#at least I do not align to a large degree with my source

[lunar-android]

so they are

if you are aromantic and have Tried To Exist In Fandom Spaces you may be entitled to financial compensation-

[writinglittlebeasts]

tag game | ocs as animals

tagged by @darthenra

gonna do wolf's tooth because (no surprise) i love his dark materials and i've been trying to align my ocs with daemons for years and years and months and months with varying degrees of success, and this may as well just be an extension of that little hobby of mine. so here we go. under the cut! photo sources linked in images.

there is a bug in here! fyi! for the bug haters

i will tag (no pressure) @thedahliafrog @thephoenixandthecrocodile (you! humanoid animal author! give me more animals!) @sarahlizziewrites @wildswrites

RALEIGH NOY | A WOLF'S TOOTH FOR REVENGE

behold the merlin! a merlin is a breed of small hawk that largely hunts other, smaller birds (though has also been known to hunt larger birds like ducks, and mated pairs will hunt together). they're considered very efficient at this. they like to live in wooded areas near bodies of water but can adapt to thrive in urban environments, and falconers utilize these birds to hunt small game birds when they don't have the space for dogs. this very direct, aggressive approach to life feels very raleigh, especially over the course of wolf's tooth. regional varieties don't really matter when comparing this bird to raleigh, because merlin don't typically live in the state of maine!

KIRBY PEDERSEN | A WOLF'S TOOTH FOR REVENGE

this one is a slightly more representational choice than a behavioral one; bears represent things like strength (they're extremely strong, by the way, like they're crazy strong) but also family and benevolence. mother bears will watch over their cubs for two or more years before the family splits up as most animal families do. like, they're scary and you probably shouldn't try to hang out with bears, but they feel like such little sweeties. kirby has some... issues, with the concept of family, but he's extremely protective and absolutely full of love. and extremely strong, like crazy strong.

BRIONNA HERRERA | A WOLF'S TOOTH FOR REVENGE

a boxer! my family had a boxer when i was growing up and she was lovely. brionna's difficult to pin down because there aren't a ton of animals associated with, like, fatal and inhuman amounts of repression, so i shifted my focus. dogs are largely considered stalwart and loving, and boxers are dedicated working dogs as well as wonderful family members! brionna's family is very important to her. ergo... boxer. love a boxer.

JACQUELINE HERRERA | A WOLF'S TOOTH FOR REVENGE

a dragonfly! apparently the subspecies of dragonfly are very similar to each-other behaviorally, which makes some sense i guess, or at least that the behavioral differences are going to be slightly more niche interest knowledge than differences in species of birds and mammals. similar to a butterfly, which is sort of a bug ... uh, inclined? to metamorphosis, but, like, a dragonfly is a lot faster. dragonflies are associated with freedom and discovery in many ways. it's a little bit wilder, and unlike butterflies many of them can land and rest on the surface of the water (which doesn't really matter but i think it's cool).

[mariacallous]

Summary: Reeves largely creates solutions that would have helped his own life (holding his son back a year and making caretaking the primary source of purpose for men). He presents one-sided evidence, often failing to engage with research critical of his solutions (which are covered below). He also largely ignores (or at least mutes the findings of) DiPrete, who has done a large share of the high quality studies on boys educational deficits over the last 20 years. I believe this is because DiPrete argues for norms targeting pursuit of excellence in academics. Reeves' makes everything caregiving-centric in a way that feels contradictory to DiPrete.

Education: He also completely fails to address where boys deficits actually come from. High quality studies suggest it comes from four sources: lower effortful control (ie self-discipline), lower reading ability, lower writing ability, norms that don't support scholastic achievement. Ideally, a solution would both align children's interests and desires with good academic outcomes (eliminating the effortful control gap, about 40% of the deficit), and create a system in which grades are not writing-centric (things like making debate and effective speaking key parts of English could help here). We would also create norms for boys that help spur academic achievement.

To date, little work has been done on the above. However, the are four key areas that impact boys that can be improved: high levels of cooperative learning can likely reduce deficits in math (almost all of it disappeared); this is easy to implement. Boost school quality: high quality schools eliminate 50-70% of the gap, by my estimation, compared to low quality schools. Consider apprenticeship-degree programs similar to what Germany, Austria and Switzerland use; these countries have no gender deficit in degree attainment. Institute norms for academic achievement among boys--this has to happen after we have a system which works for boys, but is no less important than the other 3.

Statements on how nature affects gender differences Research here is conflicting. He presents it as a closed case for a heavy nature effect. Yes, differences in interests are larger in more equal countries, but we don't know if this is because they started with even larger gaps or whether they grew due to equality (he presumes the latter). What little (admittedly poor-quality) evidence exists, suggests the change in equality doesn't matter to gender gaps. Personally, I agree with his assertions, but they are assertions and shouldn't be presented as fact.

Entering the HEAL fields I agree with his goal here, I don't agree with his methods. He claims that programs to get women into STEM have been seriously successful. I would disagree. After spending what I would estimate is well over $1B in today's dollars, women still only account for 25% of STEM jobs (roughly) and their interest in people vs things has not changed at all in a century (per a massive 2009 study/review). Its hard to raise money for men's issues. Maybe we should try something a little more cost-effective?

Roles for men I agree with his model of female early vs male late caregiving split--this is well supported by what research exists and is grounded in neurological and hormonal-behavioral interaction research, not sociological or psychology evidence (which, IMO, is a good thing). I also agree on his focus on equality.

However, the desire to center the entire male role around caregiving appears to be more emotional than anything. The science is fairly clear that personal growth and purpose are basic human needs (see Deci and Ryan and Ryff's work, respectively). Per surveys, people attach lots of meaning to both work and family and study after study suggests people want to do both. Using "mild social coercion" to enforce men's central role as caregivers deprives a large number of men of the right to find, form and follow their own dreams. It harms men for the same reasons it harmed women. All people must be given the right to center their lives around both. Given the the restrictions it places on boys and men, I believe this is not only extremely harmful, but makes Reeves' overall construct unsupportable.

One of the only critical reviews (on Amazon) of The New Book About Masculinity Everyone Is Now Talking About

[thewayshedreamed]

Secrets Don’t Make Friends— Feysand AU

Prompt submission by Nonnie— Reverse fake dating au where everyone thinks you’re dating and you’re keeping it a secret, but you’re not.

Thank you to whoever sent this one in! I had an idea for Nessian, so I may post that one as well if y’all are interested! 

——————————————————————————

It was another beautiful day in Velaris, and Feyre couldn't seem to focus on her newest project assignment for anything. She found herself gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the Sidra's soothing flow and mentally mixing her various paints to capture the unique color.

Unfortunately, her firm's newest client didn't care much for river paintings since they were paying for a full digital marketing overhaul. Truth be told, she didn’t hate her job as a creative director for the largest marketing firm in Velaris. It allowed her a steady income, let her flex her creativity to some capacity, and definitely kept her on her toes. She had started as a design team member with the firm several years ago upon graduating from Prythian U, and after several largely successful projects, she started to gain more responsibilities within the team. Once her team’s creative director, Amarantha, had moved on to another firm, Feyre had been promoted to her position.

She turned back to her computer screen, willing the motivation to hit her. Any moment now.

This was a typical pattern for her. Initiating a new project was always the hardest part, but once she got started, she tumbled down the proverbial rabbit hole. She just had to... start.

“Ughh,” Feyre lamented. “I wish I was halfway through this proposal already. I’m way better at that point in the project.”

”You are pretty worthless right now,” Lucien joked. Feyre offered a vulgar gesture in return, earning a hearty laugh from her friend.

Lucien left the marketing side of the firm about a year ago, itching for a different opportunity that would allow him to express himself more freely. He felt stifled by the business side of things; the numbers, the politics, the marketing director he worked under. Tamlin hadn’t been the absolute worst to him, but his leadership style didn’t align well with Lucien for the long-term. He had ended up as a member of Feyre’s team and seemed to fill a void they weren’t aware they had.

“I can’t be that mad at you, to be honest. You’re not wrong,” she replied. “Maybe I need caffeine to get out of the post-lunch slump.”

”Someone say caffeine?”

Rhysand Vila approached, perching on the corner of Feyre’s desk. He was wearing dark khaki slacks with a black button down, rolled up to the elbows. At some point, he had ditched his tie in favor of an open neckline, likely free of meetings for the rest of the day. His casual appearance didn’t readily identify him as one of the firm’s most successful marketing directors, but his authenticity was one of the things that extended his influence the most.

Rhysand’s marketing team often collaborated with Feyre’s creative one, and they managed to create some of the most well-balanced projects within the firm. They worked so flawlessly together that they were starting to become almost exclusively paired, much to the chagrin of some of the other teams. Not only were their proposals solid, their presentations were engaging and convincing. Their perspectives on the projects, combined with their mutual respect of the other’s contributions, presented a solid, united front that built trust with their clients.

Through long work hours and multiple business trips across Prythian, Rhysand had become one of Feyre’s dear friends. When they’d originally started working together, his cockiness had grated her nerves to the nth degree, but she realized over time that it was mostly in jest. In truth, Rhysand was kind-hearted, cared deeply for the people in his life, and an incredibly supportive partner on client projects.

They’d fallen into a comfortable kind of friendship, and they’d only gotten closer with time. He’d confided in her about the toxic relationship he and Amarantha had foolishly found themselves in, and he’d listened to her never-ending rants about her brief coupling with Tamlin, nothing but understanding all over his face.

“I think a coffee run is a necessity,” Feyre said, playfulness dancing across her features.

“I left my wallet in my desk. I’ll go grab it. Meet you at the elevator?” Rhysand asked as he walked backward toward his office.

“Sounds good!” she replied. She turned to Lucien. “You coming?”

He had an odd look on his face, smirk included. She gave him a questioning look, and he let out a low chuckle. “Nah. But if I give you my card, will you grab something for me?”

”Why wouldn’t you just come? I’m not your coffee bitch, Vanserra.” That earned a full laugh.

”And I would never assume you to be. If I’m going to take a break, I don’t feel like being third wheel, is all.” The confused look returned to her face, and he continued. “Feyre, stop. It’s not my company either of you want on this little coffee date. You and Rhysand can go about your charade with anyone else, but you’re not getting that shit by me. It’s fine— you two are great together. I just can’t figure out why you insist on the secret.”

Feyre’s expression morphed into a stunned one, and it took her a few seconds to decide on a response. She and Rhysand had never crossed any lines beyond platonic, so all of this was news to her.

”Luce, I’m not sure who your source was for that little nugget of info, but don’t trust them with anything incredibly important in the future. They’re way off,” she assured him. “Text me your coffee order.”

She made her way to the elevator, finding Rhysand propped against the wall on his shoulder. He was scrolling through his phone, stray black hair falling across his brow, looking as if he couldn’t be bothered by the work day. Once the elevator made it to their floor, they stepped inside and found themselves sharing with Morrigan Reina. She was head of Human Resources, absolutely stunning, and Rhysand’s cousin. She had to admit, their genetic pool was quite impressive, all things considered. She was his opposite in every way with her brown eyes and blonde hair, but they shared immaculate bone structure and a certain elegance. Objectively speaking.

“Well, hi! This elevator ride just got way more fun. How’s is going, Rhysie? Fey?” Her dark eyes sparkled, dancing over Rhysand’s face. She raised her eyebrows at him slightly, silently communicating with him in that way only family can.

”Oh, come off it, Mor. We’re on a coffee run. Care to join?” Something in his tone seemed oddly like a challenge. She realized she hadn’t yet answered Morrigan but felt like a response of “Doing well” would seem out of context, since Rhys had already transitioned away from greetings. She deciding on standing there awkwardly, pretending not to feel incredibly intimidated by this woman in the elevator.

“So sweet of you, but I’ll have to take a rain check. This is my floor actually. Unfortunately, I have a termination meeting to attend. Have some for me!” She brushed her cheek against his in a mock kiss. “Good seeing you, Feyre!” She disappeared so quickly that Feyre started to doubt if she was ever there in the first place.

“Awfully prickly with your dear cousin this afternoon, Rhysie,” she teased.

”Well, dearest Mor can be quite the busy body and likes to think she knows all of my secrets.” He gave a small eye roll, but the smirk on his face gave his affection away.

“You have my attention. I think it’s only fair that I’m let in on this little secret.”

She swore the tops of his bronze ears turned slightly pink. “I assure you I’m not that interesting, Feyre Darling.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimed, and they were walking into their building’s lobby. The coffee shop was right next door, so they made their way there quickly. Within 10 minutes, they had their coffees in hand and were sharing an elevator with a small crowd on their way back to work. Feyre regretted that she wasn’t able to press Rhys for his secrets anymore but supposed it was for the best.

He took the long way to his office in order to drop her off at her desk. She set Lucien’s coffee down on his desk with just enough force to startle him out of his work, earning a laugh from Rhys. Lucien simply glared at her before mumbling his thanks and taking a long pull of coffee.

“Well, Feyre Darling, this is where I leave you.”

Lucien eyed her over his coffee lid, lowering it slowly as he paid full attention to their exchange.

Feyre chuckled, ignoring Lucien altogether. “Thanks for returning me safely. I fully intend on pulling at least one secret from you on the next trip, though. You’ve been warned.”

His violet eyes bore into hers, amusement all over his face. “Do your worst,” he replied, winking at her as he sipped his coffee and walked away.

——————————————————————————

Coffee seemed to be just the inspiration Feyre needed to hit her creative stride for the afternoon. She finally managed to land on a prospective theme for the new account, and she was busy making some rough sketches on her drawing tablet. A booming voice called out to her from down the hall, and she recognized it immediately as Tamlin. Of course he would recruit her attention once she was finally feeling productive.

“Feyre, could you come down as soon as you’re free? I’d like you to do a consult with Ianthe.”

She forced herself to refrain from rolling her eyes, trying her best to be diplomatic.

“Sure, Tamlin. Be there in a bit.”

He hesitated at his office door, poorly masking his impatience when she didn’t immediately jump out of her chair. Typical.

She was already annoyed at his loud declaration across the office that he was asking her to give feedback on another creative director’s work. She didn’t feel particularly protective over Ianthe. It was just poor form, and it set the tone for resentment with no true reason.

Finally, she stood and made her way to his office. He was in his office chair, Ianthe pointing to various items of interest on a flat screen mounted to the wall. She greeted Feyre politely, but it didn’t seem like she was all to keen on getting her feedback.

“What can I help with?” Feyre offered.

“I wanted to see what you thought about the account we’re working on. Considering that you’ve been monopolized by Vila for months, I thought I could at least get a brief consult,” he explained.

Feyre decided to mentally count how many underhanded comments she’d endure over the course of this meeting.

One.

”Sure. What’s up?”

Ianthe launched into the cliff notes of her project, Tamlin contributing nothing the entire time.

“I’m sure you’re probably swamped with whatever you’re working on Feyre, so I appreciate you taking time to look at what I’ve put together.” Ianthe seemed genuine enough. She wasn’t sure if she trusted her, but she felt bad for her all the same.

Before she could respond, Tamlin inserted himself. “Oh, she’s definitely seems busy. Just not sure how much of it is work-related.” Her head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. She steadied herself and turned her attention back to Ianthe to try and keep this meeting on track.

Two.

”Honestly, Ianthe, I think you have a great proposal overall. My only suggestion is that you consider a different color focus. Your primary color for the logo is red, and that happens to be the main color of their largest competitor’s logo as well,” she stated, ignoring Tamlin entirely.

He started to say something about her input, but she quickly interrupted him.

“How unfortunate that the person responsible for doing the relevant market research into any competitors didn’t think that to be relevant intel to bring to the project,” she finished, eyes gravitating back to Tamlin’s face.

”Good catch,” Ianthe said simply.

“It’s happened to me before, too. Don’t create too much additional work for yourself. Maybe see about pulling one of your coordinating colors forward instead, and see how that plays out. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

”I’m not sure how you’ve managed to convince Vila to do all that extra legwork on your behalf, but it sounds like you’re awfully convincing,” Tamlin seethed. He couldn’t help himself, it seemed.

Three.

It was quiet for several uncomfortable seconds. As if on cue, her savior himself appeared in Tamlin’s doorway, a friendly smile on his face just for her. He knocked with his knuckle as he glanced around the room.

“Sorry for interrupting. Feyre, could you stop by my office before you head out today? Nothing big. Our last account sent an email asking for some minor changes, and I wanted to get your input before I tell them anything,” he said.

“Of course, Rhys. I’ll be there in a second,” she replied. He gave her one of his dazzling smiles, that rogue strand of hair kissing his brow yet again. When he walked away, she immediately felt compelled to follow him, as if he took the light straight out of the room when he left.

“You may go, Ianthe,” Tamlin stated dryly. She quickly excused herself, repeating her thanks to Feyre on the way out.

“You realize you two are partners— she doesn’t work for you.”

“Our dynamic is hardly your business, Feyre.” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but she hated the way he spoke to people who worked with him. It had always bothered her.

“Says the guy who all but insinuated that I’m putting out to get Rhys to be a good partner on projects. You’re unbelievable.”

“All of the speculation that circulates around this office regarding you and Rhysand, and you’re caught on what I’ve said? Feyre, sweetie. I thought we were past this.”

”It seems as though the lot of you aren’t busy enough if you have all this time to discuss whether Rhys and I have some secret affair happening under your noses. Maybe if you put half that effort into your job duties, you’d be an almost decent partner to Ianthe,” she snapped.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with me and Ianthe. We’ll work together in whatever way works for us. Plus, you basically belong to Rhys now, so you won’t have to worry over having to work with the likes of me.” The way he mockingly said Rhys’ name made her want to punch him in the throat.

She turned on her heel to leave, so angry that she didn’t trust herself to respond professionally. Once she got to the doorway, she found the words rolling off her tongue without a conscious thought.

“I ‘belong’ to no one. Your problem is that you see people as assets rather than building relationships. You should consider incorporating a little humanity into your leadership. You may find yourself a little less miserable to work for or be around. From now on, Ianthe can address me directly if she needs me. You, sir, can fuck off.”

——————————————————————————

Feyre made her way directly to Rhysand’s office, still fuming. She probably needed a quick break on the roof to clear her head, but it was already 4:30. She didn’t want to make Rhys stay late so that she could pout properly. Although, he’d probably do that for her if she asked.

She approached his door, knocking lightly when she saw he was on the phone. He waved her in as he finished his call. He let out a polite chuckle at whomever was on the line, and she wondered how even his contrived laughter sounded almost musical.

“Absolutely. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow. Bye.” He placed the receiver of his office phone into the cradle and faced her fully.

“Hey there, Feyre Darling. Thanks for saving some time for me today. I hope I didn’t overstep, but I wasn’t sure when if I’d be able to catch you later.” He leaned back in his chair, propped his elbow on the arm rest, and cupped his large hand to run it over his face. So he was tired, too.

Feyre let out a low chuckle. “You’re my hero, basically. Your timing was absolutely perfect. Never hesitate to interrupt if Tamlin is the person I’m talking to.”

His bright, violet eyes seemed to linger on her face. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you laugh again,” he mused. “It’s become one of my favorite sounds, I think.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face, and she found one mirrored on his own. She cleared her throat, unsure how to tame the butterflies she was experiencing at his words.

“Shall we?” She motioned to his computer, and he nodded. She pulled her chair to his desk so that she could see, but he forced her to switch with him, insisting she take control of moving through the project.

She wasn’t sure if she was reading way too much into the weird comments she had heard today about her and Rhys, but she was acutely aware of his thigh so close to hers. It was far enough that they weren’t flush, but she could feel the heat radiating off of him in the most distracting way.

He already had the project pulled up on the screen and asked her to move through the document to the place of the proposed changes. He reached across her slightly to point at something, and she was instantly immersed in his scent. She found it oddly comforting, if she was honest with herself.

“So what do you think? Is it a simple fix? Or would this be something beyond the originally contracted rate? If it’s going to take you some time, I think it’s appropriate that we negotiate an additional fee, especially considering we’ve just initiated another large account.”

”Mmm. It’s been a while. Mind if I play with it for a minute?” she asked.

”Yeah, for sure. Take your time,” he said, leaning back in his chair as she worked.

Several minutes passed in excruciating silence, causing Feyre to break out in nervous laughter.

“You can talk to me, you know. It’s eerily quiet in here,” she joked.

He huffed a laugh. ”Hmm, okay. Anything particularly interesting around the office today?”

She thought immediately of her conversations with Lucien and Tamlin, and she couldn’t help but include their interaction with Mor in the elevator on the list. It really was such a weird day.

She worked for a couple of seconds before she replied. “It was quite the day, to say the least. I learned a lot about myself via the grapevine.”

”You mean to tell me there’s gossip in this office?”

”This very one,” she replied through a laugh.

“This is the part where you tell me what’s been said about you, Darling.”

She big her bottom lip, nervous of how he would react. “Well, it’s not exclusive to me. It has to do with you, too.” Her eyes never left the computer screen as she spoke.

“I like how that looks,” he said in regard to her edits, jumping straight back into their original conversation. “Now you have to tell me, especially if I’m involved.”

He offered a small poke to her ribs, laughing at her jerking away from him and the glare it earned. “Spill, Archeron.”

Before she could chicken out, she described her interaction with Lucien prior to their coffee run. He went entirely still as she spoke, eyes trained on the screen. When she finished, he said, “I see. I bet Lucien thinks he’s quite clever, then... Oh wait, I like that better.” He pointed to a small change she made.

He seemed so indifferent, and despite her attempts to the contrary, it bothered her that he was acting so cavalier. She had to check herself, remembering how ridiculous she had found the comments only a handful of hours ago. It was certainly unfair to have expectations of him being that she had barely finished processing this afternoon’s events.

“Yeah, I guess he’s pretty proud of himself. I don’t know how much he believed me when I told him he was off-base, but time will tell, I guess.” She immediately launched into her interaction with Tamlin, outlining the full interaction for him.

His jaw was tense throughout the story, and she could see his shoulders tighten when she would share a particularly tasteless thing Tamlin said. They tended to stay out of each others’ ways, so sometimes it was easy to forget how much animosity existed between the two of them. She finished the entire story, and decided to wrap up everything in a brief summary.

”So yeah, according to Lucien and Tamlin, you and I are hiding a super secret little office affair. But apparently we’re really bad at it, because everyone knows.” She let out a long breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding. His response was swift.

“Well, that’s fucking ridiculous.” He stated, so matter of fact. “Go back to that one really quick— if you don’t mind.” His eyes never left the screen. All business, all of a sudden.

Okay. Now, his indifference stung. She thought she knew Rhysand well enough that he would cushion the blow better than this if he were totally shooting her down. She didn’t like how detached he was, and come to think of it, it’s not like she had offered herself to him anyway. For all he knew, she could find the idea of them dating totally repulsive.

“You could do a lot worse for yourself, you know,” she said, anger bubbling to the service. She saw his head snap toward her, but she refused to look at him.

”What?”

”I know you could walk out of this office and take your pick, but you could do worse for yourself than me. It can’t be that ‘fucking ridiculous’.” She clenched her jaw to force herself to stop talking and breathe.

He sat there looking at her, his attention to the project entirely derailed.

“Feyre...” he started.

”It’s late. I’ll finish looking at this tomorrow. Could you save the changes and upload to the cloud? I think I can make quick work of it.”

”Would you look at me, please?”

She let go of the computer mouse and covered her face with both hands. She rubbed her face roughly as she spoke.

“I’m just tired, Rhysand. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just forget I said anything. Really, I’m okay.” She didn’t want to see the pity in his face or listen to any explanations. She just needed to get out of there.

She felt one of his hands grip softly around the wrist closest to him as he turned the chair to get her to face him. She kept her face covered, leaning forward, and he had the nerve to laugh softly at her.

“You are such a stubborn, difficult woman sometimes, Feyre Darling.” He gripped her other wrist with his free hand and pulled her hands away from her face. She was too tired to fight him on it, so she let him. She fixed her gaze on his thighs, not entirely prepared for what his expression would show.

“Please look at me,” he whispered. She melted at the tone of his voice, imploring her to make eye contact, and raised her eyes to meet his.

He rubbed slow circles on the sensitive underside of her wrists as he spoke. “In no way, is the idea of me being with you ridiculous. What is so ridiculous to me, Darling, is the idea that I could ever be with you and delude myself into thinking I could keep it a secret,” he murmured, the sincerity in his expression overwhelming her. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, readying himself to finish. “Cauldron, Feyre. If you ever let me love you... I wouldn’t have it in me to contain it.”

She was frozen in her chair, in total disbelief. Once she finally regained control of herself, she reached her hand up to smooth his hair back into place. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact.

“That piece of hair has been driving me insane all day long,” she whispered. She was closer now, so much closer to him than she had ever been. She dropped her hand back to her lap to find his again.

His eyes popped open, traveling across her face and landing on her full lips. She watched his tongue dart out of his mouth slightly to wet his own before she regained eye contact. She leaned forward a little more, his hand coming up to brush her hair behind her ear. He cupped her face, running his thumb across her cheek.

“Feyre?” It was barely a whisper, but it was everything.

She subtly nodded her head, and his lips were on hers. He was slow, near reverent as he kissed her, and she leaned in to him, craving more contact. He slid his hand a little farther back so that his fingers could find their home in her hair, just behind her ear. She braced her hand on his forearm, and he pulled her face into his, only slightly, to deepen the kiss.

She let out a quiet whimper as Rhys angled himself to better capture her mouth, and just like that, she was gone. She no longer registered that they were in Rhys’ office or that his door was still open from when she arrived. As far as she was concerned, the world began and ended with them.

They both missed the quick footsteps as Lucien passed by on his way back to his desk from a meeting. They were entirely unaware of his halt as he realized what he’d witnessed and his prompt back peddling. It was when they heard his quiet rasp that they startled, breaking apart only millimeters.

”I fucking knew it!” he whisper-screamed, obviously pleased with himself.

True to Rhysand’s nature, he seemed totally unfazed by Lucien’s discovering them. He brushed his nose over Feyre’s, a grin spreading across his beautiful face.

”Fuck off, Lucien,” he crooned playfully.

His mouth was on hers yet again, neither of them noticing the soft click of the door as Lucien backed out of the office.

——————————————————————————

Just a bit of Feysand fluff for y’all! Feel free to keep the prompts coming, and let me know if you have a particular pairing or mood in mind ☺️

If you’d like to be added to my tag list, you can comment, shoot me an ask, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!

Tags (Masterlist):

@polireader // @justgiu12 // @hizqueen4life // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @bookstantrash // @gisellefigue08​ // @maastrash​

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 4, chapter 1

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It took a moment for Morgan's head to stop spinning. However angels travelled, he thought, it certainly wasn't designed for people to come along. Not comfortably, anyway. Eventually he was able to take in the hall they were standing in. Bookshelves lined one wall, extending almost all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. Several ladders provided access to the higher shelves, though they were sparsely stocked. A few dozen beds sat in orderly rows that looked as though they hadn't seen regular use in years. There was a hearth nearby, which didn't seem strictly necessary given the heat of the place. It was considerably less humid than the jungle, though, which was something of a relief. An archway was surrounded by decorative stonework but the corridor beyond it was partially collapsed. Numerous smaller doors sat open, the spaces beyond unlit and untended if the dust on the floor was any indication. The sound of metal on metal echoed in the large room, its source out of sight. Tyrael's voice also echoed as he gestured broadly to encompass their surroundings.

"Welcome to the Pandemonium Fortress. This is the last bastion of Heaven's power before the Gates of the Burning Hells. This place has been hallowed by the blood of thousands of champions of the Light. It will serve as the base of your attack on the remaining Prime Evils. You will find two emissaries of the Light ready to assist you; a healer, Jamella, and a smith, Halbu. Speak with them before you head out. They can guide you in ways I cannot."

Tyrael pointed in the direction of the metal sounds and Morgan started to walk almost without thinking, leaving Blaise and Cain to follow at their own pace. It was so easy to just follow the angel's instructions. The tiles beneath his feet gave way to dirt in some places, having clearly seen ages of use under multitudes of feet. The hall was almost silent now, though, except for the hammering. Perhaps the two emissaries Tyrael had named would be the only company here. That would be a welcome change from the bustle of Lut Gholein and the smaller but less predictable group of mages in Kurast.

Around a corner, the hall opened into a wide room. There was a tawny-skinned woman mixing ingredients in a rather complex and interesting alchemical apparatus atop one of a few large work benches. Behind her glowed a forge, illuminating the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man hammering something on an anvil. The woman, presumably Jamella, glanced up as Morgan approached to speak with her as requested. She raked a coldly assessing gaze over him.

"Hail to you, champion. Tyrael warned us of your arrival. What is that abomination?" She pointed to his left arm. Morgan glanced down at it.

"It's a golem. The original limb was damaged beyond repair, so I was forced to replace it."

Jamella sneered. "I'm sure I could have fixed it, if you'd been able to wait. My healing potions are second to none."

"I have had quite a lot of very strong healing potions. They did nothing to improve the damage, and I did not have the option of waiting."

She raised her eyebrows. "When you say quite a lot, how much do you mean?"

"Enough to develop a tolerance. I couldn't tell you the exact amount. I would prefer not to taste yours if it can be avoided."

"I see. And if your... golem is damaged, how am I to repair it?"

"You shouldn't have to. It self-repairs by drawing on my stores of magic."

"Good. Unless there's something else I should know, talk to Halbu next. You're going to need better equipment than what you've got."

"Nothing else. Thank you." Morgan couldn't recall the last time he'd had such a concise conversation. It was refreshing. He approached the smith as Blaise rounded the corner behind him. Cain was nowhere to be seen but the resonant sound of Tyrael's voice was audible. The scholar evidently hadn't asked his fill of questions just yet.

Halbu was only slightly more talkative than Jamella. He passed a critical eye over Morgan. "Magic user, right? Leather armour for the weight, engage from a distance. Don't need a shield if you're good enough at that, I suppose, but I can find you something small. I'm guessing that sword doesn't get too much use either, but may I take a closer look?"

Morgan passed his blade over, hilt first. Halbu ran through a series of quick examinations, only some of which Morgan could guess the purpose of. He turned to retrieve a different sword and offered it to Morgan. "Here, give this one a try."

The sword was obviously of superior quality, slightly heavier and balanced more towards the hilt. It had a faint resonance when Morgan felt for it. "It's very nice," he said. "What is the enchantment?"

Halbu looked pleased. "Just a little trick I picked up, keeps the blade sharp for longer."

"Ah. What would you take as payment?"

"You have already defeated one of the Prime Evils, and you are in pursuit of the others. That will be payment enough. It is our duty as emissaries of the Light to assist you in carrying out Tyrael's orders."

"Oh. That's... thank you." The dissonance grated a little. He did intend to follow the angel's command, but only because his aim aligned with that of the Order of Rathma. The final goal was the important thing, Morgan reminded himself.

"Unless you have a particular attachment to the armour," Halbu continued, "I can make you something much better. Might take a little while, though. I don't have forms in your size."

"No attachment," Morgan confirmed. It had simply fit him adequately while being light enough for him to manage without tiring too quickly. That assessment was accurate. It would be a rare luxury to have properly fitted armour.

"Well then, off with that so I can take some measurements." Halbu hummed as he worked, pausing occasionally to direct Morgan to lift his arms or turn around. The amount of contact required was unpleasant, but at least the smith was quick and efficient with the necessary touches.

"I also do the cooking," Halbu said as he laid a tape across the span of Morgan's shoulders. "I restock supplies once a week. Let me know if there's anything you can't or won't eat. You can write a list if that's easier."

Morgan considered his response as Halbu went on measuring. "I'm not picky," he said eventually, "I just don't eat much. I prefer to have a few small things at a time, rather than large meals." The smith grunted an acknowledgement.

Jamella raised her voice as she was speaking with Blaise, ensuring Morgan could hear her as well. "Outside the gate of the fortress you will find the outer steppes. You can follow the path down through the steppes to the plains of despair. To one side of the plains you will find the city of the damned, which houses the Hellforge. To the other lies the river of flames, on the other side of which is the derelict Chaos sanctuary. You would do well to familiarize yourselves with the whole of the area. Diablo and Baal could be sheltering in either place. This fortress is warded to keep it hidden from the demons' notice, but they will pursue you if you flee from them."

"Not going to happen, but thanks." Blaise noticed Morgan looking in her direction, and shot him a grin. "You almost ready?"

He glanced at Halbu for confirmation. "It's going to take me a while to work something up for you," the smith said, flipping through a stack of thick tanned hides. "If what you've got has served you so far, I'm sure you can carry on."

"Great. Never thought I'd be excited to go to Hell, but I guess there's a first time for everything. I wonder where the demons go when you kill them down here."

"The Black Abyss," Jamella supplied. "That's where they always go to be reformed. But the process takes time, so it should be possible for you to clear a path."

Blaise beamed. "Let's get started, then. Which is closer, the forge or - nah, never mind, we'll figure it out. Come on, it's time to hunt some more demon lords."

Morgan followed gamely. Although he didn't share her degree of enthusiasm, there was a certain undeniable energy thrumming in him. This was important work. Darkness was making moves to tip the Balance in its favour, and had to be stopped for the good of humankind. And there were allies, excellent ones. With Blaise's strength and Cain's keen intelligence, and the support of Tyrael and the emissaries, there was some real potential for success.

[dwellordream]

“If any character in English popular culture stands for the sheep, it is Griselda. Her chief detractor is, not surprisingly, the shrew. In Robert Snawsel's A Looking Glass for Married Folks, Eulalie preaches the Griselda gospel to Xanthippe and Margery, urging them to bear their husbands' blows and drunkenness with meek loving kindness. This is too much for Margery: "Are you a woman, and make them such dish-clouts and slaves to their husbands? Came you of a woman, that you should give them no prerogative, but make them altogether underlings?" Margery's scornful reference to slavery goes to the dark heart of the Griselda myth. Folklorists have argued about the ancestry of the famous tale for more than a century. 

William Edwin Bettridge and Francis Lee Utley have made a strong case that Griselda owes her features to a folktale from medieval Smyrna called "the Patience of the Princess." A prince buys a poor girl from her father and lays a wager with her that she will not be able to submit to all his demands with utter composure. The prince shuts her in a tower alone and tests her for twenty years, repeatedly impregnating her and then taking away her newborn infants, telling her that he is going to kill them. She builds a mother doll out of clay to talk to and cry to but never loses her patience, and in this way she wins the bet. 

The tale, which matches the European narrative more closely than any other yet found, throws into stark relief the specter of female sexual slavery that haunts Griselda's story. The most striking variance between them is that the girl from Smyrna is sold into involuntary servitude by her father, whereas Griselda has a choice and agrees to voluntary and total obedience. Passing into European culture, the story came to Boccaccio. In reworking it for the Decameron he reclothed it in local garb, fashioning his novella partly in terms of Italian wedding and dowry customs that were sharply weighted against brides and wives. Boccaccio thought Griselda's story significant enough to give it pride of place as the last tale on the book's final day of storytelling. 

Petrarch read the novella and converted it to an exemplum in Latin for male scholars. Griselda entered English culture through Chaucer's "Clerk's Tale," which is largely based on Petrarch's version. Plays, ballads, and pamphlets on Griselda issued forth on the continent and in England throughout the early modern period, with a cluster of publications and performances in the mid- to late sixteenth century. Arguably the most radical change between versions occurred when Petrarch reworked Boccaccio. The Decameron's final tale is told by the satirist Dioneo, a crucial choice by Boccaccio. Refusing to let the happy ending stay happy, Dioneo spells out the political import of the story and caps it off with a horn joke against the marquis: 

Everyone was very happy with the way everything had turned out ....Gualtieri was judged to be the wisest of men (although the tests to which he had subjected his wife were regarded as harsh and intolerable), and Griselda the wisest of them all ....What more can be said here, except that godlike spirits do sometimes rain down from heaven into poor homes, just as those more suited to governing pigs than to ruling over men make their appearances in royal palaces? 

Who besides Griselda could have endured the severe and unheard-of trials that Gualtieri imposed upon her and remained with a not only tearless but happy face? It might have served Gualtieri right if he had run into the kind of woman who, once driven out of her home in nothing but a shift, would have allowed another man to shake her fur to the point of getting herself a nice-looking dress out of the affair. 

Scholars often downplay Dioneo's bitter words about pig-tending and his final putdown of Gualtieri, attributing it to his cynicism; but their labors to match the tale's disturbing sadism with an uplifting exemplary meaning are less than persuasive. The passage is much more than a glib throwaway, as Edward Fechter points out: "the climax angrily repudiates theological allegory and exemplum." Certainly, it seems fitting that the last lines of the last tale in the Decameron should recapitulate the Boccaccian theme of cuckoldry as female revenge. Dioneo's parting shot about "the shaking of the fur" is also an invitation to his listeners and the book's readers to come up with better interpretations than do the silly sheeplike courtiers of the tale, who judge "Walter wise and Griselda the wisest of all." 

Furthermore, it is a jest that asks for scornful laughter, especially from listeners who have grutched throughout the tale at Walter's arrogance, egotism, and sadism. Petrarch told Boccaccio that the story so fascinated him that he decided to spread the tale to scholars abroad. So "snatching up my pen, I attacked this story of yours." The angle of Petrarch's attack on the novella (which he termed "a little too free at times") becomes manifest at the cuckoldry-free conclusion of "A Fable of Wifely Obedience and Devotion," in which he erases Boccaccio's satire and his bawdy call for female revenge: 

This story it has seemed good to me to weave anew, in another tongue, not so much that it might stir the matrons of our times to imitate the patience of this wife-who seems to me scarcely imitable-as that it might stir all those who read it to imitate the woman's steadfastness, at least; so that they may have the resolution to perform for God what this woman performed for her husband ...Therefore I would assuredly enter on the list of steadfast men the name of anyone who endured for his God, without a murmur, what this obscure peasant woman endured for her mortal husband.

Petrarch's straight-faced version has none of Dioneo's political satire or irony. He is writing in Latin to male scholars, not in vernacular Italian to women and men, as Boccaccio had done. Nonetheless, it is Petrarch that Chaucer credits by name in the vernacular, mixed-audience "Clerk's Tale," although he departs from Petrarch in crucial ways. The Clerk does follow his source in insisting that his moral applies not to wives but to all humankind: This storie is seyd, nat for that wyves sholde Folwen Grisilde as in humilytee, For it were inportable, though they wolde; But for every wight, in his degree, Should be constant in adversitee As was Grisilde .... (I 142-47)

Chaucer actually intensifies Petrarch's warning that wives should not try to imitate Griselda, calling her example "inportable," or unbearable. (The Merchant, whose turn comes next, blatantly ignores this caveat, complaining "Ther is a long and large difference I Bitwix Grisildis grete pacience I And my wyf the passyng crueltee.") Still, scholarly attempts to align Chaucer's Walter with God do not work because Walter is described as "tempting" his wife, a word almost always associated with sin and vice. In another departure from Petrarch, Chaucer's Clerk breaks in several times to condemn the marquis. After Walter first decides to try his wife, the Clerk interjects hotly what neded it Hir for to tempte, and alwey moore and moore, Thogh som men preyse it for a subtill wit? But as for me, I seye that yvele it sit T'assaye a wyf whan that it is no nede, And putten hire in angwysshe and in drede. (45?-62) 

Chaucer's version subtly calls Grisildis's ovine quality into question. The lamb of God is Christ, of course, and Grisildis' meekness when her daughter is taken away resembles his suffering: "Grisildis moot al suffre and al consente, I And as a lambe she sitteth meke and stille" But "moot" she? Within English popular culture, sheep and lambs do sometimes stand for the positive values of resignation and endurance-for example, in emblems on patience. But there is no doubt that sheep generally connote passivity, cowardice, and stupidity. In terms of sheer frequency, the negative secular connotation overwhelms the positive religious one.

 A related complicating effect is the criticism leveled at "the unsad" (that is, fickle and sheeplike) people of the realm, who at first deplore Walter's acts but change their minds when they see the pretty new queen (actually his daughter), leading "sadde folk" to exclaim: "0 stormy people! unsad and evere untrewe!" As the Clerk finishes his tale, he shows that he is fully aware that not all his listeners will appreciate Griselda's virtues. With teasing wit he acknowledges the Wife of Bath, who has been called the tale's motivating force and dialogic counterpart. Just before the comic envoy he promises "for the Wyves love of Bathe" to gladden her "and al hire secte" with a song urging them to ignore Grisildis and revel in shrewdam (rr69-74). 

By shifting the Clerk's role from that of the preacher of a pious exemplum to a merry jester-singer, Chaucer undercuts his clerkly authority and blurs the moral legibility of his tale, already obscured by Griselda's lack of moral agency and her husband's viciousness. Nonetheless, Griselda quickly proved alluring to husbands, and she retained that allure despite proving highly problematic as a pattern for wives. Like the new husband in the jest about the pottage, men who wanted very much to promote Griselda as a model found her too hot to handle. 

In the training manual he prepared for his young wife in the 1390s, the Menagier de Paris offers a confused and troubled account of why he wants her to learn about Griselda. He rushes to assure his wife that he'll never torment her "beyond reason" as the "foolish, arrogant" Walter does Griselda, nor does he expect such obedience: I have set down this story here only in order to instruct you, not to apply it directly to you, and not because I wish such obedience from you. I am in no way worthy of it. I am not a marquis, nor have I taken in you a shepherdess as my wife. Nor am I so foolish, arrogant, or immature in judgment as not to know that I may not properly assault or assay you thus, nor in any such fashion. 

God keep me from testing you in this way or any other, under color of lies or dissimulations …I apologize if this story deals with too great cruelty-cruelty, in my view, beyond reason. Do not credit it as having really happened; but the story has it so, and I ought not to change it nor invent another, since someone wiser than I composed it and set it down. Because other people have seen it, I want you to see it too, so that you may be able to talk about everything just as they do.

What he really wants, it seems, is for his wife to be au courant. Griselda had "much currency off the page as a talking point in the late fourteenth century" and was "a subject about which wives might be expected to have an opinion." Codified as a way to get women talking (instead of shutting them up), the narrative about testing is itself a means of testing a woman's opinions and conduct. Is Griselda sick or stoic? Enslaved or free? Is hers a saint's tale, with Walter an abstract tool in the central mystery of her endurance, or is it as much a story about Walter and his court? Is he a cruel tyrant or a stern but loving husband with every right to test his wife? Is Walter God and Griselda a female Christ or Abraham or Job? All these positions have been argued during the six centuries of the debate.

Some recent readers still find Griselda admirable and even question whether she should be regarded as a passive victim. Harriet Hawkins has argued that Chaucer's tale should be read as a criticism of unquestioning obedience to authority, even divine authority, while Lars Engle hears "an implicit voice of sane moral protest" in Grisildis's mild objections to her husband. Such strained attempts at recuperation show that Griselda disturbs more than she edifies, raising but failing to answer questions about the limits of obedience in the face of tyranny and the conflict between Christian duty and wifely subjection.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Griselda the Fool.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

[lamortexiii]

Cryptic Mystic: What’s Your Sign?

Many of us are fascinated by astrology and all things outer space related. The great unknown that is beyond the stars has been a hot topic for centuries. But, how did the zodiac begin? What makes astrological signs and the alignment of planets and stars so magical? Is it truly prophetic? Does your sign define your personality, past, present, and future? Or is this simply another product of the Barnum Effect?

So I’ll start by asking the obvious: “what’s your sign?” I’m a Leo through and through. While I’m skeptical about the claims of some astrological signs and their relation to my life on a daily basis, I do believe there is some truth here - as is with most things. This topic is one that I have been wanting to write about for some time now. I have always found outer space, stars, planets, etc. to be fascinating. As a child, I remember laying in the grass and watching the stars above me. In my little valley in the forest, I could see so many stars that wouldn’t be visible if I were in the city. I am so thankful I had that childhood experience of growing up somewhere where I could truly connect with nature and the simple things around me that most take for granted on a day-to-day basis. I still stargaze to this day, but I can’t see near as many as I once did in my childhood forest valley home. I’ve seen a plethora of shooting stars throughout my lifetime, two meteor showers, two solar eclipses, and plenty of unidentified objects that were likely satellites… or were they…?

One time when I was driving home from work late one night I saw something that befuddled me. As I drove down the winding 2 lane highway in the darkness of the night I saw what appeared to be a helicopter hovering right above the trees. Now, this area I was driving through was rural. There are few houses in those woods, but there are some. The backroads leading to the site where the “helicopter” was hovering are seldom traveled, especially this late at night. I began processing the event in my mind and questioning if it was a helicopter, why would it be hovering so low and what exactly would it be doing in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. It just didn’t make sense. I thought about logical explanations and could only come up with one. There is the slim possibility that someone driving on one of the many backroads in that area may have got into an accident and was getting airlifted to a hospital. I’ve seen it happen before on backroads near there. Aside from this idea, I had nothing. By this point, I had obviously slowed down so I could get a better look. Hell, there wasn’t any traffic so it’s not like I was worried about causing an accident or anything. As I looked closer I noticed it wasn’t a helicopter at all. There were about 4-6 large bright lights shining down below the area that the craft was hovering over. The circumference of this craft was much wider than a helicopter - more circular. The lights were far too big and far too bright. Whether it was fear, shock, tiredness, or my stomach growling, I continued to drive on and leave the peculiar scene behind. Now, I know this has nothing to do with astrology or zodiac signs, but it is an interesting story nonetheless. 

In reference to zodiac signs, I find that descriptions of a Leo with my particular birthdate are genuinely pretty accurate when describing my personality and conflicts. However, the daily horoscopes are definitely not accurate in my experience. I will say that when I read/listen to them I try to apply something positive from the reading to my daily life. I engage in a deeper thought process and practice mindfulness throughout the day, keeping that positive focus within my mind on the positive message I am supposed to be implementing into my day. I have also found that compatibility readings have been somewhat inaccurate as far as certain zodiac signs getting along or not getting along with other zodiac signs. The biggest obvious red flag for me is how many different sources there are. And guess what? They all say something different on the daily. If zodiac signs and horoscopes are supposed to be accurate, then why don’t all individuals who report them online all say the same thing - or at least something similar?? To play devil's advocate here, I did say earlier that I believe there is some truth to all of this, which is why it interests me so much and also why I believe in this stuff to a degree. There is a lot of magical and wondrous history to unpack in regards to the zodiac and horoscopes. So, let’s jump right in, shall we?

Interesting fact: the word zodiac is derived from Greek terminology meaning “circle of little animals.” We’re a circle of little animals - cute visuals there, eh? Hieroglyphs in Egypt dating as early as the 14th century BC were found to contain a circle of decans (constellations) depicting something that looks a lot like the constellations and zodiac symbols that we know today. In total there were 36 decans found within the temple.

During the first half of the first millennium, Babylonian astronomers created our modern zodiac. They also mapped the previous constellations that were seen in the Egyptian hieroglyphs but continued to add more as they were discovered. In the last half of the 5th century, the Babylonian astronomers divided the many constellations into 12 equal "signs” to represent the 12 months of the year at 30 days per month. Each sign contained 30° of celestial longitude, thus creating the first known celestial coordinate system. According to calculations by modern astrophysics, the zodiac was introduced between 409 and 398 BC and probably within a very few years of 401 BC. Unlike modern astrologers, who place the beginning of the sign of Aries at the place of the Sun at the vernal equinox, Babylonian astronomers fixed the zodiac in relation to stars, placing the beginning of Cancer at the "Rear Twin Star" (β Geminorum) and the beginning of Aquarius at the "Rear Star of the Goat-Fish" (δ Capricorni). Due to the precession of the equinoxes, the time of year the Sun is in a given constellation has changed since Babylonian times, the point of vernal equinox has moved from Aries into Pisces. 

You’ll be pleasantly surprised, intrigued, or disgusted to know that all of this does have some roots within religion. The Hebrew Bible shows knowledge of the Babylonian zodiac. E. W. Bullinger noted that the drawings found in the book of Ezekiel were quite similar to the middle four quarters of the zodiac (Lion/Leo, Bull/Taurus, Man/Aquarius, Eagle/Scorpio). You read that right, Scorpio is noted as being an eagle - not a scorpion. Some say that the twelve tribes of Israel are correlated with the zodiac signs found within the Hebrew 12 month calendar. There is an argument that the position of the Israelic tribes around the Tabernacle from the book of Numbers correlates with the exact order of the zodiac, with Judah, Reuben, Ephraim, and Dan representing the middle signs of Leo, Aquarius, Taurus, and Scorpio, respectively. It is shocking how I have heard religious people in modern times talk about how this is all a bunch of garbage, even though some of this is literally correlated with items from the Bible.

To explain daily horoscopes and the connection between the stars, planets, and our zodiac signs, you must engage in a bit of math (yuck). When planets and constellations of the zodiac would align, the Babylonian astronomers of that time would note the experiences that people had and found similarities. These experiences, along with the position of the Earth, Sun, Moon, and constellations and the positions relative to the zodiac signs were stored within a catalogue. This went on for several years and is essentially what began our modern-day daily horoscope. However, it is my personal opinion that a lot of these “professionals” who have their own magical websites where you can get a free daily horoscope, just make shit up to sound interesting. That is obvious by the previously mentioned differentials found within each page. I encourage you to do a quick Google search and you’ll see what I’m talking about. This ties into the belief that the Barnum Effect is in play here. You’ll remember the Barnum Effect from last month's blog. If you haven’t read the June 2021 blog The Imaginarium of Barnum, I suggest you head there next to get a deeper understanding of what I’m talking about before you continue reading. Much of what is broadcasted in daily horoscopes, zodiac sign descriptions, and even within mediumship and tarot readings is full of extremely vague generalities. Because the information is presented in such a vague and generalized way, it then becomes an instance where anyone could apply any of the information to their life in some way. So as you can see, there is some psychological manipulation at play here. Now, I am not saying this is true for all who present the information. I will say that there are A LOT of shams out there. I have seen far more fake sites/readings/etc. than I have seen legit ones. If I had to give a percentage from my personal experience, I’d say about 85% of what I’ve seen is bullshit. But you choose what you believe at the end of the day. I just ask you to keep an open mind and a wise eye about you when scanning the web for horoscopes, zodiac information, tarot, and mediumship. 

All of this information is interesting to stew on within your mind. I hope that you learned something new. I know I did when I was researching this topic for the blog. The religious ties were the most surprising thing to me. What did you find most interesting? Drop a comment under the blog on Tumblr or under the Instagram post for this month’s blog and let me know. Tonight if you are able, take a look at the stars and see if you can find the constellations. The plethora of shapes within the brightest stars are brilliant to gaze upon. Who knows, maybe you will find your zodiac constellation. Maybe you will depict a new constellation on your own by combining different combinations of stars. Or maybe you’ll see something that you can’t explain…

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch @psychvvitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

[julietcushingsvibes]

Alternative career in medicine: pharmaceutical scientist 🧪

Pharmaceutical scientists are trained to discover, research, develop, test, and produce new drugs and medications. This job is laboratory intensive as it is based on chemical compositions and wet lab research into compounds, the end result of this laboratory research is a drug that serves a desired purpose. This is done by researching the interactions between the chemicals being used and the human body—this specific aspect of pharmaceutical science appeals to me most because it is most similar to clinical research and would boast the most patient interaction (something that I am very passionate about).

The three stages to drug development are: discovery (identification of new compounds with promising characteristics), development (repeated testing to ensure that the drug at hand works effectively and safely on human), and manufacturing (which is the large-scale production of medication for general use).

The discovery phase of drug development seems the most difficult, or maybe more accurately, the least aligned with my interests. When discovering a new drug, a pharmaceutical scientist examines thousands of molecular compounds, structures, and alternate pathways to come up with a new and beneficial drug. This process could take up to 20 years, and realistically I do not have the patients for that.

To become a pharmaceutical scientists you have to complete a bachelor’s of science and have very good chemistry, math and biology skill—it’s best if you already know which aspect of drug development you want to focus on. Many can graduate college with a job lined up right away. However, a pharmaceutical scientist can complete an advanced degree in order to specialize in a certain subject. Post graduate degrees like MD, MPH, and Pharm.D are beneficial to pharmaceutical workers because it allows them to be paid more for skilled work at their job.

Source: https://explorehealthcareers.org/career/pharmacology/pharmaceutical-scientist/

[antiquecompass]

Untamed Spring Fest Day 20: Fond

In which Mo Xuanyu’s life is full of wolves and choices.

Mo Xuanyu’s life had gone through some shocking revelations the past few weeks.

Finding out his adorable, tiny, gorgeous boyfriend was in fact over a century older than him.

Finding out his adorable, tiny, gorgeous boyfriend was in fact a wolf. Or a werewolf--or--well--sort of a werewolf but not exactly. A being of two souls essentially, one human, one wolf, and a person--creature--his adorable, tiny, gorgeous boyfriend who could slip into either form at will.

Finding out his adorable, tiny, gorgeous boyfriend’s entire family were also said magical wolves or in some other way magical-adjacent.

Finding out there was an entire living, breathing, realm of magical beings.

Finding out he--average, ordinary Mo Xuanyu--was a half-brother to one of those magical wolves.

Finding out that while he wasn’t a wolf, his mother must’ve been something extraordinary and that’s what gave him the ability to, in fact, see dead people. And relive memories--other people’s memories--dead people’s memories--of certain places and events.

So---yeah---it had been a shocking couple of weeks.

What he hadn’t expected was how fond the Nie Pack had become of him. Him. Plain old Mo Xuanyu. Who had an entire conversation with a ghost in their large castle they called home before figuring out his new acquaintance wasn’t a live human or wolf, but a former occupant of the castle. Wherever he went, at least one member of the Nie pack followed, either in human or wolf form. He’d gotten used to their odd sort of affection, running into him and scenting him. Little nips of their teeth on his fingers or large, playful shoves with their wolf bodies or their human hands. They all tried to feed him way too much. He always felt bad for refusing the additional portions, but he was human--not a wolf--and he just couldn’t eat that much.

It was a relief when Nie Zonghui and his husband? Mate? Creature he was legally and formally and personally bound to appeared. Wen Ning was not a wolf. He was a trained healer from an infamous family of fire demons (Xuanyu wanted to ask, but he figured ‘it’s complicated’ sufficed), and he was just a source of patient calm in the general over-affectionate chaos that comprised the Nie Pack.

Also their daughter, Lian, was the cutest little baby he’d seen in a long, long time. Even if she kept accidentally making it rain right on the two of them whenever she laughed. Whenever Xuanyu need a moment to just clear his mind he went and found Wen Ning and Lian for conversation and cuddles.

So, yeah, it was a little possible that Mo Xuanyu had clung to Wen Ning like a koala bear upon first meeting, and hadn’t let go, but like--Wen Ning was kind of the perfect bridge between Mo Xaunyu’s regular life and Mo Xuanyu’s life with the Nies. Wen Ning had lived on this side of the magical divide long enough to get most of Mo Xuanyu’s jokes. He didn’t try to smother Xuanyu with all sorts of well-intentioned affection. He didn’t try to overfeed him. And in general he was the one person--creature--living being he felt like he could vent to and not feel like a complete asshole.

“It’s actually rare for them to be so accepting of an outsider,” Wen Ning said as they sat by the riverside, Lian happily playing in the grass between them. “I suppose it’s because they’re all so very fond of Huaisang. He was their collective cub until the Jin Pack joined with the Nies, and even then, he was still the youngest until Rusong was born.”

“Rusong is only five,” Xuanyu said.

Wen Ning nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t safe for the Nies to expand their pack for the longest time. They’ve always been respected and powerful, but my family and theirs had a long, drawn-out fued. The Nies aligned themselves with the Winter Court--they’re Sidhe--like elves. And since the Winter King is married to a Wizard of Lotus Pier, it meant they were aligned with them as well. My family, the Fire Demon Clan of the Wens--they were not pleased by it. And they probably would’ve attacked the Nies outright and openly, if Meng Yao hadn’t torn out his father’s throat, declared Nie Mingjue his mate, dissolved the Jin Pack on the spot, and combined the two together.”

Xuanyu whistled. “He doesn’t half-ass things.”

“Not in the least,” Wen Ning agreed.

“So, if your families are like the Hatfields and the McCoys, how did your marriage happen?”

Wen Ning’s smile turned sweet and he ducked his head, a blush staining his cheeks.

“My family, my part of the family, are healers. We always have been. We still have an affinity towards fire, but we use it to cauterize wounds and sterilize our instruments. There is an old rumor that one of our grandsires was a Sidhe or even a Dryad, for we all have an affinity towards plants. Nie Zonghui was sent to court my sister at first, but, we stumbled upon each other in the woods and--I--I just wanted to know him better.”

“That seems to be a Nie family tradition--stumbling upon people in the woods.”

“It is how most of the Nies have met their mates,” Wen Ning agreed, a pointed look given.

Xuanyu felt his own face flush. “Yeah---I didn’t mean--not me.”

“Why not you?” Wen Ning asked. “Fairies set up a trap to weaken Nie Huaisang and bleed him out. Iron poison is a slow, painful death. They set the trap and you saved him, because you heard his cry. Why not you?”

“Because I’m me,” Xuanyu said with a helpless shrug. “I’m just--”

“A Changeling who can see ghosts and relive others memories. Do you know who can do that?”

“Psychics?”

“Oracles,” Wen Ning corrected. “And they are very rare. Or Reapers, an even rarer group. Or Readers of the Last Thought--the rarest. You are more than what you seem, but that’s not why the Nie Pack wants to claim you as one of their own.”

“Why do they?”

“Because you are good and kind and treat Huaisang with that same amount of care and kindness. You are worthy, Xuanyu, and you have a true heart. That is what matters most to them. Don’t turn from a gift just because you feel you aren’t worthy of it. Don’t let your aunt’s false words sway you. You have a home here, and a family, if you want it. I know it’s a massive change--a terrifying one--but some things just have to be leaps of faith.”

“Into a wolf den,” Xuanyu said.

“A very large wolf den,” Wen Ning agreed. He looked down at his daughter and grinned. “It’s worth it.”

And most of Xunayu wanted to take that running leap, to jump and not give a damn about where or how he landed, but life so far had taught him to bury down fantasy and fantastical things. And he had responsibilities. He couldn’t just abandon them.

“It’s not that easy to just disappear,” Xuanyu said. “There will be questions. I have bills to pay. I have school.”

“So, go home and then come back,” Wen Ning said, as if it was a simple as that. “Finish school. Leave in a way you’re comfortable with, and then come back. Come home. No one is saying you have to get mated today. Or tomorrow. Or five months from now. They have phones and the internet and paper letters if it comes to that. You can go home once this vacation is over, do what you have to do, get everything in order, and then you can come back.”

Xuanyu could live here, among the wolves, and the grounds, the multiple libraries, the ghosts, and the memories. He would live here with a pack. A family that didn’t judge every breath he took. A family that wanted him.

“I just need to graduate,” Xuanyu said. “I didn’t suffer through my math classes to not finish my college degree.”

“And you’ll have an entire howling section at your graduation,” Wen Ning said.

[ask-de-writer]

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 12 of 21

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Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images provided that I receive a copy of each image for my archive.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

After they ate, the charcoal was carefully put out and the ashes and unburned parts were stored to a tightly close metal can.  Daring Do gave Jeremy a hard look.

“You passed my questions on what you just studied.  You failed entirely on lesson retention.  You were willfully rude to my friends, whose help we do need.  You were warned of the necessity for courtesy by Qushi Han Le, and later by me as well.  Courtesy is necessary to survive here.

“As promised, you will walk for the next hour.”

She and Soree were allowed to mount to their carrying saddles and Sang He’s herd got to their big padded hooves.  Sang He inquired, “Would you please continue telling us of your adventure on the Forgotten River?”

Soree leaned forward eagerly in her saddle and asked, “Please do, Daring Do!  How did it come to be called the Forgotten River if it was so large?”

Jeremy was about to grumble about something again when the voice of the dromedary behind him, the one that had carried him, cut across his potential blunder.  “If you have complaint of me, Insect, my name is Sehang Shu.  If you do not have complaint, please be silent so that I may hear Doctor Do and learn more of the Forgotten River.  I, at least, wish to learn while we travel.”

Daring Do glanced back at Jeremy and nodded.  She answered Soree, “The region was not found and explored by ponies from Equestria until about six hundred years ago. An early cartographer, working from written notes forgot to put it into his map!  

“Another map maker gleefully put out his own edition with the river in it and labeled it the Forgotten River of Gulio Anponi!”  The name Forgotten River stuck because the joke made it memorable.”

Jeremy actually joined into the laughter provoked by the tale.  Then his brow furrowed in thought. “May I ask a question, Doctor Do?”

“Certainly, Jeremy.  What is it?”

“If Equestria was made by the Creator Titans to be a home to ponies everywhere, why are there so many ruins and abandoned civilizations in almost impenetrable jungles or deserts like this one?”

From behind Jeremy, where she was following to encourage him to keep pace, Sehang Shu asked, “You really do not know?  Doctor Do, may I educate the Insect?”

Daring Do glanced back, giving Sehang Shu a slit eyed look as she replied, “Please do, Sehang, but only if you can extend to him the courtesy that you properly demand. His name is Jeremy.”

Sehang Shu bowed her head the bow of equals and replied, “It shall be so.

“Jeremy, this was not a desert when the X'ibian Empire was founded.  The civilizations abandoned to other forms of wilderness were not poorly placed either.  The various forms of desert and jungle that overwhelmed them all came from a single source.

“Your Equestria.  These disasters of climate that forced ponies world wide to abandon ancestral homelands occurred because your Princesses Celestia and Luna fought the Nightmare Wars.  Weather was one weapon used by both sides.

“Meaning only to battle each other, they disrupted the weather patterns of the whole world.  After the Wars were over, your Princess Celestia had the Weather Authority created to fix Equestrian weather.  It grew into Cloudsdale.”

Jeremy thought that over before asking, “Sehang Shu, why didn’t other places set up Weather Authorities too?”

The big dromedary answered, “Eventually, most of them did.  The weather disasters destroyed more than crops.  Civil authority and entire civilizations collapsed. Whole populations migrated over large distances, seeking safe new homes.  Wars were fought over the best lands.  It took what became the Chineighese Empire over two hundred years to re form.  Their Imperial Weather Authority uses this hot, high desert part of X'ibia as a driver for their famous controlled monsoon system.

“Most of what was lost, world wide, has been replaced by later civilizations that formed in better locations.  Thus, we now have the abandoned cities and many ruins that Doctor Do is such an authority on and you know why they are now in such awkward places.”

Jeremy bowed his head and replied, “Thank you, Sehang Shu.  I nearly failed the class in Ethnological Geography.  I could not see why it was important.  You have just showed me why I need to re take it and do better.”

Daring Do and Soree overheard and shared a nod of satisfaction.

Sehang Shu looked down and bowed a bow of equals to Jeremy.  “Really, Jeremey?  If you will have me as an instructor, I will be pleased to teach you.”

The surprised Jeremy nearly stumbled on a stone as he replied, “I would be honored.  How much do you know of it?  You have clearly showed me that you know more than I.”

Sehang Shu bowed the bow of one more highly placed.  “I have had the honor of a degree in Ethnographical Geography.  It was granted by the Imperial College of Bejin How after completing courses taught by extension from the Equestrian Royal University.  Doctor Do was my favorite instructor.”

Jeremy looked shocked at first, then gave the rest of the herd a careful inspection.  Eyebrows raised in surprise, he inquired, “All of you?”

Sehang Shu nodded.  “All of us.  At least one degree in something.  On long desert nights we have little else to do.  We used to and still do sing and sometimes dance. We tell tales.  Now we study and try to explain what we are studying to our herd mates.  It is fun.”

Quietly Sehang Shu made a low, carrying tone, modulated in a way that Jeremy could not grasp at all.

Sang He replied, “We see them, Sehang.  They have given the counter sign to Doctor Do.  They are the Ancient Guardians, joining us at a distance.  When we pause for next rest, give them Port Arms.”

Jeremy recognized that as meaning, “We will fight with you,” from his recent lesson on X'ibian weapons courtesy.

Letting things go because they were no longer a threat, Sehang Shu suggested, “To assist your study by pointing it at both parts of interest, and your known weaknesses, we could make our study a colloquium.  Is that satisfactory?”

“That sounds great, Sehang Shu!”

She knelt.  “I know that your hour of walking is not up, Jeremy, but it will be easier for us to decide the subjects and order of them if you are riding.  Please mount your saddle.  We will be able to hear each other far better.”

Up in the front of the caravan, Soree’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

~~ ~~ ~~

Fuming at having yet another delay, this one enforced by the simple fact that there were derailed railroad cars blocking the only road out, Tyranny sat in the cab of one of their remaining four trucks.  His rage was covering a far deeper fear.

Robber and Overthrow gave it voice.  “That was close.  If we had been even a few moments slower in freeing him, he would be drowned right now.

“Overthrow, I was talking to the Lock Keeper.  That blue coat and orange mane is very rare here. They are thought to be bad luck.  The dock hand who delayed our unloading was one.  Both the beggar and the pony who handled the barge were, too.  The engine driver who caused this wreck and nearly killed Tyranny was another.”

Overthrow, brow wrinkled in concentration, noted, “You almost make it sound like some malign being or force is aligned against us.”

“I do fear it.  What if Discord has heard of our purpose somehow?  The Dragonequis will not take lightly to being chained by another’s will.”

There was a rap at the truck door.

Robber turned and instantly bowed the bow he had seen done so often.  The bow of equals.  “What may we do for you, good Lock Keeper?”  

Returning the bow, the Lock Keeper asked, “Would you please put the trucks as close to the embankment as possible?  We have a salvage crane coming to lift the car from the river.  It will also retrieve your vehicle at no charge, of course.”  To Robber’s surprise, he was offered a silver cash. He took it without comment, as he had seen the custom done.

He remembered to bow again as he replied, “We shall do as you request at once.”

He went down the line and instructed the two Chineighese drivers, who backed their trucks without incident.  Robber’s truck parked well back safely.  Overthrow backed his, guided by a pony from the work crew.  He accidentally struck the stone rip-rap on the slope.  He left a little paint on the stones but no serious harm to his truck.

Tyranny self-importantly gestured that the way was clear.  The Lock Crew and the River Salvage Team worked carefully for nearly half an hour to get the huge crane off the barge and onto solid dock.  They inched the big crawler up the road only a little way.  Test swings were made to be sure that loads could be placed safely on the flat unloading and staging area.

Robber was watching with a raised consciousness the care and skill being demonstrated. Overthrow was paying close attention to the whole operation.  

Tyranny was watching the slow pace with impatience.  He was muttering, “An Equestrian work gang would be done by now!”

Robber interrupted him.  “Please be quiet.  Some of these Chineighese understand Equestrian.” Tyranny subsided but with ill grace.

Divers went out in boats and surveyed the tangled wreckage.  One slid over the side and returned after an impressive amount of time under on one breath.  A conference followed.  Shortly, the boat returned to shore and returned with a buoy and a set of heavy cables.  The diver made several dives before he was satisfied.  

The boat let the buoy go and returned paying out the cable, with more smaller buoys attached to it.  The crane let down a big hook and the cable was secured to it. The cable pulled taut as the crane lifted the hook.

The rail car pulled toward shore and plunged underwater entirely.  The marker buoy stayed where it was.  When the crane had pulled as far as it could, the cable was secured to it and the hook let down again.  The cable was refastened and the pull repeated.  It took five long pulls for the main part of the rail car to be up more or less under the big crane’s hook.  More cables were wrapped about it and fastened to the hook.  

The crane lifted only a little. Workers shifted the massive load and it was let down while the cables were re set.  Finally, the wrecked rail car was set down on the staging area.

While that was all happening, unnoticed by any, a large blue rat with an orange head was industriously digging away at the already loosened dirt around several stones of the rip-rap wall.  They bore paint scraped off of Overthrow’s truck.

Robber, watching the whole salvage operation with real interest, walked behind their lead truck on his way to look at the damage on the rail car.  Glancing into the back of the truck he muttered, “We need to have that load restacked as soon as we can.  Tyranny just does not understand how to load a truck!”

He went on over and respectfully bowed to the strange pony inspecting the failed coupling on the wrecked car.  “Pardon my asking, but has this sort of failure happened often before?”

The pony looked up from where he was on his back looking up at the fractured metal.  He managed a bow even from that position and replied, “Not in my twenty years of rail incident inspecting.  I have never seen one fail in this fashion and today, in one accident, we have two.  It is very strange and very rare.”

Robber nodded politely and returned to the trucks.  He saw that the crane was now doing its short pulls to retrieve their truck.  It was soon sitting beside the rail car that had turned it into totally twisted and crushed scrap.

Tyranny, seeing the remains of the cab, shuddered.  He would not have had a chance to drown.  They salvaged all that they could from the smashed and broken crates and loaded it into the rearmost truck because it was closest.

The way above, at the crossing, was now cleared.  Tyranny leaped into the cab of the lead truck and fired up the Mage/Tech engine with a roar that shook the whole loading area.  In his impatience, he shoved the throttle over full and released the clutch!  As the truck lunged forward, the blue and orange rat, behind the stones gave a tiny shove.

Stones, bearing the paint of the truck that had scraped into them earlier, fell into the road.  The truck’s front wheel hit a biggish stone and lifted up, tilting the vehicle.  It would not have been a serious angle but for the sound of sliding crates and the thumps of them hitting the truckside!  The truck tilted, almost fell back onto its wheels!  The still driving rear wheels combined with Tyranny’s panicked steering pushed it past recovery.  The big truck teetered, falling onto its side with a screech of tortured metal, a splintering crunch, and the shattering of glass!  

A dazed and bruised Tyranny managed to push open the upper side door and climb out of the overturned vehicle.  The Lock Keeper came up, shaking his head.  He gestured to all three partners to come close.

“I have two things to say. Mister Tyranny, I have observed your driving during this.  This entire accident here and your involvement in the rail accident were both the result of your poor driving.  Your permit to drive on any road of the Empire is Revoked.  The permit please.”  He held out a hoof in a no nonsense way.

Tyranny glumly produced the document.  The Lock Keeper took out a writing kit, inked a brush in red and wrote the character for REVOKED across it.  He added a line of characters bearing his name and work title.  He sealed it with a chop.

After making a copy by regular clerical contagion magic, he returned the revoked permit.  “This will be sent to all road stations and Locks along the Dunn See.  If you are found driving any vehicle, it and all of its contents will be impounded by the State.  If you have broken any of our driving laws or been in an accident regardless of severity, you will be beheaded. Is this clear?”

Tyranny was starting to say something about too severe, but Robber stopped him.  “Tyranny, just yes or no.  Is it clear or not?  You are entitled at this time to understand the consequences.  Nothing else.  You should have looked over those law pamphlets that I gave you.”

The Lock Keeper nodded.  “Very well put Mister Robber.”

“You speak Equestrian?”

“I do.  Does he need the consequences of breaking our law spoken in Equestrian?”

Tyranny glumly replied, “No you don’t, and yes, I do understand.  How does your law handle such a thing?”

Bowing as a superior to an inferior, the Lock Keeper replied, “Your sentence will be made by a local magistrate.  If it is a capital one, it will be reviewed by the District Magistrate within five days, during which you will be kept in confinement.  If the District review goes against you, you will be executed on the spot.  If it does not, your case may still go to the Provincial Magistrate.  A capital case must be heard and decided in seven more days.  That decision will be final.

“One other thing.  You must keep the revoked permit as identification.  It is still valid for that purpose.”

“I see.”  Tyranny sourly replaced his revoked permit in his wallet and put it into his saddle bag.

The Lock Keeper turned to Robber.  “You have been learning much and admitting your errors. One, that was thought to be error or foolishness was not.  My eye drawn by the noise of the truck, I saw it.  The fall of the stones, which would not have been serious to a properly laden or driven truck, was caused by a rat-like creature.  It was blue and had an orange head.

“You are being dogged by a demon or a changeling.  Pray to your ancestors that it is only a demon.  They are easily exorcised and are not too bright. Changelings cannot be exorcised and can be deadly in their mischief.”

~~ ~~ ~~  

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[king-lobo]

Not normally the kind of thing I do on my blog, but since a very large portion of the States (and some of Canada) are going to be headed straight for another ice age soon, I’m going to impart some knowledge upon you about keeping your vehicle alive and in one piece. Cars are expensive to buy and maintain, so keeping it safe during the coming cold is extremely important. Sources: one, two, three, four 1. 4 wheel drive doesn’t mean 4 wheel stop. Don’t drive like a dumbass. Your ‘Super Duty Hemi V8 Monster 4X4 Rancho King Semi’ Truck is equally at risk of sliding or rolling. Just because you have a big beefy 4WD vehicle doesn’t mean that you’re invincible. Driving like you are is not only putting yourself at risk, but it’s putting everyone else on the road around you at risk.

2. GOOD. WINTER. TIRES. If you can afford the expense, invest in a set of winter tires, and they will be marketed as such (and get them studded if you can!). Winter tires have a different rubber compound and different tread patterns to make them handle a little better on snow and ice. Your all-seasons aren’t gonna cut it in negative degree ice and snow. Also, instead of having your current set of tires on your car removed from the wheels, just find a second set of wheels that fit your vehicle (junkyards or someone parting out their car) and have the new tires mounted on that set. It’s MUCH easier to swap wheels than it is to swap tires. When winter is through, you can swap out the wheels again and store your winter set for next year. (ALSO: Do NOT forget to check your spare tire. The time you forget is going to be the time that you need it most.) 3. Make sure everything is functioning properly. If your windshield is chipped or cracked, get it repaired or replaced. The cold will more than likely make it worse. Have someone help you make sure all of your lights are working properly and if not, replace them. (ALWAYS replace headlights in pairs, regardless of if one still works) Check your regular headlights, high beams, turn signals front and back, brake lights, fog lights if you have them, etc. If it’s been a year or more since you last replaced your windshield wipers, replace them. Have your battery tested - cold temperatures are harder on the cells and cause it to decrease in capacity. If it’s not at peak performance, replace it with a brand new one. 4. Preventative Maintenance. If you’re due for an oil change, go get ALL of the fluids checked and changed if necessary - oil, transmission fluid, antifreeze, brake fluid, power steering fluid (if you have it), etc. Have your brakes checked and replaced if necessary, get your car aligned, have your suspension components checked out, make sure your tires are inflated to the correct psi, keep your gas tank at least half full at all times to prevent your fuel lines from freezing and in case you become stranded. If something is making a weird noise, have your mechanic take a look. Preventative maintenance is something you need to do all year round to keep your car in tip top shape - but it’s especially important in extreme weather. 5. Don’t Let Your Car Idle. It’s fine if you start your car a couple minutes before you leave, but it doesn’t help to let it sit for 10-15 minutes or longer - it can actually cause premature wear to your engine. Letting it idle for at least 1-2 minutes is ideal, but your car will warm up faster when you start out driving at slow speeds. If you can avoid it, don’t accelerate hard right away - let your car get up to operating temp first. 6. PACK AN EMERGENCY KIT. Even if you think you won’t need one, do it anyways. A good emergency kit should consist of the following:

A set of jumper cables (extra long cables if you can find them - or invest in one of these) If you already have cables, inspect them thoroughly before adding them to your kit. Are the wires exposed? The clamps corroded? If they’re damaged in any way, replace them with a new set.

Flares and/or triangle reflectors

At least 1 quart or more of motor oil, at least 1 gallon of coolant, and extra serpentine belts. (these are all vehicle specific, make sure you get the correct type for your vehicle)

First-aid kit (look here for a comprehensive guide to first aid)

Normal blankets AND Mylar blankets (mylar blankets are the best at reducing heat loss in emergencies. you most often see them used with people who may be suffering hypothermia, as they reduce heat loss by up to 90%)

Flashlights with extra batteries, or a hand-crank flashlight

Small toolkit with screwdrivers, pliers, adjustable wrench, and pocket knife

Paper towels

Spray bottle with 2/3 rubbing alcohol and 1/3 water (rubbing alcohol has a freezing temperature of -128.2 °F/ -89°C) Rubbing alcohol can damage your paint, so don’t spray it directly onto your cars finish - only on the glass

Reusable heat packs (yes there are reusable ones out there)

TWO ice scrapers

Pencils and paper

High protein snacks

Bottled water

Extra clothes - socks, hats, coats, pants, shirts, etc.

Sand bags or cat litter (when you get stuck, sprinkle it around all four wheels to help you get better traction)

7. How to Properly Jumpstart a Car. Icemageddon or not, this is something you need to know how to do properly or you could actually cause your battery to explode. NOTE: If your car has an electronic ignition system (push to start) or is an alternatively fueled vehicle, jump starting it is not recommended, as it could damage it.

Red = Positive Black = Negative Dead Car = The car that has a dead battery Live Car = The car you are using to jump the dead car

Locate the batteries on the dead vehicle and the vehicle that is going to be giving you a jump - park them close enough that the cables will be able to reach the battery on both vehicles.

Make sure both vehicles are turned to the OFF position, remove the keys from the ignitions. DO NOT turn them on.

Every set of jumper cables will have four clamps - two for each car. Positive will always be red, negative will always be black. If that is not the case, there should be a symbol somewhere identifying which is which.

From this point on, keep the clamps separated AT ALL TIMES, and keep them up away from the vehicle until you are ready to connect them.

Connect one of the Positive(red) clamps directly to the dead cars POSITIVE (red) terminal. If they’re not color coded, look on the battery for the symbols indicating which terminal is positive and which is negative.

Connect the other positive(red) clamp to the live cars positive(red) terminal.

Connect the Negative(black) clamp to the LIVE cars negative(black) terminal.

Before connecting the second negative clamp, look for a piece of bare (unpainted) metal on the dead car that is away from the battery, and not connected to any important mechanical or electrical components. Some cars will have dedicated locations where you can place the negative clamp - there will either be a sticker under the hood or it will be listed in your owners manual. Do not connect the second negative clamp directly to the battery as it could create sparks. Car batteries contain hydrogen gas which could ignite and cause the battery to explode.

Get in and attempt to start the dead car. If it doesn’t work, check the negative(black) clamp on the dead car and make sure it has a good connection. If it doesn’t start a second time, start the live car and let it run for at least 2 minutes before trying to start the dead car again.

If the dead car starts, disconnect the cables in exactly the opposite way as how you connected them: Remove the negative(black) clamp from the dead car first, then the negative(black) clamp from the live car, then the positive(red) clamp from the live car, and finally remove the positive(red) clamp from the dead car.

Alternatively, if the dead car doesn’t start after two or three attempts, remove the cables and do not try again. Cranking the engine repeatedly can cause damage, such as prematurely wearing out the starter.

[eligrantbooks]

gotta vent about my day real quick

highlights of the day

> be professional ghostwriter.

Agreed to edit a 25000 word segment of a finished manuscript for a much loved regular client, who said the MC’s dialogue needed to be punched up. Easy enough. I figured it would take a few hours.

Was briefly excited to discover the manuscript was for a concept I had outlined and written several chapters for a few months ago.

Excitement rapidly dwindles as I realize that beloved client has hired another ghostwriter to write the majority of the book. Which would be fine, except this other ghostwriter has no fucking idea what they are doing.

Formatting is a god damn disaster and I spend several hours just getting the document into a workable condition.

You ever open a word doc, look at the navigation pane, and just see a wall of blank links, because someone applied the header formatting somewhere and then just hit enter a million times instead of using a page break like a civilized god damn human being?

in the middle of this forest of blank headers, actual chapter titles are scattered at random, and also they only applied the header to roughly one out of every five chapters or so, you know, just, when they felt like it. when the spirit took them. when the stars aligned. when the feng shui was right.

Also, apparently they like the way first line indenting looks but don’t know how to make word do that (spoiler: its easy as shit and takes like two clicks) so every once in a while they start manually hitting tab before every line, until they get distracted and stop for a while, luring you into a false sense of security before they remember and start doing it again.

Sometimes, when a scene transitions but they dont want to just end the chapter for some reason, they break it up with spaces. Other times, they like to use asterisks. Once or twice, just for flavor, they throw in one of those page width lines that word makes when you type a line of hyphens.

There is random highlighting in places, for no discernible reason.

Once I have the document formatted in a way I can bear to work with, I start actually reading through it. About the first seven chapters were written by the client. They’re cheesy but solid.

Then I get to chapter eight, and the suspicions i had begun to form while putting the formatting through traction (namely that whoever did this was a fuckwit) quickly crystallized into a shining certainty that my beloved client had mistakenly hired An Ass Clown.

Not just An Ass Clown, but An Ass Clown who thought 50 Shades was a beautiful love story, actually.

And they gave This Ass Clown, this literary reprobate, this paste eating remedial english mother fucker, my outline.

let me clarify that i did not expect to have sole control of this story when i produced the outline for beloved client, and I was okay with that. That’s how it works. If I’d been dead set on writing this myself, i wouldn’t have sold the outilne to beloved client. but it really rubs salt in the wound to have spent hours of my life crafting the bones of this story, which i really liked and was excited to see take shape

and then find out it has been put into the pie fondling hands

of An Ass Clown.

first hint that something has gone drastically wrong: the arrival of completely unnecessary and ridiculous fantasy names for things.

“oh we dont drink coffee in this book. it’s kofee. at least until three chapters from now when i forget and it becomes kofe. Oh, and watch out for those thornaby bushes! I’m going to misspell that one literally every time I use it! It’s entirely possible that this isn’t a fantasy name at all and I just have a small seizure whenever I try to type the word thorn bush!”

second omen of my impending anuerism: phonetically written accents which are so comically stereotypical and inaccurate that native speakers of that accent should be entitled to financial compensation, except they can’t even stick to the stereotype accurately, producing gems such as  “It’s not safe in that there pen with ‘em swine, young miss.” I don’t even know what accent that’s supposed to represent. To top it off these accent abominations are sprinkled in with all the consistency and reliability of a lactose intolerant cheese enthusiast’s bowel movements.

But this, I tell myself, moving on, is not my problem. I just need to punch up the mcs dialogue. It’ll be fine. I can do this. I just need to take this shit: “A fond idea, but I doubt I have that ability.” I joked. “I can’t imagine living without true sunshine. Even the triplet moons must shine less brightly without their sister sun.” and make it… not like that.

Except, and here’s where I start hitting the real roadblock guys

this book is in first person.

essentially, the entire novel is the MC talking.

So sure I can change the spoken lines, but her internal monologue

which is, i remind you, the entire narrative

her internal monologue is going to keep being maggie gyllenhal’s character from The Secretary if her copy of the script had been swapped with just a binder full of sonnets written by a middle school english class during the Shakespeare unit.

I get to chapter ten around three in the afternoon. I have been working steadily, with an unusual degree of focus thanks to my recent adderal prescription, since ten in the morning.

this is where shit begins to go truly bananas.

this is a YA beauty and the beast type fantasy

that good fun indulgent shit that’s almost as enjoyable to write as it is to read

usually. previously. before i had to endure this traumatic twelve hour experience.

Chapter ten is the first big “dinner” scene. this book isn’t being shy about pulling from the source material, but that’s fine. the beast “apologizes” (heavy quotes there) for having earlier used magic to force the heroine to answer his questions truthfully. They talk and almost seem to making progress for a bit, and then have a fight and storm off. Standard stuff.

Except, uh, the beast’s apology is, essentially “Yeah I shouldn’t have done that.” “so you’re apologizing?” “no but it’s the best you’re going to get so deal with it.”

and the headstrong, independent heroine who wears pants and wrestles pigs and dont need no man

just kinda rolls with this. There’s giggling.

They have their big dramatic fight, exit stage left, much angst and todo.

The next morning heroine wakes up to find the beast has (presumably) snuck into her room while she was sleeping and dumped a bunch of new dresses on her. he has also (apparently) replaced her brain with Bella Swan’s more vapid cousin.

She forgives him instantly. Because pretty dresses. She also starts calling him master, because why not. She has, over night, become the darling submissive Tumblr doms dream of.

This is not a bdsm book. I am eighty percent certain it doesn’t even include soft core smut. I’m telling you this so that you understand this transformation was not a contrivance in order to facilitate kinky sex. I have written a contrived set up to a sex scene or two in my day. This is not that. This is Not what is in the outline. I know, because i wrote the outline. It is My Outline.

No, The Ass Clown just… decided to do this. Apropos of nothing. I’m beginning to think the Ass Clown’s decision making process involves whipping pies at a comically large dartboard. And all the options on the dartboard are just “lol whatever”

By the time I get to chapter eleven, wherein our newly lobotomized heroine is “excited to wear a new frock and please the master!” - direct quote I have given up any pretense of editing dialogue and I am just straight up rewriting shit using the previous garbage as a loose outline.

I have eaten, maybe, three bites of a bowl of oatmeal all day. I have not taken a bathroom break since before noon. I have missed my deadline. Beloved client is concerned. I’m sure I can still do this, I just need a few more hours.

the words sound like truth but my soul knows i am a liar

I frantically restructure scene after scene, deceiving myself each time that it will be the last, and I will be able to get this crazy train back on the rails. But this crazy train has no interest in being on the rails. It’s a direct line no stops right off the edge of the cliffs of insanity.

The beast jumps unpredictably from homicidal rage and threats of violence to jokes and flirting as though he did not just declare her his property and threaten to rip her tongue out a few paragraphs ago. Heroine swoons and sighs and giggles regardless of whether she is dealing with Dr.Jekyll or Christian Gray on PCP.

But I’m still sure I can do this. I’ll just adjust these two full chapters to make her appropriately scared and angry, and then replace this weird conversation here with a heartfelt apology from him and an effort to do better. That will totally work. Unless, you know, it turns out that conversation I want to replace only starts out with them joking and laughing together, and turns into him berating and abusing her mid paragraph of a fuckin montage a page later! But, haha! Why would The Ass Clown ever do that? It would be completely irrational, tonally jarring and out of character! Only a seltzer slinging rainbow suspender-ed peanut butter fumbling son of six fucks would do that.

so of course The Ass Clown did that.

It’s eleven at night. I know when I’m beaten.

I inform beloved client that the Ass Clown has bested me and I can do no more.

She is very understanding.

I send her what I managed and I check the added word count while im at it

i added a full 6,000 words to that manuscript just trying to patch up this sloppy motherfucker’s lopsided prose and gossamer thin understanding of narrative structure

son of a bitch had about as firm a grasp of romance as i currently have on the trembling shreds of my sanity.

their grip on character writing could not be more tenuous if they had first dipped the target brand Hulk Hands which I assume they always have on their person into a barrel of adult-film-grade silicon lubricant and then taken their Leapfrog 2-in-1 Leaptop Touch down a waterslide.

Do you know how much I usually make for 6000 words?

$180.

Do you know how much I made for enduring this ass blasting, which I naively believed I could tackle in a matter of hours?

$100.

You owe me $80 Ass Clown. And I aim to collect.

Also I lost my damn mind for a minute and said the words "i dont know shit about fuck my guy” to my actual father on facebook

so there’s that.

[evbexconsulting]

Sustainability in Facility Management

Emerging from the pandemic and meeting sustainability objectives — Facilities Management at a crossroads, chasing shadows or a bright new future?

Facilities management (FM) is often seen as the poor relation within many organisations, a commodity where costs continuously need to be scrutinized and cut accordingly. As organisations start coming out of the worst pandemic for over a hundred years and seek to secure financial stability through reducing their property needs and portfolio size, does this spell more danger for the FM industry or is it an opportunity to spearhead organisational sustainability objectives?

As the world eventually emerges from lockdown, FM will inevitably need to change to a more ‘on demand’ based service to suit the changes enforced on organisations due to the pandemic and new approaches and strategies towards business planning and operations. This presents an ideal opportunity for organisations to re-consider their wider property needs and requirements, holistically across the entity and in doing so, embrace sustainability in facility management in the race towards the United Nations ‘Sustainability Development Goals 2030’ and ‘Net-zero 2050’ Target.

The questions I will attempt to answer here are:

What is the considered view of FM as organisations recover from the pandemic?

What are the key objectives and goals for organisations in moving forward?

How can FM help drive the sustainability goals & objectives?

Although FM is an absolute necessity in each organisation, it is usually perceived as a commodity where the costs continuously need to be reviewed and cut as it does not appear to contribute towards meeting organisational objectives and goals.

It is often considered as a ‘means to an end, a ‘necessary evil’ where organisations need to ensure that their buildings meet regulatory compliance and are fit for purpose. It also seeks to ensure that organisational employees are optimised to contribute towards organisational profitability.

The official definition of Facilities Management, in the International Standards Organisation (ISO) 41001:2017 is ‘an organizational function which integrates people, place and process within the built environment with the purpose of improving the quality of life of people and the productivity of the core business.’

This definition would lead us to believe that, arguably, FM should be considered across all levels of organisational architecture i.e. strategic, tactical and operational, whereas it is mainly considered as an operational function by many organisations.

Indeed, based on research undertaken by Evbex, as up to 35% of an organisation’s costs are attributable to the fixed and varying factors that constitute FM, one could argue that it really deserves more prominence within organisational hierarchy and value.

Indeed, ever since my FM career started in 1990, FM has always been under pressure to reduce and cut costs. With organisations starting to re-emerge following the worst pandemic for over 100 years, will FM be better off or worse off?

1. What is the considered view of FM as organisations recover from the pandemic?

Emerging from the impacts and effects of COVID-19 the FM industry and profession is arguably at a crossroads.

Globally, organisations will wish to reduce the size of their property portfolio to remain competitive and even survive. The pandemic showed us that employees can work effectively from home and the latest thinking suggests that we will not need as much property to support our businesses and that a blended hybrid of employer property-based and home working hybrid will result in less demand for the traditional work from the office or workplace location. This is already happening in retail where online shopping and global lockdown has forced retail organisations even more towards online shopping. The same will be true, to varying degrees, for offices, manufacturing and public buildings. Trust in their workforce to work from home was forced upon organisations during the pandemic and it largely worked so why wouldn’t businesses organise their future resource structures around this premise and further reduce property costs?

This will undoubtedly mean further cost reduction targets for the FM sector.

2. What are the key objectives and goals for organisations in moving forward?

In recent times and before the pandemic, sustainability has become a high priority on organisational agendas. As organisations have largely adopted the UN’s ‘Sustainability Development Goals’ and in doing so, created their own ‘Net-zero’ goals and objectives.

To achieve these goals, organisations are signing-up to or adopting various sustainability-based Standards or Good Practice guides in their quest to becoming carbon-neutral, conserve water, and support a clean environment.

Sustainability in facility management in this context can be defined as the avoidance of the depletion of natural resources to maintain an ecological balance.

Whilst organisations do not generally include much on FM in their corporate agendas and published goals and targets, meeting sustainability targets and the annual reporting of progress against these targets certainly features on most companies’ websites and social media channels. Indeed, organisations with properties certified by any of these green organisations will gain positive recognition and economic gains from such certifications.

Three broad principles of sustainability in facility management can be considered as being made up of 3 pillars — the economy, society and the environment or as a triple bottom line of financial, environmental and social. These principles are also sometimes referred to as profit, people and planet.

Within the context of FM, there is a strong correlation with two of the three pillars, people and plant and of course there is an indirect link with profit.

How are organisations interpreting sustainability and how can they develop strategies that align with and deliver the UN’s Sustainability Development Goals in meeting their ‘2030 — Sustainable Development Goals’ and ‘Net-zero 2050’ objectives with least 50% reduction in emissions by 2030, which is only 9 years away?

In order to answer this question effectively, we can consider sustainability and its relationship with FM from the following perspectives:

Sustainable Buildings — Energy and Environmental considerations

Sustainable Teams — People Performance and Wellbeing considerations

Sustainable Communities — Supply Chain; Organisational Responsibility & Accountability considerations

Sustainable Buildings — Energy & Environmental:

Considers impacts of the built environment. Advocates sustainable energy sources. Steps are taken to incorporate energy efficient practices, including the use of renewable energy in the design and use of buildings.

Sustainable Teams — People Performance & Wellbeing:

In this context, employees are considered in terms of their performance and outputs against the buildings they occupy. People are our most important assets and it is therefore imperative that their wellbeing is prioritised accordingly.

Sustainable Communities — Supply Chain; Organisational Responsibility & Accountability considerations:

Social responsibility is also a means of achieving sustainability goals. When an organisation adopts key responsible principles such as accountability and transparency, it can demonstrate that it ensures the long-term sustainability and success of an organisation or system.

Many certifiable Standards and Good Practice Guides now exist to guide organisations towards their sustainability goals and the take up of such standards has risen significantly in recent times. Listed below are some of the main Standards available today:

Sustainability Standards

Sustainable Buildings — Energy & Environmental:

BREEAM is the world’s leading sustainability assessment method for master planning projects, infrastructure and buildings.

LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) is the most widely used green building rating system in the world

ISO 50001:2018 is the newly revised international standard for Energy Management providing the most robust framework for optimising energy efficiency in public and private sector organisations.

Sustainable Buildings — People Performance & Wellbeing:

The WELL Building Standard is a vehicle for buildings and organisations to deliver more thoughtful and intentional spaces that enhance human health and well-being.

Sustainable Society — Supply Chain; Organisational Responsibility & Accountability:

SA8000 is an auditable certification standard that encourages organisations to develop, maintain, and apply socially acceptable practices in the workplace.

ISO 26000 is intended to assist organisations in contributing to sustainable development.

As organisations strive to become certified and adopt the above standards to meet their sustainability goals, they will embark on a fragmented, stop-start journey.

Why is the sustainability journey fragmented?

Certification to the relevant Standards will inevitably be a resource and business process re-engineering obligation by an organisation which will be backed by senior management commitment. Establishing eventual certification to the required standard will certainly not be a simple task or a ‘one-off ‘event. Organisations will need to demonstrate ongoing and continued adherence to the requirements of sustainability standards as this will need to be demonstrated periodically through periodic maintenance or surveillance audits.

As already identified, there are also different standards and certification routes to match each of eth three perspectives of sustainability. Furthermore, there are also competing standards organisations and institutions that want your business. This has to be considered against other organisational objectives from an economic perspective.

Unlike FM, where there are defined service lines and roles, there are no sustainability-based natural resources, beyond management activity, which can deliver sustainability related tasks in a collective and cohesive manner. This can cause difficulties in maintaining continuity of sustainability certification in between audits, particularly where there is a disconnect sustainability in facility management.

It is commendable that so many organisations now demonstrate such commitment to sustainability through their corporate values and goals but it will take on-going effort and input to maintain accreditation along the journey towards ‘Net-zero’. As stated, this is generally underestimated in terms of allocated resources on a day-to-day basis within an organisation’s normal operations.

On a positive note, recent developments and convergence in methods and objectives on the green Non-Governmental Organisations (NGO) is starting to make in-roads in recognising the need for a common approach for certification through targeting similar approaches.

3. How can FM help drive the sustainability objective and agenda?

The FM function within an organisation is usually consistent and always there to ensure that new practices and tasks can be developed, applied, monitored, measured and improved.

As a rule, we do not employ operatives to specifically to deliver sustainability agendas. How else can this therefore be achieved in an effective and cost-efficient way. Step in FM!

The range of sustainability-based procedures and tasks required to maintain the relevant certifications and sustainability based working practices to achieve the organisations goals can and should be delivered by FM resources. Traditionally, this is often not the case but this is a monumental opportunity for FM to step out of the low-cost commodity shadows and show that it can deliver real additional value through ensuring that sustainability goals will be met.

FM services typically cover the vast majority of needs to maintain accreditation to the relevant Standards and in doing so, support organisational objectives in this regard.

Indeed, there is a strong argument that our mature FM resources and teams that are ever present within our workplaces could and should deliver the vast majority of the sustainability related operational tasks at zero or negligible additional cost through modifying the FM specifications. As the FM industry will undoubtedly be driven towards an ‘on-demand’ service post-pandemic, this is the ideal time to do it.

Table 1 — Examples of combining sustainability tasks within facilities management service lines

There is no doubt that FM needs to change, top become more of an ‘on-demand’ type service so as part of this change, we should also look at ways of integrating the sustainability requirements.

All these services play a key role in informing the sustainability agenda and in ensuring that the sustainability journey is a smooth one Through revised FM models and structures and the re-designing FM specifications, contracts, measurement frameworks etc. FM can rise from the shadows to finally project itself as a critical resource and service that demonstrates value against 30% upwards of an organisations costs but also providing additional value in assisting organisations to meet their ‘Net-zero’ targets.

If the FM profession and industry can create the clear links and association between sustainability and FM then it promises to be an exciting time for the FM sector. Yes, it will need to re-invent itself again as a combined ‘Sustainability & FM’ function with potentially far more credibility and relevance than it has ever had before.

Much in the same way that FM was historically expected to pick-up compliance, health and safety and environmental responsibilities, a greater opportunity now exists for the industry — to lead the sustainability charge!

As the world eventually emerges from lockdown, FM will inevitably need to change to a more ‘on demand’ based service to suit the changes enforced on organisations due to the pandemic and new approaches and strategies towards business planning and operations. This presents an ideal opportunity for organisations to re-consider their wider property needs and requirements, holistically across the entity and in doing so, embrace sustainability in the race towards the United Nations ‘Sustainability Development Goals 2030’ and ‘Net-zero 2050’ Target. It is considered that as much as 80% of an organisation’s sustainability needs for certification and meeting organisational targets can be delivered through FM resources.

Such a move will inevitably ease the financial burden on FM as an entity in its own right, as funding and budgets will be made available for meeting sustainability targets.

The future for FM should be bright, it should embrace the opportunity and show the world that ‘they are the guy’s to deliver this agenda’, as FM transforms once again to delivering valuable strategic support to the core business.

For more information:

info@evbex.com

www.evbex.com

+44 333 012 9064

[vankoya]

Something in the Water.

Genre | Camping / Friends to Lovers AU.

Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.

Words | 25,836 words.

Conspectus | Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward, mismatched gang of pals. This is made all the more apparent when they rock up at ___’s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, as if it is a natural time for any college student to be awake. 

But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend, slamming his fist against her front door.

Warnings | Loads of swearing young adults. Terrible jokes that made my eyes bleed and would one hundred and ten percent make Kim Seokjin proud. A lot of banter. Relatively slow build to tent sex. No, not literally having sex with a tent, just inside– I’ll stop.

Judging by the angle of the sunlight filtering through your blinds, remaining to hover only just above the horizon, it is clear that it is currently a time that you should still, most definitely, be completely dead asleep. Whoever is pounding their fist against your front door seriously needs to piss right off. Otherwise, your early-morning murderous tendencies will begin to take form in 1. your barely suppressed rage, and 2. the baseball bat hidden underneath your bed.

For an infinitesimal moment—amidst you weighing up the possibility of being granted parole if you were to enact second-degree murder on your front doorstep—the knocking stops. But before you can truly appreciate the pleasant buzz in your ears from the sharp, repetitive sound fading into a comfortable silence, the screeching tune of your ringtone flares to life on your bedside table.

“Mother–“ You slam your hand down on the device, blearily looking at the screen to swipe your finger across the ‘answer’ button before continuing to scream into the speaker– “Fucker! Leave me in peace!”

“Never. I have coffee. Answer the door, hoe–”

Mercilessly hanging up, you roll onto your back with your eyes closed. A low, guttural groan emits from your chest due to the voice of your best friend, Kim Taehyung, attempting to bribe you into coherency with your sole point of weakness. And he fucking knows it.

It is an agonisingly difficult decision to make. You could leave the plush comfort of your toasty bed, snatch the coffee out of his hands, and then slam the door back in his face. Or, you could simply abandon the delight of having a coffee until later when you can make one with your own devices. This way, you can snuggle ever deeper into your pillows, and let sleep lift the dreaded weight of being alive from your conscious for a few more hours.

But the further you dwell on the issue at hand, the rising con of the entire dilemma continues to raise its ugly head. That is, Taehyung is not a man who easily gives up. He refuses to take rejection as the immediate answer, most especially when it comes down to you. So, even if you were to put either plan that ultimately results in avoiding him as much as possible into action, he would burn up his phone battery with persistent calls to your cellphone. Even if you turned the device off, he would resort to beating that door down until his fists are no more than bloody stumps at the ends of his wrists.

Thus, the undesirable fact of the matter is that, either way, you are going to have to face Taehyung. And you really do not think you are currently sane enough to do so because, really, is anyone sane if they can be a fully functioning human being before eight in the morning? You rest your case.

As if on cue, the knocking starts again in an increasing staccato. You faintly consider taking the baseball bat with you. Although cracking his skull open may not solve all of your problems, it will at least get rid of three.

You swipe your phone from the bedside table and disconnect the second call trying to ring through. After swinging your legs off the edge of the bed with a disgruntled sigh, you navigate your way through the house with your eyes mostly shut. Your shoulders bounce and thump against the walls while you lethargically progress towards the source of the continuous sound, pounding away like nails being hammered into your temples.

You barely notice in your half-asleep state that, the nearer you approach, the more apparent the sound of boyish voices on the other side of the barrier—separating you from your source of hot, liquefied energy—comes to be. So when you abruptly unlock the front door and swing it open, you are channelling too much focus into ducking out of the way of Taehyung’s knocking fist—which nearly punches you straight in the face—to immediately realise that it is not just him who is trespassing on your front yard.

Expect the unexpected, is always the motto that labels your group of friends. Evidently, today is no exception.

Crookedly parked on the curb that marks the end of your parent’s property is Kim Seokjin’s dual-cab Hilux. The tray is piled high with what seems to be camping supplies in an array of canvas and polyester materials, all strapped down by knotted ropes. The owner of the vehicle himself stands with his hands on his hips. His expression is affronted as he debates about something unintelligible with Kim Namjoon, who is seemingly inspecting a tyre. You make out the words wheel alignment before you focus your gaze onto your one, true tormentor.

Taehyung, without a single takeaway coffee cup in sight, stands on your doorstep with his empty hands hanging limply at his sides. You suspiciously narrow your eyes, and guilt leeches into his tone as he says, “I don’t have coffee, but we’ll be getting some on the way.”

“Rude,” you pitifully kick at him, and he swiftly dodges your foot with practised ease. “What time is it? And on the way to where?”

“Probably just coming up to seven in the AM,” Taehyung chirps, as if it is such a humane time of the day to be this energetic. You can already feel your body sagging with sheer dread at the ungodly hour of the morning, wishing to collapse into the soft cotton of your sheets as your eyes slip closed once more. “But on the note of where, we’re going to the lake that’s three hours up north to get slizzard like lizards. So hey, come camping with us!”

“What the hell,” you grunt, resting your forehead on the doorjamb. You crack one eye open, squinting blearily against the morning sunlight. You can barely comprehend anything that your best friend—who you are slowly beginning to realise has no concept of forewarning people who prefer to sleep-in about such elaborate events—is saying. Your gaze narrows onto a certain someone who is now flailing in the distance over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Is Seokjin wearing pink crocs?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Hmph.”

“So are you in, or are you in?”

You glare at him. “It sounds like you’re not giving me much of a choice on the matter.”

“I’m not,” he grins like a million-dollar lottery winner. “All you have to bring is a pillow and a bag of clothes. We can share my tent and the double-mattress.”

“And exactly how long have you known about this camping trip?”

“Since last night. Jeongguk suggested we invite you, but that was at like, eleven-thirty, so I knew you would already be asleep. I messaged you, though.”

The latter end of his sentence goes unheard. Your hearing zeroes in on that particular name with a riveting jolt of electricity up your spine. Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk. Jeon I-want-you-to-fuck-me-ten-ways-to-Sunday-and-back Jeongguk. Suggested we invite you.

You sound a lot more breathless than you should. “You… you what?”

“Texted you,” Taehyung huffs. You bring your phone to chest-level and light up the screen to see that, indeed, Taehyung had sent you two messages just before eleven-thirty last night.

Received [23:28PM]: tHe PaL oF aLl PaLs

get your vodka face on hoe, we goin’ camping

expect chauffeur at ass crack o’ dawn

“Huh,” you murmur, scowling at the message. You then direct your glare at Taehyung, who seems to legitimately believe that the texts were the perfect forewarning of his arrival at such a sacrilege hour of sleep. “Well I’ll damn be–”

“___!”

Quite literally out of nowhere, Jeon Jeongguk himself leaps onto the patio beside Taehyung, nearly knocking him over in the process like a bowling pin, and successfully startling a screech out of you.

He is the twenty-one-year-old college sophomore who Park Jimin, another addition to your small family of friends, has shared dance classes with since the beginning of last year. Jeongguk was still a freshman then. But he was eventually dragged out to meet the rest of you at-the-time sophomores and seniors for a night down at the college tavern. A place that was highly frequented by the suffering second and third year students.

In your defence, you were beyond the point of a little tipsy by that time of the evening. Thus, your exceptionally loud proclamation of: “Oh my god, he looks like a tiny, baby bunny!” as the first words that the poor kid heard from anyone was mostly excused to your severe lack of sobriety. It was also quick to be smothered by Taehyung, who had covered your mouth and put you in a five-minute headlock. On the other hand, everyone around the table had sputtered into drunken laughter and very vocal agreement.

Albeit he was slightly flustered by your ebullient announcement—and the even more boisterous response that it received—Jeongguk took the remark as a compliment. Rather than, you know, a warning sign that he should pack up his things and run for the hills while he can. Yet, from there onwards, he secured himself a position in your tight social circle as the family favourite; the precious kid that you would all pride over and adore.

Indeed, young, freshman Jeongguk was a darling combination of baby fat cheeks, spindly limbs like a sapling, and large, bunny teeth that would often rest on the jut of his lower lip when he was deeply concentrating. The kind of cute that you want to tuck into your pocket and protect with every inch of your own life, which all seven of you did without question. Besides, it was no hidden secret that Jeongguk lived for the attention. He was always leaning into palms when they would ruffle his hair; nuzzling into fingers when they would cup his cheeks and coo over him; pressing against arms and shoulders on Hoseok and Jimin’s small, ratty couch during Friday movie nights to sap all the body warmth that he could get.

As the year progressed and the friendship ties with the newest addition were sewn all the tighter, you never took much notice of the fact that Jeongguk would brush away the hands of the other guys, and declare his preferences for the only person who was sans a third leg. AKA, you. And to nobody else but you, the sparkle in his eye when you would douse him in your affections was nothing more than that: his eyes catching the sunlight. Frankly, you had no intentions of believing it was anything beyond the midday illumination that was flickering in his iris. Even if Taehyung would be waggling his eyebrows in the distance, and Jimin would be nudging your side with his elbow, making irritable sounds of assumption that would only cease once you grabbed his arm and bent it behind his back.

But it was not until after the winter break that the greatest threat to your existence came to rear its head in a process that you honestly should have foreseen. Jeongguk’s very own kind—the precious fledglings still teetering on the edge of their teenage youth in the two years that surpass its defining bracket—have always been the number one casualty to such lethal evolution, after all.

College puberty.

It is exactly as it sounds. Where general puberty draws the path between childhood and becoming a teenager with the sprouting of hairs in places that no kid could have ever imagined, and the muscle pains that pull infant limbs into jumbles of gangly and awkward; college puberty is precisely the same. Except jacked up on steroids and protein powder, with a side-serving of flirtatious and audacious.

Victim number one, Jeon Jeongguk, slipped into this precise trap while you were studying abroad up until the end of those holidays.

Coming home, you were expecting everything to be the same as when you had left. For the most part, everything was. Your parents were still working abroad nearly every week. Seokjin was still studying like a madman with the fierce intent of making the most of his college tuition. Yoongi remained to have square eyes from staring at the producing software on his desktop for eight hours straight per session. Namjoon had not stopped writing strange Facebook posts about existentialism and the flawed concept of reality hours after midnight. Hoseok had burned himself through two pairs of sneakers, and had practically wore away the lacquer that oiled the floorboards of his dance academy’s practice room. Jimin was still partying like tomorrow would never exist, and was sticking his dick inside of anyone, anything that would give him the consent to do so. Taehyung, of course, had remained to be a pain in the ass that you loathed to adore.

Taehyung had also texted you a slew of emojis the minute your plane landed on the soil of home, jumbled amongst random words such as “muscles” and “bunny”. Hinting at your foredooming. In all of your stupidity, you had not considered in the slightest that maybe the guy was onto something.

Nonetheless, from what you could see, nothing at all had changed during the two months of your absence. In other words, you were completely oblivious and utterly defenceless to the slaughter that your heart and underwear had been bound to endure. A fateful occurrence that had come to fruition on the first night that you had met up with the gang at the college tavern.

The moment you had entered the bar on that fresh, chilly night was when you had noticed the anomaly on the otherwise picture perfect graph of unchanged constants. That teeny, infinitesimal dot of difference was leaning against the service register, waiting for the next round of drinks to be served up so he could take them to the usual table where the rest of your friends were already tipsy.

At first, standing frozen in the entrance of the tavern with the door slowly swinging shut behind you, you could not believe that it was him. You had even briefly considered that he was a close relative or a freakishly similar doppelgänger, who just so happened to attend the same college as the rest of you.

Because Jeon Jeongguk did not have shoulders that broad the last time you saw him. His jeans were never that snug around his newly sculpted ass. Nor did they hug his larger, solid thighs in such a way that not even a finger looked as though it could fit itself between the denim and his skin.

But all of the doubt that was sprouting from your certain identity misplacement had been washed away by a tidal wave of shock when the Jeongguk-lookalike who, in fact, was your very own Jeongguk, turned away from the bar.

A tray of eight pints had been loaded onto his exposed, veiny forearms that bulged from the rolled-up sleeves of his navy, button-down shirt. In the midst of that ninety-degree swivel, his eyes had vaguely passed over your wholly still figure before doing a double-take. Beer foam had slushed over the edges of the glasses in the abrupt whiplash when he noticed that it was you who had been stunned into a silent gawker.

Jeongguk had opened his mouth, closed it, and then repeated the action like a startled fish. All the while, you had stared at his face with an expression of growing disbelief as you had taken in the lack of baby fat cheeks; the newly sharpened edge of his jaw; the mature set to his eyebrows that were on complete, unadulterated display with the way that his dark fringe had been styled away from his forehead. It was a sight that was utterly unacceptable, and so totally not the adorable Jeon Jeongguk that you had farewelled at the beginning of winter.

But apparently, while you were gone, Jeongguk had discovered the campus accommodation’s gym and the 4oz jar of Suavecito Pomade that Namjoon uses liberally on his own hair. An unpredictably toxic combination that had kept you rooted in position while Jeongguk had hastily placed the tray back down on the bar to free his hands.

“___!” he had exclaimed in a tone that was three notches deeper, blasting you with his traditional bunny grin that was suddenly not as endearing as it used to be. Rather, it was a fierce, heart-melting juxtaposition to the entirety of his primed form and projected overwhelming desire into your very soul.

Jeongguk had then strode over and lifted you with startling ease into his arms, murmuring a gentle I missed you into your hair. His touch was a defibrillator reviving your unresponsive heart back to life. Melting into his chest, you had finally caved with a grin of your own and wrapped your arms around his neck.

It was there that a distant part of you had wholeheartedly accepted that you were a fucking goner. Jeongguk officially had his foot stuck in a trap that was designed to drag you down into your own personal hell of tantalising imagination and drool-worthy daydreaming.

That is, Jeongguk, physically, had transformed into a panty-dropping man. Yet he still honed the heart of gold that knew just the right ways to tempt your own.

Fast forward seven months: Jeongguk is now on your doorstep in low-riding grey sweatpants and a black Puma hoodie that matches his same-branded sneakers. He rakes a hand through his distressed bed-hair, wearing a grin soft with sleep. Taehyung is still recovering from the bump that nearly barrelled him off the patio and into your mother’s beloved petunias, theatrically balancing himself against the wall.

What the fuck. He looks unfairly handsome in sweatpants.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe, smiling; trying to not make it obvious that you feel like the walking dead. “So I hear you’re the reason behind this rude wake-up call.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, oozing confidence, even at this absurd hour.

You wonder—certainly not for the first time—whether it is just a switch that never flicks off when you are packing an extra fifteen kilos in muscle weight. The comfortable wear of polyester does nothing to hide it, either. It only makes the harsh angles gentler, warmer, as if you might sink right into his chest like maple syrup if he was to wrap his arms around you. Something sweet fizzes in your stomach at the thought.

You only realise Jeongguk had continued to speak once he lowers his head so that your eyes are levelled. He leans in with a quirk of his brow and a cheeky remark of, “You in there, ___?”

You blink, focusing back on him. Jeongguk’s newfound proximity allows a waft of oaky cologne to drift into your senses, sending you into a mild state of delirium. In a meagre attempt to dispel the heat that trickles into the high points of your cheeks, you pinch the bridge of your nose and squint your eyes closed in faux irritation.

"Yes, you ass," you mutter, and Jeongguk’s chuckle recedes as he straightens up. You open your eyes to teasingly glare at him, all the while he wedges his balled up fists into the pouch of his hoodie with a grin.

You fix your gaze on Taehyung, who is brushing off his torso and observing the interaction with a peculiar glint to his iris, which you choose to ignore. "So, what's the plan?"

At that, both of their expressions light up, voices stumbling over one another as they simultaneously say, "You're going to come?"

"Did you really think I was going to say no after you guys dragged me out of bed like this before seven? On a Saturday?” you huff with a twinge of exasperation. They at least have the common sense to look a little sheepish amongst their excitement.

"That's the spirit!" Taehyung hoots, bustling through the doorway and gathering you in a hug that quite literally squeezes a groan out of you. You barely have the chance to reciprocate before he is pulling away and setting his large palms on your shoulders, lips curved in a grin that screams mischief. You one-hundred-and-ten percent have no desire to delve into the reason why. "And chill, man. I promise you can sleep during the drive. Turn that frown upside down and get your things.”

Taehyung looks over his shoulder at Jeongguk, who watches the two of you with his tongue pushing at the inside of his cheek. But it morphs into something tender when Taehyung continues to say, "Jeonggukie, help her out."

"What– No, that's fine!" you fluster, a burning sensation climbing up your throat as you recall the catastrophic state of your bedroom. You grab at Taehyung's wrists to pry his hands from your shoulders, eyes wildly darting between them in a mild panic. "Bag of clothes and a pillow, right? I'll be out in five minutes."

Taehyung gives a sound of acknowledgement before walking back over to Seokjin and Namjoon, whereas Jeongguk remains to hover at the entrance. He looks faintly disappointed, though perhaps you are not nearly as awake as you initially thought, and you mistake the drop in his expression. To ease the atmosphere, you stick your tongue out at him. Then, you turn on your heel to go make the most of those five minutes of peace. Lord knows that Taehyung is already counting down the seconds.

But you are stopped in your tracks by the sound of Jeongguk's voice chasing sweetly after you, tinted with a shade of innocent goading.

"Cute pyjamas, ___," and you can hear the damn grin in his tone, which brings your attention to the apparent lack of that hangs from your figure.

You wear nothing but a tattered shirt, stamped with the faded logo of your university. You received as a freebie during orientation week two years ago; an old, stained thing that is two sizes too big and terribly revealing of your legs. Most of all, it is beyond far from the definition of cute.

Feeling the embarrassment begin to spread to your fingers and toes, you whirl around to bite back with a cutting remark, or perhaps, throw your phone at him. But Jeongguk is already gone like the sneaky motherfucker he is. Thus, you resort to internally screeching at your lack of decorum before storming away to collect your things and change into something substantially more adequate.

By the time you are locking up the house, the sun has climbed a few inches higher, and you are feeling vaguely more human. Your softest pillow is hiked under your arm; a duffel bag is looped over your shoulder by the strap. The daggy, makeshift pyjama-wear has been replaced with a white summer dress, partially covered by a cropped, coffee-cream knit sweater. Jeongguk and Namjoon are already in the car, with Namjoon riding shotgun and Jeongguk seated directly behind him. Seokjin is nowhere to be seen, and Taehyung is leaning against the ute’s tray, irritably tapping his foot like you are a student who is late to class.

"That felt more like seven minutes to me," he brusquely comments, and you ceremoniously flip him off.

“I was saving you guys from my morning breath,” you retort, making a show of running your tongue over your minty, pearly whites. You bat your best friend out of the way with your pillow. “Move aside, slick. What’s the rush, anyway?”

“He’s having separation anxiety from Jimin, who’s carpooling with Hobi and Yoongi,” Seokjin says, popping out from behind the mountain of camping gear. He circles the vehicle in his vibrant pink crocs to stand right before you, regarding your belongings. “Hm, you’ll have to keep those at your feet. They would fit in the tray if somebody hadn’t brought–” His voice rises, leaning back to narrow his stare at the window of the passenger seat– “A goddamn chainsaw!”

Distinctly, you can hear the squeaks of the shoddy window attempting to be briskly wound down. Your eyes remain glued to the haphazard collection of tents and mattresses. “I don’t understand how a chainsaw fits into this equation?“

“Firewood, you sons of bitches,” Namjoon spits scornfully. His head is tilted at a ninety-degree angle to fit through the small gap, made by his feeble attempt of winding the glass down. “I’m saving us the time and energy of scavenging for shitty branches that can barely catch flame. So bow down to me and my genius thinking, peasants. I’m King of the Forest. The Messiah of the Lake. Lord of the–“ Thankfully, Jeongguk cuts Namjoon off with a firm kick to the back of his seat, causing Namjoon to yelp and yank his head back into the car to try and twist the nipples of the youngest.

Taehyung, Seokjin and yourself all spare glances at one another before collectively rolling your eyes. The three of you wordlessly move around the Hilux to jump inside and get the show on the road. Seokjin puts the gears in neutral and starts the engine to warm it up as Taehyung opens the backdoor. Inside, Jeongguk is all bunched up and cosy in his corner of the vehicle, taking in your change of attire with drooping eyelashes and a sweet smile. Your best friend ushers your now flustered self forward with a dramatic sweep of his arm, but you shake your head.

“You take the middle seat, it’s roomy enough,” you say, lifting up your pillow and swallowing the feeling of your heartbeat. “I want to lean this on the window and get the shuteye you promised me.”

“Fair call,” he says, pursing his lips. He almost appears reluctant, but you choose not to question it.

Taehyung climbs in beside an obscurely disgruntled Jeongguk with you following on his heels. You firmly shut the door behind you and place the bag at your feet, leaning forward while you do so to look past Taehyung and scrunch your nose up at the youngest. At that, Jeongguk’s taut expression melts into an endearing little grin that has your heart bounding against your ribcage.

“Alright kids, ready to go?” Seokjin vigorously whoops as he steadily drives the ute off the curb, which is reciprocated by varying levels of excitement from the rest of you. Taehyung throws his arms up and cheers; Jeongguk gives a noncommittal fist pump; Namjoon merrily dances until he painfully cracks his elbow against the centre console; you fluff your pillow up against the window and then bury your face into it.

“Nams, get on the beats, my dude,” you hear Taehyung say. A familiar hand jostles your knee. “___, will you be able to sleep with music playing?”

You peak out of the downy plush with one eye cracked open. “At this stage, I could sleep through the apocalypse. Go for your lives.”

“Sweet!” Taehyung squeezes your leg before releasing it, and you return to your corner of facial comfort. “There’s nothing like the early-2000 hits of a So Fresh CD before eight in the morning.”

His statement is met by two groans of distaste and a sole vociferation of agreement, which distinctly sounds like Namjoon. The pair of them shuffle through a small stack of CD’s, deciding on which So Fresh year to kick off the three-hour trip with. The Hilux picks up a monotonous reverberation that vibrates through your muscles, tingling your bones and making them feel slack and heavy.

Despite the dreadful time of day, you cannot deny the excitement that flickers inside of you at the thought of going on an adventure with your best friends for the first time in years. Camping had been a regular occurrence once Seokjin and Yoongi earned their licenses. The seven of you would always head to the lake that Taehyung’s parents and your own would holiday at when you were both kids.

Now, it is a rarity to indulge in. It is hardly common for all seven of you to have matching schedules of free-time outside of university and your respective part-time jobs. The last time you went as a group, all but Yoongi and Seokjin were seventeen, the two of them being eighteen years old, which was at least five years ago. None of you even knew of Jeongguk back then.

That thought settles tight in your stomach; a knot of exhilarating uncertainty, tightening with the knowledge that he was the one who said to bring you along. There is no doubt that, over the past seven months, a small bud of something has planted itself within your chest. A something that carefully and unsurely blooms with every new interaction that you have with Jeongguk. Whether it be catching him staring at you from across the room, spending your free-time on a Wednesday studying together at the library, or the frequent manner in which his fingertips brush your sides, shoulders, lower back, in the most tender of ways. So gentle that, sometimes, you hardly even notice it.

Sure, the both of you have been friends for nearly two years, at this stage. But the level of tentative intimacy and hazy tension has steadily grown since Jeongguk’s transformation. The basis of your every interaction has become centred on stolen glances, private smiles, and flirtatious comments that have you biting your lip, cheeks glowing with heat.

Jeongguk hardly hones a shred of the adorable, young aura of his freshman year anymore. Maybe that is why you could only ever see him as the little brother of the group back then, no matter that he was twenty-years-old and knuckling down on his first semester for Screen Production.

Now, he catches attention like a Venus flytrap. It took a while for the group to get used to it. Though it quickly became commonplace that, wherever the lot of you would go, Jeongguk was bound to be pulled up by anyone and everyone who would try to weasel the ten-digits of his phone number out of him.

And much like the carnivorous plant, Jeongguk lures in the unsuspecting prey with his unbearably appealing looks and charming personality. He practically has the poor victims drooling all over him like lapdogs, desperate for attention. Yet at the very moment they believe they have him, perhaps gingerly placing a hand on an area of his body that hints with lustful suggestion, the pin drops and Jeongguk snaps shut. The warm smile freezes over into a icy facade. Whatever sentence he was speaking is curtly severed at the centre. He quickly downs the rest of his drink, and abruptly brushes past the suddenly perplexed prey, who watches on with wide, stupefied eyes as Jeongguk strides away without a single glance back at them.

It tends to be convenient for you, as this kind of incident usually occurs right around the time you are stuck in a sticky situation with an overly drunk guy who cannot take a goddamn hint. Jeongguk always magically sweeps in to save you with an arm around your shoulders and a hard glare directed at the drunkard.

“Why do you do that?” you had asked one night, arm looped through his own as you had walked down the empty streets together. You were staring up at the murky night sky; vodka still tasted toxic on the roof of your mouth.

Jeongguk had hummed, feeling warm against your side. “Do what?”

“Abandon a solid opportunity to… y’know,” you had given a vague jerking off gesture with your free hand, slanting your gaze to him with a raise of your brows, “relieve some stress? You always get up and leave them, right when they’re just about ready to take you home. You butter them up for it too, like a real dick cheese.”

He had looked down at you then, remained silent for a while, contemplation dancing around in his eyes like the stars pinwheeling above. You had been on the cusp of certainly intoxicated, a pleasant heat soaking your limbs, vision attaining a fuzzy vignette at the edges. You had sworn there was a secret hiding between his damp, rosy lips. But it may have merely been the shadows playing tricks, for the boy had stared right back at you and bit down on his truths.

“I start realising they’re not worth my time.”

“Truly, a dick cheese,” you had scoffed, and Jeongguk had done nothing but laugh in response until his lungs could no longer manage.

So, whether the feelings are requited is another question entirely. Maybe, you are waiting for him to snap shut on you too; to realise his time best be wasted elsewhere, crushing the bloom of something that is beginning to spread dangerously close to your heart. Maybe, that is a thought for you to push aside and deal with when you are alone and can sort out your feelings. You refuse to be woken up this early just to have your good mood dampened before the trip has truly begun.

Ten minutes into the drive, and the four boys are singing along to the lyrics of Because I Got High by Afroman. With your temple bouncing against the pillow, and a smile tilting the corners of your lips at their theatrics, you slip back into the slumber that you deserve.

When your eyes pry open, a film of softening lethargy blurs your vision, and you feel toasty.

The sound of Island In The Sun by Weezer and the loud thrum of an engine steadily grows in your hearing. The bliss of unconsciousness slips away, leaving your memory muddled for the first ten seconds of returning to reality. Then, you remember your friends at your doorstep at the break of dawn; the spontaneous kumbaya camping trip; a promise genuinely fulfilled for you to gain the few hours of sleep that you had lost as a result.

Slowly, you blink away the bleariness and listlessly bury a knuckle into your left eye socket, effectively speeding up the process. Once you are almost able to see clearly, you gradually realise it is not a pillow that you are cosily tucked against. Rather, it is Taehyung with his arm curled loosely around your shoulders.

Placidly, you breathe in. The mouthwatering, roasted scent of steaming hot coffee fills your senses, leaving you absolutely salivating for a taste of the liquefied heaven.

“Tae,” you croon groggily, languidly moving your head from where it is pressed to the side of his chest. You rest your chin on his shoulder and lick your dry lips with anticipation. “Give me the…“

Your sentence trails off, caught somewhere within the second of comprehension where your gaze focuses on the face of your best friend, looking down at you attentively.

Except it is not Taehyung.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” trickles honey sweet into your ears. An icy, horrified chill rushes over your body, like you have been dumped butt-naked into the Arctic Ocean.

“Oh,” is all you can say, staring wide-eyed at Jeongguk for a passing breath. You unintentionally bask in the proximity before you lurch back from him with a strangled squeal. Taehyung makes a sound of protest when Jeongguk, startled, rips his arm away from you and crashes against the person who was supposed to be sitting in the middle. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry Jeongguk, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you–”

“It’s fine, I was cool with it,” Jeongguk shrugs, wearing a darling smile that renders you a little too breathless for your liking. Then, he lifts his hand towards you. His long fingers hold a takeaway cup of the sole thing you have been dying for since you were so rudely awoken.

“‘Give me the coffee’ was it?” he continues from where you had initially left off. The corners of his mouth climb higher as you greedily grab at the cooling caffeine, taking a sip from the plastic lid without an inch of hesitation. You barely manage to withhold a moan of delight as the strongly roasted flavour graces your tastebuds.

“Lifesaver,” you pleasantly hum as a way of thanks. Drinking another mouthful of coffee, you readjust yourself to lean against the window, facing Jeongguk, who plucks his own coffee from the cardboard tray positioned on the centre console.

Jeongguk continues to watch you with such intrigue that you nearly wish to ask him if there is something on your face. Your knee remains to rest against his own; hard to avoid when his thighs are just that big. The middle seat is not exactly fitting for someone as broad and bulky as him. Well, not that you are complaining. He slightly sways his leg side-to-side in a fidget, knocking softly against your own and sending fizzles of electricity through your nerves with each bump.

You clear your throat of the built-up grogginess, asking, “When did you guys stop?”

“About fifteen minutes ago at the usual gas station we go to, the one that’s half an hour out from the lake,” Seokjin says, nursing his own cup of coffee. In the review mirror, his eyes cut towards Taehyung, who is bunched up against the opposite window to you and singing along to the music. “But that wasn’t the first stop. Oh no, we stopped three times before that so Taehyung could take a leak on the side of the road. Lord knows where all that piss is even coming from when he hasn’t had any liquids since last night. He’s on a piss ban, now. No more stops.”

“I’m right here, asshole,” Taehyung barks loudly over the music, face screwed up with distaste as he folds his arms like a stubborn infant. You smirk around your coffee cup, amusement hardly contained. “What if I need to go again?”

“No more stops,” Seokjin firmly states, expression stoic. Taehyung huffs indignantly. “We’re like, twenty minutes away from the lake, now. You can hold it; piss out the window; I don’t give a shit. We’re not stopping again.”

“Want the rest of my coffee?” Jeongguk impassively asks, nudging Taehyung with his elbow and presenting a taunting grin, proffering him his own takeaway drink.

Your disbelieving laughter for having the nerve to mess with Seokjin is quickly steeped into a shriek—-paired with three others of varying pitch—as the aforementioned rapidly swerves the Hilux into the opposite lane. Your bodies are flung from right to left as you scream, desperately clutching to your coffees and each other. Almost immediately, Seokjin swerves back into the correct lane with an expression fit for murder. All the while, Rivers Cuomo tranquilly sings on an island in the sun, we’ll be playin’ and havin’ fun in a fine juxtaposition to the situation.

The car is stunned into silence as it straightens up. Seokjin continues on driving as though nothing ever happened—like he did not nearly guide you all to your deaths in a fit of rage.

After a forbearing pause, with vigilant movements like he is trying not to wake a sleeping dragon, Namjoon effectively cuts off the next song by ejecting the CD. He checks the backs of the other covers until he seemingly comes across a track-list he likes. Popping the So Fresh: The Hits of Summer 2007 disc from its casing, he then inserts it into the player before silently skipping through all the songs. Once he reaches the thirteenth track, he turns the volume up.

He stares right at Seokjin, whose eyes remain fixed on the road with a determination to not appease him, as the steady tempo of Ne-Yo’s When You’re Mad starts to fill the car. When the first lyric hits, Namjoon throws himself into an over-exaggerated, dramatic lip sync; wild hand gestures, pained facial expressions and all.

You swear you hear Seokjin say, I’m going to kill every last one of you. But it is hard to tell amongst the hysterical laughter that resounds through the backseat in a grand cacophony. Namjoon does not let up, and neither does the laughter exploding like fireworks in your belly—not until Seokjin finally cracks a smile at his best friend when he passionately mouths, baby I don’t know why it’s like that, but you’re so damn sexy when you’re mad.

You lift your hand to wipe at the falling tears of hilarity, only to notice an unfamiliar weight against your palm. Pressed warm and comfortable between your knuckles. When you suspiciously glance down, it is to see a hand holding your own.

Jeongguk’s hand, specifically.

It happens in two stages. First stage: you stare dumbly at your entwined hands. Clockwork ticks and clicks in your brain as it processes the image that your vision observes; wondering how, let alone when on earth these two metacarpi came to be joined.

Although his hand is much bigger in comparison, your own manages to fit snugly within its grasp. Your palms are pressed cosily against one another in such natural placement that you would suspect holding hands was nothing new; a habit developed during gradual, intimate time. Jeongguk’s fingers—long and calloused with bitten nails—rest gingerly on the back of your hand. His thumb, crossed over your own, idly glides up and down the length of it in a tender gesture that has the tips of your ears warming. The heightened thrum of your pulse suddenly becomes cognisant at the under of your jaw; audible in your hearing as your eyes follow his thumb back and forth, back and forth.

Second stage: you panic.

Rather than an external, fling-his-hand-away-like-it’s-fire panic, it is more an internal screech of dreadful embarrassment. It fills your chest like beach sand; hot and heavy. It is not that you do not want to hold his hand. It is a nice hand. A very warm appendage that connects to his blue-veined wrist; to his scarred elbow; to his sturdy bicep; to the rest of the fantastic being that is Jeon Jeongguk.

But that is precisely the problem. This is Jeon Jeongguk. You are holding his hand. A hand that you have thought about having down your panties more times than one. A hand that you are not sure whether you should let go of, or if you should keep holding onto it, or if Jeongguk is even remotely okay with this unexpected situation. For all you know, he could be as in the dark as you were for god knows how long.

But the thumb runs over your own again, catching on your smaller knuckle before it descends to your nail. Honestly, there is no possible way that it could be a subconscious action.

Tearing your eyes away from your interlaced fingers for what feels to be the first time in a slow-burn eternity, you dart them between Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung. All three of them are completely absorbed in belting out Happenin’ All Over Again by Young Divas, unaware of the mental breakdown that is occurring on the leftmost side of the backseat. But, if anything, it concretes your decision.

Pulling yourself together, you inhale deeply, feeling your lungs balloon as you remind yourself that this is Jeongguk; your friend. He will not be weird about it. You always touch each other. You always lean on each other. You never hold hands but sweet baby Jesus on a fucking pogo stick–

You jostle his hand in your own. It is just a faint jiggle; a motion that could go by easily unnoticed if he was not particularly paying attention. Though Jeongguk instantly ceases his participation in the singalong and tilts his chin down to look at your hand, which now slightly quivers within his own.

Slowly, he drags his eyes up to meet your own that watch him like a deer sensing a predator. Not an inch of surprise or consternation swells within his sombre irises. If anything, tinges of amusement dance about his pupils in flecks of lighter brown, catching the sunlight that filters through the passing pine trees. They illuminate like filaments of copper.

Jeongguk smiles. He fucking smiles. He knew the entire damn time and did not think to utter a single word.

“When– When did this happen?” you stammer quietly through tight lips. Your frantic eyes flick between his own, which steadily begin to change from bright and curved to something wider, distinctly stricken.

“You didn’t know?” Jeongguk begins to frown, brows pulling taut at the centre. You marginally shake your head so as not to be too obvious.

“No idea.”

“But it happened when the car flung– When we– You grabbed– Oh,” Jeongguk stumbles and fumbles until he comes to his private realisation. Confused, you watch on as Jeongguk seemingly appears at war with himself. His gaze darts around the car, as if he is trying to join the pieces of his mental puzzle together. Then, it settles back on your own, eyes soft and his expression even softer, cheeks minutely pinking and wow, is he really blushing?

There is a fond squeeze of your hand, small and endearing. Petals wildly blossom between your ribs as the corners of Jeongguk’s lips colour with benevolence. His fingers are painstakingly slow in their withdrawal from your own as he mumbles, “All good.”

Smiling back as casually as you can manage, you repeat his words. The tears on your cheeks are already dry, yet you feel an undefinable urge to wipe at them until you have rubbed your skin raw. “All good.”

Retracting your hand to lay it limply in your lap, you finish off the last of your coffee. You try to not concentrate on how it feels indescribably empty, like it has never experienced the sensation of not being held before.

“Look at you, ___, playing Chinese whispers with Jeongguk and leaving me hanging out to dry,” Taehyung interrupts, faux sulking by jutting out his lower lip.

You roll your eyes and ignore the rise of heat to your cheeks when you notice the cocky grin that plasters itself to Jeongguk’s expression. A vast contradiction to the abashment that was settling on his features no more than ten seconds ago.

“If I recall correctly, it’s you who is having separation issues from Jimin,” you lean past Jeongguk to sneer at him. “I thought I was supposed to be your best friend, you traitor.”

“You are my best friend,” Taehyung tuts, then splays his palms towards the both of you, gesturing them in circular motions like he is cupping something round. “But I can’t deny my ‘must-hold-Jimin’s-giant-ass’ callings. My hands are feeling weak already.”

“I’d say that’s a creepy calling, but I kind of agree with you,” Namjoon pitches in from the front of the cab. “Jimin has a succulent ass that is destined to be caressed at all available times.”

“Ay, finally someone who understands me!” Taehyung crows, reaching over to clap Namjoon on the shoulder with a wide grin. Jeongguk and yourself glance at one another, utterly deadpan.

“Are you feeling as sick as I am?” he asks, and you nod.

“Like I wanna projectile vomit all over Seokjin’s seats.”

“Don’t you dare,” the owner of the car bluntly states, and you crack an apologetic smile at him through the review mirror reflection. The poor guy has already endured too much this morning.

“Oh shit, it’s The Black Eyed Peas! Let’s pump that shit up!” Taehyung hoots, and Seokjin immediately twists the volume knob of the radio to its full capacity, drowning out the rest of the steadily descending line of conversation.

Pump It sharply blares through the crackling speakers, thrusting everyone into an overboard rendition of the 2007 classic. Limbs fling this way and that as interpretive car dance is made in the limited space. Jeongguk leans into you with his hands cupped around his mouth to shout the louder! part at the rest of the car, which you are quick to join in on, circling your palms around your lips and yelling alongside him.

The hand holding incident is not forgotten, only pushed to the back of your thoughts for now.

Nobody registers the sound of a seatbelt clicking open during Fergie’s verse until the squeak of a window being rolled down becomes apparent. All attention is directed towards Taehyung, who has manoeuvred in his seat to be kneeling, facing the open window. The purest moment of speechless stupefaction occurs, akin to what it would be like watching a velociraptor casually stroll down main street.

That moment is shattered when the sound of a zipper being undone is heard loud and clear.

“Holy shit–”

“Taehyung, don’t–!”

“You said the window, so the window it–“

“Stop! I’m fucking pulling over, you pissing maniac!”

The cusp of midday is approaching. The trees are beginning to grow denser with the telltale signs of nearing the campsite; winding around the bending road in a barrier of lush green and thick, sturdy trunks. Everyone has stripped out of their hoodies and sweaters. The early summer heat slowly filters into the morning, settling on skin in a film of salty stickiness.

All of the windows are wound down. The warm wind carries the sappy, elevating scent of the pines throughout the Hilux. The richness of it soaks into everyone’s senses in a refreshing aroma that uproots memories of being young and carefree; oblivious to the reality of growing up. When you hang your arm out of the window, palm facing the sky, golden sunlight pools in your hand. With fondness and euphoria, you smile.

“Are you excited for your first time seeing the secret spot, Jeonggukie?” Seokjin calls out above the music and wind, beginning to lay weight on the brakes as the turn-off approaches.

Before Jeongguk can answer, Taehyung is hooking an arm around the younger’s neck, yanking him roughly into his side and grinning like a fool. “Yeah dude, you’re officially in now. You’re one of the cool kids!”

“There’s not a single thing that’s cool about you guys,” Jeongguk teases, effortlessly wrestling his way out Taehyung’s spindly arm. Jeongguk pushes his fringe out of his eyes, and there is a tender edge to his features that has your heart constricting. “But I’m keen. I’ve heard so much about this damn lake over the past year that I hope it lives up to the expectations you’ve all set. I’m anticipating a lake made of liquefied gold, and a campsite that comes with full bars of reception and free wifi.”

Namjoon barks out a sharp laugh. “What, so you can keep in contact with all of your side hoes that blow up your phone twenty-four seven?”

At that, Jeongguk flushes a deep rubescent hue and hangs his head while the rest of the boys join in on poking fun. Something heavy and uncomfortable settles in the pit of your stomach at the thought. Jealousy, the voice in the back of your mind suggestively whispers. Though you tear out its vocal chords and cast your eyes back out the window.

The weight eases just a little when you hear Jeongguk murmur it’s not like that amidst the fray. The thought has you feeling slightly guilty. It is not as if you are dating Jeongguk, or that anything explicitly more than friendship exists between you.

So, you bend your elbow against the sill and lean your head atop it, staring at him and voicing words to save him from the onslaught.

“It’s nothing special, just a lot of dirt and trees and water, but there are plenty of memories down there,” you nudge his knee with your own, which has him jolting in surprise. You cannot help but tilt your lips at the sight. “I completely forgot you haven’t been to the lake yet. It feels like you’ve been with us forever.”

“Sentimental, but true,” Namjoon adds in as the ute slows right down, turning down the ‘secret’ trail that weaves tightly between the trees and leads right to the campsite; the lake’s edge. “I’ve thought about that for a while now. I swear that every memory I have of being down at that campsite, I can see Jeongguk somewhere in the picture. We’re all living in the Mandela Effect.”

“Isn’t that when there’s mass false recollection? Nobody but you said you have memories of Jeongguk being with us. It’s only you with false memory, dude,” Taehyung points out.

Namjoon turns around in his seat so that he can incline his chin towards you. “___ said she has memories of Jeongguk being with us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “No, I said it feels like he’s been with us forever. My brain ceases to place Jeongguk’s face anywhere in the memories of us being down there. It was only the seven of us, and before that, it was just Taehyung and our families.”

Namjoon suspiciously squints at you. “I’m telling you, Jeongguk was the one who had the snake in his tent at three in the morning.”

You shake your head. “That was Hoseok.”

“… Jeongguk was the one who set his shorts on fire when we were all leaping over the campfire?”

Taehyung raises his hand like he is swearing to an oath in a courtroom. “That, as unfortunate it is to admit, was me.”

Namjoon looks deeply disturbed. He flicks his gaze between you and Taehyung before it lands on Jeongguk, suddenly appearing rather uncertain. “You’ve never been to the lake before?”

“I have,” Jeongguk unexpectedly pipes up with a wicked grin that has three sets of eyes on him, staring roundly, utterly unsettled. There is something disconcerting about the glint of his pearly canines, though the why only becomes apparent when you glance out the window.

Namjoon jabs a shaking finger towards Jeongguk, his tone near hysterical. You try to not sputter into a fit of laughter.

“See, I fucking said–“

“It’s because we’re here, you moron,” Seokjin punctuates by shutting off the engine. The ute is now parked along the tree-line of the lake’s campsite. Jeongguk hilariously waggles his eyebrows at Namjoon, who is now staring deadpan at him.

“Screw you,” Namjoon snaps, and it is all that is needed to set Jeongguk into a howling bout of laughter. He skilfully avoids the digs and punches that Namjoon tries to land before scrambling to safety outside of the car, once the rest of you have lumbered out.

With a deep breath, you take in the scenery; unchanged, no matter the years that have passed.

It is a spacious area of soil, moss and roots. Though it quickly becomes cramped and homely once the entire camp is set up; tents and chairs and the shades of the makeshift kitchen; surrounded by the thick expanse of the forest that breaks off and slopes down to the left at the shore of the lake. The circle of rocks that forms the handmade fire pit is still situated off-centre to the clearing. The dirt at the centre is a shade of grey, tainted with old ashes; past flames that heard singalongs and ghost stories from two generations worth of friends and family.

The tiny wooden pier—with its pillars coated in generous layers of slimy, green, congregated lake particles—remains to stretch out from the dirt and rock declivity into the massive body of water. The lake catches the sunlight by the handfuls; its surface glittering gold. Floating roughly ten metres deeper from the end of the jetty is the pontoon; a five-by-five buoyant platform that has been anchored in place for as long as you can remember. The rust on the metal ladder has never deterred anyone from using it, and you are certain that the case will be the same this weekend.

“Wow,” Jeongguk suddenly says from beside you, watching the dust motes dreamily float through the cascading sunlight. Warmth fills your stomach at his awed, delighted expression that slips down to stare at you. “For some dirt, trees and water, it looks pretty amazing.”

“Are you calling me dirt, trees and water?” you mock with a grin that only grows wider as Jeongguk looks away, smiling with a groan. He ruffles your hair and does not saying anything to refute it.

A glow sits high on your cheeks and the stars sparkle in your eyes. You trail after him as he circles the Hilux to help untie and unload the camping gear with the other three boys.

“Hey losers, took you long enough,” Hoseok calls out from the other side of the small clearing. He is reclined in a camper chair between Yoongi and Jimin, who are sitting in similar fashion. The three of them look like the cats that got the cream with their two tents already pitched up, ready to go, cold beers in hands.

“We had to pick up the extra package because Seokjin is shit at paper-scissor-rock, not our fault,” says Namjoon, pulling out a set of camper chairs to hand off to Taehyung. It takes you a stagnant moment to realise that he had just briefly directed his gaze to you.

“You guys did paper-scissors-rock to choose who would have to detour and pick me up?” you scoff. Mild irritation niggles at the forefront of your mind as you, with an unintentional amount of misdirected aggression, yank a tent from Jeongguk’s hands. He noticeably bites his tongue to hold back his laughter. “Bunch of dicks, I tell you. I’m never waking up at the ass-crack of dawn for you guys again.”

“It wasn’t to decide who was picking you up, it was to decide which car Jeongguk was going–” Jimin is quickly cut off by the clip of Yoongi’s palm to the back of his head, breaking into a yelp as he cowers away from the boy in all black and his quick reflexes.

Confusion settles across your expression, brow pinching as you stare at the scene. You wonder what on earth Jimin possibly could have meant. The scepticism stretches all the further when you look back to Jeongguk as he passes you a bag full of kitchen utensils, noticing that his features are twisted into a vague grimace of awkward humiliation.

Before you can part your lips to question it, Yoongi tilts his chin down and narrows his gaze over the top of his sunglasses. “Why are you all looking so traumatised, by the way?”

“Taehyung,” says Seokjin in a monotone as Namjoon simultaneously says, “Jeongguk.” Yoongi silently gives a single nod of acknowledgement; not needing, nor wanting to hear any further.

Jeongguk chuckles evilly. Taehyung is looking downright offended.

“I can’t help it that my bladder is the size of a pea-pod. All I was doing was following direct instructions, thank you very much,” Taehyung argues, dumping the mattress the both of you are sharing into the dirt. You cringe at the fact that you have to sleep on it later, hoping no ants or other teeny bugs attempt to crawl into its fabric to then find home on any inch of your body in the middle of the night.

Seokjin thrusts a gas bottle at Taehyung with a sickly sweet smile, bumping it into his stomach with an oof. “It was a figure of speech, you delightful little shit.”

“Some things are best left a mystery,” you hear Hoseok mutter, and the smile returns to your lips.

You good-naturedly roll your eyes at your best friend, whose disgruntled pout slowly begins to dissolve. Taehyung has never been one who can stay angry for too long at a time.

The rest of the tray is unloaded within fifteen minutes. Gear is strewn around the campsite—from flashlights, tarps, coils of rope, air mattresses, frying pans, picnic-ware, and everything in between—as everyone calls shots on where they wish to set up their tent. Taehyung, of course, manages to score the worst spot on the soil. Right where the sunlight will be hitting the nylon material the moment it peeks over the tree line. You cannot help but groan, since there is genuinely nothing worse than waking up sweaty within what feels to be a tightly sealed space heater.

Seokjin and Namjoon lumber off down the walking trail that leads to the fresh water shower to see if it is still in good, working condition. Jeongguk swiftly gets onto setting up his own two-man tent. Jimin and Hoseok pitch the canopy for the ‘kitchen’ in record-breaking time, with Yoongi dragging the fold-up table, gas bottle, burner stove, and coolers underneath it. They methodically arrange all of the food, fresh water and utensils within the area.

On the other hand, the rich enthusiasm you had been feeling for the trip quickly dissipates into a sour taste at the back of your throat. Taehyung, as much as you love him, is the worst possible person to be paired with for camping. He is too easily distracted by the more fun things to do, like a fascinated toddler riding out a sugar rush. Such a mood snowballs further downhill when Jimin and Hoseok, finished with their duties, strip their shirts and announce that they are taking to the water for a dip.

Taehyung, who just dumped the contents of the tent bag in a disorderly heap at his feet, looks towards the two boys as they start off towards the lake. Then, he averts his blank gaze to you.

“Don’t,” you firmly start, pointing at him with what you hope is a convincingly intimidating look. “Don’t you even dare think about it.”

His expression is devoid of all emotion, masking his thoughts. “We can always go for a swim and then pitch the tent.”

“No, we’re doing it now to get it over and done– Stop taking your shirt– Taehyung!”

“Jeonggukie can help you out,” Taehyung, with his tee hanging around his neck, prompts with an incline of his head towards the aforementioned. Jeongguk looks up in the middle of hammering the last peg of his tent into the earth, obliviously raising his eyebrows at Taehyung. “You’ll do that, yeah, dude? Help ___ pitch up our tent?”

Jeongguk wipes the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead and drags his eyes from Taehyung to you. He proffers a tilt of his lips that has the sour taste deliquescing into honey, laving over your tongue in golden, sugary gratification. “Can do. Not all of us are useless around here.”

“That’s a jab I’m willing to take from you,” Taehyung solemnly nods, continuing to take his shirt off before shooting you—who is staring daggers at him—double finger guns and a wink. “You’re the best. I promise I’ll make it up to you in ten boba coupons.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, you just remember that,” you wave your best friend off with a half-hearted sneer, ushering him out of the way so you can crouch down and start sorting out the tent gear.

Almost immediately, a larger presence joins you, smelling of salt and earth. When you meet Jeongguk’s eyes, stained glass that reflects mirth from across the small pile, you squint with disapproval and mutter, “You shouldn’t have to do this, Jeongguk. If you had of said no, he would’ve been guilted into helping out like he should be.”

“I wanted to help you,” Jeongguk shrugs and sets aside the bundle of collapsible poles. He takes the rolled up tent and stands up to unravel the nylon.

You cannot deny the fuzzy feeling that forms along your nerves at his pure sense of goodwill. As you piece one of the tent poles together, Jeongguk lays out the deconstructed tent, coming back up to your side to take the other collapsed pole. He repeats your actions with it, and then continues his train of thought with, “Besides, it’s his loss. Who could leave somebody as cute as you to fend for yourself?”

For a moment, you are certain your heart has stopped. Completely and entirely. Not even an EKG could show any positive signs of life; flatlined on the monitor. Your hands freeze and you slowly blink, reprocessing what Jeongguk had said in such a casual manner, like he was doing nothing more than discussing the daily news.

Somebody as cute as you.

The defibrillator charges, starts you back to life, and you drag your gaze from the pole in your hands to view Jeongguk’s expression. A tiny smirk colours his lips into something dark, conniving in a way that suggests he knew exactly what he was doing; how it would affect the feeble vessel dully thudding within your chest. It takes a second longer of sudden silence for him to meet your stare.

He raises an eyebrow, utterly unperturbed. You swear to all of the gods that this boy is an enigma, set on laying you upon your deathbed.

“Taehyung, what the living and breathing fuck,” Yoongi is heard blurting out. Both you and Jeongguk snap your eyes away from one another, focusing on Yoongi, who’s staring agape from the kitchen table with disgust at the man whose name he just vociferated. “What are those?!”

“So you say that about my pants, but not about Seokjin’s pink crocs? Your crush is showing, man,” Taehyung exclaims as his fingers yank at the zips just above the knees of his cargo pants, a feature you genuinely believed was only there for decoration.

Well, that is until Taehyung starts shedding the calf material like snake skin while everyone else watches on completely horrified. Never did you once realise you could be so scarred by the ugly transformation of cargo pants into a pair of cargo shorts until this very moment. Yet, as always, Taehyung is set to defy the odds whilst simultaneously conjuring your every horrendous nightmare into an equally atrocious, waking reality.

“Twenty boba coupons, Taehyung,” you declare, shuddering as you watch the ends of his pants be flung over his shoulder as he wordlessly struts towards the lake. The material lands haphazardly on Jimin’s camper chair.

“And five each to compensate for the rest of us!” Jeongguk calls, shaking his head when Taehyung continues to ignore the both of you, other than giving a middle-finger salute.

Your best friend then kicks up a jog onto the jetty, gaining speed as he reaches the end. There, he leaps high into the air. The fuck you guys! is shouted loud and clear before he plummets through the lake’s surface. From their relaxed, sunbathing positions on the pontoon, Jimin and Hoseok laugh hysterically over the scene.

When you hear a metallic click, you flick your eyes away from Taehyung swimming towards the pair of boys to Yoongi. He now holds the two scraps of cargo at the end of some cooking tongs, staring levelly at yourself and Jeongguk.

“Once the fire is ablaze, we’re burning these.”

Not an ounce of disagreement is voiced by either of you, just firm nods of agreement before returning to constructing the tent.

You would think Jeongguk was a born camper by the speed at which he helps you set it up. He easily clips the poles to the nylon, raising the material into a mini dome of black and grey. This has you lamenting the position of it in the clearing all the more. Once the sun comes into contact with the dark, conductive fabric in the early hours of tomorrow, you and Taehyung will be steaming like lobsters crammed in a boiling hot pot.

Jeongguk sends you tiny, secret smiles all the while, humour colouring the corners of his mouth every time your eyes happen to make contact. It certainly leaves the devious little comment he had made before Yoongi’s outburst unforgotten. An abundance of questions gnaw at your thoughts with each recurrent flash of his teeth.

When you think about it, the compliment was stated like it was merely no more than a simple observation. It was made rather offhandedly, like it is a given, known fact that you are cute, and there is nothing more to it than that. But the simper that had curled his mouth in such a smug, knowing manner, paired with the composed raise of his brow, completely throws you off.

You spiral so deep into a tangent of borderline-prurient supposition that your shoulders jump when Jeongguk gingerly knocks his knuckles against the right as he walks past your crouching figure. Whether he notices it or not is indiscernible by the way that he continues to casually stride away. His broad, toned back faces you. The black material is deliciously stuck to the divot between his shoulder blades with perspiration, running your mouth dry.

“Sweatpants and exertion in the summertime are a bad match, I’m gonna get changed and then we’ll go for a swim, yeah?” he says, looking over his shoulder as he unzips his own tent to see you nod in agreement. He shoots you a final, dazzling smile before he crawls inside.

Stop overthinking, he’s just your friend, you mentally admonish, tucking the wet-weather shade and the last of the spare pegs back into the tent bag. You get to your feet, stretching your muscles until they are nice and taut before shaking them loose. It would be wholly welcome if your wandering thoughts could just as easily be dispelled.

If anything, enacting such motions makes you realise that Jeongguk was not wrong about the heat. Your flimsy dress sticks to your underarms and between your breasts; your bare thighs are slick and the skin rubs uncomfortably with your movements. You push your hair back from your face, quietly groaning with mild disgust at the salty dampness that clings to the strands.

Looking out to where the boys leap into the cool water from the pontoon, goosebumps raise along your arms at the sheer thought of slipping into the lake’s refreshing body. The heat would leech from your skin the deeper you swim, it always does. You thank your early-morning, barely awake self for having the sensibility to put your swimwear on underneath your dress, preventing you from having to climb into the box of heat behind you to get changed.

“___.”

The sound of Yoongi calling your name snags your attention immediately, and you draw your eyes from the sparkling surface to look at him. From underneath the kitchen shade, tongs and cargo strips out of sight, Yoongi stares firmly at you. Ever so slowly, he drags his gaze to your left, proceeding to intently look at what you realise to be Jeongguk’s tent—rustling from his movements within. Then, he gradually returning his eyes to you.

There is a pregnant pause, watching one another in silent, perplexed communication. The realisation of Yoongi’s intentions only hits once he gives you the most suggestive eyebrow waggle, which has your lips parting in a horrified gape. Heat sits high in your cheeks as you blink at him and try to find your voice, tongue suddenly feeling terribly numb.

“W-What the f–“ you begin to sputter, quickly cut off by Yoongi grinning widely like the damn Cheshire Cat—directed not at you, but over your right shoulder.

“Shower’s working?” he asks as Namjoon and Seokjin plod back into the camp, to which Seokjin smiles and nods. And god, for all the evocative gestures Yoongi was just making at you, the guy fucking melts at the sight of Seokjin. Taehyung was seriously not wrong in that department.

“In perfect condition, the filter is looking a little out of wear, but it should manage for the weekend,” Seokjin confirms, winking at Yoongi. You nearly giggle at the sight of Yoongi’s reaction: flushing a vibrant fuchsia from the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears. Namjoon even has to call out his name twice to get the lovesick fool’s attention.

“Yoongi… Ay, Yoongi! Let’s go slice and dice a tree.”

“What– Dude, you really fucking brought it!” Yoongi’s momentary confusion shifts into sheer elation when his eyes land on Namjoon struggling to lug the chainsaw out of the Hilux’s tray.

He abandons his post in the makeshift kitchen and jogs over to Namjoon, helping him take it out. Making eye contact with Seokjin, you shake your head while he rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the shade.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he cautions, flipping open one of the coolers and rummaging through the ice until he pulls out an unopened bottle of lemonade. Namjoon shoots him a withering look.

“My IQ is 148. Stupidity is not possible, my good friend.”

“You once put a metal ice-cream scoop into a microwave to heat it up, so I rest my case. ___, do you want a lemon vodka?”

“Please,” you beam at Seokjin, only realising at the offer how parched you are.

Jeongguk shambles out of his tent at that moment. His dark fringe is plastered to his forehead. If your throat can run any drier, it certainly does at the sight of his tensed thighs and calves, stretching long and tan from his red board-shorts. You shamelessly stare at them as he emerges because damn, who wouldn’t.

“I’ll have one too, thanks,” Jeongguk requests, wiping a palm over his face and then back through his hair, wincing at the increased amount of moisture. With his fringe messily pushed back, you swear to god that not even Niagara Falls could satiate your thirst.

“You were in your tent for a while, Jeongguki,” Yoongi, noticing your brazen survey, hums aloud as he follows Namjoon towards the walking trail. His cunning eyes are settled on you when he saunters past; that same, suggestive smirk from before toying at his lips in a jeer. “I wonder what on earth you were doing in there to get you looking so hot and bothered.”

Jeongguk frowns, like the punchline flew right over his head. “Pumping up my mattress?”

“Oh,” is all Yoongi responds with, features moulding back into impassive.

You sneer at him with great pleasure, sticking your tongue out like a child. He mouths a fuck you before turning on his heel to tread after Namjoon into the forest, and you mentally flip him off. The sly little shit.

Jeongguk watches the pair venture off before sliding his eyes back to you, scowl still intact, thick eyebrows drawn to the centre. You swear that the deities above must be testing you. When you believe his sightliness has reached its peak, he goes ahead and frowns, surpasses the deities themselves, and breaks all known laws of attractiveness. Mother of god.

“Did I miss something?”

“Huh? O-Oh no, definitely not,” you wave your hands dismissively, scrambling for a vastly different topic to distract him with—and yes, to distract yourself from the raunchy visual Yoongi had just planted in your mind—before the poor guy catches on. “Hey, we’re going for a swim, right? Let’s do that.”

You probably nod with too much vigour, and that grin might be slightly maniacal. But Jeongguk shrugs in agreement and takes to removing his shirt.

Your concern of him believing you have quite possibly gone crazy within a span of ten minutes is completely wiped away when your fingers reach for the hem of your dress, beginning to tug upward. For the other boys, they have become used to seeing your body practically bare of a scrap of clothing throughout salt and sand summers while you all grew up. So it is plenty natural that neither Seokjin, nor the three other friends who are now floating closer to the shore, hardly cast your figure a second glance when you shuck off your thin dress.

This may possibly be why you are completely startled when you catch sight of Jeongguk, mid-peeling off his shirt, to see that the firm edge of his stare is solidly trained on your exposed body. Well, save for a mustard two-piece swimsuit that hugs snugly to your hips and breasts; the smooth skin there sparkling with dewy sweat.

Although the sunlight is filtered through the foliage of the surrounding trees, you feel thrice as scorching than you did with the dress on. As if you have stepped directly into an exposed patch of the golden beams, and there is not a single barrier beyond the ozone layer to quell the intensity of the ultraviolet radiation.

Rather than the sun being its genesis, the warmth that licks like flame across your skin arises from the heated way in which Jeongguk takes you in. He drags his eyes from your toes to your knees; passes over the build of your thighs; carefully assimilates the yellow material that is fitted to your hips. Continuing upward, his gaze slides up the slope of your waist and stomach; lingers a moment too long on your chest that is bunched in the suddenly suffocating bikini top. Then, at long and agonising last, he settles on your face: bottom lip taut between your teeth, eyes wide and honest.

You swear that if you were to lick the tip of your finger and press it to any expanse of your skin, the flesh would hiss and sizzle. Jeongguk has kindled a fire within you that steadily grows with the hunger that darkens his eyes, fuelling one another into ardency; reducing the rest of the world into a slate of nothingness. It is then that you begin to feel startlingly aware of how intimate this open ogling is—being greedily taken in by Jeongguk, bit by bit, through the diligent manner in which he drinks up your figure like you are fine delicacy served on the platter of a starving beast.

Slowly, purposefully, Jeongguk proceeds to remove his shirt. His eyes remain on you the entire time, smugly gauging your reaction as you watch the toned stretch of his tan torso come into view. The extensive time that he spends at the gym throughout each week has most definitely paid off, if the chiselled plains of his pecks and abdominals are anything to go by. You always knew he had the body of a Calvin Klein model; blatantly perceivable whenever he would wear muscle tees that reveal his carved biceps and veiny forearms, or tight-fitted long-sleeves that shape to the outline of his burly figure. But none of the above could have possibly prepared you for the sight of him on complete, unadulterated display. Not even Photoshop could get a guy looking this good.

A throat is forcefully cleared, loud and conspicuous, making you wonder just how long the two of you have been eating one another up like nobody’s damn business.

“Here,” Seokjin, throat-clearer, says tersely. He peremptorily holds two red cups, expression twisted into one of censure at the blatant eye-fucking occurring right before his own eyes.

You are the first to break contact, turning on your heel to approach Seokjin and quench your Sahara desert thirst. You swear you hear the softest groan made by Jeongguk when you do so. Around the burning that creeps up your throat, you cannot deny the triumph that shoots through your veins in adrenaline at the possibility that yes, Jeongguk just groaned at the sight of your ass. Holy shit.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take one of the cups from Seokjin, immediately bringing the rim to your lips and taking a hefty gulp. Bitter lemon and the harsher note of vodka tastes like sweet relief as the mouthful washes over your tongue.

When the smell of soil and sweat tinges your senses, you stiffen slightly. As Jeongguk takes the other cup, he grins as though Seokjin had not just bared witness to such an amorous interaction in broad daylight.

“Swim?” Jeongguk proposes, lips still curved in a beautiful half moon. When you wordlessly nod, he turns to face Seokjin, who is still appearing vaguely traumatised. “Wanna come?”

“N-No, I’m fine right here! There are still things to be unpacked! You kids go ahead!” Seokjin immediately maunders, sculling back a good quarter of his lemon vodka before beginning to purposelessly fiddle around with the utensils on the table, making himself seem occupied.

Jeongguk shrugs and looks down at you, tilting his head in the direction of the lake.

“Let’s go then,” he says, lips tilting higher, and you hardly have the chance to utter sure when Jeongguk briefly, tenderly, presses the pads of his fingertips to the small of your back.

A thrilling zap is sent up your spine as he ushers you towards the pier. Distantly, you wonder if the fleeting touch has allowed him to feel the boiling heat of your bare skin; the unmitigated affect that he has on you. But just as soon as the contact is made, it is retreating from your body, and the pair of you are leisurely walking towards the lake.

You take a sip of your drink, hoping that the liquid confidence will kick in without too much delay and slacken the stiffness of your tongue. Though before you can conjure a sensical sentence to try and verbalise, Jeongguk is wedging the hand that had touched you into his pocket, leaning closer so you can catch his words.

“Thanks, by the way,” he says softly, and you raise your eyebrows at him while he continues to stare ahead. Fascinated, you watch his jaw work as he takes a mouthful from his cup. The bone is sharp enough to slice a damn cake.

You nearly forget to respond amidst your ridiculous gawking. “Huh? For what?”

“Redirecting the conversation in the car about me having ‘side hoes’ into conspiracy theories.” Jeongguk’s smile is small and tentative. He rubs a palm against the nape of his neck, glancing down at you before his eyes return to the glittering lake. Admittedly, you have to commend his efforts to not lech over the fantastic cleavage that your swimsuit top provides. “I don’t want you– I don’t want anyone to think that’s true. That I message those people back, or even give my number out to them in the first place.”

An ease settles on your tense shoulders. The both of you relax into conversation like neither of you are nowhere close to almost naked, nor that you had so openly leered at one another no more than two minutes ago. “It’s fine. I don’t want you to think that we think it’s true, either. The boys just like to tease; you should know that by now.”

“Yeah, but these days, it feels like their teasing is always falling on me,” he sighs, and you nudge him with your elbow. A dusting of pink blooms on the peaks of his cheeks, which he tries to conceal by having another sip of his drink.

“Ah, it’s because you turned into a muscle bunny, Jeonggukie. They’re jealous.” You say lightheartedly, swilling the liquid in your cup. “But I never realised you were Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson’s distant cousin underneath all that. You look like you could take on The Hulk and have a fair shot at winning.”

Jeongguk burns brighter at the fact that you even noticed—though he would later swear that the rubescent glow is due to Seokjin mixing too much alcohol into his drink.

Nonetheless, Jeongguk laughs and raises an eyebrow. Trying to not make it obvious how the compliment has ignited a warmth in his chest as the pair of you reach the rocks that slope down into the water. “I’m sure The Hulk would have me flat on my ass within zero-point-five seconds. Besides, I forgot this is our first summer together. You didn’t get to witness me shirtless when I was scrawny from living on packet ramen during my first year.”

Together, he fucking says. Your heart near slams right through your chest, and you start to carefully tread down the rocks, both arms held out to maintain your balance. “Ha, you’re right. You were introduced to us, when, the middle of last summer?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk confirms, heedful of your movements down the slimy rocks, on alert to reach out and catch you upon the chance of any slip or fall that you may make. “That was more when I was hanging out with Jimin. It wasn’t until the semester commenced again at the start of Autumn that I began spending more time with you guys. I don’t think I’ve even been to the beach with all of you yet.”

“In that case, it looks like we’ve got a long bucket list to go through this summer,” you smile, feet coming into contact with the squishy bedding of the lake. You wrinkle your nose as the wet soil makes its way between your toes. “There’s a specific beach we go to that’s east of the hill. A secret spot, just like this place. Taehyung’s parents and mine have been friends since their college years, and I swear to god, they’ve sought out every hidden place in this state. They can’t stand tourists.”

“Seems like it.” Jeongguk smiles in return. He begins to manoeuvre down the slope with ease now that you are safely in the water. Well, until he continues to say, “By the way, your swimsuit is pretty. That colour really suits you,” because then you are whirling on your heel in a fluster to face him at too high a velocity.

Your feet slip out from underneath you. As you fall backward, Jeongguk’s smile drops to an expression of panic and he reaches out to latch his fingers around your wrist.

Thus, not only do you collapse into the lake, but you haul him in along with you.

Luckily, where you stand is hardly knee-high. So despite the fall on your ass hurts like an absolute bitch, your hair remains mostly dry outside of the splash, and you miraculously manage to keep your cup of goods high out of the water. Really, the main issue of the whole fiasco is that you pulled Jeongguk right on top of yourself, so now he is caged around you, arms bracketing your frame, a thigh wedged between your own and his face too temptingly close.

An expression of surprise is plastered to his features while he recovers from the fall, which only becomes all the more adorably shocked when he realises that you are mere inches away from one another.

“Hi,” you hesitantly simper, and Jeongguk stares at your mouth. So painstakingly obvious in his ways that your heart no longer thuds from the adrenaline of the fall, but the propinquity of his damp, rosy lips.

His voice is low, a rumble in his chest. Mimicking your desultory smirk, his dark eyes sparkle like obsidian jewels. “Hey there.”

“I didn’t realise you liked the swimsuit this much,” you giggle, coming out a little shaky with the onslaught of nervousness; at the thought that you could lean forward two inches and his mouth would be slanted against your own.

Jeongguk cutely scrunches up his nose, and lifts a hand from the sludgy bed of the lake to playfully spatter water onto your face. You whine in complaint while he laughs.

“Oh my god, are you guys okay?!” you can hear Jimin screeching from the other side of the pier, followed by a series of splashes and then a much louder, “Taehyung, let go of my ass, for fuck’s sake!”

Completely ignoring the concerned calls, Jeongguk grabs his empty cup as it floats past—an unfortunate victim to the collapse—and fills it with speckled lake water before raising it towards you. The corners of his mouth lift all the higher as he says, “To swimsuits so pretty they nearly make you drown.”

In the not so far away distance, you can hear a chainsaw revving to life, followed by a stream of maniacal laughter. You lift your red cup up to tap the rim to Jeongguk’s with a grin, wondering what on earth the rest of this day has in store, and whether the soft twinkle of his eyes means something more than innocent friendship.

“Cheers!”

The heat that had plagued the afternoon eventually simmered down to a comfortable warmth. The kind that does not arise sweat from pores, and allows freedom in the area of wearing thin shirts and denim shorts without the concern of an unwelcome, chilly breeze. With the dwindle of the scorching temperature, the daylight had gradually smudged into an inky purple evening until the clear navy—speckled by silver starlight—was all the sky knew.

But the eight minds that dwelled beneath it? Not so much. A few rounds of beer pong that mostly replaced the beer with straight vodka and gin could do that to even the strongest of drinkers.

So, with livers processing excessive volumes of alcohol, and eyes glazed by a drunken shine, the lot of you had swam, made banter, and played old camping games that traversed deep into the night. Yoongi and Namjoon had literally laid to rest an entire tree, and ended up hauling at least a month’s worth of firewood into the camp. Yoongi had also managed to hide the strips of cargo pants underneath the logs in the fire pit; unbeknownst to Taehyung, who was miserably losing a game of beer pong to Jeongguk at the time. Hoseok, Jimin and yourself had managed to play four mean games of Presidents and Assholes; a means of waiting for the dismal match between Jeongguk and Taehyung to come to its ceasefire so the three of you could finally have a turn on the table.

At dinnertime, Seokjin, in a pink apron to match his hideous pink crocs, had called out from his position at the portable stove while clicking a pair of tongs like a one-armed crab. “Who wants a sausage in a bun?”

“Yoongi will have your sausage between his buns,” Taehyung had proceeded with an evil grin, which was quite literally slapped off his face by the flat of Yoongi’s palm the second the words were out. An unceremonious wrestling match was then fomented in the soil. Neither of them won; they were too drunk to land any proper hits.

Truly, the night had proceeded like any of the other camping adventures. Well, beyond the fact that frequenting frat parties had strengthened you all to consume more booze than last time, which had consisted of two six-packs of beer shared amongst the group. And you had still managed to throw up the next morning.

The only notable difference was Jeongguk’s presence.

Since the moment you had unintentionally dragged him into the lake, you had been catching him staring whenever your eyes dared to drift in his general direction. Every time, a rush of heat would join the moderate warmth that had already settled in your bloodstream; a concomitant of each sip that you would take from your drink. Whether you were helping Seokjin dole out food to the rest of the tipsy campers, or if you were being dragged into the water for another swim by Taehyung, Jeongguk was always close by with his softened eyes resting upon you.

They would innocently flick away once you would notice. But not without sending you a gentle smile, first.

Stop, you had told yourself when Jeongguk had lifted you up in drunken celebration, hooting at the top of his lungs after you had won a round of beer pong against Seokjin and Namjoon. Don’t overthink it. You’re just friends.

And although the hot afternoon had calmed considerably, it must have remained stored within the tent that you now share with Taehyung.

Midnight has passed, and everyone has retreated to their own sleeping quarters. Within your own oven-like abode, you are sprawled atop the lumpy mattress, the blanket kicked off, sweating like nobody’s business. It is the kind of gruesome slickness that feels like a film of slime coats every available surface of your body, creating a disgustingly greasy effect with each slight movement that you make. As if your joints are over-oiled hinges and butter has been smeared across your skin.

You lay there in drunken deliberation, deciding whether you have the energy to crawl out of the tent and slip into the cool waters of the lake. But your decision is unequivocally made when Taehyung—snoring like an engine—rolls onto his stomach and effectively spreads his limbs like a starfish, leaving you to bunch up against the other side of the mattress with a resonating groan.

Screw it, you think, tying up your sticky hair into a bun and peeling off your ratty pyjama shirt, soaked with perspiration. You replace your panties with your dried bathers before unzipping the tent door and climbing out. Drowning in the lake sounds nicer than drowning in my own sweat.

The fire still burns at the centre of the camp and you cringe away from its emanating heat, heading straight for the pier. Even though the full moon sheds enough silver light for you to see almost as clear as day, you opt for the ladder on the side of the jetty, rather than the rocks. You are not particularly wishing to slip on them or the soggy bedding—again—in your significantly worse level of sobriety. Cracking your head while nobody is around to stop you from bleeding out—or to drag your knocked unconscious self out of the water—is a highly unappealing thought.

The rotting planks of the pier creak and sigh beneath your weight. You cannot help the relieved exhalation that escapes your lungs once you make your way down the ladder and come into contact with the cold, silvery surface of the lake; the water acting as a soothing balm that slips over your figure. You continue to descend until you are releasing the metal bars and pushing back. The water rushes over your shoulders in refreshing bliss, and you can practically feel the oily sweat be washed from your skin. You kick your legs to keep afloat and gather a handful of water to splash over your face, moaning once more at the glorious exhilaration of ridding the viscid perspiration.

On a split decision—knowing that you will not be departing the lake anytime soon—you leisurely breaststroke towards the pontoon, keeping your head above the water so that your hair does not get wet. Maybe it is because you are still experiencing the effects of the vodka churning through your system, but you reach the buoyant platform much quicker than usual. Skirting around the edge, you reach for the rusty rungs. They leave a bronze grime on your palms as you climb, and the cool water cascades from your figure as you emerge from the lake.

Before you can even rest your knee atop the pontoon, your heart is dropping to the pit of your stomach. Because right there, reclined on the platform, is none other than Jeongguk, propped up on his elbows and gaping at you.

“H-Hey,” he says, surprise colouring his tone. You try to not slip your eyes down his bare torso where droplets of water still cling, glittering against his muscles in the starlight like tiny diamonds.

“Jesus, you nearly scared the life out of me!” you laugh. With a huff, you pull yourself up onto the pontoon and—in a small stretch of confidence that you swear is fuelled by the alcohol—crawl until you are much closer than the large space requires. You flip onto your back beside Jeongguk, to which he looks down at you with slightly wider eyes. You smile up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs, staring at you a moment longer before letting his elbows give out so that he can lay flat against the plastic surface. Perhaps, it is the balmy atmosphere. But you are certain that the increased temperature on the left side of your body is due to the proximity of his body heat, which has you biting softly onto your lower lip to hide your smile. “What about you?”

“Same. The tent has turned into the equivalent of the sun’s surface, so I decided to take a dip to cool off,” you cringe, recalling the stickiness that you were enduring only a handful of minutes earlier. “Taehyung snoring like an ogre was the cherry on top of that cake.”

Jeongguk laughs, lightly rocking the pontoon. You bask in how sweet it sounds; treacle that slowly drips over your heart, coating it in sugary enchantment. His finger pokes into your side as he calms, twisting it in a screwing motion as he grins and teases with, “All gross and sweaty, were you? Are you a sweat-head, ___?”

“Ugh, rude ass.” You groan in embarrassment, knowing that he is most likely visualising you all disgustingly sweaty. You smack his hand away, and his laughter starts back up again; much louder. The sound carries across the open, empty lake and travels through the surrounding trees. Caving in with a small grin, you shove at his shoulders. “Shut up, you’re going to wake the entire forest!”

“Make me,” Jeongguk sneers, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up so that he can see your expression. His eyes twinkle darkly as they observe you, and the tilt of your lips fades into something more serious; demure at the blatant suggestion behind his words.

“Don’t tempt me,” you quietly taunt back, and Jeongguk smirks at the reciprocated intention.

“What would you do?”

For a moment, you simply watch him, drinking in his facial features that are situated so unbearably close. He is genuinely handsome; the kind of guy that fits the aesthetic of somebody your parents would welcome into the family with open arms. Yet he attains that alluring, almost amorphous sexiness like a mask he slips on whenever he so desires—at the times he deems it most required.

When you are so near, you can make out the light blemishes from his teenage acne, the scar that cuts minimally across his cheekbone, and it makes you realise how young he still is. Jeongguk may have endured classic college puberty, but he remains to be the same boy that you first met when you were too drunk to completely remember the encounter. Withal, he has that same, pure heart that pumps liquid gold through his veins and arteries.

Bringing to life a boy that you, admittedly, might be falling for.

You sniff. Parting your lips, you say, “I’d drown your sorry ass.”

The disappointment that darts across Jeongguk’s expression is fleeting, though you effortlessly catch onto it, grinning innocently up at him. He coughs, looks off into the distance and then back down at you, muttering, “Who’s the rude ass now, huh?”

“You, it’ll always be you,” you jokingly deride, and Jeongguk rolls his eyes, a man defeated.

He remains to stay propped up beside you. His gaze skims over your features in silent contemplation, calculation, and he rubs his lips together as though a question is hiding on his tongue that he does not have the gall to voice. A few seconds pass with you feeling the warmth creep higher in your cheeks, and Jeongguk exhales deeply through his nose.

“Can I ask you something?” he virtually whispers, the words coming out tender and unsure. The corners of your mouth lift upwards as a means of comfort and encouragement.

“Sure, go ahead.”

If it is even possible, his tone slips into something softer, obsidian eyes melting as he murmurs, “What do you think of me?”

“In what way?” you solicit, biding time to mull over your response. The steady thump of your heart slowly begins to kick up.

“Like, I don’t know how to say it,” Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair, and your eyes trail along the bicep that flexes with the action. Something hot and heavy lays upon your abdomen before you drag your gaze back to his complexed expression. “Do– Do you, perhaps, look at me in a different way than you do with the, uh, other guys? Do you think I’m a decent human being? Fuck, I don’t know, that was a stupid question to ask–”

Resting your palm atop his own, planted flat between you to keep him supported, reduces him to silence. Jeongguk’s now wide stare drags from your face to your fingers that squeeze gingerly, placatingly, over his knuckles before returning to your eyes. The way that he looks right now, so innocent and confused, has your heart absolutely swelling in your chest.

“Jeongguk,” you start, drumming your fingertips against the back of his hand. “I think you’re wonderful, honest, and kind. I don’t mean to stereotype, but the guys that go through the changes that you did–” You sweep your gaze up and down his toned torso, and the left side of his mouth slightly quirks– “They usually don’t come out with the same mentality as they had before. Their personalities change completely with this newfound overindulgence on confidence that they attain with their suddenly spectacular physique. I mean, you’ve always been a cocky little shit, that’s for sure. But you’ve never let that control who you are at heart. You haven’t abandoned us now that you have every girl on campus trying to get into your pants, and now that the guys from the football team are imploring you to join their frat. It shows us– Me, that you’re genuine, and that you’re still that same sweet guy. You’ve just packed some muscle over the top of it.”

Slowly, Jeongguk nods, taking in all that you have said with a small, pleased smile playing on his lips. Then, he is jestingly narrowing his eyes at you, firmly stating, “You know I meant it before when I said I don’t care about those girls, right?”

“Yes, since you keep drilling it into my head,” you roll your eyes. Though before you can properly retort, Jeongguk is adjusting his position until his body is pressed to your side. His face hovers closely above your own—near enough for you to feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your heart gives a single, solid thump against your glass ribcage; daring to break through.

“That’s…” Jeongguk murmurs, his eyes languidly studying your features, zeroing in on your tongue as it darts nervously between your dry lips. “… Because I don’t want you to believe I think of anyone else.”

Then, Jeongguk starts to lean in, glacial in his progression though oh-so determined. And despite the opportunity you have desperately been yearning for has suddenly become imminently tangible, you cannot help yourself when your hands plant firmly against Jeongguk’s chest, roughly shoving him back.

You catch the faintest glimpse of betrayal on his features before he topples off the pontoon and crashes into the water with a yelp.

When he arises from the lake with a dramatic, floundering gasp, you are bent over yourself on the buoyant plastic, slapping a hand against the platform while using your other palm to smother your hysterical howls of laughter. At the sight, Jeongguk’s expression becomes as stony as marble, glaring at you.

“That was mean,” he punctuates the last word with a point of his finger. You only just manage to tame the fit of cachinnation to a modest stream of giggles as he slowly slinks underneath the water’s surface. When he arises once more, it is several feet away from the pontoon, heading towards the shore with the back of his head facing you.

“Aw, you’re such a baby,” you huff, sliding off the side of the pontoon and into the lake that is now marginally cooler than when you had first entered. It licks a chill against your jawline as you keep your head above the water. Ahead, Jeongguk makes no effort to turn around and face you, already striding through waist-high water to the rocks.

You earnestly do try your best to swim forward. Though after a day of such an early awakening, followed by intense physical exertion, your limbs quickly begin to feel the exhaustion like lead, keeping you bobbing in place a few metres in front of the pontoon. Giving it another go, you manage a single stroke of your arms and a weak kick of your legs, which barely pushes your body forward another foot. Only then do you let yourself crack as you swallow the small growth of fear; how the water is beginning to feel like quicksand, dragging you down.

“Ah, Jeongguk, c’mere and let me hold onto your shoulders,” you call out, feebly treading water with your tired arms. “Please, my muscles are locking up and I’m gonna drown!”

The water is at Jeongguk’s knees when he turns around. His figure is backlit by the campfire, and you can practically feel the muted anger at your treachery leeching from his skin and surging through the water to encapsulate you.

“Well, well, who’s the baby now?” he smirks ruthlessly, but he is already moving forward through the water. “Maybe I should just let you go.”

You sputter, watching him swim closer. “In that case, have fun explaining my dead body to Taehyung tomorrow.”

“I will. Nice knowing you.”

“Jeongguk!”

“I’m kidding, stop being such a wuss,” Jeongguk grins, gliding effortlessly towards you with the moonlight glimmering on his wet skin like smears of starlight. You cannot help but jolt when you feel his fingertips graze at your waist beneath the surface. “I can even stand here. Look. Put your damn feet down.”

Instead of obliging him, you go for what he surely considers a much more preferable option. You slide your hands up to rest on his shoulders while you wrap your legs around his hips, catching him by surprise. Silently, Jeongguk stares at you, as if waiting for your next move. You distantly wonder whether he can hear the erratic pounding of your pulse when his large hands deliberately slip down your waist. His palms ever so lightly curve over your ass before settling on the undersides of your thighs, drawing you close enough to feel his breath on your flesh again.

“Jeon Jeongguk, you’re my hero,” you quietly tease, sliding your palms further up to lay carefully against his throat. Your thumbs brush the damp skin there. Jeongguk trembles.

Despite this show of vulnerability, he smirks. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth before releasing it to quip with, “Ha, and does this hero get a reward from his princess?”

“Depends if he’s nice enough,” you murmur. When his nose brushes against your own, fingers squeezing gingerly at your bare thighs, you are certain Jeongguk feels the shiver that rushes beneath your skin.

“He can be.” The soft whisper is warm and enticing as the words are exhaled onto your lips.

It is all the reassurance that you need to close the distance.

A sensation akin to fireworks lights up in your chest. It colours your insides in a vibrant spectrum and wakes your nerves in fizzling, vivid sparks. Jeongguk’s hot, pliant mouth is overwhelming as it melds to your own, like the anticipation of finally kissing him has reached its boiling point, bubbling up inside of you and spilling over the edges in total euphoria.

The feeling is so stimulating that you whine quietly into the kiss. This is met by a tiny moan that hums from the back of his throat, and is immediately followed by the tip of his tongue prodding at the seam of your lips; carefully pushing through the tender flesh to test the waters. He tastes like beer and lemonade and the tacky sweetness of the marshmallows that were roasted after dinner, swiping against your tongue and your lower lip. You lock your fingers at the nape of his neck to deepen the movements, subtly bringing about a titillating edge that is all the more heightened when his fingers clutch tighter at your thighs, slipping higher to clutch just underneath your ass.

It truly is nothing but innocent until Jeongguk shifts his thigh between your own, enabling you to perch upon it within the water. And with the slightest, accidental nudge of your knee as you wriggle closer to him—his mouth—you feel the semi-hard bulge through the thin fabric of his board shorts.

At that, Jeongguk breaks away from your lips. His own are parted and glisten with a delicious, rosy swell to them that has your heart racing. His brow pinches into a small, unsure frown, as if he does not know what to say, nor knows if you noticed what your bare skin had just touched. But god, you cannot help but admire how incredible he looks after kissing you. How something this harmless can stir him into such a mess; can cause tendrils of lust to swim in the dark pools of his eyes.

So, to properly convey your interest, you stare directly at Jeongguk as you slowly roll your clothed centre over the firm muscle of his tensed thigh. You softly gasp at the way his taut skin rubs perfectly against your folds, your toes curling with pleasure.

Before you can even think about doing anything else, Jeongguk is lunging back in for your mouth like a jaguar on its prey.

Now, he kisses with ferocious ardency. His hands abandon their positions on your thighs to fit over your hips, coaxing you into continuing your lascivious ministrations. A whimper lodges itself in your throat, bubbling against Jeongguk’s tongue as he groans and drags your sensitive cunt back and forth on his thigh with the determination to satisfy you. Your nails dig into the skin of his neck as you feel the coil of desire begin to tighten with every stroke.

How he even manages to do so, your mind is too delirious to deliberate. But Jeongguk somehow flexes his thigh all the tauter, and it forms a prominent ridge in the thew. A moan tears from your lungs at the way the hard angle grinds deeper between your clothed folds, rubbing roughly against your clit and sending you bloody mad.

“We’re–” You try to speak when Jeongguk pulls away for barely a moment before he dives back in, licking his tongue against your own and drawing a soft whimper from the back of your throat. You break away from the warmth of his mouth to continue, and Jeongguk decides to travel his lips further south, pressing and nipping against every expanse of jawline and throat made available to him above the water’s surface. “J-Jeongguk. I’m not having sex with you in this grimy lake, I swear to god–”

His mouth reaches your own again, silencing whatever words remained on the tip of your trembling tongue and kissing you hard through a grin. Despite the situation, the thought this sneaky little shit manages to surface in your mind.

When Jeongguk finally speaks, his voice has become raspy and thick. The sheer depth of it almost has you pushing aside your concerns about hygiene and disease to let him have you right there. “Still gonna let me fuck you though, right?”

“That’s the general plan, yes,” you breathe with an encouraging roll of your hips, air hitching in your lungs over the thrilling sensation.

Jeongguk rolls his head back with a groan. He digs his fingers tighter into your hipbones before his expression lolls back into view—dark and urgent with the right corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that has you shivering. He pulls you so close that your torsos are pressed completely together. His hand leaves your hip to reach for your own balanced upon his shoulder, taking it underneath the water.

Jeongguk presses your palm against the prominent girth of his cock, which floats against his shorts and arches impressively long, effectively leaving you salivating.

“L-Let’s get out,” you insist, giving it a delicate squeeze that has Jeongguk’s jaw tensing. He looks so utterly desirable that you cannot help but lean forward and skim your lips along the sharp angle.

Once you reach soft the nook under his ear and suck at the skin, Jeongguk exhales in a rush. He curls his fingers into your hips with a shudder as you lave your tongue over the bite in time with you pulling a languid, yet tight stroke up his length.

“___, aren’t we getting out?” he breathes through a chuckle. You teasingly nip at the lobe of his ear. This earns you a pinch on your ass, which has you jolting closer to him and away from his hand with a protesting yelp.

Jeongguk snakes the same hand up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pushing you back until your face is before his own. And boy, does the sight of his eyes—pitch black and hooded with carnal lust—make the coil in your core winch all the tighter.

Glancing between your own, he grins. The pearly white canines appear like predatory fangs in the pale moonlight. “Out.”

“Fine,” you cave, pressing a final peck to his plush lips before you skirt around him, moulding your chest to his solid back and sliding your arms over his shoulders. Jeongguk, with a disbelieving huff of laughter, swims with you clutching to his torso like a koala until the shore grows too shallow to do so.

Unlatching, you allow Jeongguk to help you stand up on the mushy bedding by the offer of his hand. The pair of you trudge through the waist-high water to the ladder, with you climbing up the rungs first. You squeak when your rear is greeted by a light smack the moment it emerges from the lake, and you immediately stop in your tracks to accusingly look over your shoulder at Jeongguk.

A devilish smirk curls at his mouth. The culprit does not even giving two shits about the fact that he has been caught red-handed.

“Can’t help myself when it’s such a great ass,” Jeongguk shrugs in explanation. You roll your eyes and twist back to continue making your way onto the pier. The lingering sting admittedly has you hoping he will do it again sometime.

Hauling yourself onto the wooden planks, you begin to defiantly stride towards the campsite, leaving Jeongguk to tag along behind. You hear the water cascade from his body as he pulls himself out; the metal rungs creak underneath his weight. Then, there is the increased pace of his footsteps, steadily approaching you in a jog just as you step off the jetty.

Before you can even comprehend it, Jeongguk is swinging you up into his arms bridal-style. He smothers your shriek of surprise with his mouth in a bout unexpected accuracy, his smiling lips landing directly upon your own. Even after he pulls away so he can navigate, he does not put you down, and rather curls you close into his spectacular chest. You try your absolute best to not salivate at how insufferably hot the situation is—the way that he carries you with ease as if you are weightless; tensed and bunched around you in a tantalising combination of golden skin stretched over magnificent thews.

Entering the site, Jeongguk places you back on your own two feet, albeit they are slightly unsteadier than before he had picked you up. When you first slunk out of your tent in your slick and sweaty state, you had avoided the heat of the fire as if it had teeth. But now you stand as close to the edge of the pit as you can bear, facing the flames with your eyes closed and impatiently wishing that the warmth would dry your skin and bathers in an instant.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, has more straightforward thinking. He grabs a towel from where they all hang on a low branch behind the makeshift kitchen, and then walks back to you and guides you a few steps away from the fire. He drapes the coarse material on your shoulders and begins to vigorously rub you up and down with avid determination, soaking up as many of the droplets as he possibly can. Then, he moves on to his own body, sparing you a gorgeous smile in the process that you reciprocate.

“You can wait in the tent, if you like,” he says quietly as he ruffles the towel against his damp hair.

You nod in agreement and start towards where it is pitched, though not without sliding your eyes down his chest to his soaked board shorts. You bite your lip at the sight of his cock straining against the red material, looking much larger than it had felt in your hand.

Jeongguk must notice, for in the middle of drying himself, he reaches down and grasps a large palm around his crotch. He jostles his dick with a lewd smirk that has your skin tingling with desire. “Like what you see, huh?”

At a lack of response due to the sheer stupefaction the action has forced upon you, you childishly poke out your tongue before turning on your heel and dashing towards his tent. Even in your flustered haste, you do not miss the way he softly chuckles and mutters cute.

It is not until you are unzipping the entrance that you realise your hands are shaking. A mixture of nerves and excitement travel all the way down to your toes, and your heart practically vibrates in your chest as you climb inside. You admire Jeongguk’s cosy space of a blow-up double-mattress with striped navy-and-white sheets; his sports bag full of clothes and hygiene commodities is shoved into the leftmost corner by the door. Unleashing your hair from its tie, you let it descend onto your shoulders before reclining on the mattress, head resting against the sole, downy pillow.

You wring your fingers together as you stare up at the green, nylon ceiling and wait. Anticipate.

Should I take my bikini off? you wonder, brow pinching, wiggling your toes about to ease the edge off your heightened nerves. Or would that be too abrupt for him to see the moment he comes inside? Maybe he’s into stripping his partner–

Amidst your internal contemplation, you do not hear the dull thumps of Jeongguk’s approach until the hanging tent material that comprises the entrance is pushed aside. His gaze hardens as he enters, and it sweeps over your stretched out figure before he turns to zip the door closed. Afterwards, the silence is almost numbing. It prickles your skin into tiny goosebumps, raising the hairs along your arms and the nape of your neck. All the while, Jeongguk kneels at the end of the mattress and surveys you with a lecherous glint to his eyes, drumming his fingers against his thick thighs.

“Take your bikini off,” he finally murmurs in a tone lower than you have ever known it; commanding in such a way that you have to restrain yourself from literally scrambling to abide to his order.

At a commendable pace, you lift your torso high enough so that your hands can unclasp your top. You make a show of slipping the straps down your arms before you smooth your palms down your waist. Hooking your thumbs beneath the mustard material hugging at your hips, you lift your legs perpendicular to glide the bottoms over your thighs, knees and ankles. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your veins at the muffled grunt Jeongguk makes at the sight that your purposeful position allows: your pussy peeking out from between your thighs; wet and waiting to be worshipped by him.

Once you are completely bare and you have lowered your legs to lay flat against the bed, Jeongguk sedately climbs on top of you. He appears like a dark and hulking shadow with teeth, and the view is so primal that you whimper with a surge of need. Completely trapped in by his arms, all you can do is expectantly stare up at him and demurely blink while he takes a moment to drink you in.

He outlines your features with hooded eyes before he leans down and kisses you, surprisingly tamer than the last. Jeongguk’s tongue moves in languid motions against your own, his mouth hot and sensual as it slants in perfect precision with your lips that part so willingly underneath his control. He relieves the support of his weight from one of his hands to snake it around the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss an inch further. It only serves to send your ardency into hyperdrive, and you increasingly notice how the sensitivity of your skin heightens with his minimal touching. You feel like the torn end of a live wire; sparking and fizzling at any given moment that the damp fabric of his shorts brushes against the inner of your thigh, or his toned chest grazes gingerly against your perked nipples.

Jeongguk draws away from your swollen lips—a thin string of saliva connecting you. Then, he plants another quick kiss to the ruined flesh before his mouth trails messily down your jaw, sucking and nipping along the way and eliciting quiet moans from your lungs. His breath is warm when it reaches your ear, tongue flicking out to snare the lobe and drawing it between his teeth. The hand that had slipped behind your neck slowly retreats, slipping around to settle levelly against your chest.

“Your tits are lovely,” Jeongguk murmurs against your ear. He leans back as you make a small whimper of desire so you can see his wicked smile.

Jeongguk shifts down to finally provide you with some relief. Dragging his tongue over your left nipple, he kneads the right with his large palm and tweaks the bud between his knuckles, and you pleasantly sigh. But what really sets you on edge is when Jeongguk begins to faintly grind the solid girth of his clothed cock over your glistening centre. His tongue simultaneously circles around your areola and you, knotting your fingers through the dark tufts of his hair, swear you can taste the stars.

But you want more. You need so much more than this.

The carnality that has been coiling tight within your core is set aflame, crackling into a wildfire that licks and scorches along your bones, lighting up your body with ferocious desire. Jeongguk switches sides, fixating his mouth to the underside of your right breast. He bites down on the soft flesh and rocks his dick with growing arduousness. The seam of his board shorts drags roughly against your clit and you suddenly cannot stand it, this meagre contact, this barrier of microfibre that collects your accumulating arousal when it could be his dick dragging hotly through the mess. It could be perspiring skin-on-skin sliding against one another. It could be all seven inches of him buried tight inside of you. It could be him filling you with his pearly cum and not letting that stop him, continuing to snap his hips against your own, his seed spilling out of your entrance until you are reaching your peak and releasing all over his cock–

“A-Ah, take your shorts off,” you breathlessly whine, grabbing at the sides of Jeongguk’s face to lift him from your chest. Your nipples are now shining spectacularly.

He dumbly stares at you with his lips parted, swollen and slick with his own saliva. It almost appears too adorable in the heated moment; juxtaposing the way he had so assertively told you to strip, as though he has become too caught up in his ministrations. But Jeongguk is just as quick to catch onto his slip-up. He runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and then ruminatively pokes it into the side of his cheek. The sight is so inviting that you quite literally feel yourself become wetter.

It is only in the static silence that you come to realise you are panting, chest heaving in short, desperate exhalations. Maybe that is why Jeongguk takes a small piece of pity on you. He sits back on his haunches and takes his time to marvel at your spread thighs and the prize at the centre, tracing its pretty, wet curves with his eyes alone. Then, he is dipping his fore and middle fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before gingerly bringing them to your pussy, drawing a featherlight line up your slit with the pad of his finger.

Your toes curl, fingers grasping at the sheets as a stuttering gasp tumbles from your lips. It is a sign that Jeongguk takes as the go-ahead to crawl up beside you. He grabs at your hips to roughly flip you onto your side and then cuddles up behind you, curling his bicep for you to rest your head upon. His nose traces at the curve of your neck while he smooths his palm over the supple flesh of your ass, giving it a light squeeze before proceeding to make his way between your thighs.

“F-Fuck, Jeongguk,” you whimper when his saliva-slick fingers begin to toy with your cunt, separating the folds and exploring the softness; gathering your juices and spreading them from your entrance to the apex.

He takes care to draw a tight circle around the hood of your clit, which has your muscles locking up and a short huff escaping your tongue. Jeongguk plants small, pleasant kisses across your skin until he reaches your ear. Humming appreciatively, his fingers settle tantalisingly close to your opening.

“Do you wanna know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he purrs. A shiver traverses your figure, increasing in intensity when the tip of his forefinger slips almost imperceptibly inside of you. “How long I’ve wanted to kiss and touch you; to watch you writhe underneath my hands?”

“So why won’t you t-take your shorts off,” you mumble, slightly wriggling your hips in an attempt to slide further down his fingers. Unexpectedly, Jeongguk obliges by easing his two fingers inside of you, sinking all the way down to the knuckles. You moan at the sensation of the stretch, deliciously tight.

“Because I want this to be about you,” Jeongguk murmurs, biting softly at your earlobe as he starts to glacially pull and push his fingers through your entrance. You cannot help but greedily bear down on him, rolling your ass into his hand in flawless time to his thrusts, chasing the spark of pleasure that flickers distantly against the pitch black backs of your eyelids.

Jeongguk groans at your neediness. He drags his fingertips against your walls when he draws them out to the very opening, and proceeds to twist them in a spiralling motion as he enters once more, sending you near delirious. Most especially when his voice lowly rumbles out the words, “God, even when you’re cock-thirsty, you’re gorgeous.”

“Ngh– Rude ass,” you mutter and he chuckles, increasing the pace of his fingers inside of you.

Jeongguk draws the tip of his tongue down your throat. He sucks at the juncture until you are a whimpering, writhing mess. Only then does he pull out of you, beginning to slowly massage his arousal-coated fingertips against your clit, worsening your state. Screwing your eyes closed, the sparks glow brighter, and your moans heighten in pitch with your teeth dug into the damp flesh of your lower lip.

“Careful, you’ll wake everyone up,” Jeongguk warns quietly, laving his tongue over the bite and leaning closer so that he can pepper kisses along your jaw. The movement allows for his rock hard length to be nestled tightly against your ass, and you whimper with a sudden surge of fervency.

“Could shut me up with– ah, your cock in my mouth,” you cheekily propound, grinning when the air whistles through Jeongguk’s gritted teeth at the thought.

“Naughty, aren’t you,” he grunts, quickening his pace. Your thighs grow tight, muscles tensing as you bite your tongue and try your best to remain silent, slurring incoherently underneath your breath. “But I bet my mouth could do a better job of that while I’m fucking you.”

“Y-You’re all bark and no bite, Jeon Jeongguk,” you manage through your panting, gyrating your ass against his dick.

Your eyes blissfully roll into the back of your head when Jeongguk reciprocates, rubbing in fluid synchronisation with your movements. His own breath comes up short, and his fingers ruthlessly continue to attack your apex, flicking at the oversensitive bundle of nerves. You teeter ever closer to the edge of your limits. Your body locks up and relaxes in a repetitive, agonising cycle. Your opening clenches around nothing but air and you need more, more, more.

“Say please,” Jeongguk hums, slowing down and resuming to languidly stroking his fingers over your swollen folds. He skirts around your entrance while your chest erratically rises and falls. You lick your lips and feebly latch onto the final strings of your sanity.

“Please,” you whisper, and despite yourself, an embarrassed heat creeps into your cheeks. “Please, fuck me, Jeongguk.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and the warmth suddenly burns. His fingers leave your aching cunt and the warmth of his bare chest recedes. Hands find your hips and gingerly roll you onto your back.

The sudden lack of touch has you feeling fragile, like a single tap by the tip of his finger will throw your body over the edge, and your orgasm will thrash through you in a tidal wave of pleasure. You focus your gaze on Jeongguk as he sits up and tugs his board shorts down his thighs; the material sticks and catches on his skin with built-up perspiration as his glorious, sculpted ass comes into view. A small part of you wishes to reach over and spank it, just to feel how firm it is. Though the idea is stunned into utter silence when Jeongguk turns to face you, and his unclothed length catches your eye.

If Hercules was reincarnated into another being, it would be Jeon Jeongguk. Dick-size included.

“Damn,” you breathe, spreading your legs a little wider and raising an eyebrow. “Will you even fit?”

Jeongguk stares at your centre with his lips parted, an utter mess of his own doing, before dragging his eyes up to your own. He shakes his head out of incredulity as a tiny grin forms on his lips, crawling on top of you again and murmuring, “You’re going to be the death of me, y’know? Saying shit like that like it’s nothing.”

“And what a way to go,” you smile.

Jeongguk pinches your side, smothering your yelp with a short kiss that scatters into a handful of them over your face. He fleetingly pecks at your cheek, chin, nose, and forehead until he pulls back to fondly stare at you. Then, his expression twists into a grimace.

“Shit, I don’t know if I’ve got a condom–”

“I’ve got the rod implant, so go for your life.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen a fraction, pitch pools of infinity that skim over your features. “Have you, uh– Been tested?”

“Yes, I have.” You snake your hands up his broad, solid shoulders, gliding further until they can tangle into his hair. You knead gently at his scalp. “Have you?”

“Mhm,” Jeongguk hums, the corners of his lips quirking. He leans closer, his body lowering its weight upon you until you can feel his shaft pressing against your folds. An unexpected oh passes your lips at the warm sensation. “So, now that we’ve got that settled…”

“… Back to the good stuff?” you smile with a waggle of your brows.

Jeongguk teasingly growls, pouncing back on your mouth. With one hand on your waist and the other squeezing at your breast, he begins to slowly rock his cock against your slick centre, coating it in your juices. His tongue enters your mouth and touches yours, giving off a moan of his own at the newfound direct contact, which has your heart tripping in your chest.

The rolling motions continue until it feels like your bodies have melted into honey; sticky and unified; saccharine heaven. Jeongguk makes more noise than you first expected of him, and he sounds undeniably sexy when he is so turned on. Small groans and sharp intakes of air occur against your lips, causing your throat to run dry.

Now, he barely even kisses you. Rather, the two of you let your mouths lazily hang open, breathing each other in, tongues sporadically catching on flesh and teeth with every undulation. His eyes—glassy with lust and adoration—are mere slants that peer lethargically down at you, not once leaving your own until his hands adjust so that his elbows support him either side of your body. Jeongguk silently observes your already fucked out features while he reaches down to his cock, spreading your arousal and his pre-cum over the length, lubricating it with a few tight strokes.

Then, ever so carefully, he positions the reddened head to your entrance. Immediately, a shock of electricity darts up your spine at the contact; the realisation of this truly happening. The anticipation stirs the coil tighter within your core.

“Tell me if it hurts, alright?” Jeongguk breathes, gently pecking once at your lips.

He only begins to glacially roll his hips forward after you answer with an assured tilt of your chin. With a tender smile, he tucks his face into the crook of your shoulder.

The vaguely uncomfortable stretch is wholly welcome as his cock slowly fills you to the brim, pushing inside of your slick, hot walls inch by inch until he can go no further. The moan that spills from your lips is loud enough to encourage him to wrap a hand around your mouth. His fingers only slip away once he is convinced not another peep will be made out of you. Instead, the symphony of your combined panting becomes the sole sound that stirs the silence.

But the realisation of you clenching so tightly around him is only made apparent when Jeongguk—still utterly motionless—soothes a palm down the slope of your waist. He murmurs, you okay, baby? into your ear, and you answer with a minuscule nod. A rush of air escapes your lungs, consequently relaxing your tensed muscles, and your core loosens around him.

Jeongguk pushes himself up in order to get a better look at you and the blissed expression settled upon your features. Before you can grin at him, he swoops back in, cradling your jaw and whispering against your lips, “You look unbearably sweet with my cock stuffed in you.”

Pleasantly, you simper, “I’ll look sweeter when that cock makes me come,” which surely has him mentally damning you to hell for having such a sinful mouth paired with that pretty face.

“I look forward to seeing that,” he murmurs.

Leisurely, Jeongguk draws his cock almost completely out of you, the tip nestling an inch within your entrance. Then, he is kissing you with purpose and driving back inside. The flames within you that had simmered for the sparsest of moments reignite in full vigour.

Jeongguk fucks you slow, yet hard. He snaps his hips into you while his palm remains to caress your face, tongue hot and assimilating your own in such a sensual, tender manner that your heart melts. There is something so precious about the way that he does it; taking care of you; ensuring you feel every single inch of him inside of you with each stroke while he kisses you silly. It is as if he is trying to embed his genuine honesty into your skin, tucking the truth of the situation into every crevice of your body, and refusing to let you be convinced that this is only a one-time thing.

Warmth consumes you when you realise this. Jeongguk is opening up. He is drawing his true feelings along your bones, and outlining your lips with the adoration that he has held for you for an indiscernible amount of time. He marks you with his fingertips, tongue, cock—reaching any place that he can in order to prove that he can be devoted, that he has been from the get-go. And he will continue to be, even after this tenuous night of carnality that could have so easily ruined everything the two of you have created.

But here, Jeongguk stares into your eyes and ties your tongues with promises. He fucks you like a dream come true, and swears with a cross over his heart that it has never been anybody but you.

That is all you need to lurch over the edge. The coil within your core suddenly snaps with the tension and brings the wildfire with it. For a moment, all you can see is glorious light, freckling your vision until it consumes you whole and has your bones shaking.

Jeongguk ensures you ride out every last second of it on his cock, filled to the very shaft, sloppily thrusting into you. You cry out at the euphoric wash of your orgasm fizzling from your ankles to your nose, sounding desperate and aching. Jeongguk does not even dare to silence you; careless to the fact that six sleeping bodies surround the both of you, separated by thin nylon. He could never, because he pulled that magnificent melody from the marrow of your being, and not even fingers or toes could suffice to count the amount of times he has wished to do so.

The delightfully blinding white fades to only a shimmer at the corners of your eyes. High on the sight of you, Jeongguk quickly follows, coming inside of you with a harsh shudder and a violent groan from between his clenched teeth.

Jeongguk buries his face into the crook of your neck. Weakly, you coax him through it. You soothe your fingers between the strands of his damp hair, even if you wince at how he continues to feebly thrust into your raw pussy while he coasts through the sparkling remnants of his high. Then, there is a quivering sigh, the emptying sensation of his cock being drawn out of your walls—trails of his pearly cum seeping out with it—and Jeongguk finally collapses to the right of your body, facedown, utterly exhausted.

The silence is unalike to the typical whoops–I–just–had–sex–with–my–friend–and–now–we–are–screwed kind that settles awkwardly in the air and feels like sludge in your lungs. Rather, it is the peaceful patience of catching breath. An elated, lethargic smile tilts your lips at the fact that Jeongguk, albeit his face is hidden, keeps his palm settled upon your stomach. He lazily smooths over the skin in nonsensical patterns until he is feeling vaguely human enough to turn his head, facing you from across the mattress.

There are questions in his eyes, ones that will be answered with intimate time and care. But he resolves to observe the spectacle that is you; the marvellous disaster he has formed with his bare hands. The hand on your abdomen lifts, and Jeongguk shifts closer, enough so that his face is a few mere inches from your own. He watches the individual strands of your hair—stuck to your skin with already drying perspiration—lift and detangle as he pushes them away from your face, delicately running his thumb over your warm cheek in the process.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Jeongguk murmurs, letting his hand drape back over your stomach. You, in all of your giddiness, can barely suppress the giggle; the ardent urge to tease him just a while longer.

Widening your eyes, you blink almost comically at him. “What, have sex in a tent among the surroundings of Mother Nature?”

Even in the dark, Jeongguk’s lovely flush glows. “No! I mean, it’s definitely something to tick off the bucket list. But I meant pushing your hair away from your face, being able to hold you like this, and getting to have you this close to me. You’re so warm.”

“You’ve always…” you continue to eye him seriously, adding in a raise of your brows. “… wanted to use me as your personal space heater?” The last of your sentence sputters as you try to tame the bubble of laughter that expands within your throat, especially now that Jeongguk looks marginally murderous.

“Oh my god. I’m trying to say that I like you, ___. I have since, well, probably the first time we met.”

All of the humour drains from your face as those words spill into the space between you; a confession that has been trapped away in his ribcage, hidden behind his heart for eons. Ridiculously, like a goldfish, you gape at him, speechlessly opening and closing your mouth despite the small voice in the back of your mind mutters: Well duh, he just had his dick inside of you, what else did you expect?

Something changes in Jeongguk’s expression. A stony concern begins to pull tight at his features while the silence draws out, and the hand that circles the skin of your stomach comes to a halt. You, finally finding your voice, feel the complete and utter horror flood into your tone in a tar that makes your tongue heavy; your words sound much more bitter than your initial intention.

“When I was drunk and called you an adorable kid?” The mortification swells in your pitch that rises with the gradual utterance of the question. But it hardly compares to the embarrassment that lights up Jeongguk’s face in varying shades of pink, like a miserable Christmas.

“Holy christ, don’t tell me I’ve been reading our friendship wrong and always thought there was something a little more between us. Like, chemistry or some shit. I don’t know what to call it. I’m not good at this–”

“No no! It’s just that I was so embarrassed that night, and everyone guilted me into believing that I had made you feel uncomfortable and I– You started liking me because of that?” The corner of your mouth lifts at your lack of credence, shaking your head and resting your palm against your forehead. “My whole perspective on that situation has been wrong this entire time, wow.”

“___, you’re really fucking confusing me now,” Jeongguk groans as he pushes himself up on his side, looming over you. His distress is evident in the tautness of his brow, the firm set of his jaw. “Do you– Do you like me, too? Because if you don’t, that’s okay, I think I can take that. But I just want you to know that you– Shit, you’re unlike anybody I’ve ever met. I swear to god that you don’t even seem human sometimes, like you’ve hailed from the night sky. You’re a celestial being who is so good and beautiful and smart and hilarious and full of so much light that it hurts to look at you sometimes. It might be selfish to want all of that for myself, but I do. I have for as long as I remember knowing you. You’re a fucking star, ___, and you’re everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

A cosy warmth encapsulates your heart, body and soul, like sunlight melting on your skin in molten gold. Jeongguk stares at you, genuine adoration glinting in the smooth obsidian of his eyes as he gauges your reaction. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, as if to hide the truths he just spoke that remain painted there, and you have never wished to kiss him so badly.

Glacially, as though you are approaching a frightened animal, your hand glides across the mattress until it comes into contact with his own. You lace your fingers together, quietly musing to yourself at how, in the morning, you had spiralled into a panic over the fact that his palm was melded to your own, and had experienced such a peculiar longing once they were separated. Now, you hold Jeongguk’s hand without any fear of him letting go, nor the thought that maybe, perhaps, this is not what he wants and you are stupidly overthinking.

“Yes, Jeongguk, I’ve liked you for a very, very long time,” you softly confess, the smile that was teasing at your lips stretching into a full-blown grin. “And if this, all of this, doesn’t mean we’re dating now, I’m going to crawl out of this tent and hold myself under the lake with a giant rock.”

“No,” Jeongguk, still blushing and squeezing your hand, says firmly. He blanches when he notices the now flat expression on your face. “I mean no, you’re not going out there and drowning yourself because I, Jeon Jeongguk, want to date you and call you mine.” Then, he backtracks, frowning as he reprocesses his thoughts. “Wait, you will always belong to your own self, but I just want to–”

“Stop right there. Kiss me.”

“Can do.”

And so he does.

It is a scene that is horrifyingly familiar. Reminiscent of approximately twenty-four hours ago in the form of thumping fists and a shouting voice that runs in a smooth baritone. That is, the victory call of the bane of your existence, violently tugging you from the sanctuary of sleep.

Unfocused and rheumy, your eyelashes detangle. The lids stickily separate and you tiredly release a groan from the back of your throat. Reaching up to grab your pillow to smoosh against your ear and hopefully muffle out the noise, it takes you a scarce moment to realise that what your sleepily searching fingertips have come into contact with is, in fact, not the feathery down that you were expecting. Rather, it is something much more natural in texture, smoother like–

A face.

“Jeongguk!” Taehyung screeches from outside, the sound of nylon slapping against his hands reverberating around the small space. “Oh my god, have you seen ___?! Seriously, wake up, this is an emergency!”

Oh, shit.

Eyes snapping wide open, you look up to where your hand is frigidly sprawled to see, yes, that is most certainly a face that your hand is casually caressing. Jeon Jeongguk’s face, in particular. Your boyfriend’s face. Already awake as a result of your best friend’s panicked squawking, he peers down at you from between your fingers. You can feel the crescent of his smile forming against your palm, eyes filmy with lingering remnants of lethargy.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Jeongguk mumbles, listlessly shaking off your hand to fall limply between you so that he can press a kiss to your forehead, making your heart feel fuzzy. Jeongguk’s eyes skim further south, travelling down your bare chest, the curve of your exposed hip, the sunlight that pools on your thigh, hitched over his side. Jeongguk languidly runs a thumb over your nipple, eliciting a tingle from your nerves.

Blinking sleepily, he murmurs, “Damn, I can get used to seeing this.”

“Jeongguk!” Taehyung screams again with more vigour, ruining the pleasant moment. “Wake the hell up, you fucking loghead!”

Planting a dry kiss to his lips, you sigh and tuck your head under Jeongguk’s chin. You make a sweet little sound when he proceeds to wrap his arms around your shoulders, holding you closer. “Y’know, I’d be going out there and murdering him with the chainsaw right about now if this was only a one-time thing. He’s really killing the moment.”

“Mhm, lucky I’m making sure we have an infinite amount of mornings like this,” Jeongguk hums into your hair. Your lips curl against his throat in silent rapture. “How much longer do you think until he–”

“That’s it, I’m coming in!”

“Shit, prepare yourself,” Jeongguk grunts as he hears Taehyung’s fingers begin to clumsily fumble with the zipper. He reluctantly releases you so he can sit up and search for his underwear, calling out, “Unless you want an eyeful of my dick, Tae, I suggest you wait a fucking second.”

“Oh, so now he thinks to respond, the little shit!” Taehyung fumes through the thin wall while you scramble to put your bikini on, knowing that there is not a single way you can avoid the sole outcome of this situation. “Dude, seriously, have you seen ___?”

Pushing your hair away from your face, you knead your knuckles into your eyes. In the process, you feel the delicate weight of Jeongguk’s hand on the small of your back as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, and your hands shift from your sockets to caress his jaw. Grudgingly, he draws away, gazing at you with such tenderness before he shifts his focus to the entrance. Jeongguk releases a shuddering breath and then yanks at the zip. The early morning sunlight slowly spills onto the mattress as he opens the door.

On the other side, you are met by a frantic Taehyung, who looks about ready to commit a murder. The rest of the boys are slouched in their camper chairs, surrounding the embers of the smoking fire, looking hungover as all shit as the observe the scene.

The panic that has consumed Taehyung’s features slowly slips away as he registers the sight before him. His eyes flick between Jeongguk, who hulks impassively in the entrance, and you, who is situated a foot behind him with an unsure expression twisting your face into a borderline grimace. The silence that has settled over the camp is almost numbing until Taehyung leans back on his haunches, tilts his head towards the boys behind him, though remains to fix his eyes on the both of you.

“Jimin, you owe me fifty bucks! Told you I could fuckin’ do it!” he calls out in unexpected victory, and Jimin groans loudly in disappointment.

For a brief second, you let his words subside into the still atmosphere. Then, your voice is cutting into the air, causing everyone in the vicinity to jump at its sudden sharpness.

“What the fuck, you betted on this?!” you shout, heat rising in your cheeks, most especially when you come to notice the wicked, guilty grin plastered to Taehyung’s mouth.

“Everybody but the two of you saw it coming!” Taehyung tries to explain, scrambling to stand up as Jeongguk starts to emerge from the tent in nothing but his black briefs. You try your absolute best to not be sidetracked by the muscles of his thighs and back, bunching up and flexing as he moves. “The bet was harmless, I swear! W-We just needed to give you guys that extra push–”

Jeongguk, expression utterly menacing, is now completely out of the tent. He stands before Taehyung, who is slowly shuffling backwards and putting as much distance as he can between himself and the giant mass of intimidating muscle. When Jeongguk raises an inquisitive eyebrow, Taehyung fucking flinches.

“What push?” he says threateningly. Given the circumstances, you actually pray for Taehyung’s small, fragile soul that is an inch away from having the shit beaten out of it.

Taehyung chuckles nervously, rubbing a hand at the nape of his neck. “Well, telling you to help ___ pack, forcing you to swap seats with me in the car, making you help her set up our tent–”

“Don’t forget sneaking the condom into Jeongguk’s wallet,” Namjoon pitches in from the smouldering campfire. The surrounding boys begin to cough and laugh.

Taehyung must realise this is the final straw that breaks the camel’s back, because he hastily turns on his heel with a screech and begins to run. Jeongguk immediately charges after him with conviction in his stride, which only sets your group of friends off into louder howls.

“You’re all a bunch of dicks,” you huff as you rise from the tent, folding your arms and walking over to the circle. The lot of you watch as Jeongguk swoops Taehyung up by the waist, hauls him over his shoulder, and starts towards the pier; ignoring Taehyung’s squeals of protest. “Who out of you won money from this?”

You roll your eyes and sigh when Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon nonchalantly raise their hands. Your gaze briefly flicks back to the spectacle that is making its way down the jetty when you hear Taehyung squawk: Don’t you fucking dare!

“Aw, c’mon, ___,” Hoseok reasons with a grin from across the pit, sipping at a cup of orange juice. “It was clear as day that you and Jeonggukie were meant to be. We didn’t mean to upset you guys.”

“We only want the best for the both of you,” Seokjin adds in, stretching in his camper chair. He wears a matching set of pink pyjamas, marring the otherwise natural scenery as a speck of vivid repulsion. With a sparkle in his eye, he smiles up at you and says, “So, does this mean you’re dating now?”

Before you can answer—if the sheepish smile is not an instant giveaway—Jeongguk, standing at the end of the pier with a uselessly thrashing Taehyung cradled in his arms, twists his head to face the rest of you on the shore. Even from this distance, his grin shines like a million watts of pure jubilation. You cannot help but shake your head, smiling widening stupendously at the sight because wow, that is your goddamn boyfriend! Holy shit!

“You bet we’re fucking dating!” Jeongguk hollers, and you feel the sudden urge to bury your face in your palms with a groan of embarrassment. “That award-winning ass is mine!”

Then, without further ado, Jeongguk flings Taehyung high into the air, who screams at the top of his lungs, “Matchmaker of the year, mother fuckers!” before he crashes into the water with a grand splash.

The boys all get to their feet, cheering and spilling orange juice and instant coffee in their flailing antics. Jeongguk, with his hands raised above his head in victory, strolls half-naked down the wooden planks towards you, who meets him halfway. Wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up with ease, Jeongguk spins the both of you around and kisses the laughter from your lips in such an open display of affection that your heart bursts in your chest. All the while, the boys wolf-whistle and applaud as if such a display is deserving of their raucous celebration.

But you would never have them, Jeongguk, nor even Taehyung any other way than this. Your closest friends and your boyfriend. The idiots that fill your heart with so much love you can barely take it. The ones who will forever have you expecting the unexpected.

Note | No wildlife was harmed in the making of this fic, nor did any Kim Taehyung’s accidentally drown due to any embarrassed Jeon Jeongguk’s holding him underneath the lake water for an unprecedented amount of time. Try and guess what lines of dialogue and incidents in this fic have been based off my real camping experiences with my pals!! No, not the smut scene (though doing Jeongguk in the middle of nowhere sounds rather fun).

I hope you all enjoyed this fic as much as I did when it came to creating all of the shit-talk banter for it. I swear on my life it was never meant to be this long, but crackvory clearly lives on. I love you guys, thank you for your support; whether it be in likes, reblogs, messages, or simply reading the story!!

♔ Listen to Violet Rain’s magnificent song that was inspired by this fic!

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

[ask-de-writer]

Daring Do and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 12 of 21

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Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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After they ate, the charcoal was carefully put out and the ashes and unburned parts were stored to a tightly close metal can.  Daring Do gave Jeremy a hard look.

“You passed my questions on what you just studied.  You failed entirely on lesson retention.  You were willfully rude to my friends, whose help we do need.  You were warned of the necessity for courtesy by Qushi Han Le, and later by me as well.  Courtesy is necessary to survive here.

“As promised, you will walk for the next hour.”

She and Soree were allowed to mount to their carrying saddles and Sang He’s herd got to their big padded hooves.  Sang He inquired, “Would you please continue telling us of your adventure on the Forgotten River?”

Soree leaned forward eagerly in her saddle and asked, “Please do, Daring Do!  How did it come to be called the Forgotten River if it was so large?”

Jeremy was about to grumble about something again when the voice of the dromedary behind him, the one that had carried him, cut across his potential blunder.  “If you have complaint of me, Insect, my name is Sehang Shu.  If you do not have complaint, please be silent so that I may hear Doctor Do and learn more of the Forgotten River.  I, at least, wish to learn while we travel.”

Daring Do glanced back at Jeremy and nodded.  She answered Soree, “The region was not found and explored by ponies from Equestria until about six hundred years ago. An early cartographer, working from written notes forgot to put it into his map!  

“Another map maker gleefully put out his own edition with the river in it and labeled it the Forgotten River of Gulio Anponi!”  The name Forgotten River stuck because the joke made it memorable.”

Jeremy actually joined into the laughter provoked by the tale.  Then his brow furrowed in thought. “May I ask a question, Doctor Do?”

“Certainly, Jeremy.  What is it?”

“If Equestria was made by the Creator Titans to be a home to ponies everywhere, why are there so many ruins and abandoned civilizations in almost impenetrable jungles or deserts like this one?”

From behind Jeremy, where she was following to encourage him to keep pace, Sehang Shu asked, “You really do not know?  Doctor Do, may I educate the Insect?”

Daring Do glanced back, giving Sehang Shu a slit eyed look as she replied, “Please do, Sehang, but only if you can extend to him the courtesy that you properly demand. His name is Jeremy.”

Sehang Shu bowed her head the bow of equals and replied, “It shall be so.

“Jeremy, this was not a desert when the X'ibian Empire was founded.  The civilizations abandoned to other forms of wilderness were not poorly placed either.  The various forms of desert and jungle that overwhelmed them all came from a single source.

“Your Equestria.  These disasters of climate that forced ponies world wide to abandon ancestral homelands occurred because your Princesses Celestia and Luna fought the Nightmare Wars.  Weather was one weapon used by both sides.

“Meaning only to battle each other, they disrupted the weather patterns of the whole world.  After the Wars were over, your Princess Celestia had the Weather Authority created to fix Equestrian weather.  It grew into Cloudsdale.”

Jeremy thought that over before asking, “Sehang Shu, why didn’t other places set up Weather Authorities too?”

The big dromedary answered, “Eventually, most of them did.  The weather disasters destroyed more than crops.  Civil authority and entire civilizations collapsed. Whole populations migrated over large distances, seeking safe new homes.  Wars were fought over the best lands.  It took what became the Chineighese Empire over two hundred years to re form.  Their Imperial Weather Authority uses this hot, high desert part of X'ibia as a driver for their famous controlled monsoon system.

“Most of what was lost, world wide, has been replaced by later civilizations that formed in better locations.  Thus, we now have the abandoned cities and many ruins that Doctor Do is such an authority on and you know why they are now in such awkward places.”

Jeremy bowed his head and replied, “Thank you, Sehang Shu.  I nearly failed the class in Ethnological Geography.  I could not see why it was important.  You have just showed me why I need to re take it and do better.”

Daring Do and Soree overheard and shared a nod of satisfaction.

Sehang Shu looked down and bowed a bow of equals to Jeremy.  “Really, Jeremey?  If you will have me as an instructor, I will be pleased to teach you.”

The surprised Jeremy nearly stumbled on a stone as he replied, “I would be honored.  How much do you know of it?  You have clearly showed me that you know more than I.”

Sehang Shu bowed the bow of one more highly placed.  “I have had the honor of a degree in Ethnographical Geography.  It was granted by the Imperial College of Bejin How after completing courses taught by extension from the Equestrian Royal University.  Doctor Do was my favorite instructor.”

Jeremy looked shocked at first, then gave the rest of the herd a careful inspection.  Eyebrows raised in surprise, he inquired, “All of you?”

Sehang Shu nodded.  “All of us.  At least one degree in something.  On long desert nights we have little else to do.  We used to and still do sing and sometimes dance. We tell tales.  Now we study and try to explain what we are studying to our herd mates.  It is fun.”

Quietly Sehang Shu made a low, carrying tone, modulated in a way that Jeremy could not grasp at all.

Sang He replied, “We see them, Sehang.  They have given the counter sign to Doctor Do.  They are the Ancient Guardians, joining us at a distance.  When we pause for next rest, give them Port Arms.”

Jeremy recognized that as meaning, “We will fight with you,” from his recent lesson on X'ibian weapons courtesy.

Letting things go because they were no longer a threat, Sehang Shu suggested, “To assist your study by pointing it at both parts of interest, and your known weaknesses, we could make our study a colloquium.  Is that satisfactory?”

“That sounds great, Sehang Shu!”

She knelt.  “I know that your hour of walking is not up, Jeremy, but it will be easier for us to decide the subjects and order of them if you are riding.  Please mount your saddle.  We will be able to hear each other far better.”

Up in the front of the caravan, Soree’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

~~ ~~ ~~

Fuming at having yet another delay, this one enforced by the simple fact that there were derailed railroad cars blocking the only road out, Tyranny sat in the cab of one of their remaining four trucks.  His rage was covering a far deeper fear.

Robber and Overthrow gave it voice.  “That was close.  If we had been even a few moments slower in freeing him, he would be drowned right now.

“Overthrow, I was talking to the Lock Keeper.  That blue coat and orange mane is very rare here. They are thought to be bad luck.  The dock hand who delayed our unloading was one.  Both the beggar and the pony who handled the barge were, too.  The engine driver who caused this wreck and nearly killed Tyranny was another.”

Overthrow, brow wrinkled in concentration, noted, “You almost make it sound like some malign being or force is aligned against us.”

“I do fear it.  What if Discord has heard of our purpose somehow?  The Dragonequis will not take lightly to being chained by another’s will.”

There was a rap at the truck door.

Robber turned and instantly bowed the bow he had seen done so often.  The bow of equals.  “What may we do for you, good Lock Keeper?”  

Returning the bow, the Lock Keeper asked, “Would you please put the trucks as close to the embankment as possible?  We have a salvage crane coming to lift the car from the river.  It will also retrieve your vehicle at no charge, of course.”  To Robber’s surprise, he was offered a silver cash. He took it without comment, as he had seen the custom done.

He remembered to bow again as he replied, “We shall do as you request at once.”

He went down the line and instructed the two Chineighese drivers, who backed their trucks without incident.  Robber’s truck parked well back safely.  Overthrow backed his, guided by a pony from the work crew.  He accidentally struck the stone rip-rap on the slope.  He left a little paint on the stones but no serious harm to his truck.

Tyranny self-importantly gestured that the way was clear.  The Lock Crew and the River Salvage Team worked carefully for nearly half an hour to get the huge crane off the barge and onto solid dock.  They inched the big crawler up the road only a little way.  Test swings were made to be sure that loads could be placed safely on the flat unloading and staging area.

Robber was watching with a raised consciousness the care and skill being demonstrated. Overthrow was paying close attention to the whole operation.  

Tyranny was watching the slow pace with impatience.  He was muttering, “An Equestrian work gang would be done by now!”

Robber interrupted him.  “Please be quiet.  Some of these Chineighese understand Equestrian.” Tyranny subsided but with ill grace.

Divers went out in boats and surveyed the tangled wreckage.  One slid over the side and returned after an impressive amount of time under on one breath.  A conference followed.  Shortly, the boat returned to shore and returned with a buoy and a set of heavy cables.  The diver made several dives before he was satisfied.  

The boat let the buoy go and returned paying out the cable, with more smaller buoys attached to it.  The crane let down a big hook and the cable was secured to it. The cable pulled taut as the crane lifted the hook.

The rail car pulled toward shore and plunged underwater entirely.  The marker buoy stayed where it was.  When the crane had pulled as far as it could, the cable was secured to it and the hook let down again.  The cable was refastened and the pull repeated.  It took five long pulls for the main part of the rail car to be up more or less under the big crane’s hook.  More cables were wrapped about it and fastened to the hook.  

The crane lifted only a little. Workers shifted the massive load and it was let down while the cables were re set.  Finally, the wrecked rail car was set down on the staging area.

While that was all happening, unnoticed by any, a large blue rat with an orange head was industriously digging away at the already loosened dirt around several stones of the rip-rap wall.  They bore paint scraped off of Overthrow’s truck.

Robber, watching the whole salvage operation with real interest, walked behind their lead truck on his way to look at the damage on the rail car.  Glancing into the back of the truck he muttered, “We need to have that load restacked as soon as we can.  Tyranny just does not understand how to load a truck!”

He went on over and respectfully bowed to the strange pony inspecting the failed coupling on the wrecked car.  “Pardon my asking, but has this sort of failure happened often before?”

The pony looked up from where he was on his back looking up at the fractured metal.  He managed a bow even from that position and replied, “Not in my twenty years of rail incident inspecting.  I have never seen one fail in this fashion and today, in one accident, we have two.  It is very strange and very rare.”

Robber nodded politely and returned to the trucks.  He saw that the crane was now doing its short pulls to retrieve their truck.  It was soon sitting beside the rail car that had turned it into totally twisted and crushed scrap.

Tyranny, seeing the remains of the cab, shuddered.  He would not have had a chance to drown.  They salvaged all that they could from the smashed and broken crates and loaded it into the rearmost truck because it was closest.

The way above, at the crossing, was now cleared.  Tyranny leaped into the cab of the lead truck and fired up the Mage/Tech engine with a roar that shook the whole loading area.  In his impatience, he shoved the throttle over full and released the clutch!  As the truck lunged forward, the blue and orange rat, behind the stones gave a tiny shove.

Stones, bearing the paint of the truck that had scraped into them earlier, fell into the road.  The truck’s front wheel hit a biggish stone and lifted up, tilting the vehicle.  It would not have been a serious angle but for the sound of sliding crates and the thumps of them hitting the truckside!  The truck tilted, almost fell back onto its wheels!  The still driving rear wheels combined with Tyranny’s panicked steering pushed it past recovery.  The big truck teetered, falling onto its side with a screech of tortured metal, a splintering crunch, and the shattering of glass!  

A dazed and bruised Tyranny managed to push open the upper side door and climb out of the overturned vehicle.  The Lock Keeper came up, shaking his head.  He gestured to all three partners to come close.

“I have two things to say. Mister Tyranny, I have observed your driving during this.  This entire accident here and your involvement in the rail accident were both the result of your poor driving.  Your permit to drive on any road of the Empire is Revoked.  The permit please.”  He held out a hoof in a no nonsense way.

Tyranny glumly produced the document.  The Lock Keeper took out a writing kit, inked a brush in red and wrote the character for REVOKED across it.  He added a line of characters bearing his name and work title.  He sealed it with a chop.

After making a copy by regular clerical contagion magic, he returned the revoked permit.  “This will be sent to all road stations and Locks along the Dunn See.  If you are found driving any vehicle, it and all of its contents will be impounded by the State.  If you have broken any of our driving laws or been in an accident regardless of severity, you will be beheaded. Is this clear?”

Tyranny was starting to say something about too severe, but Robber stopped him.  “Tyranny, just yes or no.  Is it clear or not?  You are entitled at this time to understand the consequences.  Nothing else.  You should have looked over those law pamphlets that I gave you.”

The Lock Keeper nodded.  “Very well put Mister Robber.”

“You speak Equestrian?”

“I do.  Does he need the consequences of breaking our law spoken in Equestrian?”

Tyranny glumly replied, “No you don’t, and yes, I do understand.  How does your law handle such a thing?”

Bowing as a superior to an inferior, the Lock Keeper replied, “Your sentence will be made by a local magistrate.  If it is a capital one, it will be reviewed by the District Magistrate within five days, during which you will be kept in confinement.  If the District review goes against you, you will be executed on the spot.  If it does not, your case may still go to the Provincial Magistrate.  A capital case must be heard and decided in seven more days.  That decision will be final.

“One other thing.  You must keep the revoked permit as identification.  It is still valid for that purpose.”

“I see.”  Tyranny sourly replaced his revoked permit in his wallet and put it into his saddle bag.

The Lock Keeper turned to Robber.  “You have been learning much and admitting your errors. One, that was thought to be error or foolishness was not.  My eye drawn by the noise of the truck, I saw it.  The fall of the stones, which would not have been serious to a properly laden or driven truck, was caused by a rat-like creature.  It was blue and had an orange head.

“You are being dogged by a demon or a changeling.  Pray to your ancestors that it is only a demon.  They are easily exorcised and are not too bright. Changelings cannot be exorcised and can be deadly in their mischief.”

(to be continued)

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