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natthebattygeologist · 4 years ago

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A Brush with a Cursed Lily

Royal Court AU

King’s Advisor!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

A/N: So here it is, a second part to A Kiss From a Rose. I’m sorry for the wait however I got very busy with work and my university projects. I do so hope you enjoy this. It’s written slightly differently to part 1 as this is all from the Reader’s POV.

I just want to thank @cockslut-padalecki for allowing me to write part 1 as part of the #notmyninth writing challenge and I hope that this angsty follow up does A Kiss From a Rose proud.

Word Count: 2208

Warnings: Angst, angst, more angst, some light fluff, swearing, implied smut, grief, mentions of loss.

Reader’s POV

I ran around chasing after the little squirt who was currently avoiding his bath-time before tripping up and landing square on my backside in a patch of tall Calla Lilies. They were a stunning shade of deep violet and brought back the memories of 6 summers ago. The day I was married off to my best-friend, Steve Rogers, Lord of Rosebury-upon-Sale. I chuckled to myself as my husband rounded the corner of the orangery with our son, covered in mud head to toe, a huge smile plastered on his face. The last few years had been trying at times, and unbearable in others but somehow, we managed to make it through.

“Frolicking in the flowers are we, my petal?” A deep laugh resonated from Steve’s chest as he took in the sight of me, dishevelled and dirtied from my tumble.

“Yes, it’s a rather delightful hobby I have found. Quite the thrilling end to chasing our little gremlin child. Now if you would be so inclined as to help your pregnant wife out of the flower bed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Come now love, you know I love to see you in a fluster, but I suppose it would do the baby no good leaving you there.”

I took the hand he so graciously offered me and took our muddied little boy from his father’s hold.

“Now honestly Charlie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Prince as muddy and dirty as you are right now, you little rascal. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, then maybe we can go and visit Uncle James before bedtime.”

----------------- 4 Years Earlier----------------

The King summoned us back to court, and what was meant to be a joyous visit quickly became a permanent stay. Upon our arrival we were greeted by a bleary-eyed Prince and an equally as troubled Princess. The King was dying and had called upon his advisor to help prepare for Bucky’s transition into power. To anyone else nothing would’ve seemed amiss, except it was.

When James’ back was turned, I had witnessed Princess Maia acting rather strangely, gathering bouquets of foxglove and trimmings of deadly nightshade. I was almost certain of her intentions but feared my own safety and so kept it to myself, until one night where I couldn’t bear the burden this knowledge held over me any longer.

“Steve, my love, I have something troubling my mind.” My voice came out a hushed and broken whisper.

“What worries you so my petal? I know it hasn’t been easy for you being back, and having to pretend to like Maia, I assure you that I am always here to listen to you and love you.”

“Well, you see, I think I know why the King is sick. On several occasions I have witnessed the Princess with my own eyes gathering bouquets of foxglove and cuttings from the nightshade bush down by the lily patch. I worry that she is poisoning the King, taking advantage of both his and James’ compromised states to hold a sway over decisions that will likely see our kingdom lost to that of her own father.”

I spoke confidently now, having been an integral part of the court for all my childhood. Steve knew better than to question my knowledge of how things ran. He also knew that I would be one of the first to notice if anything was awry, be that with the account books or even the numbers of armed men stationed at each watchtower. After the death of his wife the King only had James as an heir, and so, he vowed that in case any ill befall him I would also be trained, so that if required, I could become a successful Queen someday.

“Steve, I do believe wholeheartedly that this is all a set-up and that we have been blindly infiltrated by our enemy. Things aren’t adding up. The number of guards stationed at The Keep has been halved in sized since the King has fallen ill. It leaves the West of the kingdom in a precarious position. One where an attack could easily happen and be kept quiet. I don’t like the look of it, any of it, and something needs to be done before we are conquered, you are killed, and me resigned to a life of slavery and servitude at the hands of the despicable Wyvern family.” My voice broke and a sob tore through me at the thought of losing everything I have left to the family that has already taken so much from me, starting with my mother shortly after I was born.

“Hush my petal. Tears will do nothing to fix this. The King is aware of the situation, however in our absence the Prince has changed, and he has become blinded by his love for ‘his lily’, though I daresay snake would be the better term for that venomous bitch.” A scoff escaped Steve’s lips before he continued. “The reason the King summoned us is because he has seen what fate has befallen James. He has made his bed, albeit a rather uncomfortable bed, and now he will have to lie in it. The King wishes for you to become Queen after his passing. He wants to stop the plans of Maia’s family before their tendrils of poison can run further into our kingdom than they already have. You my love can bring all this to an end, and I believe you would be able to unite the Kingdoms in a peaceful treaty that could last.”

I curled up into Steve’s side placing a chaste kiss to his lips. He returned it with a hunger and passion before carding his fingers through my hair and tracing them along my jaw.

“Please my petal, let me chase away your worries, after all, if you are to be Queen, we shall need to work on producing some heirs.”

A smirk befell his lips before he ducked his head, nipping at my neck, knowing full well that I would cave to his carnal desires.

--------------- Present Day -------------

After having cleaned up the mucky Prince, Steve and I walked with him through the gardens as evening began to draw in. Fireflies filled the air as we made the trek to the rose garden. As a child it had been mine and Bucky’s favourite place to hide, and on more than one occasion hugs and kisses had been exchanged.

Today this garden holds a whole new meaning as at its centre, beneath a beautiful weeping willow, lay James’ grave.

------------- 3 Years Earlier ------------

Before the King’s passing, he ordered his kings-guard to imprison and execute the Princess for treason against the throne. She was hung at The Keep as a warning to her family that they were next. Their years of planning and scheming had come to an abrupt and distasteful end.

What the Wyverns deemed as an unlawful murder incited a full war between our Kingdoms, it saw both Steve and Bucky fighting on the front lines with me at the helm, as Queen. Soon I had treaties signed with other Kingdoms aligning us for generations to come, until the only one stood against the alliance was the Kingdom of the Serpents. The battle of Roseknappe in the Western borders was the bloodiest battle of all. By this time, I was no longer part of frontline action as I was holed up in the castle under the watchful protection of my elite Queens-guard. When news got out that I was with child the Wyverns stopped at nothing to try and kill me or at the least cause me harm enough for my body to rid itself of the heir I now lovingly grew inside of me. But they needn’t have worried.

When I was around 5 months along tragedy struck our kingdom. The arrival of my husband looking grey in pallor, with sunken eyes and covered in injuries was the first sign that something was very wrong. When the two had left to fight they rode off, side by side, settling any grievances they had over the arranged marriages and uniting to fight to save the Kingdom and keep me on the throne. Steve’s return signalled the end of an era and feelings in my gut that had been dormant for years surfaced in cry of grief so great that it silenced the birdsong for days. Although James was not King, he was still a beloved Prince. My first love and the person who would forever hold a piece of my heart.

In my grief-stricken state I had fallen and managed to land with the sharp riser of the marble stairs squarely in my abdomen. The shock I was in meant that I hadn’t noticed the blood that began pooling nor do I remember what happened over the next few weeks as the doctors and healers frantically worked to keep me alive.

“Steve? Steve? Where’s James? I…. I want to see him. I…” I was interrupted by Steve coming over and pulling me tight to his chest.

“Praise to the Old Gods, my petal, are you okay? Are you in any pain?” worry had seeped into his tone and what looked to be a pang of guilt crossed his normally stoic face. “My love, how much do you remember of the last three weeks?”

A confused expression befell my features before Steve decided to continue.

“Oh, my sweet love, James... James isn’t coming back. The fight at Roseknappe, he saved my life by taking the arrow that was meant to pierce my heart, he sacrificed himself because he wanted me to be able to return to you, so I could love you the way he was never allowed to. So that I could raise a family and keep our Kingdom strong. He died in my arms after begging me to pass you on this letter that he wrote, almost as if he knew he wouldn’t make it back from this war.”

Fresh tears began to fall as Steve handed me the bloodied paper.

My dearest Rose,

How I wish things had been different, and that it was I that got to hold you in my arms at the end of the aisle. I begged my father to change his mind, but he wouldn’t budge. I will never forgive myself for the horrid things I said to you when father made you queen. I was poisoned by the words of a traitor and knowing now I hurt the one true love of my life is the reason why I will fight so hard to save you.

If you are reading this it means I am gone my sweet girl. I know that you will grieve me but please, for my sake as much as your own, I want you to love Steve as wholly as you once loved me. I beg of you to take care of yourself and to keep me close as you grow through the years. I am sorry I will not be there to see my little nieces and nephews, but I know that you and Steve will be the most wonderful parents.

That day in the rose garden, after your first dance in front of the court, when I kissed you. I wanted to tell you then just how much I loved you, but I couldn’t do it. It’s almost as if in my heart I knew you would never truly be mine.

I love you my Rose and I will see you in the next life,

Your Prince,

Bucky

4 months later after grieving the loss of the Prince, the Kingdom was celebrating, not just a victory of war and a long lasting treaty of peace, but the birth of their future King.

Prince Charlie James Buchanan Rogers, heir to the throne of Rosehall and Duke of Snowblossom Grove.

----------- Present Day ----------

“…… and that is the story of how your brave Uncle James battled the terrifying Wyverns to protect your mummy.”

I could hear Steve talking with Charlie as I sat on the bench staring blankly at the grave, wishing with every ounce of strength that I could, hoping to gain just one more moment with my soulmate.

“Come Charlie, let’s get you into bed, then tomorrow we can go riding and Papa can show you the waterfall where him and Uncle James decided to scare me into thinking that your Papa had drowned. Really, they just wanted mummy to go swimming with them, but they knew I wouldn’t go unless there was an emergency.”

After settling Charlie into bed, I took a stroll around the halls before heading to my shared chambers. Laying on the bed next to Steve he protectively wrapped his arms around me, as if he could shield me from the pain the world would throw at me.

“I love you Steven Grant Rogers. It may have taken me a while but, I have always cared for you, and I vow to you now that I will love you until my dying breath.”

“I know my petal, as I will love you, and Charlie, and this little one that we have yet to meet, until mine.”

Taglist: (My Humble Peeps)

@missyredbean

#steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #royal court #notmyninth

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a-pirate-my-hearties · 4 years ago

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“My hobby is making fun of you when you talk.” or “We’re not going to steal someone’s dog.” with Colonel Tavington?

#69. We’re not going to steal someone’s dog

Ship: Colonel Tavington/Female Reader

Words: 946

Warnings: animal abuse

"This is ridiculous.”

Tavington crossed his arms, displeased expression on his face, lips pressed into a thin line. He had enough trouble with his subordinates’ behaviour without Y/n’s wild ideas. Somebody has been insolently stealing food from the kitchen, one of the army’s messengers has gone missing two days ago and now this? He could not stand all that chaos.

"Y/n, that’s one of the most irresponsible things you’ve ever t – "

"Tavington, save yourself all that patronizing talk, alright?”, said Y/n in a raised tone. She was fuming. She knew Tavington will be obstinate, as he’d usually be, but this time she won’t let him. "There’s an animal suffering out there. I saw it.”

"We’re not stealing someone’s dog!”, Tavington hissed, almost losing his composure. Little did he know, it was more about his concern for Y/n’s safety than the actual decision she wanted to make, however responsible or not. Y/n hasn’t been the British army’s spy for long, but she was one of the best, though still almost a child, barely eighteen. Her brazen, open, honest personality in contrast with the discreet, dangerous work she was doing. Tavington wasn’t sure why, but he… was quite fond of her. She was one of the very few people who actually dared to speak openly to him, not caring for the societal expectations nor his reputation and though most would find that dangerous or stupid, he found it admirable and courageous.

But he’d rarely admit it.

He watched Y/n drawing a deep breath before she spoke.

"William, listen”, she said almost pleadingly, "I saw that dog being mistreated the other day. Kicked, downtrodden like a useless puppet.”. She swallowed hard, eyes suddenly downcast. Then she looked Tavington in the eyes with a newfound courage.

"I know how you feel about your horses – were somebody to touch them without your permission, harm them, you’d give them lashing in no time. How’s a dog any different?!”, she finished with passion, waiting for his answer.

There was a moment of silence before Tavington spoke, gathering his words.

"Y/n… a well cared-for horse in the army… is a necessity. It’s not quite the same.”, he said, drawling every word carefully. Nothing could quite escape Y/n’s observant eye and that was beginning to annoy him. He saw her opening her mouth to speak. "But then I guess”, he continued in a quasi-annoyed tone, "I can make an exception for you. Only this one time.”

Y/n gasped in glee and clapped her hands and made a move as if she wanted to hug Tavington, but he only cocked an eyebrow at her, giving her an amused expression and she nodded, staying in place.

"Thanks William.”

"But be discreet. If anyone sees you, I don’t know you.”

Y/n smiled. She knew it was not true. The last time she had trouble coming back from her mission, he sent four of his best men after her.

"Don’t worry about me.”

He shook his head and smirked. "Now go.”

~*~*~*~*~

Y/n knew how to be invisible, swift and quick. She decided to move in by the dusk, luckily the house she was aiming for was not far from the quarters the army was staying in.

Treading carefully behind the trees, she saw the little dumpy cottage. By the cottage there was an equally miserably looking kennel and by the kennel layed the thinnest, dirtiest dog one’s eyes could have ever see. Even though Y/n has seen him before, her heart still squeezed in pain and sympathy towards the neglected animal. She had to hide further beneath the tree when one of the inhabitants of the house went outside to spill out the hogwash on the already dirty, muddy ground.

"What are ye lookin’ at, ye useless, dirty parasite!”, the man shouted at the dog, kicking it in the ribs and spitting on the ground before returning to the cottage. The dog whimpered pitifully and tucked his tail between his legs.

Y/n was furious, but she remembered she had to be quick and quiet. She picked out a piece of juicy meat from her pocket and started slowly approach the dog with her hand outstrechted towards him.

"Here, doggy doggy!”, she whispered in an inviting tone, smiling at the dog, then looking at the windows of the house, controlling the situation. It took her a moment to pique the dog's attention, for he was so beaten and tired. But the smell of the meat made his ears point slighlty and his foggy stare focus just a little bit. He stood up and looked around for the source of the smell.

"Here, doggy doggy, such a good dog”, whispered Y/n, moving backwards towards the trees, the dog slowly following her now. It took only a few more moments and they both were in the safe distance from the cottage.

"Got you! Such a good boy”, Y/n said, petting the neglected animal, that looked at her with pleading, glassy eyes. "Here boy, eat. I have more for you at your new home.”

~*~*~*~*~

"Good God, what is that creature?”, Tavington asked, partly disgusted, partly pitying the animal.

Y/n simply glared at Tavington before going back to feeding and pettting the dog. "You will be so beautiful soon, he’ll see, we will take such good care of you”, she talked to the dog in a low silly voice, earning a groan from Tavington.

"Another mouth to feed. Splendid.”

"You let me do it, Tavington, now deal with it.”

He let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose I did. What shall we name him?”

Y/n looked up at Tavington, feigning the expression of deep thought.

"I think… we shall name him Bill.”

***

Before anyone says anything about the reader’s age here, I see their relationship in this particular drabble as more of a brother/sister kind of relation? It made more sense for this request :) I hope it’s ok! :)

Also this is obviously not the height of my writing abilities and I’m sorry, but I hope you can still enjoy it 😅

#answered asks #anon #colonel tavington #william tavington #my writing #blanka writes #colonel tavington drabble #tavington/female reader #colonel tavington/female reader #the patriot

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chayscribbles-archive · 4 years ago

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FINNPETRA FLUFF FEBRUARY ❃ DAY 15: DOODLES

i’m writing a little fluffy prompt piece set around my wip muddy roads & foxgloves every day for the month of february. see all FinnPetra Fluff February posts here!

POV: Finneas.

setting: dating for a while.

synopsis: Petra tries out her hidden artistic skills on a new muse.

words: 838

Reyna Hill Park was an oasis of green in the middle of Richeport, a break from the unforgiving steel and concrete of the streets. Once climbing up the hill, one would immediately find themselves surrounded by trees and boulders and squirrels and maybe even a raccoon or two, if they weren’t feeling shy. Only the occasional peek of the skyscrapers downtown through the branches and the faint, distant hum of the traffic on the freeway served as a reminder of still being in the city.

It was along one of the trails through the forest lined with a diverse array of greenery that Finneas and Petra wandered down one summer afternoon, hand in hand, under the trees.

“Look at those ferns,” Petra gushed, pointing to a group of them clustered at the base of a tree, their fronds fully unfurled. “Did you know that some fern species have remained biologically unchanged for the last one hundred and eighty million years? Also—”

She stopped suddenly, hesitated, then began, “Sor—”

“If you apologize one more time for talking about plants…” Finneas cut in.

“Right,” Petra said. “No more apologizing. Sorry. I mean—”

He shook his head with a little amused smile and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Spotting a small clearing through the trees, he said, “This spot look good?”

Petra nodded, and the two veered off the path. Finding a nice crook between two large roots protruding from the ground, Petra slung off her book bag and settled at the foot of a tree to pull out her sketchbook and a pencil. Finneas stretched himself out on the grass next to her, laying his head on his girlfriend’s thighs to stare up at the foliage above them, through which he could catch glimpses of the fluffy white clouds passing by.

Finneas didn’t even know Petra liked to draw up until recently; she was very self-conscious about her hidden hobby, insisting that she could only draw the one thing she really liked—plants, of course—and that she wasn’t any good at it. Finneas begged to differ—her sketches were gorgeous to him just from the amount of love and care she put in every stroke—but no amount of praise in the world could get her to admit her work was good. Still, he was honoured that she had become comfortable enough to draw around him.

“What are you drawing today?” he asked, idly picking at the blades of grass beside him.

“Yellow woodsorrel,” came Petra’s voice through the rustling of the pages of her notebook. “There’s tons of it here.”

“That’s the one that looks like clover but the leaves are heart shaped, right?”

“Yup.” Petra’s hand gave the top of his head a pat. “You’re learning.”

Finneas grinned proudly. “Maybe one day I’ll be as nerdy as you.”

“You’ve still got a long way to go before you reach my level of nerdiness,” Petra chuckled softly. “Keep dreaming.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, as they often did. Finneas closed his eyes as Petra sketched. With the gentle summer breeze on his cheek and the soft, repetitive scratching of Petra’s pencil against the paper, he must have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes, but the next thing he knew, he could feel Petra shift her legs underneath him. Fearing he was putting too much weight on her, he began to sit up.

“No!” Petra protested. “Stay like that.”

“It’s not uncomfortable?”

“Just… just stay like that a bit longer.”

“O-kay.” Finneas eyed her with a raised eyebrow before starting to lay back down, but not before catching a glimpse of what was on her page. Even upside-down, he could tell it was not a plant. It was clearly a face, with messy hair and a dimple…

“Is that—” he began.

“Ah,” Petra said, quickly clutching the book against her chest to hide the page. She sheepishly tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “This is embarrassing.”

“Oh. Shit. You don’t have to show it to me if you don’t want to.”

“No, no. You already saw it anyways,” she insisted, turning over the page to let him see it better. “It’s supposed to be you,” she blubbered, letting out a nervous laugh. “It’s so bad. I’m sorry. I never draw people. I can’t get your hair right—Oh, no. There’s the smirk. You’re laughing at it.”

“I’m not laughing at it!” Finneas exclaimed. If she kept mistaking his grins for smirks, he was probably going to have to work on his smile. “I’m just—remember the time you said you only draw what you like?” His grin widened. “Does that mean you… like me?”

Petra smacked his arm. “We’re dating, you idiot. Of course I like you.”

Finneas laughed and caught her hand in his. “Seriously, though, this… this is really nice,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He paused to admire the sketch, touched by her attempt to capture his likeness on paper, and gave the back of her hand a rub with his thumb. “I love it.”

thanks for reading! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for future FPFF posts! 🥰

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr community #thequeerlibrary #finnpetra fluff february #finnpetra #i keep writing these two just. sitting in silence huh #(it's my dream relationship honeslty)#Petra is all of us i think jkgsfd #also: those are in fact my own doodles on the banner kjfgd

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yeojaa · 5 years ago

Text

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why. Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds. When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you. "Yes." Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic. Always had been. It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary. You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. who knows, honestly. the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.

tags. blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy, fluff, slow burn, smut, pining, unrequited love.

rating. ... 18+?

word count. ~7600

chapter 8.

You're reminded of how hard things like this are for you, anxiety digging its dull claws into the pit of your stomach and making the slow crawl up your sternum. It's not painful, per se, but the ache is there, evident with each swipe of your tongue, each persistent checking of your phone. You thrive on your own - much prefer it to the demand that sits heavy on your shoulders, working to coax you from your shell.

It's not that the people weren't nice. No, everyone was perfectly lovely.

Taehyung's friends had gone out of their way to chat with you. That is, except for Yoongi, who'd sat in silence next to you for the duration of time it took to eat his slice of cake - strawberry, you noted with deep satisfaction. He'd simply nodded when he'd finished, plate spotless, and walked off, back in the direction of the kitchen.

Even all of Gahyeon's friends were charming, the kind of people you'd want to grow up with. Beautiful women with the same sweet smile and flirtation on their fingertips; appealing men that had laughter rolling off them in tremendous waves as they shared inside jokes. They'd been incredibly kind, involving you as often as they could, asking about your life and interests and hobbies.

No, you didn't have a problem with anyone there. Well, maybe that wasn't true.

Perhaps you were a little frustrated, coloured a muddy green by the monster that lurked behind your uncomfortable smile. You shouldn't have been, though, and that was what drove you mad, pink swiping over your bottom lip in repetitive motions. Not even your Dior Lip Glow - brought out for special occasions and a far cry from your bubble gum balm - could save you.

Because he was right there. So close you could've closed the distance with an outstretched arm, curled your fingers around the turn of his silver-linked wrist and distracted him. Not that you would. Of course not.

You were here with someone else and well, he could do what he wanted.

The knowledge does little to quell the ache in your chest, though.

You'd always known Jungkook's effect on people - had felt it firsthand. The way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the world, as if every thought you had was worthy of his time. You knew the way he laughed, that godforsaken witch's cackle somehow endlessly endearing. Even those two larger-than-usual front teeth of his could be considered positive traits. They all amounted to more than you could ever begin to put into words.

So you try to ignore the way the sound nearly smothers you now, pervades your senses and beats against your eardrums. You turn your focus on something else - anything else - to forget the pealing bells of the girl he's speaking with and how, together, it sounds like music. You bite at nothing, gnashing your molars into oblivion when her voice joins the fray, velveteen and promising. You can imagine the way she looks at him - the same way you had, maybe still did - and how he'd be honey in her hands, seeping between her fingers.

"Actually, I know Jiyeon, too."

Your name tears you from your thoughts, snaps you into reality with a harsh tug. The same feeling comes physically, but far gentler. It's a hand on the back of your arm, just above your elbow. You almost flinch - almost - turning with what you hope is surprise and nonchalance on your face.

"Pardon?" The single word is laced with enough emotion to explode on impact, breaking across the dusty line of your obliterated enamel and slipping into the sharp evening breeze. Whether Dahye - you think that's her name - notices, you're not sure. She simply meets your stare with a pretty smile, delicate chin canted in curiosity.

It's Jungkook that has you reeling back, working desperately to rearrange your emotions, because whatever he'd expected to find in the shape of your mouth, the depth of your eyes - it isn't this.

The second feels like an eternity before it's swept up in the turn of his lips and his lovable laugh.

"I was just telling Jihye—" Dammit, wrong name. "—that we know each other." Something sweeps along the undercurrent of his response, tickling at the ends of syllables without overwhelming. Your eyes narrow, trying to read the answer he offers and everything in between.

Once upon a time, you'd thought you could read him like a book. Now, you're not so sure. The invisible ink disappears into his skin, the spaces between his teeth. They're not shades of gold, gleaming bright for your eyes only.

"What a small world," Jihye chirps, ever the benign figure. "Did you go to school together?"

He answers before you can, nodding in affirmation. "We were both doing art degrees. We got paired up for a few projects and helped each other out of tight spots." It shouldn't hurt, the way he speaks so nonchalantly. You should be bobbing along, offering casual anecdotes that give truth to his words. Instead, you feel as if you're six feet under and clawing at your own grave, sealed there by a one Jeon Jungkook.

Opening your mouth feels like a colossal chore and you're worried you won't be able to speak around the dirt that bites into your lungs. It tastes bitter and angry - gasoline and saltwater.

Neither of them notice, though, Jihye already somehow - no, you knew exactly how - enthralled in some story he's telling. He was an expert at that, after all, weaving colourful pictures with all the practice of Shakespeare. He'd done it for four years straight, dragging you through the fables that littered his brain.

"I'm going to get another drink," you announce, out of the blue, in the middle of their stupid mellifluous laughter.

Jihye waves as you leave. Jungkook would do the same, if he didn't feel locked in place by the sight of your retreating figure.

You make your way through dispersed throngs of people, greeting familiar faces when you pass them. There's Hoseok and Gahyeon standing together by the main entryway, the leading roles in a romance as they duck their heads and giggle together. Jin's booming voice can be heard from the kitchen, somewhere behind the state-of-the-art appliances because you can't see him. The familiar lilac of Namjoon's crown catches your eye exiting what you assume is the washroom, his beer held loosely between two fingers.

"Kim seongsangnim!" The title has him turning his head slowly, as if surprised. You know he isn't, spy it in the flat line of his smile. Still, he puts on a show, glancing this way and that to figure out who has called out to him.

It isn't until you're right in front of him, head barely clearing the slope of his jaw, that he exclaims. "Oh, Jiyeon-ah."

"Do you know where Taehyung went?" The question doesn't surprise him as he cocks his head toward what you assume is the rear of the home. "He, Jimin, and Yoongi-hyung are all downstairs. I was just heading back." Without missing a beat, you follow after him, trading your now-empty champagne flute for another on the kitchen island when you pass.

"Gahyeon's really nice," you muse, trailing after the other. You know you don't need to fill the silence, but you try anyway.

The producer hums in agreement. "Yeah, she is. I think she's good for Hope." You're not sure what that means but you're glad, all things considered. The two were like sunflowers, craning for warmer weather and rays; it made you happy they'd found each other.

"And what about everyone else?" It's a question that comes after a moment's hesitation. Your relationship with he and Yoongi had changed over the weeks, morphed into something more relaxed, but you still wondered where that invisible line sat. You worried, briefly, that you'd thrown yourself across it when Namjoon tosses a look over his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" There's no disapproval in his tone, only careful curiosity.

"Do any of you have someone special in your lives?" Another pause, tasting the inquiry before it can get you in trouble. "Or is anyone catching your eye here?"

You're treated with a laugh and that relieves the tension you're carrying, dragging it off your shoulders with the sound.

"It's not my place to say," Namjoon answers, unflappable. The respect he has for his friends is unparalleled. You like that about him. You feel silly for asking, though he continues speaking, voice softly amused. "I don't think any of us are going to find our next true loves here, though."

Your head cocks. He sounds so sure. "Why not?"

"Didn't you notice that's what most of these girls are looking for? It's hardest to find something when you're actively seeking it out."

Now that he mentioned it, you had noticed the way the other guests had seemed to make a beeline for the six - no, five - men who were otherwise strangers. You'd thought it was a little odd but had chalked it up to their good looks and whatever Gahyeon had shared about them. It clicks into place more slowly than it should. "Oh."

Namjoon chuckles but the sound is friendly, strings of mockery few and far between. "Exactly."

"Jiyeon-ah! You've come to join us!" The sandy strands catch the light before you see the rest of him, Jimin's head popping up over the back of some very comfortable looking chairs. He's half-turned to face you, beaming brightly as another head ascends into view beside him.

"She has a viewing room?" You can't help the way you sound, incredulous and envious all at once. Maybe you'd have to offer to be her live-in maid.

"Isn't it great?" Taehyung's at your side in an instant, brushing past Namjoon who settles into a seat a few feet away. You wave at Yoongi who's sequestered in a corner, playing with his phone and nursing a sizable glass of red wine, before meeting your boyfriend's stare. "I wasn't sure where you went but we got distracted in here." He sounds a little guilty, his lips soft against your cheek.

Your hand finds a home against his chest and you apply minimal pressure - the laziest rebuff you can possibly offer and one he ignores, arms looping comfortably around your waist. "You left me with the wolves." There's absolutely no malice in your words.

"They're not wolves! Everyone's really nice!" Jimin's not wrong.

"I'm kidding," you tease. "Though, Hoseok oppa might disagree." The sound of your snicker is amplified by the others' amusement, even Yoongi who looks up from his phone with a smug gummy smile.

"Did I hear my name?" The devil has materialized seemingly out of thin air, hip cocked as he descends the stairs. Luckily, he's alone.

"No!" You and Jimin chorus in near unison, sharing a conspiratorial grin before laying the rest of your charm - which you possessed nearly nothing of, in comparison to Jimin - on the suspicious brunet.

"Where's Gahyeon?" Taehyung verbalizes the question you're all thinking.

"Upstairs. She sent me to come get you." The answer is followed by a sniff, a wave of his hand as if he's indignant about whatever's been said. You know he isn't - and so does everyone else - but you play along like good sports, hmm-ing thoughtfully and expressing your thanks. "They want to play some get-to-know-you games. One of her friends is a teacher so she thought it was a good idea."

You meet Yoongi's stare over Taehyung's shoulder and you're pleasantly surprised he looks just as unimpressed as you feel. It makes you chuckle, stifling the sound into the collar of Taehyung's shirt.

"What are we, in sixth grade?" Despite the roll of feline eyes, Yoongi has risen from his seat and stepped closer to the stairs.

"Yes, you are." Hoseok's response is emphatic, as if he's talking to children. Then he's grinning, turning on his heel, and disappearing back the way he came. "Come on, kids!"

That garners a response, the remaining five of you shouting after him but doing as you're told, nonetheless, filing back up to the main floor.

"Jiyeon-ah, come sit!" Gahyeon's beckoning you from her seat, cross-legged and comfortable. There are open seats to both sides, and you sink into the one on her right, offering a grateful smile that she returns with ease. "Everyone, sit beside someone you don't know."

The look on Taehyung's face is that of a kicked puppy as she pointedly meets his gaze, gesturing for him to take up root elsewhere. You can't help but laugh, waving apologetically at your boyfriend's back as he drops into a spot across the loose circle, flanked by two girls that greet him warmly.

It surprises you how little it bothers you.

"I guess I'm here."

The last person you want beside you is joining you on the couch, Jihye nowhere in sight. He's got his hood up around his head, pulled forward like some kind of Sith Lord, and you can't ignore such a golden opportunity for mockery.

"Sorry - I'm not the droid you're looking for, Darth Vader." God, you're proud of that one, amusement twinkling in your eyes.

"Oh, right."

He makes a movement as if he's about to move but then whips around just as quickly, hand out, palm facing you. You take the bait, fingers flying to your throat in a dramatic re-enactment of the famous scene. You sputter around an obnoxious gasp, eyes rolling back as he laughs, the sound purposefully - and truthfully, very poorly - rasped out.

It's only when Gahyeon speaks that you're reminded of where you are and who you're with. You're immediately sober, straightening up at the same time Jungkook does.

"So, we're going to play some games to get to know everyone." No one dares scoff at the proposed activity. At least, not to her face. No one wants to see her angelic smile drop - or deal with whatever eccentric wrath Hoseok might unleash. "First, we'll do two truths and a lie. Pretty self-explanatory, right?" A single hand rises now, delicately presenting her generous glass of Riesling. Mischief dances across her expression. "Everyone will say which they think is the lie. For those that get it right, you don't have to drink. For those that do, a sip of your drink!"

"And no baby sips, either!" Her partner-in-crime choruses, raising his shot glass.

You study the near-full flute in your hand. Should you grab another?

"I've got you covered," comes the soft voice from your right and you follow the path of his fingers to the assorted soju bottles by his feet. A brow quirks in silent question and you meet his stare like a concerned mother. "Hobi-hyung told me to stock up before he went to get the rest of you."

You snort. "Well, you definitely did."

"Keep it up and you won't get any." His threat is rounded edges and hardly a threat at all.

It's so easy to get lost in a world with him, one miles away from this one. You have to bite back your response, instead returning your attention to the blonde on your left.

"I'll go first," she chirps, all sunshine and smiles. "I'm twenty-seven, I model, and I'm related to Shin Kwangho." The conspiratorial smile you receive is well-intended, but you're still dumbfounded for the right answer. You hadn't thought to ask how old she was or what she did and neither she nor Hoseok had offered anything up over the course of the evening.

Could you see him dating an older woman? Well, yes. But was she also beautiful enough to be featured on the cover of magazines? Also, yes.

Your brow furrows, fraught with confusion, and you barely hear the whisper above your right shoulder. "She's older than Hobi-hyung."

"Okay, at the count of three, please indicate with your fingers which you think is a lie." You think she'd be a wonderful MC or variety show hostess by the way she patiently studies the room, making sure each other person is ready. She's very much in her element now, surrounded by people she (mostly) intimately knows. "One, two— three!"

Your hand flies up, two fingers held up. Beside you, and along the circle, the same is reflected by most people.

"I'm not a model. I'm an art dealer." It's only Jin that's gotten the answer wrong.

He takes a swig from his bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a flourish before bowing to the winners. "I won't lose again," he promises. Yoongi laughs at that - a sound you hardly catch from where you sit, but that you can read in the way his lips pull back and his eyes crinkle.

"Your turn, Jiyeon-ah!"

Shit. You hadn't expected it to go counterclockwise. You scramble for facts and settle for stealing one of Gahyeon's. "I'm twenty-two, I have a cat, and um—" You're trying to think of a last one, your cheeks filling with air as you inhale deeply, seeking an epiphany in the breath. "—I play the piano."

You're not sure who will get it right. Jungkook, maybe. Taehyung, too. You're not sure how much you've revealed to Namjoon and Yoongi but you know they have a better chance.

"One, two— three!" Gahyeon's quick this time. She can read the room.

The results are varied, with most people holding two fingers aloft. As predicted, Jungkook's got his pointer finger in the air, pride stretching his smile and revealing adorable bunny teeth; Yoongi joins him in the realms of success and so do a handful of others who'd simply hazarded guesses. "I'm twenty-three. Sorry, everyone."

"But you’re twenty-two." The confusion reads like playful belligerence, filling the otherwise quiet circle as people take their requisite drinks. Taehyung's brow is knit, mouth drawn into a flat pout. He looks so cute, you almost want to give him a pity point.

Jungkook answers for you, shaking his head as his hand drops into his lap. "No, she's twenty-three."

The older of the two ignores the correction. "You said you were twenty-two."

"It was my birthday after we met."

"You didn't tell me?" Now that stirs the group, unease drawing forth conversation as it that might stifle the sudden discomfort. Even Gahyeon looks like she's at a loss for words, turning to Hoseok with a look of alarm in her eyes.

You're locked in a staring match with your boyfriend, unable to read the emotion that flickers across his face.

"Okay, let's keep moving!" It's Hoseok to the rescue, clapping his hands to gather everyone's attention once again. Taehyung breaks before you do, swivelling his stare to his friend as you heave a sigh. You'll deal with this later. "Jungkookie, it's your turn."

You feel him stir beside you, sitting up ever so slightly straighter as he speaks. "I have less than ten tattoos, I'm lactose intolerant, and I've been to Disneyland." You don't even have to think about your answer. He drank banana milk like he was made of it and he'd taken you to the happiest place on Earth for your birthday two years ago.

"One, two— three!"

Your pointer finger shoots up, as does Namjoon's, Yoongi's, and Jimin's. Jin's does, too, after a moment of hesitation. He seems eager not to lose again - at least, not so soon. Almost everyone else seems to have gone with the lactose intolerance lie.

"I've got more than ten tattoos." As if to prove it, Jungkook waves his hand around, showing off the ink that litters his otherwise unblemished skin.

People take their losses easily and the game continues, rolling to the girl next to Jungkook. She's beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way, with pretty eyes and thin petal pink lips. She lists her facts: half Japanese, born in America, and a former idol trainee. Everything seems about as preposterous as the next, so you don't think too hard, instead taking the time to rib your seatmate.

"The tattoo thing wasn't fair. You shouldn't get to use absolutes." You don't really mind - you hadn't lost, after all, but you like giving him a hard time.

He accepts it easily, allows it to slip off his broad back like a duck in water. "And you should've told TaeTae it was your birthday."

You’re not sure what you’d expected. He wasn’t wrong. No, not even a little bit. But you’re immediately on the offensive, mouth drawing into a flat line, sharp as the blade that seeks to slot between your ribs and remind you of your failures.

“I know.” You're begrudging, words barely audible behind your cage of teeth. They're coloured black and blue from an internal assault that drips saltwater into your lungs and has emotion sloshing over the edges like a too-full cup.

He should let it go. Your relationship isn’t the kind where he can ask these sort of things still - and yet he does. Wants to know for reasons he’s not quite ready to face. “Why didn’t you?”

Your answer comes slowly, following a sip of your champagne. Like a good third of the room, you’d guessed wrong.

“We’d just met. I didn’t want to bring it up and make it seem like I expected anything.”

Jungkook has to bite back a laugh because your reasoning is so very you it hurts. “Telling someone it’s your birthday isn’t a bad thing, Jiyeon-ah.” The shrug that rolls over your shoulders and tucks your chin against your chest would indicate otherwise.

He can’t help but sigh and turn his gaze to the next person, carefully choosing his words as he does his next answer.

(It was definitely three. There was no way she’d never had a boyfriend.)

“Imagine if you were in his shoes,” he reasons, finally allowing his eyes to flit back to your face. You’re focused on some point at your feet, not meeting his stare. “Honestly, neither of you are in the wrong. The fact that it’s coming out here, among a bunch of strangers, probably sucks, though.”

You won’t look at him but he can tell you’re listening, sees it in the telltale flex of your jaw and pursing of your mouth.

“Anyway, you should talk to him later. Explain yourself. He’ll appreciate that.”

“I know,” you say in a small voice that tugs at his heartstrings.

Right then and there, he wants to tell you everything you want to hear – lace together stories of happier days and stronger bonds. But it hurts a little, too, so he doesn’t.

He might want those things for you but he wants them with him.

“You got that wrong.” You choose to break the silence with a teasing prod, single digit digging into the taut line of his side. He blinks at you, surprised by the abrupt change in your mood. He knows it’s a façade – can practically see the mask lining your skin and fading into the strands at your temple. You’re holding yourself a little too tightly, the jab a touch too hard to be relaxed.

He takes the shot-sized swig without complaint, all the while meeting your eyes over the mouth of the green glass bottle.

“Careful.” It’s less of a reprimand than a gentle reminder, uttered quietly into the shell of your ear. Even at such a close proximity, it feels far away, shrouded in cotton balls and sugar dust.

You take a second to collect your thoughts, momentarily surprised by the weight of your tongue. You mull over this newfound sensation as it drags in your mouth, swipes lewdly over your bottom lip. “’m fine.” It comes out sounding anything but, vaguely slurred and off-kilter. Still, you push yourself straight – hands steadied against warmth that sears into your palms and flexes with the movement.

That’s not right.

You blink owlishly, eyes tracking movement much slower than you’d intended, and you find yourself drawn into the blinding glory of a smile. It’s amused, lips drawn wide around laughter that sinks into your eardrums and settles like feathers, further buffering the words that slip out in between each breath.

“You’re drunk.” Jungkook sounds terribly entertained when you settle back down, temporarily forgetting your earlier decision to stand up. You were too comfortable, caught between his solid form and the seat cushions.

“I’m not drunk!” And you’re not. A bit tipsy, perhaps. There’s a pleasant glow at the edges of your vision, heat warming you from the inside out as if there’s fire and brimstone in your chest. Sure, things might be moving a bit too slowly – or too quickly, depending on the moment – for your liking but it’s not enough to make you feel sick. It’s just vertigo when you move. You’d be fine.

Another laugh, softer this time, for your sake. He can see the petulance in your stare, the way you huff dramatically as you all but toss yourself against the back of the couch. It’s so dangerous when you’re this close and so beguiling. “Fine, you’re not drunk,” he agrees in a voice that isn’t very believable. “But you are something.”

“Yeah, she is.” A new voice – a familiar voice, you think. Your head swivels, searching for the sound, and lands with a dull thud on the man towering over your shoulder, handsome face scrutinising your own.

“Kim Taehyung!” The excitement forces its way out, spreading like honey over your lips and teeth and coating the words. You’re vibrating with delight, entire body shifting to hold yourself over the back of the couch. The movements aren’t nearly as smooth as you’d hoped, your knee knocking harshly into Jungkook’s hip, but you find your way there. “Where’ve you been?”

If he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it, boxy smile tugging his mouth into the shape with ease. He’s got a hand on the side of your face, fingers threading into the downy softness at your nape. “You fell asleep on poor Jungkookie.”

The realization is unpleasant, shame climbing the column of your spine and settling comfortably into the hollow of your throat.

“I did what?” You think you might’ve screeched the words if you weren’t on the edge of inebriation, embarrassment painting your face in shades of scarlet and roses. It blooms beneath your cheeks and sinks into every other visible part of you, tipping your ears and nose brightly.

“Yeah, you’re really bad at calling people on their bullshit.” The broad figure beside you has the smuggest expression on his face. If you hadn’t just used him as your own personal pillow, you might’ve smacked it off.

As it stands, that’s probably not the best way to say thank you.

“I thought I was doing fine.” There’s that competitive edge, mirrored between your brows and in your words.

“You were,” your boyfriend reassures, quick to placate you. “But you don’t know many people so I think halfway through the first round, it kind of just went downhill.” You appreciate that he’s trying to make you feel better, softening the blow with his sweet smile and sweeter words.

“Then how come you’re fine?” You demand like it’s a personal affront.

“I don’t drink, remember?”

Okay, fair. “And what about you?” You’ve rounded on Jungkook, finger pressed into the centre of his chest, right over his solar plex.

“I’m not a lightweight.” He’s the opposite of Taehyung – completely okay with obliterating your ego, if only because you’re not not-drunk and anything he says won’t be remembered anyway. That, and it’s just too funny to see you all riled up, inhaling sharply as if to rebuff his words.

You look comical as your hands fly to your hips. It’s less so when you teeter in your half-reclined position, feet unsteady beneath your folded weight as you dare to tip back an inch too far.

Jungkook’s immediately reaching out, palm pressed to the small of your back to prevent you from toppling over, and Taehyung’s hand on your shoulder is gripping you tightly.

“Watch it!” Spoken in unison and shared with a look.

If you weren’t so grateful, you’d groan and tell them to get a room. “Okay, okay!” With their respective touches anchoring you in place, your hands fly up in surrender, held aloft in front of your face like some sort of white flag. “I’ll take it easy.”

“We should actually probably head home.” The words have you focusing hard, fuzzy attention turning to take stock of your surroundings. Most people – though there seem to be far less of them than when you’d less counted - seem to be edging toward the main foyer, ushered into the night by the gracious goodbyes of the hosts.

“What time is it?” You ask in the same instance you’re rising, feet landing on solid ground unsteadily. You wave off the hands that dart towards you, a bashful frown stirring across our chapped lips.

“Just after midnight.” Taehyung as he rounds the couch to you, fingers finding yours with ease before he tugs you close against his side. You’re not sure whether it’s for your benefit or his but you sink easily into him, head settling against his shoulder.

You try to ignore the way the third in your party turns away, hands jamming into the pouch of his hooded sweatshirt. He remains steadfastly removed when he speaks, though he’s soft, polite. “I’m going to see if I can help clean up.”

If his change of demeanour is evident at all, Taehyung gives no indication, simply reaching out to clap his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll see you, then.”

“Get home safely, Kook.” The words are barely out before you’re being led away.

You don’t miss how he turns at the last second, the same wistfulness you feel reflected in the quiet of his eyes.

You could very easily fall asleep like this, coaxed into dreamland by his touch. It feels so good, so soothing, traced into the length of your side and over any exposed skin he can find. You think he’s depositing sleeping powder with his lazy scrawl, inscribing everything left unspoken in the circular movements and sloping edges.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he hums happily into your neck, ignoring the way the hair there tickles his nose and gets into his eyes. He doesn’t mind these little things when he’s locked up in this piece of paradise.

“Thank you for inviting me.” You’re just as earnest, filled with all the eagerness of a budding relationship and untarnished by time.

Still, there are things you have to say. Things you want to apologize for, even if they seem miles away now.

“I’m sorry about the…” Careful, you think. You want to express yourself clearly, paint a picture that makes sense for both of you. Something real and true, despite your love for the abstract. You begin again. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my birthday and I’m sorry if that made it seem like I didn’t want to celebrate with you.” The usual rushed nature of your speech is decidedly lacking, instead lulled into a prudently composed apology. “We’d only known each other for a few days, and I didn’t want it to feel like an obligation.”

You don’t mention how the day had still felt been a dream because you’d spent it with him and that was all you could’ve asked for.

Against your shoulder, you feel his chin and the clear movement of his nod.

“I wasn’t mad,” he reassures with a sweep of his lips, meagre over cotton. “I felt silly—” You don’t deserve him and his honesty, how he bares himself up to you as if it’s the easiest task in the world. “—but I wasn’t angry and I didn’t mean to make it seem like it was.”

Your heart sings in your chest, a robin’s song that has you turning in his arms. It’s a little awkward, first untangling your legs and then hooking your knee over his hip, but it feels necessary. A physical token of how much you want him as you breathe life into the same verbal reminder.

“You know you’re too good at this.” Not that you’re complaining – not that you don’t love the openness with which he holds himself to you, laid plain for your prying eyes.

“Too good at what?” The question comes with a gift in the form of his signature smile. It follows with a suggestive roll of his hips.

You can’t help but laugh, depositing the sound against his bare chest. “Communicating, you animal!” The insult is anything but reproachful, instead dangling smugly over an almost wanton intonation. “You’re never afraid to say what’s on your mind.”

He’s got you held against him like he might swallow you whole and you don’t mind, finding peace in his warmth and softness.

“I just think if you never express how you feel, you’re never going to be able to get past it.” You want to liken him to some sage philosopher, the comparison growing stronger when he hums thoughtfully, gaze lost somewhere above your heads. “And I owe it to you to try, so it’s easier. I want this to work.”

Staring up into his face, memorizing the way his cheeks swell with his smile and his dark lashes frame eyes that crescent into pretty little moons, you understand.

“Me too,” you breathe, pressing a sugar sweet kiss to his bared throat.

You don’t miss the way he tenses around you before relaxing all at once, enveloping you with every part of him. His breath is hot in your hair, his hands familiar around your waist. You’re not sure whether you feel it in your lips or toes when he kisses you but you know it runs through every inch of you like a sugar rush.

It’s him that’s prompting you to drag yourself closer – if that’s even possible – and it’s him that’s got you seeking his taste, dragging your tongue over his bottom lip in some sort of bid for entry.

“Who’s the animal now?” Despite the playfulness in his tone, you can hear the creep of something else. Hunger, need – all the same things painting your breaths.

“Still you.” You murmur in between kisses that edge on sloppy, overly eager as they are. “But I can be, too.” A sharp tug at his bottom lip, edge of teeth sharp around the soft petal. “Not mutually exclusive, you know?” You don’t know how you’re finding words when all you want is him. It’s hard to be coherent around the Taehyung-shaped distraction your mouth is roaming across.

“You’re feisty when you’re drunk,” he quips, breathless against your crown when you descend further than the tantalizing slope of his neck, mouthing over the bare expanse of his honeyed chest.

The comment has you nipping gently, just enough to bloom crimson where your teeth have left little indents. “I’m not drunk.” Three words spoken more concisely than you have all night, driven to enunciation by sheer unabashed need.

“I’m kidding.” It’s less of an apology and more of a purr, stoking the coals that burn heavily in the pit of your stomach.

You’re tempted to remind him of his hubris once again but are rudely stopped by firm hands that rearrange you onto your back like you’re nothing but a ragdoll. By the way you huff, he knows you’re more than that – a girl with a beating heart and needs.

Forearms form a cage on either side of your head, and he lingers for but a moment, only long enough to catch you in a sweet, all-encompassing kiss that has your head spinning. You’re gasping when he withdraws, pitifully inclined to chase him when he slides further down your prone form, settling on his knees between your legs.

It’s a beautiful sight – better than the Mona Lisa or David or any of the greats.

His palm is soft on the swell of your hip, fingers tucking beneath the flimsy lace that nestles against your skin. He continues to feel the patterns that run through the material, smoothing it once, twice, before dragging it lower and lower in marginal increments. You feel like you might explode when it’s caught halfway down your thighs, stuck between his knee and complete freedom.

“Raise your legs, jagi.” The request shoots electricity up your spine. You don’t even have to think twice, doing exactly as you’re told, ankles brought parallel with your hips.

The scrap of fabric is gone then, loftily tossed across the room without a second thought.

You almost laugh, the sound bubbling forth but replaced by a keening moan when he sinks two fingers into you. Without time to adjust to the sudden intrusion, the burn is incredible, softened only by the slick that coats your thighs and drips over his fingers. He stretches you lazily, with slow measured pumps of his wrist; somehow, you’re already standing on the edge of a precipice, bliss calling your name from the abyss below.

He must see it in your face, framed between your pretty thighs that spread for him, calves resting heavily on his broad shoulders. “You’re so wet.” You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on by his voice, the way the velvet depths fill your ears with a melody. They play over the chords of your heart like practiced hands. “So ready and beautiful.”

The realization is fully formed with his words. You are ready.

It’s an epiphany and Taehyung – darling Taehyung – gives you exactly what you want. He adds a third finger with the utmost care, angled in such a way that he can brush the pad of his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He ghosts a kiss over your calf, words disappearing against your skin. “Where are the condoms?”

You can’t even bring yourself to feel shame as you gesture wildly toward your side table. It’s just out of range for you but he closes the distance easily, his much longer reach allowing him to dip into the confines of the drawer.

Seeing the packet in his slender, capable fingers has your pulse speeding up, a nervous flush colouring your entire body. You know it isn’t unease that has you quivering, a bow strung too tightly beneath him.

“Please, Tae,” you can’t help the way you sound when he withdraws his fingers and - god have mercy on your poor soul - sucks the digits into his mouth. Glistening with your arousal, they disappear between pouting lips and return pristinely clean.

“Yes, jagi?”

He’s teasing you, taking his time in tugging his boxers off. You think you’d be mad if he weren’t so flawless, golden perfection sat bare before you. When you don’t respond, he takes his time in tearing the corner of the package and discarding same off the side of the bed. His movements are excruciating as he pinches the tip and rolls the condom over the leaking swollen head of his cock.

“What do you need?” The way he winds you up should be illegal, as should his expression when he drops back onto the bed, settling between your bent knees. There’s only darkness in his eyes, the entire ring of hazel engulfed by pupils that threaten to devour you.

You reach for him, a child seeking the thing they love most. You half expect him to draw away and giddily coo when he leans into your hands, allows his angelic face to be cradled between your palms.

“You. I want you.” No, that’s not quite right. “I need you.”

You think you might’ve given him the great gift in the world when he beams, shattering every wall of yours and sweeping shadows from your insides. He’s glorious sunshine, consuming warmth that pervades every inch. Sliding forward, his arm falls into place at the side of your face, delicate touch drifting through the silk of your hair. “Tell me how badly.” He asks so sweetly, you can’t deny him.

“So badly. Like I haven’t needed anything before.” Perhaps loose lips could sink ships, but you think they might also find buried treasure. You’re certain of it when you pull him to you, his frame fitting snugly against yours - a missing puzzle piece.

You feel him, heavy and hot between your legs. The way he rocks against you has you pawing at his chest, hands falling from his cherubic face. He rocks himself forward experimentally, enticed by the ease with which his straining cock glides through your folds, never delivering in the promise you so terribly need fulfilled.

“Tae,” you whine, features twisted into a picture of anguish as he catches your clit and then disappears. He doesn’t move again, instead studying your face as if he might find the answers to all of life’s questions buried in your smile, the lashes that flutter up at him.

“I’ve got you.” He does – hook, line, and sinker.

And then he pushes into you with one fluid flex of his hips. He fits into you like you were made for him, your aching walls drawing him deeper and deeper until he’s bottomed out and snuggled between your legs. You immediately lock your ankles around him, heels digging into his back in a bid to bring him closer.

It takes herculean effort to not fuck you until you’re seeing stars but Taehyung’s reward is the way you look.

He wants to imprint it into his memory forever. The way your mouth falls open, lips parted around his name like a prayer. How your back arches and he wants to bury his face into your cleavage.

“So beautiful, Jiyeon.” He finds you somehow, driven by the insatiable need to swallow your moans off your tongue. He sets a leisurely pace that has him drawing out slowly to admire every drag of you around his cock and you whine each time he nearly fully withdraws before thrusting back into you with a heart-wrenching smile. He loves the way you sound, all needy and breathless. “You feel so good,” he murmurs against your mouth, tongue dragging lasciviously over the corner where your own lolls. “Taste so good, too.”

In true fashion, you’re filled with delight at the praise, raising your hips to meet each measured, tantalizing roll of his. “Please, Tae. Please.” You’re not sure what you’re asking for, only that you need more. There’s a molten lava burning through you, swallowing everything in its sight, but it isn’t enough.

“Please what?” He’s straightening above you and reclining, dragging your legs from around him until they’re resting in the crook of each elbow. It’s a powerful position that has him admiring every curve of your body, his cock twitching as he smoothly pushes into you again. He can feel your need like an onerous wave but he’s feeling playful.

“Fuck me!” It explodes out of your mouth, wrenched forth by the teasing he’s been doling out.

“But I am,” he sounds almost dejected when he says that and your eyes snap open only to be greeted by his too-smug grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Two can play that game. “Well, then do better.”

That’s what pushes him to your figurative level, dragging him to hell. He grips your hips in his hands and tugs you forward with little care, burying himself to the hilt with a sharp breath. You quake with the sudden aggression and mewl with delight when he begins ramming into you with purpose, meeting his each and every thrust eagerly.

This is what you needed – to be consumed wholly, in no half measures.

“Oh, Tae.” His name barely makes it into the air when it’s snapped back with a gasp. The pad of his thumb is sweeping over your clit in time with each of his thrusts. It’s insistent, near punishing, as he pistons into you.

He's no longer Cupid playing a harp, drawing you slowly but surely to the edge; he's Lucifer in a mad descent toward Earth and you're caught in his wings. The knowledge that he's there at the edge with you, fingers laced with yours as he dives toward release, has you clenching around him. Fingers seek purchase anywhere you can find it. First down his back, carving mountain ranges over muscle, and then into his inky strands, tugging with abandon. You're so close you can feel it, a sob wrenched forth when he shifts and the new angle has him dragging over your g-spot with each thrust.

Between the pitching moans and your fluttering walls, he's free-falling, entire body vibrating with tension. He snaps forward with a wrecked grunt, signalling his impending doom. "Come with me, jagi. Please." His hips stutter, his motions uncoordinated and sloppy as he chases his end.

When Taehyung's lips find yours once again, your own name returned to you with aching adoration, you join him.

White paints your vision and the inside of latex and you're unravelling, held only to the physical plane by arms that soothe over every part they can touch. Over your thighs, across your hips, up and back over the swell of your heaving chest. Even half-wrecked and fumbling, he's an angel, taking care of you like it's his job. He guides sweet nothings into the shell of your ear, his tongue laving hotly over your neck, as he slows his thrusts, finally coming to a sated standstill.

"Are you okay?" With the fucked out look in his eyes and the way he gingerly extracts himself from your arms, pressing kisses to every salt-sweet part of you as he goes, he's divine. Even the very mundane task of knotting the condom and tossing it into the trashcan beside your bed is somehow ethereal. You don't think you'll get over it.

"One hundred percent."

notes. a small part of me was like, "why is there so much debauchery?" but then i thought, "why not."

anyway, the next chapter will explore her and jungkook's relationship through flashbacks, as well as some good ol' bro bonding and other goodness.

thank you for reading, as always! xo

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mushroomminded · 6 years ago

Text

The Wishing Pond PART 2

Story by @creative-lightbulb

Illustrations by myself.

WARNING: MAY CONTAIN MAJOR MICOVERSE SPOILERS. If you are a new reader/follower to my account and the micoverse story, please proceed with care! Old followers, you know all this already. ;)

“You’ve been taking this whole ‘magic pond’ thing pretty well.” Huni commented out of the blue, turning in Cody’s direction. “Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s kinda my hobby?” Cody replied, shrugging. “Milo and I kinda made a habit of poking our noses where they don’t belong. The results are always mixed.”

“I’d think that’d turn you away from these sorts of things.” Huni said, shoving his unbandaged hand into the water and feeling around.

“Nope, only made me wanna know more.” Cody watched him curiously. “Speaking of, whatcha doing there?”

“Sometimes, people make wishes as a joke cuz they don’t believe the pond works.” Huni seemed to find something, pulling his hand from the water and examining the coin he’d retrieved. “Their wishes sink to the bottom of the pond, so I like fishing around for cool things.”

“So … when will I make my wish?” Cody asked impatiently.

“In time.” Huni answered, flipping the coin in the air and watching as it glimmered before splitting in two. “You gotta think on the wording, to prevent loopholes. Besides, we may find something useful here.”

Cody sighed, watching Huni flip the identical coins and marvel at their divisions. He eventually pocketed them, reaching his hand back into the pond. Cody stood.

“I’ve gotta go, it’ll be dark soon.” He said, a small frown on his face.

“Oh.” Huni’s expression was sympathetic as he took a moment to stand “Well, I’m sorry about the wait.”

“It’s fine.” Cody said, beginning to head towards the hill “..Bye.”

“Take care, Cody.” Huni replied, waving him off.

The sky was grey, thick clouds hanging overhead as Cody walked up to the house. Dominic was waiting in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Where were you?” He asked. Cody shoved his hands in his pockets.

“The pond.” He answered. Dominic sighed.

“Didn’t we have this talk yesterday?” He said as the two headed inside. “You could get lost in those woods, especially near dark!”

“I’ve gone twice and come back fine, haven’t I?” Cody mumbled. Dominic glanced back at him.

“That’s nothing but luck.” Dominic dismissed. “One of these days you’re gonna get stuck in there after dark and I’m not gonna wait around until that happens.”

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m stupid, y’know?” Cody snapped. “I know what I’m doing!”

“You should know I don’t appreciate that tone, young man.” Dominic warned. Cody glared.

“I don’t appreciate you treating me like I need be monitored every second of the day!” Cody spat, pushing past and marching into the hall.

“Hey, we’re not done talking here!” Dominic raised his voice as he followed him. Cody ignored his shouts as he slammed and locked the bathroom door.

“Cody.” Dominic took a second, letting out a breath. “Cody, open the door.”

Cody ignored him, his back to the door as he sat.

“You’ve got five seconds to come out here, or you’re grounded.” Dominic threatened after a pause. Cody stared at the ground.

“Five.”

Cody remained silent, listening to him count as the anger bled from his body

“Four.”

He glanced at the doorknob, arms crossed as another round of knocking ensued.

“Three.”

The impatience oozed from his voice, the doorknob wiggling once more

“Two!”

Cody stood, hesitating as his hand reached for the lock.

“One-”

Dominic stepped back as the door creaked open. Cody stared at the floor in defeat.

“The phone, hand it over.” Dominic sighed, holding out his hand. Cody narrowed his eyes, avoiding looking at him as he dropped it into his hand and trudged towards his room.

Dominic followed, lingering in the doorway as Cody kicked off his shoes and sat on his bed.

“You know I don’t like doing this either, right?” He asked, Cody remaining silent.

He sighed, hand resting on the doorknob “Goodnight, Cody.”

Milo awoke to a wonderful smell. He yawned before deciding to get up and investigate.

The sound of clinking dishes was coming from the kitchen, the smell only growing stronger as he grew closer. Peeking inside, he smiled at the sight of Sumney hovering over the kitchen counter and the countless ingredients piled upon it.

Sumney continued to hum, stirring the batter as he continuously glanced at an open book resting against the wall.

“I didn’t know you cooked.” Milo said, rubbing at his eyes as he announced his presence.

“I’m an adult, aren’t I?” Sumney laughed, smiling warmly. “Who do you think kept Jake and Dan afloat before you came around?”

Milo grinned, taking a seat at the table as Sumney went back to skimming the recipe book.

Milo rested his head in his hands, watching Sumney work for a few moments before speaking again.

“So … do you just do it because you have to or is it a hobby or something?” He folded his arms on the table, resting his head on them.

“You sure are full of questions.” Sumney pointed out. “And no, I don’t think I did …do? My memory’s still fuzzy.”

“Oh.” Milo tapped his fingers against the tabletop idly. Then Sumney set a loaded plate in front of him “Thank you!”

“Anytime.” Sumney placed a kiss on his forehead. Milo sniffled quietly, a wide smile spreading across his face.

Sumney returned to the kitchen, grabbing a knife and going about dicing some fruits. He hissed when he accidentally cut his finger.

The cut wasn’t very bad, but water slowly began to escape from the wound. He started, eyes wide as a drop hit the countertop.

“Dad?” Milo spoke up, voice muddled due to his mouth being full but the concern shining through regardless.

“… I’ll be right back.” Sumney said, voice shaky as he rushed to the bathroom.

Everything felt distant and foggy, his gaze constantly shifting back to his leaking finger.

He entered the bathroom, breathing erratic as he held onto the sink to steady himself. He didn’t know what was going on. the mere sight of his weeping finger caused his very skin to crawl but his gaze never wandered from it for long.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Jake’s expression was full of concern. Dan and Milo crowded in the doorway.

“Hey— Hey, breathe.” Jake instructed. Sumney’s hands were trembling.

“Let’s put down the knife, okay?” Jake continued, patting his back gently.

Sumney released his tight grip on the handle, letting the knife clatter into the sink.

Jake led him out to the couch. Sumney closed his fist, shielding his wounded finger as he tried to focus on his breathing as Dan and Milo following the two out.

“What happened?” Dan asked. Sumney looked up at him.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted, voice quiet.

Dan took a seat at the other side of him, Milo squeezing into the remaining space.

Sumney leaned into Dan’s side and Jake gave him a light side hug.

The four sat in silence for a bit before Dan stood, giving Sumney’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Take it easy, alright?” He said as he nudged Milo along to get ready for school.

Sumney exhaled shakily, continuing to focus on his breaths. Jake gave him a sympathetic look.

“Do you need me to stay?” He asked, the worry still evident in his tone.

“Nah… I’m good.” Sumney assured him, folding his hands in his lap.

“Well…I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Jake said, rising from the couch and glancing back one last time before disappearing down the hallway.

Sumney sat in silence, gaze once again drifting downward towards his hands. They were damp, droplets of water seeping from between his fingers. He frowned deeply.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, his thoughts scattered and in blurred together, but before he knew it Dan and Milo were in the front doorway saying their goodbyes.

“Hope you feel better, Dad.” Milo told him, holding onto the straps of his bag.

“Thank you.” Sumney replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips “Have a good day you two.”

Dan gave him a single nod of acknowledgement, waiting for Milo as he ran up to give Sumney one last hug before shutting the door behind them.

Sumney’s smile fell not a second after.

He tried to distract himself. Slapping a bandaid over the cut, he tried to return to the kitchen. The cutlery glimmered in the sunlight that shone through the window.

He took to cleaning up, his eyes following the occasional drip that came from the sink faucet.

He shifted uncomfortably.

He returned to the couch, picking up the book he’d neglected to finish. He read a few pages, having to constantly reread as his focus kept drifting from the words. He shut the book in frustration.

Returning to the bathroom he sighed, staring into the mirror with a restless expression. The knife was still resting in the sink, taunting him.

He leaned out into the hall.

“Hey, Jake?” He called out.

“Yeah?” Came a distant response.

“I think I’m going to head out for a bit—” Sumney said, “— Just need some fresh air, y’know?”

There was a pause, Jake hesitating for a moment before replying.

“Alright! Be careful!”

The front door shut soon after his response. He frowned.

~ Sumney was hardly paying attention to where his feet where taking him. His pocket felt heavy.

There were puddles on the ground. The entire sidewalk was damp from last night’s rainfall. Sumney tried his best to avoid them, eventually stepping off the main path entirely.

The grass was fairly muddy. Sumney outwardly cringed when his shoes would sink at a particularly moist part of the ground. Still, he pressed onward.

There was a tree line fast approaching, the closely gathered trees only leading to a deeper forest.

Not once did he pause. His feet went on autopilot as he made his way through the thicket. His eyes were unblinking, steadily trained ahead as he pushed through into a relatively small clearing.

There stood a familiar hill.

His pace slowed to a walk as he approached a small pond in the center of the larger clearing.

It gurgled curiously.

He stood at its edge, staring at his reflection in the water. It stared back.

“Oh, it’s you again.”

Sumney didn’t flinch at Huni’s voice as the man strolled over to his side.

“What am I?” Sumney said out of the blue, staring down at his hands.

The question seemed to catch Huni off guard, his expression slipping into a mix of concern and fear.

“…What do you mean?” He asked.

“I’m not supposed to be here, that’s been made more than clear.” Sumney continued, his voice oddly hollow “..I’m not normal.”

“I mean, what is normal really?” Huni chuckled awkwardly, trying his best to salvage the conversation. Sumney let his arms fall to his sides.

“Clear blood isn’t normal.” Sumney concluded, voice filled with disillusionment “Is it?”

“Who’s to say?” Huni replied with a shrug.

Sumney suddenly turned his gaze on him. His pocket only felt heavier as his hand inched ever closer towards it.

“What color do you bleed, Huni?”

“So that’s why you haven’t been answering my texts?” Milo said. Cody nodded with a bitter expression.

“No phone, no pond.” Cody replied, resting his head in his hand as he glared at nothing.

“You actually went?” Milo asked, his brow knitted as his tone became accusatory. Cody’s glare only intensified.

“Yeah, I did.” Cody answered “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it, that’s all.” Milo defended “…What did he say?”

“He said exactly what I knew he would.” Cody replied. “We shouldn’t have tried messing with the dead.”

“Dude, messing with the dead is our entire thing!” Milo exclaimed. “I was even extra careful with my words like you asked, why are you still hung up about this?”

“Because that’s not your dad, Milo.” Cody spat. Milo went silent as Cody focused his glare on him. “Because maybe I don’t want you to get so torn up over this when it all inevitably goes wrong!”

“Well If you’re really doing this to protect my feelings..” Milo said, voice oddly quiet “.You’re doing a shit job.

Milo stood, grabbing his lunch tray and wandering off to join another table.

Cody’s expression softened as Milo furiously wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

~ Cody hopped off the bus, grumbling to himself as he began to walk home. Sumney was in the front yard of Milo’s neighboring house, sitting on the steps with a vacant expression. His shoes were soaked and his pants were damp to the knees. He gave Cody a chilling stare.

There was red on his fingers.

Cody took off in a sprint, heart pounding in his chest as he ditched his bag on the sidewalk.

The forest was oddly quiet, wood damp from the rain and droplets clinging to the leaves. He pushed further inward, glancing around frantically. “Huni?!” He called out, pushing his way into the clearing. There was no response.

Cody made his way to the hilltop, freezing at the sight below.

Patches of grass were strained a dark red, all leading up to a still body.

Huni wasn’t moving, the lower half of his torso submerged in the browned water. Cody nearly tripped over own his feet, rushing over to his side.

“No, no, no …” Cody nudged his shoulder. Huni’s eyes were glassy, his skin gray and sickly. He was unresponsive.

Cody’s reflection wavered in the water, he turned to the pond.

“Please…help him.” He begged “That’s all I want.”

The water remained still, a quiet breeze passing through the clearing. There was a single bloodied kitchen knife bobbing the water. Cody sniffled. “Cody!”

A voice echoed through the forest, Cody tensing at the recognition of Dominic’s voice. He stood, wiping at his nose. He glanced back at Huni’s motionless body.

“Dad!” He called out, voice shaky as he stumbled back up the hill.

Dominic had his school bag slung over his shoulder, the anger on his face fading at Cody’s clear distress.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” He asked, resting his hands on his shoulder.

Cody grabbed his arm, leading him down the hill and towards the pond.

Huni was up, limping towards the tree line and trailing bloody water along the way. The side of his shirt was torn a stained a deep red, his hand gripping the fabric tightly.

“Hey!” Dominic called out, Huni froze. His hair was soaked, face almost entirely obscured. His eyes were wide and wild when he glanced back towards them. He turned and shambled into the tangle of trees, disappearing from sight.

“Who was that?” Dominic asked, glancing at Cody’s shaken expression “What are you even doing back here?”

“He was bleeding…” Cody replied, gaze downcast.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you coming here..” Dominic grumbled, leading him out of the woods. Cody avoided looking at him.

“I need to talk to Milo.” He said after the two had crossed the street, Dominic frowned.

“You are still grounded you know, even more so for running off like this.” Dominic replied “Why do you need to talk to him?”

Cody struggled to explain, Dominic sighing.

“Let’s go.” He said, the two heading towards the house.

Cody reflexively glanced at Milo’s yard, frowning at its emptiness. ~

Jake watched as Sumney washed his hands as instructed, having peeled the soiled bandaid off of his finger long ago.

“You need to be more careful with the kitchen knives..” Jake began, a deeply worried frown on his face.

“I know…I’m sorry.” Sumney replied, his face weary.

“That was quite a bit of blood, are you sure you don’t need anything more than another bandaid?” Jake asked. Sumney nodded “Alright…Let me know if that changes.”

Jake lingered in the doorway for a moment before disappearing back down the hall.

The front door opened and Sumney immediately heard Milo practically shouting his name.

He peeked out into the hall, smiling weakly at Dan and Milo as they entered the living room.

“Hey!” Milo’s face lit up as he headed down the hallway and hugged Sumney’s waist “…Are you okay?”

“Yeah…just tired.” Sumney dismissed, ruffling Milo’s hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dan’s expression soured, but he quickly shook it off and smiled reassuringly.

“C’mon, I’ll put a movie on.” Dan offered. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

There was a pause, Sumney blinking slowly before finally replying.

“Oh— sounds great.” His voice lacked enthusiasm, Milo frowned.

The three wasted the afternoon away, sprawled across the couch with takeout as they watched an assortment of shark-related films at Milo’s request.

Well into the second movie Dan stood, throwing out an explanation of wanting to get out of his uniform before continuing.

Milo was leaning on Sumney’s side, the man now staring at him intensely.

“…Something wrong?” Milo asked when he noticed the staring, faint discomfort on his face as he awaited an answer.

“I died, didn’t I?” He asked. Milo tensed at the question.

“..Why’s that important?” Milo deflected.

“How am I here if I’m dead?” He continued, never breaking his stare. Milo avoided his gaze.

“You remember that pond..?” He asked. Sumney nodded in response. “Well—this is gonna sound crazy but just hear me out— you can make wishes at it and I kinda… used it to bring you back? Please don’t be mad!”

Sumney gave him a puzzled look, fiddling with his hands.

“The pond brought me here?” He asked, Milo nodding quickly.

“Oh…” He shut his eyes for a moment before letting out a breath “Okay.”

There wasn’t any more to the conversation. Milo sat up uncomfortably.

Dan hesitated before making his presence known, he took a seat beside Milo who scooted over.

The three continued to lounge about, Jake occasionally glancing at the screen when he passed through. Sooner than later, Dan was nagging Milo to get ready for bed.

Jake entered the living room, falling back onto the couch with a relieved breath.

“Work running long?” Sumney asked, staring ahead at the TV blankly.

“Yeah.” Jake answered “You feeling okay?”

“I dunno..” He admitted, standing and beginning to clear off the coffee table “Been thinking a lot lately, about what happened to me.”

Panic hit Jake’s features, a nervous laugh ensuing.

“Really?” He asked, Sumney nodding.

“I’m really happy to be back, don’t get me wrong..” He clarified, heading into the kitchen “I just wanna know what happened.”

Guilt overcame Jake’s expression as Dan entered the living room. When Sumney came back from the kitchen, Dan motioned for him to take a seat beside him.

“Well, if you really want to know .. I suppose it’s only fair.” Dan began “But please, just keep this between the three of us.”

“Doesn’t Milo deserve to know?” He asked.

Jake shook his head rapidly.

“We just don’t think he’ll be ready to face the truth, at least not now.” Dan explained.

Sumney gave him an understanding nod. “Alright.” He agreed.

Dan took a breath. “You didn’t die.” He said, Sumney giving him a puzzled look.

His voice had dropped to a whisper, his gaze darting towards the darkened hall every so often.

“It was about ten years ago.” Dan continued “You’d gotten a hold of a really nice looking shark hoodie and things were fine … until you put it on.”

Sumney was listening intently, trying his best to connect his fragmented memories with Dan’s retelling.

“It turned you back into a kid.” Dan attempted to explain. “It was a really weird freak accident and we going to turn you back but..”

“Dan got attached.” Jake chimed in “Took one look at your baby face and decided he wanted to be a dad.”

“We got attached, excuse you.” Dan corrected. Jake smiled faintly. “Anyway— by the time we’d actually came to a decision… it was too late to change you back.”

“..And?” Sumney prompted him to continue, his expression full of confusion.

“And we just sort of settled.” Jake replied “We got jobs and committed.”

“It was really odd for a while but.. we grew to like it.” Dan admitted.

“So you.. raised me???” Sumney ran his hands through his hair, the distress clear in his voice “That doesn’t make any sense, if you turned me into a kid how am I here?? How are we having this conversation.”

“Hey.. calm down.” Dan began. “You wouldn’t want to wake Milo, would you?”

“That’s me..isn’t it?” He asked, brown furrowing.

“Technically?” Dan replied.

“So … that’s me, and I brought myself— my old self— back into existence and that’s how I’m here right now, but I’m not actually me?” Sumney didn’t seem to believe his own words, clutching the sides of his head.

Dan took his hands in his own.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know..” he assured him “It’s confusing and complicated and really really weird but .. you’ll learn to take the chaos as it comes sooner or later.”

“Sometimes much..much later.” Jake sighed as the two rose from the couch.

“I mean— you didn’t have a complete break down the last time Milo got himself into trespassing shenanigans so.. I’d say that’s a step up.” Dan replied, the two bickering amongst themselves for a bit more as Sumney stretched out across the couch.

Jake headed down the hall, Dan pausing in the doorway before looking back.

“Just try to sleep on it, alright?” He said. Sumney gave him a weak thumbs up. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Sumney stared at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing on his features as he attempted to wrap his head around the buckets of information just dumped on him.

Part of him wanted to disregard it all, brush it off as some kind of joke and go on with his day, but it lined up. He could vividly recall the shop they’d entered that day, the old woman at the front desk, the cryptic warnings she spewed. Sleep was definitely out of the question. ~ Cody tossed and turned in his bed, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tried to shake the feeling of cold skin that clung to his fingertips.

His grounding had been extended, that being the least of his worries as he tried to figure how to bring up the day’s events to Milo the following school day. He rolled onto his side for the third time, grabbing his glasses from off of the nightstand and rising.

He made his way into the kitchen, navigating carefully in the dark as he didn’t want to wake Dominic with turning on the hall lights. He pulled back the curtain on the kitchen window, moonlight helping illuminate the room.

He grabbed a glass, turning on the tap and watching it fill idly.

He glanced out the window, doing a double take when he noticed a figure in the window of the neighboring house. Squinting, he tried to get a better look as they continued to stand motionless. He could practically feel their unwavering gaze.

He quickly shut the tap off when his glass overflowed, remaining at window as he drank.

The figure was slow moving, Cody watching intently as they went out of his view. The house was silent, Cody eventually making his way back down the hall.

He paused at Dominic’s door, hesitating for a moment before slowly cracking it open.

Dominic was fast asleep, snoring soundly as Cody crept about. He quietly sorted through his nightstand drawer, pushing past crumpled papers and an assortment of writing utensils before he reached what he was searching for.

He froze when Dominic stirred, the man grumbling sleepily before turning onto his side and resuming his stillness.

Sighing in relief, Cody grabbed his phone from the drawer, shutting it and slipping out of the room shortly after.

Flipping it open, he entered his messages.

He read through Milo’s texts from the night before. They were a mix of justifications for his behavior and weak apologies.

His thumbs hovered over the buttons.

#art tag #fics #the wishing pond

49 notes · View notes

lookbluesoup · 6 years ago

Text

OC Interview Meme

Tagged by @tarberrymentats and @wastelandwandererstuff B)

SORRY IT TOOK ME A WHILE TO GET TO THIS GUYS spring break kept me busy xD But I AM BACK NOW AND READY TO ANSWER THESE TAGS THANK U ALL <33 It’s been a blast getting to read about everyone’s Fallout characters ;w; I’m trying to get braver about leaving comments/reblogs but in the meantime just know I SEE YOUR AWESOME CHARACTERS and I APPRECIATE THEM.

This was actually a challenge answering from Nate’s POV xD There’s stuff that I KNOW ABOUT HIM AND WANT TO SHARE but he wouldn’t volunteer or he wouldn’t view the same way so… take it for what it is! And feel free to ask questions! ;w;

It is long. Long long long. Not sorry. 16, 19, 28, and 33 are my favorites c;

1. What is your name?

Oh. Wow. We’re starting this interview off with some tough ones, hunh? Uhh… hm. My name. My name… Let me think. (overly dramatic pause) Nathaniel Christian Ronan? Yeah. That sounds right.

2. Do you know why are you named that?

I was told my name means “God has given,” because my parents didn’t actually think they’d be able to have a second kid. That and Pops was an army chaplain - wanted me to have a name reflecting the faith. He was very literal in his approach. Ronan is an Irish surname, which seemed a lot more important 200 years ago than it does today. It means… uh, oh, shoot, I used to know… Don’t worry, it’ll come to me.

3. Are you single or taken?

(chuckles) Sorry folks, my roving days are over. Got a nosy reporter waiting for me back in Diamond City... whatever time I’ve got left I’m giving it to her.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

Powers? What, like, superpowers? That’d be awesome but, hah, no. Though I’ve been told my ability to talk myself out of trouble is uncanny. My martinis were legendary, and still would be if I find the ingredients for them in this apocalyptic wasteland. Friends say I’ve got a good ear for music… Oh, and ventriloquism. That’s always fun.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

I know you are but what am I?

6. What’s your eye color?

Blue, like my grandmother. (blinks dramatically several times for emphasis)

7. How about your hair color?

Coal back. (runs a hand through it almost nervously) And holding up better than the rest of me, considering the complete lack of well-deserved grey hair.

8. Have any family members?

I have a son, Shaun. Piper gave me roots, and Nat’s pretty much my little sister, too, at this point. The Railroad’s been more family to me than most of my own blood ever was.

9. Oh? How about pets?

Legs Washington, an orphaned radstag I brought to the Castle. He’s a bit of a mascot for the men, follows Shaun everywhere. Yeah, it’s adorable.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

You guess? Look, after this interview, I’m taking you to the Castle to meet them yourself. Your life will be changed. There’s plenty to dislike about the Commonwealth, enough to go mad over. It’s not exactly the charming old homestead of days gone by. But we’re making it better one day at a time.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

Hah! “Duck and Cover” is a big one. Got me suspended from Railroad HQ once, though. I still say that was Deacon’s fault. I like long walks through the woods, playing baseball with Shaun, and a General’s work is never done but it does bring fulfillment. I like all those activities infinitely better when Piper’s around. Is that mushy? God, that sounds mushy. (smiles shamelessly)

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

Yeah. Some deserved it… some I’m still trying to make up for.

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

(stops smiling) Yeah. I have. You want a kill count? Six-word soundbites about all the blood and screams and the way men look when they realize they’re about to die? It’s not a fun fact. It’s not fun. Next question.

14. Name your worst habits?

I’m afraid that information’s classified. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. OH! LITTLE SEAL. That’s what Ronan means! Yeah, you know, like, selkie babies.

15. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

Aha… seriously? I’m Pipersexual, end of story. Unless you count the undying affection between my best mate Deacon, and me, which I’ve been told occasionally inspires jealousy. Honestly, I never gave putting a name to my romantic inclinations much thought. It’s always been women, but maybe I just never met the right man.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Piper, for sure. She’s - the way she sees the world? It gives me hope. She’s brave, brave enough to fight for what she believes in. No matter how bad it gets she always finds a light to hold onto, somehow, and keep going. And she’s genuine. I didn’t know what courage really was until I met her. Scribbles’ friendship is… a hell of a lot more than I deserve. I wouldn’t be the same without it. And, God, she’s funny. Sweet, and - a-ha, hm… we’d be here all day if I tried to list all the reasons why I love her.

I also have immense respect for Nick Valentine. He’s a good guy. Without ‘im, I might still be chasing my tail out in the woods somewhere. Or worse. Nick was a friend to me when I needed it most, put everything on the line to help me find my son - didn’t even hesitate. I’ll never be able to repay him for that.

17. What kind of animal are you?

One of a kind. (winks)

18. Do you go to school?

The Commonwealth has a way of schooling everyone, doesn’t it? I’m a bit too old for arithmetic and hall passes, but I never stop learning, if that’s what you mean.

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

I’-ve… been down that road before. (breaks eye contact abruptly) Times were uncertain enough when Shaun was born. Now? Scribbles and I roll the dice every day of our lives. Asking her to marry me – starting over – was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. A baby would be, uh, a really big change. (smiles briefly, uncertain) Maybe if – no, I don’t know. Piper’s never shown any desire for something like that. If she did – even if she did... (sighs) I – look. Let’s just move on, okay?

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Oh yeah, I have an ensemble of groupies that follow me around the wasteland with a pack brahmin and an eyebot.They pitch my tent for me and cook all my meals. I pay for services with my autograph instead of caps. (rolls eyes, but keeps a smile)

21. What are you most afraid of?

Losing someone I love. I know we don’t get any guarantees out here in the wasteland, but… loss never gets any easier. It makes it hard to open up, y’know? I spent a long time keeping folks who cared about me at arm’s length, and some days it’s still a challenge.

22. What do you usually wear?

What you see is what you get! Derbys, slacks, a shirt as white as I can get it in these conditions, and a black vest, because that never goes out of style. My favorite hat is - take a look at this. It’s a bicorne. Has anyone worn that since the French Revolution? It’s great. I love it. Piper doesn’t.

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

You know what I miss? Chocolate. I’d kill for chocolate. … kidding.

24. Am I annoying to you?

Hah! I married a journalist. This is just another Tuesday.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Look, if I’m not back by seven…

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

I mean… it’s not like anyone’s ‘wealth’ compares to what it was like before the war. I’m not living off charred molerat, but I certainly won’t be moving into the Upper Stands anytime soon. Most of what I have, I made myself.

27. How many friends do you have?

More than I deserve. Piper and Deacon are probably my two best friends though. Nick, Preston, and Kent oughta be mentioned, too.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

You mean those damn perfectly preserved slices stuck in the Port-A-Diners? God, I’ve tried everything. I spent an entire afternoon trying to break in. What is the glass even made of? I couldn’t put a scratch on it. You have to just keep pushing the button. Over and over. I’m convinced it’s all some Vault-Tec conspiracy. There is no pie. The pie is a lie. Piper says she managed it once, but I don’t believe her.

29. Favorite drink?

Nuka cherry! No question.

30. What’s your favorite place?

There’s a spot up at the top of Diamond City. I mean the top top, even higher than the Stands. Clear night with a full moon? You can see for miles. Can’t be beat.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

You’ve - been listening, right? Aha, was I unclear about being madly in love?

32. That was a stupid question…

You’d be surprised how often it gets asked. (chuckles)

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

Lake. Definitely. I’m marginally less likely to get eaten there. That being said, I was up in Maine once, went out to pick lure weed. You know, those radioactive yellow flowers that grow in muddy ponds? Bad idea.Terrible idea. Maine is a terrible place and I will not be building a summer home there e-ver.

34. What’s your type?

Kickass reporters with the brightest hazel eyes you’ve ever seen, hair like Aphrodite, and a smile to make you melt.

35. Any fetishes?

Look, you’re very nice. Really. And I appreciate the interest, but ah, this isn’t any of your business. Only one person gets to ask me about those and - you aren’t her.

36. Camping or outdoors?

Camping? Oh man, those were the days. An RV trip would be the bomb. It’s not much of an option these days. But I’m used to sleeping rough, and I gotta admit, it has its charm.

#anyone who hasn't done this is tagged #nate ronan #meme #tag #oc interview #screenshot #pipan #piper x sole #fallout #fallout 4

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freedomtothinksite · 6 years ago

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Freedom to Think: Blog One

by Jonathan Stroud

I’ve got a new dog! Actually that’s not quite true. I’ve had him for six months now, but it still feels like a recent event. It’s the sense of newness that comes from having all your preconceptions turned upside down. His name is Alfie and he’s a Cavapoo (or Cavoodle, if you’re from Australia), which is a poodle and King Charles cavalier spaniel crossed. He has a spaniely nose, big floppy ears and lovely cream hair with flecks of brown in it. If your favourite cappuccino suddenly grew four legs and turned into a dog, Alfie would be the result. He’s also very small. When we got him, we guessed he was the runt of the litter (you could tell by the lines of paw marks zigzagging across his back), and he hasn’t grown a great deal since. But right from the first he displayed both the fluffy bounciness that’s expected of a pup, and the kind of zen-like inner calm and common-sense that isn’t. So he has the healthy hobbies of any self-respecting hound (e.g. stealing stray underpants and running off to bury them in the garden), but is also more than happy curling up on my lap of an evening, helping me work my way through my latest box-set. In short, he’s a very well-balanced fellow.

Anyway, as canine friends go, he’s a winner, and that’s something I never thought I’d come to write. Why? Simply because having never owned a dog before, I was always somewhat cautious about the implications. In essence I feared the poo-bags, the yelps and whines, and the constant hassling for attention (and, as a father of three, believe me I knew what I was talking about here). Above all, I was really worried that the new pet would be a big drain on my time. This year I’ve been working on the ideas for several new writing projects, and I was frightened that Alfie would make it even more difficult to concentrate on them.

But to my surprise things haven’t worked out that way. The main shock is that as well as being an excavator of my flower-bed, Alfie is a specialist at digging up time I didn’t know I had. He needs his walks, and he needs his visits to the bottom of the garden at 6.15a.m. when I’ve just staggered out of bed. And in all these moments he forces me to take a step or two away from the daily treadmill and its endless time constraints. In the summer, I listened to the humming of the bees and watched the birds weave their invisible cats-cradles in the air. I went for strolls in the fields, circling the ripening wheat, leaving bone-dry clouds of dust rising from the path between my tramping boots. Now, in the autumn, I see the mists enveloping the empty, muddy lanes, and follow the slow curve of the red kites’ flight over the trees and hills. And it does me good to see these things, rather than not see them. Sometimes I think about important things, and other times I don’t, but always my mind has a chance to clear out some of the internal logjams that threaten to overwhelm it. By the time I’m back at my desk I’m that little bit rejuvenated, and it’s all thanks to the small shaggy white companion pottering at my side.

None of this should have been a surprise to me. For a while now I’ve been talking about the importance of time and space in all our lives: the free time that loosens the ties that bind us, and the free space that helps remind us who we are. That’s what Freedom to Think is all about, after all – investing in quiet moments that don’t have an agenda. Despite my good intentions, however, I’ve all too often ended up filling my day with nothing but chores and tasks. After all, there are always endless hurdles to navigate: school events, sports, shopping, household jobs… They form an endless, self-perpetuating line, and even now I find it almost impossible to break free of them without amassing guilt and stress. But at least Alfie the dog is showing me the way forwards. He has no agenda. Simply being with him is enough. Thanks to him I’m rediscovering the exhilaration that comes from carving out these small-scale freedoms, and it’s helping me charge up my creative drive. I feel healthier these days. I feel better balanced and more engaged with the world around me. Oh, and those writing projects I’ve been working on all this year? They’re starting to move on nicely. Not bad for a pup whose favourite pastime is burying my pants in odd corners of the garden.

#blog

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ladygloucester · 7 years ago

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Scáthach - Chapter 1

Well guys, I think this is probably my most personal work ever. I know it will sound quite outlandish (ha.) and even feel Claire and Jamie out of character. One thing I love about fanfic writing is that I feel so comfortable with these characters that I feel like I can bend them in ways I wouldn’t be able to do with others I created from scratch. So apologies if this is too far from what you like to see.

Watch out for language, triggers and all that stuff.

Prologue

I won’t go all David Copperfield on you. I consider you smart enough to recognize that if I’m here, talking to you, I might as well have been born in order to do so. What a presumptuous prick, that David. Anyway. Even though I’ve gone through basically the same stages of life as any other human being, I can’t say that I consider myself so. Not fully, at least. I’m what we call a Scáthach. Yeah, pretty much as the celtic deity, we’re that very original. Calling myself a warrior woman in the middle of the XXI century will sound… well, probably as presumptuous as our friend David. But it’s the truth. I am a warrior indeed, one that fights shit you wouldn’t even imagine before I told you so.

I won’t bother you with the same boring pest I had to deal with when they first approached me. You’ll thank me for that later. But the thing is, a Scáthach is pretty much what whoever that has ever played a video game, read a fantasy novel or watched a tv show would call a demon hunter. Well, demon falls actually a bit short. There are all kinds of disgusting beings, if you may call them so, in the Dubnos, but for anyone that’s not familiar with the hierarchies and classifications of the The Deep, we can stick with that. Demon.

I can hear you rolling your eyes so hard at me. I understand it. I used to think this was all bullshit. But well, I’ve had enough of my share of experiences —and whisky— to quiet my skepticism. But I’ll help you swallow this rather thick pill. Have you ever realized your friend, your coworker, even your neighbor is suddenly behaving completely out of character? Have you heard of those people that change their lives in the blink of an eye, turning it upside down and destroying themselves in the process? Have you even felt it? That unforeseen sting of desperation in the bottom of your heart when everything seems to be going perfectly well. That fit of lust that drives you into the arms of another person while your partner is happily waiting for you at home. That outburst of anger that pushes your feet on the gas pedal, terrorizing every other driver in the highway.

I thought so.

Science tries to give it an explanation. A man suddenly murders his entire family while his friends can’t understand how the loveliest of fathers would stab the love of his life to death. Psychiatrists say he had an underlying disorder. One nobody ever noticed. Not a single action in his behavior ever betrayed it. And yet, we all swallow it down, nod and thank God and pray that science will save us all. Put a tag on our diseases and magically cure them.

If only it was possible. I wouldn’t be here.

That is the doing of a demon, clever enough to make us believe that our brains would do that to ourselves, defying millions of years of evolution and self-preserving instincts. They find a way to sneak up on us and infect us. Of course there are people depressed. Angry people. People obsessed with others. Demons are not the cause of every single evil in the world, illogical as it may sound. But those unexpected explosions that ultimately breaks the person that feels them, of those they are responsible. Don’t fool yourself.

So I take care of them. That’s what I do for a living. Well, not out in the open, that’s for sure. In “real life” I volunteer at The Royal London Hospital. It’s most convenient to have access to quick meds and professionals when you work in a field like mine. But not for me, I… well, my body behaves slightly differently. Which is an advantage, you’ll see. Whenever I’m free and I have the time, I drop by the hospital and take a quick look to see if they need a hand. They once tried to put me on a schedule. It took them a couple of days to realize it wasn’t going to work, so since I’m nice and useful, they usually let me do my thing without making much of a fuss.

So far, I’ve told you about (a bit of) my job, my other job and what I am. But I haven’t told you my name yet.

I’m Claire.

And I’m alone.

Not that I care. I mean, it would be nice to have someone to have a Sunday lunch with, but it won’t keep me awake at night. Not most of the nights, at least. I’ve never been one to have many friends. Mainly because my line of work is an unpredictable one. People use to get tired of you when you cancel dates and plans more often than you make it.

Ok, now wait a second… I’m painting a fairly sociopathic image of myself. I may not win Miss Congeniality this year, but I’m not a bad person. Well, I wouldn’t say that I qualify as a person either, but you get what I mean. I do this to help others that can’t help themselves. So I think that should give me a few points.

Are we clear then? I slay demons, people live to see another day and I go home all by myself. Again, most of the nights.

The day it all changed I was about to leave the hospital after a short shift helping around, wheeling some elderly patients around and trying to crack them up with my stupid jokes. I loved to hear them laugh with their shot voices, always reprimanding me for being too crude. I know it’s a weird hobby, getting a chuckle out of those old crocks, but I guess it’s one of the quirks of being an orphan, unable to joke around with your own folks. Yay me. When my cellphone beeped, I snuck it out of my black jeans and checked it.

Frank. Shit.

“Tell me.”

“Hi Claire, how’s your—”

“Cut the crap. What is it?“ I demanded as I walked into a nearby alley. The sun was already setting and I knew I’d be in need of a dark, secluded place to open the Membrane sooner rather than later. Oh, wait. The Membrane, haven’t told you about that yet, have I? Well, just let me get through with this asshole.

“Ok,” the voice came through the speaker colder and snarky. “There’s a situation. You need to cross and take care of a deamhan that has found an weak spot in the Membrane. There’s a human involve, but don’t care about it. We’re already counting him as a hero.”

A hero. Yeah, they were hypocritical enough to give that name to the humans that died as a result of an unexpected encounter with a deamhan. Sometimes we were late and there was nothing we could do. Other times, fewer, I got orders to leave them be. Very ethical.

“Ok, show me.”

I hung up and closed my eyes. The image began to solidify in the back of my mind, slowly adding detail, color, texture, even smell. Well, stink. Even a foul taste flooded my mouth. I got it. Let me tell you about the Membrane, quick and dirty. In order to cross to the Dubnos, The Deep, if you prefer, you don’t have to pay the boatman to sail through the Styx lagoon. Though it would be pretty cool. No, between our two worlds there is a separation, a physical barrier that only a few of us can cross. The Membrane, that’s it. It works like an osmosis process. There’s part of you that stays back in the world of the living, and another that’s able to pass through. The Dubnos is restricted to the demons. So… yeah, you guessed right. I’m part demon myself. That’s why I can cross the Membrane back and forth, and live in both sides of it. Hope I didn’t freak you out. I don’t have scales or a pointy tale or bug eyes. Well, those I only have them in the Dubnos. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see shit there. But they usually fade after a while once I’ve come back. Don’t look at me that way, I’m sure you’ve ended a few nights out looking far worse.

With the deamhan crystal clear in my mind, I opened the Membrane. I usually can open it anywhere. I just need it to be a dark place, without sunlight directly on it, and without prying eyes around, if only not to scare them to death. So I did it once again. I extended my hand with my fingers firmly aligned, acting like a blade able to cut the viscid film. It slowly pried open, parting like a primeval womb not giving pass to life, but rather absorbing it into its depths. I was already accustomed to the transition, but it always felt like losing a part of you that you were never positive you’d be able to gain back.

The first thing that hits you when you enter the Dubnos is the smell. There’s nothing that can compare to it. Like a mixture of ammonia and really, really rotten eggs. Only stinkier. I could only perceive it in the back of my nose. Once I cross the Membrane, most of my human senses are left behind and… well, demons aren’t particularly squeamish about stenches. Their sense of smell works differently, like a hound’s, but only sensitive to selective traces. I had the odor of that deamhan Frank had sent me still vivid in my nostrils. I sniffed around, trying to pick a scent. The path became distinct in a few seconds, my eyes able to discern it as if it was marked with bread crumbs. An eerie synesthesia, but definitely a useful one.

Even though it works as some sort of shadow of the reality, a muffled copy of the real world, time and space work a little differently in The Deep. Demons don’t have a natural sense of any of them, since they’re maleable, bendable. The same rules we have don’t apply there. So reaching the coast took me less than getting to the tube from the hospital. I’m a bit faster here as well, so by the time I could feel the power of the waves crashing against the jagged cliffs, I slowed down and crouched. There it was.

A thread, thinner than the thousandth part of a hair, came out of an amorphous blob of flesh, almost transparent, like muddy water. I frowned. If I recalled correctly, the human was already far gone. But the the opposite end of that thread was attached to a man. I could distinguish his form, a nebulous, barely distinctive shape on top of precipice. The deamhan was having a rough time pulling form its end. Usually once they were able to tie it to a person, the effect was instant. Most of the times there wasn’t even a struggle. But this wasn’t one of those. He was fighting. Even with his bare foot sticking out of the rock into the void of an indomitable sea, he was still holding on for dear life.

I could wait. You see, I could let the deamhan do its thing and let that poor bastard fall to his death. But remember when I told you that sometimes I get orders to leave them to their own devices? Well. I’m a shitty minion.

The fight was over before it began. By the time the demon became aware of my presence, I had already inserted my left arm all the way into its body, while I was tangling the thread around my right in order to withdraw it. The beast started to convulse, I clenched my teeth and looked away. It was stronger than I had foreseen. Painfully slowly, it initiated the process of swallowing my arm. I could feel its juices pouring on my skin, burning it. I pulled back but it was too far stuck. The thread broke. It was a shit show. I was there, a human about to kill himself and I, to be eaten and digested.

I closed my eyes. If I wanted it to work, I had to work quickly. With my right arm free, at least I was able to use it. The thread was surrounding it, hurting like acid on an open wound. I placed my palm against the slimy surface of the deamhan while I grabbed its insides with my other hand, and pulled. I pulled so hard I felt the muscles of my back strain and break. The energy started to condensate on the tips of my fingers. I hadn’t had to use it in quite sometime, so it took me longer than I expected. But by the time the bastard realized what was happening, it was a smoking spot on the floor.

I fell backwards, out of breath. Or I’d be if only I breathed there. Took me a second to remember the human. I looked at where he had been a second before, but he wasn’t there. He was already falling.

Fuck.

There was no time to think. I could see his shape plunging through the air, near the hair-raisingly sharp rocks of the cliff. Time slowed down to a tortuously lethargic cadence, enough for me to leap forward as fast as I could —which is, to be honest, faster than your eye could see—, as I opened the Membrane and pushed myself through. It slowed me down, but I had got enough momentum, more than enough to counter gravity. With the agonic rush I completely miscalculated the strength I was going to impact on his body with. I felt his shoulder pop out of the socket and his mouth crash against my (rather thick) head as I catapulted us over the cliff. I managed to protect him from further damage as we landed by, well, basically using my own body as an airbed. Not the best sensation, it crossed my mind, as I became aware of the size of the man. He lay on top of me, a dead weight that almost kept me from breathing properly, a few seconds before I crawled from underneath and turned him over on his back. My arms were still burned. In the Dubnos I was able to heal rather quickly, but once I crossed the Membrane back, my human body would became a burden. I still healed at an abnormal pace, but it was much more painful.

I could feel the ligaments of my jaw tightening with the pain, but I had no more time to waste. I straddled his waist, tore his shirt open and he, opportunistic as hell, decided it was the best time to come back from the dead. Or the unconscious. Whatever. So picture this: luckily, last thing he’ll probably remember is jumping off a cliff. Now he regains consciousness and a woman with black scleras and burnt arms is ripping his clothes off. If I’m the slightest bit less lucky, he’ll remember me, emerging from thin air, looking like I’m flying —and damn, I wish I could but that’s actually something I’m completely unable to do— and tackling him into safety. And ripping his clothes off, no, there’s no way to elude that.

“A Dhia…”

He tried to squirm out of my grasp with the arm he was still able to move, but I pushed him hard against the soft grass.

“Quiet,” I hissed while I gave him my most terrifying look. Which then was, well, actually the only look I had. He froze, trying to puzzle his memories, to instill some kind of reasoning into them, fighting the unlikeliness of it all. I arched an eyebrow, staring at him, waiting till he finally made up his mind provisionally. He had felt my strength. He knew, somewhere deep inside, he was at my mercy. Then, his eyes left mine for a second only to discover the wounded skin of my arms.

“Mary, Michael and Bride, your arms are burnt!”

“I. Said. Quiet.”

The fight behind his eyes began again for a few seconds, but he finally stopped wriggling and I was able to inspect his chest. Remember what I told you about the demons? About how they corrupt human beings? Well. that was precisely what that this human had been subjected to. Good thing I still had my bug eyes. I wouldn’t win a beauty contest, but it made it easier for me to find the corruption inside a body. I already suspected where it was. Despair was usually inserted near the heart. I placed my hand on his left pectoral and focused. This one was deep. I began pulling and his face became shadowed by the pain. It’s not the most pleasant process, but I’ve always found humans to be quite receptive to it. As if they knew, somehow, that the pain they feeling is a curative one. Gradually, a conical shape, with a dirty forest green shade, emerged from the flesh.

I let myself sat on the soft grass and sighed, looking at it. My human side felt the call of it, the words in the back of my mind, the pain that would conquer me if I let it. The waving surface was almost mesmerizing. I fell on my back and indulged in the cool feeling of the pasture and the first drops of rain. I heard him move, sitting up and closing his shirt. I could smell the blood from his broken lip. That could be a problem and staying there would only make it worse.

“Who are you?” He whispered, probably not sure if he had dreamt the whole thing, lost his mind or was having the worst trip in history.

I stood up as the rain began to pour down, appreciative of the coolness it impressed on my burns.

“You’ll be just fine. Don’t ever come back here. If you go south you’ll find a small train station if you want to go to the City. There won’t be enough light to go anywhere else.”

I rubbed my hands against my jeans and shrugged, not knowing what else to say. He wasn’t moving and kept staring at me like he was seeing a ghost. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, so who could blame him.

“Well, I—”

“Wait.” He grabbed my wrist and raised my arm, inspecting my clearly healing wounds.

“Do you really want to freak yourself out any more?”

He looked me with those slanted, incredibly blue eyes, as I realized for the first time, and let go of my wrist.

“What’s that… thing you pulled from my body?”

It was my time to freak out.

“You can see this?” I showed him the green cone and raised my eyebrows in absolute astonishment. He nodded, frowning.

“Why?”

“You aren’t supposed to be able to see a Fang. Nobody can.”

“Well, not nobody,” he pointed with indisputable common sense.

I was gaping like a fish out of water. I’ve seen plenty of terrifying, upsetting, disgusting, crippling stuff. Enough to make me almost immune to surprise. But this caught me perfectly out of balance. My eyes travelled from the Fang to his eyes, and I could tell he was waiting for an explanation. Probably more than one. Then, my gaze felt unavoidably attracted to the cut on his lip. My heart was already racing, and I didn’t know how much I could restrain myself.

“This— Remember what you felt when you jumped off?” A semblance of shame covered his features and nodded. “This is it. It wasn’t you. This made you jump.“

“But…”

“I have to go.“

“Wait!” He grabbed my wrist again but I pulled violently as soon as our skins made contact.

“Just wipe that fucking blood of your face!” I snapped, and it was his time to be caught off guard. I started pacing around, nervously. “I can’t stay. I can’t help you anymore. Go on, live your life and all that shit.“

And I vanished.

#scáthach #outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #ladygoutlanderfic #Jamie Fraser #jamie x claire #claire beauchamp #fanfiction #modern au

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speedygal · 6 years ago

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Part 6

“And this link will bring him directly into this universe?” Rainford asked, tilting her head.

"Uh huh," Boyce said. “It has never been tried before and I don’t recommend this lightly.”

“But it had worked,” Rainford said.

“Once,” Boyce said. “I was stuck in a black muddy entity and had no way of swimming up. That is when Mr Spock performed a three way meld and established a temporary link with the captain that was cut off after the rescue.” He glanced off toward the resting man. “I thought I was psi-null.”

Rainford paused, considering, looking off as she processed what was proposed. She looked toward Hugh remaining by the barrier. It was a feat that hadn't been done before or attempted in any kind of telepathy. She had been trained to use her ESP very thoroughly to the point that she could bring over a book from the bookshelf. Acting as a echo conductor for Hugh. She turned her head toward the doctor.

“And if it doesn’t work,” Boyce started.

“It will work,” Rainford said. “Dark thoughts has no place on the Triumph.”

Boyce’s grim face turned to chipper in a matter of seconds.

“I like your spirit,” Boyce said. “Doctor Pam, lower the barrier.”

Pam typed on the keypad and the field lowered.

“Doctor Coober, with me,” Rainford said.

Hugh joined Rainford’s side. Rainford lowered her mental shields then took his hand once joining her side. Rainford squeezed Hugh’s hand out of reassurance. She took Paul’s hand then closed her eyes going with a long but thin string from Hugh. She found the mind to be full of fog instead of a unique mind full of experiences that had been lived. She twirled the lasso then tossed it afar into the air. The rope landed to her feet. I believe I can fly in the open sky. She sat down curling the rope then leaped up into the air following after the fog until she couldn’t go any further. Any further and she would have collapsed where she stood. She stared intently toward the light gray fog where a small but distant figure was apparent in her vision The rope was caught becoming tight in her grip. Burnham slowly retracted out of the meld until she were by him. She let go of their hands and stepped back to notice that Boyce was no longer part of the group.

“Call him,” Burnham said.

Paul could see multiple universes at a time.

Burnham was stabbed in the chest by a Klingon blade, becoming still and silent, as Georgiou watched in horror. She performed a flip knocking the Klingon to the floor and grabbed on to the weapon jabbed it into his chest. She roared with rage after T’Kuvma leaving him in pain beside her. She brought the dying officer to her side and requested a beam up with her legs on his knees and her hand tightly gripping on Burnham’s clasped hands and another hand on the side of the woman’s dark face that was full of a unsaid apology as the light was slipping out of her eyes like a light bulb that was dying.

“Don’t die on me, soldier,” Georgiou said.

“Phili. . . ” Burnham whispered.

“Save your energy, Michael,” Georgiou said but it sounded like a plea.

“Philippa,” Burnham said.

“Michael,” Georgiou said, as the orange seams began to outline the three figures.

“Pippa,” Burnham said, as Georgiou placed her forehead on to the younger woman’s forehead and their noses touched.

He looked over.

Georgiou was stabbed in the hest, Burnham screamed and overcame the Klingon, shot and killed T’Kuvma, but was beamed before out before she could get a hold onto the deceased captain.

Paul turned his attention away.

Hugh’s neck was snapped right in front of his partner’s resting body by Tyler---no, it wasn’t Tyler--- and left to be found.

He looked off.

Tyler being placed on a table and tortured relentlessly by Klingons with another Klingon by his side.

So dark.

Burnham and Georgiou beamed back to the Shenzhou with T’Kuvma between them standing tall and proud.

So much chances not taken.

Burnham watched the Klingon ship be destroyed before the view screen while resting in the captain’s chair as Georgiou walked in with a look of betrayal keeping a firm grip on the trigger to the phaser.

He watched her be court martialed, her watched her be demoted in rank, he watched the Shenzhou come out alright and intact. No thousands of lives were lost. Paul and Hugh serving on the Discovery a year afterwards with Burnham as a Lieutenant. He watched as Georgiou became a admiral, just as she was in their universe, only more strictly retired spending time in her birth place gazing out in the stars appearing to be increasingly worried thoughtfully. Not recovering from being held captive for six months aboard the Klingon ship with Tyler. Not being at a center that dealt with post traumatic stress disorder that was stationed nearby where she lived.

Paul.

Kor’s face appeared on screen apologizing to the Shenzhou.

Paul . . .

Kor dismissing them away while he handled the wanna be messiah. Burnham went on to become captain of the Shenzhou a month later. Georgiou stayed as her partner finding a new hobby for herself aboard the Shenzhou among Burnham’s handsome domestic intimate. Burnham never gets assigned to the Discovery. Burnham recommends Saru, without his knowledge, for command a year after their brief dance with fate. Saru is speechless when the wives present him with the posting even more speechless when they watch him be beamed off to his new command with Keyla Detmer beaming off with him. A officer form Discovery is beamed on to take his place as first officer.

Paul. . .

What was that voice?

Paul. . .

It sounded familiar.

Paul.

Calling for him.

Paul. . .

He watched the normal timestream that he was part of unfold.

Paul. . .

The Shenzhou be attacked and surrounded by birds of prey that fired on the Shenzhou until it was defenseless. The distress signal was sent but no one could make it on time to save them. The Shenzhou boarded by aliens claiming to be Klingons with blue heads, lacked hair, and wore intricate armor covered in different symbols. They quickly overtook the bridge and separated officers one by one leaving them large cells in different groups. Burnham hadn’t opened up much about that event but she was slowly opening up to Tilly according to Hugh and she was getting better. Burnham wasn’t taken to the nearest PTSD recovery center due to the fact that she had became very familiar to T’Kuvma and his followers. T’Kuvma was a ancient Klingon, much as what Burnham explained, awakened from stasis by a malfunction that shouldn’t have happened and he awoke in the wrong era as did many of his followers and their very large families. Paul watched those families move on to Qo’Nos leaving behind warriors while the other family members stayed behind to raise the children without losing them in war.

“Hugh?”

Paul!

"Hugh!” Paul replied. “Hugh!”

He had completely forgotten---Paul looked down to see wrapped around his ankle was a glowing golden threat.

Paul!

The voice was laced with concern and worry---his partner!

Please, come back.

Paul grasped at the rope then tugged himself down through the clouds grasping at it tugging him down and down into the clouds headed toward one specific reality where Hugh was holding onto his hand resting in a mobile chair by his biobed. Burnham and Pollard were across from them with looks of anticipation. The air was heavy. There was a thin line of desperate hope and a belief of failure being the last option.

“I am coming, Hugh!” Paul replied.

With each tug, he was drawn closer until he pulled through the reality as though it were a pool.

"Hugh!”

Hugh caught Paul into his arms in a warm hug.

“Paul,” Hugh said, closing his eyes with his hands on the man’s back and grew a tearful smile. “Welcome back.”

#my fic

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empmoniitor · 3 years ago

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HOW TOXIC WORK ENVIRONMENT CAN BE HAZARDOUS FOR BOTH EMPLOYERS & EMPLOYEES?

The working environment of any organization or business has a crucial influence on the employees and productivity levels. Because if your employees are not satisfied, they will not give their best. Nowadays, we are ever-growing more and more into the toxic work environment of people experiencing burnout. We have to stop and take a deep hard look at the environment in which we operate.

Pay no attention to toxic words. What people say is often a reflection of themselves, not you. – Christian Baloga.

Human resource administrators can recognize and petition toxic situations that can cause harm to an organization and its employees by identifying the symbols of toxicity in a remote work environment.

A toxic work environment engenders hurt confidence, persistent stressors, negativity, infirmity, high turnover, and even workplace bullying. Do you know even worse? A toxic work environment mythically stays only at work, and yes, it does follow you home and in your living too.

So, if you got landed on this article, we will discuss what specifically is considered a toxic work environment? How to deal with a toxic work environment? What an organization can do to avoid that and many more relevant topics. Let’s dive into the blog;

WHAT IS A TOXIC WORK ENVIRONMENT CALLED?

A toxic workplace atmosphere is characterized as incompetent or invalidating language, unprofessional or uncomfortable behavior, and the constrained connection between the organization and employees. This sort of environment can lead to the demoralization of the employees, dropping productivity graph, fatuous employee turnover that leads to unfortunate losses for any organization or business.

Here are 03 evident circumstances relevant to the toxic workplace atmosphere. In any case of this you are facing or struggling with its time to take some strict actions to put an end to it;

ACCELERATED EMPLOYEE TURNOVER

One of the sure-shot signs of the toxic work environment is the rapid and unreasonable employee turnover. Quitting any job is a difficult step to execute. However, when it seems people are taking the decision very confidently, it is a sign that something is not right with the organization.

If you can or dare, try communicating with some of the employees who had quit, fired, or turned out. It lets you examine a little bit precisely and can decide whether to join or not.

INCOMPETENT LEADERSHIP

There is an old-fashioned saying that a bad leader can lead an organization to the worst muddy lane. Bad leaders or bosses are the regimes of the bad bosses and constant harassments that make the workplace toxic.

If you feel that you have no respect for your leaders, they are always behind you and criticizing you. Then you are dealing with a toxic workplace. In these cases, human resource management is the support call to deal with this kind of unfortunate situation.

STORMS OF GOSSIP, RUDENESS AROUND AN ORGANIZATION

Nobody wants to work at the place where they feel like they are all over again in the fifth standard. Such circumstances are uncomfortable, unprofessional, and capable employees do not want to invest their energy in dealing with this situation. Constant vibes of gossip, groups created on breaks, whispering and chatting behind the back, and dramas are the perfect combination of a toxic work environment.

One of the advantages of employee monitoring is it can cut the cords off workplace bullying and a toxic environment. Sometimes, management is powerless to get into the depth of the employee scenario and the environment they are living in. Isn’t it obvious?

But employee monitoring tools unload the task of the management, along with power-packed numerous features, so without puzzling the topic here and there, let’s get into the subject, shall we?

EMPMONITOR- MANAGE AND MONITOR ALL YOUR REMOTE EMPLOYEES FROM A SINGLE DASHBOARD

EmpMonitor is a cloud storage monitoring device that provides complete insights into employee computer working activities, user behavior analytics, data loss prevention, etc. ensuring the workplace should be productive and toxicity-free.

It consistently increases the current standards in quality, installation, affordability, and functionality.

Assist in simplifying the user’s task concerning their data security, protection, and performance.

It provides 24X7 customer support for both existing and potential customers.

Determine the accurate productive work hours, click easily export the timesheets in CSV and PDF format and simplify your payment process, minimizing the chance of human error.

The software automatically registers the time of the as soon as they turn on their system and tracks their activities until they turn it off.

EmpMonitor is committed to offering employee monitoring solutions intelligently designed to manage the organizations. It assists you to handle all the tasks efficiently to lead the teams, grow businesses and make the employee more productive.

After grasping that the organization you are working for does have a toxic work environment. Anxiety, depression, and confusion on what to do next are common causes of mental problems in employees. However, what does an organization do to deal with this type of unwanted incident? Therefore, that is the next matter for our article that will be enlightening below;

07 PROVEN TACTICS ON HOW TO DEAL WITH A TOXIC WORK ENVIRONMENT IN AN ORGANIZATION

According to the studies, toxicity in the workplace is mounting swiftly, causing trauma to the employee’s mental health. However, some say that leaving that job is the only solution, but finding the new one is also not that simple. Here are a few uncomplicated tips dealing with a toxic work environment. So further any further delay its get into it;

WORK STRESS AT THE DOOR

It’s the most important saying that there should be a thin line between your professional and working life. Taking the work stress with your personal space always comes with a price. Letting go of things, as it is the ones that are beyond our control, is a better choice rather than dwelling on them.

REVOLVE AROUND POSITIVE CO-WORKERS

It is the best factor that helps in creating a more positive environment. If you feel that you are working in a toxic work environment, there is a high chance that others will also feel the same. Try to surround yourself with a positive co-worker, that will create a positive work environment around the workplace

TRY TO CONFRONT THE CAUSE OF NERVE

When the stress gets into the nerve, the tensions have reached a tipping point, and at that time, confronting the cause of the nerve is crucial. However, it often requires a lot of practice and guts to practice your points thoroughly and develop your confidence.

RELEASE THE STRESS OUTSIDE OF WORK

Keep mental health on priority. Life outside the 9-5 might be irritating, but outside your hobbies like yoga or self-care to calm down the mental trauma caused. Any session that keeps your mind relaxed is the perfect cure for the mind and mandatory before taking the quitting step.

LEARN NEW THINGS

A toxic work environment doesn’t define who you are as an employee, do not lose hope and lose the motivating vibe you have within you. Instead, try to improve your capabilities and learn a new thing every day that would possibly help new jobs. It will keep your mind engaged and help in improving and helping yourself.

RETRIEVE YOUR INDIVIDUALITY

In a toxic work environment, it is easy to lose your identity while battling with nerve-breaking circumstances. Self-confidence and self-esteem are no doubt the ones who suffer, and you might feel depressed. It’s crucial to regain your lost identity, if you fail to do it inside the work, try it outside the work environment. Enrolling yourself into the skill-improving classes, joining some sports, rejoining the passion projects will make your self-esteem and confidence boost up and aid in regaining your identity.

QUIT THE JOB

Some say we should fight the battle and not quit it, but modernize the phrase a bit. Fight the battle until it’s worth it, if not better to quit it. Don’t be afraid to admit that you are quitting this job because you couldn’t cope with the toxic work environment. Try to find a new job that makes you feel safe and confident.

ALSO, CHECK OUT OUR LATEST BLOGS;

How To Track Competitors: An Ultimate Guide For Marketers | 5 Easy Steps Think About Social Media Beyond Entertainment

NOTHING IS PERMANENT, NOT EVEN TOXICITY !

Wrapping words will emphasize mental health and yourself. A toxic workplace can be draining and traumatizing. However, dealing with it can help you to gain yourself. The steps mentioned above will surely help you, while employers can seek monitoring solutions to keep these problems at bay.

EmpMonitor is a capable and worth investing employee monitoring solution not only for keeping an eye on the employee activities. Also, unload management-related tasks for both it’s for online or offline working culture.

Remote work culture somehow minimizes the toxic workplace obstacles but yet without any strict actions and necessary steps it is toxic to your organization. Self-improving, working on confidence, and taking the necessary bold steps can help you even before you think about quitting the job. So fight until it’s worth it!

We hope this blog will help you and let you decide even if the damage is done. Also, do share it with someone in need.

Originally Published On: EmpMonitor

#Employee Monitoring #Employee Management #Employee Productivity #Employee Monitoring Software #Toxic Work Environment

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playgroundrp · 4 years ago

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PUBLIC PROFILE:

ROA BYUN RORIN

WISH DAY VISUAL, VOCALIST, RAPPER

BTS:

Born and raised in Seoul, South Korea to a working class mother and father, Rorin never had it easy as a child. Living in a more expensive area of town due to their jobs, the two of them could barely afford to stock their fridge with groceries, so there was no room for luxuries and impulse purchases. Finding joy in the simple things was a necessity, so as a child, she found pleasure in the various hobbies she could teach herself at home. For one thing, they didn’t cost any money, and for another thing, it gave her a vivid and wild imagination. From sketching original cartoon characters to emulating the voices of those she loved, to later using her artistic skills to pick-up on calligraphy, she took on a lot of simple interests. In school, she was very detail-oriented, organized, and focused—her parents drilling in her head that a good education could promise her a beautiful future. Never wanting to disappoint them, she worked hard; never receiving low grades.

Upon the entrance to middle school, her father was let-go from his job; his decades of work in vain. With her mother being the sole earner of their home for awhile, the Byun household saw a lot of dark moments. Her income wasn’t nearly enough to put food on the table and pay their bills, but they somehow managed to make things work. Home-life was a mess, and what’s worse is that school wasn’t much better for her. Because of her financial situation, many students made fun of her. Due to her smarts, she was able to test into a pretty good school with a scholarship, and it was made apparent that she wasn’t like the kids who paid to study there. That insecurity and ridicule is what caused her to begin lying to earn her peers’ respect. First, it was letting them know that her dad had picked up another job that was paying them good money. Then, it was using every penny of her menial allowance money to buy herself meaningless things to show status. Many lunches and dinners were sacrificed; all in exchange for a little acceptance.

In high school, she started to sew designer tags onto her thrift store clothing—claiming that she admired expensive, vintage fashions. By this point, she’d learned to lie as if it was her second language. It became so comfortable for her to spill untruths to friends. What’s worse is that they believed her for a very long time, but as they aged, they were able to find flaws in her stories. It was difficult for her to keep up with fibs she’d told, so before graduation, she was exposed as a fraud. That completely muddied up her spot as number one in her class. Looks like her overactive imagination couldn’t save her this time around, but she hoped that she could create a new version of herself in college.

Thanks to yet another scholarship earned because of her grades and high test scores, Rorin began attending university—her chosen career path in the world of business marketing and media. With how her brain worked, it was easy for her to come up with strategies to sell things to a consumer; her way of lying used to dupe people into purchasing products. Though, in the midst of her studies, she was stopped at a shopping mall by a casting agent from Midang Entertainment. After he praised her visuals, she was in complete shock. For most of her life, she felt as though she paled in comparison to all of her former “friends” from years ago. They had the money to afford cosmetic surgery, high-end cosmetics, and skincare to keep them aglow twenty-four-seven, and she had nothing except good genetics. If that. That’s what the company seemed to like about her, though: the pale skin, the large eyes, the look of innocence, the naturalness. It was what they were looking for completely.

Their offer brought up a lot of thought. First of all, it was flattering that they stopped her in the first place. She wasn’t someone that was used to being called “beautiful,” so that left an impression on her that she couldn’t forget easily. Secondly, if she was passable enough to début, that could mean a lot of money in the future. That’s the most crucial thing to her: becoming independently wealthy to a place where she could support her family. Yes, earning a degree and holding down a good job would have a similar effect, but she wasn’t sure which road to financial gain would be faster to travel down. In the end, she took a leave of absence from school and start training; aiming to be an idol.

What she lacked in performance she made up for with sharp intellect; her every move calculated to show that her charms weren’t necessarily resting on singing or dancing. It was made apparent from day one that she was meant to be someone marketed for their supposed “beauty” alone; someone that didn’t have a crucial musical role in their group, but one who attracted fans with smiles, winks, and solo magazine covers. Was she able to pick-up on the basics of dance, the easy fundamentals of singing, and the power of rapping? Yes, but only to a degree that made her match the concept and sound. Instead of polished belted notes, she stuck to a girlish, cute timbre that made her recognizable. For dancing, she didn’t focus on technique, but instead, on exuding a pleasant energy; donning endless grins and flirtatious gestures to pull in a crowd. That made her an asset instead of a hindrance, so despite not being fully prepared, she was added to Wish Day.

Being appointed as the group’s official visual, netizens had a lot to say about her at their début. Some praised her “effortless beauty,” but others were critical of her appearance. Often, her “haters” would point out that her face wasn’t exactly the smallest around and that her body didn’t perfectly suit the current ideal. At first, it was a massive blow to her system. Who wants to read such awful things about themselves anyway? It took her a moment to navigate her way through comments sections on live stages and fan-cams, but after awhile, she was able to draw a line between Roa and Rorin. In a lot of ways—mostly physically—they were the same, but behind the scenes, they couldn’t be more opposite. That division alone is what allowed her to mostly keep her sanity in check.

In essence, this wasn’t necessarily a dream of hers that came true; it’s just a job. It’s one that could set her up for life if she plays her cards right. Money’s the end goal, after all. It had to take a lot more than toxic comments to throw her off course. Keeping her eyes on the bigger picture, she has countered with wrapping herself up in a more palatable façade. After the first two years in the industry came and went, she began to approach an image that made her everyone’s ideal type; longing to appear as “girlfriend material” to both guys and girls. These moves, like always, were done on-purpose; her hope that being someone adored would earn a much bigger payout than someone controversial.

With each new release, Rorin’s been able to reveal all the best sides of herself to the public at large. Does she still get an influx of comments telling her that she’s a clumsy dancer or complaining about the fact that she never actually sings live unless forced? You bet, but she takes comfort in just accepting those as true facts. She can still be desirable even if she’s sloppy on-stage. It’s not like she’s in the dance-line or renown for stunning vocals, so why should it matter if she was lacking in comparison to the others?

After all these years, she still lies, but she does so in efforts to dupe people into thinking that she’s perfect. If they only knew about her overcritical obsessive nature, her lies, and manipulation to get what she wants, a completely different picture would be painted. All of this is about marketing, anyway. You could be the most talented person in the world, but if you’re not likable, there’s no chance anyone will support you. For Rorin, attracting stans has become as easy as telling her former friends she was rich. Let’s just hope she doesn’t get exposed for being a fraud yet again. History does have a funny way of repeating itself sometimes.

#pg.profile #midang #md.wd #kim jisoo #jisoo

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arichhipster · 4 years ago

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Extra! Extra! Life As a Movie Extra in New Mexico

(LIFE OF A MOVIE EXTRA...... Er, I suggest.... BACKGROUND ARTIST)

As I left the house, I glanced on the outdoor thermometer. It examine five under. Thankfully the car started out. Once on the street, as I approached my destination, in the nonetheless-morning darkness, I became off the primary street and observed the road of purple tail lighting up the hill's dirt music in the direction of the properly-lit tents above. Through the frozen tundra, I walk from the auto to the primary tent, greeted through warm smiles and friendly exchanges as I checked in, thankful that the changing room turned into amply heated https://new-solarmovie.com/countries After six previous workdays, the changeover from civilian to duration western garments turned into old hat now; long johns first, fast adding blouse, pants, each with severa buttons, suspenders, boots, jacket, work gloves and hat, all of the even as speaking to my fellow comrades. Next, stand in line to get grubby, as hair and makeup girls dirty you up. I look inside the mirror, thinking who that desperado is that's staring returned at me.

Finished, I throw my civilian jacket over cloth wardrobe, and walk returned outdoor into the frigid air, trying no longer to slip on snow, ice and cables as I slowly assignment towards the eating tent for some short breakfast and important hot coffee. People are often subdued internal, something to do with the numbing bloodless.

A closely jacketed woman with a headset steps into the tent and yells to us "The van is right here!" Begrudgingly we step returned out into the bloodless, slide into the vehicles and tour closer to the western town this is just beginning to emerge in the dawning mild. Crawl out of the van. If the temperature rises above freezing, the snow we are hiking through turns into a muddy mess later. Somebody yells "I see Props" and we go and outfit ourselves with our weapons and holsters. More salutations from bundled team contributors as you walk towards the protecting facility hoping for one ultimate cup of coffee which of course isn't always brewed but. Too overdue besides, you're needed for the first shot of the day. It's time to play make-agree with. You locate solace questioning at least Russell Crowe and Christian Bale appearance cold as properly.

You glance round at your surroundings and say. "Hey, here I am, status inside the center of a Hollywood movie, ready to play a gunman in an Old West town." There's simplest one character I recognize who would be silly enough to position up with these situations for so little pay...I MUST BE A MOVIE EXTRA (or heritage artist as we within the commercial enterprise choose to be called). Forget approximately my close-up shot, I thought. Just area me inside the warm temperature of the solar!

And so starts another day as a movie greater on a movie manufacturing set. Usually the climate situations are not so intense as this particular New Mexico January day changed into at the set of "3:10 To Yuma", but while they're...Properly, that simply provides to the story.

Given those conditions, why could one want to be an Extra? Is it for the cash...Hardly ever, although for many it's far a paying activity which human beings are finding tougher to come by in recent times. Is it for the hazard to look your face on the silver display, if most effective for a 2d? There's the carrot on a stick enticement, the opportunity of having a speaking component, which right now catapults you to a higher pay scale, and a cooler pair of sunglasses. The rumor whisperers proclaim, "You know so-and-so large call actor began his career as an additional".

How about the opportunity for a departure from the normal habitual, gambling a man or woman that's quite one of a kind out of your ordinary self?

Other reasons might be the social benefit the prolonged circle of relatives bond offers that develops amongst fellow extras who have worked together on preceding movie productions; the capability to have a look at moviemaking firsthand; and the ego enhance you experience when you receive a pleasant nod or salutation from a chief movie star. And sure, there is additionally an inexpensive paycheck and complimentary food.

For me, it's a majority of these reasons, and maximum veritably for the tales.

In current years, Hollywood has arrived with a vengeance in New Mexico, a country with a moviemaking records so long as the enterprise itself. When I first moved right here in '94 several movie and TV productions have been ongoing. A woman pal of mine told me about a casting name. I stood in line in the resort lobby till a person in casting took my Polaroid and asked if I turned into to be had in two weeks. One surprise smartphone call later, I turned into attempting on my new western cloth cabinet for the TV mini-collection "Buffalo Girls". I've been in most cases available ever considering the fact that.

Movie hobby quick lapsed into a lull during the late 90s; but, new tax incentives for the film industry (and our a lot less expensive hard work force) created a resurgence in moviemaking in the past 5 years. Today, whilst the tediously lengthy casting call traces and Polaroid headshots have given manner to new methods like Internet bulletins, digital pictures and e-mailed resumes, lifestyles as a further has remained highly the identical. One moment hasn't modified; the manner you experience after a long twelve-hour workday, having worked due to the fact earlier than sunrise to sundown; you are cold and tired, standing in line within the dark ready to return your wardrobe so you can check out and go home...All at once exhausted and gratified.

If you are trying to pursue history greater work as a full-time profession, my advice would be high-quality to hold your day activity. A bendy paintings time table (unemployed being the exceptional) is a prerequisite for running as a further. The nature of the enterprise is to be geared up to paintings at a moment's observe which is near not possible if you paintings a often scheduled task.

It's no marvel Hollywood enjoys working with us New Mexicans, and plenty of production human beings will gladly country this reality. The majority of extras I've labored with are a very courteous, amiable, uncomplaining, cooperative, tolerant lot, some distance distinct we are informed from our "large town" cousins lower back in LA. Of course, even within this high-quality group of New Mexico extras there are constantly those exceptions, the demanding standouts: The Braggart, whose alleged credentials are without problems challenged; the Movie Star Wannabee Schmoozer who's determined for the large danger, willing to dangle and cajole all of us who they assume will assist circulate them up the stardom ladder; and of path, every big group has at the least one chronic complainer. Fortunately, those individuals get weeded out quite rapid.

I appreciate the eclectic, unbiased, iconoclastic kind individuals who often gravitate to this bendy innovative line of work: the creative, impartial people (artisans, rock band roadies, jack of all trades); the worldly iconoclasts (hippies, vacationers, philosophers); the tough-working, generous blue-collar souls who love the hazard to act out special roles inside the movies; the destiny movie makers; the unemployed; the curious; the ones looking for a loving, worrying circle of relatives; musicians between gigs; ex-veteran pensioners; those folks who come from sad houses and economic conditions looking for escapism and happiness; the real cowboys; those pursuing movie production careers; the coolest souls whose honesty and wellknown kindness has harm them in the cruel, actual global of commercial enterprise; and those individuals stepping out in their recurring exercises.

Learning the Hollywood lingo is a part of the process's attraction: terms which includes "back to at least one", "that turned into extremely good--- permit's do one greater", "martini shot", "checking the gate"' "this is a wrap", "silence on the set"' "checking sound", and "Action!" For a veteran history artist, this film jargon coats you in a mantle it really is fun to put on.

What is an ordinary day on the set? Days are lengthy. While on some productions you are working an awesome portion of the day on set, regularly you're waiting in some preserving room or tent, possibly hours in length, 9 hours my document, before you are referred to as for a scene. During these off digital camera moments, it is as much as you whether to make the most of the waiting state of affairs either thru social conversations or through quietly analyzing a ebook, gambling playing cards or chess, ingesting snacks, or, as what came about after nine hours of waiting on the "Beerfest" film set retaining location, breakdancing and lap dancing. Otherwise, you may pick to whine, pout and be commonly uninterested in the revel in. That man or woman can constantly move lower back to paintings on the thrilling vocation of financial institution clerk.

Regretfully, as an additional you are stored broadly speaking within the dark as to the storyline and the way your small contribution applies to the context of the movie. Very little is told to you approximately the scene or what sort of person you are gambling, so regularly as an extra you tend to create your very own person tale. You pay attention "Action!" yelled so that you begin to pantomime your imaginary speak with others as you sit down at a desk or stroll down a street. Suddenly the director yells, "Great...That turned into exceptional, everyone" and the scene is over. This method your cognitive instincts for the scene were spot on tremendous, or your presence wasn't even on digicam so it didn't depend what the heck you have been doing. I examined this concept out on "Into The West" by using acting Monty Python fashion backward funny walks at some point of my history crossings, and the scene turned into perfect; just as I idea, not on digital camera.

A given truth but is when you are seen on digital camera, and you're not doing what the director needs, to your know-how or in any other case; a director's tongue-lashing can arise, plenty to your humiliated chagrin.

On the rare occasion a director, AD, AAD (assistant, assistant director) or casting director actually enlightens us film extras as to the context of the scene we are approximately to movie and its relevance to the screenplay, it is significantly liked and facilitates us get prompted and obsessed on our position.

We're the background coloration, an imperative function in the scene's final outcome. We complete the scene's surroundings by bringing "the set" to lifestyles, offering the social environment from which the principle actors play off of, in place of forcing them to paintings in a vacuum.

Sometimes one's first-time more enjoy can be hard. One negative woman on the set for "Wild, Wild West" fainted difficult after succumbing to the mixed results of August heat and suffocating corset. Stoically, she attempted again the following day, only to be nearly trampled by horses at some stage in the chaos scene. Never noticed her again after that.

There's an artwork to getting on camera with out being too pushy or apparent. Get stuck mugging the digital camera, and, like what occurred to a pricey friend of ours, you are fired instant, which of direction now provides an possibility for a person else. The vintage standby, the casting sofa, or trailer, or tent, can nonetheless paintings, as a minimum temporarily. I have also discovered that one's possibilities are substantially improved in the event that they work on a comedy, for there are actually higher screen opportunities for extras on comedies than in dramas. Mostly, however, the best manner, which is totally out of your manipulate, is having "the right look" that a director wants. Before you understand it, you're positioned in a scene prepared to confront Pierce Brosnan or Liam Neeson. Suddenly, the director yells "and...Action!

Sometimes your digital camera time might encompass a few exciting computer graphics and make-up. If you've got been painstakingly, grotesquely rearranged via makeup artists to play a zombie, augmented with horrifying prosthetics, it is able to only be you that recognizes yourself whilst your horrifying face debuts at the screen.

I did a particular double-take at the "Unspeakable" movie jail set after I walked past Dennis Hopper's head sitting on a table, after which Dennis Hopper himself exceeded me via within the corridor.

You might not experience the dramatic scene you are taking part in, while status in front of a computer graphics "blue screen"; but, your jaw-losing aghast reaction may want to measure your appearing competencies since you're supposedly responding to a robot monster achieving towards you, no longer a scraggly droopy-pants group member.

On the "Beerfest" movie set, the emphasis changed into whatever however actual beer in our mugs. First, production attempted an ineffective vacuum system designed to suck near-beer out of our mugs, frequently with hilarious outcomes. Next process turned into to digitize the beer into our empty mugs. We because the Irish beer drinking group took moderate offense at these methods in view that first, in fact, we would have out drank the Germans, and 2d, we should have without problems drunk real beers in report competitive time!

And with set layout it is excellent not to look too closely, for in the course of the ones dramatic funeral scenes, the somber cinematic mood is probably broken if the audience knew who is without a doubt written on those movie styrofoam cemetery tombstones like Yo Mama, Three Stooges and Jethro Tull.

In some instances the story in the back of the film is greater pleasing than the film itself. The city of Madrid become selected via Disney to represent the all-American town ready with white-wood fences, flora, lace curtains, heat nearby diner, and Chili festival. However, there aren't any white wooden fences here in actual lifestyles; extra accurately associated with black wood enamel, gauged through some of the locals' abusive usage of crack. The city's decor is more raw and cool, than homespun, seeing that its origin as a coal mining metropolis and later, a hippie haven. The diner, now a tourist enchantment, turned into built in particular for the movie and any actual local would say, "We do not need no stinkin' Chile festival!"

There is the symmetry connection with Disney that is also charming. Flying over Madrid, an old coal mining city inside the overdue 20s, Walt Disney became so captivated by way of the metropolis's twinkling display of Christmas lighting, the scene inspired him to years later create the Disney World Parade of Lights. Disney, the company, had lower back to pay their respects to Madrid, in their personal warped corporate manner.

On some of films our old prison has been used for more than one units, occasionally at the same time as an antique jail which includes on the film "Unspeakable". Over twenty years in the past, the old jail have been witness to a macabre, deadly jail riot massacre and siege. Even nowadays blood stains are still visible from that horrible occasion and tales ran rampant at the set about team member's character reports with ghost sightings and other eerie sensations.

I'll regularly listen people ask "How do huge actors behave--- are the rumors true?" I recognize our tabloid-pushed inquisitive minds need to accept as true with the memories of prima donnas, spoiled brat temper tantrums and privileged treatments; however, in truth, the actors I've visible behave in a professional, conscientious manner on the set. They pay attention attentively to the director's recommendation and vice versa. Some actors can be very personable with the extras, other extra remote, staying in person or reviewing their lines. Some actors are very secure, taking the off digicam moment to journey their horses or trip their bikes between scenes. Sometimes you overhear the actor's occasional disgruntled tone which a few manufacturing member tried to speedy assuage. Heck, you pay attention those tones from us all the time. It become difficult however to restrain from giggling or yelling "Martin, come on!" while Martin continually arrived on the "Wild Hogs" Madrid set with his bodyguard entourage, pushed in a Mercedes golfcart for the arduous 3 blocks from his triple-decker luxurious bus whilst a beautiful assistant carried a mini-fan to hold him cool.

The movie and TV industry has been so prolific at some stage in the Santa Fe/Albuquerque/Las Vegas place, your day by day distinctions among fiction and reality start to blur. The second felt surreal while, after having watched "Swing Vote", I left the film theater simplest to pass the equal grandstand featured in the film on Rodeo Road simply ten minutes later. Blink, look again, and there may be "Astronaut Farmer's" united states of america fair. South of metropolis there may be one rural stretch wherein I assume to come upon the simultaneous convergence of "Wild Hogs" bikers, Billy Bob Thorton's rocketship, and a rough-searching Colorado Volunteers marching regiment.

Even a avenue crossing on downtown Albuquerque's Central Ave. Takes on a new dimension when you have to be cautious of large Transformer robots stepping on you!

Not discounting the great current successes of so many diverse film and TV cutting-edge project topics made on this country, New Mexico's center essence nevertheless embodies the traditional American Western. Once you are fully outfitted in western garb, and you are taking the moment to absolutely embody your environment, a dusty, windswept street within the middle of a western metropolis, a very special feeling envelops you. Your mind can also flashback to youth fantasies, gambling a cowboy or gunfighter, remembering studying testimonies of the Old West or seeing your first wild west TV display or film. On western sets the heritage artists virtually appear to be our pioneer ancestors, a length of records which was honestly only some generations ago.

Pierce Brosnan turned into fascinated by how much our motley institution clearly sported long hair and beards, wore cowboy hats, chewed tobacco, demonstrated know-how of horses and guns, and who nonetheless slept in tents.

While at the set, youngsters fast modify and revert to less complicated pleasures. Townsmen tip their hats to women in bonnets at the same time as the gunslingers exercise twirling their plastic weapons, hoping to be issued real guns for the shootout scene.

Western movies generally tend to have the most tough climate situations, either blistering hot within the summer, blow-dried dusty inside the spring, and brutally bloodless at some stage in the wintry weather months, which perversely is the favorite season for maximum productions.

The western set can also be the most hazardous. A properly-skilled choreographer and horse wrangler coordinator is obligatory for, if ill-prepared, tragedy may additionally strike. Such have been the instances on the primary day of shooting on "3:10 to Yuma" wherein a horse changed into mortally wounded and rider critically injured, or the primary day of filming the Sand Creek Massacre reenactment on "Into The West" wherein severa horse accidents took place. And, during the filming of "Wild, Wild West", there are careless acts along with the dearth of notification to some forgotten extras that they had to clean the western set earlier than production blew it up. Fortunately, no extras were blown up! And they worry approximately animal mistreatment.

With the latest proliferation of film activity, many new faces have arrived inside the business, while most of the players of just ten years in the past have left the region or long gone on to other endeavors. Sometimes you have to permit own family members go away the nest. Except for the few envious ones, most of the people of us extras are pleased whilst a person from our extended circle of relatives receives a speakme element.

It's a profession wherein one minute you are ready to retire, especially after a grueling fourteen hour day, however then you definitely get the itch to get returned into it, for some other shot at stardom, for some other interesting story, and primarily due to the fact you leave out your buddies.

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