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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 13.4k / genre: fluff + comedy (I suppose)

summary: you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too. les geddit

warnings: this fic is sfw BUT there is cursing/explicit language—the reader is thirsty af, just SO thirsty, seriously the thirstiest, but other than that this fic is pretty soft

a/n: thank you to my darling friend and beta reader @hobi-gif, without whom this would have remained an unpublished fic I just wrote for funsies, and also to @yeojaa for reading this through and enjoying this terrible self indulgence of mine, you’re both queens

Why is it that all the interesting things happen whenever you’re not at work? Like the time you'd been off for one (1) night so that you could move into your new place, so you hadn't witnessed the full on brawl between a customer and the security guard right before the store shut. Or the other time when you were twenty minutes late because of road closures and you’d missed all the free doughnuts—Yoongi hadn’t even saved you one, opting to give it to his crush instead, even though Jimin wasn’t even night shift.

(Yoongi was a Judas, betraying you all because of a little thirst. Snake.)

(Okay, sure, you're friends with Jimin too, but still.)

Anyway. You’re here almost all weeks of the year, and the few times you’re not, that’s when things get interesting. Working in any sort of retail job is boring at best, especially when the store is shut overnight (customers during the day were awful but at least they provided an ever rotating cast of varying characters that could provide amusing anecdotes to add to your repertoire), and it’s downright frustrating whenever you miss out on the few variations to your usually monotonous nights just because you happened to miss it.

Yoongi is also The Worst at keeping you updated. He has little to no interest in gossip and keeps himself firmly out of unnecessary interpersonal drama, staying uninvolved by being entirely unapproachable and blanking people whenever they try to talk to him. You keep out of it too, but in a different way— you don’t get involved in drama because everyone likes you. You’re personable and social, almost to a clownish degree, somehow treading the line between being Nice and Firm, so people simultaneously like you while also being wary of annoying you.

Either way. When you’re not there, Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to find out any developments, so you’re always left floundering to catch up with whatever’s gone on so that you can keep your position as Liked-By-All-Sides as secure.

So, with all of this in mind, when he says that nothing interesting has happened in the two weeks since you’ve been off, you’re understandably sceptical, raising an eyebrow at him from where you’re reclining in his passenger seat. The entire supermarket could have burned down while he’d been working and Yoongi would probably say of the event afterwards—if pressed—that it had ‘been a little hotter than usual’.

(At least Jimin indulges you with petty gossip. You’re certain he’d let you know about any new developments, but he’s not on a late shift tonight, much to the disappointment of both yourself and Yoongi—although he won't admit it.)

You hadn’t sensed any ripples in the Force when you’d stepped into the supermarket. Everything looked the same, all the way down to the slightly wonky sign on the front display that was trying to persuade customers to buy the new lines of overpriced olives and antipasti, and nothing felt any different on your journey up to the locker rooms; the poster asking everyone to book their holiday before the 26th June 2001 was still up, as it should be; the sight of Yoongi walking in the direction of the staff canteen as you went to dump your stuff in your locker was as familiar as normal. You were usually good at sniffing out change, but everything had passed your smell check and so you let your guard down, bursting into the break room with your usual aplomb.

That’s one thing about night shift that people don’t usually realise. Because there aren’t customers around, you can yell up and down the shop floor as much as you like (it’s usually faster than walking around to find someone) and swear or be inappropriate in ways that wouldn’t fly during the day (like bowling products across the floor instead of walking up to the shelf and putting them down). You don’t swear or yell, really, but the amount of time you’ve spent on nights has increased your overall volume and altered your verbal filter, so once you’ve kicked the door open, what comes out of your mouth is as follows:

“Wassup everyone? Ya girl is back from her time off and is absolutely RARING to go! I know you all missed me, but please, no flash photography,” you simper. You hear Yoongi snort into his coffee from his seat on the sofa, directly under the sign that says ‘No Food Or Drink Allowed On The Sofas’ alongside a picture of a dancing hot dog with a massive red X across it.

Most of your coworkers are a lot older than you—young people don’t tend to work overnight—so they don’t match your level of energy, but they’re still pleased to see you nonetheless, a little chorus of hellos greeting you when you walk into the room. You shoot finger guns at them, ending with an overly theatrical wink at Taehyung, wiggling your fingers in a wave at the boy as he grins at you through his mouthful of food (he’s not night shift but he finishes a lot of his shifts late so you're on friendly terms).

When you flop down next to Yoongi he wordlessly hands you a coffee. You hiss a little at the contact of the hot mug against your skin—he’s holding onto the handle, and you’re quick to accept it from him so you don’t burn yourself—and peer down at the hot liquid before taking a small drink.

You’re mid-sip when your eyes flick up from the mug and you immediately splutter. You cough and hack, eyes filling with tears as you try to swallow the noises down to no avail; you sound distressed enough that even Yoongi gets concerned, thumping you on the back as you make a noise akin to a cat wheezing out a hairball.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is pained as you look out of the corner of your eye at the boy sitting next to you. “I thought you said nothing interesting had happened while I was off?”

Yoongi looks perplexed. “Nothing did,” he says. Somehow you resist the overwhelming urge to pour your coffee all over him.

“Then explain to me exactly why the Muscle Boy from morning shift who works on fruit and veg is sat over there in a night shift uniform,” you hiss.

“Oh, yeah.” Yoongi sounds entirely disinterested. “He moved on to nights the first week you were off.”

So not only has the hitherto-unreachable object of your affections moved on to your shift—great, you weren't mentally prepared for that at all—he'd apparently witnessed your unnecessarily theatrical entrance, as well as your subsequent near death experience via coffee. You wish that the near death experience had, in fact, been a full death experience; your final moments may have been undignified but at least you’d have gone out while looking at a pretty face and not have to live with the embarrassment afterwards, knowing that Jeon Jungkook had witnessed you spluttering coffee down your chin.

Normally your Jungkook-radar (Kookiedar? You’ll have to work on the name for it) is faultless, flawless, sensitive to his exact location at all times—but he was never there at night. You only saw him in the mornings, catching glimpses of him on your way out, lifting heavy crates of bananas or potatoes onto the displays. But he’s here, now, sat on his own table, alone, away from the other workers.

While you hadn’t spotted him before, what with how he’s sequestered himself alone, from your vantage point now? You can clearly see him, and you know that he would have had full view of you from the moment you’d stepped into the room.

He's on night shift now. With you.

“Yoongi, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

“No." His answer is immediate, but before you can be warmed by the fact he doesn’t wish for your imminent death, he continues: “I’d have to find someone else to reduce food for me, and I can’t go back to buying full priced noodles after this long.”

“I’ll reduce your head from your body,” you threaten, even though it makes no sense. Yoongi doesn’t react outwardly to this threat but you would wager anything that he was quivering in his boots, even though he’s doing a very good job of calmly sipping at his coffee. Ahh, Yoongi, always the master of the pokerface, despite the fact he must be terrified.

Anyway. You’re getting distracted. Basically, snake Yoongi had snaked on you and hadn’t told you about Jungkook transferring to night shift, like the snake he was. Yoongi being the snake, that is, not Jungkook. He wasn’t a snake. Sure, you’d never spoken to him in all the months you’d seen him and knew next to nothing about him but no one could be a snake when they looked that innocent. Besides, you’d seen him help customers, smiling at the old ladies who asked for him to reach for specific bits of fruit from higher shelves, or carrying their shopping for them, or—

Argh, you were getting distracted again. Essentially he was a hot, muscular angel who hadn’t had your existence on his own radar until approximately five minutes ago, and his first impression of you must be that you are an absolute clown. A buffoon. And, okay, maybe you are, but you usually only let people onto that fact after knowing them for at least a day or two.

He’d looked startled when you’d made eye contact with him across the canteen, tearing his eyes away from you the second you’d tried to inhale coffee instead of ingesting it. You’re grateful that he’s resolutely kept his gaze away, absorbed by something on his phone instead, but he must have heard your desperate wheezing from across the room. Even if you’ve managed to cough away the coffee in your lungs by now it doesn’t detract from the overall embarrassment that threatens to swallow you up.

Beside you, Yoongi continues to drink his coffee like a normal human being. He’s oblivious to your inner turmoil. Of course your crush had moved to night shift when you were on holiday. Of course you’d missed that. Why wouldn’t you? You were a snail and God was salting you. What had you done to deserve such torment?

“I can’t believe you didn’t think a new person was something I’d at least like to be made aware of,” you mutter waspishly. “Especially as he’s around our age! Since Hobi left we haven’t had anyone on shift who isn’t at least a decade older than us, Yoons.”

As is tradition, Yoongi says: “A moment of silence for our boy Hobi.” You both shut your eyes and tilt your heads forward as you mourn your fallen brother. (He wasn’t dead, he’d just moved to a different job a few months ago, although you both still see him on a weekly basis.) And then Yoongi continues: “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

“Do you have a single wrinkle on your brain, Yoongi? Huh? Or is it completely smooth up there? Why wouldn’t a new night shift worker be something I’d want to know about?”

“I figured you’d find out eventually anyway.” Yoongi shrugs.

“I hope a stack of bread falls on you,” you say.

You’re glad when it hits 9pm and your manager, Sejin, gets everyone’s attention for the huddle so he can tell everyone where they’re working for the night. You normally don’t pay much attention but this time you’re like a bloodhound on a scent trail, sniffing out what where Jungkook is going to be.

“Jungkook, you’re on the fruit and veg section,” your manager says, and your nostrils flare. Of course. You’re entirely unsurprised when he delegates Jungkook to the fruit and vegetable aisles— it’s what the boy is familiar with, after all.

Most people in the store have areas they’re better at and do the same thing over and over, but you’re a bit of a wildcard, happy to work anywhere, so your own role varies a bit. You’d actually been there longer than Sejin, who’s a fairly new manager; he’d latched desperately onto you when he realised that you a) had been trained on pretty much everything and b) were also a pretty decent worker, on the whole, and so he allows you more freedom than he might afford other people.

So, because of this, you know that if you asked then he’d happily move you to a different area of the store, but you don't actually know where you want to go. You’re torn between hoping that you’re in a section near Jungkook (so you can ogle him) or the opposite of the store (so you’re saved any further shame due to the fact that you’re an absolute dunderhead, just an absolute embarrassment, why were you allowed outside?), but then Sejin tells you your job for the night and you can’t help a groan from escaping you.

“It’s my first shift back after my holiday and you want me to reduce all night?”

You can’t help but sound a little whiny. Reducing is so boring. Looking through everything on the shelf and scanning it and then having to stick the reduced labels on them? Over and over and over? For the whole night? Your brain is already shutting down in anticipation for the repetitive monotony. (You have to try to conserve what few brain cells you have left and you're not about to waste them on this.)

Sejin looks genuinely apologetic. “Some day staff called in sick so there weren’t enough people to finish everything. You only have the meat and fish sections to do.”

You’re so distressed at the idea of having to sift through piles of meat that you don’t notice how Jungkook perks up at this, sitting up a little in his seat; if you’d been paying attention you’d realise that the meat and fish area is directly adjacent to fruit and veg, both sections within direct eyesight of each other. Instead you’re remembering the time you’d had a packet of sea bass leak on you and no matter how many times you’d washed your hands, the fishy smell had remained. Eurgh.

“Alright, that’s everything!” Sejin claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work, everyone.”

There’s the usual grumblings and mutterings as people start to make their way out of the canteen and downstairs to start work. You take Yoongi’s mug from him and dump both of your empty cups into the hatch of the canteen, already resigning yourself to a long night of misery and boredom. Why did you choose to work in a supermarket, again?

You dawdle around upstairs for longer than you probably should once everyone’s gone, dreading the fact that you’re going to have to properly introduce yourself to Jungkook. Night shift is very insular and you can assume that no one’s introduced themselves to him or made an effort to be friendly— hence why he's been sitting alone. You’re the one person who works overnight who actually goes out of their way to introduce themselves to any new starters, but you’re fairly certain that if you try to introduce yourself to Jungkook you’ll end up throwing up on him. He’s just so hot that it makes you nervous.

You make a long drawn out ahhhhhhhhhhh noise, letting your frustration out before straightening up and puffing out your chest. It’s fine! You’re fine. You’re a strong, confident, smart night shift worker who’s introduced herself to new people multiple times before. Jungkook is just another person. Sure, he’s the cutest guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s just another person. It’s fine.

It’s not fine.

The second you round the corner to the fruit and veg section on your way to meat and fish, you see Jungkook effortlessly heft a massive crate of grapefruit as if it weighs nothing and you want to pass out. The one time you’d tried to lift a crate like that you’d almost done your back in, but Jungkook just lifts it with ease.

What’s worse is that while you’ve seen him do this before, he’d been wearing a day shift uniform at the time. The day shift uniform is, honestly, pretty ugly, an ugly beige long-sleeve button up with an equally ugly tan tie under an ugly grey apron (but of course Jungkook had still looked radiant in spite of the ugly ensemble he was forced to wear). The night shift uniform isn’t necessarily attractive either, a simple black polo shirt and combat trousers, but unlike the button up, the polo shirt is a t-shirt— and Jungkook’s rolled the already shorter sleeves up so that all of his arm is on display (holy shit he has tattoos). You can see the flex of his muscles in all their glory, the way his biceps bulge as he lifts the crate higher, the veins that run down to his hands, and your mouth floods with saliva.

“Arm,” you say.

“Pardon?” Jungkook looks up, confused, and then startles when he sees you.

“Um, nothing!” you stutter. There’s a loose lock of hair hanging across his forehead and you stare at that rather than looking into his eyes. You’d probably burst into flames if you made eye contact right now. “I just wanted to, uh, introduce myself? I know you’ve been working nights for a few weeks now so I’m kind of late, but I was on holiday. I’m Y/n.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and then he sees how your eyes widen and he scrabbles to explain. “Uh, Sejin said it during the meeting.” He swallows.

You cough. Of course. There’s no other reason Jungkook would have known your name without you telling him; you sincerely doubt he’d sleuthed your name out via the rotas pinned on the board, much as you had with him. (You swear you’re not a stalker, he’s just really cute, okay?)

“I’m Jungkook,” he finishes, laughing awkwardly.

“I guessed,” you say, pointing at his name badge like that’s the reason you know it. He stares down at his chest, as if he’d forgotten that he had it pinned there, and although you'd genuinely been looking at the badge, you suddenly notice that you can see the definition of his pecs even with the thick fabric of the polo shirt. You want to pass out again. You need to divert your attention to something else, stat, your brain scrambling for something to say next. “You know, you’re the only person on night shift who’s wearing a badge. No one else does.”

You wince. Great. Now you sound like an asshole. Nice going, idiot.

Jungkook glances away from his badge to your finger, which is still pointing. He’s staring at your nail polish. Even though no one cares what the night shift gets up to, nail polish is technically against the rules and you wonder if he’s about to say something derogatory—you’d deserve it, you were just kind of a dick to him—when he smiles instead. “I like your nails.”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised. They’re nothing special, the colour a little chipped in places, but you’re still flattered by how genuine Jungkook’s compliment sounds. “Um. Thanks.” And because you have a habit of responding to compliments with one of your own, you say: "I really like your tattoos. The flowers are beautiful."

Jungkook looks stunned and doesn't respond. You spend a few moments staring at each other before Sejin rounds the corner, and you both abruptly turn away so it doesn’t look like you’re just standing around and talking instead of working (although that is, in fact, what you’re doing). You hustle over to the meat section, grabbing packs of bacon and pretending to look at the dates, even though you have no idea what date it is. No thoughts head full of Jungkook.

Over the years, you’ve mastered the art of Quick Glancing™. While to anyone watching you it would seem as though you’re absorbed in your work, sifting through food to check if it’s going out of date, you’re actually looking at Jungkook more often than not. Whenever it seems like he might catch you, your eyes dart back to whatever cut of meat you’re holding at the time—a box of liver, eww, slimy—but you spend the majority of the time watching him move around. You can’t help but wonder if he’d lift you as easily as those crates and have to suppress a full body shiver. Down, girl.

Yoongi appears like clockwork the second it hits midnight, leaning against the fridge as you stare at a pack of chicken wings. “Coffee time.”

“Oh, thank God.” You straighten up, unceremoniously dropping the chicken wings onto the shelf. “Caffeine, I need caffeine, get me the caffeine.”

You get the caffeine. You and Yoongi always go back to the canteen at midnight for coffee—even though you’re technically not meant to—and bring your mugs downstairs—something else you’re also not meant to do. You drink your coffee between looking at the packets of food on the shelf, sifting through trays of chicken breasts and stickering whatever's due to go out of date as Yoongi idles around near you, peering at everything you’ve slapped a reduced label on. He clicks his tongue at a lacklustre reduction, unimpressed at how little money has been slashed off the price, and honestly? Mood.

“Don’t you have bread to put out?”

“Finished it. I’m waiting for the next delivery.” Yoongi yawns, but then his eyes suddenly narrow as he looks in the direction of fruit and veg. “Your new little friend keeps looking at us. I think he might be a narc.”

“Huh? Oh, Jungkook?” You look up from the chicken thighs. Jungkook is far out of earshot but clearly visible, hunched over a shelf as he starts to furiously organise some courgettes. “Nah, I don’t think he’s a narc. Besides, what’s Sejin going to do? Fire us? We get coffee all the time and he's never said anything about it before.”

“Yeah, but Jungkook doesn’t know that.” Yoongi scowls. He sounds suspicious. “Hm. I’m going to go back to bread, but keep an eye on that one.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Got it,” you say with a salute.

Yoongi wanders off but not before throwing Jungkook a sharp look, which the boy doesn’t notice, resolutely staring at the courgettes. Seems like he’s really intent on making them look neat, which you think is kind of unnecessary, but whatever. It's kind of cute actually.

You don’t think Jungkook is a snitch, but you do have to admit it’s maybe a little weird how often you seem to catch him watching you, though he’s very quick to look away. Your suspicions grow somewhat when he ends up in the canteen at the same time as you, eating your lunch a lot later than everyone else. You like the peace and quiet when the room is almost empty.

Yoongi normally has lunch with you, but today he’d had to eat earlier because Sejin had asked him to help unload the delivery lorry, so you’re alone in the room with Jungkook. Although he sits on the table farthest away from you, it’s maybe a bit strange that he’s up there when you are. Like, sure, you do appreciate the fact that you can gawk at him a little bit more, but maybe Yoongi is right about him being a narc?

Nah. You’re probably just being paranoid. Jungkook is clearly introverted, not talking to the other guys working on the fruit and veg section, so he probably came up at the quietest time of day (/night) so he could avoid everyone. You can understand that.

Your lunch is almost over and you’re in the middle of making yourself and Yoongi another cup of coffee to take downstairs when Jungkook suddenly appears at your shoulder. You yelp in surprise when you notice him there, scattering coffee granules across the counter instead of dropping them in the cup like you’d meant to, clutching your chest in shock.

“Oh, God, sorry,” he apologises, and he fumbles as he scoops the granules into his palm to clear them up—and then he just stands there with a handful of instant coffee as he looks at you. You’re still clutching your heart. “Uh. I was wondering, do you bring your own coffee in?”

“Yes,” you say, cagey, unsure what he wants. You notice that he’s unintentionally cornered you against the counter, and now that your earlier shock has ebbed away, you can’t help but notice your height difference when he’s this close to you. “Can’t get coffee overnight otherwise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t realise we were allowed to?” Jungkook sounds awkward, unsure. “I would have brought my own in if I’d known.”

You stare at him for a second. Yoongi would kill you if he saw what you did next, but you just end up turning around to grab another mug and dump a spoonful of coffee into it. “Do you have milk or sugar?”

“Huh?”

“Do you have milk or sugar? In your coffee?” You repeat carefully, tapping a spoon against the third mug, trying to tamp down the blush that’s threatening to appear on your cheeks when you glance at Jungkook over your shoulder. “You want one, right?”

“Oh.” He goes a little lax with surprise, apparently not realising that he’s done so until he drops a few bits of coffee on the floor and then lifts his hand again—you can see where the granules that are directly in contact with his skin have started to dissolve a little, sticky. The pile of coffee looks so small in his big hands. You want to eat out of his palm, as gross as that thought is. “Yeah, milk and sugar, please.”

As he goes to wash the coffee from his hands, you stare at yourself in the reflection of the metal kettle, wondering what the fuck you were doing while also trying to tame your thirst into submission. You never let anyone have your coffee (except Yoongi, obviously, and Hobi, when he’d been here) (a moment of silence for your boy) and you’ve known Jungkook for less than one (1) shift and you’ve already initiated him as part of the Coffee Crew.

Yoongi picks up on this immediately, spotting you and Jungkook reemerging onto the shop floor at the same time, although you peel away to visit your friend in the bread section. “Is that a mug that I saw Jungkook holding?”

“Yeah,” you say with forced casualness, wary of Yoongi’s response. Here we go.

But to your surprise he seems pleased. “He can’t narc on us now that he’s drinking coffee on the shop floor too,” Yoongi says.

“Oh, right! Yeah, that was my plan all along.” You force laughter, as if your pulse hadn’t been racing as you’d watched Jungkook take the first sip from the coffee you’d prepared for him, worried that he wouldn’t like it. You’d wanted to vomit your heart out of chest when he’d given you a small, shy smile and said that it was perfect, as if he wasn’t drinking cheap, crappy instant coffee, which was subpar even when it was good.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your fake hyena laughter but decides not to comment on it.

He raises his eyebrows again the next night when he witnesses you preparing coffee for Jungkook firsthand, lining up three mugs at midnight instead of just two, making coffee the way Jungkook likes it. “Once was enough to stop him from double crossing us, I think,” Yoongi says.

“I’m making this for him because I want Jungkook to be part of the group,” you say firmly, ignoring the way your hand trembles a little when you say this. Jungkook had waved goodbye to you when he’d spotted you in the morning after your first shift together, and tonight he’d made eye contact when you’d walked into the break room—more quietly than you had the day before—before smiling at you. (You’re constantly torn between wanting to coo at how adorable he is or begging him to bend you over a table, and it’s hard to keep these thoughts from showing on your face whenever you smile at him, but you’re doing a damn good job.)

Yoongi, despite his usual unflappable nature, looks absolutely floored. Even though you’d both spoken to Hoseok from the moment he’d started working with you, it had taken you a few weeks before you’d even offered to get him a drink at midnight, a mutual decision both you and Yoongi had agreed upon. And here you were, inviting Jungkook in without consulting your coworker-turned-best-friend, after one night. (You’re sure Hobi wouldn’t mind, but you feel kind of bad when you think about it and resolve to pay for his lunch when you see him next week.)

Yoongi squints at you as you keep your attention focused on the coffee and so don’t see the realisation settling across his features.

“Oh,” he says once it’s clicked. “You wanna suck his dick.”

You end up scattering coffee across the counter again. At this rate you may as well just pour the granules straight into the bin and cut out the middle man.

“Yeah, you wanna suck his dick,” Yoongi muses, watching as you grouse and clean up the coffee.

“At least when I talk about your crush on Jimin I have the decency to not be crude about it,” you say, jabbing a finger in Yoongi’s direction. He flushes.

“I don’t have a crush on Jimin,” he scowls. You scoff.

“Oh, please, Yoons. You’re not as subtle as you think. If I catch you staring at Jimin’s ass one more time with those googly eyes of yours I’m gonna yarf.” Jimin’s ass, admittedly, is very nice, the awful work trousers somehow flattering on him, but it’s the reverence with which Yoongi looks at it that makes his crush obvious. Amongst plenty of other things. “And you let him have my doughnut! As if that isn’t practically a declaration of marriage!”

“You’re still going on about the doughnut?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That happened months ago.”

“It was a limited edition Krispy Kreme doughnut, Yoons!” Your voice has gone shrill. “A motherfucking Kit Kat doughnut! The only reason I didn’t strike you down where you stood is because I fully support your crush on Jimin, even if I think it’s ridiculous you haven’t asked him out already! Anyway,” you say, letting the spoon clatter into the mug. “Whether or not I want to suck Jungkook’s dick, I miss having a third person in this group. Hobi actually laughed at my jokes.”

“I laugh at your jokes when they’re funny.”

“You never laugh at them!”

“I said what I said.”

“I’m going to poison your coffee so Jungkook and I can drink the rest in peace,” you say. “Oh, moment of silence for Hobi, we almost forgot.” The moment of silence lasts for a second, and then you’re pouring the freshly boiled water into the mugs.

“I guess I should talk to Jungkook, then.” Yoongi still sounds suspicious and you glare at him as you stir the coffee.

“If I find out that you’re being mean to him, I will genuinely poison your drink,” you say, lifting the spoon and gesturing with it aggressively enough that a droplet of coffee goes flying off and lands on Yoongi’s face. You have no doubt that Jungkook could snap Yoongi like a twig if he wanted to, but Jungkook seems far too nice for that, and Yoongi can be surprisingly intimidating.

“You won’t poison me.” He wipes the coffee away, unperturbed.

You snort. “I’ll use decaff and I won’t tell you.”

This makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

"Watch me.”

With that threat firmly in place, you feel a little better when you hand Jungkook’s coffee to Yoongi to give to him. You’re not near the fruit and vegetable section tonight so you won’t be able to keep a direct eye on them, but you’ll catch up with Yoongi once he’s wandered back over to bread.

You’re starting to feel a bit suspicious at how long Yoongi’s been absent for and so you make your way across the shop floor to see if you can find him. To your infinite surprise you spot both guys near the salads, Yoongi perched on an upturned crate while Jungkook puts watercress onto the shelf, the two of them in deep discussion about something. You feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone when you see Yoongi genuinely laugh and you back away, unsettled.

When you eat lunch that night, Jungkook sits with you on your table at Yoongi’s behest. It’s still a quiet affair, like normal—you take as many opportunities as you can to sneak glances at Jungkook, surprised at exactly how much food he puts away—but when he offers to make the coffee, you have a hushed conversation with Yoongi while your muscle boy is distracted. You keep your eyes fixed on Jungkook’s back, and it really is unfair how good his shoulder blades look with that black material stretched across them. There’s no point in trying to hide your thirst from Yoongi now that he knows about it so you’re free to stare.

“I thought you said he was a narc,” you whisper, eyes still fixed on Jungkook's back. How is his waist so small? (Lord have mercy on your soul.)

“Nah, Jungkook is okay,” Yoongi replies. In Yoongi-speak this means that he really likes Jungkook and you’re flabbergasted.

You don’t get a chance to say anything else before Jungkook is turning around, proffering your drinks to you with a bright smile—you can see his teeth, and you’ve never wanted to lick someone’s teeth before but apparently the sight of Jungkook’s mouth will do that to you, who would have guessed. It’s been two shifts and you’re already this dehydrated, just dying of thirst, shrivelled up like Spongebob in that episode where he visits Sandy’s dome for the first time. You’re a crusty thirsty sponge and Jungkook is a tall, sexy glass of water.

(You’re so fucking screwed.)

The thing with initiating Jungkook into the Coffee Crew is that you’re faced with the reality of his good looks constantly. Jungkook still doesn’t talk to anyone else, really, but he lights up around Yoongi and yourself, and you start to look forward to seeing those shiny doe eyes of his, the way he perks up whenever he sees you.

Work quickly becomes the highlight of your week, which is something you thought you'd never say, but Jungkook is just too powerful. Everything about him is absolutely fucking devastating, a few examples being:

The night when it’s a little warmer, and he unbuttons all three buttons on his polo shirt—you can see his collarbones and the tiniest bit of his chest, going feral over such a small slip of skin like you’re some sort of Victorian lady who keeps her ankles hidden in public and you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Or when you got caught behind him on the stairs while he’s explaining the difference between meat protein and vegetable protein—you get a wonderful view of his ass, which you take full advantage of (respectfully). You get another look at said ass when he plays a game of pool against Yoongi while you sit on the sofa and watch, Jungkook leaning over the wonky pool table so that he can make a particularly difficult shot, placing his wonderful butt directly into your line of vision.

Or when you notice that even though Jungkook cycles to work, he never seems to smell like sweat, and instead he just smells like fresh clothes, clean linen that’s so potent you can smell him before you see him. But no one smells that much like clean laundry, right? It must be his cologne.

“Jungkook, do you wear cologne?”

Jungkook, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised at your question and just answers it like he would any other. “No, why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you smell nice? Sort of like whatever 'clean cotton' is apparently meant to smell like. Y’know? Like fresh laundry.”

“I do wash my clothes every day,” he says. “I guess you could call me a bit of a clean freak?”

For some reason, the fact that he smells so nice because of his clothes is just so hot. You want to bury your face in his shirt and just breathe him in, but that would be weird and creepy and invasive. So you don’t do that and instead allow yourself to sniff from a polite distance, olfactory senses working overtime whenever he’s nearby.

(Yoongi finds you uncapping all the detergents down the laundry aisle one night, desperately huffing each type to try and work out which one Jungkook uses. “Jesus Christ,” he says, watching as you take a particularly long drag of whatever Spring Day is—it’s pleasant, whatever it is, but it’s not what you’re looking for. “Are you trying to get high?”

“Smell this,” you say instead, shoving it in his face. He takes a wary sniff, nose crinkling. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Yoongi seems baffled. “Okay, you’re clearly busy, I’ll tell Sejin to ask someone else to do the job.” You don’t reply, too busy sucking in a lungful of Crystal Snow as Yoongi backs away.)

Jungkook also seems to have this weird knack of appearing whenever you need help lifting or moving something heavy. Normally you hate it when someone steps in to help you, a little offended at the idea that you can’t do something yourself—you've been doing this for long enough that you've developed a technique for things—but when Jungkook does it you don’t feel disrespected at all. He’s just so nice about it.

Like the time when you’re struggling to move an empty wooden pallet and put it on top of a stack of others; not only is it heavy, it's large and unwieldy, too. The last time you’d tried to move one of these you’d ended up hitting it against your shins while also getting a palmful of splinters. You hate these things. Jungkook, however, materialises out of seemingly nowhere and offers you his help. He ends up lifting the thing himself, squatting down to grab it and just tossing it on top of the pile. He does it effortlessly, literally effortlessly, like the pallet weighs nothing to him, and when you ask if he thought it was heavy, he blinks.

“No, not really,” he says. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from screeching.

“You must lift a lot of weights,” you say, weakly, and Jungkook nods.

“I’ve started incorporating weights into my pull up routine recently, too.”

“Oh? Do you, like… tie them to yourself or something? Uh. How heavy are they?”

Jungkook perks up, apparently excited at the opportunity of talking about exercise. “I hold a fifteen kilogram weight in one hand while I do a pull up with the other,” he says.

Your legs feel weak at this mental image and you end up sitting on the stack of pallets as Jungkook starts to tell you about the rest of his workout routine, and when you find out he does kickboxing as well, you almost have to excuse yourself so that you can try and calm down. Instead you grin and bear it, your fingers digging into your thighs in the horniest grip known to man, acting like this is just a normal conversation that is absolutely not affecting you, no sir, no sirree, holy shit you’re going to die.

That night you do have to excuse yourself at lunch when you make a comment on Jungkook’s food, and he says that he needs to keep his calorie count up because he’s bulking at the moment.

“Bulking? Like for abs?” Yoongi asks.

“I already have abs,” Jungkook says dismissively. Your leg jolts under the table and your knee hits the underside of it, sending your empty lunch box almost flying to the floor, and Jungkook and Yoongi look at you in alarm. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Bathroom,” you gasp. “I gotta—bathroom. Lady stuff.”

You splash water over your face and run it over your wrists, desperately trying to cool down. You’d suspected he had abs, for multiple reasons, not least of all the fact that whenever he leaned back in his chair the material of his shirt would settle on his stomach in a way that hinted at the shape of the muscles underneath, but to hear him confirm it—like it was nothing—good lord. (Yoongi’s caught you staring at Jungkook’s stomach multiple times when the boy was distracted, but you’re beyond caring. If you have to deal with Yoongi fawning over Jimin then he can put up with you ogling Jungkook.)

When you come back, Yoongi is at the counter making your coffees while Jungkook is still sitting at the table. You slide back into your seat, about as composed as you’re going to get, when Jungkook leans towards you.

“Are you okay?” He looks worried. “I have some heat pads in my locker if, um, you wanted them, if you’re having period pains?” he says, but then he looks unsure. “I don’t know if you’re actually meant to use them on your tummy, though.”

Tummy. You want to squeal at how cute the word is, not to mention the fact that Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about talking about period related stuff, unlike a lot of guys you’d known. “Oh, uh, no, thanks, Jungkook,” you say, flushing. “That’s really nice of you but I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, although he’s still clearly concerned. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that’s the other thing. You still think Jungkook is the hottest person you’ve ever seen, of course, but he’s also so nice. And hardworking. And sweet. And gentle and thoughtful and determined and talented and just—he's just a whole lot of man, really, just so much, too much. Initially you’d been attracted to him based purely on how cute he was, but now that you've actually gotten to know him, your attraction has morphed into a full-on all consuming crush that’s absolutely catastrophic.

Even when you’re not at work, you keep zoning out because you’re thinking about: Jungkook’s arms, Jungkook’s thighs, Jungkook’s face, Jungkook’s personality, or a mix of all of the above. You can’t focus on things when all you can think about is Jungkook.

Jimin, of course, has been kept fully up to date with the situation. You squat behind the bakery counter whenever he’s on a late shift, hiding away from prying eyes so that you can talk to him as he tidies up, although you know he’s making moony eyes at Yoongi, who’ll glance back at him between the shelves of bread.

You groan into your hands from your cross legged position on the floor, sat atop a flattened croissant box, and Jimin pats you sympathetically on the head.

“Jungkook is very cute,” says Jimin. You groan again.

“I want him to raw me,” you say. Yoongi must have been closer than you thought because you hear a noise of disgust from the other side of the counter before the sound of his footsteps moving away. Jimin laughs his tinkly little laugh as you continue to speak. “But I also want him to hold my hand? And I wanna kiss his cute little forehead. And make him breakfast in bed. Ugh. I hate this,” you whine.

Jimin pats your head again. “Why don’t you ask him for coffee?”

You take your head out of your hands and fix him with a pout. “Why don’t you?”

“You know I don’t ask people for coffee, Y/n, I’m the one who gets asked,” Jimin says, and you know he’s projecting his voice so that Yoongi can hear him. You also know that Yoongi is too dense to pick up on this obvious flirtation, even though you can see how Jimin throws a wink in the direction of where Yoongi must be; you don’t turn to look over the counter but you hear the distinct sound of someone walking into a stack of bread and knocking it over, before Yoongi swears. Jimin just looks fond.

“Oh my God, just marry each other already,” you mutter.

“He has to ask me out first,” Jimin says, softly enough that Yoongi can’t hear from where he must be furiously tidying up the bread, if the sound of plastic packaging and low curses are anything to go by. “Seriously, Y/n, it sounds like Jungkook likes you as well. I think you should just go for it.”

You sigh. “Jungkook’s so far out of my league it’s like we’re not even playing the same sport. He’s sinking three pointers while I’m, I don’t know, whacking balls with a croquet mallet,” you mumble.

Jungkook is nice and funny and works out and is hot, so hot, the kind of hot that has people literally stopping to look at him. (You certainly had, the first time you'd spotted him down an aisle, doing a literal double take at how cute he was.) You, meanwhile, are a clown whose sense of humour has been warped by years of niche internet memes, you drink more coffee than is probably medically advisable, and make-up can only take you up to a shaky 6/10 on a very good day. All in all: Not Exactly A Catch.

Jimin clearly disagrees. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.” He sounds genuinely mad, frowning at you. "If I didn’t like Yoongi I absolutely would have asked you out by now. Jungkook would be lucky to have you, you are a wholeass meal.”

“Yoongi compared me to a slug the other day,” you say. Admittedly it was because he’d knocked on your door when you’d been in the middle of shaving your legs, your skin shining with coconut oil—so the slug slime comment was definitely warranted and hadn’t been an insult—but Jimin’s expression turns murderous, unaware of the context.

“Min Yoongi, you get over here right now,” he hisses. Yoongi is there in seconds. “Did you call Y/n a slug?”

Yoongi’s face looms at you from over the counter. “Should’ve called her a snake instead,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hiss hiss,” you say. “That’s what you get for chatting shit about coconut oil.”

Jimin blinks before his face goes smooth and a look of understanding crosses his features, raising an eyebrow at you. You bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m going back to the bagels,” he says, but then his voice is gentle when he continues: “Unless you need something else, Jimin?”

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” He smiles at Yoongi, soft and sweet, instantly forgetting about the slug comment.

The two of them look at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist and you mime throwing up, but because they’re looking at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, neither of them notice. You hear Yoongi’s footsteps recede and you lift your hands in despair.

“How is it even when I’m having a breakdown over a boy, the two of you manage to be so incredibly gay over each other?”

“It’s a talent,” Jimin says. “Besides, as happy as I am to listen to you, there’s only so many ways you can say I wanna suck Jungkook’s dick so bad, or he’s so adorable, what the fuck, or oh my God, Jungkook is so hot and I’m so thirsty, which are all things you’ve said, verbatim, multiple times.”

“It’s true.” You pout. “You’ve only seen Jungkook from a distance, anyway. He’s even better up close.” The bakery section is the other side of the supermarket, as far away from the fruit and veg section as you can possibly get; Jungkook has a much better work ethic than you and Yoongi and actually stays in his area to work, so he hasn’t met Jimin properly yet.

Jimin’s expression becomes thoughtful. “You know what, that’s true,” he says.

You’re immediately on guard. Jimin is well-meaning and considerate and kind, but he also loves to meddle and has absolutely no shame about it—the second you see that glint in his eyes, you think that maybe you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, but then you notice the time and your eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, I better go pretend to work before Sejin realises I’m missing.” You scrabble to your feet. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe drive home, Jimin!”

Jimin’s usually pretty punctual about leaving on time (even if he’ll hang around to talk to Yoongi, ugh). You wander over to the fruit section to help Sejin fill a display stand, and you freeze in the middle of lifting some apples into a paper bag when you spot Jimin talking to Jungkook. Jimin looks coy, Jungkook looks confused, and you? You probably look constipated. Why is Jimin still here?

You only realise that your mouth is open when Jimin spots you and winks, overexaggerated and theatrical. Your mouth snaps shut as Jungkook’s attention turns to whatever he’s winking at. You duck out of sight before he can spot you, scampering down the length of the store before practically throwing your apples at Sejin, who is understandably caught off guard and fails to catch the bag.

“I’ll go get some blueberries for the other shelf from the back room,” you bark in his face, all but running away before he can respond, leaving him surrounded by the escapee apples (escapples?) that are rolling away from him. You skulk around the entrance of the fruit and veg room for a little while, waiting for Jimin to leave via the staff exit—directly across from where you’re standing—but he doesn’t appear and you can only pretend to look for blueberries for so long, eventually returning to Sejin while despondently clutching the trays of berries.

Jungkook doesn’t seem any different when you make your midnight coffee run, and lunch is about as normal as usual. When you mention Jimin, he smiles, saying that it was nice to finally meet him, but other than seemingly slightly distracted—as if deep in thought—that’s it. There’s no hint that Jimin mentioned anything about you at all, least of all your crush—thank God—but you can feel the ripples in the Force. (Or maybe that was all the coffee you were drinking, seriously, maybe you should slow down?) You know that it’s not a coincidence that you’d had yet another meltdown about Jungkook right before Jimin had introduced himself to the object of your affections. You also know that Jimin knows that you know that, utterly shameless as always.

Jimin is on another late shift the next night. You squat behind the bakery counter when it’s unmanned, Jimin going outside to throw away some old baguettes or whatever, and you (metaphorically) pounce on him when he reappears. “Park Jimin.”

Jimin is entirely unsurprised. In fact he even has a box for you to sit on, proffering a flattened piece of porridge packaging; you feel uncomfortable at the idea of sitting on the Quaker Oats guy’s face and flip it over so you can see brown cardboard rather than his weirdly smug expression looking up at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly were you talking to Jungkook about last night?” You peer up at him, attempting to look at least somewhat threatening, but it’s kind of hard when you’re so much lower to the ground than Jimin is right now. Jimin has to look down at you so far that he’s given himself a double chin, but he’s still gorgeous, because of course he is. (He should leave some for the rest of you, jeez.)

“Oh, a lot of things,” Jimin says. “You were right about him being a sweetheart. He’s very nice. I approve.”

“What are you, my dad?” You mutter to yourself, but then: “You didn’t say anything about my crush, did you?”

Jimin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. So when he answers you with a simple “no” you believe him, although you can’t help but still feel a little suspicious. Your gut might be full of coffee more often than not, but she’s also a smart bitch—smarter than your brain for sure—and your gut is telling you that Park Jimin must have done or said something.

“Yoongi is putting the tortillas out, so excuse me if I’m distracted,” Jimin says. The tortilla wraps are on the bottom shelf so Yoongi has to bend over to work them. You make a face of disgust and stand up to leave.

“Fine, me and the Quaker Oats guy will take ourselves elsewhere.” You tuck the flattened box snugly under your arm. “We know when we’re not wanted.”

You feel a little bad later when you put the box into the industrial baler that you have, the machine crushing all of your cardboard flat, saddened that you’ve had to part from your new friend so soon. Bye, Quaker Oats guy.

Jungkook finds you standing in front of the baler with a genuinely sad expression on your face, silent as the machine makes mechanical squealing and wailing noises while it crushes the boxes inside it. “Uh. Is everything okay?” He asks, delicate.

“It will be eventually,” you say solemnly, but then you look away from the baler and immediately brighten, smiling at him. “Did you need me for something?”

Jungkook looks at you for a second and then shakes his head. “I was just out here to get some more stock from the back room,” he says, and you both get back to work, unaware of the glances you steal at each other as you part.

Later that night—well, technically, morning—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and you gasp with excitement when you spot him. “Namjoon!” You holler down the aisle, far too loud and energetic at 5am, jogging up to him. “I thought you stopped morning shifts!”

Namjoon is a beautiful tree of a man, tall and long limbed, and probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. You’ve missed his dimples. “I did, but, I’m doing a bit of overtime,” he says, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

You’re so caught up in your laughter, cackling at a story that Namjoon is telling you, that you don’t notice Jungkook spotting you from the other end of the aisle. He circles around a few times, pretending to be straightening up the shelves, but watches as you shuffle closer to Namjoon, your heads practically knocking against each other as you stare intently at something on his phone. Jungkook can’t bear it any longer and starts to walk over. He has no idea what he’s planning to do once he gets there but he’s marching over anyway, and that's when you spot him.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You beckon him over—like he wasn’t coming in your direction already—and you sound so excited. “Jungkook, look, puppies!”

Jungkook has no idea who the tall guy is but he’s nice enough to turn his phone towards Jungkook without being asked to. There are multiple puppies tumbling over each other in the video, nosing at each other and flopping around. “I thought a golden retriever would be good for Jin, because he’s never had a dog before,” the tall man says, and you coo.

“They’re so cute! Oh my God, Joon, you should get one of those little bandanas you could tie around their necks, those are adorable,” you squeal. “Ahh, I love dogs so much. Don’t you, Jungkook?” Your eyes are shining as you look up at him, excited.

Jungkook feels like he needs to sit down. “Of course. Who doesn’t?” He says, and you beam at him; he has to dig his fingers into his palms at how cute you are. He desperately turns his attention back to the video, where one of the puppies is nosing at a ball. “Look at them retrieve.”

“Retrieve my heart,” you say, clutching your chest. “Ahh, gosh, Joonie, you’re really living the dream, moving in with your hot boyfriend and getting a dog together.” You’re too busy imagining living in that reality to notice how all the tension leaves Jungkook the second he hears that Namjoon has a boyfriend. Oblivious. “Anyway, you should probably get back to work, I’ve distracted you for long enough. Sorry!”

“No problem.” Namjoon quirks a smile at you, nodding at Jungkook before moving away.

“Ahh, Namjoon is so lucky,” you say wistfully. “He’s so nice though, he deserves it.”

Jungkook is looking at you, curious. “You really get to know everyone, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You blink. “What? Yeah, I guess. Is that weird?”

“No.” Jungkook pauses, and you think that’s all he’s going to say on the matter, but then his mouth opens again. “You’re just so nice to everyone, and you actually pay attention to what they say and remember it. Most of the time when people talk, they don’t actually listen, they’re just waiting for when it’s their turn to talk about themselves, but you don’t do that. It’s cool,” he adds, belatedly. “I really admire it.”

You’re staring at him in shock. No one’s ever said anything like that before, complimented you in such a wholehearted way about something they’ve noticed about you. It's thrown you for a loop. You’re so used to thinking of yourself as a clown—a friendly clown, sure, but a clown nonetheless—that you’re genuinely shaken to the core after hearing what Jungkook’s just said about you.

He looks alarmed when you don’t respond, just blinking up at him as your brain desperately tries to reboot, but you’re saved from having to reply when Sejin calls out to you.

“Y/n, the computer at the front desk is playing up again." His hands are cupped around his mouth, amplifying himself so that you can hear him down the aisle. “You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.”

You snap out of your daze. “Again? You’ve tried turning it off and on again, right?” You’re about to walk away from Jungkook, but first you glance up at him, shy. “Um. Thanks for always being so nice, Kookie. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. You don’t have time to ask why, Sejin’s noise of distress catching your attention.

“I’m coming!” You rush off, nearly tripping on a loose grape on the floor; you manage to regain your balance with minimal flailing, unaware of how Jungkook fondly watches you go.

A few weeks later, you get sick.

You’re really bad at being sick, one of the reasons being that you don’t like to admit that you are sick—and so you still roll into work despite the fact you’re clearly unwell.

“You look like a body that’s just been fished out of the water.” Yoongi shows his concern in an interesting way. “Like you’ve been floating belly up near that trash island in the middle of the ocean that’s the size of Texas.”

You fix him with a baleful stare. He’d threatened to not let you into his car earlier, locking the door as you’d been reaching for the handle; he’d only relented after you’d hissed at him and scrabbled at the glass like some sort of feral cat.

“You do look a bit more tired than usual,” Jungkook says delicately.

You groan. The noise sounds like it’s being ripped out of your throat, which feels as dry as the sahara desert; why are your throat and eyes so dry while your nose keeps running? Why is the liquid in all the wrong places? The human body is a wreck. (After glancing at Jungkook, who looks as perfect as always, you mentally correct yourself—your body is a wreck.)

“I’m fine,” you rasp, and then sniff, trying to stop your nose from dripping. Jungkook hands you a tissue. “I don’t need this, because I’m not sick, but thank you.”

You proceed to blow your nose loudly into the tissue, a trumpeting noise that trails off into a squeak, a sad little thing that sounds like the farting noise a balloon makes when all the air finally escapes it. Yoongi snorts with amusement but Jungkook’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Rather than being disgusted at your appearance—you’re not sick, you’re just suffering from mild allergies or something, so maybe you’ll admit that you look a little washed out—Jungkook has been worried about you from the moment you’d walked in. He’d even offered you his work fleece when he’d caught you shivering, which you’d graciously accepted. (Again, you weren’t shivering because you were sick, it’s just weirdly cold in the store today, even though no one else seems to be affected by it.) (Also, like, hello? The man of your dreams was offering you the chance to wear his clothes? As if you were going to say no to that.)

Despite definitely not being sick, you do sort of feel like your head is full of cotton wool, and everything seems so much louder than usual. Sejin takes pity on you and gives you the surprisingly easy job of counting stock out back in the warehouse, where it’s quieter and warmer—but you still keep Jungkook’s fleece on anyway, breathing in the lovely smell of his fabric softener as you idly count items, taking it slow.

You’ve climbed a stepladder so that you can reach a higher shelf, mentally tallying the cans of coke you find up there; you shuffle through them so you can turn the labels towards you, making sure you’re keeping the different flavours separate. (What’s the difference between diet and zero sugar, anyway? Aren’t they both the same thing?)

“Did I just see a pigeon walk past?”

You startle and nearly knock your row of cans off the shelf. Somehow you hadn’t noticed Jungkook walking into the warehouse, even though he clearly hadn’t meant to surprise you; his hands fly out to steady the stepladder, and though you appreciate this it throws you off balance and so you grab the shelf in front of you. One of the cans falls off, jostled by your movements, and your instinct is to try and catch it with your foot so it at least slows enough before it hits the ground that it doesn’t explode.

In theory, it’s not a bad idea. In reality, you wildly overestimate how heavy the can is and so you put way too much power into the swing of your leg and punt the can of coke into the distance. The two of you trace its arcing trajectory as it disappears over the metal racking before landing with a distinctly wet clatter. Yeah, it’s definitely exploded, hasn’t it.

“Wasn’t me,” you say immediately, but then your slower-than-normal brain catches up with what Jungkook just said. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you saw a pigeon walking around,” Jungkook says. “I think I saw it walking from the back entrance into here?”

Much to his obvious surprise, your eyes light up. You’re maybe not as exuberant as usual because of your illness but you’re still clearly excited. “Oh!” You hop down off the stepladder, nearly losing your balance for a second—maybe you are a teensy weensy bit sick—but then straighten up before Jungkook can help steady you. “Shortbread’s back!”

Jungkook looks baffled but follows after you when you start to walk, abandoning your stock counts. “Shortbread?”

“Yeah! Hold on, you’re taller than me. You see that bit of metal that juts out of the ceiling there?”

Jungkook looks at where you’re pointing. It’s against the back wall of the warehouse, the ceiling lower here than in the rest of the room, panelling and wires supported by criss-crossing bars of thick blue metal. “Yeah?”

“Can you reach up there and feel around a bit?” Jungkook makes a face, clearly not wanting to shove his hand into some mysterious hidden nook, but you look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. You probably look like a wreck (what with how sick you are) but Jungkook relents immediately anyway; you think it's because he's nice and not because your attempt at being cute had been successful. He cranes upwards and feels around with his hand until it makes contact with crinkly plastic, and you motion for him to grab it—it’s an open pack of biscuits, with a receipt wedged inside that has your name scribbled on it.

“Gimme, gimme.” You make grabby hands at him. He tilts it towards you and you latch onto a biscuit, which is clearly stale; it crumbles almost immediately in your hands but you don’t pay it any mind, gesturing for him to put the tray back in its hiding place. “Where did you see the pigeon last?”

“Uh, near the soup, I think,” Jungkook answers. You immediately head in that direction, talking over your shoulder as he follows after you.

“You’ve seen that fishing net near the cardboard baler, right?” Your eyes flit to and fro, trying to spot the errant pigeon.

“Yeah, the green one? I was wondering why that was there.”

You click your tongue. “A few months ago we had a pigeon who kept flying here and wandering into the building,” you explain. “We knew it was the same pigeon because it has a tag around its leg? I think it’s a tracker pigeon, I don’t know. So I would use biscuits to get it to follow me outside. But then management got the net and someone said they caught it and, uh, ‘disposed’ of it.” You look equal parts distressed and sad and Jungkook’s chest twinges. “I haven’t seen it since, so even though I hoped that it wasn't the truth, I kind of accepted that it probably was.”

You round the corner past soups, heading towards the cereal overstock, when you both spot the pigeon. It’s slowly walking backwards and forwards on the floor, but when you appear, it stops and looks at you.

“Shortbread! It is you!” You sound absolutely elated, squatting down and proffering the mess of crumbs in your hand, sprinkling them in front of you. “I knew they hadn’t caught you!”

The pigeon—Shortbread—hops forward immediately, heading straight for the crumbs. You laugh in delight as it gets closer and starts to peck at the food. “You’ve gotta stop coming here, bud, Sejin’s going to get really mad if he spots you,” you say. Shortbread, of course, ignores you, more intent on eating the crumbs of—well, the crumbs of shortbread that you’ve given it. You look away from the pigeon, up at Jungkook, who’s watching you with an expression on his face that you can only describe as consternation. Does he dislike pigeons, maybe? “Do you want to feed him?”

“Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?” Jungkook blurts. The remaining crumbs of biscuit fall out of your hand, scattering into a wild constellation of fragments that Shortbread immediately swoops down onto—but you’re not paying the bird any mind, completely blindsided.

“Uh. What?” You stare up at Jungkook. Your mouth is open and slack with surprise; you hadn’t quite caught his words, but you could have sworn that he said— “Come again?”

Jungkook’s put a hand over his face, which is starting to turn red. “Do you—do you want to get coffee with me?” Even though he’s turned his head away from you, his eyes are pointed in your direction; Shortbread makes a cooing noise and starts to peck at the crumbs directly in front of you, but neither of you pay the pigeon any attention.

“Uh.” You know your brain is running on around 25% capacity right now, a mixture of your sickness and lack of sleep catching up with you, but you could swear that—what does Jungkook mean—nah, he doesn’t mean that, no way… haha… unless…? “You… want to get coffee? You know where we keep the jar.” Shortbread pecks at your open palm, a few crumbs still stuck to your skin. You’re momentarily distracted from your mental breakdown, giggling at the sensation of the pigeon’s beak, even though it hurts your throat to laugh. “Shortbread, there’s way more food on the floor, why are you trying to eat from my hand?”

“Y/n.” When Jungkook says your name your eyes snap back towards him. “Can I take you out on a date?”

This time you do catch all his words. Your mouth falls open again and you stare at him like the dumbass you are. Is Jeon Jungkook—your cute, kind, buff angel seriously asking you out? Right now? When you're squatting on a dusty warehouse floor with a handful of stale biscuit crumbs, wearing the world’s least flattering uniform, all while looking like some sort of washed out river corpse? (Thanks for that lovely comparison, Yoongi.) Has he lost his mind? Maybe lifting all those heavy crates meant that all the blood has run into his arm muscles rather than his brain and it's been starved of oxygen, because there’s no sane reason as to why Jungkook would be asking you out on a date.

“Me? A date?” Your voice comes out as a squeak. “With you?”

Jungkook looks absolutely mortified. You didn’t realise someone’s cheeks could go that red. “Forget I said anything,” he says, turning on his heel so that he can walk away; you catch a glimpse of bright crimson climbing up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, too.

“No, wait, Jungkook!” You snap up from your squatting position and grab Jungkook’s shoulder, smearing crumbs onto his shirt. You feel light headed as he starts to turn around, but not because he’s looking at you—you’d stood up too quickly and you feel woozy from your illness, swaying off balance.

You nearly careen sideways into some cereal overstock. Jungkook’s eyes fly wide open in alarm, interposing himself so that you land against him instead. There’s the sound of metal clattering as your weight sends Jungkook into the cereal, rattling the cage, but he holds you steady. You still feel a bit faint, but now you’re sure that it’s partially due to the fact that you’re crushed up against Jungkook’s warm, firm chest, his hands on your hips as he frowns down at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better,” you mumble into the fabric of his polo shirt. (Jungkook's at risk of you snotting on him if your nose starts to run, but he doesn’t seem to care.) He smells even better up close than you ever could have imagined—thank god your sense of smell is still intact—and you melt against him for a second before your brain catches up with the situation and your head snaps back so that you can look at him. “Wait. Why were you about to leave?”

Jungkook’s look of concern turns instantaneously into one of embarrassment. “No reason,” he says, voice higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

You clench your fist and hit his firm chest, but with no strength behind the punch; your hand may as well have been a slice of bread for all the impact it makes. “Liar.” There’s no heat behind your words. “Did you seriously ask me on a date?”

Jungkook’s face is reddening again, but you’re still leaning against him. He can’t try to escape this time. “Uh. Yes?” From this close you can count his individual eyelashes, pick out the moles that dot his face, and, yep, you were right, he’s even better up close. “I’m sorry?”

You blink. “Sorry? For asking me out? Jungkook. Do you seriously think I’d say no?”

“... yes?” Jungkook’s voice is a squeak, much like yours had been a moment earlier. Holy shit. Does he not realise how amazing and hot he is? Does he seriously think that you, resident clown, would turn him down? Does he think you’re the one who’s out of his league?

You try to put this into words. Try to ask him this gently, so you can highlight just how ridiculous he’s being. However, what comes out of your mouth is: “Are you an idiot?” Thanks, brain, for once again abandoning you in your greatest time of need. Quick, reel it back. “Why would you think that?”

Jungkook, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t seem offended at your implication that he’s stupid. He just seems flustered. “I—you’re just so unapologetically you, you know?” He says. "You're charismatic and confident and everyone likes you. You’re the most popular person on night shift. I’m too shy to talk to anyone and I just do the same thing every night I’m here, but you can do everything. I always saw you talking to the other morning workers and you were always so nice, but you never spoke to me? When you introduced yourself to me after I moved to nights, I was confused, but, uh, really happy.”

Holy shit. He really does think that you’re out of his league. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up after this little speech, mouth snapping shut while his cheeks continue to blaze red. He's so cute. He's going to be the death of you.

“Jungkook. I didn’t talk to you before night shift because you made me so fucking nervous,” you say. “I could barely look at you for weeks because you’re so beautiful that it kind of makes me want to barf sometimes and I couldn’t handle it. But then you moved to nights and I couldn’t avoid talking to you, and I found out how kind and hardworking and interesting you are, and—Jungkook, I don’t think I’ve ever crushed this hard on anyone in my life.” Why are you telling him all this? You must be more sick than you realise. Your mouth is entirely out of your control. “I get so excited for work now because it means I get to see you. Yoongi and Jimin have been listening to me gush about you for months. And Hobi too, but you don't know him. But I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I didn’t say anything,” you admit, and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functional shoots a prayer off to God, or anyone else who’s listening, begging to be struck down by lightning. No such luck. “Uh. Basically, yes, Jungkook, I would love to go on a date with you, please excuse my rambling, my brain feels like it’s full of cotton.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe anything you’re saying. You abruptly realise that the two of you are still wrapped around each other in a very compromising position, in an area of the building where anyone could appear at any moment—not to mention that Shortbread is still fluttering around nearby, eating up crumbs with typical pigeon inefficiency.

“You—you think I’m beautiful?” Jungkook asks, and you blush.

“I think you’re the hottest person who’s ever existed, probably,” you answer honestly. “Please don’t ask more questions, I start to feel queasy whenever I have to express real emotion.”

“Y/n.” Jungkook seems to be rapidly getting over his shock, and a smile starts curling at his lips, and—yeah, you still wanna lick his teeth. Good to know. “I couldn’t possibly be the hottest person who’s ever existed.”

You snort, even though the action grates the back of your nose and throat. “Where’s your evidence?”

Jungkook gently squeezes you. “Right here,” he says.

Your brain desperately scrabbles for purchase in reality, shutting down and then rebooting, internet modem sounds crackling slowly in your head as you try to get to grips with the fact that Jungkook just did that, even though the motion was meant to be tender. Why must your mind be so dirty?

Wait.

Wait, he thinks you’re hot?

“Jungkook, I look like death,” you say, and although you’re ostensibly referring to the fact you’re sick right now (fine, you’ll admit it, you’re sick), it’s more of a general statement.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook says, deadly serious. Your heart flutters. What did you do to deserve this boy?

You’ve still got your faces tilted towards each other, and you can’t help but notice Jungkook’s eyes darting down to your lips. You’ve just started to inch closer to each other when your brain finally snaps back to full capacity and you’re shoving your hand in Jungkook’s face; the clean one, thankfully, not the one covered with biscuit crumbs. Seems like your brain came through.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the warehouse at work, when I’m sick,” you say. While that’s true, your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea that Jungkook apparently still wants to kiss you despite the fact you definitely need to blow your nose.

“Okay.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled against your palm. “That’s fair. Can you move your hand? It’s kind of hard to breathe like this.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” You pull your hand away, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath; you feel how his chest expands and you’re once again reminded of how you’re flush against him. Jesus. “Uh, we should probably get Shortbread out of here before someone catches him.”

Jungkook lets you go so you can coax Shortbread towards one of the fire exits. He holds the door open as you squat down, wishing the pigeon good luck before you say goodbye; when you glance back up at Jungkook you notice the look on his face, open and fond, and your heart does a loop de loop in your chest when you realise that he's been looking at you like this a lot—your brain had just refused to let you notice it for what it is. What the heck.

As Jungkook lets the door shut behind you, you clear your throat. “Um. While I do absolutely want to get coffee with you, can it wait until I’m better? I don’t wanna be all crusty and snotty on our first date,” you say, weirdly shy despite the fact it’s obvious that Jungkook seems to think that you hung the moon. (Which you still don’t understand but you’re not complaining, not at all.)

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles and your heart flip flops in your chest again. The feats of acrobatics your heart achieves when Jungkook around is honestly astounding, but everything he does is just so… adorable. You’re certain that when you see him out of his work uniform and in his regular clothes you’re going to spontaneously combust, but you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. “I should probably get back to fruit and veg, but, I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yeah.” You smile helplessly back at him. “Of course. See you at lunch.”

Despite the fact you’re worried about getting him sick, Jungkook really doesn’t care about keeping his distance. When Yoongi walks into the canteen to the sight of you snuggled up to Jungkook and giggling as you feed him his lunch, your friend just rolls his eyes. “Kids these days,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous that it’s taken me and Jungkook less time to confess to each other than it’s taken you with Jimin,” you say, and then gasp as you remember something. “Oh, Jungkook, that reminds me! What was that long conversation you were having with Jimin the other week?”

Jungkook flushes. “Uh, he was giving me advice on how to ask you out,” he admits sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on just blurting it out in the warehouse, but you were being so cute that I couldn’t stop myself?”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a few long moments, before solemnly saying: “Jeon Jungkook, if I wasn’t sick, I would absolutely be kissing you right now.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Yoongi says. Jungkook buries his head into the material of his work fleece, hiding his embarrassment against your shoulder, and you just laugh.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts #bts au #cypherwritersnet #bts fluff #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x oc #joy.masterlist

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moonseyeastrology · 5 years ago

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Venus / Moon / Mars synastry (conjunction, square)

Venus conjunct Moon synastry is considered a true love aspect. If at a tight orb the love will be mutual and likely emotionally fulfilling. Both parties tend to be very sweet to each other. It can be sickening to outsiders sometimes. They very much understand each other's emotional and security needs. They enjoy doting and spoiling one another with back rubs and gifts. They are each other's side kick and best friend. They care for each other deeply, and selflessly. The Moon finds beauty and warmth from the Venus. The Venus feels greatly understood and nurtured in return. Long walks, hand in hand and cuddling. They look into each other’s eyes and feel their spirits lift. Simply being in one another’s presence heals pain. It feels as though they are wearing a favorite comfortable sweater. They are a classic and romantic pairing. In non-romantic relationships this aspect will still be good to have. They joke around and behave goofy. Venus feels like being romantic with the Moon. The Moon draws out their creative and organic self. They are allowed to be themselves in this relationship. They hardly will notice other people when they’re with each other. If one of them do give anyone outside of the relationship more attention than the other party will feel left out in the cold. There can be jealousy but generally they want to make each other as happy as possible. Going about their individual daily routines won't normally clash too much. Always look to the rest of the chart to determine.

Venus square Moon indicates a rather strong emotional and sexual connection. Instead of the conjunction and softer contacts which show mutual understanding and good feelings. The square creates friction and a restless energy. Venus square Moon in synastry shows two people who usually are very much in love, or attracted to one another but are very different in how they each express their emotions and go about romantic gestures. Frequent likely arguments can become the couples natural form of foreplay.. Such paring indicates an off and on again relationship. Similar in some basic ways but different in other important ways. They argue about little petty things. This can even be the case in the early stages of the relationship, but since there’s a strong attraction both parties will try to ignore the irritation or awkwardness felt sometimes. This aspect will generally play out when they couple is out socializing together or having company over to their home. They can have differences when it comes to raising their children, or have conflicting views on marriage and children. Such as one person may want kids and a big family while the person person although aren't entirely turned off by the idea, is not completely sure that is something they want. They may want to travel and never considered children. Their moods generally two don’t match up well. One person will want to have sex and the other seems to be caught up in something else they’re doing. When the two do sync up, there is emotionally driven sex.

Venus conjunct Mars is considered to be a marriage and major sexual attraction aspect. Especially when it is at a tight orb. This particular aspect’s potency depends on other mars and venus contacts going on in the synastry charts. When Venus conjunct Mars, there is an immense sexual chemistry between two people. Venus is the feminine and Mars is the masculine, so together they have found their ideal match. They view each other as the mate they always wanted. Mars is compelled to touch and flirt with Venus. They really like to touch one another, especially early on in relationships. They may feel like they haven't been as fulfilled in the bedroom before they met each other. Mars is usually the initiator and behaves like Venus’s knight in shining armor. They feel compelled to win Venus over. Venus in return feels completely in her feminine energy, but being chased after by Mars. Mars really make them feel like a woman. Not only is there simply a sexual/romantic attraction, there is mutual respect. Both parties do not mind going out of their way for one another. In fact they may want to team up and tackle projects together. People see the couple as an ideal match. They physically look good together and are charming. This is a good long-term aspect because when two people are sexually compatible it makes them less likely to wander outside of the relationship. Candle lit love making and passion are all the name of the game. If there are any negative contacts connected to this one, then beware of jealousy. You don’t need to be around each other 24/7. Give each other some room to breathe or this can turn platonic.

Venus square Mars there is either an immediate repulsion or attraction towards one another. In many cases it is both. The way that the Mars person advances on the Venus person can make them flat out uncomfortable. However that is where the tricky-ness occurs with this aspect. There is a fine line between dislike and like. Love and hate. They irritate the hell out of each other sometimes, which ironically fuels the attraction. Venus see’s Mars as aggressive or inconsiderate. Mars sees Venus as soft and beautiful physically, but Venus is overly sensitive or does not react how the Mars wants when they pursue. Mar’s wants to dominate and conquer Venus, so they can come off as desperate or overbearing. It can take longer then the conjunction/opposition for these two to form a relationship of any kind because of how much they drive each other crazy. They can be be that couple who has some fiery, epic arguments. Screaming at each other in a very public place. All because one of them said/did something the other person didn’t approve of. Other people will take notice of the tension between them, especially in the beginning. Some issues this contact also ensures is sexual disharmony. They are attracted and horny, just at different times. When they do have sex it’ll be aggressive and passionate. Think of Brad and Angelina in Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Loud make up sex isn't uncommon.

Moon conjunct Mars in synastry is a baby maker aspect. This is because of the impassioned physical responses from both parties. There is a great deal of libido responses when around each other, making them more fertile. The moon persons emotions are drawn outward, making them feel vulnerable initially in front of Mars. the mars can go into fits when the moon becomes overly sensitive or emotional. At the same time there is a lot of understanding about what both people are attracted to in an intimate relationship. The moon in the beginning is intimidated by the mars yet finds their domination and strength to be very sexy. It causes much steam. The kind which burns underneath the skin. This attraction is primal and instinctive. This aspect puts both people in heat. They want to engage in sexual activities or mate. The sex is likely to happen quickly. Mars does the chasing and wants the Moon person SO badly. Both planets feel primal and primitive traits of animal and man. There can be an animalistic quality to the sex. It is common for the Moon person to want to have the Mars children. The female in this contact can become more fertile like those mentioned above. Mars makes the moon feel safe and protected. Mars is indeed protective of the moon. They go into total warrior mode when anyone messes with their lover. Although they may respond heatedly to each other, any outsiders should beware trying to pull that nonsense. This is another good long-term contact to have if there’s other positive aspects. Similar to the Venus/Mars conjunct, there is great sexual relief and satisfaction.

Moon square Mars in compatibility normally brings on irritation at first interaction. They feel this irritation which lends to sexual emotions. Moon square Mars causes friction naturally on its own, that just puts people on edge. There can be an attraction, with other supporting aspects. So when there is a romantic attraction involved, these people will seriously annoy the hell out of each other, but they do love each other. Their interactions in the initial beginning of the relationship will be emotionally hot and perhaps feisty. There can also be interactions to do with manipulation. The Mars person can physically manipulate or be more aggressive which makes the Moon cower back. Overtime the Moon will fight back which is where the square energy really comes in. The Mars can pick and poke at the Moon so the Moon eventually will begin having outbursts. They can feel like the Mars is emotionally abusive in some extreme situations. Normally however it can just simply be the Mars teases the Moon, and finds them to be overly sensitive. They sometimes wish the Moon was not so sensitive. There can be a lot of sex in beginning of relationship because of the level of friction aroused when around each other. In the beginning this can be kind of sexy to have. It's definitely an aspect which brings pure emotional responding to each other, especially in the heat of the moment. Both parties need to watch out for manipulating each other to get what they want. It's not about each other's individual selfish needs, it's the needs of both parties that matter. This aspect can drain two people over time and other people around them. Each other's parent's can definitely be a stress. The Moon persons mother can interfere in the relationship perhaps and Mars gets angered by this. Or vice versa. Regardless of the fighting and heated moments, there is obviously love for each other even if they are at war. The War is always started by petty things said and done too, so try not to be completely immature with this aspect. It can tend to make people act in childish ways simply because the other person drives them nuts.

#moon #venus #mars #love #sexualattraction #primal #effective #strong #astrology #synastry #moonseyeastrology #astrologyquestions #tumblr

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addicted2escapism · 4 years ago

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when you travel with a jaguar | geraskier

summary: the positives and negatives of your travel companion being able to turn into a big cat

read it on Ao3

The first time Jaskier turned into a cat, Geralt was shocked– at the very least. There was a multitude of reasons for him to feel this way. Geralt was a Witcher. He should have known, should have been able to tell that Jaskier was actually a– well, whatever he was. The changing was also extremely abrupt. There was no phasing in and out of forms. One moment Jaskier the bard was there, and within the blink of an eye, a jaguar stood in his place.

That part was the least shocking bit of it all. That Jaskier wasn’t just a cat, he was a big cat. A predator. A beast that brutally tore out the throat of the man that had been accosting them, while Geralt stood frozen like an idiotic brick wall. Now, it was sitting, staring up at Geralt with wide eyes and an inquisitive chirp. The innocent expression didn’t match the way it’s–Jaskier’s–tail twitched back and forth irritatedly, beating against the ground repeatedly.

Geralt had many questions. Why didn’t his medallion hum? Wasn’t this magic? How long had Jaskier been like this? Was he cursed?

Instead, all that came out was an exasperated, “fuck”.

It took another five seconds for him to regain his awareness (and suggest that they should probably get out of this town).

Night had already fallen so they didn’t travel far, only putting a safe amount of distance between them and the town they were planning to stay in, before making camp in the woods. Geralt had led Roach on foot, who was very displeased about being torn away from her stall, and didn’t seem to be afraid of Jaskier in the slightest. The jaguar had prowled along next to him the whole time, looking through the trees and into the darkness. Geralt realized that in this form, Jaskier’s night vision was probably up to par with his own.

Once Geralt had decided on a spot to settle down in for the night, Jaskier bolted away before the Witcher could utter a word to stop him. Creating a fire was left to him, since Jaskier clearly wouldn’t be able to do it. A faint scampering of footsteps could be heard while he gathered kindling, and by the time he cast Igni, Jaskier was trotting towards him with two rabbits clamped in his jaw.

It was a wary sight, despite Geralt knowing that it wasn’t a wild animal. Well, it was, in a way. But it wasn’t. It was Jaskier, who unhinged his jaw and dropped the rabbits at Geralt’s feet. The Witcher sat beside the fire and began to skin the two animals, and the next time he glanced over at Jaskier, he’s human again. Human with this expression that screamed nervous and concerned. Geralt didn’t like it.

“You’re not a therianthope, a werecat,” For once, Geralt spoke first. “So what are you?”

“Ah, a cursed bard?” Jaskier supplied, shoulders raising to his ears, knees drawn up to his chest. Cursed, so Geralt was right. “Although, I don’t really think it’s a bad curse.”

His additional comment was confusing. What kind of curse wasn’t bad?

“I have full control over when I shift.” Jaskier explained. “And I was going to tell you! Well– eventually. I mean, I was going to do so with much more style! And in a much less violent manner. But, here we are. That moronic man just made me so angry, it slipped out!”

“So, you don’t have full control?” Geralt narrowed his eyes. A slip of the tongue was common for Jaskier. Accidentally changing into a jaguar and mauling a man to death over some harsh words was not.

Jaskier glared back, but his body relaxed a bit from the familiar pattern of their bickering.

“I do. I just hadn’t shifted in awhile because I’ve been traveling with you for so long. Normally when I get that mad, I stab, not bite.”

Geralt hummed. Jaskier did tend to stab people.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Jaskier sighed, staring at the rabbit cooking over the fire. “At least now I can shift more often.”

And he did. Very often. Sometimes Geralt wondered if he preferred being a cat, and that the only thing holding him back was the ability to sing as a human. It was certainly a welcomed (but not necessary) improvement on their companionship.

Jaskier often took over the role of hunting for their dinner, dragging full-sized deer back to camp and dropping it at Geralt’s feet with a chirp. He was also quite proficient in fishing, and would use his tail to lure fish nearer to the surface. In cat form, Geralt didn’t have to worry about Jaskier’s ability to keep up with Roach while traveling, and it was nice to have another set of sharp eyes and ears. At first, Geralt assumed Jaskier would be the same reckless bard, only in cat form. But no, Jaskier was every bit attuned to his enhanced senses, and more than capable of using his speed and strength. It made sense, if the Witcher thought about it. The bard put on a fun and harmless facade, but Geralt’s seen enough tavern brawls, and the accompanying malice in Jaskier’s features, to know that he was a force to be reckoned with if need be.

But, as much as the jaguar clearly had a human conscience inside of him, there were certain cat traits that Geralt had to… deal with.

Jaskier was an affectionate human, and the trait only amplified when he was a cat.

When he first started shifting around Geralt, he would stretch out right next to the Witcher at night, the warmth radiating off of his feline form a comfort that Geralt wouldn’t admit to. After a few days, Jaskier started settling closer so that his back was a constant pressure against Geralt’s arm in slumber, even though Geralt didn’t always fall asleep. He only realized that Jaskier was holding back after he worked up the courage to pet him.

The most common form of affection (although Geralt wouldn’t admit that it was, in fact, affection) was the head butting. One time he even did it to Roach. Geralt, with his limited knowledge about wild cats, knew that it was instinctually a form of scent marking. With how often they travelled to new locations, Jaskier was practically relentless. If they stopped on the path, Geralt would earn a headbutt to the hip. If they were sitting around a campfire, Jaskier would press his forehead into Geralt’s shoulder, sometimes as a form of thanks and other times for seemingly no reason at all. The jaguar would pace endlessly beside Roach while Geralt battled a monster, and when the Witcher returned, he’d be rewarded with heavy paws pinning his shoulders to the ground, a headbutt to the forehead, and a soft chuff.

One time, Jaskier had tried to lick him, to groom him. Geralt put a stop to that. A house-cat’s tongue had nothing on a jaguars, the roughness of which could make skin break and bleed with enough persistence.

And then, there was the stalking.

He would never intentionally hurt Geralt, but having a wild animal creeping behind him certainly put his Witcher senses on edge. Geralt could be sitting, cleaning his swords, when suddenly Jaskier would rise to his feet, seemingly in slow motion. He’d keep his head low and prowl towards the Witcher, silent. The white haired man would set his weapons aside, turn his head to look at Jaskier, and Jaskier would pounce. He’d tackle Geralt with 200 pounds of force, wrestling with him in the grass and growling softly. Geralt would put up a fight, of course, and he could win if he wanted to. Most of the time, he let Jaskier get the kill, and if the bard was feeling petty, he’d lay directly on top of his prey, a deadweight atop the Witcher. It happened every time Jaskier wanted to play. Geralt would be subjected to a few minutes of slow motion stalking, Jaskier would reel back on his hind legs (and sometimes wiggle his back end), and then Geralt would get jumped.

Jaguars also seemed to have an affinity for the water. Jaskier would run and jump and splash, and tackle Geralt into the water if he felt extra mischievous. Geralt learned that jaguars were very good swimmers.

The worst was probably the biting.

Sometimes Jaskier forgot that his feline teeth were very sharp. He’d nip at Geralt’s jaw while they laid (cuddled) together, and sometimes a fang would catch in just the right way and draw blood. He’d try to amend it with his sandpaper tongue, which obviously wasn’t that helpful. Other times they’d be playing, and he’d clamp his jaw around Geralt’s forearm, who, if he was lucky, would be wearing armor. More often than not, he’d release the other man’s arm immediately, from either not truly intending to bite hard enough to break through skin, or from being a little jarred at the odd taste and texture of leather in his mouth. But sometimes Jaskier’s cat instincts would go into overdrive, and once his jaw closed around Geralt’s arm, he wouldn’t let go. The Witcher had learned to keep his arm still, as moving it about only caused Jaskier to hold on tighter. Eventually, Jaskier would let go, but if Geralt got the sense that he might not, if the jaguars canines started sinking into his skin, and if the rumbling in the feline’s chest started echoing deep within Geralts, the Witcher would hiss out a warning, “Jaskier”. It would sober the cat up, who’d unlock his jaw and probably apologize with a headbutt.

But these traits weren’t all so bad. Geralt was getting worse and worse at denying any enjoyment from Jaskier’s affections. His denials couldn’t mean much when he went out of his way to give Jaskier’s head a soft pat. He enjoyed when the jaguar wanted to play, although Geralt couldn’t use his full strength on him, it was still a nice energy outlet. Jaskier kept a nice balance between being a bard and being a cat, since it wouldn’t exactly be socially acceptable for Geralt to ask for a room at an inn for him and his wild animal. And of course, Jaskier couldn’t go more than half a day without singing a tune or plucking a few chords. But when it was just the two of them at night, when the sky was dark and the only nearby sound was the crackling of their campfire, Geralt would happily overlook the blood the came with the biting, and the stalking, to have Jaskier’s soft fur and warmth pressed against his side every night.

#i feed off of big cat jaskier but theres Not Enough #so i wrote some myself #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #the witcher fic #my writing #gem writes

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monstersdownthepath · 4 years ago

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Spiritual Spotlight: Zyphus, the Grim Harvestman

Neutral Evil God of Accidental Deaths, Graveyards, and Tragedies

Domains: Death, Destruction, Evil, Plant, War Subdomains: Blood, Catastrophe, Daemon, Decay, Murder, Thorns, Undead

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 88~93

Obedience: Spend an hour sitting on the grave of someone who suffered an accidental death. You must reflect on how chance has wronged you and vocally reject the influence of any gods associated with these wrongs. If no suitable grave exists, spend an hour telling strangers how their religious beliefs and hopes for a just afterlife are folly and of no consequence. Alternatively, you can write this screed and post it in a public place within a settlement. If you’re away from civilization, you can instead spend an hour sabotaging a path, bridge, tool, or other device so that it’s dangerous for the next person who uses it. Benefit: You gain a +4 profane bonus on Craft (traps) or Disable Device checks, chosen when you complete the obedience.

i’m glad the grim harvestman covers his basis but also jesus

Anyway, Zyphus is one of the most petty and spiteful of the gods, and this is no better shown than in this Obedience. A typical adventurer wandering the countryside must actively make the world a worse place for everyone else involved, and the clause “next person who uses it” means that you have to either toss aside your party’s good will, or take up the dreaded spot at the back of the marching order. Should you find yourself in a public area, you become just as much of an obnoxious git as a follower of Groetus, except this time you’re personally spitting on their beliefs... However, if you wish to be significantly more tolerated by society, you should do as Zyphus encourages his followers to do and disguise yourself as a Pharasmin or the faithful of another god of order and afterlives and very carefully disguise your blasphemy as “misguided” teachings. At worst, you can feign ignorance and/or explain that you’re new to the faith and had no idea that what you’re saying is wrong. You can even blame other Zyphans for muddying your understanding of the truth, an act I’m sure the Harvestman finds extra ironic!

Telling someone that their practices don’t matter because Pharasma has already decided your fate is the easiest way to go, and the best part is it’s not even inaccurate! NPCs don’t have the spiritual freedom PCs do, so their path is already nearly impossible to change! Get pranked, idiots! Masquerading as one of Pharasma’s flock comes in especially handy when performing the first and ‘easiest’ ritual, as well, because tending to graves is something the Lady of Graves wants people to do in the first place. Make sure to be careful with how you word your vocal casting away of the god’s will, however, or you may arouse more suspicion than you soothe.

The benefit is subpar. Crafting traps is alright, but you’ve likely got better things to use your gold on--wait, there’s no restriction on the CR of traps you can craft, so long as you can beat the DC and have the gold? Well. Go crazy, go stupid, I guess! Here’s a list of everything you can make! The most cost-efficient and useful, however, is the CR 1 bear trap, which--make no mistake--will absolutely shred lower level encounters, but will lose a lot of its spark later on. At least it costs basically nothing to make! Traps are usually the domain of the DMs, but if you need to hold an area? They can come in very, very handy. Otherwise, you’re just leaving them behind you on lonely roads in the hopes some fool will step on them.

Disable Device is normally the way you want to go, shutting off traps that could be a potentially lethal danger for most of the party at most levels. And, of course, rearming them so some fool behind you can stumble into them later. Even if your adventure doesn’t contain many traps, you should never underestimate the strength there is in doing something as simple as popping a lock.

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 5; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. As Zyphus is a true deity and does not require Fiendish Obedience, you earn the right to enter the classes earlier than those who serve fiends!

-------- EVANGELIST --------

Boon 1: Champion of Cruel Chance. Gain Deathwatch 3/day, False Life 2/day, or Healing Thief 1/day.

Decent all around! And by “decent” I mean “they have niche uses, but shine in those uses.” Healing Thief is the most interesting one, establishing a link between you and a creature you touch that causes the victim to heal only half as much from magical or supernatural means, with you gaining the other half. Creatures who gain Fast Healing or Regeneration through supernatural circumstances can become a boon to you, while enemies relying on Channeled positive energy or in-combat healing will find themselves struggling. The best part is that it doesn’t even offer a saving throw!

Of course, it’s still a touch attack, and you have to remain within an extremely tight radius around the enemy (25ft + 5ft/level) to maintain the siphon. This is a little riskier than I’d like, not to mention it’s completely useless if your foe doesn’t use any in-combat healing. Also, at only 1/day, I’d probably settle for the significantly more boring False Life for a nice 1d10+8 (up to +10) temp HP that lasts for a million years. It’s not much, but you can use it twice and it might stop some scratch damage, and every point between you and 0 HP is nice.

Deathwatch lets you instantly know if you’re looking at an Undead or disguised Construct, which is its primary function in my book. With a duration of 10 min/level, it’s likely to last for entire dungeon floors and makes you an expert at calling out foes who’re on their last legs but otherwise looking healthy. It’s a decent spell if you’re unsure of what you’re going up against or want to be the pointman for your team, but otherwise False Life is the typical go-to.

Boon 2: Resiliency. 1/day, you can gain a number of temporary hit points equal to your Hit Dice, lasting for 1 minute. Activating this ability is an immediate action that can be performed only when you would be brought below 0 hit points, and can be used to prevent you from dying. If you have the Resiliency ability from another source, you can activate these abilities separately or as part of the same immediate action.

As far as I can tell, there is exactly one source for the Resiliency ability as it’s written here, and that’s a single Rogue Talent. It’s... eeeeeegh, not so good. It lets you stall death’s timer for a single minute, usually long enough to end the battle (or be ended) and get some real healing. It will likely save your life at least once in a campaign, but the goal here is to avoid being brought to 0 in the first place! Especially since this will, if obtained ASAP, only shield you for 11 HP, which is one--maybe two--attacks from a creature with a similar CR and basically nothing against spells being flung around at that level. This Boon is actually worse in many ways than just giving +1 HP per HD you have, especially since you technically already have access to the same amount of temp HP in False Life.

I suppose the most amusing use of this power is to fake being down and out until your foe turns away, but that carries risks of its own. If you’re brought to -20 or something and the temp HP only takes you to -5, you’re still knocked out but at least have some mercy time before you start dying for real. I’d advocate for combining this with Diehard if you want to get the most out of it, because otherwise this is an extremely subpar “Life Insurance” Boon that will really only impress the group maybe once or twice in a campaign and be boring or underwhelming in all other moments.

I’d want it to be at least 2 or even 3/day.

Boon 3: Tragic Minion. By spending 1 minute praying over the corpse of a Humanoid opponent or a Humanoid who has died a tragic death, you can summon an Allip to serve you. Unlike a normal Allip, this Allip is of an alignment that matches yours, and has a number of hit points equal to half your total. It receives a +4 bonus on Will saves to halve the damage from channeled positive energy, and it can’t be turned or commanded. This Allip serves as a companion to you and can communicate intelligibly with you despite its madness. You can dismiss it as a standard action. If the Allip is destroyed or dismissed, you can’t summon another for 7 days. This ability allows you to have only one Allip companion at a time.

Oh, that’s cute! You get a little insane friend! Unfortunately, as you can see here, it’s about 10 levels too late to actually be useful. At the level you can finally summon one, your Allips are extremely fragile, as even with their boosted HP they’re still only protected by an AC of 14 and no outstanding resistances aside from their incorporeality. Enemies with magic weapons are almost a certainty by level 14, and even enemies without magic weapons will rarely ever fail their save against the Allip’s Touch of Madness, whose save DC doesn’t scale past 15. You’d be relying wholly on it scoring critical hits, which make the Wisdom damage and drain irresistible, but that’s obviously not viable.

Really, all parts of Tragic Minion are ironically accurate. The Allip can’t even really serve as a scout, because they constantly Babble to themselves in a way that hypnotizes everyone within 60ft of them. Even with their +8 Stealth, a bunch of mooks suddenly stopping and standing still will alert enemies who can succeed the DC 15 Will save that something strange is going on. Adding in that Allips have no ability to hide or disguise themselves, just walking around with one is enough to turn heads. And don’t even think about just dismissing it and summoning another one, or using it in combat with any level-appropriate foe, or this is a blank Boon for an entire week!

Seriously, the 7 day ban on summoning another one is a serious kick in the teeth when the “only one at a time” limit was restrictive enough. You’d think Zyphus would be happy to grant his most powerful Evangelists more than one CR 3 minion at a time, but no! If you lose this extremely fragile minion, no more for 7 days! That’ll teach you to take good care of your toys! And that’s more or less the Allip is; a toy. An accessory.

-------- EXALTED --------

Boon 1: Catalyst of Destruction. Gain Break 3/day, Find Traps 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Well I certainly hope there’s traps, given who you’re working for! But it’s good to have insurance that they’re not aimed at you. Find Traps lasts a decent time (1 min/level) and grants a monstrous Perception bonus to spotting them, automatically triggering a Perception check if you draw too close to a trap as well which--depending on how you interpret the spell--alerts you to the fact one is nearby even if you don’t see it. Then you can use Zyphus’ granted +4 to Disable Device to knock it out!

Break can have its uses, shattering enemy equipment even as they wield it. Just remember that targeting an attended object allows the wielder to make a saving throw in its place, while an unattended object gets no saving throw (provided it’s nonmagical). And since Break targets Fortitude, it’s not likely to affect the targets you’d really need it to (Fighters in heavy armor and Barbarians with big weapons), but if your teammates can knock their weapons from their hands, they’re free game. However, the use of Break in combat doesn’t nearly compare to what it can do out of combat; weakening doorways, crumbling containers, sabotaging enemy equipment they’d otherwise grab later, and cracking open items made of skymetal. Note that a second casting of Break outright destroys an item that’s already broken, and you have three each day! Personally, I’d save it for the times you need to sabotage something or bypass a small obstacle, rather than risk a high-Fort-save enemy succeeding in combat and wasting your turn.

And I’ve spoken about Spiked Pit before, here and here, but to reiterate: it’s a pseudo Save-or-Suck that seriously waste the time of anything without a decent Strength score or some Climb skill as they crawl back out of the pit, while you and your allies either deal with other foes, or rain destruction down on them from above. Even if the victim makes their initial save, the pit doesn’t go anywhere, letting you push your targets in one at a time if need be. Since it’s literally just a huge hole in the ground, you can even hurl multiple enemies inside! AND it’s filled with damaging spikes! The spikes don’t do much, but every little bit helps.

Boon 2: Ever Vigilant. You are protected by a constant Death Ward, The immunity to energy drain ends after the effect has prevented a number of negative levels equal to your Hit Dice*, which resets when you next perform your Obedience. In addition, you gain a +2 profane bonus on saving throws against effects that occur before your first turn in combat.

*it says “Exalted level” but that would mean that this could have zero effect if you don’t class into it, so it’s been changed to prevent it from being a dead Boon.

Huh, this is pretty g--wait. Hold on, let me read this a little closer

“The subject gains a +4 morale bonus on saves against all death spells and magical death effects. The subject is granted a save to negate such effects even if one is not normally allowed. The subject is immune to energy drain and any negative energy effects, including channeled negative energy.“

and what did Ever Vigilant say? “The immunity to energy drain ends--”? But that implies that the rest of Death Ward stays up, right? ... right :)

A lot of Boons grant you an everlasting spell effect for your trouble, but none of them are quite as potent as this one. Death Ward UTTERLY stops negative energy effects, crushing the entire school of Necromancy underfoot, crippling the offensive power of most forms of Undead, and ironically making the devotees of the God of Tragic Death some of the hardest sons of guns to actually tragically kill. Even if an incoming death effect offered no save (such as Power Word Kill), Death Ward forces one, and because you’re Ever Vigilant you don’t even have to know you’re going to face one to begin with!

Also, a universal +2 bonus to saves when out of combat, and for the first round in combat! A nice and cute addition, making it slightly harder for enemy casters or monsters relying on their powers to get the jump on you. Ever Vigilant makes you one of the best Undead hunters out there... Which is why it’s--ironically--tragic that Zyphus, an Evil god, gives it out. In an Evil vs Good campaign, you’re not likely to actually be combating enemies who use negative energy, death effects, or anything else Death Ward protects against. The real sauce in this ability comes from an Evil vs Evil campaign, or a campaign in which you’re pretending to be Good, or at least Neutral! Just... make sure it ends before level 14, because...

Boon 3: Visitor From Abaddon. 1/day as a standard action, you can summon a pair of Greater Ceustodaemons as if with Summon Monster II, and gain telepathy with them to a range of 100 feet. The Ceustodaemons follow your commands perfectly for 1 round per Hit Die you possess before vanishing back to their home on Abaddon. The Ceustodaemons don’t follow commands that would cause them to perform overly good acts or save mortal lives other than your own, and they immediately vanish if your orders contradict these restrictions.

...it’s going to be very difficult why a Pharasmin can summon two daemonic gorilla-men who breathe electricity. Ceustodaemons are bred to be the dumb muscle of Abaddon, but they’re still capable warriors in their own right with decently damaging claws (2d6+6) and a bite (1d6+6) and the ability to exhale 6d6 points worth of Electricity damage in a 30ft cone. There’s also their spell-likes, an at-will Dimension Door letting them infiltrate and scout for you, a 3/day Fly to make your party a nightmare to fight, and a 3/day Dispel Magic to crack enemy magic open.

However, they’re only CR 7, unlikely to stand up on their own against level-appropriate threats. So, the key here? Don’t use them against level-appropriate threats, as is normal with summons dramatically weaker than you are. They’re terrors that shine brightest against enemies hovering around the CR 10 or so range, their resilience and immunity against--and I’m not exaggerating--nearly every status effect in the game except petrification and their DR 10/Good or Silver letting them slug it out with mid-level foes and rip apart nearly anything else lower than that.

There’s also the fact that they can be summoned as a standard action with a range of Close, letting you teleport your gorilla fiends right at the enemy’s vulnerable backline or in front of their melee bruisers to tie them up while the rest of your team flanks. The standard action summoning is the biggest treat here, because being able to have two more beefy bodies available immediately shifts any battle in your favor... But know that if your campaign keeps going past level 14, your gorilla men are going to have a harder and harder time standing up to level-appropriate enemies, and it’ll eventually cause them to be summoned to fight against minibosses only or--eugh--being sent on scouting missions. They’re good at them, mind, but you know how it is.

At their absolute worst, though, they’re still six castings of both Fly and Dispel Magic. There’s worse things out there.

-------- SENTINEL --------

Boon 1: Walking Disaster. Gain Bungle 3/day, Spontaneous Immolation2/day, or Deadly Juggernaut 1/day.

Bungle is a fun spell, slapping a target with an insurmountable -20 penalty to their next attack roll or check requiring a d20 roll, but since the spell is only level 1 and takes your concentration to maintain, it’s not likely going to stick. Granted, it lingers for 2 rounds after you stop concentrating so you can focus elsewhere, so there’s certainly worse spells to use... but it only affects one attack roll or check at a level where most enemies have two or even three attacks, making it significantly less useful than it looks. It’s best if you use it out of combat to scramble a skill check a foe is trying to use, but it’s negated by a Will save entirely so it loses a lot of potential oomph. And I just read the spell even closer and it says it only works on Humanoid targets, so it’s even worse than I previously thought!

Spontaneous Immolation is infinitely funnier to use, anyway. Why make someone flub a speech or fail an Escape Artist check when you could have them suddenly burst into flames from within? With no component requirements, Spontaneous Immolation is TRULY spontaneous, the victim exploding into fire without having an idea of the source. You could potentially make people believe it’s the wrath of your god, the power of some curse you possess, or even the wrath of their god if you can spin it well enough. The damage is middling--3d6--and is halved on a successful save, but it’s got a range of Medium and sets its victim alight if they fail their save so you can create a single spark in a crowd that becomes a roaring inferno as the panicking victim grabs onto whatever they can to try and put themselves out.

As God of Sudden Death, it’s a perfect spell for both in and out of combat, slaying random citizens in bursts of horror and pain they’d have no chance to realize is coming, I’m sure Zyphus approves of using it to malice citizens just as much as he enjoys watching his faith’s foes burst into flames. This leaves Deadly Juggernaut, a spell that a martial character such as yourself would normally LOVE getting... if it weren’t for the final clause stating that the effect doesn’t trigger unless you slay a foe within 4 HD of yourself. While that prevents the effect from being exploited with a Sack Of Rats, it also makes it far less likely to activate if you’re fighting swarms of lower-level enemies. It DOES mean that battling creatures of roughly equal strength to your party has some pretty high snowball potential, but since you, personally, have to reduce the target to 0 HP, unless you’re the party’s DPS you may just end up missing out on most of the spell.

I’d personally just tuck Makes You Explode under your belt each day. If nothing else, it’s a funny prank to pull on the locals.

Boon 2: Tragic Accident. 1/day as part of a successful attack, you can target your opponent with either Inflict Critical Wounds or Poison as a free action. The DC for this ability is (10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha mod). You don’t have to declare the use of this ability until you know the attack is successful.

More than almost any other god I think I’ve encountered, Zyphus encourages lying, subterfuge, and you looking as harmless as possible. Even the ostensible God of Secrets and Murder, Norbergorberburgerhurger, inspires less subtlety in me than Zyphus, because his domain is specifically accidental deaths. You gotta make your kills look like mistakes no one could have seen coming, which makes Tragic Accident yet another tool in inspiring fear and terror than actually being useful in a fight.

Give someone a playful slug on the shoulder and scream as they fall over, dead. Deck some guy who’s hitting on you in a bar in the chest and feign horror as he suffers an apparently fatal heart attack as Poison rips through his body. Hit someone with a blowdart or even just hurl a pebble at someone and strike them down with nearly no trace, since this ability can work with ranged attacks as well. Coming up with subtle ways to use this power out of combat is significantly more fun than thinking of ways to use it in battle, because as a 1/day negated (or halved, in Critical Wounds’ case) by a save is just asking to be disappointed.

Especially in the case of Poison, because if you want someone dead in combat, hitting them usually works better than slowly, slowly, slowly hoping and praying that their Con hits 0. Inflict Critical Wounds is a little more useful if you’re using it to speed up an opponent’s death in combat, dealing 4d8+11 (+1 per level) damage... or healing an Undead ally. Yes, you have to hit with an attack, but as I’ve already stated above, the attack doesn’t have to deal much--or ANY--real damage to trigger a Tragic Accident. I do appreciate that Zyphus assures your attack connects before you trigger this ability, a lot of other Boons are not so gracious. Like...

Boon 3: Unfairness of the World. 1/day, you may fill an attack with negative energy. You must declare your use of this ability before you roll the attack roll; on a hit, the target gains a number of negative levels equal to 3 + 1/2 your Hit Dice unless it succeeds at a Fortitude saving throw (the DC for this ability is the same as Tragic Accident’s DC). If you openly wear an unholy symbol of Zyphus, the saving throw DC to resist this effect increases by 2.

... This one!

Hah. Well. Whatever you hit with this is dead. Like, straight up dead. The name of this Boon is as accurate as can be. There is NO recovering from being slapped with ten negative levels (+1 for every 2 levels you have!), because even if your victim survives the initial onslaught of energy, that’s a -10 to every single roll they make and the loss of some or even all of their high-level spells and most potent abilities. This isn’t so much a Save-or-Suck as it is the mother of all signals for your entire party to unload every SoS they have on their person upon your victim.

IF it lands.

Because not only do you have to succeed an attack roll to use this ability or have it dissolve into the aether, but they also have to fail a Fortitude save. That’s two possible points of failure for this ability which seriously reins in its potential, but with just a LITTLE bit of setup you can cut your unfortunate victim in half. It’s definitely both a possible end to a fight AND something you can smite a random citizen with by using the same “things that count as an attack roll” exploits I listed Tragic Accident. By the time you get this power, you can also shamelessly reveal your faith in the Harvestman to make the DC 2 higher, but you may want to keep that to yourself if you’re still masquerading as something else, breaking it out only for boss fights.

Most gods in Inner Sea Faiths leave a lot to be desired, so it’s nice to see a god give so generously! It’s just too bad it has to be the God of Pettiness and Inconvenience.

You can read more about him here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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worstloki · 4 years ago

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What if Loki made scented candles, but like candles with oddly specific scents? I’m not entirely sure where this thought came from but I wanted to share it with you because I figure you’d appreciate it

Because I wanted to, I decided to write on this. You’re welcome.

---

While readying for his attack on New York - a location he had picked due to a very specific landmark that he believed ought to attract the heroes’ attention sooner rather than later- Loki finds himself with a rather large block of free time.

Leaving the SHIELD base with Clint and Selvig had, predictably, but also to his immense disappointment, proven to be an ingeniously efficient way to gain the required research and to amass enough villainous hands to actualise the equipment to open a portal; members of the spying business such as Barton do tend to have useful knowledge on a wonderfully large amount of people, especially of the opposing side, after all.

Having been touched by the mind stone, Selvig carries out the scientific theory aspects of the wormhole generator without assistance. Hawkeye’s ability to successfully market a sales pitch that should not be appealing in the least (re: “trying to help an alien prince conquer the world, you interested?”, “I’ll owe you one if you can find the time to help build a portal machine to space” and “there’s free food in it for you if you join with no questions asked”) has resulted in enough people contributing to get the work done.

From there everyone began to organise themselves, and Loki had been thoroughly left with nothing to do. Nothing world-saving (or, as everyone else will insist, ‘world-dominating’) at least.

As is often with Loki, his best ideas occur when he is completely and utterly bored. And right then, sitting in the dark sipping on hot chocolate (yes, he had invested in a drink machine. He has employees and just because he may be perceived as such, he is not actually a monster. Not enough to say no to coffee for Barton.) he looked out at the assortment of people scurrying about to get work done, and he realised he was bored. It was nice of Clint to offer him the sweet drink, but he could not spend the next few days occupying himself with cocoa beverages.

Loki knew his physical capabilities were a bit tenuous at the moment and it would be unwise to take part in any activities that would take up too much energy, but sitting on a step in the dark watching his workers buzz about, helping simply because they could, Loki decided they should be rewarded with a token gift at the very least.

Sitting on a step in the dark Loki decided; using the smell of the sickeningly sweet drink to ground him to the present, using the heat of the mug in his palms to warm his hands, tracing the pattern on the painted ceramic to hide the slight tremors in his fingers that hadn’t seemed to be lessening despite having left the company of his extremely kind patrons a full day ago, with the taste of the flavoured milk on his tongue, Loki decided he would gift them each with something of equal value. Something that would calm their anxieties and ground them, give them warmth, and if he could figure out how, he would even get the candles to induce taste.

After a full five minutes combining a creation spell meant for refilling candelabras with one meant to draw on memories to scent the air Loki is able to create the first candle.

It is, in appearance, a regular wax candle; not unlike one expected to be found in a normal Midgardian store. After some thought he adds a casing made of green and black stained glass and places a gold bordered sticker reading “loki”.

When lit Loki knows the candle will not only warm the vicinity more than a single flickering flame ought to, but will also smell of and provide the comfort he felt as he drank the chocolatey beverage, to whomever lights the candle, for as long as the flame burns. The candle will also last a tad bit longer than regular candles and Loki sincerely hopes no one will notice something like that.

Such simple spells of creation should not require much time or effort to make on his part and the candles will provide the perfect personalised gift to thank the people working under him who for whatever reasons seem disinclined to accept monetary payment. It is, in his opinion, the ideal gift as it can be used for decorative or pragmatic purposes and can be theoretically placed anywhere and still induce the calming effect the scent will have.

He begins drafting ideas for memories he believes would be suited for each worker on a notepad he’d purchased on his way from escaping the SHIELD base.

His task force is not too large but considering moments which he would wish to share into each candle, moments which they would enjoy as much as himself, requires some thought. Despite the amount of thought he is putting into what smell different people would find comforting he assures himself that he is gifting these candles out of a sense of duty as it would be dishonourable not to pay the people who are genuinely helping him… for the sake of helping him. They are, after all, his workers, and only a portion of them even required the sceptre. Servitude should be rewarded, even if they refuse to be paid in cash or gold.

Despite not harbouring any care (not even a drop of care, honestly speaking) for the humans around him he spends most of the afternoon brainstorming smells and matching his people to experiences he thinks they would like.

---

After a quick walk around to gauge the rate at which progress is being made, he takes a seat on the side of the room and starts coaxing the first candle into existence. He is annoyed when he feels The Other pulling his attention, but projects himself away anyways as it would be quite rude to ignore. (And is quite mentally agitating to ignore.)

“The Chitauri grow restless.” The Other states.

Not even a hello? Loki thinks bitterly before replying: “Let them go at themselves - I will lead them into glorious battle.”

“Battle?” The Other all but spits, “Against the meagre might of Earth?”

“Glorious, not lengthy”, Loki assures him, wondering if The Other realises he is insulting the very reward Loki had agreed to (bargained for), before deciding that No, The Other wouldn’t recognise an insult if it slapped him across the astral plane. To prove his own point he continues, “…if your force is as formidable as you claim”.

“You question us? You question HIM? He, who put the sceptre in your hand, who gave you ancient knowledge and new purpose when you were cast out, defeated?”

Not at all, Loki thinks, in fact, I did not utter a single question.

Just to see how off-topic he could veer their conversation this time, he decides to reply with the first petty thought that comes to mind.

“I was a king! The rightful king of Asgard! Betrayed!” he yells, as he instead concentrates on the feeling of his feet sinking into white sand and the sharp smells of the salty expanses of water that appear in southern Alfheim during the rainier seasons.

He already decided he is got everything he was going to get out of this conversation, and so he continues creating the candle on Earth, paying only enough mind to keep the conversation going.

“Your ambition is little, born of childish need.” The Other reprimands, “We look beyond the Earth to greater worlds the Tesseract will unveil.”.

“You don't even have the Tesseract yet.” Loki points out, pointedly.

The issue with dividing your conscience is that sometimes you forget the brain to mouth filter needs to be left on.

When The Other moves as if to attack him for his insolence he makes sure to console the six-handed-one’s ego enough to not get him to dig into his brain and cause him pain with his mental capabilities. Limited though The Other’s mind-bending powers are, he would not allow himself to stop it because his flimsy cover of being on the dark side would be blown.

It would also be inconvenient for The Other to realise he was thinking of sandy beaches and only had 34% of himself paying attention to him while the other 66% was thinking about Alf beaches in the monsoon.

The rest of the conversation with The Other was unimportant, and as usual he was dismissed with a sharp pain in his head.

It did not matter. When he returned his full consciousness to himself, he grimaced for only a second before looking down at the unassuming candle laid before him. Its casing was of purple and black stained glass and there was a white label with fancy gold outline and the word “Barton” in black calligraphy.

---

By the time it was morning Loki had finished distributing the candles. He’d made 143 of them; one for everyone in his service, and 2 extras for the men that had broken down into tears and dropped their candles the first time around.

Apparently, though these people had joined him of their own volition, they were still people. Most of them had been driven to a negative lifestyle by their living conditions and society’s discrimination which apparently had no system in place to give hospitality to all who came under their governance and needed assistance.

He found himself wondering if he actually should try to take over this world; the planet is clearly in need of a central governing system to prevent all their internal spats. The fact that they could discriminate within their own species to such extents was shocking, even to Loki: even indecisive enough to contemplate what to wear weeks in advance as he tended to do, it had only taken him going through a few academic papers to come to the opinion of humans as monstrous. Not all of them, of course - only a select few were truly abhorrent, and yet what a select few they were.

No, he thought, even I would not be able to fix this mess without blood, sweat, and tears. Not that he cared for Earth or anyone else in the realm.

---

He lasted as long it took for Clint to say he had a plan before he succumbed and made everyone a spare candle. Just in case.

He would not want Hawkeye to miss the salty tang of air that would soothe his nerves and remind him of the softer sounds in the world when his hearing aids or childhood memories suddenly cropped up to trouble him. He would not want Samson to miss out on the sensation of Asgard’s warm sunlight brushing his skin on a day when his terminal illness sent his chill bone deep. He wouldn’t want to deprive Demerton the smell of grass and the feeling of happiness Loki had felt when he tried to throw a knife onto the target and for the first time it actually landed – not that Demerton needed to know the unimportant details about the self-esteem boost –with his image issues the feeling would be something he needed.

Loki would not want his gifts to go unused simply because one of the foolish mortals managed to break their candle before they got the chance to light it.

“Tell me what you need,” Loki had answered Barton.

As they worked through the plan together, Loki tried not to think about what good gifts he had come up with, and how generous he was to be bestowing not just one, but two of the candles onto each member of his misfit group of helpers. Not altruistically of course: he hoped his workers would gain him the favour of earth through the candles. Somehow.

---

Twenty minutes into being in a glass cage had Loki deciding that it would be wrong of him to simply abandon all who were helping him, especially since he was planning on being defeated. This was fine for himself since he had made the decision to take a role as a villain, but them? Not even one of them had been given a choice when the universe forced them out of their homes or jobs or family. With nothing else to turn to except a life of crime or death, of course they had decided to live. As someone who had once chosen the latter option, he could not simply abandon them.

He sent most of his consciousness to a building across from Stark’s with 72 floors. It was not as tall as Tony’s, but it did not need to be. While monitoring Earth in his preparations for coming to ‘take over’ the realm, he had taken the building for loan when it had been on sale around a year ago.

It had cost a hefty price since it was across The Stark Tower™ and had been built over land that had previously held a building that looked near as old as Odin, but the price was nothing to him. Not after he bought it with Stark’s money (and the billionaire fool had not even noticed since it did not dent his net-worth, not that he was complaining… Stark’s credit cards were useful).

For now, he sat in a glass cage clearly not built for him (they could never have predicted someone as glamourous as himself showing up in time to have built this). But he also stood in an apartment building kilometres away from the Helicarrier.

He walked around using powered gestures to renovate the building. He would leave behind enough for his group to have the choice between villainy and an honest living.

The hours passed and the Loki in the skyscraper (an adequate name for such buildings) had put together the most therapeutic and entertaining of centres; it had candles and spas and facilities for every relaxation method imaginable but combined the space with recreation for all ages with indoor water rides and arcades and laser tag.

The hours passed and the Loki in the glass cage hadn’t required any of his attention at all; he may have spoken to the Black Widow but with 12% of his consciousness holding the conversation he could not be sure his guise of genocidal maniac had held up – he honestly would’ve liked to meet her under different circumstances, but hoped she hadn’t been able to tell he wasn’t completely present when talking with him.

---

After a nice chat where he blatantly revealed to Stark that his plan had been to lose this entire time, Loki attacked New York. The battle, as he had promised The Other, had indeed been glorious and not lengthy, although anyone actually siding with the villains would disagree. Luckily, Loki was not actually siding with the villains and had no qualms about being smug in his victory (no matter what others thought this was).

Before he left the realm in chains, he had been sure to announce to his batch of subjects that each of them had a job available with Ikol Industries anytime. (Barton, Selvig, and the few others which had the mind stone’s influence upon them had of course been excluded from this job offer.).

Most of the people under him had accepted the deal happily. A lot had teared up about it. Some cried shamelessly. Even less had declined, but Loki had not wanted those spies to stick around anyways.

Loki may have ended up fighting the Avengers with a depleted amount of magic, but that did not matter. He had lost. Everything had gone according to plan.

He may have even left some unassuming therapy candles for each of the Avengers to indulge in, courtesy of Ikol Industries. Each in a glass cover with their colours with names in gold over a white label, it was not difficult to imagine the Avengers becoming regular customers and nicely asking if they had more of ‘their’ candles from those that had assisted him in his faux attack. They wouldn’t even be wrong in assuming the candles were theirs. Loki had themed a floor of relax and rec after each of the avengers and the scents they enjoyed were indeed always magically in stock.

As a keeper of secrets it was incredibly easy for him to inexplicably know what scent and sensations would calm their mind if they were ever in need; especially Banner, who would indeed find his special green candle strong enough to silence the Hulk within him. Tony would not find himself waking in the night in distress if he had a candle by his bedside. Steve would find the dull ache in his chest reduced even when he thought of the life he had left behind when he dove into the ice. Natasha would accept her past actions without any inflation of guilt if she lit the candle during her morning stretches. Clint would always know it was not his fault as the salty tang reinvigorated his senses and reminded him that he could not be blamed for a past he could not control and the lives he could not save. Thor’s candle had a green flame and smelt of his rooms on Asgard.

Perhaps their super-secret boy band would question the individualisation of the candles. Perhaps they would notice the candles lasting a tad bit longer than regular candles. Perhaps Stark being unable to read anything on the composition of the candles would be suspicious. Perhaps they would joke about Ikol Industries being ‘Loki’ Industries and would joke about the ridiculously badly thought-out palindrome and the magical voodoo of the candles which had no apparent source location but were never out of stock. Perhaps they would recognise the workers as previous criminals. Perhaps they would realise the decisions that led them to that life had been circumstantial. Perhaps they would follow their suspicions up and Loki would be unable to answer: either locked away in a cell or dead.

But for all the trouble Loki had caused and for those he had brought suffering upon - even if his intentions had been good - his calmest and happiest memories were the least he could leave behind this world to assist in their recovery.

#worstloki writes #I wrote a little bonus scene at the end which I'll add in later #I reckon if i reblog it twice more people will get to witness the beauty that is my writing #that being said... anyone can use this to expand upon #@kittensrcute4231 I appreciate the idea quite a bit #of course loki would be all about specific scented candles #he's 70% dark academia and that means dramatic flickering candles and ink splotches

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tanoraqui · 4 years ago

Note

I am a huge sucker for one character being chill about a situation while everyone else is freaking out, so if you’re up to it would you tell us about This Is Normal?

@tolrais asked: Sizhui genii locorum!

okay so i must disappoint bc that wasn’t actually a jesting “This Is Normal” - let’s talk genii locorum, known more commonly in the singular: genius loci, the “intellects of [the] place”. In this case: what if it was perfectly common that if cultivation was practiced in roughly the same way in roughly the exact same place, by roughly the same bloodline, for long enough, power built up in the land itself? Power and something resembling thought, in the slow way of geography? (That’s why it tends to attach to a bloodline - individual humans, even cultivators, disappear so fast on a geological scale.)

Say that each generation, the land picks a favorite to bestow its power to - one person, one generation, at a time, only. Others of the blood may access it, but to a far lesser degree. Petty effects. More if the land is partial to them. The true wielder of the land is, of course, traditionally the sect leader - and if they’re not at first, they’re probably gonna be appointed as such.

Say the powers are elemental, roughly, Say their personalities are shaped by the land itself - lakes or mountains, hills or plains - and the continuous philosophy of those who cultivate (upon) them. They choose their favorites based on who most matches what they are, and the strongest sect leaders are those with the greatest affinity for their land.

Or, lemme put it like this:

Lan Wangji was always GusuLan’s favorite, unwavering and fastidious, aloof and righteous and eternal as the cool mountain peaks. Its cool shrouded him; its ice turned Bichen’s edge even sharper. Even though he was far away in a land of fire, it flowed to him like a high-speed glacier when his father died - and he, panicking and desperate, denied it.

It wasn’t the refusal that turned it away - though it’s true, one must actively accept a land’s power; it cannot be forced upon a person. But usually, in such a dispute, the wouldn’t-be recipient dies - in a fight between one human and an entire countryside over that human’s soul, it is acceptance or destruction. Instead, it was...well, the fact of refusal. The fact that he broke, that his gut instinct - resolute as ever - was the shirking of responsibility. That, GusuLan could not tolerate. It didn’t press the issue to destruction, because Lan Wangji wasn’t its chosen after all.

There was nothing, to be clear, wrong with Lan Xichen. He was a little warmer, but still beautiful and distant. He would bend, but his core was upright and unfaltering. He followed the rules to the letter. He was even closer, physically - and in that little cabin in which he was sleeping, hidden, he woke sharply from a restless sleep as the air around him turned to welcome ice.

Or like this:

Jiang Cheng was never YunmengJiang’s first choice. He wasn’t even its second choice. The lakes of YunmengJiang - bright and warm with sunlight, loud with the chatter of market crowds, sweet and beautiful with lotus seeds and petals, all over drowning-dark depths...how could they not fall in love with the boy their Jiang Fengmian bought home? How could the water not leap to follow his every gesture, whenever he went out upon it?

(Except that when he first felt it pressing at him with not just curiosity but love, he thought of Madam Yu’s clenched fist and Jiang Cheng’s yearning gaze, and he shoved it away as hard and fast as he could.)

Failing that, how could they not adore their eldest daughter, sweet and kind and welcoming to all, and protective enough to wield words like deadly blades? Once the land is cultivated to its own sentience, it doesn’t need to be a cultivator who bears its power...

(Except it does still need to be someone whose heart the doctors don’t worry over every time she does something more spiritually strenuous than meditate. And she cannot stay, she’ll explain one day, weeping, on a boat she’s rowed out to the middle of the lake herself. If it was just a matter of love - but they also need the alliance, or Lotus Pier, Yunmeng, YunmengJiang itself might be lost - )

So. Jiang Cheng wears all his deadliness on the surface and all his joy and welcome deep beneath, and YunmengJiang is the opposite. But at least he stays. Land moves on a geological time, and YunmengJiang more than most loves all its people, not just a select family. It can leap readily to the will of someone who stays and looks after them.

Or:

Agreement was universal that Nie Mingjue was a perfect bearer of QingheNie, mighty and stern and stubborn as the mountain granite. As tall, too, some would joke. It’s traditional for a Sect Leader to wear at all times a symbol of their land’s blessing - Lan Xichen’s headdresses always sparkle with a thin coating of ice; a lightly jeweled hip flask has been passed from Jiang to Jiang in which to hold lakewater. Upon taking title and land from his father, Nie Mingjue wears a circlet of rock on his brow, hard stone crafted with his own hands as though molding clay.

Agreement was equally universal that Nie Huaisang was possibly the worst bearer of QingheNie in the clan’s entire history. Flighty where he should be staunch and stern, barely able (much less willing) to lift a blade, as flappable as one of his fans...as Sect Leader, he set a chunk of granite into the base of each one of those silly fans, but it was a public secret that the stone had been carved and smoothed by a stoneworker, not the Headshaker.

The mountains of Qinghe shook with grief on the day Nie Mingjue died, as they had for his father; grief and rage. The Unclean Realm itself shifted and nearly collapsed in several places - some of its famous defensibility came from being set into the mountainside itself, the back halls giving way to twisting tunnels running through the rock. Can you imagine how long one fighter with a saber can hold a single slim tunnel? Hidden ways, their secrets known only to the inhabitants; the deeper an enemy goes, the less likely they are to come out...

A single chip of granite launched across the room with fury can drive through a man’s eye and into his brain, killing him instantly, even with a fan trailing behind. Fortunately, it never needed to come to anything that gauche.

(It would have preferred Nie Mingjue, it really would, but even more than GusuLan, the last thing QingheNie has ever done is falter.)

So...

If the Burial Mounds had once been cultivated to a benevolent sentience and their power then corrupted, it’s been forgotten. But resentful and spiritual energy are two sides of the same coin, and the Burial Mounds yearn for company, for lives to call their own, just like any other land...but what sort of person has enough rage, vengeance, heartache, and loss to match them? Who could have enough strength of spirit to bear the touch of a land whose elemental power is death itself?

Trick question, we all know the answer to that.

Good thing we got him, too, because defeating Wen Ruohan at the heart of the volcano he commands is a bitch and a half. (He wears a jagged crown of obsidian glass and Nie Mingjue will walk away with a burn on his face from the man’s touch.)

LanlingJin’s power is invested in light. Their Sect Leaders - or in Jin Ling’s case, Sect Heirs - carry a lantern at one hip, representative more than anything (one cannot cage light.) Or, you know, they just lowkey glow all the time - but that’s not convenient on a night hunt; you need something coverable. Jin Ling would have inherited it from his father, but instead it came directly from - you know, I so, so want to say his grandmother? But I don’t think Meng Yao, Jin Guangyao, would turn out quite the same were Jin Guangshan not exactly as Sect Leader as he in canon, and I’m loath to say Jin Sect is, like, particularly sexist or something to let both be true. So, grandfather it is, unfortunately.

Jin Guangyao is jealous, but Jin Guangyao has too many secrets for bright LanlingJin. Maybe it would twist to suit him, with another couple generations dark and poisoned beneath the pretty lights, but not yet. Not even with how easily it’s gift can flow into illusions. Fortunately, LanlingJin is also the most gentle of the Great Sect Lands - perhaps weak, with how its family has been failing it, recently, in their stated intent. So Jin Ling can withstand its sudden flood even at the ripe age of two and a half.

It makes up for a little, for Jin Ling to have no memory of a time when he didn’t have the fierce, warm, bright affection of a coastal tower, busy city, and sun-drenched skies curled possessively around his soul. YunmengJiang bristles at the intrusion and mourns another loss (oh, YunmengJiang...at least it’s in accord with Jiang Cheng); and LanlingJin doesn’t like that its favorite so often strays so far. But family is important, both lands can reluctantly agree (in the manner of circling tigers, wary and territorial, thoughts not quite human.) They both want him loved.

...oh yeah, I was supposed to talk about Lan Sizhui, wasn’t I.

GusuLan would love that boy. It does love him, in its cold, discreet way. But it’s...complicated. It’s not Lan Sizhui’s fault. (Of the three, this is very much the AU least about Lan Sizhui.)

It’s the second battle of the Burial Mounds, as the second horde of corpses approaches. Wei Wuxian paces, mutters to Lan Wangji, "If I still had the land...but I don't know where it is. I can't hear it at all. I don't understand it."

This is not how Lan Wangji wanted to do this - though in fairness, he had no idea what would be a non-awkward way. He still doesn’t. Just a little louder than to be an answer to Wei Wuxian, he says, "Lan Sizhui."

"Yes, Huangang-jun?" The boy is at his elbow in an instant

Lan Wangji turns a little to include him in the conversation. He'd be gesturing if he was a man who made unnecessary motions. "Lan Yuan."

"Yes?" he repeats.

Wei Wuxian stares at the both blankly.

"A-Yuan," Lan Wangji clarifies. He draws his guqin but he can't quite make eye contact with either of them.

Wei Wuxian gasps. He cups Lan Sizhui's very baffled cheeks (except something is a little familiar...) and peers at his face, turning it this way and that to check for familiar features. He peers deeper in a way that would be stunningly rude in anyone else (it’s still stunningly rude; they’ve all just come to expect that of Wei Wuxian) and likely impossible if there wasn't a shared affinity for what he seeks - but the bond is distant, so distant. Buried, smothered, bound.

(Lan Yuan, now Sizhui, has always felt like there was something he was missing, something he couldn't remember that was just out of reach. He thought it was the concept of parents or something like that, or maybe just a natural ennui that everyone had and didn’t speak of for propriety’s sake. He discarded it, because of course he had everything he could ever want.)

"A-Yuan..." Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Wangji, wondering, smoldering with love - and just the tiniest bit of reproach.

Lan Wangji looks away. It's a terrible thing to block someone off from their spiritual power, and it's a worse thing yet to block them off from the any power of a land they may bear. One is an insult to an individual, the other to the earth itself, almost as heretical as demonic cultivation. Su She, of course, has done both today, but only temporarily...and that’s a low bar to which to be compared.

But there was too much roiling in Wen Yuan when Lan Wangji found him, death and -

(You know what, I can’t decide: Did QishanWen’s smoldering lava pass to Wen Qing when no one closer was available, ceaseless fire matching ceaseless fire? Or were the Dafan Wens sufficiently distinct for long enough, far enough, that she was already taken? Is there DafanWen in its own right, high hills with the power of growth, from dainty flowers to ancient trees, twisting vines to healing herbs?

...yes, I think so.

But I also think they were close enough in blood, had spent enough time in the heart of the Nightless City, for some inheritance. So the reason no one stepped forward, at the Yiling Patriarch’s demand, to admit to killing Wen Ning was that...Wen Ning knew he was too weak, insufficiently greedy/ambitious for things to burn and build anew; he knew QishanWen was too quenched and dormant after its defeat to the Sunshot Alliance, and he was too far away and it was literally raining. He knew that to fight back would only bring pain down on more of their people. But even so, there was no one to step forward, because the man who dealt the killing blow burned screaming to ashes.

There were sparks left in the souls of each member of the blood left alive, but not enough to burst to flame. With that last death, QishanWen lay...dormant.)

(Until, maybe, almost all the rest of them were killed in the space of about 10 minutes. That must’ve sent a couple sparks flying.,,)

- so there was too much roiling in Wen Yuan when Lan Wangji found him. Verdant DafanWen was barely settled, still reeling from the loss of its favored daughter, the best healer in three generations. QishanWen sparked with new loss and ire, driving a fever. And the Burial Mounds, whose touch was death...

It is possible, for two lands to share a host. Boundaries are a human invention; the Earth is all one thing. Pride and territorialism are taught. And even if those have set in, they can certainly fight, in the infinite space of a human soul.

And the Burial Mounds loved that child. He wasn’t raging, he wasn’t mourning (except he was just starting to, now); but he wasn’t scared of them. Why would be be? The dead things that roamed it belonged to his Xian-gege; the living were his family; this land was his home.

But the Burial Mounds’ was the power of death itself, and A-Yuan wasn’t a teenager filled with enough determination to burn down the sun, he was three years old and scared. The extremely forbidden hasty ritual to (not cut it off, to late for that) hide it, bind it, bury it - this wasn't just for concealment. It saved his life.

Back in the present day, Lan Wangji says this with reluctantly raised eyes, and Wei Wuxian nods. Because oh boy does he know about that roiling spirit of death.

There's a horde of corpses approaching; they don't have time to be tender.

"A-Yuan," says Wei Wuxian, swiping a thumb over his cheek as though to clear away a tear, and then dropping his hand. "Lan Sizhui, you trust us, right?"

"Of course?" Lan Sizhui glances uncertainly at Lan Wangji, head aching with memories about to surface.

Lan Wangji nods imperceptibly and starts to play - and it only takes a few strong chords, precisely chosen. It's always easier to break a wall than build it.

It's in QishanWen's nature to erupt but it's weak, dormant; it hasn't been home in over a decade and this boy has been trained to ice, not fire. It’s in DafanWen’s nature to flourish but it, too, is far from the earth of its body, and this is a place of death, not life.

They are in the Burial Mounds, fifty steps from the blood pool that may as well be its heart. So the volcano stays dormant the grassy hills are quiet as ever, and the raging, too-long-stifled spirit of the Burial Mounds pours forth in whirling shadows that double Lan Sizhui's height. He gasps a scream at the weight of the sudden flood, at the tearing sensation in his soul (tearing open in a way that is right - last child of a dead clan remembering; lost child of a dead land coming home.) Several other people scream and point at the family meeting that had previously gone mostly unnoticed, in a corner of a Demon Suppression Cave. What is the Yiling Patriarch doing to that Lan disciple?!

The Burial Mounds are starting to turn on their only-just-realized child, whether they mean it or not, because their nature is death to all they touch. The Yiling Patriarch is standing forth, spreading his arms, and shouting, "Hey, jackass! Get back in here, we have more vengeance to wreak!"

The cultivation world watches (Lan Wangji catches a staggering Lan Sizhui) as with a sound like the rushing wind, shifting earth, screaming dead, it pours back into Wei Wuxian.

It’s just like before. It’s rage and pain and loss and vengeance and heartache. It’s Madam Yu’s hard eyes and the way Jiang Fengmian’s face shuttered when he heard the Core-Melting Hand was in Lotus Pier, before he even shoved them back in the boat; it’s Wen Ning’s broken form and Jin Zixuan’s, not fifty feet and ten months apart; it’s Wen Qing’s soft, I’m sorry, and thank you, and Jiang Yanli’s blood dripping down his arm. It’s the crack as the Tiger Seal shattered in his hand, or was that his own neck...

Wei Wuxian might be laughing, as he greets death like an old friend. But when he opens his eyes, it’s to a soft, “Wei Ying,” on the lips of his...Lan Zhan. Mourning whites sullied with the Burial Mounds’ (Wei Wuxian’s) dirt and blood. He’s holding up Lan Sizhui - A-Yuan, their son - and maybe Wei Wuxian is closer to a land spirit than human right now, or maybe he’s just hallucinating, but he swears he can see leaves uncurling behind the boy’s wide eyes. Wen Qing would be proud - if they get out of here alive, he’ll grow the most amazing things.

#15strawberri3s #mdzs #the untamed #ficlet #man idk i just think they're neat #my fic #i'll probably collect these on ao3 later #@tumblr I DIDN'T USE BULLET POINTS ARE YOU HAPPY YOU ASSHOLE

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