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kookiecrumb · 4 years ago

Text

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

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cthomashoodstory · 4 years ago

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Best Years but Not in the Same Way (27)

Calum Hood x Reader

Previous Part

Hi guys if you’re confused I’m pairing Calum Hood and Reader but the character is Barbara Palvin, well… this story is a spin off based on stories i made on wattpad and it’s on my local language and i moved this story to Tumblr and i wanna make this story and the main character is the reader but I’m so attached with the barbara palvin character so… just pretend that you’re barbara hehe. Enjoy!

Oh btw if you just read this part and haven’t read the entire story, i put thr masterlist link below.

Masterslist

Calum and his band were busy promoting their new single, Easier since its released two weeks ago. And you were busy with your life at studio, working for Shawn Mendes’ upcoming album that he would released in 2020.

You were at your place right now since you decided not to come to studio because today was the schedule for you to clean up your apartment and you decided to do it now.

You started cleaning up the living room. Paving away the dust with feather duster, vacuumed the carpet, sofa and also the pillow. Then you moving to the kitchen, dining room, room behind the kitchen, and last your bedroom.

It wasn’t that hard to clean up your bedroom because it basically just clean since you did it everyday.

And now it’s time for you to decluttering your wardrobe. You went through your stuffs that you put on the box. You opened the first box and you found album photos of you as a little kid. You smiled when you saw it one by one. Then you stared at the picture of you and your parents at the park somewhere. You were in the middle, your mom was on your left and your dad was on your right. Your both hand held their hands and you were smiling. Such a decent smile.

You closed the album and saw the other things, like the present that your parent bought it to you, your first drawing of you and your parents and basically it was a stuffs that reminds you of your childhood. Going through on some memories sometimes is the best thing.

Then you moved on to the next box, which was your handwriting about poetry, motivation words, quotes, some lyrics you made when you were in high school. You read it one by one and you giggled. Young Saara Palvin really had a wild imagination. How could she even wrote a lyric about love when she never felt that before? Lol.

You saw a quote you made in a special quotes book, with a fractions of cd.

(Credit to @.thetypewriterdaily on instagram)

It was so cute honestly. How could you ever made such a beautiful words like that? You took a picture of it and posted it on your Instagram feed.

You put your phone away and then you put all the stuffs back to the box and moved on to the next box, which is the recent lyric books since 2013 until present. It was actually the lyrics you made when you were dealing with your hard emotion, for example the lyric you gave to Mali when you helped her with her single, it was came from this box. Everything you wrote when you were in your hard time, and you decided not to use it, you put it in this box. There was 3 books, the book one is from 2013-2015, second book from 2016 and the last one from 2017-2018.

You looked up at the first book and it mostly my writing about love, friendship, Calum. Yes, since you became friends with him, not long enough after a ‘bad’ introduction between you and him, you started to wrote songs about love and it inspired by him. You were smiling like a crazy person because the lyric was so cheesy and cringe. You also wrote songs about your trip with the boys, it was so fun to be remembered.

Ah, the more you thinking about it, the more you feeling so happy and grateful to be friends with Michael, Luke, Ashton and Calum. You also thanked God and Mike (Posner) for made you working with Jake Sinclair.

Then you opened the second book, 2016 book, which was the darkest book you’ve ever written. It was full of cursing, bad words, and it was basically not worth to read. You know the reason. Your ex. The famous singer ex that broke your heart more than you ever counted. He really torn you apart until this book existed.

You still hated him until today for making you suffered and gone through this phase, but you slowly letting it go away. Your anger is slowly fading away because you realized that horrible moment really lead you to your recent life. You found your happiness, and now you’re happy. Then you closed the book and put it back to the box and you decided not to throw it away because that book is part of your life.

Moved on to the last book, you only found lyric that you wrote only on a paper and the rest is blank. And its title called Habitual. Oh. You remembered you wrote it for months when you were still engaged to Justin. You really took your time writing it because you wanted the song to be perfect and you’ll giving it to someone that really deserve it.

You sighed. The song is finished and yet, you didn’t gave it to anyone. You felt hurt and angry at the same time. You didn’t know why.

Then you called your long time friend, Jason Boyd aka Poo Bear. You worked with him on Justin’s Purpose album at 2015.

“Saara Palvin,” he greeted you right away. “It’s been a long time, girl. How are you?” He sounded so excited.

“I’m fine, what about you?” You asked him

He laughed. “As always, I’m healthy and good. So, what’s up Palvin?”

“Oh,” you paused. “I just opened my old notebook and i found lyric that i’ve been kept for years and i think i will past it to you.”

“Are you for real?” He sounded surprised. “I have been waiting for something from you Saara. I’m so excited for what you’ll give me.”

You laughed. “Yeah i named it habitual, and i think i made a demo somewhere. I will email you the details. And the song and the lyric are all yours and you can use it or toss it or whatever. And you don’t have to gave me any credit. It’s all yours and you’re the only one i called.”

“Thank you so much Saara. I will… i have to give you credits and I believe the song you made is amazing. Thank you again Saar.”

You hung up the call and put all the books back to the box and put it back to your wardrobe. Then you opened your laptop to find the Habitual demo you made 2 years ago.

Finally you found it and you emailed Poo Bear the demo and the lyric you convert to pdf. All the lyrics you made, use or not use, you always save it digitally and non digital. You felt relieved knowing that the song is passed to someone else and you didn’t have to keep it forever.

The next minutes Calum texted you and you ended up chatting with your boyfriend.

To be continued

Next Part

#calum hood #calum thomas hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #calum hood x reader #calum fic #calum fanfiction #calum fanfic #calum imagine #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #ashton irwin #michael clifford #luke hemmings

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beatricethecat2 · 4 years ago

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The Infinite Wisdom of Emily Lake - 4

Hi everyone! Remember this story? Well, we're at date number two, which contains much fluff and a tad of angst, plus much Christina. I hope you enjoy the read!

We left off here: part 3, and previously, part two and part one.

Also, typos are all mine, I'll fix them later. Notes at the end.

“Myka, I’m so sorry.”

Helena finds herself saying this a mere half an hour before her date. She's relieved Myka picked up but annoyed she had to call at all.

“Gisele was meant to watch Christina, but…” That woman and her needy clients. “…unforeseen circumstances. And I can’t find a sitter this late. I’m afraid our plan is no longer viable.”

Their “plan” was more a destination than a roadmap; Myka would come to Helena’s, and, as it was mutually assumed, pleasurable activities would ensue. Helena cleared her schedule in anticipation of cavorting with—is it too soon to call Myka her lover?, pleased the arrangement ticked the boxes, “having her own life,” and “keeping Christina and Myka separate.” But those boundaries were already crumbling. “Keeping it light” was going to be harder than Abigail made it sound.

Myka’s response came after a delay, a sure indicator of her disappointment. “New plan. Let’s meet under the Arch in Washington Square Park.”

“With my daughter?” Helena asks, wondering if Myka heard her correctly.

“Yeah? Unless you don’t want to meet me if we can’t…”

“Of course not,” Helena huffs. “I mean, yes…I-I do want to meet you, even though we won’t be…” She scrubs a hand over her brow. Why does Myka offering to spend time with her daughter fluster her so? “I’m certain Christina will as well. Want to spend time with you, that is. As do I.”

“Um, ok,” Myka says, sounding more confused than convinced. “I’ll head that direction and wait for you.”

“Wonderful. I’ll text when we’re in a cab. And, Myka, thank you.”

“Hey, ladies,” Myka greets, waving hello from under the towering marble monument.

“Hi, Myka!” Christina replies, waving back.

Helena’s brows raise at the cheer in the exchange. She was prepared for Christina to shy away, though she’d explained who they were meeting during their cab ride.

“How’s things?” Myka says, smiling at Christina, then glancing at Helena, eyes full of question.

“Better now. This morning was…” Helena grits her teeth and shakes her head. “Thank you again for being accommodating.” She lays a hand on Myka’s upper arm and pecks her on the cheek, lips tingling pleasantly at the contact. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” Myka says, her grin one of genuine agreement. “You’ve been here before, right?”

“We’ve frequented the playground, but I can’t say we’ve walked through.”

“There’s tons of history here, like this arch.” Myka angles her eyes up at the coffered marble. “And one of my favorite trees ever is here, too.”

“Why’s it your favorite?” Christina asks, grabbing Helena’s hand and dragging her along as Myka begins walking west.

“Because it’s over three-hundred years old. Do you know how old that is?”

“Older than Nonno and Nonna?” Christina asks Helena.

“By far,” Helena replies, amusement clear in her tone.

“This is the oldest tree in Manhattan,” Myka states, stopping by a waist-high fence and gesturing upwards.

“It’s so big!” Christina tilts her head back, taking in the tree’s branches as they reach out at all angles. When she stumbles, Helena steps behind her as a brace.

“It’s an English Elm, which is really, really strong. Strong enough to hang a school bus.”

“English, like Mom?” Christina asks.

“Yeah. But brought over a long time ago.” Myka smiles in Helena’s direction. “I guess I like English things. Who knew?”

Helena’s cheeks warm at the sparkle in Myka’s eye.

“Are there American ones, too?” Christina asks.

“Heck, yeah! And Chinese ones. And Mexican. Lots of other countries. Elms are everywhere.”

“How do you know this one’s English?”

“From its leaves, for one thing.” Myka searches the ground and picks up a leaf. “Here, compare that to this.” She slips a book out of her back pocket and flips through, then hands it to Christina.

Christina compares the real leaf in the picture and nods, seemingly satisfied. “Are all the other trees here elms, too?”

“Nope. There’s all different kinds. Go grab some leaves and see if you can figure out what they are.”

“Ok!” Christina takes off, book in hand, scouring the ground.

“Don’t wander too far!” Helena warns.

“I won’t,” Christina says, already distracted by reaching through a low fence.

“You can climb over,” Myka says.

“Can she?” Helena asks.

“I give her special permission. I’m the boss of trees in this town.” Myka points a thumb at her chest and smiles proudly.

“How compelling,” Helena says, batting her eyelashes. After noting Christina’s location, she slips her hand into Myka’s and tugs her towards an empty bench.

“You’re quite gifted with children,” she says as they both take a seat.

“Nah. Depends on the kid. Though I volunteer with the Urban Park Rangers sometimes and give tours. But I know a kindred spirit when I see one.”

“How so?”

“Not to judge you or anything but…my mom and dad fought a lot.”

“Unfortunately accurate,” Helena admits, looking down, slipping her hand from Myka’s.

“No, listen, it’s good you split now,” Myka says, angling toward Helena. “My parents stayed together ‘for the kids,’ which was awful. Plus, Colorado Springs is really conservative. I’m glad Tracy and my mom got out, too.”

“Your father’s still there?”

“Yeah.” Myka kicks a rock at her feet and watches it roll across the path. “What about you? Where’d you grow up?”

“In London.”

“But Emily grew up here?”

“Wyoming, I believe? Mother left Father when we were younger than Christina. As the story goes, she’d given him an ultimatum, and when he failed to follow through, she left with Emily and never looked back.”

“Harsh.”

“Indeed.”

“Do you know what happened?"

"Bits and pieces. We’ve been told it was money, though I doubt we’ll ever know their exact motives.”

“Why would she leave you behind?”

“Charles and I absolutely adored each other. We were practically twins, which is ironic, considering. Emily and I were never as close. I suspect Mother thought she was doing Emily a favor.”

“She never said why?”

“Not to me, but perhaps to Emily. I only saw her briefly before she died.” It grates at Helena at times that there's still little clarity. Emily genuinely seemed to not have clue either.

“Cancer, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Myka lays a hand over Helena’s.

“It’s more of a loss for Emily. I believe they were fairly close.”

“It’s nice of you to be there for her.”

“I’m doing what I can. Meeting Father and Charles may help, knowing she still has family. And Father will love her.”

“She is pretty great.”

“She’s growing on me,” Helena says, then quiets. The fact she didn’t know her mother or sister at all, nor made much effort to find them, tugs at her sense of self. There were reasons, but in light of her mother's death, perhaps those reasons were moot.

“I couldn’t find this one!” Christina blurts, running over and thrusting a leaf cluster in Myka’s lap.

Myka plucks it from Christina’s grasp and brings it up to eye level. “That’s Syringa reticulata, a Japanese lilac.”

“You didn’t look it up!”

“I don’t need to. I know this stuff by heart.” Myka pops a tiny white blossom from the stem and places it in Christina’s hand. “This one’s harder to identify by its leaves. Its flowers are more telling.”

“Cool,” Christina coos, inspecting the floweret closely.

“We should give these to your mom,” Myka says, breaking a line of buds off the bunch and turning towards Helena. She brushes Helena’s hair back and threads the flowers behind her ear.

Helena eyes Myka’s bottom lip as Myka sucks it in while concentrating. The result is so endearing, she nearly reaches out and sweeps her thumb across their length.

“What do you think?” Myka says to Christina, tipping Helena’s chin up to inspect her work.

“Mummy looks pretty!”

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

“You two,” Helena chides, but with little bite, eyes meeting Myka’s doting gaze. She pushes Myka away playfully, fighting the urge to lurch forward and kiss her.

Myka claps her hands on her knees, then stands and extends a hand to Helena. “Let’s walk to the other side and see what we can find.”

Helena accepts Myka’s assistance and keeps hold until they hit their stride.

They meander slowly across the park, past the unruly skateboarders and acoustic musicians populating the fountain area. Christina skips along, picking up leaves here and there, discarding the ones she’s identified. She hangs on to others, as once they reach the other side, Myka promised they’d look at them together.

“Your turn,” Helena says, hooking her arm through Myka’s elbow, slowing their pace. “How do two girls from Colorado end up in the Big Apple?”

“It’s…kinda complicated,” Myka says.

“Humor me," Helena says, tugging Myka closer.

Myka’s brows push together dramatically, the action itself summing up an answer.

“I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s not…it’s just been…it’s been a while.” A long minute passes before Myka continues. “My mom wanted a fresh start after her divorce, so she made Tracy apply to colleges out here. They were going to move together, but Mom got stuck behind, and Tracy, well, she almost failed freshman year. Mom guilt-tripped me into transferring to keep an eye on her.”

“You two seem close now. You weren’t always?”

“Ha! No way.”

Helena waits for further explanation, but none seems forthcoming. “That’s when you moved to New York?”

“New Jersey, actually. Tracy was at Drew, and I ended up at Rutgers. I got my masters there, then a job in the city, and Tracy moved here with me.”

“And your mother?”

“Ended up in Delaware near her sister. Then got remarried.” Myka’s face sours at the mention, indicating it might be time to redirect to something lighter.

“Why forestry?” Helena asks, scanning for Christina, finding her huddled by a shrub, comparing a leaf to Myka’s book, turning the page when it doesn’t measure up.

“To piss off my dad,” Myka says, huffing a short laugh. “I sort of fell into it after a couple of science-y electives. And there was this bio major I wanted to impress.”

“And did you?” Helena asks.

“For a little while.” Myka’s lips upturn a smidge. “I always loved nature, I just hadn’t realized it yet. My grandfather had a farm, and I loved it when we visited. But Dad didn’t, so we never stayed long.”

“Why?”

“He 'got out’ and wanted us to do 'better’ than he did. He thought what I ended up doing was a step backward.”

“That’s unfortunate, as it’s obvious you love what you do. What did he envision for you?”

“To be his intellectual pride and joy. I started out as an English major because of him.”

Myka looks down. Helena hugs Myka's arm closer.

“You grow ever more intriguing, Ms. Bering,” Helena says, sidestepping further difficult memories.

“You didn’t guess that when you met me.”

“You were rather gruff. What was I to think—”

“Can we go in there?” Christina interrupts, pointing to an area with a tallish fence and trees of various sizes.

“Yep! Look for a gate,” Myka answers, perking up, unlinking her arm from Helena’s and following.

“Over here!” Christina exclaims.

Myka sticks her hand through the fence and jiggles the handle. As she’s working it free, a policeman appears.

“That’s trespassing, miss. I’d stop now if I were you,” he says.

“Hang on.” Myka abandons the lock and slips her wallet out of her back pocket. She flips it open and slides out a card, then hands it to the cop.

“Department of Forestry, Horticulture, and Natural Resources,” the cop reads aloud.

“Look at my title,” Myka says.

The cop’s brows lift in unison. “Oh, yes, ma'am. Sorry, you’re good.”

“No worries, officer. Thanks for looking out for our parks.”

The entire spectacle, Helena speculates, is intended to impress Christina, which, from the awed look on her face, is successful. But impressing Christina impresses Helena, and quite unexpectedly kicks Myka’s sex appeal up a notch.

“You coming?” Myka asks Helena as she opens the gate.

“I haven’t the appropriate footwear.” Helena looks down at her low heels, fine for concrete, but not great for soft terrain. Had she known her day would progress as such, she would have worn something more utilitarian.

“I can hold onto you,” Myka says, smiling at Helena’s choice in footwear, eyes burning a path up Helena's bared calves, past her knees, flicking up to her face as she hits the hem of her shorts.

“How chivalrous,” Helena answers, fluttering her lashes again, matching Myka’s flirtation.

“Come on!” Christina yelps, already halfway into the yard.

“I’ll only slow you down,” Helena says to Christina.

“Suit yourself.” Myka shrugs and walks into the fenced area.

Helena settles on a bench but watches the hunt intently. Christina holds up whatever she’s found and listens keenly as Myka explains what it is. Her pride in parenting swells; Christina’s grown into quite the polite, inquisitive little girl. This kind of interaction is what she’s always wanted from a partner, one in which Gisele hadn’t measured up.

As Myka’s hand lifts and Christina high-fives her, she recalls her conversation with Abigail. Myka’s a balm for low spirits, not to be compared to her ex-wife. So she shifts her gaze, ogling Myka’s hips as she bends over, her low-ride jeans accentuating her curves handsomely.

“Ok, we’re done!” Christina announces, jolting Helena out of her gawking. She bounds over and sits next to Helena as Myka closes the gate.

“We found apple and chestnut trees!” Christina hands Helena a brown nut.

“A squirrel probably buried it, then dug it up,” Myka says, taking a seat next to Christina.

“A squirrel, Mummy! So cool,” Christina says, snatching the nut back.

“Charming,” Helena says, brushing dirt off her hand, but looking at Myka with an amused smirk. “May we keep it as a souvenir?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“This is hard work,” Christina says, wiping perspiration off her brow. “I’m hungry.”

“Dinner-time is fast approaching,” Helena says. “What would you like?”

“Pizza!”

“I’ll search what’s nearby.” Helena fishes her phone out of her bag.

“I want artichoke and spinach from the place by home.”

Myka chuckles. “I didn’t know what an artichoke was at her age. That’s really your favorite?”

“What’s the other one I like, Mummy? With the leaves on top?”

“Prosciutto and arugula,” Helena answers.

“I definitely didn’t know what either of those were,” Myka says.

“What do you like?” Christina asks.

“Me? I’m a pepperoni and mushroom gal. With olives if I’m feeling fancy.”

“Can we can get that, too?” Christina asks Helena.

“If Myka wishes to join us. She may have other plans.”

“Nope, I’m in. I want to try this pizza with arugula.”

“Yay!” Christina jams the chestnut into Helena’s bag and jumps up, taking hold of Myka’s hand.

“Shall we take a car?” Helena says, tapping her phone.

“I’m fine walking. Unless your shoes won’t make it that far,” Myka jabs.

“I want to find more leaves,” Christina says, already pulling Myka away. She stops and turns, holding out a hand to Helena. “Come on, Mummy.”

Helena slips her hand into Christina’s, and the trio walk out of the park linked together.

Myka’s grilled with questions as they wait for their pizza, a late-afternoon ice cream sugar high coursing through Christina’s veins. Helena’s attempts to temper her are weak at best, as she’s enjoying learning about Myka without being the inquisitor. For instance, she now knows Myka’s favorite color is blue, and that her middle name begins with an “O,” but she’s left it up to Christina to guess the rest of it, which has become a fun game. She files both facts away to ask about later so as not to interrupt the flow.

One topic that pops up again is Hurricane Sandy. After the appetizers arrive and Christina settles, Helena asks about Myka’s link.

“I got really involved in the cleanup,” Myka says, taking a sip of her beer. “Tracy would say too much. But it really messed me up how nature could wreck its own ecosystem like that. The shoreline was obliterated, boardwalk ripped to shreds. Houses were crushed, hundreds of trees uprooted. And then there were fires. People died. Some neighborhoods are still recovering.”

Myka drags a hunk of mozzarella through a puddle of balsamic glaze her eyes following the trail it leaves.

“And it was our fault for pushing against nature like that. It was just resetting the balance, since humans fff…udged it up,” Myka fumbles, glancing at Christina, who is looking back, popping charred brussels sprouts into her mouth. “Sorry, I get a little emotional.”

“Don’t apologize for caring about our planet’s wellbeing. Us laymen could be more sensitive.” Helena knew the damage was severe but hadn’t quite understood the scope of it. A few of her friends beach-front properties were damaged, but they managed to get them up and running relatively quickly compared to others.

“Were you here?” Myka asks as their order arrives.

“In England. We decided to stay for an extended visit. Christina was just a toddler.” Helena smiles fondly at Christina.

Christina reaches across the table and swipes a slice off the tray. She blows on the cheese before taking a bite.

“That’s very hot. Be careful,” Helena advises.

“I know,” Christina says.

Helena’s lips pinch together as Christina chews with her mouth open. “All sense of decorum seems to have been lost. I apologize, Myka.”

Myka chuckles. “You should see Tracy eat theses days. She shovels it in.” She mock scoops pizza into her mouth with both hands.

Christina giggles.

Myka grabs a slice and takes a bite. “Hey, this is pretty good!” she says. “Do you know artichokes are the buds of thistle plants?”

“What’s a thistle plant?” Christina asks.

“A plant with leaves that have sharp prickles, like pins. I’ll tell you all about them.”

Christina listens with rapt attention as Myka explains in detail. Helena smiles at the sight, charmed by Myka’s teacherly grace.

“Here we are again,” Helena says, turning on a heel as they approach her building.

“Here we certainly are,” Myka says, flashing that delightful lopsided grin.

“I’d invite you in, but we’ve both bath and bedtime ahead of us. Someone has an early day at camp.” Helena places a hand on Christina’s back.

“Camp in the city?” Myka asks.

“It’s a bit like school, but using the city as a learning tool. ”

“Huh. Did you go to any parks?”

“We did! We went to one by the water,” Christina says. “You go inside then up a hill where there’s paths with walls made with stones. And there’s a tiny house.”

“I…don’t recall what that was,” Helena says.

“The Irish Hunger Memorial in Battery Park City. Not far from here,” Myka says.

“Well,” Helena snips, with a mirthful brow raise. “You’re already interpreting her musings better than I.”

“That was an easy one,” Myka answers.

“I’ll take your word,” Helena says, glancing at Christina, noticing her eyes are struggling to stay open. “Say goodbye to Myka, love.”

“Can Myka come up with us, Mummy? I want to show her my room.”

“Perhaps, another time.”

“Aww,” Christina says, shoulders drooping but offering no further resistance.

“I had fun today,” Myka says, crouching down to Christina’s level.

“Me, too!” Christina says, launching forward, enveloping Myka in a hug. “Can we go to another park sometime?”

“I’d love to. Maybe even do an Urban Rangers tour. But we’ll have to ask your mom,” Myka says.

Christina looks up at Helena, wide-eyed. “Please, Mummy?”

“No fuss at bedtime, and we’ll see.”

Christina’s face lights up.

“Go on inside. I’ll be there in a minute. I need a moment to speak with Myka.”

“Ok.” Christina walks away, but turns and waves before entering the lobby.

Myka and Helena wave back in unison.

“I would ask you in, but if you’re there, I won’t want you to leave,” Helena admits, turning to face Myka. “I haven’t discussed this with her yet.” She fingers Myka’s collar, lustfully eyeing the curve of her clavicle.

“I get it,” Myka says, stepping closer. “I’d kiss you right now, but she’s watching through the door.”

Helena looks over her shoulder. Christina waves from behind the glass. “I’m so sorry. About everything. I know we’d planned quite a different day.”

“It’s all right,” Myka says, looking down, biting her lower lip while scuffing a toe on the sidewalk. “You could make it up to me.”

“How?”

“Can someone watch her for a minute?” Myka ticks her head towards Christina.

“Our doorman Henry might entertain her briefly. She’s quite fond of him. What do you have in mind?”

“Come make out with me in my truck. Just for a few minutes.”

“Is it nearby?” Helena perks up.

“It’s right there.” Myka nods behind her. “I came in early to get a good spot.”

Helena smiles widely at a stallion of a white truck, shiny and spacious, filling her view. “Is that it?” she says, tipping her chin while pointing with her eyes.

Myka turns. “Ha! No. The one behind it.”

Helena’s smile fades at the less statuesque vehicle, royal blue with visible rust, and a faded-to-grey bed cap.

“1988 Ford F250 Custom. It was my grandfather’s,” Myka states proudly.

“It’s certainly…'vintage,’” Helena states. It’s the kind of truck a child would draw, boxy in every way, except its round wheels.

“It’s clean inside. Well, mostly. Clean enough.”

Helena meets Myka’s hopeful gaze. How can she resist such an earnest request?

“You did what?” Emily presses, a few days later over the phone.

“We snogged in her truck.”

Emily snickers then bursts out in a whole-hearted laugh.

“Is that particularly amusing?”

“I’ve been in her truck. I can’t picture you anywhere near it, let alone inside.”

“It was…a revelatory experience,” Helena says, smiling to herself, mentally replaying the event.

Myka opened the door and ushered Helena in with a smug smile on her face. Helena slid across the seat until her leg butted up against the gear shift, its bench-style spanning the cab’s width. A sunshade covered the windshield, though the decor was discolored from age. A cassette slot slashed through the radio console, but that’s all she spied before Myka hopped in and slammed her door shut.

Myka tossed her phone onto the dashboard and dove forward, hands cupping Helena’s jaw, guiding their lips together. Helena eased into Myka’s touch, angling towards her, hands gliding up Myka’s biceps to grasp at her shoulders. The gear shift jabbed at her thigh as she pressed closer, but the longer their lips stayed locked, the less present it felt. Helena’s fingers tangled in Myka’s hair as Myka’s hand tucked under her thin top, palm sliding up her stomach and deftly over her bra. A sharp intake of breath broke the kiss, a growl-like moan rumbling from Helena’s throat as a flash-flood of arousal coursed through her veins.

“I’ll stop if this isn’t ok—”

“Don’t you dare,” Helena rasped, lips plying eager kisses up Myka’s neck. “Your hands are like magic.”

“I couldn’t wait—”

Myka gasped as Helena tugged on an earlobe, her head turning to meet Helena’s eager mouth. But both women froze, mid-connection, as a repetitive noise blared from the dashboard.

“Ignore it,” Helena grumbled, pinning Myka’s hand to her chest, forcing their lips together, completing Myka’s arc.

“I can’t,” Myka mumbled into the kiss, hand snaking out from under Helena’s shirt.

The loss of touch was like a train car abruptly uncoupling, leaving Helena slowing to a stop as the engine carried on into the distance.

“I set an alarm,” Myka said, grabbing the device, silencing its bleating. “I didn’t want to keep you too long. You should get back.”

“So conscientious,” Helena purred, lacing her fingers through Myka’s and squeezing.

“I do my best,” Myka said, eyes angled up, smiling sheepishly. She, too, was struggling to compose herself, if the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest was any indication.

“You’re remarkable,” Helena said, tugging Myka forward and capturing her lips again. Several minutes passed before she and Myka untangled, Myka practically pushing her out the door.

“Revelatory, how?” Emily prods.

“I now understand references to 'parking’ in American films.”

“So, you liked it?”

“I still prefer engaging in such actives indoors.” But Helena’s heart speeds at the tactility of the encounter. “But I will say Myka seemed rather comfortable.”

“I bet she’s had lots of practice. She’s had that truck since college.”

“I see,” Helena says, displeasure ringing clear at the realization she's one of many 'truck’ conquests.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. When are you seeing her again?”

“Thursday night, if Gisele follows through. It’s not optimal for Myka, with her early Friday, but it’s the only day I can offer.”

“Why not wait until the weekend? I can watch Christina for a while.”

“Would you, really?”

“Sure! If it’s ok with her. I know she thinks I’m kooky.”

She certainly does. “Perhaps a chance to get to know you better would change her mind,” Helena says, trying to sound as diplomatic. “But alas, we’ll be in Montauk. I nearly invited Myka, but she’s already engaged.”

“Maybe she’d have changed her plans for you.”

“I doubt her idea of relaxation is a weekend spent with other parents and their children.”

“How would you know? You didn’t ask?”

“It’s too soon.”

“Is it?”

“We’ve been on two dates. One actual one.”

“And two barbecues. So that’s like four. And you already—”

“It’s still too early.”

“Seems pretty simple to me. You ask. You get an answer. Then you know.”

“This is why you’re still single. You lack subtlety.”

“Ouch!” Emily says, then snickers nervously. A beat passes before she continues. “Maybe you’re right. Did I tell you Kevin said Pete’s dating someone?”

“You can do much better than him.”

“Do you think so?”

“Absolutely,” Helena says, feeling bad she poked a sore spot she didn’t know Emily had. But she has been making strides in getting to know her better. “Why don’t you come to the fundraiser next week. Get out of your element, as you did for me.”

“Isn’t it fancy dress?”

“Black tie, but not overly fussy. We’ll coordinate as you’re about my size. My schedule’s a nightmare, but I shall find something for you to wear.”

“Oh, yay! So exciting!”

“As a guest, perhaps, but as the organizer…” Helena breathes a deep breath in and releases it slowly, hoping this weekend at the beach and her upcoming night with Myka are distraction enough to leave her work worries behind.

-TBC-

NOTE: I just wanted to say, writing fan fiction right now is about the only thing that has a clear trajectory, and I am very thankful for that. I’m not sure about your job, but with mine, it seems like every solution that’s arrived at is burst apart by the end of the day. Those in charge are not rising to the occasion, so we’re left sending strongly worded emails, which sometimes work, but mostly make us sound whiny. Also, sending emails is not the work we need to be doing, as there’s way too much real work to be done. ANYWAY, back to this story, which is about Myka and Helena getting together, but there’s an undertone of how sisterly/family dynamics build and change over time. I’ll admit to even reading some Danvers sisters’ fics just to get in the groove, though I don’t watch that show. It’s been fun weaving that in, plus building characters in a way that will be telling of their actions later. I mean, sure, that’s what stories are meant to be, but its’ exciting to see it play out as one grows as a writer. I’ll also recognize that allowing time to think through characters and plot really helps as well, not just hacking away and posting your first ideas. At my job, my superiors had the time to not hack away, but my character barely factored into their narrative, which, at the moment, can be likened to the most meandering and confusing fic you’ve ever read. Back to this chapter…I know I’m asking you to suspend your belief a little bit here because, yes, finding TWO empty benches in Washington Square Park on a nice day rarely happens. And parking in Tribeca right in front of Helena’s apartment? No way. But it was a Sunday, so let’s imagine it was “Sunday Only” parking, which is feasible :)

#BERING AND WELLS #W13 #fan fiction #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #gardenparty!AU #I hope this posts correctly today and shows up in searches #myka has some baggage #but don't we all?#also - the amount of pizzas I made every time I dived into editing this chapter is....a lot

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loridrabbles · 5 years ago

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Imprisoned | Dogma x Reader (Part 8)

(Y/n) finishes up her trial. Dogma'a mental state declines due to isolation.

Dogma lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the cell. It was empty, except for him, though he swore he heard people calling his name. In reality, the only things he could hear were the whir of the fan behind the bars in the ceiling, the drip from the leaky faucet in the refresher, and his own breathing.

(Y/n) was gone and he missed her. He missed her dearly. The time he spent alone was pure agony. He played checkers against himself, flipping the board each turn, thumbed through a couple books. He paced the room, fiddled with his fingers, and did nothing but wait. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Mostly just for the day to pass. 24 hours felt like days.

Time was taking a toll on his mind. When he'd close his eyes, he'd see things. He'd be in the barracks, trying to join a conversation, but he couldn't open his mouth. They'd wave their hands in his face, trying to wake him, but he couldn't. He'd be on the battlefield, standing, motionless, unable to breath as his brothers ran past him, screaming for him to move. He couldn't. He missed them. They never treated him well, but he'd take being the picked on out cast any day over complete solitude.

Sometimes he'd be sitting on the cell bench, with (y/n) by his side, the both of them rambling on in a long, pointless conversation. He'd run his hand through her hair, but he could feel nothing at his fingertips. He missed her. The softness or her skin, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her body against his.

He was going mad. The room spun and his heart palpitated in his chest. He wanted to scream. He fought it for so long. He fought it for weeks. Finally he gave up. A tear slipped from his eye as he sat on the edge of the bed. They began to pour down his face as he buried his head in his hands, sobbing to himself. He didn't want to be there anymore. He'd never follow through, he wouldn't be able too, but he knew he'd be better off dead.

Through his blurry vision, he saw a guard slide new towels and sheets under the door along with his dinner tray. He didn't want it. He trudged to the door, and grabbed the towels and sheets. He pulled the old ones off the bed and threw them by the door to he taken away. Once the bed was made, he grabbed the towels and climbed in the shower, hoping it would help him think more clearly.

(Y/n)'s trial was up. 3 years and 5 years probation. She was happy to have received a sentence that was so short, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't hoping to hear life. She couldn't imagine leaving Dogma in that horrible place all by himself. She couldn't imagine how terrible the last few weeks had been. It was bad enough with just the two of them.

As she left the court and entered the jail, the muzzle was places back on her head. As the was lead in chains through the prison, her heart jumped to her throat when the guards took her to the elevator that led to solitary. They would see eachother again.

Dogma stepped out of the shower. He was mentally exhausted. His movements were slow and by the time he was dressed for bed in a tshirt and loose cotton shorts, the mirror had unfogged from the shower. He heard something. A door slam and some voices. He was hallucinating again. He picked up a little packet that held a razor and shaving cream. Making the shaving cream was hard. It was cheap, but he managed. He had to be extremely careful with the razor. It was made to prevent someone from hurting themselves or someone else. One wrong move and it would snap. It also dulled quickly, but luckily there were 3 in a package. It took him about a half hour, but he finally removed any stubble that had grown in, and shaped his hair how he liked.

(Y/n) sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. She stared blankly at the floor, thinking about everything that had happened the last few weeks. Kix, the trial, what Dogma might have gone through. She wanted to cry. The door to the refresher swung open. Dogma stepped out, staring at her, blinking a few times as if to make sure he wasn't seeing things again.

"(Y/n)." He said, his voice almost a whisper. He couldn't believe his eyes. Slowly, he walked to her as she stood. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes and she stood and rushed to collide with his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face into her hair, stroking it gently. Minutes passed before either of them spoke.

"You're back." He whispered. "I was so worried. What happened?"

"My trial. I got 3 years and 5 years probation."

"Oh..." He sighed. "Well, I'm happy for you." He looked down at her and noticed she was still crying. He put his hands on her cheek. "What's the matter? Aren't you glad you'll be out of here soon?"

"I saw Kix." She said. She took a seat on the bed, Dogma next to her. "He treated my wounds. He took the muzzle off to talk to me for a moment even though he wasn't supposed to. I told him what was going on. When he left the room, the guards beat him. I screamed for them to stop, but I-I think they k-killed him." She cried, burying her face in his chest as he tried to think of what to say. "I shouldn't have asked him. I didn't have to tell him."

"Shhh. It's not your fault." He stroked her hair and squeezed her close to him. "He knew the consequences. Don't think about it. It's over with. There's nothing you can do. Besides, the 501st is going to wonder what happened to him right? They're going to find out."

"You're right. There's no sense in making myself sick over it." She said, wiping her tears. Dogma used the sleeve of his shirt to help dry them away. "We're stuck here anyway."

"Did you eat?" He asked.

"Kinda. I haven't had much of an appetite."

"Neither have I, since you left. I was starting to go mad from being alone for so long."

"I can imagine. I was in our old cell so I was able to interact with others, but I dared not speak to anyone. The guards threatened to kill me if I talked to anyone about the trial."

"Kriff. Well, if your hungry, they dropped off dinner an hour or so ago." He pointed to the tray that was set on the table. She walked to the bench and slouched on it, kicking off the loafers she had on.

"What did you do while I was gone?"

"Paced. Read. Waited." He answered.

"Sounds fun." She answered sarcastically. "Up for a game of checkers?" She asked.

"Yeah. What are the rules this time?" He joked.

"Nothing. I just missed playing together." She smiled. They played a few rounds rather silently, just enjoying eachother's company. (Y/n) broke the silence with a question.

"Ok. If you were trapped on a planet with only one person from the 501st, who would it be?"

"Hmm. Probably Rex." He answered, moving his piece to be kinged. "He was always very kind to me. What about you."

"Probably the same." She paused. "Wait a minute. You!" She laughed.

"Well you're pretty much already doing that. If you were going to be trapped on a barren planet for a year, what 3 things would you bring with you?"

"Hmmm. A copper pot. It can kill the bacteria in water and I can use it to cook. An axe or machete and a tarp. You?"

"My blaster, a canteen to collect water, and a firestarter."

"Oh I'd probably have to trade my tarp for a fire starter. I couldn't make a fire by hand for the life of me."

"That's true. Of course I could probably use my blaster to start a fire. Then I could trade my firestarter for a tarp or bug net."

"Ooh a bug net is a good idea. Hey if we ever get out of here, let's try to survive in the wilderness together with only 6 items."

"Sounds like a plan. I think we could do it."

"If you could only be on one planet for the rest of your life, which would it be?"

"Hmm. Probably Coruscant. Surprisingly I'm not sick of it. There's so much of it I haven't explored yet. You?"

"Naboo. There are cities but but there's forests and plains too. I couldn't live in a city forever."

They talked and talked, catching up on the time together they had lost. They talked until their mouths went dry and stayed up so late their eyes stung with exhaustion. Finally, they caved in and went to bed.

(Y/n) and Dogma were getting ready for the night when (y/n) felt a heavy trickling down her leg. She looked down to see a small puddle of blood at her feet.

"No no no no." She gasped.

"What?" He asked, fluffing his sheets.

"I got my period." She said, tears stinging her eyes, threatening to spill.

"Oh dear."

"Uhg this is so embarrassing." She said, hiding her face in her hands.

"No it's not. Don't worry about it. Go clean yourself up. I'll take care of the floor. It's alright."

The next 4 days were going to be difficult, but with a copious amount of cloths in her underwear and Dogma insisting she didn't have to be embarrassed, she'd make it. The clothes she'd use as pads, she kept and would rinse them out every night and swish them in the sink with soap.

She had gotten used to an empty, cold room during her time away for thr trial. She hated it. She had been away from Dogma long enough and he was so close. Deciding she was done with being alone, she got out of her bed and walked to his. He was already asleep, facing the wall away from her. He had rolled over that way from his back, leaving enough room for her to squeeze in. She climbed under the covers, and wrapped her arm around him. He awoke slightly, finding her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. She buried her face in his back and took a deep sigh. She could still smell the shaving cream.

#the clone wars imagine #the clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars #star wars the clone wars #clone troopers #clone trooper x reader #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper dogma x reader #dogma #dogma x reader #imprisoned #imprisoned part 8

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midnightmarginalia · 5 years ago

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Ho fuck this is long

Ok so like. I made a fucking mistake. I wrote an essay for my creative non-fiction class. We had to write a Lyric Essay. simple enough. it's whatever. I transcribed parts of my journal. it was fun. HOWEVER, I made the mistake of telling the class that I did some heavy editing to get rid of some unconventional grammar I use cuz internet, ya know? this was 3 days ago. jump to today. I wrote a 7-page essay trying to briefly explain SOME of the grammar conventions that have evolved alongside the internet. I had to explain this to a group of 40+ year-olds. so NOw I present this to you, o Tumblr. for the love of god let people read this and add to it, I spent eternally too much time on it

So "Internet English" or "New English" is a linguistic phenomenon that centers on conveying tone and different connotative meanings through informal writing. Linguist Gretchen McCulloch actually released a book on this called Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language. Her book actually is really interesting (I highly recommend it) and covers some of what I'm going to be talking about today. In the first section, she compares the process of learning literacy to be similar to learning how to talk solely through exposure to formal writing like speeches, screenplays, audiobooks, etc. You miss all the nuances of informal speaking. Well, the same is true for written language. Before the Internet, informal writing was extremely hard to come by and even harder to study; even letters, postcards, secretive notes and the like were still written fairly formally because there were no mass text-based communication practices. Now, we have this vast intangible library of infinite knowledge and human interactions, making the necessity of informal writing more prominent. As such, internet users, especially people from my generation, have evolved a subset of written English to better express connotative meaning through the use, abuse, and misuse of capitalization, spacing, spelling, punctuation, incomplete sentences, and more. Let me show you a little of what I mean.

Capitalization

Capitalization is a common convention used to convey emphasis, although which type of emphasis that is changes based on how the capitalization is used.

Random Capitalization is meant to grab Attention and express that Something is Very Important or should be Stressed by Your Inner Voice when reading.

ALL CAPS IS MEANT TO SIGNIFY A VAST INCREASE IN VOLUME, THOUGH IT IS OFTEN INTERPRETED AS SHOUTING. THIS IS NOT ALWAYS THE CASE.

a crescENDO IS MEANT TO SPECIFY VOLUME AND/OR IMPORTance for one segment. It is often used to EXPRESS GROWING EXCITEMENT!

CaPiTaLiZiNG a RanDoM AsSoRTmEnT oF LetTerS ConVEyS SaRcAsM oR a MOcKinG TonE.

I cannot really articulate why but this, thIS, tHIS, and THIS are all different. This is called Varied Capitalization and can apply to any word, though I most often see and use it with articles.

not capitalizing anything in a sentence is an excellent way to express a monotone voice that seems very apathetic towards everything and everyone. "oh look. john and i went to the store. how exciting."

Spacing

Spacing Conventions are less common, and ultimately there is only one that I find noteworthy. Spacing out letters in a word like r e a l l y conveys that the word is significant. It takes up more space than really and thus needs to be stressed. It is also important to note that this convention is often coupled with full capitalization. There is a significant difference between "I am really hungry" and "I and r e a l l y hungry" and "I am R E A L L Y Hungry"

Spelling

Spelling, like Spacing, is less varied than some of these other conventions. The most common spelling convention you are likely to encounter is the Intentional Misspell. This is used to express one of two things; you can discern which by the context of the rest of the message. It can be used to display excitement. The misspell conveys a kind of excitement that interferes with dexterity, like how your hands shake after a jump scare: "gyus I just swa A Quiet Place an d it s one f thr svsriest movis I've ever seen." The other emotion the Intentional Misspell can convey is much more subtle and complicated. It is the sense of false apathy. it is nit uncommun to putf a typo in everyr other werd or so to shwo yu don't realy give a fukc but yiu actually do. This is much harder to discern and your best bet on understanding this half of the convention is context clues.

Punctuation and Lack Thereof

Punctuation is, in my opinion, the best, most diverse option for conveying a specific kind of tone. There's a lot to cover here, so I will do my best to keep it brief.

A full stop is a short sentence with a period. It is meant to be read in a scolding tone. The usage of this is especially important in text message and chatroom settings because you can signify the end of a sentence by sending the message. A good rule of thumb for the tone is that the shorter the message, the more scolding the tone.

Putting. A. Period. Between. Words. Conveys. That. The. Matter. At. Hand. Must. Be. Taken. Seriously. This is simply the act of emphasizing each word with a full stop.

not having any punctuation or capitalization at all makes for a very fluid reading experience yes the sentences can get mixed up but those who read and write this way regularly can discern separate trains of thought if you've noticed the lack of capitalization you may recognize one of the earlier discussed conventions it is important to note however that the monotone voice of that convention disappears with the punctuation

Question marks now signify an upturn in the voicing of a statement rather than forcing something to be a question. now you may be asking yourself "why would they do this." The only answer I have for you is "it just seems right?" the upturn signifies a tentative statement while the flat delivery of the question signifies frustration or bafflement.

Punctuation Frequency is meant to signify the amount of severity accompanying the statement. This is exclusively used with question marks and exclamation marks. A common example is extending the simple “what?” to “what???????” Notice the difference? The same thing can be done with exclamation points. Note the increased excitement between “The baby was born today!” and “The babe was born today!!!!!!!!!!!” These, of course, can be amplified even further by incorporating some of the other conventions we’ve discussed previously.

Exclusive Punctuation is a convention most commonly found in messaging systems, but it is still important. “???” is an expression of pure confusion. If you were to receive this message, that whatever you sent the person prior has left them amazed, confused, flabbergasted, awe-struck, bewildered, and more. On the other hand “!!!” is an expression of pure excitement and glee. The best description I’ve seen for this is that it is a noise of happiness.

While there are dozens more grammatical conventions, these are the primary ones that a vast majority of people will use. It is time to move on.

Ellipses

Yes. This is punctuation. But it elicits its own category. Ellipses are great tools for signifying that there is more to this statement than meets the eye. However, there are now multiple types of ellipses that have different meanings.

Periodic Ellipses or Hard Ellipses are just that. Hard. Say I were to text someone “Hey can we talk after class...” The ellipsis generates a cold tone that has some worrying connotations. Something important to note here is that the length of the ellipsis can signify severity, though after a certain point it becomes superfluous and silly. The only friendly usage of a Hard Ellipsis is the Two-Dot Ellipsis. “Hey can we talk after class..” is far far less sinister than “Hey can we talk after class…”

Commatic Ellipses or Soft Ellipses are just that. Soft. Instead of being composed of periods, these ellipses are composed of commas and have a vastly different meaning. These are meant to convey either worrying or flirtatious tones. To go back to our previous example, “Hey can we talk after class,,,,,” is going to be read in a flirtatious manner. However, “Hey can we talk after class,” is going to be read worryingly. The trick to discerning the different tones is the length of the ellipsis. Three commas or less conveys a worrisome tone, whereas five or more conveys a flirtatious tone.

Sentence Structure

Look! We’re almost done! There are many people who will play with sentence structure to convey meaning but the most widespread practice is the Incomplete Sentence. This one is actually fairly straightforward. Leaving a sentence incomplete expresses exhaustion (either emotional or physical) and adds a sense of trailing off in the speakers voice. I mean, have you ever started a sentence and then just

Noun/Verb Dichotomy

Ok last one. This one is also pretty straight forward, though still quite complex. The Noun/Verb Dichotomy is simple the act of using a noun in place of a verb to get your point across. For example, a more expressive (and in my opinion more accurate) way to say “I like to get a midnight snack at 2 in the morning” would be “I like to velociraptor around my house at 2 in the morning.” The second conjures such a specific image that it can more concisely convey the actions and emotions being done. The possibilities are endless. This opens up the door for someone to sentence how they want. Although many people will get a headache and want to clothesline into a wall. These all make sense to a native speaker of this kind of english because, while our brains do brain logically, english doesnt logic englishly so the brain brains by itself to logic the english!

So that is my mini-lesson on Internet English. please remember I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of what’s changed.

#holy shit #language #languaging is hard #linguistics #its sublime #but so funky #for the love of god add to this #also correct me #theres a good chance I am wrong #I had to do all this research #all this studying #its unprecedented #i could make this my dissertation #like #holy fuck

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