.
He outlines your features with hooded eyes before he leans down and kisses you, surprisingly tamer than the last. Jeongguk’s tongue moves in languid motions against your own, his mouth hot and sensual as it slants in perfect precision with your lips that part so willingly underneath his control. He relieves the support of his weight from one of his hands to snake it around the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss an inch further. It only serves to send your ardency into hyperdrive, and you increasingly notice how the sensitivity of your skin heightens with his minimal touching. You feel like the torn end of a live wire; sparking and fizzling at any given moment that the damp fabric of his shorts brushes against the inner of your thigh, or his toned chest grazes gingerly against your perked nipples.
Jeongguk draws away from your swollen lips—a thin string of saliva connecting you. Then, he plants another quick kiss to the ruined flesh before his mouth trails messily down your jaw, sucking and nipping along the way and eliciting quiet moans from your lungs. His breath is warm when it reaches your ear, tongue flicking out to snare the lobe and drawing it between his teeth. The hand that had slipped behind your neck slowly retreats, slipping around to settle levelly against your chest.
“Your tits are lovely,” Jeongguk murmurs against your ear. He leans back as you make a small whimper of desire so you can see his wicked smile.
Jeongguk shifts down to finally provide you with some relief. Dragging his tongue over your left nipple, he kneads the right with his large palm and tweaks the bud between his knuckles, and you pleasantly sigh. But what really sets you on edge is when Jeongguk begins to faintly grind the solid girth of his clothed cock over your glistening centre. His tongue simultaneously circles around your areola and you, knotting your fingers through the dark tufts of his hair, swear you can taste the stars.
But you want more. You need so much more than this.
The carnality that has been coiling tight within your core is set aflame, crackling into a wildfire that licks and scorches along your bones, lighting up your body with ferocious desire. Jeongguk switches sides, fixating his mouth to the underside of your right breast. He bites down on the soft flesh and rocks his dick with growing arduousness. The seam of his board shorts drags roughly against your clit and you suddenly cannot stand it, this meagre contact, this barrier of microfibre that collects your accumulating arousal when it could be his dick dragging hotly through the mess. It could be perspiring skin-on-skin sliding against one another. It could be all seven inches of him buried tight inside of you. It could be him filling you with his pearly cum and not letting that stop him, continuing to snap his hips against your own, his seed spilling out of your entrance until you are reaching your peak and releasing all over his cock–
“A-Ah, take your shorts off,” you breathlessly whine, grabbing at the sides of Jeongguk’s face to lift him from your chest. Your nipples are now shining spectacularly.
He dumbly stares at you with his lips parted, swollen and slick with his own saliva. It almost appears too adorable in the heated moment; juxtaposing the way he had so assertively told you to strip, as though he has become too caught up in his ministrations. But Jeongguk is just as quick to catch onto his slip-up. He runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and then ruminatively pokes it into the side of his cheek. The sight is so inviting that you quite literally feel yourself become wetter.
It is only in the static silence that you come to realise you are panting, chest heaving in short, desperate exhalations. Maybe that is why Jeongguk takes a small piece of pity on you. He sits back on his haunches and takes his time to marvel at your spread thighs and the prize at the centre, tracing its pretty, wet curves with his eyes alone. Then, he is dipping his fore and middle fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before gingerly bringing them to your pussy, drawing a featherlight line up your slit with the pad of his finger.
Your toes curl, fingers grasping at the sheets as a stuttering gasp tumbles from your lips. It is a sign that Jeongguk takes as the go-ahead to crawl up beside you. He grabs at your hips to roughly flip you onto your side and then cuddles up behind you, curling his bicep for you to rest your head upon. His nose traces at the curve of your neck while he smooths his palm over the supple flesh of your ass, giving it a light squeeze before proceeding to make his way between your thighs.
“F-Fuck, Jeongguk,” you whimper when his saliva-slick fingers begin to toy with your cunt, separating the folds and exploring the softness; gathering your juices and spreading them from your entrance to the apex.
He takes care to draw a tight circle around the hood of your clit, which has your muscles locking up and a short huff escaping your tongue. Jeongguk plants small, pleasant kisses across your skin until he reaches your ear. Humming appreciatively, his fingers settle tantalisingly close to your opening.
“Do you wanna know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he purrs. A shiver traverses your figure, increasing in intensity when the tip of his forefinger slips almost imperceptibly inside of you. “How long I’ve wanted to kiss and touch you; to watch you writhe underneath my hands?”
“So why won’t you t-take your shorts off,” you mumble, slightly wriggling your hips in an attempt to slide further down his fingers. Unexpectedly, Jeongguk obliges by easing his two fingers inside of you, sinking all the way down to the knuckles. You moan at the sensation of the stretch, deliciously tight.
“Because I want this to be about you,” Jeongguk murmurs, biting softly at your earlobe as he starts to glacially pull and push his fingers through your entrance. You cannot help but greedily bear down on him, rolling your ass into his hand in flawless time to his thrusts, chasing the spark of pleasure that flickers distantly against the pitch black backs of your eyelids.
Jeongguk groans at your neediness. He drags his fingertips against your walls when he draws them out to the very opening, and proceeds to twist them in a spiralling motion as he enters once more, sending you near delirious. Most especially when his voice lowly rumbles out the words, “God, even when you’re cock-thirsty, you’re gorgeous.”
“Ngh– Rude ass,” you mutter and he chuckles, increasing the pace of his fingers inside of you.
Jeongguk draws the tip of his tongue down your throat. He sucks at the juncture until you are a whimpering, writhing mess. Only then does he pull out of you, beginning to slowly massage his arousal-coated fingertips against your clit, worsening your state. Screwing your eyes closed, the sparks glow brighter, and your moans heighten in pitch with your teeth dug into the damp flesh of your lower lip.
“Careful, you’ll wake everyone up,” Jeongguk warns quietly, laving his tongue over the bite and leaning closer so that he can pepper kisses along your jaw. The movement allows for his rock hard length to be nestled tightly against your ass, and you whimper with a sudden surge of fervency.
“Could shut me up with– ah, your cock in my mouth,” you cheekily propound, grinning when the air whistles through Jeongguk’s gritted teeth at the thought.
“Naughty, aren’t you,” he grunts, quickening his pace. Your thighs grow tight, muscles tensing as you bite your tongue and try your best to remain silent, slurring incoherently underneath your breath. “But I bet my mouth could do a better job of that while I’m fucking you.”
“Y-You’re all bark and no bite, Jeon Jeongguk,” you manage through your panting, gyrating your ass against his dick.
Your eyes blissfully roll into the back of your head when Jeongguk reciprocates, rubbing in fluid synchronisation with your movements. His own breath comes up short, and his fingers ruthlessly continue to attack your apex, flicking at the oversensitive bundle of nerves. You teeter ever closer to the edge of your limits. Your body locks up and relaxes in a repetitive, agonising cycle. Your opening clenches around nothing but air and you need more, more, more.
“Say please,” Jeongguk hums, slowing down and resuming to languidly stroking his fingers over your swollen folds. He skirts around your entrance while your chest erratically rises and falls. You lick your lips and feebly latch onto the final strings of your sanity.
“Please,” you whisper, and despite yourself, an embarrassed heat creeps into your cheeks. “Please, fuck me, Jeongguk.”
“Good girl,” he praises, and the warmth suddenly burns. His fingers leave your aching cunt and the warmth of his bare chest recedes. Hands find your hips and gingerly roll you onto your back.
The sudden lack of touch has you feeling fragile, like a single tap by the tip of his finger will throw your body over the edge, and your orgasm will thrash through you in a tidal wave of pleasure. You focus your gaze on Jeongguk as he sits up and tugs his board shorts down his thighs; the material sticks and catches on his skin with built-up perspiration as his glorious, sculpted ass comes into view. A small part of you wishes to reach over and spank it, just to feel how firm it is. Though the idea is stunned into utter silence when Jeongguk turns to face you, and his unclothed length catches your eye.
If Hercules was reincarnated into another being, it would be Jeon Jeongguk. Dick-size included.
“Damn,” you breathe, spreading your legs a little wider and raising an eyebrow. “Will you even fit?”
Jeongguk stares at your centre with his lips parted, an utter mess of his own doing, before dragging his eyes up to your own. He shakes his head out of incredulity as a tiny grin forms on his lips, crawling on top of you again and murmuring, “You’re going to be the death of me, y’know? Saying shit like that like it’s nothing.”
“And what a way to go,” you smile.
Jeongguk pinches your side, smothering your yelp with a short kiss that scatters into a handful of them over your face. He fleetingly pecks at your cheek, chin, nose, and forehead until he pulls back to fondly stare at you. Then, his expression twists into a grimace.
“Shit, I don’t know if I’ve got a condom–”
“I’ve got the rod implant, so go for your life.”
Jeongguk’s eyes widen a fraction, pitch pools of infinity that skim over your features. “Have you, uh– Been tested?”
“Yes, I have.” You snake your hands up his broad, solid shoulders, gliding further until they can tangle into his hair. You knead gently at his scalp. “Have you?”
“Mhm,” Jeongguk hums, the corners of his lips quirking. He leans closer, his body lowering its weight upon you until you can feel his shaft pressing against your folds. An unexpected oh passes your lips at the warm sensation. “So, now that we’ve got that settled…”
“… Back to the good stuff?” you smile with a waggle of your brows.
Jeongguk teasingly growls, pouncing back on your mouth. With one hand on your waist and the other squeezing at your breast, he begins to slowly rock his cock against your slick centre, coating it in your juices. His tongue enters your mouth and touches yours, giving off a moan of his own at the newfound direct contact, which has your heart tripping in your chest.
The rolling motions continue until it feels like your bodies have melted into honey; sticky and unified; saccharine heaven. Jeongguk makes more noise than you first expected of him, and he sounds undeniably sexy when he is so turned on. Small groans and sharp intakes of air occur against your lips, causing your throat to run dry.
Now, he barely even kisses you. Rather, the two of you let your mouths lazily hang open, breathing each other in, tongues sporadically catching on flesh and teeth with every undulation. His eyes—glassy with lust and adoration—are mere slants that peer lethargically down at you, not once leaving your own until his hands adjust so that his elbows support him either side of your body. Jeongguk silently observes your already fucked out features while he reaches down to his cock, spreading your arousal and his pre-cum over the length, lubricating it with a few tight strokes.
Then, ever so carefully, he positions the reddened head to your entrance. Immediately, a shock of electricity darts up your spine at the contact; the realisation of this truly happening. The anticipation stirs the coil tighter within your core.
“Tell me if it hurts, alright?” Jeongguk breathes, gently pecking once at your lips.
He only begins to glacially roll his hips forward after you answer with an assured tilt of your chin. With a tender smile, he tucks his face into the crook of your shoulder.
The vaguely uncomfortable stretch is wholly welcome as his cock slowly fills you to the brim, pushing inside of your slick, hot walls inch by inch until he can go no further. The moan that spills from your lips is loud enough to encourage him to wrap a hand around your mouth. His fingers only slip away once he is convinced not another peep will be made out of you. Instead, the symphony of your combined panting becomes the sole sound that stirs the silence.
But the realisation of you clenching so tightly around him is only made apparent when Jeongguk—still utterly motionless—soothes a palm down the slope of your waist. He murmurs, you okay, baby? into your ear, and you answer with a minuscule nod. A rush of air escapes your lungs, consequently relaxing your tensed muscles, and your core loosens around him.
Jeongguk pushes himself up in order to get a better look at you and the blissed expression settled upon your features. Before you can grin at him, he swoops back in, cradling your jaw and whispering against your lips, “You look unbearably sweet with my cock stuffed in you.”
Pleasantly, you simper, “I’ll look sweeter when that cock makes me come,” which surely has him mentally damning you to hell for having such a sinful mouth paired with that pretty face.
“I look forward to seeing that,” he murmurs.
Leisurely, Jeongguk draws his cock almost completely out of you, the tip nestling an inch within your entrance. Then, he is kissing you with purpose and driving back inside. The flames within you that had simmered for the sparsest of moments reignite in full vigour.
Jeongguk fucks you slow, yet hard. He snaps his hips into you while his palm remains to caress your face, tongue hot and assimilating your own in such a sensual, tender manner that your heart melts. There is something so precious about the way that he does it; taking care of you; ensuring you feel every single inch of him inside of you with each stroke while he kisses you silly. It is as if he is trying to embed his genuine honesty into your skin, tucking the truth of the situation into every crevice of your body, and refusing to let you be convinced that this is only a one-time thing.
Warmth consumes you when you realise this. Jeongguk is opening up. He is drawing his true feelings along your bones, and outlining your lips with the adoration that he has held for you for an indiscernible amount of time. He marks you with his fingertips, tongue, cock—reaching any place that he can in order to prove that he can be devoted, that he has been from the get-go. And he will continue to be, even after this tenuous night of carnality that could have so easily ruined everything the two of you have created.
But here, Jeongguk stares into your eyes and ties your tongues with promises. He fucks you like a dream come true, and swears with a cross over his heart that it has never been anybody but you.
That is all you need to lurch over the edge. The coil within your core suddenly snaps with the tension and brings the wildfire with it. For a moment, all you can see is glorious light, freckling your vision until it consumes you whole and has your bones shaking.
Jeongguk ensures you ride out every last second of it on his cock, filled to the very shaft, sloppily thrusting into you. You cry out at the euphoric wash of your orgasm fizzling from your ankles to your nose, sounding desperate and aching. Jeongguk does not even dare to silence you; careless to the fact that six sleeping bodies surround the both of you, separated by thin nylon. He could never, because he pulled that magnificent melody from the marrow of your being, and not even fingers or toes could suffice to count the amount of times he has wished to do so.
The delightfully blinding white fades to only a shimmer at the corners of your eyes. High on the sight of you, Jeongguk quickly follows, coming inside of you with a harsh shudder and a violent groan from between his clenched teeth.
Jeongguk buries his face into the crook of your neck. Weakly, you coax him through it. You soothe your fingers between the strands of his damp hair, even if you wince at how he continues to feebly thrust into your raw pussy while he coasts through the sparkling remnants of his high. Then, there is a quivering sigh, the emptying sensation of his cock being drawn out of your walls—trails of his pearly cum seeping out with it—and Jeongguk finally collapses to the right of your body, facedown, utterly exhausted.
The silence is unalike to the typical whoops–I–just–had–sex–with–my–friend–and–now–we–are–screwed kind that settles awkwardly in the air and feels like sludge in your lungs. Rather, it is the peaceful patience of catching breath. An elated, lethargic smile tilts your lips at the fact that Jeongguk, albeit his face is hidden, keeps his palm settled upon your stomach. He lazily smooths over the skin in nonsensical patterns until he is feeling vaguely human enough to turn his head, facing you from across the mattress.
There are questions in his eyes, ones that will be answered with intimate time and care. But he resolves to observe the spectacle that is you; the marvellous disaster he has formed with his bare hands. The hand on your abdomen lifts, and Jeongguk shifts closer, enough so that his face is a few mere inches from your own. He watches the individual strands of your hair—stuck to your skin with already drying perspiration—lift and detangle as he pushes them away from your face, delicately running his thumb over your warm cheek in the process.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Jeongguk murmurs, letting his hand drape back over your stomach. You, in all of your giddiness, can barely suppress the giggle; the ardent urge to tease him just a while longer.
Widening your eyes, you blink almost comically at him. “What, have sex in a tent among the surroundings of Mother Nature?”
Even in the dark, Jeongguk’s lovely flush glows. “No! I mean, it’s definitely something to tick off the bucket list. But I meant pushing your hair away from your face, being able to hold you like this, and getting to have you this close to me. You’re so warm.”
“You’ve always…” you continue to eye him seriously, adding in a raise of your brows. “… wanted to use me as your personal space heater?” The last of your sentence sputters as you try to tame the bubble of laughter that expands within your throat, especially now that Jeongguk looks marginally murderous.
“Oh my god. I’m trying to say that I like you, ___. I have since, well, probably the first time we met.”
All of the humour drains from your face as those words spill into the space between you; a confession that has been trapped away in his ribcage, hidden behind his heart for eons. Ridiculously, like a goldfish, you gape at him, speechlessly opening and closing your mouth despite the small voice in the back of your mind mutters: Well duh, he just had his dick inside of you, what else did you expect?
Something changes in Jeongguk’s expression. A stony concern begins to pull tight at his features while the silence draws out, and the hand that circles the skin of your stomach comes to a halt. You, finally finding your voice, feel the complete and utter horror flood into your tone in a tar that makes your tongue heavy; your words sound much more bitter than your initial intention.
“When I was drunk and called you an adorable kid?” The mortification swells in your pitch that rises with the gradual utterance of the question. But it hardly compares to the embarrassment that lights up Jeongguk’s face in varying shades of pink, like a miserable Christmas.
“Holy christ, don’t tell me I’ve been reading our friendship wrong and always thought there was something a little more between us. Like, chemistry or some shit. I don’t know what to call it. I’m not good at this–”
“No no! It’s just that I was so embarrassed that night, and everyone guilted me into believing that I had made you feel uncomfortable and I– You started liking me because of that?” The corner of your mouth lifts at your lack of credence, shaking your head and resting your palm against your forehead. “My whole perspective on that situation has been wrong this entire time, wow.”
“___, you’re really fucking confusing me now,” Jeongguk groans as he pushes himself up on his side, looming over you. His distress is evident in the tautness of his brow, the firm set of his jaw. “Do you– Do you like me, too? Because if you don’t, that’s okay, I think I can take that. But I just want you to know that you– Shit, you’re unlike anybody I’ve ever met. I swear to god that you don’t even seem human sometimes, like you’ve hailed from the night sky. You’re a celestial being who is so good and beautiful and smart and hilarious and full of so much light that it hurts to look at you sometimes. It might be selfish to want all of that for myself, but I do. I have for as long as I remember knowing you. You’re a fucking star, ___, and you’re everything that I’ve ever wanted.”
A cosy warmth encapsulates your heart, body and soul, like sunlight melting on your skin in molten gold. Jeongguk stares at you, genuine adoration glinting in the smooth obsidian of his eyes as he gauges your reaction. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, as if to hide the truths he just spoke that remain painted there, and you have never wished to kiss him so badly.
Glacially, as though you are approaching a frightened animal, your hand glides across the mattress until it comes into contact with his own. You lace your fingers together, quietly musing to yourself at how, in the morning, you had spiralled into a panic over the fact that his palm was melded to your own, and had experienced such a peculiar longing once they were separated. Now, you hold Jeongguk’s hand without any fear of him letting go, nor the thought that maybe, perhaps, this is not what he wants and you are stupidly overthinking.
“Yes, Jeongguk, I’ve liked you for a very, very long time,” you softly confess, the smile that was teasing at your lips stretching into a full-blown grin. “And if this, all of this, doesn’t mean we’re dating now, I’m going to crawl out of this tent and hold myself under the lake with a giant rock.”
“No,” Jeongguk, still blushing and squeezing your hand, says firmly. He blanches when he notices the now flat expression on your face. “I mean no, you’re not going out there and drowning yourself because I, Jeon Jeongguk, want to date you and call you mine.” Then, he backtracks, frowning as he reprocesses his thoughts. “Wait, you will always belong to your own self, but I just want to–”
“Stop right there. Kiss me.”
“Can do.”
And so he does.
It is a scene that is horrifyingly familiar. Reminiscent of approximately twenty-four hours ago in the form of thumping fists and a shouting voice that runs in a smooth baritone. That is, the victory call of the bane of your existence, violently tugging you from the sanctuary of sleep.
Unfocused and rheumy, your eyelashes detangle. The lids stickily separate and you tiredly release a groan from the back of your throat. Reaching up to grab your pillow to smoosh against your ear and hopefully muffle out the noise, it takes you a scarce moment to realise that what your sleepily searching fingertips have come into contact with is, in fact, not the feathery down that you were expecting. Rather, it is something much more natural in texture, smoother like–
A face.
“Jeongguk!” Taehyung screeches from outside, the sound of nylon slapping against his hands reverberating around the small space. “Oh my god, have you seen ___?! Seriously, wake up, this is an emergency!”
Oh, shit.
Eyes snapping wide open, you look up to where your hand is frigidly sprawled to see, yes, that is most certainly a face that your hand is casually caressing. Jeon Jeongguk’s face, in particular. Your boyfriend’s face. Already awake as a result of your best friend’s panicked squawking, he peers down at you from between your fingers. You can feel the crescent of his smile forming against your palm, eyes filmy with lingering remnants of lethargy.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Jeongguk mumbles, listlessly shaking off your hand to fall limply between you so that he can press a kiss to your forehead, making your heart feel fuzzy. Jeongguk’s eyes skim further south, travelling down your bare chest, the curve of your exposed hip, the sunlight that pools on your thigh, hitched over his side. Jeongguk languidly runs a thumb over your nipple, eliciting a tingle from your nerves.
Blinking sleepily, he murmurs, “Damn, I can get used to seeing this.”
“Jeongguk!” Taehyung screams again with more vigour, ruining the pleasant moment. “Wake the hell up, you fucking loghead!”
Planting a dry kiss to his lips, you sigh and tuck your head under Jeongguk’s chin. You make a sweet little sound when he proceeds to wrap his arms around your shoulders, holding you closer. “Y’know, I’d be going out there and murdering him with the chainsaw right about now if this was only a one-time thing. He’s really killing the moment.”
“Mhm, lucky I’m making sure we have an infinite amount of mornings like this,” Jeongguk hums into your hair. Your lips curl against his throat in silent rapture. “How much longer do you think until he–”
“That’s it, I’m coming in!”
“Shit, prepare yourself,” Jeongguk grunts as he hears Taehyung’s fingers begin to clumsily fumble with the zipper. He reluctantly releases you so he can sit up and search for his underwear, calling out, “Unless you want an eyeful of my dick, Tae, I suggest you wait a fucking second.”
“Oh, so now he thinks to respond, the little shit!” Taehyung fumes through the thin wall while you scramble to put your bikini on, knowing that there is not a single way you can avoid the sole outcome of this situation. “Dude, seriously, have you seen ___?”
Pushing your hair away from your face, you knead your knuckles into your eyes. In the process, you feel the delicate weight of Jeongguk’s hand on the small of your back as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, and your hands shift from your sockets to caress his jaw. Grudgingly, he draws away, gazing at you with such tenderness before he shifts his focus to the entrance. Jeongguk releases a shuddering breath and then yanks at the zip. The early morning sunlight slowly spills onto the mattress as he opens the door.
On the other side, you are met by a frantic Taehyung, who looks about ready to commit a murder. The rest of the boys are slouched in their camper chairs, surrounding the embers of the smoking fire, looking hungover as all shit as the observe the scene.
The panic that has consumed Taehyung’s features slowly slips away as he registers the sight before him. His eyes flick between Jeongguk, who hulks impassively in the entrance, and you, who is situated a foot behind him with an unsure expression twisting your face into a borderline grimace. The silence that has settled over the camp is almost numbing until Taehyung leans back on his haunches, tilts his head towards the boys behind him, though remains to fix his eyes on the both of you.
“Jimin, you owe me fifty bucks! Told you I could fuckin’ do it!” he calls out in unexpected victory, and Jimin groans loudly in disappointment.
For a brief second, you let his words subside into the still atmosphere. Then, your voice is cutting into the air, causing everyone in the vicinity to jump at its sudden sharpness.
“What the fuck, you betted on this?!” you shout, heat rising in your cheeks, most especially when you come to notice the wicked, guilty grin plastered to Taehyung’s mouth.
“Everybody but the two of you saw it coming!” Taehyung tries to explain, scrambling to stand up as Jeongguk starts to emerge from the tent in nothing but his black briefs. You try your absolute best to not be sidetracked by the muscles of his thighs and back, bunching up and flexing as he moves. “The bet was harmless, I swear! W-We just needed to give you guys that extra push–”
Jeongguk, expression utterly menacing, is now completely out of the tent. He stands before Taehyung, who is slowly shuffling backwards and putting as much distance as he can between himself and the giant mass of intimidating muscle. When Jeongguk raises an inquisitive eyebrow, Taehyung fucking flinches.
“What push?” he says threateningly. Given the circumstances, you actually pray for Taehyung’s small, fragile soul that is an inch away from having the shit beaten out of it.
Taehyung chuckles nervously, rubbing a hand at the nape of his neck. “Well, telling you to help ___ pack, forcing you to swap seats with me in the car, making you help her set up our tent–”
“Don’t forget sneaking the condom into Jeongguk’s wallet,” Namjoon pitches in from the smouldering campfire. The surrounding boys begin to cough and laugh.
Taehyung must realise this is the final straw that breaks the camel’s back, because he hastily turns on his heel with a screech and begins to run. Jeongguk immediately charges after him with conviction in his stride, which only sets your group of friends off into louder howls.
“You’re all a bunch of dicks,” you huff as you rise from the tent, folding your arms and walking over to the circle. The lot of you watch as Jeongguk swoops Taehyung up by the waist, hauls him over his shoulder, and starts towards the pier; ignoring Taehyung’s squeals of protest. “Who out of you won money from this?”
You roll your eyes and sigh when Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon nonchalantly raise their hands. Your gaze briefly flicks back to the spectacle that is making its way down the jetty when you hear Taehyung squawk: Don’t you fucking dare!
“Aw, c’mon, ___,” Hoseok reasons with a grin from across the pit, sipping at a cup of orange juice. “It was clear as day that you and Jeonggukie were meant to be. We didn’t mean to upset you guys.”
“We only want the best for the both of you,” Seokjin adds in, stretching in his camper chair. He wears a matching set of pink pyjamas, marring the otherwise natural scenery as a speck of vivid repulsion. With a sparkle in his eye, he smiles up at you and says, “So, does this mean you’re dating now?”
Before you can answer—if the sheepish smile is not an instant giveaway—Jeongguk, standing at the end of the pier with a uselessly thrashing Taehyung cradled in his arms, twists his head to face the rest of you on the shore. Even from this distance, his grin shines like a million watts of pure jubilation. You cannot help but shake your head, smiling widening stupendously at the sight because wow, that is your goddamn boyfriend! Holy shit!
“You bet we’re fucking dating!” Jeongguk hollers, and you feel the sudden urge to bury your face in your palms with a groan of embarrassment. “That award-winning ass is mine!”
Then, without further ado, Jeongguk flings Taehyung high into the air, who screams at the top of his lungs, “Matchmaker of the year, mother fuckers!” before he crashes into the water with a grand splash.
The boys all get to their feet, cheering and spilling orange juice and instant coffee in their flailing antics. Jeongguk, with his hands raised above his head in victory, strolls half-naked down the wooden planks towards you, who meets him halfway. Wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up with ease, Jeongguk spins the both of you around and kisses the laughter from your lips in such an open display of affection that your heart bursts in your chest. All the while, the boys wolf-whistle and applaud as if such a display is deserving of their raucous celebration.
But you would never have them, Jeongguk, nor even Taehyung any other way than this. Your closest friends and your boyfriend. The idiots that fill your heart with so much love you can barely take it. The ones who will forever have you expecting the unexpected.
Note | No wildlife was harmed in the making of this fic, nor did any Kim Taehyung’s accidentally drown due to any embarrassed Jeon Jeongguk’s holding him underneath the lake water for an unprecedented amount of time. Try and guess what lines of dialogue and incidents in this fic have been based off my real camping experiences with my pals!! No, not the smut scene (though doing Jeongguk in the middle of nowhere sounds rather fun).
I hope you all enjoyed this fic as much as I did when it came to creating all of the shit-talk banter for it. I swear on my life it was never meant to be this long, but crackvory clearly lives on. I love you guys, thank you for your support; whether it be in likes, reblogs, messages, or simply reading the story!!
♔ Listen to Violet Rain’s magnificent song that was inspired by this fic!
All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.
#bts fanfic#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#bts smut#jungkook fluff#bts scenarios#bts x reader#something in the water#sitw#vankoya
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
Let’s Just Talk
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
We return to Ford’s house, and he finally gets some comfort. Yes, this one finally has the hug in it. I’ve written and rewritten this the most of the four of these because it’s the one I originally meant to be the whole thing, before I decided it needed plot.
Wordcount: 1521
You count your breaths as your fingers drum on the dashboard of your pickup truck.
Stanford Pines is a dangerous man. You knew that the second he pulled you inside and stammered paranoid nonsense moments after you'd met.
But now two weeks later, after a visit from some kind of dream triangle monster with the name of an accountant, you are well aware that it's not paranoid nonsense, it's paranoid sense.
One, two. Deep breaths. He's someone who needs help.
Three, four. He's put trust in you, and it's very likely he hasn't done so with anyone else.
Five, six. You'll regret it for the rest of your life if he ends up a suicide case in the Gossiper and you could have prevented it.
Seven, eight. Your seatbelt unclicking sounds like your father's shotgun going off in the near-silence of the abandoned road Stanford lives down.
Nine, ten. Your gloved fingers linger on the door handle but in one smooth motion you press down and push out.
Your boots crunch in the snow, and you grunt, hauling an old space heater with you. If Bill didn't get him, hypothermia was going to, and that at least was a relatively easy thing to fix. It had been in the basement, and was a bit rusty, so neither of your parents had minded you taking it.
Upon reaching the porch, you set it down with a 'thump' and knock on the door twice. "Hello!"
"Who is- oh. Password?"
"Scampfire ashes, I think it was?"
"Come in." Stanford fiddles with the lock for a minute before pulling the door open, and you head for the living room. He's cleared a tiny space on the loveseat he'd admitted to only purchasing because it was on sale, and you settle down on the left side of it, scooting away the heater with your foot and clicking it on.
"You're freezing your butt off out here, so I thought I'd bring this. It's battery powered so it'll be fine for a while."
Stanford stares at you for a moment, before sitting on the giant's thumb and burying his face in his hands.
"Woah, are you- is there something wrong?" A beat. "More than usual, anyways."
"I don't understand." His voice is strained, in the way you recognize someone is about to start crying but is doing their best to avoid it. "You've been nothing but kind when I'm such a disaster. Why? You said you knew how it felt. Is it pity? I don’t need-"
"I want to help. That’s all. Stanford, you're going half out of your mind trying to fix whatever mistake you made. You're kind of a mess, but that's not a disaster to me." You smile, but it's weak. "You said I could help you with your research?"
"I... yes, I did, give me a moment." He makes his way around the clutter, over to a pile of boxes that were haphazardly jammed full of decrepit scrolls and books that were yellower than a rotted body. The cover falls off of one as he picks it up, and he heaves a sigh. He grunts, grabbing a few and setting them down on the arm of the chair. You begin to flip through them, and wince at how faded the writing is.
Nonetheless, you said you'd help, so that's what you'll damn well do. "What am I looking for?"
"Information on the Eye of Providence, or other symbols related to it. Possible weaknesses would be fantastic, but anything would be good at this point." He's already surrounded himself with scrolls, and within moments he's reciting something that sounds like Latin to himself.
The clock ticks as the minutes slip by, and you slide off your coat. The space heater makes the house, while still pretty creepy, much more hospitable, and while you don't see much about any Eye you do learn that there was a lot of study about how much language cavemen knew. When the clock strikes two, you speak up.
"The triangle guy, Bill, showed up in my dream last night."
His gaze shoots up, and his eyes are indeed red, but he nearly falls on his face as he slips off the thumb while trying to grab you. He ends up on one knee, hands gripping the sides of your arms and head bent. "I knew it, I knew letting you stay around was a bad-"
"I said no."
Eyes the color of damp sand snap up to meet yours. "...What?"
"I can see how he could be appealing, but because of your warning, I told him I didn't want what he was offering. Because I met you, I knew to say no." He stands up, still holding your sleeves. From how tight his fingers are curled, it's the only thing keeping him grounded.
"But- but if you hadn't met me, he would have never approached you-"
"You don't know that. I'm a smart lady, maybe he would have looked for something else." You pull in a deep breath, a chill icing your lungs. "I know you feel like everything you do will just make things worse, and I know how hard it must have been to let me come here." Your fingers rest on the rubber band around your wrist you'd snapped until your skin was raw more times than you can count. "You're a brave man, Stanford Pines."
He swallows before sitting down next to you. His cheeks are flushed slightly from the heater, and you can't help but notice the freckles again, even on his sunken cheeks.
"I made a massive mistake. Bill... he offered me the chance to change the world." His hands are settled on his lap now, wringing against his pants. You can see the veins.
"You still can, but you can do it on your own terms." Your left hand moves to rest on top of both of his. "The world can seem like hell, but you're trying to fix your mess-up. Bill seemed like a pretty charming guy, you can't blame yourself for believing him. You wanted to make things better for everyone, right? That's not a bad thing. As long as you're still here, you've got a chance."
Your hips are already touching his, but you turn in order to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He stops moving for a moment, before turning and hugging you tighter than you've ever been hugged in your life. His chin rests on your shoulder, and yours on his. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, and you close your eyes.
"You're not a bad person. You can get through this." You're barely speaking above a whisper now, and a shudder makes you shiver as he holds back a sob.
"I don't deserve this." He mumbles, and your fingers tighten around the fabric of his trench coat.
"No one deserves what's happening to you." You tug him closer, before taking a deep breath. "It might sound sappy, but I think we were meant to meet."
"What do you mean?"
With great reluctance, you pull away, grabbing both his hands and squeezing them. "I had bad depression. I never saw any point in living, from my late teens to last year. Everything seemed like a dull gray mess."
His head tilts ever so slightly, and his glasses move with it, an inch askew. He didn't fix them.
"Then, my mother forced me to see a counselor. I got help, and I learned just how important support is. Sometimes you have to kick yourself in the ass to get up in the morning, and sometimes you have to find someone willing to kick it for you."
Your hand lets go of his to adjust the glasses using the hinges. "I always wondered if she noticed before I offed myself for a reason- if there was something I was supposed to do."
His eyes were wide, and you pull him into another hug. He doesn't resist, and all you can hear is the thump of his heartbeat. It's faster than yours.
"I need to stop him. I let him trick me because I was blind." His voice still shakes. "If it kills me, then fine. It's my fault."
You angle yourself so the two of you are pressed together as much as possible, sharing your warmth, because he's so, so cold. "You're not alone anymore. Maybe you messed up, but there's nowhere to go but up, right? Things will work out, Stanford. Can’t kill a demon if you’re in the grave yourself."
He takes a breath you can feel against your chest. "Call me Ford."
He clung to you, and you clung to him, for longer than you cared to keep track of. The tick of time passing was muted under the buzzing in your head and the soft breaths next to your ear. At some point, you thought you heard a 'thank you', but it could have been your imagination.
He smelled of sweat and dust and coffee and fear, but in that moment, somehow you knew that things were going to be okay.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wednesday , 8.4.2020
Total: 1,446,879 cases, 83,087 deaths.
Australia: 6,010 cases, 50 deaths.
Western Australia: 470 cases, 6 deaths.
There are only four essentials under which one can leave the house at the moment in Australia: 1) food, 2) medicine and doctors, 3) work and education (if you can’t do it from home), and 4) exercise. The rule for them all (unless you live in a household together -- particularly as a family) is: no more than two people together at any time. Always 1.5 metres apart. Cough into elbow. Stay at home if even mildly sick. Never touch your face. These are the new rules of engagement. I feel we will never, ever forget them.
Exercise we do! Running, jumping, jogging, walking. The two-person rule even allows for personal trainers to -- from a distance -- train their clients! Is this a uniquely Australian clause? There may be a pandemic in the background -- but in the foreground Australians are going to be healthier than ever after all this.
Or at least until the restrictions are tightened further. On the weekend there were swarms of people ‘exercising’ at Manly beach. Apparently a beautiful day for it: people swimming, walking down the boulevard et cetera. An obscene sight, given the larger context. In Victoria -- Manly beach is in NSW -- Premier Andrews is not shying away from mentioning or threatening Stage-4 restrictions. This means lockdown, a la Wuhan (minus the welding of doors). All it takes is people breaking the rules, getting carried away or becoming lax. Such as those at health-obsessed Manly.
Yes, I am as guilty as anyone. My life for the past many years has been one of art and culture. But I always carefully built healthy routines into my lifestyle: never driving, instead always catching public transport (thus walking, walking, walking -- everywhere). Eating healthy. Getting my sleep and sunshine. But I felt like I was taking the piss when I went down to Rebel Sports on Saturday morning to buy a soccer ball, some tennis balls and a nozzle for my pump for my basketball.
These are the modes of sports I’ve played (‘exercised’) over the past week: basketball with Kieran at his new place in Bayswater (<3), tennis against a wall in Northbridge with my housemate, footy with my Dad (who himself bought a football just to get out!) and soccer along the empty urban streets of Northbridge -- by myself. Here, literally, is how many times I’ve done any of these things in the past seven or eight years: zero. Actually, I have shot a few spare hoops. But honestly, nothing of the others.
It’s true I have a history of kicking around balls, being mobile, getting physical. So it has been nostalgic for me, lovely. But really: Am I taking the piss? Is it the right thing to do? Is it in the spirit of these new social measures? Would I otherwise be doing it, if not for the circumstances?
The jog-and-kick of soccer ball around Northbridge was surreal and delightful, totally worthwhile. Unplanned, I got up to a canter on three separate occasions! (Then needed to rest, pant, amble along with ball under arm.) At one point a fellow -- kind of scruffy-looking, maybe between houses and employment -- gestured for the ball. I passed it to him. He bounced it back -- it was nice.
Kicking the footy with Dad was also excellent. We used to do this way back, whence I was four or five years old and onwards. It dried up when my obsessions turned to DJing and art. In fact, he and I went for a kick at the ground at which I played a lot of my junior footy, when I still lived at home with my parents (primary school and early high school?). Ernest Johnson Oval. It had new changerooms. We kicked back and forth for goals. Last time I had a kick it didn’t go well -- couldn’t kick a drop-punt to save my goddamn life. But this day (it was a Sunday) I was on. Dad had a rougher time. I hope we’ll have a another chance to iron out the kinks whilst the virus and its attendant quirks remain. We bonded, as adults -- over footy, over exercise.
Are other people doing this? Are people exercising when they wouldn't usually? Is there something wrong with this -- is it ethical?
I went out and had a hit with my housemate of the tennis ball. We only had one -- it got hit against a graffiti-ed wall in a derelict carpark (though with quite a clean, cleared, bouncey tarmac). It was great fun -- so good I even filmed it. It ended prematurely: the tennis ball soared over the (tall) wall onto the roof of a neighbouring warehouse, never to return.
The curve is flattening in Australia. The past week has felt different -- controlled. The PM’s Office has finally released its modelling to the public -- and you start to understand why it has taken so long for them to do so. They were waiting for security, for containment, for a sense of hope. The modelling of the past month or two may have been too much for a workaday populace (including me) to have borne out. Can you imagine the panic and (re)action of learning -- from an official source -- that if this distancing business doesn't work, obscene numbers of fellow countrypeople would die?
Too hot! Withhold it for the benefit of the people, the fabric of things, the collective psyche. I’m surprised they released the modelling in the UK. (Boris Johnson is in ICU as I write.) I realise mine might be an unpopular or conservative stance.
In terms of knowledge and modelling, what else might the government knowingly withhold? What about aliens? And terrorism? Please show us the modelling of the economic and political impact that climate change is destined to wreak upon us if we don’t act credulously and soon.
And what’s next? Do we just ‘hold on’ for a while? Will these stimulus packages see us through? When will the vaccine come -- and are we on restrictions until then? Why can’t anyone tell us this? Right -- it is being withhold lest we can’t handle the truth. Scotty Morrison says it will be at least six months until we consider ‘lifting our foot’ off the containment strategy.
Deep beneath it all, you can’t help but think of the political fallout. Imagine the clout, the agency, the carte blanche Scott fucking Morrsion is going to have if he continues guiding us through this so seemingly effectively. He couldn’t manage the fucking bushires! But he has learned, isn’t stupid. What will he do about climate change -- will his response here allow him to transcend even the coal-huggers of the Liberal right? There are so many questions. Indeed: For me, we are coming into the thinky-thinky-question stage of the pandemic. The details, the weeds. Perhaps because now we have time to actually stop and think, instead of simply freaking out.
I’m no longer scared, not for myself or others -- touch wood. This is most evident in how lax I am with #stayathome. Sure: I stay at home. (I am an engaged citizen and a good boy.) But I will wring out the exercise clause for as long as I humanly can, for all it’s fucking worth.
0 notes
Text
Norwich 3-1 Man City LIVE: Score, Liverpool FIVE points clear as Canaries STUN Man City | Football | Sport
NORWICH 3-1 MANCHESTER CITY – MCLEAN (18), CANTWELL (28), AGUERO (45), PUKKI (50)
Manchester City XI: Ederson, Walker, Stones, Otamendi, Zinchenko, Rodrigo, D Silva, Gundogan, B Silva, Aguero, Sterling
Norwich XI: Krul, Byram, Godfrey, Amadou, Lewis, Cantwell, McLean, Buendia, Stiepermann, Cantwell, Pukki
Kenny McLean opens the scoring with powerful header from a corner
Todd Cantwell has doubled Norwich’s lead against the champions
Sergio Aguero pulls one back just before the break
Teemu Pukki restores Norwich’s two-gaol lead after Otamendi mistake
NORWICH 3-1 MANCHESTER CITY
86: It’s Raheem Sterling… still Raheem Sterling… saved! The England winger’s deflected effort pops up nicely for Tim Krul.
83: Corner to Manchester City… and they promptly waste it with deep cross that goes straight out of play. Norwich are seven minutes plus stoppage time away from a famous victory.
80: Wasted! Sergio Aguero meets Raheem Sterling’s cross from the left but he’s ballooned it over the crossbar from close range.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
78: Tell you what – Norwich aren’t just holding on, they are doing more of the attacking! The Canaries are pressing like their lives depend on it and the crowd are in fine voice. I suspect even Steven Fry is screaming at his television somewhere.
75: You’d expect City to be creating tons of chances – but that’s simply not the case. Norwich have the champions at arms length.
73: Last roll of the dice. Pep Guardiola brings on Riyad Mahrez for Bernardo Silva. Don’t ask me what formation City are now playing.
70: Bernardo Silva booked for a late lunge. That’s City’s first yellow card of the afternoon. 20 minutes left and Norwich still have their incredible two-goal lead.
67: Otamendi looks to get some kind of redemption when turning a corner towards goal but there’s no venom on the header and Tim Krul collects easily enough.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
64: Kevin de Bruyne bends a free-kick into the box. John Stones and Sergio Aguero both attack it but neither make a connection and Tim Krul gathers.
61: City have back-to-back-to-back (I could have just written three) corners and Norwich see them all off without incident. Ederson is stood on the halfway line.
58: Pep pulls the trigger – sending on Jesus and KDB, replacing Ilkay Gundogan (who has done absolutely nothing) and David Silva (who I daren’t criticise).
55: Pep Guardiola has ordered Gabriel Jesus and Kevin De Bruyne to warm up on the sidelines. The pair are incoming.
53: The Sky Sports cameras pan to Delia Smith sat in the directors box. Somehow she looks calm and collected while the rest of the stadium are still rolling around on the deck in celebration!
NORWICH 3-1 MANCHESTER CITY – PUKKI
51: GOAL! Moments after fluffing a reasonably good chance – Teemu Pukki converts an absolute gift from Nicolas Otamendi!
Norwich have their two-goal advantage back after Otamendi receives the ball from John Stones inside his own penalty area. He simply dozes off on the ball and Buendia nips in, squares it to Pukki, who scores.
Absolute disaster for Manchester City and Pep Guardiola hasn’t stopped ranting on the bench.
48: It’s been a fairly chaotic start for Norwich. They can’t clear their lines with Manchester City launching wave after wave of attack. Nothing clear-cut yet.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
NORWICH 2-1 MANCHESTER CITY
45: And we’re back underway folks. The script says Manchester City will come back and take three points home with them – but I suspect Norwich have other ideas.
No changes. So that means Kevin De Bruyne remains on the bench.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
NORWICH 2-1 MANCHESTER CITY
HT: And that’s the break. How crucial will that equaliser be – not only today but in the title race?!
NORWICH 2-1 MANCHESTER CITY – AGUERO
45: GOAL! Guess who? Norwich had just two minutes to survive but they’ve been undone by City saviour Sergio Aguero.
Bernardo Silva whips a great cross in from the left and Aguero peels off his marker to head home. Norwich are appealing for offside – but the goal stands. Lifeline.
44: Norwich are dangerously close to going in at half-time with a two-goal advantage. Who could have predicted this?!
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
41: Frustrations boiling over already? Zinchenko and Stiepermann have themselves a good old fashioned shoving match over a throw-in. No bookings dished out.
38: Raheem Sterling isn’t getting much joy down the left so he’s swapped to the right flank. Mega respect to Sam Byram for forcing that change.
35: Manchester City have conceded twice in the opening half-hour of a Premier League game for only the second time under Pep Guardiola (also vs Leicester City in December 2016).
33: Norwich are right back at it! Pukki wins a corner from the flustered Zinchenko. It’s chaos inside the box with the hosts appealing for a penalty but City eventually hack it away.
30: Woodwork! Bernardo Silva heads it across goal and an unmarked Raheem Sterling thumps it against the post. Is it going to be one of those days?
NORWICH 2-0 MANCHESTER CITY – CANTWELL
29: GOAL! I don’t believe it… Norwich have doubled their advantage against the champions and this is an absolute peach of a goal.
The Canaries break with Teemu Pukki driving forward towards goal. He draws in two defenders before casually laying it on a plate for Todd Cantwell to tap home.
27: Chance! Raheem Sterling wriggles away from his marker before fizzing in a cross towards Sergio Aguero. The Argentine can’t head in from a tight angle.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
26: Still Tim Krul remains untested between the sticks. Norwich are defending well – not sliding in or going to ground unnecessarily.
23: Obviously there’s ages still to play – but if things stay the same then Liverpool will remain five points clear of City at the top of the Premier League table.
21: Folks… we have a game open our hands. And there was me thinking Manchester City would steamroll Norwich inside the first 20 minutes. The Canaries are good value for their lead too.
Eight of the last nine goals that Manchester City have conceded in the Premier League have come via set pieces, with four of those from corners.
NORWICH 1-0 MANCHESTER CITY – MCLEAN
18: GOAL! What?! Norwich are leading Manchester City – this is NOT a drill.
It’s football 101 from the hosts as Buendia whips a corner in from the right and there’s Kenny McLean to powerfully head past Ederson.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
16: Sergio Aguero tries a neat flick over to the advancing David Silva but his knock back for Raheem Sterling is intercepted. Norwich successfully make their way through the first 15-minute chunk.
Only five more of those to go…
13: Fair play, Norwich. The Championship winners are giving the Premier league champions a very good test. They’ve not managed to get Pukki up the field yet – but they’ve defended very well indeed. Organised and ridged.
10: Sloppy. Oleksandr Zinchenko punts the ball straight out of play and Pep Guardiola spins away in disgust. Pep, incidentally, is wearing a very sharp sweater/white shirt combo. Big fan.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
8: “Chammmpppppionessssss,” is the loud chant from Manchester City supporters inside Carrow Road. They’ve not got much to shout about at this stage with precious little happening on the pitch.
Precious little? I mean naffing.
5: I suppose the reason for people’s belief in an upset is the absence of Aymeric Laporte. The Frenchman has been a rock for Pep Guardiola but he won’t return for another six months.
Anyway, Manchester City are straight on the front-foot winning a corner inside five minutes. It comes to nothing.
3: OK, are we all in agreement that this is mission impossible? I feel like people have their doubts about where the points are going today. Having watched Norwich three times this season – they are worrying expansive.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
NORWICH 0-0 MANCHESTER CITY
1: Hello everyone – welcome to our LIVE coverage from Carrow Road. Good grief it’s been a busy day with Liverpool, Manchester United, Chelsea and Tottenham all securing maximum points.
I barely had time to stuff down a three-day old lasagne…
Can Pep Guardiola’s Premier League champions follow suit and round the day off with a win? They’ll need to given they currently sit five points behind Jurgen Klopp’s challengers. Must-win already?
We’ve just got underway where a depleted Norwich have ELEVEN injuries. Good luck, lads.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
The sides…
Manchester City XI: Ederson, Walker, Stones, Otamendi, Zinchenko, Rodrigo, D Silva, Gundogan, B Silva, Aguero, Sterling.
Subs: Bravo, Cancelo, Foden, Fernandinho, Mahrez, De Bruyne, Jesus.
Norwich XI: Krul, Byram, Godfrey, Amadou, Lewis, Cantwell, McLean, Buendia, Stiepermann, Cantwell, Pukki.
Subs: Fahrmann, McGovern, Hanley, Heise, Srbeny, Idah, Drmic.
Norwich vs Man City LIVE: Premier League score, goals and updates (Image: GETTY)
NORWICH vs MANCHESTER CITY – TEAM NEWS
Norwich have an injury crisis with potentially eight players ruled out of Saturday’s clash with Manchester City.
Max Aarons, Christoph Zimmermann, Mario Vrancic, Moritz Leitner and Tom Trybull have all picked up injuries.
Timm Klose and Onel Hernandez remain absent and Patrick Roberts is ineligible. Tim Krul, Ben Godfrey and Grant Hanley are doubts.
Manchester City’s Aymeric Laporte is likely to be out for six months.
Source link . More news
via wordpress https://ift.tt/2NfD9kZ
#Premier League Norwich 3-1 Man City LIVE: Score#Liverpool FIVE points clear as Canaries STUN Man Ci
0 notes
Text
Homestuck Epilogues - Meat - Page 12 (Epilogue 2 Page 4)
0 notes
Text
We Fly By Street Signs ~ II. Champagne;
Archive of Our Own Chapters; 1 2
I updated on time on ao3 I swear, but anyways please enjoy the second installment of We Fly By Street Signs
Or the one where Chloé is a bitch who ruins everything as always
II. Champagne; 2065
It was the typical party scene that she despised. There was a reason Marinette hadn’t gone to a party since secondary school and it was that everyone acted like they were obsessed with sex. Which in some ways, they were.
Young adults, she swore under her breath, were fucking rabbits.
Still, Marinette elbowed her way inside, and after a few minutes finally found some breathing room in the kitchen. It was still littered with people and too many to count beer cans but this she could live with. It wasn't much different than a night in with Nino. She would be fine.
Until she heard the tale tail sound of heels clacking on the tile. Marinette only knew one who wore heels everywhere and she mentally prepared herself.
Chloé Bourgeois, the biggest bitch that Marinette had the unfortunate luck of knowing since primary school. The beach blonde walked in like she had the total reign of the party, which was false since Marinette knew that Kim had decided to throw the party this time. Still, seeing the same woman who bullied her throughout her childhood, made Marinette see red.
A hand grabbed her arm suddenly, pulling her back before she could do anything.
The callouses alone should have been a dead giveaway, but Marinette didn't want to face a disappointed Nino on any occasion. She allowed herself to be led away from the scene, only looking back once to see the blonde smirking at her triumphantly. As if Chloé knew what almost went down. And that made Marinette even more furious than before.
❝It's not worth it Mari,❞ Nino muttered under his breath. He pulled her along until they were surely out of Chloé's sight. Alya was there, cheering on some guys playing beer pong, and handed Marinette a beer. She pouted, opening it with practiced ease and watched as Alya challenged the winners, dragging Nino along with her. As Marinette chuckled softly, her phone buzzed with an unknown number popping up on the screen.
❝Walking up the steps now, where are you?❞ She briefly wondered if it was originally Alya's text to her friend but then again, Nino had said how much he hated to make Alya wait for him.
❝Hey, Mari!❞ Nino was grinning wildly at her, while Alya creamed the other party goers, he waved her over and snatched the phone out of her hand.
❝Hey!❞
❝Yes, Adrien is here!❞ And with that, the DJ ran off, and a ball was shoved at her.
❝I hope you're good at this,❞ Alya sunk another ball on the other team's side. Marinette cracked her knuckles, grinning like a madwoman, oh she was the queen.
And when they eventually won, Alya swore that she was never playing with Nino again.
❝Look I like Nino, he's a great guy but he has jack shit hand-eye coordination.❞ Marinette agreed, knowing that this was somehow going to come back and bite her in the butt for not properly wing womaning for Nino.
❝By the way, where is Nino?❞ She asked, craning her head in an attempt to see him over the crowd. Marinette had always been a shortie since primary school so it was no surprise she couldn't see him.
❝He mentioned something about a friend coming around, but I thought he meant you.❞ Before either of them could answer, a loud laugh boomed through the room, Marinette could recognize that laugh from a mile away. Nino walked in with his arm around some guy's neck, gesturing wildly as he told a story.
The guy was cute enough, Marinette just hoped it wasn't one those blind dates where Nino would shove a guy at her while he ran off with Alya. It wouldn't be the first time it happened.
❝Oh, wait I totally have to introduce you!❞ She heard before the duo came their way.
❝Ladies, this is Adrien. He doesn't get out much.❞ This Adrien guy shoved Nino's arm off of his shoulder, laughing and eventually shaking Alya's hand. When it came to Marinette however, time seemed to freeze as a shriek was heard. Marinette barely had enough time to brace herself as Chloé, wherever the devil had spawned from, rushed between them and hugged Adrien.
❝Adrikins, I didn't know you would be here.❞ She purred, glaring at Marinette from the corner of her eye. Marinette caught the hint that she wasn't wanted and stomped off. A shuffle of feet meant that Nino had followed her, probably to prevent her from punch a wall or something like that.
❝That little bitch.❞ She heard Nino murmur but didn't stop until they made it outside. The air was crisp and clear, much better than the smell of sex and alcohol from inside. Marinette took in a deep breath, counting to five. She held her breath for about seven seconds and let out the breath slowly as she counted to nine.
When her mind cleared and she no longer felt the need to punch something, Marinette opened her eyes and turned to Nino. He was calmly staring up at the sky, twiddling his thumbs.
❝Do you want to head back?❞ He asked softly.
❝Not really, you can go on back.❞
❝Oh shit Alya,❞ Nino glanced back at the house while Marinette cooed at his actions.
❝Well, you never really had much of a legacy to stand on anyways,❞ It took Nino a moment to register her words but when he did, he shoved her playfully away from him.
❝I'm disowning you, Mari.❞ He groaned as she giggled.
❝C'mon you have to admit that was a good one.❞
❝You're almost as bad as Adrien,❞
❝Question,❞ Marinette slid down to the grass, laying back and watching the stars move around in the sky.
❝Answer,❞
❝Were you going to set me up with him?❞ Nino started laughing, almost hysterically. She really didn't know what was so funny, so waited as he caught his breath.
❝Well in a way, yeah but he saw a couple of your races and like I know he wanted to talk to you about some of them. He's just a giant fanboy.❞
❝A fanboy that knows Chloé.❞
❝Once again, not my fault Kim has the biggest crush on her and only invites her to impress her.❞ So in silence, they sat until Alya came outside, looking absolutely disgusted.
❝Bless you, two for dealing with that monstrosity for as long as you have.❞ Nino chuckled as she took a seat on his lap, intertwining their fingers as Marinette gagged.
❝Gross. PDA, I didn't sign up for this, I want out.❞ Nino blew her a kiss which she deflected as if she could. The couple starts talking about something that Marinette almost immediately tunes out for watching the sky. Taking a deep breath again, her mind wanders off.
The Adrien guy looked familiar, though Marinette had never seen him around the racetrack before. And quite frankly, she didn't want to inquire about him if he knew Chloé then he must be bad news. He was probably just like every person Chloé knew; rich, famous and so stuck up she could choke.
❝Mari, we're heading inside if you wanted to come.❞ Nino leaned over her and extended a hand which she gladly took.
The three of them walked back inside, thunder crashed and rain began to drop from the sky.
❝Shit, I forgot my umbrella in the car.❞ Alya cursed, and Nino covered her with his leather jacket. One look from her best friend and she knew she had to let him take the car to drive Alya home. But that didn't mean she had to like it.
❝I swear to god if you're not back in an hour I will kick you out of the apartment.❞ Nino gave her a sly salute, guiding Alya to the car as it began to downpour.
❝I'll be back!❞ He shouted, and Marinette watched on as the maroon car drove out of sight. She sighed, taking a seat on the porch and started a timer. Lord knows she would never let Nino live it down if he was late. She sat there for a total of twenty minutes before a voice startled her out of her thoughts.
❝Funny seeing you here.❞ Marinette didn't jump, she most certainly didn't yelp, all she would admit to doing was whip around and glare at the sound until she was face to face with Adrien.
❝Funny indeed.❞ Marinette wasn't sure if her glare was put across well enough until the blond hesitated in taking a seat next to her, favoring to stand next to the banister instead.
❝So um I never got your name back there.❞
❝I don't really converse with people who talk to Chloé❞ And she should have felt bad, she wasn't a horrible person normally but Chloé riled her up too much.
❝Ah right,❞ He shuffled from one foot to another, avoiding her stare. ❝I would assume she bullied you in school, correct me if I'm wrong.❞
❝You're not...❞
❝My apologies she can be a bit, ah what's the word,❞
❝Conceited, cold-hearted, a literal pain in the ass.❞
❝Yeah, that.❞ A strike of lightning comes down, startling the both of them in favor of watching the light flicker across the sky. Nino had been gone for thirty minutes.
❝Anyways, I just wanted to apologize for her.❞
❝Oh, so you think it's perfectly alright now?❞ Adrien stared at her, mouth opened wide and a slight flush on his cheeks if the porch lighting was anything to go by.
❝Look I know you're trying to make peace with me for whatever reason, but you also don't know me.❞ She didn't care if it was raining cats and dogs, she needed to get away from this place and just scream out into the abyss.
❝You can't go out in the storm like that,❞ He gestured to her shorts and a tank top, gaze lingering on her midsection far too long for her comfort.
❝Watch me,❞ Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, knowing full well it was Nino and hoped he was on his way soon.
❝You are fucking insane, at least take an umbrella so you don't catch a cold.❞ Adrien pulled one from behind him, opening it in front of her and waited for her to take it. Still, despite her attitude, he was gentle and kind.
It kind of made her sick, so she quickly grabbed the handle and took off from the porch.
❝You're welcome!❞ Adrien called, voice almost drowning out in the rain. She was about to call back when a car honked and she recognized the bad paint job on Nino's car. Marinette sprinted or tried to with massive puddles everywhere she ran, diving into Nino's car as he peeled away from the driveway. She tucked the umbrella into itself and tossed it in the back, not before noticing a double AA embroidered on the top. She pointedly ignored the stare Nino gave her as she pulled out her phone.
There was a text from Nino and one missed called from her mom, which she mentally promised to call her in the morning. But right now she had a mission to do.
She opened google on her phone while Nino rapped softly to the music playing in the background.
Adrien A, she typed in and watched as the results flooded in. One by one, they said the same thing and Marinette had half the mind to bang her head on the dashboard.
❝Nino?❞
❝Hmm?❞
❝Why didn't you tell me it was Adrien Agreste, son of my favorite fashion designer you were about to introduce me to?❞
Nino gulped, eyes locked on the road, and hands almost going white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.
❝He said he wanted to be introduced to like any other guy, he didn't want a label put on him before you had a chance to talk. Why?❞
❝Nothing, I was just wondering about something.❞ And if they drove in silence for the rest of the ride, that wasn't necessarily Marinette's fault at all.
#miraculous-ladybug#ml au#drag racing au#modern au#college au#marinette dupain cheng#nino lahiffe#alya cesaire#adrien agreste#fluff and angst#fic: we fly by street signs#Fic: wfbss#kiwi talks shit#kiwi writes like shit#lol nah
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
GenderSwap: Chapter Seven
Word Count: 1678
It was Sunday which meant that tomorrow the boys will have to show up to their classes as girls. All of the their professors knew of the situation, only they know because Dumbledore does not want the word spreading out what happened to the boys because he fears that the school would go into a frenzy pointing fingers left and right. James so far was the only one who was truly freaking out.
“What are we going to?” James panics sitting on their beds in the dorm rooms realizing that it was Sunday.
The rest of the boys were calm, not really minding being girls. “Prongs we’re going to be fine,” Sirius reassures, “How hard can it be?”
Turns out that Sirius was very wrong indeed, that day they decided that they should actually leave the dorms because someone can only handle so much of being trapped in a room all day. They walk out of the dorm trying to be as confident as they can, keeping their heads up and ignoring the stares from the boys and girls. No one knows who they are, so naturally they all stare not knowing what else to do; someone must know who the four girls are. Unfortunately for them no one did know, nevertheless by noon everyone knew that there were four new Gryffindors girls.
For such an exceptionally large school word does get around fast because the boys were minding their own business by a tree that was on right by Black Lake, when a group of guys come up.
“What do we have here?” a Gryffindor 7th year says, with his 2 other friends by his side.
“Um, do we know you?” Sirius questions.
“No, but I sure do know you,” the Gryffindor boy says checking him out.
Remus looks up from his book, “I can assure you, that you do not.”
“And who are you?” the Ravenclaw boy on the right side of the Gryffindor calls.
“That's none of your damn business, why don't you just leave?” James growls getting protective over his friends.
“And ruin our fun, Merlin no.” the Slytherin on the left says. Peter hides behind James wanting to avoid this at all cost “Why are you hiding, baby? We just want to get to know you.”
“We obviously don't want to get to know you. Do you even know what no is or are you just to stupid?” Sirius sasses.
“Why you little,” the Slytherin whips out his wand and points it to Sirius, although before Sirius can pull his own a black Ravenclaw boy comes rushing down by the tree.
“Hey leave them alone, didn't you hear them? They don't want to talk to you.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business Carter?” the other Ravenclaw boy says.
“You are harassing four girls asshole, I can't just sit there and watch.” Carter walks up closer getting in front of Sirius, nodding to him signaling that he's just there to help. “Just leave and no one gets hurt.”
“Oh yeah? How are you going to hurt us there are three of us and one of you?” The Gryffindor says nudging his Ravenclaw friend, laughing.
“Actually, there are five of us.” James comes from behind Carter having his wand out like the three boys behind him. The marauders point their wands to the three boys in front of them “One more word and we will not hesitates hex you fucking gits, just walk away.”
The three boys slowly back away being slightly frightened, they put up their hands in defense running once the the boys or girls, are out of sight. “Are you girls okay?” Carter questions, showing them genuine concern.
“Yes, oh thank you,” Peter runs towards Carter pulling him into a tight embrace.
“You’re.... erm welcome,” Carter says taken by surprise by the small blonde girl hugging him.
“Pet-a-Penelope, I think he's had enough.” James tugs his friend away.
“Sorry,” Peter looks down at the ground embarrassed.
“No it's quite alright, I'm just glad your okay, but it seemed that you all handled yourselfs very well” Carter says smiling to them “I... uh was going to go play quidditch with my brother Connor and his friend Lucas, do any of you play?”
James was instantly interested “YES, I DO.”
Carter chuckles, “Cool, what position.”
“Chaser,” James says proudly.
“Great we need one, I mean if you want to join us.”
James looks back at his friends hopefully who all nod at him confirming that they wanted to go “Yes, we’ll come.”
“Awesome, will you three be playing as well?” Carter asks not wanting anyone to be left out.
“Oh no we just like to watch Ja....Jaime play,” Remus stutters.
“Are you sure? I'm positive we can find a spot for all of you.”
“Yeah we’re sure, thank you for offering,” Sirius smiles.
“Okay, well it's this way come on,” Carter waves his hand hand to them as he's walking up the hill.
The other boys excitedly follow Carter, for the first time since Saturday this was the only time that the boys felt truly okay. Even though they might have not minded being girls with the exception of James, it never felt like it was all going to work out. Now in this moment, it felt like it was fine, the marauders were doing something that they would’ve done on any normal weekend. Maybe until Dumbledore finds out a way to reverse it, that they would actually be able to go off and survive being girls.
The boys reach the quidditch field and they have never gotten so many stares. It was not a secret that the marauders were quite popular, still they have never gotten as much attention as they did when they were standing on the quidditch field. Not only because they were new that everyone was looking, but they were four girls on the quidditch field. That doesn’t happen everyday girls don't just stroll in wanting to play quidditch games on a Sunday, that was just unheard of.
When they reach Carter’s friends, they get the same exact same looks that they have been getting once they set foot on the field by a Slytherin boy with really intense blue eyes that you could stare at for hours, he also had short, curly hair that once you saw it you just wanted to reach out and touch it.
“I thought you were going to get a chaser,” The blue eyed Slytherin boy asks curious who the four girls standing next to his friend were.
“I did, this is Jaime, right?” Carter asks
James nods his head reaching to shake the Slytherin boys hand “Hi Jamie, I’m Brendon Ford and who are your friends?”
James freezes for a moment, not knowing how was he going to fix this. Not wanting his friend to get caught in an awkward moment Sirius speaks up “I'm Siryna, nice to meet you Brendon,” they both shake hands then Remus a little jealous speaks up.
“I'm uh…. Rezza.” Brendon smiles, shaking his hand
“Penelope,” Peter squeaks hating meeting new people, he shyly holds out his hand that Brendon kindly took.
“Nice to meet you all, sorry for these rude ones over here, they seem to forget their manners sometimes,” Brendon nudges two boys who were to into their own conversation to notice the four girls.
The boys shoot Brendon an annoyed look obviously not wanting to be interrupted, but once they see the girls their features soften instantly, “I am so sorry,” A black Hufflepuff boy says looking a lot like Carter, “My name's Connor, Connor Palmer.”
“And I’m Lucas Pierce.” another Hufflepuff boys says, he has kind green eyes with short dirty blonde hair that goes so well with his eyes.
“Rezza.”
“Penelope.”
“Jaime.”
“Siryna.”
The two boys smile,“Those are pretty names,” Lucas grins.
“Thank you,” the marauders say in unison.
“I’ve got to admit that creeped me out, but nice to meet you,” Lucas chuckles.
“Do you wanna get to playing?” Carter asks.
“Yeah, but I don't have my broom,” James says.
“Oh we have an extra,” Brendon picks up a broom from the ground, “here you go!”
“Thanks,” James says observing the broom.
“No problem, I hope your ready to get you ass kicked,” Brendon laughs as he jumps on top of his broom and kicks off the ground.
“You wish Ford,” James smiles as he does the same.
The rest of the boys kick off the ground trailing right behind Brendon and James. The three marauders find their way to the stands, watching their best friend kick some ass. “GO JAMES!” Peter yells, seeing that James was carrying the quaffle to the goal.
James scores and the three girls erupts into cheers. There has only been one game that the Gryffindor team has lost since James has been there and that was only because the poor boy was incredibly sick, yet he decided that he couldn't let the team down so he put on his uniform to be on his way. No one on the team blamed him because they all knew that he tried his best, nonetheless today James was perfectly healthy and there was no way he was going to lose. The boy on James finally catches the snitch. A crowd has started to form being interested on the unofficial game. Once the crowd realizes what team has won, half of the crowd cheers in the stands while the other groaned in annoyance. There was one particular place in the crowd, however, that were being extra rambunctious.
“THAT IS MY BEST FRIEND MINE!” Remus cheers.
“JAMIE YOU'RE BLOODY BRILLIANT!” Sirius cheers with his hands cupping his mouth
“NO ONE IS AS GREAT AS MY FRIEND JAMIE!” Peter calls.
James comes down to the ground and the three girls run to the field their long hair whipping behind them. Sirius is the first to throw himself on top of James then Remus and Peter follow, they’re all on the field enjoying the very happy moment they were having.
#james potter#sirius black#remus lupin#peter pettigrew#marauders#genderswap#gender switch#trash#traaaaaaaash
2 notes
·
View notes
Link
JOCK STEIN, at the age of fifty-five, may have been entering the autumn of his extraordinary managerial career, but future prospects genuinely looked rosy.
As he prepared for the 1977/78 campaign, Jock knew he had two world class performers in Danny McGrain and Kenny Dalglish. Pat Stanton’s arrival from Hibs in a straight swap for Jackie McNamara was a steadying influence on the relatively inexperienced Roddie MacDonald in the heart of the defence.
Ronnie Glavin was scoring goals from midfield and Joe Craig, a different type of player to Joe McBride, Willie Wallace or Dixie Deans, was a powerful attack-leader.
There was the artistry of the flamboyant Alfie Conn while teenager Roy Aitken was an emerging talent, in defence and midfield. Another youngster named Tommy Burns had been introduced in selected games during the previous season and had looked the part with a sweet left foot.
All that, and Peter Latchford was earning a reputation of being dependable between the sticks. Indeed, Stein was preparing to turn back the clock to the mid-sixties and launch a new Celtic on the world of football.
It didn’t take long for the expectation levels to be fragmented. The season hadn’t even kicked off when the first setback arrived. Liverpool, looking for a replacement for Kevin Keegan, bound for the Bundesliga in a £500,000 move to SV Hamburg, turned their focus to Dalglish.
Celtic spent £60,000 of the transfer cash on Dundee United striker Tom McAdam, who would eventually do his best work for the club at centre-half, and £25,000 on unknown Fulham midfielder John Dowie, a one-time reject from Rangers.
Presumably, the balance of £355,000 was placed in a high-interest account that Celtic could unlock some time in the Twenty-First Century.
The warning signs were flashing. Stanton was seriously hurt in the opening goalless draw against Dundee United. News filtered through that the injury to Stanton was so severe there was no hope of a comeback that season. In fact, his playing career was over.
After a mere ninety minutes, it was already the start of the disintegration of a season. A week later Ayr United beat Celtic 2-1 at Somerset Park and, following that, Motherwell left Parkhead with a 1-0 victory.
Johannes Edvaldsson gave Celtic a two-goal advantage at Ibrox, but Rangers came back to win 3-2. Dowie made his debut in that encounter and produced the sort of performance that stripped away any notion that Rangers might have made an error of judgement when they let him go for nothing.
A lanky 6ft 6in centre-half called Iain McWilliams, from Queen’s Park, was drafted in beside MacDonald. It became the double-act from hell. The cloud-scraping pair were unbeatable in the air, but, unfortunately, couldn’t pass the ball six yards on the ground to anyone wearing the same colour of jersey.
Celtic were using sticking plasters when major surgery was required. Aberdeen won 2-1 at Pittodrie to make it four losses and one draw from the first five league games.
Celtic struggled to overcome Clydebank 1-0 and worse was to follow. McGrain, after only seven league games, damaged an ankle so severely in a 2-1 win over Hibs that his season was over, too; his very career threatened. Dalglish transferred, Stanton finished and McGrain sidelined.
All it required to complete a bleak picture would have been a sudden outbreak of bubonic plague in the vicinity of Kerrydale Street. The team was falling apart. Remarkably, it still managed to reach the League Cup Final where Rangers were lying in wait at Hampden in October.
Davie Cooper thumped one past Peter Latchford, but Celtic gamely battled throughout and Edvaldsson out jumped Stewart Kennedy to head in a late leveller to force extra-time.
Fortune continued to ignore Celtic. Latchford mishandled a high ball, patted it straight onto the head of Gordon Smith and he nodded it into the net. Celtic couldn’t come back a second time. Not this Celtic team, anyway.
After beating Luxembourg’s Jeunesse D’Esch 11-1 on aggregate in the European Cup first round, Celtic surrendered meekly to Austria’s SSW Innsbruck at the next hurdle. Conn and Craig scored in a 2-1 win in Glasgow, but the team, with another uninspiring new face in Jim Casey playing, flopped 3-0 in the second leg. Worse was to follow in the Scottish Cup.
George McCluskey, skilful and clever, netted a hat-trick in a 7-1 demolition of Dundee in the first round, but some unwanted history was around the corner. Celtic toiled to a 1-1 draw against First Division Kilmarnock in the next stage at Parkhead. An out-of-sorts team relied on a goal from MacDonald to force a replay at Rugby Park.
Roy Aitken was sent off in a night to forget when Celtic were humbled 1-0 for the first time in the national tournament by opponents from a lower division. A miserable campaign, that had looked so promising in the summer, ended with a dismal 3-1 defeat against St.Mirren at Love Street.
Celtic finished fifth in the table on thirty-six points – nineteen fewer than the previous campaign – with Rangers regaining the championship on fifty-five. Aberdeen (53), Dundee United (40) and Hibs (37) all out-performed a poor Celtic team.
Giants such as Billy McNeill, Tommy Gemmell, Bobby Murdoch, Jimmy Johnstone, Bertie Auld, Davie Hay and Kenny Dalglish had been replaced by the likes of Ian McWilliams, Roy Kay, Jim Casey, Johnny Gibson, Peter Mackie, John Dowie and Jimmy Bone. The shift in quality was staggering; the downward spiral frightening.
Older Celtic followers must have winced as they witnessed what looked like a restaging of the early sixties with their club being sucked into a vortex of mediocrity and misery.
Unthinkable only a handful of years previously, it was now time for a change of manager. The whole sorry episode that came next was, indeed, a black one in the history of a proud football club.
Jock Stein discovered he was expendable. Frankly, though, the board were in a quandary about how to deal with the removal of their popular manager. After a month of negotiations, two things emerged – a post for Stein would be found on the board and Davie McParland, his assistant manager, would not be offered the job as his successor.
The board turned to Stein for his thoughts. Without hesitation, he nominated Billy McNeill. The former captain was seen as Celtic manager material by his mentor who, as well as shaping his playing career, had had an enormous influence in his first steps into management, possibly without McNeill’s full knowledge.
McNeill, after quitting the game following the Scottish Cup Final success over Airdrie in 1975, had tired of working on his own business interests and was persuaded to become manager of Clyde on April 1 1977.
A mere six weeks later, Stein received a telephone call from Dick Donald, the Aberdeen chairman. He was looking for a successor to Ally MacLeod who had agreed to take over as manager of the Scotland international side.
Stein nominated McNeill. Within hours, the Pittodrie supremo, with Stein’s assistance, had made contact with McNeill and, only a few days later, the contract was signed, sealed and delivered.
McNeill made an immediate impact on Aberdeen. In his only season, he took the club to runners-up position in the league, on fifty-three points, two adrift of Rangers and seventeen ahead of Celtic.
They also reached the Scottish Cup Final where they were beaten 2-1 by the Ibrox side. No silverware in the Pittodrie trophy cabinet, but Stein was impressed.
After advising the board to waste no time in moving for McNeill, they, in turn, left it to Stein to make contact. McNeill recalled, ‘I was at Scottish Football Writers’ Player of the Year dinner at the Macdonald Hotel in Newton Mearns.
‘Actually, I was picking up the Manager of the Year award, so Big Jock knew I would definitely be in Glasgow that evening. Jock took me aside at one stage and said he wanted to have a word in private.
‘He told me he would drive his Mercedes to a quiet spot just down the road and I was to meet him there in a few minutes. I was more than a little intrigued. I got into my car, drove to the nominated place and jumped into Jock’s car.
‘He smiled and said, “I think it’s time you came back to Celtic Park.” Just like that. There was no preamble. Before I could ask in which capacity, he quickly added, “Would you take the manager’s job?” I was a little stunned by the offer and I listened to him as he laid out the reasons why he thought me and Celtic were made for each other. As ever, he was very persuasive.’
McNeill has a remarkable confession to make. ‘I’ll tell you this, if the Celtic board had approached me to take the job instead of Jock I would have rejected it. I wouldn’t have gone back.
‘My wife Liz and I were extremely happy with our new environment in Aberdeen. We had a lovely home in Stonehaven, we had made new friends, the board were great to work with, especially Dick Donald,
‘I had good players and we were getting good results. It was the perfect setting. But I couldn’t bring myself to say no to Big Jock. I just couldn’t face turning him down. He had been such a huge influence in my life as well as my career.
‘If it hadn’t been for Jock I would never have returned to Celtic.’
On April 20, 1978, Celtic held another meeting at the North British Hotel in Glasgow. A section of the minutes of the get-together make interesting reading.
‘In the view of Mr.Stein’s long and valued service with the club, it was agreed that at the time a new manager was appointed, Mr.Stein be offered an executive directorship with the club as recognition and compensation by the club for these services. Mr.Stein indicated that he would be very pleased to accept such a directorship.’
On the surface, it appeared to be a seamless changeover. Stein admitted, ‘I am more than pleased to be going on the board at Parkhead.’
A week or so later, the picture changed dramatically when it was revealed exactly what his role would entail while overseeing a new commercial enterprise at the club.
He could hardly comprehend what the board were proposing. Stein, the manager who won twenty-five trophies at Celtic including making them the best team in Europe in 1967, was being asked to take over an area dealing with a new lottery venture.
Stein told friends, ‘You’ll never believe what they want me to do – they want me to sell pools tickets!’
A proud man, Stein never did agree to that ‘offer’.
*Extract from Celtic The Awakening, by Alex Gordon.
http://ift.tt/2lRXCOM
1 note
·
View note
Text
Interlude 2.5
“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”
CRASH!
I landed in a face-down belly flop. It hurt, but somehow I don’t think I was injured. Still took a minute to get up.
“Where…?”
I must have slept through the deadline… I was back in the warehouse, which seemed a lot bigger… because I was still half my human height. I was still a Sandslash.
“Terra?” I called out to the industrial void. “Terra, where are you?!”
“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”
CRASH!
I didn’t even feel a shake as the Torterra landed right behind me, but I did feel the gust of wind.
“Terra, are you OK?!” I asked, rushing to her side.
“I-I’m fine...” she muttered. “J-Just give me a minute...”
“Alright, but if you need anything, that medbay should- oof!”
Something had fallen and bounced off my head. It was the notebook. It landed open to a page with new text. Grumbling and rumbling my head, I read it.
Alternate forms:
A jumper may switch between any form they took on a jump at will.
A companion that possesses alt-forms may also switch them at will. It does not receive an alt-form unless explicitly imported into the world.
Pets with alt-forms can only be changed by a jumper or companion with line of sight.
Your partner has been given a human alt-form.
You jump on in a week.
Alternate forms…? Was it saying I wasn’t stuck as a Sandslash? Hmm, it said “at will,” so…
A poof of white smoke that dissipated a moment later, and I was me again, as human as I was ten years ago in that damn cylinder.
“Whoa, Robert! How’d you do that?” Terra asked. Good, I could still understand Pokémon as a human.
“Apparently now I can switch between being human and Pokémon,” I said. I tested a few more times, poofing between back and forth between them. The smoke was tan when I turned into a Sandslash, but otherwise it was effortless. “The notebook says that you can turn into a human now too. You just have to will it so.”
“Me, a human?” Terra said. “I’ve never considered that before...”
“C’mon, it’s harmless,” I said, ending my flipping on human. “Besides, hugs are a lot easier when we’re both bipedal.”
Maybe that was enough, but there was a huge cloud of white smoke before my eyes, and what came out was… amazing.
She was not a small woman, easily having at least three-quarters of a foot on six-foot me, with earthy brown skin, and short dark brown hair with the tips died green. Her shoulders were wide, and her arms and legs had the toning you’d expected of someone that explored and fought the wild nearly every day for ten years. I assumed her torso was equally defined, as she was wearing a green T-shirt and knee-length tan dress, along with a gray sturdy jacket that I would later see had a tree logo on the back. Her green Aura ribbon, which she almost never took off, hung loosely around her neck.
“Holy shit, you’re beautiful,” I spurted out.
“You think so, Robert?” It was a little surprising exactly the same voice of Mother Earth came out, but I guess it probably shouldn’t have been. She tried out her limbs out a little. “I’m surprisingly comfortable like this. I think I can try out that hug now.” And then she hugged me; her grip was a bit tight, but my human body was pretty tough so it could take it.
I hugged her back. I love this woman so much.
“Master?”
We broke the hug and turned to see running towards us…
“Bolt! Cody! Anita!” I cried out. I crouched a big to hug Bolt as they came up. “I missed you guys!”
“Missed? We saw you just yesterday,” Bolt replied. “Or… I think it was yesterday, I had a bit of a heavy nap...”
“Oh, Bolt, we’ve got a lot to catch you up on.”
To say they were shocked when I turned into a Sandslash and showed that the human woman with me was Terra would be an understatement. Though they were delighted to learn that I could talk to them. It was weird the personalities you could learn when you understood their speech. Bolt was a bit of a goofball, Cody was a worrywort, and Anita was… well, she was still a little aloof even back then, but it was even clearer now when she spent more time perched on the high shelves than coming down and talking to everyone else.
The three Poké Balls we used turned out to be in a new bin labeled “2”. It also had the Treasure Bag, Wonder Map, and the 25 Reviver Seeds we had brought and everything else the Bag contained, along with the stuff we left behind in the warehouse before leaving. On the shelf next to it where seven uniquely-decorated instrument cases, each with a particular elemental motif to them; I checked later and they indeed contained the seven Treasures (which were not the Seven Treasures, funnily enough) we had managed to save. We brought out Shadow, Bitbit, and Maria, and released Manaphy from the stasis pod.
The entire day was spent telling tales and showing the Treasures to the others, as well as getting everyone used to both of my and Terra’s forms. Bolt was a bit disappointed he couldn’t become a human too. At some point, I put the Treasures and their new cases in the secure location I had set up before.
The next six days, though, were quite busy.
First order of business: food. The warehouse’s regenerating supply could barely keep up with just five of us. Now there were nine. Manaphy still got by on Blue Gummis, of which we packed plenty and he had discipline enough not to gorge, though we’d have to start weaning him off those at some point before the supply inevitably ran out. Bitbit also seemed to do just find snacking on electricity. Thankfully for the other six Pokémon, Oran Berries last Pokémon most of the day when they’re not used for emergency healing, especially since these were PMD-brand Oran Berries that could heal ten times as much as in the original Pokémon setting. And of course, Apples were fine belly-stuffers. We disassembled a bit of the spare shelving to make a frame to hold a small garden, watered with the warehouse’s plumbing and lit with the sunlamp and some fiddling with the “selective region” functions of the heat/AC unit. As for the dirt, Earth Power to the rescue! Fun fact: we could still use our Pokémon moves as humans, though the power is far weaker doing so. Anyways, when Terra managed to make the ground of the warehouse erupt, we got soil out of it, and her presence – when she’s a Pokémon at least – seems to make it fertile enough for plants. Granted, most of my gardening knowledge is from Minecraft, but I took some of the berries and sowed them. They seem to be sprouting quickly, and will hopefully produce a crop before the end of the week. The apples are staying in the refrigerator until we have space enough for an apple tree.
...It’s only just now that I remembered that later Pokémon games had the berry-growing mechanic, which I usually ignored because there were better hold items than berries most of the time.
Getting Terra’s human education up to date was going to be uphill and definitely take longer than the week I had. First was learning to read English. Thankfully, the house’s DVD collection included lots of Sesame Street season boxsets and other PBS shows. God, I forgot how much I missed Between the Lions. Zaboomafoo also gave everyone a basic rundown of Earth animals, which were bound to be more likely going forward. Bitbit learned the fastest when he managed to get into my laptop and could just transfer the videos directly into his memory, though it was limited by the time it took to swap the discs out.
We ran a test with the Terran Cymbals. They don’t affect me or Terra while we’re human. It kind of sucks that of the seven Treasures we got, the only ones we got affect Terra, Manaphy, Maria, and Anita – and I can’t even play the lattermost one yet.
There was also some new installment. Attached to the wall next to the pole and plates was a roster board with two columns of eight slots each, with a small light next to each one. On the top was the word “TEAM ROSTER” flanked by two images of the orange almost-asterisk on my warehouse keychain. The left column was full of names, while the right was completely empty. Reading it over, it listed the names of my team members. I think I can guess what would happen if it was full.
Though this week, I established goals for the future:
Get a proper garden set up in here, with a good variety of crops. As a side goal of this, learn how to garden.
Learn how to play the violin. The other instruments too, that couldn’t hurt, but mostly the violin.
Finish Terra’s human education.
Get some way to connect to time that I could bring here so I could Dimensional Scream as I pleased.
Get strong enough to punch the asshole voice’s theoretically-existing face to pieces.
I mean, with the ability to use Pokémon moves as a human – even though you’ll never catch me using my bare hands to Dig – not to mention shifting between a pretty dang fit human and a monster, I basically had superpowers. And if the voice was going to keep giving me powers, maybe if I’m lucky I’ll find a way to use them to kick his ass. Though the fact he keeps picking them for me means he definitely has the house advantage.
But he has to drop his guard eventually.
“….aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”
CRASH!
I landed in a face-down belly flop. It hurt, but somehow I don’t think I was injured. Still took a minute to get up.
“Where…?”
The cylinder again… Was the week already over…?
But wait… something felt different. I shifted to my Sandslash form. Being a burrowing species, we were more sensitive to vibrations as a form of sensory input. There was a sense of momentum here that was likely here all along but I never noticed it before.
“...This chamber is… going up…” I realized. “Like an elevator...”
“Ah, you finally noticed.”
I was on guard immediately. “You…!” I shouted, brandishing my claws.
“Look at you all posturing. It’s adorable, really. You did a decent job entertaining me last time. I mean, whoda thought you would spur the interconnected continents? And the whole bit with the improv garden right now was inspired.”
He didn’t even sound remotely threatened. Of course not. I wasn’t strong enough yet. So I lowered my arms and turned back to a human. “Fine, whatever. Look, I have some questions.”
“I guess you’ve earned them. Ask and I’ll see what I can answer.”
“First off, I assume you put that pole thing in my warehouse.”
“That is correct. A little something off the record. I thought your companions that didn’t have your built-in counter would appreciate a visual representation of the time left.”
“I see… Second, does that roster board imply what I think it does?”
“If you mean you can only have sixteen companions, yes. Pets, however, are unlimited. And before you ask, pets must be non-sentient unless stated otherwise.”
“Ah… Third, if this is an elevator, where is it going?”
“Up.”
“...Care to be more specific?”
“Up, through the layers of the multiverse. Remember that pole? It’s more accurate a model than you might think.”
“...So, you dumping me in other worlds is… throwing me out of a moving elevator car.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have to stop it to make choices.”
“Yeah, great job on those so far,” I snarked.
“Thank you,” it replied earnestly. “It wasn’t easy. You have that Persim Band because of the serious lack of 50-point items to compensate.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever,” I said, wanting to speak about any topic but this. “So why was the 52-mark on the scale next to it so large? What’s so important about the fifty-second world?”
“The fifty-third is what’s important, actually. You’ll know if you get there. Speaking of, enough questions. It’s time for new choices.”
“Now wait a moment!” I protested. “You said last time that I get to pick the worlds from here on out!”
“That I did,” said the voice. “So here’s your choice. I’m going to present icons for three places this elevator can reach in the next like five minutes. Pick the one you’ll spend the next ten years in.”
“And you’ll build my persona in that world like you did the others, I imagine?”
“Now you’re catching on. Here’s the icons.”
The three panels that circled the elevator walls spun around and lined themselves up in a vertical row in front of me. They glowed a moment and when it faded each one was showing a black and white image.
“...”
“Well?”
“These are Rorschach inkblot tests.”
“Imitations using the style, actually. With the icons as the base.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“Duly noted. Now choose. The multiverse is a little twisted and ones we don’t stop at may eventually pass by again, so don’t worry about missing out.”
Grumbling, I looked over my options carefully…
The top one looked vaguely like an angry circle.
The middle one reminded me of two-headed monsters.
The bottom one just made me think of constant numbers.
I pondered my choice for a few minutes before pointing at the middle one. A few more years among monsters couldn’t hurt that much. “There. That one.”
The other panels blanked out and drifted away.
“World selected,” said the voice. “Now making choices.”
I covered my eyes until the reflections on the floor stopped. I noticed the elevator slowed down and stopped once the lights dimmed. I looked up at the light pattern, quickly memorizing it too. Who knows what advantages I’d need against Willy Wonka and his Great Electromagical Lift?
“Your selections have been made. Have a good decade!”
I just sighed as the bottom fell open and I dropped into the void.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
quirklessthot
♡♡♡
kyleisburning
could be gayer™
clockypastaa
noises
angemarie969-blog
Sans titre
gcnoa
Elio Imperiali Fieschi