rick riordan, the lightning thief, chapter 13 | norman rockwell, little girl looking downstairs at christmas party (1964) | john patrick shanely, the dreamer examines his pillow | phoebe bridgers, “motion sickness” | charles h. moreau, father and daughter | richard siken, “war of the foxes (3),” war of the foxes | rick riordan, the lightning thief, chapter 13 | dr. suess, oh! the places you’ll go | sylvia plath, the unabridged journals of sylvia plath | sara pedigo, whispering to the moon (2020) | sofia ziegler, “rooms of memory” | sohee cho, chair (2009) | my fic
summary: inside the body of nikki freeman are two inhabitants fighting for control.
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You’ve got to get out of here. You’ve got to get out. You need to get out. You have to get out. You need to get out get out get OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET
—shhh, she’s asleep now.
Be quiet. You don’t want to wake her, do you? You don’t want to wake him either because you cause such a ruckus, Nikki, you really do.
“Why don’t you just… tell Eddie?” Ravi finally asks.
Buck’s face scrunches up in confusion. “That we’re stuck down here? I already did. Not much he can do, man, we just have to wait for the rescue team to—”
“No, not that,” Ravi cuts him off. “I mean, tell him that, you know…”
Buck’s eyebrows move closer together, and now it’s his turn to tilt his head at Ravi.
“I don’t know. What are you talking about, Rav?”
Ravi takes a deep breath and decides to just go for it: “Why don’t you tell Eddie you’re in love with him?”
pairing: dean x luna. — returning home from school, luna is hopelessly lost as she accidentally misses her stop, but help in the form of a charming dean was not in her roster. — tw: nil. — rated: t. — tag: @rc-catalog. — event prompt. 14: wild card. — playlist. — chapter: 1/?. — words: 2.2k. —
jiyoon was restless, face ashfallen and mood pensile like a raindrop dangling perilously on a petal’s rosy edge. she sunk into the seat of the bus with a mournful sigh, counting down minutes to the conclusion of yet another strenuous day. but the journey home was a tumultuous one, ironically mocking her current stature.
her body was chucked back and forth, as if she was a boulder rushing down a steep mountain slope, hitting every nook, never denying itself the pleasure to be petered out.
for hong jiyoon, these were pitiable thoughts, a retreat to places vitiated by her recklessness. and so she excused herself, from its glower and its cobweb of spit poison, and rallied her attention elsewhere. facing the window, her hair battered by the howling wind, its whistles whispering superficial gossips, and the sky, with its tender flakes of puffy clouds and a splatter of orange with shy tones of pink and red, coalesced. she was caressed in its grasp.
of how she had fallen asleep, so fast and so surely, that too in a vehicle flinging half of its passengers around in bouts of hysteric fits, she couldn’t make sense of.
but clearly, she had not resisted its serpentine lull, and a tired mind will always be an easy prey. so, coiling around her guts, pinning her consciousness down, jiyoon slept, breathed even, fingers slackening around her hefty schoolbag. perhaps, if she had even the slightest bit of awareness left in her body, before capitulating, it would have sensed a presence; domineering, captivating. the undeniable dip of the seat beside her, the rustle, the shift, and then, the eventual settle in, would any of it had escaped her notice?
the moment cho yujun had found an open seat, he had merrily plopped down on it; ignoring the sturdiness of the cushion, as well as the metallic backrest that had no business digging into his spine as if it had a personal vendetta against the flawless alignment of his vertebral column.
to evoke a sense of comfort, he had shuffled himself in neatly, and when the seating felt less like a spiked area used to mount heads on, he knew he could resume his previously interrupted activity: reading, and texting his grandmother that he was perfectly intact, and how she would not be needing to file a missing persons case anytime soon.
of course, it didn’t mean he wasn’t keenly aware, or perhaps much too aware, of the person sitting beside him. aware, of how her body jerked quietly with the movement of the bus, back and forth, like a pendulum punctuating every wave of its swing.
aware, of how her hair, long and smooth, tousled by the impish winds, rushed to seek refuge in the curve of her neck. aware, of their matching uniforms, white and dark blue, the contrasting colours of the sky, now concentrated between an unassuming pair. aware, now with a dawning realisation, between the obvious clues and the ones more obscure, that the person beside him was not a complete stranger at all.
and then at a turn, as if to mete out the final symphony of an elaborate orchestra, her head, instead of tapping a gentle rhythm against the half opened window, swivelled, and found in the juncture of his shoulders the abode for the rest of her slumber.
cho yujun had never been more amused in his life. and he wasn’t someone who was short of entertainments.
his shoulders hadn’t budged, not when he had to deftly catch her schoolbag from crashing to the welcoming floor, which weighed like lead stashed atop each other at monumental quantities; if it was even possible to do so in a carrier so small, or when he had resumed reading, fingers thumping through the pages to rest on the correct paragraph, which took more time than he would have liked.
yujun, against his better judgement, had been inadvertently distracted.
an hour passed, a final crescendo. jiyoon was bleary, groggy. she stirred. her eyes slipped open in a daze, and the world swam, disoriented, as if she had been submerged under icy waters, letting its rushing currents rip her away and drown her in a nebulous state.
but like a sweet dream, like honeysuckle drop on her tongue, warmth spread from her cheeks where it laid, and her body relaxed, inhaling an unfamiliar, yet congenial scent.
‘good afternoon, sleeping beauty.’ a silken voice, deeply saturated. ‘your carriage has arrived at its destination.’ a slow chuckle, mocking notes persistent.
‘oh, and by the way, this is the last stop, just in case you had any plans to continue holding me hostage any further.’ he carried on as if the ground beneath her feet wasn’t treacherously collapsing with each uttered word.
within seconds, hong jiyoon had many fragmented realities to digest. she shamelessly slept — and judging by the way he was rolling his arm — a little too arduously, on a random stranger’s shoulder. she involuntarily touched the edges of her lips, checking for, god forbid, at the hint of a drool escaping her mouth, and upon finding it completely dry — and of course, ignoring the lingering warmth of him — she felt a stinging relief.
jiyoon leaned away from him. ‘are you always this eloquent at taking a jab, or does this itch only come spontaneously?’
‘and she bites back!’ yujun hopped up, grinning mischievously, then heads straight for the door, but not before letting all the elderly people out.
and while they left, slowly hobbling away at the steps, he slipped in another remark, a reply to her question, ‘only when the opportunity arises.’ he cheekily shrugged, and with a leap he was out, leaving only jiyoon behind in the now empty bus, a skeletal vessel deprived of its flesh and organs.
one step down, a realisation hits. why would this bus empty out at this stop? did its route abruptly end here? and why would there be a sudden change in the schedule? she could not fathom being so out of it, that even the public transport system, its working as simple as it can get, is leaving her perplexed.
‘jiyoon, your pace could shame a snail, you know?’
there was no second step. her name, moving past his lips so casually as if it’s used to his knowing, unearthed a repressed shock, fraying her nerves and cutting contact with all necessary motions.
jiyoon flinched, her firm footing falling out, a gasp and a curse caught in her throat as she stumbled forward, and the railing she had intended to grasp on flew past her vision in grim mockery.
‘hey, hey, hey!’ she was caught, suspended between the step and the two firm arms holding her in place, at an awkward angle that brought her face to face with her saviour.
he had that sly grin on, a trademark expression, probably patented solely for this freckled, undeniably beautiful face. it suited him, and it irritated her, because whenever it was directed at jiyoon, she always seemed to find herself in unforeseen circumstances, which included balancing on her heels as her entire body leaned out of the bus’ door, propelled up by her shoulders by the cheeky, cunning, fox-like stranger.
‘you almost crushed us both in your haste! not to mention how dramatic of an end this could’ve been,’ he deliberately chuckled.
‘although, i must not jump to conclusions so fast about your tastes, is that not so? don’t worry, i don’t judge’ he continued with a wink, and jiyoon exaggeratedly rolled her eyes, for a moment forgetting what all this ferrying around and thespian spectacles were for.
‘too slow, too fast, why don’t you make up your mind first?’ jiyoon’s flimsy fingers, still shaking from the sudden adrenaline spike, closed around his collar for support. and when she had done so, the trembling question and suspicions in her mind settled, only leaving behind a still water calmness.
the fabric of his shirt was all too familiar; the pattern, the stitching, the unmistakable colours. of course, he knows her name. and of course, in reclusive jiyoon fashion, she didn’t know his. and just so it happens, he had his name plate pinned nowhere near his well maintained shirt, only the tiny pin holes left behind an impression that something crucial was missing.
‘and i’m smart enough to realise that this is where my playful commentaries end.’
jiyoon huffed. she wasn’t really angry, no, only a bit disoriented, and mildly lost, because when her feet found firm ground — thanks to his effortless haul and deposit — she expected a road careening toward a quiet town, buildings splattered around in compact blocks, and fields bursting with bountiful harvest.
but what gathered before her were steep grounds, sprinkles of half-opened shops, a desolate bus station, and the verdant mirage of grass and weeds bedecked in the golden rays of the evening sun, the blaze almost searing her crinkled eyes. she prodded incessantly, she prayed. and yet.
she was utterly and disastrously stranded, in the middle of nowhere, armed only with her stalwart sense, burly bag, and a barely charged smartphone.
somehow, the theatrics didn’t end here, as when you think an avalanche has passed, another is invariably triggered, and all it takes is a stomp, or a discordant howl. a
nd right now, as hong jiyoon’s mind whirred and churned at prolific speeds, steam almost literal in its form as it left her burgeoning thoughts, once again here he comes, the prodigal saviour.
he had disappeared just moments ago, and she had bid farewell too, reluctantly but necessarily, for what was he but a flower in bloom she got to witness in the hour of its beautiful and bountiful wake? but he was here, again, with a cycle in tow now, conjured from thin air, as it had seemed to her in the moment.
yujun laughed at her startled countenance, peach-blossom cheeks sucked in, darting blue-brown eyes betraying a keen interest at his appearance, again.
she was a spectral vision with a brine-flavoured tongue, poised to strike with an ample amount of snark thrown in, a difference so striking it left him wondering whether he had confused her with anyone else from his grade.
but her undeniable resemblance to hong seoyoon from his class, and her knee-jerk reaction to the name jiyoon, was indisputable evidence, despite it being tainted by his initial belief about the girl, gathered from all kinds of wandering sources, and eager whispers.
oftentimes, the same phrases repeated, a cassette on replay: mild-mannered, meek, reclusive.
so she was no less of a surprise to him than he was to her today.
he flicked the bike bell, caught her attention, and asked grandiosely, slyly, ‘is the princess of the fairytales lost in the woods?’
‘and if she is? will you whisk her away?’ jiyoon offered back, half serious, like setting tar, a solidified response, but also half fleeting, like stars that waned in the early morning sky.
‘jiyoon,’ he let go of the farce, and brandished his hand along the newly furbished saddles, and patted it gently, almost proudly. ‘you’ll be comfortable, that i can assure, and wherever it is that you want to be dropped off, i can be of service.’
then his playful tone returned, impossible to repress, as if his personality hinged on his appearance of approachability — even though, she thought to herself, he didn’t spare a second thought to tease her relentlessly.
‘you’re generous. but why? i don’t even know your name.’ it was a reluctant admittance, yet she didn’t falter when it came down to it. it was only fair to stand on levelled grounds, and she did want to know his name, to understand his presence, acknowledge him correctly, maybe seek him in the corners of the school, to solidify his realness.
he smiled, so sincerely that jiyoon was caught off guard for a moment. a hot pulse pumped in her temple as he came closer, brushed a hand to her palm, and shook it, ‘call me what you like, hong jiyoon, but yujun is what i prefer.’
‘you only got to know my name, and you’re already preening to change it? i’m hurt!’ he clutched at his chest, ‘and here’ and then it was his unsuspecting arms, ‘and here too’ but this time, he hovered their clasped fingers, which jiyoon hadn’t realised they never released from the grip of their handshake this whole time, and leisurely hovered it before his face.
he peeked his head out from behind her palm, right when the droopy clouds shed its veil to allow a ray of light to illuminate the girls face, slanting at an angle that highlighted perfectly her every exquisite feature. but the most ardently beautiful, comparable only to the bewitching glow of the sun, was her smile.
she was laughing, at his jokes, at his theatrics, the fledgling of worries that had started to beseech her face loosening and disappearing. the most apt outcome. of course, it couldn’t be otherwise, but what about that slight tremor in his fingers? in the way he took a breathy sigh? was this empathy at her situation, his body a mirror to her reactions, or were these all independent realisations, exclusive to his feelings?
cho yujun let go of her hand, and between bursts of her sweet laughter, he heard a yes.
But she never hears his steps on the stairs, and after a while Lois finally moves, changes into pajamas and crawls into bed behind her baby sister, pulling her close and trying not to cry.
And she promises, in that moment, that she’s never going to fall in love.
or: when she's ten, lois lane decides being in love is the worst thing that can happen to you, and nothing changes her mind until she's thirty and meets clark
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Clark Kent did not name Superman.
THREE YEARS AGO – METROPOLIS, DELAWARE – 1334 HOURS EST (UTC -5)
The newsroom is in an uproar.
Cat’s been half-yelling at Steve while Jimmy’s got his eyes glued to GBS News on his computer. They keep replaying the clips of a man in red, blue, and yellow flying in from from the clouds to grab a skyscraper-tall clown car with legs and arms that shoot missiles. What great fun it is to be alive today in Metropolis.
“Toymaker’s back,” Lois tells Jimmy. “You filled Kent in on the usual suspects, right? Where is he, by the way?”
