#its so hot on the tube i sweat in the winter

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 8

Title: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: You're just there to help JK with his final project, so why are you being doused in water, facepaint and smoke? Art. Art is why.

Warnings: T, language, fluff, angst, honestly this one's kinda wholesome and fun, some photogrpahy jargin in there, but nothing a quick google search can't fix if you really need to <3, it's mostly surface level jargin. Also the smoke machine works cuz JK has great ventilation due to the massive windows being open, so don't worry bout that XD, some light and fun name calling, some world building. Ask if you need clarification on anything. That's all I think!

Word Count: 11,684

Release Date: September 1, 2024. 4:30PM

A/N 1: Surprise! Happy JK Day.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

PJK [7:36pm]: Saturday afternoon. my place. 11am.  PJK [7:36pm]: bring an extra set of clothes, something warm. Sweats if you have them. PJK [7:37pm]: also, Im gunna need your shirt size

The first three weeks of November have flown by and dragged on at the same time.

The weather’s getting colder. You need a thick jacket if you want to be anywhere outside, and all leaves have fallen from the trees, leaving pines the only ones left with their winter coats on. Hot chocolate from greenhouse cafe has become part of your life’s blood so you don’t freeze, and gloves with pocket warmers inside them are once again a part of your everyday. 

But November skies have returned. And you frequently set up camp on the drying grass beside the greenhouse, dressing your canvas with oil paint to their likeness as it’s the only paint that doesn’t dry the second it’s out of the tube in the cold, static air.

Jungkook told you earlier in the week the shoot would most likely be this weekend, and that he just had a few final strings to pull together before being able to confirm. So with that in mind, you intentionally tried to finish all your work before this weekend, knowing the shoot will take a while to complete.

He mentioned it may leak over into Sunday depending on how much you get done on the first day, which is fine with you considering you usually spend Sunday evenings at his place anyway. You’d consider it an extended edition of your regularly scheduled broadcast.

And speaking of regularly scheduled, you haven’t missed a single movie night since Nel left. Granted, it’s only been three weeks, but even missing the two you did because of Nel had made an impact. 

You’d gotten so used to them, having that time to destress and unwind before the week starts. A nice little routine that helps reset you both mentally and physically.

Suddenly not having that was…a weird feeling you try not to remember. 

And you are more than happy to never miss another one ever again.

You aren’t sure what Jungkook tells Adaline he’s doing during movie night, but she’s never interrupted you, not even once. And it’s something you are increasingly grateful for, because she is one of the things you destress from as your unspoken rivalry always amps up the closer to exam season you get.

It’s Thursday evening, and you’re in your room finishing up a Microeconomics 3 assignment while piano music plays on a speaker in the corner. You use it to help you focus, and it’s working its magic as you’re finishing your work in record time. 

Music has always helped you work better, and you credit it largely with how you’ve been able to keep up with everything in your schooling.

Yuri’s in her room, doing homework as well you assume. Or maybe texting Tai—the dreamy, big dicked Ilcalos island Count—you swear she’s only put her phone down for sleep and showering, as she’s constantly checking to see if he’s messaged her. And you hope it turns out well for them, Yuri deserves someone who treats her well. Especially after the whole Jungkook debacle—which you’re not allowed to bring up—and then the poor rebound you aren’t allowed to talk about either. You’re just happy she’s finally found someone worth her time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot Jungkook a text back.

You [7:40pm]: okay! saturday at 11 sounds good. I’ll bring sweats and warm socks

You message him your shirt size too, curious as to what he’ll use it for, but you’re sure you’ll find out in due time. You always do.

Subject to many of his homework assignments, you’ve been posed and lit and adjusted every which way. 

Jungkook is incredibly professional when you’re with him as a model. Light touches to correct posing, always with a ‘may I’ before he does, and he fills the room with kind words, good vibes, and fun music so you never feel awkward. 

At first you were really iffy on the whole idea when he first asked in September, because it would be the prince of your nation photographing little ol’ you. You weren’t anything special—yet—and you’re still never one for being in the spotlight, or for being on camera. At all. But if it was just for homework, and you were helping out a friend…you figured why not? 

It helped that all of your worries immediately faded when you saw the results of that first shoot.

An email from a very non-princely email address found its way into your inbox. The subject was the date of the shoot, and the only message inside being:

 thanks. Hope you like them. 

Let’s do it again sometime.

-J

When you opened the attachments you made a quick dive to catch the phone that fell from your hands in shock. 

You looked…beautiful. Like you never had in pictures before. Not in school, or at graduation, not even in the ones you took of yourself. 

You didn’t know you were capable of looking like that. 

Like how he saw you. Captured you. 

And you’ll never admit you’ve held your chin a little higher with every shoot since.

They make you feel powerful, attractive. More confident, and sure of yourself, as if you were always meant to be in front of a camera. Like you’d been in front of one since before you could walk.

They do that for you.

He…does that for you—with his pictures, of course.

Jungkook is very talented. Very skilled with his camera, and you find yourself looking forward to the concepts he comes up with every time. Trusting him and whatever his vision is wholeheartedly. 

Though a small, immature piece of you is also pleased he still wants you to model, and not Adaline. That he finds you easier to work with over her.

Your competitive streak never fails to come out, even with the smallest, secretive things.

Take that Adaline.

You gladly help him out with his homework, and he does the same for you. 

If you ever need a male reference or a profile study. Anatomy practice, features practice, likeness practice. Anything and almost everything, all you have to do is ask, and he sits still or places whatever you need in front of you while you sketch.

Hands, however, have always been a personal favourite of yours.

They’re one of those things that can be drawn a hundred different ways and never look the same. Always a new position you can put them in. Consistently able to shake things up. And one set is never like the others—like eyes. There’s little differences in all of them and that’s where their magic lies.

You do these studies at the greenhouse, it has the best light to shadow ratio. When you ask him for one, he’ll switch to working with one hand, while the other does whatever you tell it. Normally either placed on your table or if there isn’t enough room, which nine times out of ten there isn’t because of all your supplies, you stick your foot on the lower metal frame of his table and he rests his arm, wrist or palm on your up bent knee. 

Due to this, you’ve unintentionally come to find out that his hands are very strong, very calloused, and very, very warm…

Also! Aside from hand studies, you love loose figure studies because they’re great warm up sketches. And what Jungkook doesn't know is that you have dozens of warm up sketches of him. Doesn’t know you sneak pictures here and there when you can, hiding them in a hidden album on your phone entitled ‘hmwk screenshots.’ And he definitely doesn’t know that when he’s sitting at the cafe, nose deep in assignments, you doodle his features or his outfit in real time.

A nose here, a jacket there. A muscular forearm covered in tattoos also tends to find its way onto your page every so often.

He’s got a good physique. And the ridges make for excellent anatomy practice. So does the intricate line work of tattoos, and fabric rippling. Especially in drastic lighting. Consistency is key in maintaining and improving your work and it’s not like any of these sketches will ever see the light of day anyways. 

They’re just, well…practice. 

A sigh escapes you, and you refocus on finishing your microecon work. You still have two more assignments to get done before Saturday at eleven.

“And why are you working with some random girl when I’m available, again?” Adaline asks. She’s currently sitting on Jungkook's couch in your spot. He’s setting up tomorrow's materials against the big white wall by the floor length windows that showcase his balcony.

It’s why he chose to live here instead of in the dorms or on campus. His place isn’t enormous, like most people would think, it has enough room for everything a regular student needs: bedroom, kitchen, workspace, living room, bathroom, even a guest room. But the one thing he keeps different is the big white wall where a dining room would normally be. 

Jungkook’s place has high ceilings, 10 feet tall, which is higher than the average but not excessive. And the wall that connects his kitchen to the balcony is a perfect mock studio. He can even keep all his equipment there; lights, gels, backgrounds, tubs full of props, camera cases, lenses, and more all stored in neat shelving against another wall. 

“Because students volunteered for extra credit, and she’s who was assigned to me,” a small lie, one he was sure that Adaline wouldn’t dig into too deeply. 

“Why didn’t you tell me I could volunteer?”

“Because you didn’t need the extra credit?”

She pouts, and goes back to her phone.

Adaline also doesn’t know it’s you he’s photographing and that is one hundred percent intentionally planned by him. 

He could sense something between you two after you made that one comment after fall break. He notices now how you stiffen slightly every time he mentions Adaline, and the one time he mentioned you in passing to test the waters, Adaline changed the conversion topic almost immediately. A look of annoyance, or maybe even insecurity in her eyes.

So he’s been lucky that Adaline has never wanted to see any of his schoolwork prior to or after the singular shoot he did with her. 

Lucky she hasn’t seen your face fill up his screen constantly. 

And extremely lucky that she doesn’t know about the hidden folder buried deep in his desktop labeled ‘eqpmt rcpts’ filled with dozens of candid shots of you.

To be fair, you don’t know about them either. They’re random, shots taken every now and then where he thought you looked happy, focused, or just existing. True candids of the most candid person he knew.

It started that day with his first assignment from Professor Hirmer. He’d taken those quick pictures of you painting, and then simply never stopped. 

He has pictures of you in the courtyard, walking and talking to Yuri, you smiling. He has some he took on his phone when you’re over for movie night, invested in the film or talking to him. And a bunch of you painting at the greenhouse. It’s hard to take secret candids when he’s right beside you, but he manages seeing as you haven't caught him yet.

He even has a few of you and Nel, love clearly written on your face in every single one of them.

Whenever he spots you before you spot him, and he has his camera on him, he takes a couple. 

They’ve amassed into a healthy sum, but he thinks of it as a harmless habit as no one will ever know. And it’s not like he’s following you around to take them or using them for anything nefarious. 

He just likes taking your picture. Capturing your spirit, your candor. 

Your realness. 

You are wholly yourself, always, no holding back, all of the time. 

And to him, it feels like coming up for a breath of fresh air.

“Hey!” you say as you let yourself into Jungkook’s apartment. You’d knocked but no one answered and it was currently 10:56am on Saturday, so you knew he was here. Plus, his door was unlocked.

“Jungkook?” you call. 

No answer.

You take your shoes off after closing the door and locking it. He should really keep his door locked. 

Very quickly become best friends with the couch, you toss your backpack of warm clothes on the floor while you wait for him to make an appearance. 

There’s shoot equipment everywhere; lights in the corner, some with soft boxes on them, gels laid out on the coffee table, and what you’ve come to learn is a lens case sits on the couch beside you in Jungkook's usual spot. 

Jungkook has also somehow managed to find some small trees in blue ceramic pots and what you’re pretty sure is a smoke machine. 

But the most peculiar thing is what looks to be a kiddie pool up against the wall with a folded tarp at its base. 

Well that's…interesting…

You hear a door open somewhere in the apartment and running water. 

“Jungkook? That you?”

“Hey! Yep. Just give me a sec, I’m almost done.”

The water sounds cease and Jungkook makes his grand entrance as he turns the corner holding a large watering can. Your eyebrow raises.

“For the trees?” you ask.

“What?” 

You point to the watering can currently making his veins pop. 

He laughs, “Oh! No. This is for later. You’ll see,” and walks to the other side of the room by the pool. 

“Aren’t we mysterious today,” you say, following him with your eyes. He’s in ripped black jeans that accentuate the muscle definition of his thighs, and a matching baggy shirt. When his back is turned you snap a quick picture. The fabric folds on his baggy shirts are some of your favourite mindless things to cool down sketch.

“Nah, just focused. We have a lot to get through today.”  He sets down the watering can and you can see the moment the switch flips from friend to photographer. “The guest room is ready for you. There’s a clothing rack inside with each look labeled. There’s also makeup and face paint, if you could bring out the make up after you're done changing, that would be great. We’re gonna start with ‘Bright and Bold’, okay?” 

You usually use the spare room as a change room when you have to switch clothes for a shoot. But they were always from your own closet. He’d tell you the concept he was going for and you’d bring a few options to choose from.

Makeup you were used to, though. Jungkook loves abusing your artistic abilities for his shoots in the way you decorate your face or body, saying they make his works a level up from the rest of his classmates. 

They also usually make for some of the coolest pictures you have of yourself.

This is the first time he’s ever bought clothing, though.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, this being his final assignment for an important class, and him being as serious as he is about his work and the final product. But you can't help it, you’re excited to see everything he’s chosen for the shoot. 

For you.

For the shoot.

“Yep, sounds good. Be out in a few,” you reply. He nods in acknowledgement before moving to set something up and you don’t stick around to find out, grabbing your bag and heading towards the door lined hall. 

The guest room is modest and clean. White sheets and gray comforter with, surprisingly, two throw pillows to spruce it up. The walls are white too, but you’re pretty sure that’s because Jungkook’s not allowed to paint the apartment per his landlord's wishes—a thought that still makes you laugh.

He could buy any place he wanted, but chose to rent. ‘To get the real university experience,’ he explained when you asked him the first time you went over.

Black furniture accents the room. A comfortable looking leather chair sits in the corner by a glass door that leads to the balcony. It has a small table beside it. There’s a dresser with a mirror in the other corner and of course, in the center of the room, is the bed. It’s a nice room. However, the newest edition is what’s keeping your eye.

Four shirts hang from the rack at the foot of the bed. The first is vibrant and colourful, the second a light neutral short sleeved V neck, third is strapless and skin coloured, and the last is made from thin black fabric you assume will be skin tight by the looks of it. 

As promised, they’re all labeled with a sticker. 

You throw your bag on the bed and grab the colourful one first. Its sticker says ‘bright and bold,’ and you put it on after removing the shirt you came in, then zip it up. The material feels heavy, durable and expensive. You check the tag on the inside seam and see it’s from Ilkaya, one of the biggest and most expensive fashion designers on this side of the realm. 

Your eyes bug out of your head, and you try not to breathe too hard for fear of ruining it. Your routine of thrifting all your clothes makes you pretty damn sure you can’t even imagine how much this cost. 

It feels good though, comfortable, not itchy. Really freaking expensive.

You look at yourself in the mirror, and you have to admit you look amazing. It fits perfectly in all the right places, compliments your skin tone, and even brings out your eyes. Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself that maybe there’s some sense in what the price tag could be. But it would still be a ridiculous sum for a jacket.

With one last look in the mirror, you grab the palettes, brushes and other tools off the dresser, and leave your designated dressing room for the day in favour of returning to the living room. 

Jungkook’s got music going from your shared playlist. Insisting on making one after your second shoot together, when he decided you both agreed to the arrangement becoming a regular thing. It’s a good mix of both of your musical tastes, even though you guys figured out quickly that you liked pretty similar stuff anyway. 

“What do you think? Does it work?” You ask as you turn the corner. 

Jungkook fiddles with this camera before looking and pausing for a moment to take you in. You hope you look okay, but the weird look he has on his face makes you backtrack a bit. 

“Is this not the one you wanted? It had the label on it. But I can go back and double che- ”

“You look amazing,” is all he says, and your worry slides off you instantly. He smiles wide, the one you’ve come to recognize as genuine. 

“Thanks. But the colour’s doing most of the work for me,” you say, smiling back shyly.

He has a white background set up, and two differently coloured gel’d lights sit on opposite one another, a third, smaller floor light faces the background. A backlight, he’d call it. 

Bright and Bold indeed, though there is the matter of-

“What do you want me to do for my make up?”

“Actually,” he sets down his camera gently on a table, “Is it okay if I do it? I want it to be a little more on the amateur side and I don’t think your years of refined talent would let you get the exact look I want.” 

That’s new. But you're here to stand and look however he wants you too, so you allow him with a nod. 

“Sure, where do you want me to sit?”

“Here’s fine,” he says as he pulls a stool that was off to one side close to one of the windows. “As long as you don’t mind holding the make up. I don’t have a table to set them down on.  Should’ve thought of that, sorry.” 

You can tell he’s mentally scolding himself for forgetting something.

“No no, it’s fine,” you say, taking your seat, “I don’t mind, really.” 

Placing the balls of your feet on the bar that holds the chair legs together, you make your lap even enough to set the palettes out, and use a hand to hold all the brushes. 

Jungkook laughs, noticing your feet as you sit, “Cute socks.”

They’re light blue with a fox face on them, and little ears stick up from the elastic around the ankle. 

“Thanks,” you laugh too, they’re your favourite pair. “I call them my fox socks. They’re lucky.”

“Let’s hope so. Wish me luck fox socks,” he calls to your toes, and you wiggle them in response.

He picks a brush and chooses a colour. “Close your eyes and let me know if I’m pressing too hard. If it isn’t obvious, I’ve never done this before.”

You close your eyes and whisper, “Will do.”

It's a uniquely intimate experience having your makeup done. Willingly letting someone get up close and personal with you, allowing them to see every potential scar, blemish and pore in the name of beauty and for the sake of creativity. 

In this case, it’s also a little questionable considering where you feel the brush putting down colour: cheeks, lids, temple, nose. However, you’re simply a pawn in a well thought out plan, so you sit and wait for him to finish.

“Annnd done,” he says, making a final swipe with the brush on your cheek. “You look great! I didn’t hurt you, right?” he asks, showing you the makeup in a palettes mirror. Your face looks like it’s been attacked by a rainbow in the best way. You smile, taking the mirror from him and looking at all the little details. 

For a first timer, Jungkook did a really good job. 

“Nope, I’m good. How do you want me?”

Jungkook leads you to the backdrop, placing you in front. 

“One second,” he says, grabbing a remote and clicking a button to lower the black out curtains on the windows, and then another that turns off the apartment lights. He also clicks on all the lights he’s set up and you’re quickly illuminated by a bright red and purple as well as the back light.

“I’m good to pose?” he asks. 

“Yep.” 

You love that he always asks first. It makes you feel safe and considered, consenting to every touch prior to its occurrence. 

Jungkook instructs the first pose to have your hands on the sides of your face, making slight adjustments so that you don’t cover any of the makeup. And for the first time, his touches leave little sparks where they land. 

You’re sure it’s just because of the lights or that the shirt is thick and makes you warm. 

Or maybe you’re just nervous and need to get the first photo jitters out of your system.

Soon enough, the camera’s pointing at you and you smile the brightest you can. He’s given you the prompt of ‘you’re so excited and happy you can’t hold it in,’ and you work with it the best you can, taking the first few with the pose he gave before being given full reign. 

It’s a decent way into the first shoot when Jungkook says, “Hmm…we’re not quite there yet, I need a bit more,” and follows up with, “How about ‘you’ve just been commissioned by the Modern Art Museum to have the leading showcase for next year’.” 

You smile the biggest you think you ever have at the thought. Because that’s the dream, that is the biggest goal you could achieve. An entire gallery of your work as the primary exhibition in the Western Shores Modern Art Museum? You couldn’t go any higher. It’s every artist's dream.

“There you go! That’s it!” The camera’s capturing quickly as you imagine what it would be like to have your own showcase at the WS-MAM. Incredible is the first word that comes to mind, your work in the biggest museum on the continent? You can’t even imagine, but you want to. 

One day, you promise yourself. You’ll do it one day.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, breaking your daydream, “Let me switch out the gels for new colours and go again. These are great so far though, you're doing amazing.” 

You hold your hand out for a high five and he smacks it. “Go team!” you say, and he laughs.

An hour and a half, a makeup fix and three lighting changes later, the first shoot finishes. You collapse on the couch and rub the muscles on your thighs. 

Jungkook plops down beside you, nose deep in the pictures he’s just taken, double checking everythings good.

“This is a fantastic start, I hope we can keep it up all day and finish before tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Shoots with him are always fun, but inevitably tiring. “I’m gonna to grab a water, want one?” 

“Yes please,” he replies without looking up.

In the kitchen, you open the fridge to grab the two bottles and notice a box, stamped with a coffee mug that has a greenhouse inside of it, on top. The greenhouse cafe’s logo. 

“Can I ask what’s inside the cafe box?” you ask as you sit back on the couch and pass him a bottle.

“Ah, caught red handed,” he says, setting his camera on the table and taking a swig. “I may have asked Vivan earlier this week to make sure there was an overstock of tarts so I could grab them for you as a thank you for today.”

...Oh

That’s so sweet. He’s never gotten you a thank you gift before, especially not in the form of the most delicious pastry to ever exist. Maybe you should get him something for all the times he’s helped you with homework? A solstice gift maybe?

There’s heat forming in your chest and you really hope it’s not the beginning stages of heartburn. Maybe Jungkook has antacids. 

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m happy to help.”

“So you don’t want them then?” his shit eating grin making a glorious comeback because he knows what your answer’s going to be.

“No! I want them. I most definitely want them.”

He chuckles and puts his water down.

“Okay Donatello, glad you accept. Let's move on to the next set up. There’s makeup remover and cotton pads in the room, and some moisturizer too if you need it.”

The next shoot is called ‘Regality,’ and it has you in the strapless shirt. You find out it’s quite a low cut when you put it on. There’s enough to cover you, but there’s definitely a lot of your chest showing. However, under the shirt on the hanger is a scarf to cover yourself with, which you think is very considerate.

“Makeup?” you ask as you come out again, scarf covering you.

“Neutral, but strong. Kind of like how my mother does,” the background is still white, but you have a hunch that it will remain white in this picture, unlike the last one. “This one is going to be black and white, so try to emphasize your natural beauty.”

You ignore that he essentially just said you're beautiful, surely he’s just being kind and professional. Making sure his model feels good about herself. 

Right?

Right.

You put on a coat of mascara and go light on the shadow so it won't be too dramatic on film. You also use a shade of lipstick that adds just a tint to your lips and a blush that makes your eyes pop.

Jungkook has you sit on the stool from earlier and faces your body three quarters of the way towards the camera, but keeps your head turned in profile. 

“Oh! Almost forgot, one second,” Jungkook jogs to his room, coming back with a palm sized velvet box. “I had my mother send these over for this shoot. She has better taste than me, so I let her pick them out.”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when he opens the box. 

Inside are two dangling diamond earrings, and quite possibly the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

And now you’re terrified. 

“Jungkook, I can't wear those. They look like they’re worth more than my house, my car and my tuition combined.”

He takes one out and places it in your hand for you to put in, it’s the length of your index finger. And all you can think about is the potential houses you’re holding as you look at it. 

It’s a semi-rectangular earring, encrusted with four columns of diamonds that cascade down, each column longer than the previous. Like a sparkling waterfall you can attach to your ear.

“Don’t worry about it, mum said she never wears them anyway because they’re part of a set that the necklace was lost to years ago. Please,” his face is nothing but reassurance and small smiles, “You’re giving them a chance to live again.”

You couldn't say no to those eyes even if you wanted to.

So you reply, almost breathless and still against your better judgment, “Okay.”

Placing them in one after the other, they have a significant, understandable weight to them. You take a couple deep breaths so you don't freak out, and then you return to your previously designated pose, profile set, body facing the camera.

“Can I adjust?” Jungkook asks, after taking a step back and getting a wider view. 

You nod gently, still terrified of the earrings.

He makes sure the earring is visible and untangled first, before a finger gently comes beneath your chin, and lifts it a bit higher. 

The feeling they leave behind is all you can think about as you stare at your place on the wall, Jungkook snapping away. Not even the soft light illuminating your profile is enough to make you blink.

This shoot goes by quickly, and you’re relieved to get the earrings back safely inside their box.

“It’s like 2:45, wanna break for a late lunch?” Jungkook asks. 

“Please, I’m starved,” you say, returning from the guest room after tossing on the sweater you brought. “What's on the menu?”

“Well, we have two options,” he says, looking very faux serious, “1. We order out from wherever you want and awkwardly wait for it to arrive because the next shoot is not one we can’t prep for, then eat, then shoot.  Or 2. I make use of the ingredients I bought to make Bulgogi Kimchi Fried Rice and you get lunch and a show.”

You're shocked. 

Jungkook…cooks? Oh this you absolutely must see.

“Hmm….” you say, pretending to really mull it over in the same ‘serious’ tone, “I’m thinking I’ll have to go with option two, Chef. But I’ll lend a hand where I can, no use in standing around doing nothing.”

“Every chef needs a sous.”

With both of you on task, lunch is getting made quickly. Jungkook has all the ingredients to make ‘my buddy’s famous family recipe,’ a man who you assume is a chef back at the palace. The island countertop is currently covered in them; onion, kimchi, marinated bulgogi, gochujang, cooked rice, eggs and more. 

You’re surprised at how skilled Jungkook is in the kitchen. He’s cutting the ingredients like he’s been doing it his whole life and working the pan over the stove like the proper technique has been drilled into him since birth. 

Thirty minutes pass, and after both of you shed a tear at the cut onions and evenly split the remaining tasks, you’re sitting on the couch about to take your first bite. It smells delicious. Your mouth is watering and you can’t wait to dig in, stomach painfully empty by this point.

Finally taking that first bite, you nearly die of euphoria.

“Ouhmahgaud,” you say, mouth half full. Jungkooks on the other side of the couch, trying not to cough out his own food from laughing at your reaction. His eyes are nearly shut with how wide he’s smiling.

“Good?” he asks after swallowing his food first, like a civilized person.

You’re vigorously nodding as you swallow your own helping in hopes you’re understood.

“You’re giving me this recipe. I need it. I don’t think I will survive if this is the only time I ever get to eat it.” Your bowl is almost half gone already. Thank god there’s leftovers, you will be having more.

Plus, you want to make it for your mom when you go home, she’ll love it. 

“I’ll text it to you later, don’t worry.”

You’re very sure the look on your face conveys the gratitude you feel and the rest of the meal passes in a very comfortable and satisfied silence. 

Twenty-ish minutes later, after letting your seconds settle for a couple minutes, Jungkook gets back to business. 

“Next look is the most adventurous, it uses the facepaint. Are you okay with contacts?”

“I think so, never tried them before though. Just give me a few before we start so I don’t explode when I stand up.”

“All good,” he says, before quirking a lip and adding, “I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s kimchi and bits of you all over my walls to either of our parents, so take all the time you need.”

You laugh, firstly at the visual, then at the idea of Jungkook meeting your mother. That would be something you needed on record, paper and film.

After a minute, you get up, the guest room making your acquaintance once more. 

“This one is called Enigmatic,” Jungkook calls.

“Got it!”

You take longer than normal to change, maybe eating before putting on the skin tight shirt wasn’t a great idea. But at least it was stretchy. 

It has long sleeves, a high neck, and is a very dark midnight black. There’s a matching black scarf for this one too, and a safety pin attached to the corner.

“Okay, what's the plan for this one? I hear facepaint is involved,” you say, back for round three, scarf in hand.

The background of the set is black now, a close match to your shirt. Jungkook is by the smoke machine, currently set up on the stool and plugged into a nearby outlet. 

You hold up the scarf, questioningly.

“That’s to go over your head after the paint, but let’s see if you can do contacts first, they’re in the washroom. Need help?”

“No, I'm good.”

You don’t succeed at first, but after a couple attempts you look in the mirror and see purple eyes staring back at you. You love them.

“I look like a badass,” you say, returning. The smoke machine’s been turned on and it’s created a completely different atmosphere. At your reemergence, Jungkook shuts it off and comes close to give you a look. You freeze a little at the eye contact, his browns meeting your currently violets for a prolonged moment.

“They look better than I’d hoped, this is going to be great.” 

He reaches under the gels on the table for a piece of paper. It’s a makeup model face with the look he wants drawn on. “Are you able to do something like this?”

The diagram shows the cheeks, bottom half of the nose and down all the way to the neck as black, and the eyes and up as white, bleeding down into the black like smoke. You’re going to need eyeshadow for that part. If you did that with the face paint it would just become a gray mess.

“Yep, but it’s going to take some time to get it right.”

“That’s okay, I’ll use it to get the smoke machine properly set up.”

You use one of the palette mirrors and start with the white, covering the top of your face and making a good base layer for the eyeshadow. Then fill the bottom of your face and neck with the black. Carefully, so as to not make gray, you use a large brush to cover both sides with their respective eyeshadow shades, before blending them together like the reference. Your skin starts to feel like it’s on fire by the time you're satisfied and you check your phone for the time when you finally finish. 

4:37pm. 

Not bad. You put the scarf over your head and cover your ears with it, using the safety pin to hold it in place. 

“Done.”

Jungkook takes one look at you and lights up. 

“Have I ever mentioned how talented you are, and that you make my schoolwork so much more fun? Because I feel like I should again even if I already have.” Your cheeks heat, glad he’s excited you’re able to help. “How did you manage to make it look even better?”

“I do vaguely remember mentioning something about a deal with a semi-suspicious genie,” you joke. And both of you break out in giggle fits after a second, recalling the conversation from forever ago. 

Running through the same steps of lighting, posing, and adjustments, Jungkook then flips on the smoke machine and lets it fill the room heavily before starting to take pictures. 

You’re sitting on a small box this time, so that you’re slightly lower than the camera. Jungkook tells you to keep your hands at your sides and look up, just above the rim of the camera lens. It creates a very interesting look, and you're excited to see the results. 

He has you do a couple more poses before allowing you to do your own thing once more, trying to think of what would look mysterious and enigmatic.

You try to let the music inspire you. This is a look you’ve never done before, so you’re finding it a bit difficult to get into it despite Jungkook's helpful prompts and suggestions. But you flow a bit better with it as time goes on and you become more comfortable.

An idea pops up out of nowhere and you have him do a close up from the middle of your chin to the middle of your forehead. You stare straight into the lens to really showcase the purple contacts and makeup.

“This’s the one for sure,” he says, taking a few more. “Great idea, why didn’t I think of a close up in the first place?” You know he's talking to himself at this point. 

It’s close to 6:15pm when Jungkook decides he has enough pictures for this look. You don’t mind the longer shoot seeing as you set aside the day for this, and you can’t wait to see how these ones turn out in particular.  

You’re halfway through getting the face paint off, a mountain of gray stained cotton pads beside you, when Jungkook turns the music down.

“Let’s do a light, early dinner and then shoot the last one?” he asks. “I kept this one at the end because it’s going to create the most mess and it’ll be nice to have dinner out of the way for when I have to clean up.”

“More mess than this?” you point to the cotton pad mountain.

“Much more.”

“Light, early dinner it is,” you confirm, not wanting to have to wait till late to eat. “But can we order out so I have time to get the rest of this off?”

“Sure, what’ll it be?”

Clean faced, moisturized and ramyeon filled, you and Jungkook are preparing for the last shoot. Or well, lightly arguing.

“Water?”

“Mhm.”

“On me?”

“Yep.”

“From that thing,” you point to the contraption he calls a c-stand that will be holding the very full, very large watering can over your head for an extended amount of time, “And into there?” you point again to the kitty pool on top of the tarp that’s underneath the watering can c-stand. 

“That is the plan,” he looks amused at your slight distress.

“Are you nuts? What if it falls on me? How do I know it won’t unhinge and I’ll have a nicely cracked open skull to explain to my mother on Solstice break?”

“It won’t fall and you know it won't because you trust me and trust I wouldn’t put you in unnecessary danger. But if it does, tell your mom I say hi and sorry.”

You scoff at him, unbelievable. “So you admit there’s a bit of danger!”

Jungkook sighs, and looks to the ceiling. “Yes, YN. There is a touch of danger. But that’s only if, somehow, the c-stand I have triple safety checked, duct taped twice, and quadruple secured with four fifteen pound sandbags, decides that you deserve a watering can to the head.”

You side eye his tone. This wasn’t an unrealistic worry. But you do trust him. And trust he would never intentionally put you in any danger.

The trees are set up near the backdrop that looks like a row of brick houses. The shot is supposed to be ‘The Calm after Before the Storm,’ where you look relieved and happy in an ‘outside’ setting while ‘rain’ falls over you, also in black and white.

“Fine, but if I hear one peep from that thing,” c-stand staring down the tip of your finger once more, “I’m tuck and rolling and taking you out while I do it.”

“Very fair!” he says relieved, and goes to set up the stand with the watering can. 

You’d changed into the neutral V neck after dinner, and he’s asked for no makeup. So all you have to do now is stand and pose while trying not to die from foreign objects falling from the sky while you get wet.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

It is incredibly difficult, and you’re glad he made this one last because you’re at best; slightly miserable. Only the promise of a hot shower, hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows and your pick of whatever you watch afterward is keeping you going.

You started this one just shy of 8pm after waiting 45 minutes for the food. And it’s nearing 9:30 now. Jungkook has had to refill the watering can four times, dump the kiddie pool twice,  and you swear if you don’t finish within the next twenty minutes, you’re going to collapse from shivering.

To be fair, he does fill the watering can with warm water, but it only stays warm for so long before freezing water is pouring on you for the millionth time tonight. 

“I have one last idea, and by the way, I’m never doing this concept again so don’t worry about that, but also… don’t shut down the idea immediately okay?” Jungkook says. 

The watering can is almost empty again and you’re relieved that your time is almost up. That in itself should make for a good picture. He snaps it.

But his tone makes you a little wary, “Okay… what is it?”

“Pretend I’m Nel and you’re seeing me for the first time in six months, like you do at the end of April.”

Well, you didn’t have that down on your photo shoot prompt bingo card. 

Are you okay with the idea? You aren’t sure, but aren’t not sure either.

“I mean, I’ll try. Maybe you could give vocal cues to try and help? But don’t make it weird.”

“I won’t, promise,” Jungkook pauses for a second before adding, “Does he call you baby?”

You nod, and you distantly hear and ‘okay’ as you slowly allow yourself to get into that headspace.

You start, and the camera starts going.

You’re in the airport, waiting for Nel, ‘smoosh’ paper in hand. The gate opens, and through all the other passengers you see him, see that he’s in one piece, see that he’s safe. 

Your face illuminates with relief at that so much so that you don’t even notice the water that starts running down your face. 

You hear a ‘hi baby’ and in your head, it’s coming from Nel’s mouth as he nears you. You smile impossibly wider at the thought of seeing him, feeling him. Having him here with you. 

You look happy to see me, ‘Nel’ says.

“I am,” you reply. 

There’s repetitive clicking in the distance, but you ignore it. It’s probably just a flight attendant's heels on the floor.

“I missed you.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Nel speaks again.

I missed you too, baby.

You’re shivering hard now, lost in thought, unaware of reality. 

YN, Nel calls.

“Yes, love?”

“YN.”

“Babe, what is it?”

“YN, hey,” you're being shaken gently.

“Hmm? What?” you slowly arrive back to the present. Strong hands grip your shoulders. They feel nice. Solid. Deliciously warm. 

A very concerned looking Jungkook comes into focus, camera dangling around his neck and reaching for you.

Oh.

He’s the one holding your shoulders, trying to get you to come back to reality.

“There she is, welcome back,” he lets go and grabs a blanket from somewhere and wraps it around you. “We got the shot, go take a shower and warm up okay?”

“Okay,” you say, still a little dazed, but present enough to function.

You step out of the pool, holding on to the hand Jungkook offers to balance—Warm. Solid. Strong—and head straight for the bathroom, making a pit stop in the guest room to grab your bag with fresh clothes. 

The hot water cements your place back in reality, letting it warm you up and cleanse you of the day. 

You have no idea what just happened with that whole Nel thing, but it was a new feeling and a new headspace and you really aren’t in the mood to analyze or acknowledge, so it’s shoved onto a top shelf in the back of your mind for a later date.  

Once you're able to return to the directory of your mind, you don’t know how long you’ve been in the shower. But you know you’re clean, no longer cold, and in the mood for hot chocolate, so you step out and dry yourself with the towels Jungkook laid out for you on the toilet seat.

They’re soft. So soft in fact you consider only for a second shoving one in your now less full bag to take home with you. However, you do rather enjoy your friendship with the prince, so you think better of it upon second thought. 

Dressing in your sweats, you exit, tossing the towels in the hamper and your bag of the clothes you arrived in back into the spare room.

“Better?” Jungkook asks as you sit down in your spot on the couch for the last time tonight, wrapping up in the blanket he left for you. He’s in the kitchen but heard you coming.

“Much, thanks,” you sniff, “Is that hot chocolate I smell?”

Jungkook returns from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. “With extra whip cream and marshmallows, as ordered.”

You carefully take it from him, giving your thanks and happily slurping away the second it’s in your grasp. 

“Alright Caravaggio, what are we watching?” he asks, sitting down on his side, sipping away on his own. 

Sometime between you leaving for the shower and coming back out Jungkook changed into his own comfy attire, and tidied up the studio space as the pool and tarp are nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve thought really hard about this, all of however long I was in the shower,” Jungkook mutters something about 35 minutes; you ignore him, “And have settled on ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

He whines just a little when he says, “But it’s November.”

“So?”

“So, Solstice isn’t until the third week of December,” he’s saying this like his point is the most obvious thing in the world. 

It’s not.

“Your point?”

“That it’s November, and you want to watch a Solstice movie.”

You’re mockingly outraged.

“Who made you town grinch? I didn’t realize we had a holiday hater in our midst.” 

You loved the holidays, all the big ones, and the small ones, but Solstice was special. 

“I’m not a grinch, I’m just not there yet, mentally.”

“Then get ready to dive in head first, because you said I could pick the movie for risking my life for you and I pick ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

Jungkook doesn’t argue further, but he does roll his eyes as he puts on your movie with a small smile hidden behind his drink.

It’s sometime during the first act, you’re lying back against your corner of the couch, feet up and under the blanket when you ask, “What are your solstice break plans?” 

Jungkook takes a moment to part from the TV, very invested for someone who was so against it half an hour ago. “I have a lot of ‘princely duties’ to do for Solstice, like standing and looking thoughtful while my dad gives his annual Solstice speech,” you snort. “Then there’s the palace dinner, the parade through the capital, and the live televised event,” he says in a tv announcer's voice, “Where my family and I light the Solstice Star. And then there’s the new year and that in itself has another long list of things I have to do. Besides things like that though? Not much, and then it’s back here.”

Right.

You often forget who he is. 

That behind those kind eyes, and small smiles, behind the greenhouse study dates, and movie nights, and photoshoots, Jungkook has an enormous responsibility constantly looming over his head, counting down the days until he finishes his schooling. One that’s just waiting to drop onto his shoulders forever. 

You often forget that Jungkook is the Prince, first in line to the biggest throne in the realm. That you spend your time with not only Jeon Jungkook, friend and photography student, but also, His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook, Heir Apparent and Future King of The Western Shores.

He just makes it so damn easy to forget.

You only asked because you thought maybe he had plans with friends or family, completely forgetting about all of the things the royal family does during the holiday season to celebrate with the nation, their people, and now you feel like an ass for even bringing it up.

But there’s something in his answer, or lack thereof, that snags your attention. 

“What about celebrating with your family and friends in private?”

“No time,” Jungkook’s stare goes distant as he brings his knees up and puts his arms around them, resting his chin. “Friends are always busy with palace preparations and dad’s not really the sentimental type. We celebrated when I was younger; big family breakfast, presents, tree decorating, whole thing. But after I turned about 13 or so, it started dwindling pretty quickly. Now it’s just me and my mom exchanging a gift with each other at midnight under the palace tree.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so heartbreaking yet beautiful in your life. 

“Your mum sounds wonderful, I’m really happy you two get that time together.” 

He looks at you, and you can tell by the look in his eyes he loves that time with her more than anything else. 

Solstice is supposed to be the time you spend with your family, blood or chosen. The time where you all gather to cook and bake, and exchange thoughtful gifts with the ones you love. The time where you truly cherish one another and count yourself lucky for all that you have. 

Solstice is your favourite time of the year.

To not spend it like that just seems…wrong. Horribly, painfully, awfully wrong.

“What about you?” he asks.

You don’t want to make him feel bad, so you tone down your answer, taking away the meat and giving the bones.

“My mum and I cut down our own tree and decorate it with the ornaments we’ve collected over the years,” you have them from every place you’ve ever visited, and your mum kept all the ones you ever made as a kid. You even get a new one every solstice to take a picture for and label with the year.  

“Then we bake solstice cookies until our hands cramp and survive off only them until solstice dinner; a turkey, honey glazed carrots, mashed potatoes with gravy, essentially if it waters your mouth, it’s there,” he chuckles at that. “We do gifts for each other too, opening them on solstice morning before making hot drinks and reading in the breakfast nook until the sun sets or till we get hungry, whichever comes first.”

Jungkook's eyes glow, radiating warmth, a lazy smile on his face as he listens to you. 

“That sounds really nice, YN.”

“It is,” you reply, looking him in those radiant eyes as you do. He looks… happy. Happy for you, that you get to have something like this that’s so special. It breaks your heart a little…maybe you can help.

“You wanna make some solstice cookies with me before break?”

His look of happy shifts to one of slight panic.

“What?” you question, and comically ask, “Have you never made solstice cookies before?”

He hesitates before answering a very quiet, “Uh…N-no.”

Your shock must be incredibly evident in the way he almost flinches at your reaction.

So you try your best to keep your voice level when you ask, “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I’ve never made solstice cookies.”

That’s it. You can’t hold back any more, you’ve never heard anything so blasphemous in all your life.

“You’ve never what?  How is that even possible?”

He shrinks into himself a little more.

“The palace pastry chef always makes them because that’s kind of his job,” you stare at him in disbelief. “Is this really that big a deal?”

You swear there’s cog’s and smoke flying out of your ears. Solstice cookies are a religion in your household. You know dozens of recipes by heart, always finding a new one each year to try and up your game. You cannot imagine a solstice without making them. Wait no, actually you can, but it would be because you’re dead.

You held back in your answer earlier, for his sake, but you and your mom’s hands cramp up because you make enough cookies to give a box to everyone in the neighborhood. It’s one of your favourite traditions, and your neighbours even look forward to it every year, going so far as sending you both recipes to try out.

“Big dea—you’ve never fucking mad—not even when you were little? No one brought you to the kitchen and let you help? Aren't all your friends back home the pastry chefs' kids or something?” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but your tone is a little more passionate than you were intending. 

But Jungkook knows you, knows you occasionally get that passionate about things, and takes your outburst in stride. 

“Yeah, one of them is, but we don't sit around the oven and make cookies all break long. And his dad is always too busy to teach us even if we wanted to.”

You decide something. Right then and there.

“This year you are.”

“What?”

“Mark your last Saturday off because I'm going to show up here, ingredients-a-plenty and teach you how to make solstice cookies. I have a million recipes up here,” you tap your head with a finger, “But I'll choose the easiest ones. And I’ll come over early so we can spend the day making all of them. I can’t in good conscience leave for the break knowing you’ve never made them.”

He sighs. “Do I have any say in the matter?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook stares at you and you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. You’re worried he’s going to say no anyway. To say you’re crazy and that they’re just cookies and that he has more important things he has to do on his Saturday before leaving for home.

But he doesn’t. And you should’ve known he wouldn’t, not after all the time you’ve spent together. 

You know better. Know him better.

“Alright Picasso. Sounds like a plan. I’m looking forward to it,” he decides, and goes back to watching the movie. 

It’s the first time he’s ever repeated a nickname.

“Wait! The wind guy wants to replace who?!” Jungkook shouts. 

You laugh at his confusion, and rewind the movie.

Jungkook wakes up sore.

His back is killing him, which makes sense since he’s half lying on the couch, half on the ground. 

The TV’s silently playing some slideshow of movie recommendations based on recent watches. 

He checks his phone, reaching for it on the coffee tale. 

14% battery. 

4:07am. 

Shit, he fell asleep. 

After the solstice movie he wanted to watch its predecessor. You had no qualms and so on it went, but he doesn’t remember much after the brothers started fighting.

Hearing soft, even breathing next to him he turns to see you, hunched over in your spot asleep, no doubt in the process of ruining your own back.

He should go to bed.

You should go to bed. 

But you’ve never stayed the night.

What should he do? Should he wake you? 

But you look so peaceful. And it’s nearing exams. You barely sleep when it’s exams season. 

Instead, Jungkook goes to check the guest room, but it’s a mess with yesterday's comings and goings. Make-up and clothes and hangers strewn everywhere.

Quietly, making a decision he hopes you won’t kill him for in the morning, he pads back to your sleeping form. 

It’s for your back, he tells himself. No other reason.

Deja vu sets in as he scoops you up from the couch, blanket and all. Just like last time, you gain enough consciousness to know to wrap your arms around his neck, but not enough to wake up. Your head rests on his shoulder and he selfishly savours the feeling as he walks down the short hallway to his room.  

Jungkook sets you down gently on one side of the bed, and your arms release, slumber undisturbed as he tucks you in.

He goes back to the living room to retrieve your phones. Yours is still at 56%, and he places it on the table beside you when he returns.

Climbing into his side of the bed, he’s careful not to touch you.

Though he wants to. 

Desperately. 

His sleep deprived brain is too slow to block out the thoughts that start to race. Thoughts of how he wants to turn around and pull you into his chest, slide an arm around your waist, and kiss you goodnight. How he wants to wake up in the same position, you still in his arms. 

But he’s also awake enough to know that will never happen. That you’re with Nel, and happy with him. That he’s drawn that nice, big line.

He’s awake enough to know you being in his bed is a fluke, unintentional.

A one time thing.

Plugging his phone into its charger, he sets it down on his own bedside table and pulls the covers up, falling back asleep.

His back facing you. 

An exhale wakes you.

Warm and cozy, you take a deep breath and roll to your left side, stretching on the way over. The scents of clean linen and something familiar find you. It’s comforting, that smell, but you can’t place it.

Another exhale, but this time you feel it as well as hear it.

You open your eyes to see a sleeping Jungkook face not a foot from your own and you jolt in shock, falling off the bed in the process. 

You look up from your new seat on the floor, ignoring the pain in your side from landing, and peer over the covers to check on Jungkook, who, miraculously, hasn’t woken up from your tumble. 

Relieved, your mind focuses on more pressing questions like ‘how did you get here?’ And ‘why were you in his bed?’ 

The last thing you remember was being halfway through the prequel to A Miser Brothers Solstice on the couch, watching Jungkook more than the movie because of how invested he’d become in the story. 

But you aren’t on the couch now. You were in his bed. 

The bed of the Prince of the Western Shores. 

The Prince who has a girlfriend, and you, who has a very long term, very serious boyfriend.

You hear a vibration, and following the sound, you find your phone on the bedside table. 

You quickly grab it quickly and go to the living room as quietly as you can manage. 

There’s a large number of unread texts. 

SlurryYuri [11:08pm]: hey, just checking in. You didn’t get home when you said you’d try for SlurryYuri [11:31pm]: Helloooooooo? YN? You there? SlurryYuri [12:14am]: it’s getting late YN, when are you coming home? Are you on your way?

Missed Calls: (3)

SlurryYuri [2:43am]: it’s been hours, so you better be dead or have crashed in the school somewhere. Either way I’m kicking your ass when you get home

Missed Calls: (2)

(Recent)

SlurryYuri [9:36am]: you’re still not home?? YN seriously, where are you SlurryYuri [10:23am]: If you don’t message me back in an hour I’m calling the police and filing a missing persons

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. You crashed hard, the shoot must have taken more out of you than you thought, so you never texted Yuri you were going to crash in a sleep pod at school like you’d planned too. 

You make quick work of messaging her back, glad she unintentionally gave you just the excuse you needed. 

YN [10:25am]: ohmygod I’m soooooo sorry, it was the school one. I fell asleep in the school. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be home soon, promise. I’m just going to grab breakfast first. Again im sorry

SlurryYuri [10:27am]: thank the gods youre okay!! Don’t ever do that to me again YN! I don’t wanna be the one who has to break news to your mom!! She’s too nice.  SlurryYuri [10:27am]: and take your time getting back if your rushing for me, I’m not at the dorm SlurryYuri [10:27am]: Tai showed up yesterday out of the blue and took me dancing. We’re out getting brunch right now, and he has plans for the rest of the day SlurryYuri [10:28am]: Im just glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere

YN [10:29am]: me too, and okay I will. Thanks for checking up on me and making sure im safe, youre my favourite

SlurryYuri [10:30am]: damn right I am, see you tn <3

YN [10:30am]: see you <3

You exhale deeply, that was fucking close. 

Your stomach rumbles and it reminds you that you actually need to get breakfast. 

What could you have? You could order in again, but that means a wait time and you are hungry now. You could raid Jungkook's pantry, or see if he has any fruit, but then you think that’s a gross invasion of privacy when it’s not movie night and you haven’t asked if it’s okay. 

Wait.

The egg tarts!

You dash to the fridge, the marvellous sight of a greenhouse inside a coffee mug comes into view. Stuffing one down before you even get the box from the fridge, you exit the kitchen, sit down on the couch, setting the box on the coffee table. Once opened in front of you, you realize there is a healthy amount of tarts inside. 

How many did Jungkook ask for?

Speaking of, a bed-headed, yawning Jungkook makes his morning debut, still in last night's clothes.

“Hey,” he says groggily, walking over and stealing a tart.

“Hey!” you say back, not nearly as friendly. 

“Overnight tax, Picasso. Room isn’t free.” He chuckles at your faux outrage, popping half the tart in his mouth as he walks to the kitchen and grabs something from the fridge. Returning, you see it’s a morning protein shake. 

Gross. 

“So is that name the one you’re sticking to now?” you ask, picking up another tart. At this rate they won’t last until lunch.

“Yeah, that okay with you? It’s your name in my phone after all.”

“It is?” You didn’t know that.

“Yeah, has been since the start.” 

You’re quickly learning that sleepy morning Jungkook is very different from morning post work-out Jungkook, friend Jungkook and photographer Jungkook. His voice is deeper, he’s a lot more relaxed, and maybe even harmlessly borderline flirty, like he’s not all there yet. Softer. 

“Picasso’s just fine. A compliment really.”

“Oh? And what am I in your’s then? Hopefully something just as nice?”

You tell him like it is.

“PJK.”

“PJK?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah? It’s obscure enough to not be recognizable if someone were to see it, but enough for me to know who it is.”

“Nah, you need something better, PJK is boring.”

“It’s your initials.”

“And boring,” he’s really not letting up on this. 

“Well...what would you save yourself as?”

He mulls it over for a minute before deflating. “Okay, fair point, but I seriously want a new one. Something that can rival Picasso.”

“Do you have any nicknames? Something not completely obvious?”

For a morning person, Jungkook sure is taking his time. Maybe he was only a morning person before 8am, and then if he got up anytime after that he became a normal person who despised mornings like everyone else.

“Uhh…Vivian calls me JK, but that’s essentially the same thing as PJK. My buddies back home sometimes call me Kook, but I don’t think that works either. My mum has one for me that I will not disclose to anyone so long as I am breathing. So I guess not.”

A lightbulb dings over your head. “What about your security? Don’t they have special code names for you when they detail you? Like bear or eagle?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not nearly as badass as either of those.”

“Fess up,” you say. Now you have to know.

“Hare.”

“Hare?” Now it’s your turn to be incredulous. “Like a rabbit?”

“Yep.”

An idea pops into your head and an evil grin spreads across your face, one you know is already setting worry into Jungkook’s still awakening brain as you change his name.

“I don’t like that look,” he confirms. “What’d you change it to?”

You flip your phone around and hold it up to him.

“Bunny?” he says incredulously once again.

“Yes.”

“I give you Picasso, one of the greatest painters of all time, and you think giving me bunny is anywhere near on par with that?”

Teasing him is far too fun, especially when he makes it this easy for you.

“Oh absolutely. In fact, I think it’s the best name I could possibly set it as.”

Jungkook disagrees, vehemently. “No, change it back. PJK is fine.”

“Too late. You dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Jungkook brings a hand to his face, pinching the crease between his brows and takes a very long, deep breath, exhaling just as dramatically. 

You take that as your victory. But you’re sorely mistaken.

He launches at you, reaching for your phone and you scream, reaching your arm to keep it away from him. You have a fox socked foot on his chest to try and keep him back. His right arm is holding him up near your hip on the couches edge and he’s reaching with his left as far as he can without breaking his sternum on your heel. 

“Give it!”

“Never!”

You try to bring up your other foot to push him away, but Jungkook is strong, and forces both it and the one on his chest down with the arm that was supporting him, temporarily keeping himself up with his left hand on the back of the couch. 

With your legs out of the way he can almost reach his phone. But in his distracted state, misses the couch when he goes to put his supporting arm down again, and flips onto the ground, taking you with him. You scream, but his arms wrap around you as he makes sure to take the brunt of the impact, landing on his back, you safely secured to his chest. 

There’s a moment of pure stunned silence, you resting your forhead on his chest while you process, him not letting go of your waist as he gets a breath into his winded self, before you’re both laughing as you take in what happened.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, you?”

He takes a second to respond. “I’m great.” 

You push to sit up, and he releases you from his hold, but that was a mistake. Because now you’re sitting on his lap. 

It takes an entire three seconds of you staring at him and him staring right back before you jump and scramble off him as fast as you can. 

“Sorry.” you say in unison, you standing and him from the ground. It’s a painfully awkward 8 seconds before you break, cackling at the whole situation, and he joins in with you again. 

Jungkook brushes off his pants as he gets up too. “Got any plans before tonight,” he asks, business as usual.

“Nope, cleared my schedule in case this went long, I’ve got the whole day.”

You swear his smile grows two sizes.

“Well in that case,” he looks to the TV, then back to you, “Wanna start movie night early?”

An entire day to relax and chill out before the hell that is exams season takes your every free second? 

Yes please.

“Solstice movie marathon?” you propose slyly, near devious.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” he confirms, already halfway to the kitchen.

You spend the day like that, on the couch watching movie after movie, both pretending the little incident never even happened. 

But you make sure to go home after movie night this time. 

Chapter Nine: TBR

A/N 2: This chapter kicked my ass but it's here and I couldn't be more thrilled. I really like how it's ended so I hope you guys do too.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

— SERENA —

( Il Dottore X Fem! Reader )

SUMMARY

After backing out from The Doctor’s major experiment whose goal was to instill archon-like abilities within you, he decides to come up with a malicious plan forcing you to thank him for his efforts.

Little did you know, Collei, a fellow participant in Dottore’s experiment, felt curious as to watch along.

WARNINGS

RAPE/NON-CON. Unethical Experimentation. Aphrodisiacs. Sex Toys. Collei being a voyeur.

NOTES

Your name in this chapter will be Serena, hence the title.

This chapter has a fem! reader.

Before I see people complaining about underaged characters being involved in this fic, I would like to point out that Collei isn’t going to be subject to sexual matters here.

She’s just going to be a voyeur, in some way.

Don’t like, don’t read applies here! I’ve seen comments saying Collei is going to be involved with Dottore when she isn’t!

To those idiots who have given hate comments, first of all, fuck you. I’ve stated in my profile several times that I won’t be writing NSFW posts for underaged characters or entities present in my fics.

NSFW under the cut!

The Fatui hideout was akin to a black, gothic medieval castle in the harsh, angry winters of Sneznhaya—with its pointed triangular shaped rooftops and asymmetrical windows, the place was deemed highly unconventional to visit especially when the cold prevailed. But there existed at least eleven Harbingers and Fatui Agents who monitored the site for any possible intruders or attackers.

In the hideout’s interior lied a highly organized laboratory which had all sorts of equipment, weapons, artifacts, and tools needed for undergoing experiments.

And there you were, knocking on Dottore’s office for further assistance.

The door let out a slight creak as it opened, revealing his tall frame before you.

“What seems to be the matter, Serena?” Dottore inquired as he poured a cylinder of slime concentrate into a beaker.

“I….I don’t feel so good, Doctor. Ever since you injected me with those slime secretions mixed with liquified crystal chunks, I’ve been having a bad fever for a whole day up to now.” you said.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Aw. Hmmm…..I guess I can find a perfect remedy for that, but it would probably take a while.” Dottore said, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Here, try this.”

“What is this, Doctor?” you inquired.

“A solution I developed from preserved slime concentrate without the liquified crystal chunks. Scientifically speaking, I made a minor mistake in my research thinking crystal chunks would actually grant someone powerful Electro-Charged abilities. Unfortunately, they caused the exact fever you have now.” Dottore replied.

“B-but Doctor….”

“I want you to drink this solution as it will be beneficial for your fever.” Dottore said.

You gently took the test tube and took a sip.

“Go on.” Dottore simply nodded.

You slowly drank the contents of the solution, feeling it’s thick, gooey texture as it filled your throat. It tasted quite sour. “Thank you.”

“Was it too sour for your taste?” Dottore asked.

“Quite so.” you replied, gulping one more time.

“Very well then, all you have to do is get some much awaited bed rest.” instructed Dottore in a professional manner.

You nodded. “Okay, Doctor.”

Leaving the lab, you found your way into the guest rooms right around the corner. Things made you wonder how they would make guests sleep in the basement, knowing residential homes would put those rooms on the top floor. But this is a hideout after all, so it would be obvious that they put every bedroom in the basement to establish a sense of secrecy from the public eye.

An hour passed. You suddenly felt hot, your cheeks feeling flustered as sweat began to grow more apparent. You didn’t know what to expect of the situation that befell you, but you can only hope that this isn’t anything fatal. The Doctor toying with you is the last thing you ever wanted, considering you placed great trust in him as your savior.

Being a sufferer of Eleazar, things haven’t been quite the easy way for you since you had to deal with its symptoms. From numbness in the skin to the formation of dark, hardened scales in your body, things have been quite rough for you as your clumsiness made it risky to just do whatever you deemed necessary. Cooking, for example, is something you dared not do, for accidents may happen when your Eleazar attacks.

Little did you know, you could see black scales appear on your wrists signifying that your condition worsened. You felt your feet grow numb, and it could feel as if you were about to fall down any moment. You didn’t know what to do, your state suddenly changing into that of panic. While you didn’t want to blame the Doctor for his continuous experiments on you, you just had to. You didn’t know why you chose to place full trust in him knowing he made a mistake in his research.

“Serena!” Dottore called out from the upper floor. “Would you mind entering the lab, please?”

You were reluctant to pursue Dottore once again, but this time it could be another treatment he came up with. Getting up from the bed, you had to make your presence known.

“Coming!” you replied, shouting.

Rushing back into the lab, you caught Dottore forming a smirk on his face while staring at the test tube, seemingly impressed with his new creation. That being said, he turned to you and beckoned a finger signaling you to come closer, so as to inject you with the substance.

“May I inquire what that is for, Doctor?”

“Think of this as some sort of follow-up injection….you drank the syrup I gave you earlier, but that alone isn’t enough.” Dottore said. “I’d like to think of its chemicals being that of a god’s remains. This will be crucial in making you an archon’s equal.”

Dottore continued speaking as he pierced the needle onto your skin, cooing. “Now, now…. Relax, my dear. You know I won’t be leaving….not when I fully get what I wanted from you.”

“Huh? Ow! Argh! It hurts! Doctor! It hurts!”

Dottore chuckled, earning a look of suspicion from you.

“It’s just fun seeing you react to even the slightest tinge of pain an injection could give you. I wonder how you’d react if…….”

You had to butt in and alert Dottore about his sudden change of subject—from curing your fever to actually making you a prototype of a god.

“But Doctor….We’re talking about my fever here..I want to know if this solution would cure it! Please…..The heat is unbearable…..”

“Worry not, my dear. When you become a god, it shall render you immune to all diseases, including Eleazar.” Dottore told you.

“Really, Doctor?” you asked in retaliation.

“I promise you so, my dear. You don’t have to suffer from your illness, or any other anomaly, for that matter. There’s only one last thing we need to perform on you to ensure your body is indeed fit for the other experiments done for you.”

“So, Doctor, this isn’t over? There’s still plenty of experiments to be performed on me?” you asked.

“I’m afraid so.” Dottore replied.

“T-then….I’ll just refuse to be a part of those experiments! I-I don’t want to be experimented on any further…..sorry…”

A change in Dottore’s face made itself clear before you. You were FUCKED. You immediately got up from the chair, only to be stopped by Dottore’s heavy hand on your shoulder.

“What did you say?” Dottore said softly.

You froze in confusion at the sudden change in the Doctor’s facial expression. “….Did I say something wrong? I just said……”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” Dottore scoffed. “You know what? You’re being incredibly ungrateful, Serena. Backing out from my research just like that? I just can’t believe your utter lack of faith in me. Here I am trying to cure you from your said fever as caused by your Eleazar, and this is how you repay me?”

“B-but it wasn’t my intention to-“

Dottore leaned closer to murmur in your ear.

“You agreed to be a part of this experiment for a reason. And you’re planning to take yourself away? That I cannot allow, especially for my favorite little subject….”

Dottore began to fondle your breasts with one hand, sliding his other hand below until he reached your intimate area, ‘squishing’ it with all his might.

You moaned involuntarily, covering your mouth in retaliation.

“Hmmmm….as I thought.” Dottore purred. “It doesn’t matter how much one tries to resist the physical pleasures given to them, no matter what, they just always seem to like it.”

“L-let go!!!” you protested as you took a step backward.

“What’s the matter, doll? Scared? Aw….poor baby can’t take what’s been given to them.” Dottore cooed.

“I only partook in your experiment to cure my Eleazar! Not feeling these symptoms of being in heat!” you replied, backing away. You rushed your way out of the lab by finding an exit, and there it was. Upon touching the doorknob, you could feel the power of Electro course through your veins, earning a slight sensation of electrocution to occur. You winced in pain and took a step backward, protesting once again.

“It won’t open!! Why???!!!” you exclaimed.

“Because I made it that way. So no one would be able to intrude on us.” Dottore sneered.

“Nooooo!!!!!” you continued to unlock the door, only for it to cause another type of short circuit that shocked your body once more. In an attempt to get away, you could feel Dottore’s arms wrap around your breasts from behind, circling his fingers around your nipples.

As a last resort, you elbowed him with all your might, causing him to wince in pain.

“You brat…!!!!” Dottore exclaimed. You tried to run elsewhere, but you were grabbed once more as he carried you to a metallic table. He let you lie down on your back, letting you feel the cold of the metal upon your skin.

In retaliation, you got up, only to be stopped by Dottore as he injected another substance that would render you unable to speak. “There, there. I don't want to make things harder for us both, hm? I like you. Not only are you fit enough to become a god that could rival the archons in terms of power, but you…you’re perfect for me, Serena.”

“But-but you promised!!!” you said, feeling your tongue fall slowly numb from the anesthetic given to you.

“Promised what? I never gave any promises to save you fully from the beginning, dear. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“You promised to cure me….my….myyyy…mmmm….” you said as your tongue fully grew numb, rendering you unable to say anything that came into mind.

Dottore chuckled. “Promised a cure? For what, dear? You have to be more specific. Oh wait, you can’t speak…..Aw. What a pity.”

Dottore brought out a remote control, enabling Electro-powered chains to secure your hands and prevent you from leaving. “Stay still, dear. I’m about to bring something special to test out.”

“Arghhh!!!!! Hah!!!!!” you protested.

“Tsk. So stubborn. Worry not, dear. When this is all over, I’ll send you back to Fontaine, okay?”

Your face was angry in disbelief, your body wanting to escape the cold laboratory. Sounds of the chains echoed across the area as you protested for your life, even though you were already rendered helpless.

It was at that moment when Dottore pulled out a knife, cutting past the fabric of your clothes to reveal your swollen breasts, belly, and lower body. He took out every single cloth out of the table, earning another angry scream escaping your mouth.

“Hush, doll. I’ll be taking care of you. And you’re going to be a good girl for me, yes?”

You shook your head.

“Tsk.”

Dottore walked to the cabinet to bring out a classic rechargeable clitoral stimulator.

Returning to you, he leaned closer to murmur something inaudible, yet filthy. “I’m going to ruin you so bad you’ll even forget this is all a part of our little experiment.”

“Arghhhh! Hghhhhh!” you wailed.

Placing the hole of the stimulator over your clitoris, Dottore activated the toy, earning an involuntary moan from you. Dottore has studied enough about female anatomy to know where the right places were, and knew how to prepare you before getting over to the main course—to have him inside you.

The toy ‘pulled’ and ‘sucked’ similarly to when someone goes down on you. With each thrust inward, you let out a slight “ah!” here and there. That was only the first level, which meant that the intensity wasn’t at an all time high. Dottore was extremely satisfied with the way you were reacting, so far as to rub his crotch in arousal with his other hand.

“You’re taking this toy so well, dear Serena.” Dottore purred. “I’m sure that if you’ll have me inside you, there’ll be some way to have this dick in you with less effort.”

Dottore set the toy’s intensity level to a max, earning a loud moan from you. Your clit felt like it was going to twitch from the overwhelming stimulation dealt upon it. Your crotch felt wet, and that you were going to cum very soon. You slightly moved your cunt back and forth to the hole that ‘suctioned’ your clit, fighting back the urge to thrust your cunt in and out of the suctioning hole with full force.

“Humping the toy right back, are we, hm? Naughty girl.” Dottore murmured closer into your ear.

“Ah! Ah!”

“Filthy slut.” Dottore sneered once more. “Give into it. Feel its power.”

“Ah, hah!!!!” you screamed as you rocked your hips into the toy, grinding against it not because you wanted it, but because you needed it. You needed to get off.

You felt yourself coming close, gasping for air as Dottore held the toy closer to your clit.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

You let out an “Agh!!!”, signifying the climax has overtook your senses. Feeling your newfound orgasm, you continued to rock your hips onto the suctioning hole in hopes of feeling the after-effects of your high. You sighed in relief after getting what you wanted.

“Seems that my dearest subject has been very sensitive to external stimulators, let me write that down on my medical observations.” Dottore said as he grabbed a notebook with a pen attached to it from beside the table.

“Doctor!!!” Collei called out, rushing to the lab only to discover it had been locked and enclosed with an Electro barrier. She can’t get in, yet can see what was going on inside. She saw a small sneak peek of your naked form with Dottore scribbling down his observations in a notebook. “Doctor?”

Collei froze, watching you by the door’s small glass window. Dottore ensured the walls of the Fatui hideout were soundproof, which means that he couldn’t hear anything outside of the lab.

Upon returning the notebook to the table, he faced you to the front and pulled your legs forward. Without warning, he unzipped his pants, taking out his half-hard cock in the process. This made your eyes widen in surprise as you continued to protest even more despite your ability to speak rendered impossible.

“There, there, my dear, now it’s time for the main course.” Dottore sneered. “I promise this won’t take too long, I just wanted to…..test how many gods we can create with our children given your ability to bear a child.”

“Urghhhhh!!!! Arghhhhh!!!”

“Aw. Poor baby not consenting to becoming a part of my research? Well…..” Dottore laughed. “It’s not like you could do anything as of the moment, huh, Serena?”

“Arghhhhh!!!!”

Dottore ignored your pleas as he spread your legs wider, rubbing the tip of his cock across your clit with an intention to tease it. Before you knew it, he pushed his cock into your vagina with one quick thrust, causing you to yelp in pain.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Dottore mocked. “You’re really this inexperienced, are you? Mmmm…..you’re perfect for me.”

You had no defense against Dottore this time. All you had to do was feel his dick stretch past every inhibition your body had, feeling every burn and ache. Sliding his dick in inch by inch, it took two minutes before he could finally be completely inside you. The pain suddenly developed into pleasure, Dottore letting out a hum in satisfaction with your body’s compliance.

It wasn’t long until Dottore started bucking his hips, thrusting back and forth with a slow, practiced motion. Dottore was standing up in front of the table, which meant that he needed to have more control over his balance so as to not have his legs shake in the middle of the do.

Collei from outside the lab could see a sight of Dottore rocking you from outside, a look of concern taking over her face.

“If only I could get into the ear of yours to whisper such filthy secrets I have in store for you,” Dottore spoke. “….I would have done it sooner.”

Sounds of skin slapping filled the air as he took his sweet time enjoying those beautiful whimpers of yours. Your tits bounced up and down which just fueled Dottore to moan in reaction to seeing your body give into his own needs.

“Such pretty tits my little test subject has.” Dottore said as he gasped for air, “Had this place not been a lab, I surely would have taken you in and pounced on you right there and then.”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Hm? Surrendering yourself too soon? Aw….but we’re just getting started.” Dottore cooed as he sped up the pace of his hips.

“Mmmmmmhhhh!!!!!”

“Mmmm…..seems like we’re getting closer, my dear.”

He was right. You were close, he was close. For a quickie, he need not waste his time any longer. He grabbed your hips hard, pulling them closer, so far as to leave red marks on them. You moaned in return, bucking your hips right back subconsciously. You’ve been feeling quite frisky lately, perhaps as a side effect of the drug that has been injected into you.

“My, my…..” Dottore chuckled, gasping for more air as he sped up the pace of rocking his hips in and out of you. “Eager for a little challenge, are we?” The two of you were thrusting into each other at this point as Dottore was getting close.

“Mmmmmhhh…..looks like I’m gonna……” Dottore moaned. He slightly slowed down, awaiting his release as you groaned in pleasure. With one sudden rush, he moaned once more along with you, his seed filling you to the brim.

After Dottore finished inside you, he grabbed a handkerchief, wiping his dick. He stared down at you while he reached for the remote control, deactivating the Electro-powered chains that stopped you from running away.

You could feel your tongue reverting to its normal state again, the numbness disappearing. With that, you were able to speak again.

“Treatment….Doctor. How’s…..the treatment….” you said as you panted hard post-orgasm.

“Your Eleazar symptoms have already subsided.” Dottore said. “You just needed to get off to cope with the side effects of the cure, since it contains chemicals similar to an aphrodisiac.”

“I see…..thank you….Doctor.” you said as your naked frame fell asleep on the metallic table.

Dottore unlocked the door with a simple remote control that deactivated the power of Electro. Leaving the lab, he stumbled upon Collei who happened to have watched the whole thing. Looking down at her, she attempted to run away only to be stopped by Dottore.

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Just (Werewolf!) Papa Solomons Things:

Rainy days with your little dove

TH Masterlist

- Spent indoors with reading and drinking tea and/or coffee.

- He smells like the rain, mixed with the sweat of the transformation.

- Grumbles about the weather being rotten on the way home. “‘S bad for me sciatica.”

- Tries to stay awake on the tube and train. On the former he’s glad to have found a seat, too tired to keep himself standing. On the train, he’s glad he has your shoulder to rest his head on (and subsequently use as a pillow for a nap that’s totally not a nap).

- On days like this he wants to do everything together. The usual shower while you make breakfast gets swapped for a two-person bath, a little moment to enjoy together while enjoying a light snack like a fruit salad.

- Alfie loves it when you towel his hair. It’ll immediately cause him to purr.

- After he’s made sure you’re nice and dry as well as dressed in one of his hoodies, he’ll tag along to the kitchen.

- Now, no matter if he’s still worn and haggard from a night lost to the beast inside, he insists on making you breakfast. Although you know protesting is of no use, you have one extremely effective weapon to use against him.

- Wolfy.

- The silly nickname you gave him when he confessed to being a werewolf. You meant it as a very bad joke, but knew he was serious when he didn’t return your smile.

- Now throw in some beard scratches and you, my dear, have the Alpha of the Camden pack on his knees.

- Hey, whatever works to get him to sit down on the chaise longue by the window in the living room, which provides a marvellous view of the sea. He needs rest and relaxation, not his usual incessant worrying about you.

- And he worries a lot.

- Though Alfie might not show it, he’s mortified of the consequences which come with the very real potential the Wolf can be unleashed if he doesn’t watch his temper.

- If he loses himself for a split second in your vicinity, he could potentially kill you. Because even though he’s aware the Wolf is in love with you too, there’s nothing to protect you once instinct kicks in and it’s either kill or be killed.

- And if he comes to his senses and your mauled body is the first thing he sees, well…

- Let’s say Camden will lose its King and Highgate will have a royal tomb.

- So he has to make sure he’s safe for you.

- Some of his rings and bracelets have been swapped out for ones that contain silver to supplement his medication.

- Alfie has asked his doctor to up the dosage of the drugs he takes to suppress the Wolf and slow its influence over his mind and body. The same goes for the suppressants.

- Lycanthropy is a terminal condition. Not in the traditional sense of a literal death, but rather the death of the Human Self. This phenomenon is known as ‘going feral’.

- It’s extremely rare for Ferals to regain their Human Self, though such cases have been reported and are a hot research topic in the academic community.

- Alfie is such a case.

- Fell in love the moment he saw you admiring the Aira Force. No, he did more than that.

- He imprinted in you.

- After thirty-four years of silently pondering the question why everyone seemed to find their mate with ease and he didn’t, he found the answer.

- He simply needed to wait because his little dove wasn’t born yet.

- (I’m sorry, but I kinda have this canon of Alfie having a partner younger than him. Let’s say at least half his age. Look, he’s Papa Solomons for a reason, eh?)

- Despite knowing how detrimental it is to his Human Self, Alfie likes to shift and doze off after brekkie. After all, he’s spent the majority of his life as a Wolf and therefore is more comfortable in his other form.

- If it’s winter, you can frequently find him curled up by the fireplace.

- But today the weather is rotten and the craving for your company insatiable. Henceforth, after an elaborate breakfast enjoyed in comfortable silence, you two crawl into bed.

- Alfie loves reading, but he can’t seem to keep his eyes open. From the corner of your eye, you notice him starting to nod off yet fiercely fight the fatigue.

- Nevertheless, soon after, a soft sonorous snoring mingles with the tapping of the rain against the window. You put your own book to the side to gently pluck his (The Language of Food by Annabel Abbs) out of his big wolf paws and lift his glasses off of his nose to put them on his bedside table.

- Regardless of his unconscious state, Alfie pulls you flush against him after you’ve manoeuvred him into a more comfortable position. Legs entwined, one hand cradling the back of your head, and his back towards the door, he holds you.

- Because he’s your Wolfy.

- Your protector.

- The Queen’s wolf.

Tag list: @potter-solomons @hecatemoon87 @liliac-dreamer @rose-like-the-phoenix @babaohhhriley @solomons-finest-rum @wandawiccan60 @buttercupsandboys @vir-tual @zablife @dreamlandcreations @mollybegger-blog

[jasperswhumpjourney]

Hands: Doll

There was less focus on hands than I intended. We are going through a heatwave currently, can you tell? Also longer than I intended at 2792 words.

CW: Slavery, Whump, pet whump, caning of hands, caning, heatstroke, dehydration, stress positions, male identified person wearing heels/skirts/braids, female whumper, male whumpee, a/b/o dynamics,

Measuring the passage of time was not knowledge Jasper was privy to. He didn’t know how long he’d been in this position, only that it had been a long time. Long enough that his stretched out limbs and back were aching from the strain of it.

Not that that said much, as Jasper was constantly exhausted and aching.

This Mistress, his second owner, was very specific in her likes. Specific, but easy, theoretically. All Jasper ever had to do was stay in the positions and wear the clothes she placed him in. That was easy enough, right?

Then why did he always fail at it so thoroughly?

This position, however, was only made more difficult by the fact that she had hung things from his stretched out arms. Two thick winter coats, each heavy in their own right. He was a coat stand today, one that had to work to be attractive and pleasing. One that also, no matter what, could not let those coats touch the floor.

When he was first placed in the hallway, positioned with his arms in front of him and stretched out, the coats slung over the fists of his hands, it was dark. He knew that from the window he had passed on the way here, it had been dark outside when he started. However there were no windows in this hallway, and no way to even use that as an estimate.

It had been a long time though, it had to be. His arms were past aching, almost numb with how they were locked into place. His feet were similarly numb, unable to move them even to shift his weight, but in his back built a sharp ache that made it hard to breathe. The heels he wore were high, thin things, hard to balance on and and sending sharp pains up his legs after a while.

Jasper’s world was usually freezing cold, and a thick fur coat like that of the ones in front of him an unachievable hope. Now however, he was too hot. Sweat dripped from his body. Precious moisture that would be difficult to replace. The warmth in the room was only exacerbated by the thick fur covering most of Jasper’s arms. The lace of the petticoat he wore itched, and the layers of ruffles only made all this worse. Mistress had allowed his hair to grow out recently, and the ends of his braided curls tickled his neck.

His tongue stuck in his mouth, dry and gritty, and his head swam. His starving stomach, for once, wasn’t the forefront of his attention, squeezing and making its emptiness known. It was the thirst and the ache and the determination to be good. To be pleasing.

Very rarely it happened; where he was able to obey his Mistress’ demands until the end. Those times ended with simple, brief praise. The most precious thing he could receive, the greatest reward. It was something he craved over water (what he wouldn’t do for a simple mouthful of water right then!), food, or even relief from this stressful predicament.

Somehow he had missed the sound of her approach. She always wore beautiful shoes that would make pleasing clicking sounds on the floor as she walked. Beautiful heels, but never anything like the ones she put on Jasper’s feet.

Mistress was already in front of him when he realised she was approaching. It startled him, but he was too frozen in his position to react with more than a widening of his eyes. His heart sped up, not with fear, but relief and excitement. She was back! She was here! Not only that, but this had to mean this was over. He had succeeded in pleasing her! Maybe she’d bestow him with a kind word before allowing him to rest.

He wasn’t sure what all she’d do, in his time as her pet doll he had only been successful twice before, only to almost immediately ruin it the next day. A kind word. Water. Rest. It was too much to hope for all three, but maybe one of them?

Instead of addressing Jasper, Mistress touched a coat covered fist and slowly pushed it to his side. His right arm was straight out still, horizontal, but now to his side instead of in front of him. The movement sent shocks up his shoulder and he couldn’t help the slight tremble that broke out while he tried to lock his arm in the new position. Before he was fully adjusted, she did the same thing with his left arm.

Jasper almost dropped the coats.

The new position burned his muscles and made them shake precariously. The disappointment was a heavy weight too. He wasn’t done. He hasn’t been successful. Yet. He hoped at least.

Only barely, did Jasper manage to keep his arms up and balanced enough to keep the long coats from touching the floor. Once his position steadied and his arms locked again, Mistress walked away again without a word.

He wouldn’t be able to last the same amount of time he had before. Not without rest and this new change in position. Knowing her, this is what she would expect. Jasper’s eyes itched with the want to cry, but were unable to produce the moisture to do so. He was going to fail. Again. And there was nothing he could do about it, but try his absolute best to obey until the very last moment.

At one point, Jasper stopped sweating. To him, it was a relief. No more loss of water, no more drops tickling his legs and coming close to making him fail. The way his head pounded and he suddenly felt himself sway, was not. Nausea built up quickly, and before he knew it, his stomach heaved uncontrollably. Miraculously, the coats only barely brushed the floor before he was able to regain control of himself. It didn’t matter, however. The coats touched the floor. He had failed and he would be punished after this.

It would be worse, however, if he gave up then. Jasper was determined to not fail again, to not dirty Mistress’ coats further.

--

Jasper woke with a violent start.

The world was heat and painful pounding wracking through his existence. He couldn’t really feel his body, not in any specific way. Just that the pain and the heat were overwhelming. It was a struggle to breathe in the thick, humid air.

This horrible heat almost made him grateful for the times when he was cold and shivering, even though they were both truly terrible experiences. The cold would still burn his lungs, making it hard to breathe, but the thick air felt like he was being smothered.

The next thing Jasper realised was that he was on the floor. He felt the brush of soft fur from the coats in a heap next to him, and it all came flooding back. He wasn’t supposed to be lazy and sleep on the floor, he was supposed to be good and hold Mistress’ coats up to keep them clean!

Jasper tried to push himself up onto his feet so he could try and salvage the situation. However when he tried, he found he was too weak to do so. Just moving his limbs at all felt heavy and threatened him with unconsciousness. He only stopped trying when his stomach heaved violently again. Nothing came up, there was nothing to come up, but it was painful and sapped what little precious energy Jasper had left over.

That was how Mistress found him. Unable to even grovel at her feet properly, though that didn’t prevent him from trying. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see further up than her knees, he knew she was displeased with him. There would be no rest, no water, no relief.

“What a useless coat stand you are,” Mistress commented, lifting her foot to give him the opportunity to kiss and apologize to her respectfully. Jasper didn’t hesitate, appreciating her kindness greatly. He pressed desperate kisses to her shoes, pink sensible heels that had to be more comfortable than the thin stilettos he wore.

The world was wobbly and tried to spin around him, tried to make him fail at even apologizing to Mistress for the disrespect. He sobbed tearlessly, desperate to apologize and make it right.

--

Jasper didn’t feel time pass, but it seemed a moment later Mistress was yelling at him. He missed something — missed what had caused her to switch from letting him apologize — to her shrill voice tearing into him.

The world was still violently swaying and trying to spin, and he was so, so confused by what was going on around him. Jasper didn’t know what he could do to mollify her sudden anger. He couldn’t even understand the words she was hurling at him, they were muffled and warped.

The world went blank again, refusing to settle or stay in any one place. The desperate struggle for air, the overwhelming nausea, the heat; that’s all his existence was.

A sharp taste filled his mouth and Jasper felt his chest loosen, just a slight amount. His lips were pressed around a clear blue plastic tube. He didn’t struggle, not even when the bitter metallic taste filled his mouth again. By the time the tube was pulled away Jasper was able to take in air easier, his head much clearer, though the nausea was still an overwhelming pressure.

“... useless… keep alive… expensive…” Mistress’ words were fading in and out, but the anger and contempt in them were obvious. As the world came back to him, he could pick through more and more of what she was saying, and could piece together what happened a bit better.

Jasper hadn’t been able to breathe, and he had been allowed use of his inhaler. Not only that, but Mistress had administered the medicine herself, instead of leaving Jasper to gasp uselessly. A true kindness, especially after he had failed her and dirtied her things. He knew the medicine was expensive, and he knew he wasn’t worth the cost of it. It was by his Alpha’s grace that he continued to breathe.

“... disappointing fuckpet. Are you awake yet?” He saw her hand move and felt the sting on his cheek, but it took several moments for Jasper to realise that Mistress had slapped him.

“Y-yes M-mistress,” his voice was rough and broke; Jasper’s mouth and throat had been dry before, but the layer of medicine only made things worse. He was sitting up, leaned against one of the hallway walls, and Mistress was in front of him, standing over him.

Mistress looked livid, and Jasper couldn’t blame her! She hadn’t given him a hard task, and yet he not only failed, he’d slept and used up expensive medicine in his attempt. His failure was so crushing, he couldn’t help but let out a whine and force himself to kneel in front of her, face pressed to the floor. He didn’t know what words made it out of his mouth, let alone which were understandable through his dry throat.

It was clear his message had gotten across — penitence, please please punish me, let me atone — when her fingers sank into his braided curls and dragged him up and along in the direction she wanted. His knees, bruised already, scraped and bumped painfully against the flooring as she dragged him.

The plush chair in the hallway was mostly decorative. It went with the art on the wall, the fancy wallpaper, and the rich wood flooring. It was a rich red, with golden embroidered threads in an intricate pattern. Jasper was hopeful of what this meant, that his Mistress would sit in the chair and spank him as he lay across her lap. He could handle that punishment. He certainly couldn’t touch such a fine thing with how dirty he was, crawling on the floor and covered in salty dried sweat.

A spanking he could handle, but the thin cane that was leant against the chair… that would be harder. He couldn’t help the noise that escaped his throat when he saw it, the polished wood gleaming maliciously.

Instead of sitting down in the plush chair herself, Mistress pulled Jasper around it so that the thick arm of the chair was in front of his face. She grabbed his hands and pulled them so that his arms rested on the rich fabric, his palms up and hovering over the seat of the chair. When she moved away he knew better than to move from where he was placed, but without her support his trembling became obvious.

This wasn’t good. Her plan was becoming clear, and Jasper didn’t know how he would survive it.

“Last chance, omega.” Jasper froze and ducked his head, ice cold anxiety flooding through him. She didn’t like calling him that, much preferring to call him Doll. “Do. Not. Move.”

Jasper’s arms were already aching and tired, and the support of the chair helped him stabilize the tremors of both fear and fatigue. He had just managed to still them when the cane drove an angry line of fire across both palms. It was a desperate struggle to keep them in place, to fight the instinct to pull away from such pain.

There wasn’t a chance to recover between strikes. The next came down again across his palms, but in a different place. He couldn’t move, this was his last chance to be good! It was so difficult to keep his hands in place.

Mistress’ initial focus were his hands, laying painful welts across his palms. Not only was it unbearably painful, but it was hard to maintain the position with his hands hovering above the seat. Red lines cut through Jasper’s palms, occasionally overlapping. Blood surfaced to each welt, just under skin threatening to split.

The first strike of the cane that didn’t crack across his palms was a surprise. Jasper didn’t flinch, locked into place and trying his best not to move any muscle, let alone his aching arms. It did throw him off; the choked off cry was glaring evidence of that.

However, as she focused attention on his forearms, that was a whole different pain. There was support, and it would be harder to lose his position; Jasper was grateful for these mercies. The force she brought the cane down on his forearms was more aggressive, the “whump” of the cane hitting the thick cotton of the embroidered chair was intense.

It didn’t end there, Mistress traveling down Jasper’s forearms to his palms, and back up again. It didn’t end until Jasper was a sobbing mess, still tearless from the lack of water. Several of the welts on his palms and inside his wrists had broken open and were sluggishly bleeding, threatening to stain the delicate embroidery. Jasper couldn’t move, he hadn’t been given permission, couldn’t do anything but feel the warm blood slowly slide down the sides of his arms.

The cane came down again, but this time it rested on Jasper’s trembling palms and didn’t move. It was a thin, light thing that Jasper barely felt but had to work hard to balance and not drop from his trembling.

“When I come back,” Mistress started, pulling his hair until he could see her face, how serious she was. “You better not have dropped this. If you are very good,” Jasper couldn’t help the small intake of breath at this. He would be good! “I’ll allow you to be my towel rack for my morning bath.”

Mistress’ eyes were a clear blue and gleaming, a soft smile on her lips. Jasper imagined what a reward being her towel rack would be, how pleased she would be with him to allow him this. Especially after he had utterly failed at keeping her coats clean.

Jasper’s hair was tugged on, pulling his head up further but not so much that the position became impossible. To his absolute surprise, a bottle of water was held to his lips and a small amount allowed to pool in his mouth. Mistress allowed him a few small sips, enough to wet his tongue and slightly ease the ache of thirst, before pushing his head back down to stare at his bleeding palms. The water that remained in the bottle was poured over his head, and he wished desperately he could thank her for the kindness. The drops were cool as they soaked into his hair and ran down his body before evaporating.

Jasper stayed where he was placed, listening to her walk away and determined to make her proud even as his head spun and his blood seeped into the arm of the chair.

Masterlist

[astral-obscura]

a very, very basic introduction to medical astrology

Medicine was among the first and most popular applications of astrology until the 18th century. In its various forms, it was practiced widely across the Middle East, Western Asia and much of Europe. The medical astrology we know today follows mostly Indian, Egyptian, & Greek traditions and was further developed for modern use by Italian occultists and physicians of the 17th century who called it iatromathematics. Due to its origin at the intersection of ancient medicine & philosophy, medical astrology is one of the core defining bodies of knowledge which astrology as a whole is built upon.

Medical astrology was used to delineate an individual’s bodily constitution, strengths, vulnerabilities, and the nature of their physical reactivity to their environment. To analyze a birth chart from a medical perspective means to measure the potential biological effects of astrological arrangements with extreme precision and attention to detail; medical astrologers used every possible indicator to make concrete diagnoses, including the signs, their decans & terms, the planets, their declinations, dispositors, & trajectories, the houses & their lords, aspects, midpoints, and symbolic degrees. In order for this branch of astrology to be useful, such strict precision is absolutely necessary. When practitioners in the mid-1700s tried to over-simplify it, it became largely inaccurate & disreputable and fell out of common practice.

The principles of medical astrology originate within a conceptual system of congruence and essential similarity between all expressions of biology. The ancient Greeks characterized all natural phenomena using four fundamental qualities: hot, cold, wet, and dry. These qualities were a predominant influence on the formation of medical astrology (and astrology in general). Hot: warm, bright, changeable, rapid, expansive Cold: cool, dark, deliberate, constant, conservative Wet: moist, soft, malleable, formless, mixable Dry: parched, hard, brittle, well-defined, solid

The most dynamic measurement of the nature of these qualities is based on their combined actualization, established with Aristotle’s theory of “being and becoming” which followed a model of the four seasons. Hippocrates’ four humors were, in part, a version of those combinations applied to the body. The humors and classical elements developed alongside each other, and came to represent not only corporeal occurrences but also human temperaments.

Aristotle’s model: Spring: wet becoming hot Summer: hot becoming dry Autumn: dry becoming cold Winter: cold becoming wet

Humors | Elements | Temperaments, as informed by Aristotle’s model: Hot & dry: yellow bile (choler) | fire | choleric temperament Cold & dry: black bile (melancholy) | earth | melancholic temperament Hot & wet: blood (sanguis) | air | sanguine temperament Cold & wet: phlegm | water | phlegmatic temperament

This structure is the root of most medical associations in astrology. The body is understood through the lens of these qualities, and so are the planets and astrological signs; their correlations are a result of their congruent categorization, in addition to symbolism, mythology, chemistry, and general observation. A simple example of this would be blood -- a literally warm and wet substance, ruled by a hot/wet (air) sign, Aquarius. Bones, on the other hand, are literally dry, solid, well-defined, and long-lasting -- suited to the attitude of Saturn. The correspondences are much more complex than this, of course, but the basic idea is that there is an apparent alignment of physical reality with astrological energy. From there, astrologers developed a system of astro-physical rulerships.

*The sources I used for these rulerships drew from multiple separate practices ranging from traditional Vedic to medieval European, often presented through a contemporary perspective. I tried to narrow it down and stay consistent despite that, but some of the more specific associations are not broadly supported.

PHYSICAL RULERSHIPS:

ARIES: head, skull, cranium, brain, pineal gland, pituitary gland, face, eyes, nose, muscles, adrenal glands. TAURUS: ears, neck, throat, vocal cords, jaw, chin, mouth, lips, tonsils, tongue, thyroid gland, jugular nerve/vein, larynx, eustachian tubes. GEMINI: shoulders, arms, hands, fingers, nervous system, lungs, airways, bronchi, trachea, thymus gland. CANCER: chest, rib cage, breastbone, breasts, mammary glands, diaphragm, alimentary system, stomach, solar plexus, pancreas, ovaries, uterus. LEO: heart, spine (spinal cord, spinal column), upper back, circulation. VIRGO: hands, fingers, nails, nervous system, dorsal nerves, abdomen, pancreas, spleen, intestines, bowels, liver. LIBRA: equilibrium, bodily symmetry, lower back, loins, lumbar region, buttocks, kidneys, endocrine system, blood vessels, skin. SCORPIO: appendix, excretory system, urinary system, bladder, urethra, anus, colon, rectum, prostate, cervix, genitals. SAGITTARIUS: hips, thighs, sciatic nerve, liver, iliac arteries & veins. CAPRICORN: skeletal system, bones, teeth, knees, joints, structural & connective tissue, scar tissue, cartilage, skin, hair, gallbladder. AQUARIUS: calves, shins, ankles, joints, circulatory system, blood. PISCES: feet, toes, lymphatic system & lymph nodes, sweat glands, fat tissue.

SUN: vitality, heart, aorta, arteries & veins, blood, circulation, circulatory system, marrow, spine (spinal cord, spinal column), spinal fluid, cerebrovascular system, eyes, right eye of males, left eye of females. MOON: chest, chest cavity, rib cage & ribs, glandular tissue, mammary glands, breasts, breastbone, sweat glands, lymphatic glands, lymphatic system, lymph nodes, spleen, saliva & salivary glands, pineal gland, ovaries, uterus, pancreas, stomach, digestive system, nutrition, pregnancy & birth, infant & child growth, puberty, left eye of males, right eye of females. BOTH SUN & MOON rule the circadian rhythm; sun is associated with wakefulness & consciousness while the moon is associated with sleep. MERCURY: brain, nervous system, nerves, vagus nerve, shoulders, arms, hands, fingers, lungs, trachea, respiratory system, speech, senses, cognition. VENUS: ears, eustachian tubes, cheeks, chin, lips, gums, tongue, taste buds, neck, throat, esophagus, vocal cords, alimentary system, thyroid gland, thymus gland, kidneys, fat tissue, skin, pores, hair follicles, senses, female anatomy. MARS: sinuses, nose, gallbladder, bile, bile ducts, hair, nails, muscles, sinews, tendons, genitals, appendix, pelvis, male anatomy. JUPITER: right ear, cell growth, endocrine system, adrenal glands, pituitary gland, pineal gland, liver, pleura, sciatic nerve, legs, thighs, calves, feet, toes. SATURN: left ear, teeth, skin, structural & connective tissue, scar tissue, veins, bones, skull, skeleton, cartilage, joints, elbows, knees.

CARDINAL: short, intense, singular, and momentous illnesses. FIXED: chronic, persistent, prolonged, stable, and recurring illnesses. MUTABLE: volatile, inconsistent, rapid, and unpredictable illnesses.

Each sign & planet rules any illnesses related their respective physical rulerships (i.e. Aries governs brain abnormalities, the Moon governs stomach issues, Libra governs kidney complications, Saturn governs bone diseases, etc). The nature of an illness or injury often aligns with the energy of its astrological signification (i.e. Jupiter can denote mysterious diseases related to overgrowth & excess; Mars can denote intense, painful diseases related to high temperature & over-activity; the Moon can denote issues of fluid retention or over-sensitivity; Saturn can denote grave, burdensome long-term diseases related to contraction, blockages, or decline; Aries can denote fast-paced, acute illnesses; Taurus can denote illnesses related to over-indulgence, habit, or dependency; fire influence can denote inflammation and fevers; and so on).

The houses were not traditionally considered to rule bodily parts or processes, but were instead used to orient the condition of celestial influences on the body in a positive or negative sense, and to represent the circumstances surrounding an individual’s health. The houses also function as points of actualization, where celestial influences can be triggered to manifest. Generally, the first house & Ascendant represent an individual’s overall physique, vitality, stature, and the basic disposition of their health; the sixth, eighth, and twelfth houses are related to illness, disease, injury, and death; and the fifth & eleventh houses are related to remedies, healing, relief, and improvement.

In the birth chart, health is measured in terms of vitality, predisposition, and susceptibility. Transits may determine changes in these terms over time and throughout various dynamic circumstances. In conjunction with modern scientific medicine and the insight of genetics, medical astrology can be used in a nuanced, non-fatalistic way to guide lifestyles, inform treatments, and help predict potential illnesses -- if practiced with immense care & clarity. All significations which point to possible illnesses should be exact, precise to the minute, specific, detailed, and supported multiple times in a chart.

[suntara]

I will find you, Haruka

Haruka's room only lit by an email I sent her pink and covered in posters wind chime singing for the upcoming summer a tune with sorrow underlying like a literature analysis filled with historians lying lies, six feet under or under the warm duvets of an odd place called home . "Haruka oh Haruka did you read the email? I told you about how I completed my family by replacing myself with an orange fur and blue eyed cat and I don't know how to feel about that" was an email I wrote that day . Haruka cycles to school every day through lush parks and the city like gray eyes and black suits like crammed papers in briefcases gets to wear navy skirts and beige jackets bigger than arms Stretched thin to hold another A+ and another lashing fermented soy beans for breakfast, fermented the tips of fingers and turned them numb, as if it made a difference . "Haruka, you replied in the middle of the night Are you feeling okay?" an email with nothing more than a cute animation to make me smile and words placed carefully like a baby in a bassinet I don't ask why anymore, I told her "I know that your mind is haunted too we live such different lives yet we lie on each other you animate your escape and I write mine" . Haruka tells the world that her favorite season is the winter, despite her name meaning the relentless whines of cicadas red temples redder foxes and reddest blushes the flowers sweating in nectarine like waterfalls bending into tiny streams Haruka doesn't have a home, she lives in a house and the more she could run, fall into and Shrivel up like cherry blossoms the more she'd feel alive . I emailed Haruka, a month later, saying "Hey Haruka! I haven't heard from you in a while I know that it's summer there, and there is hope even if it is hidden in a locket we both have no homes, just houses how many tents will we have to pitch? with we burrow homes in each other?" . Haruka works in a convenience store With neon signs and the coolers bluer than empty redbull cans and half eaten ramen all tastes bitter, like delivered texts and a leather jacket left behind its every poem strung to be hopeful when things just don't end up that way there's something called a gray ending and between the lines of chips and cheese She's looking for it Haruka replied, "hey there! I think you know, that like a venn diagram, there is a place where we all meet and a place where we have to connect dots ourselves, if the moon, sun and you eclipsed would the world be shrouded in darkness or would it be blinding? will we find a home? I don't know you call yourself a lonely travellor who gives every home they see a sweet memory without having warmth yourself, and I? call myself the same, except the memories aren't always sweet, they're bitter like non-fiction" . Haruka lives in a tiny apartment in the middle of billboards and glamour the apartment is anything but though, there is no fighting, no room to argue dirty lingerie on the floor, a million women   none are her mother, one man and wine she can't call him her father he is nothing but sawdust and misery in her dullening eyes, she describes summer as dandelions tasting like wine, it sounds so sophisticated but it will never be Haruka doesn't understand why she has to choose a path when all three roads meet at the end, and all three all cradle their own misery like babies with bottles . I told Haruka in return "If I, the moon and the sun eclipsed, we together would shine a little light inside your home and no where else would it be blinding? I don't think so but it will twinkle, I like the idea of that do you? memories aren't all sweet, even when they taste like honey i got a crappy microphone yesterday, I've decided to be my own audience in a universe I write and a universe I tell I bet the universe was just talked about one day and it formed like instructions for furniture step by step, slowly in fact, nebulas quivering memories taste like that, I think all of mine, no matter how sugary just taste like nothing, and it kills me would you make me a costume? Play my partner in crime?" . Haruka, Haruka? no cycle rode to school that day no one came to the apartment to mop the floor no one restocked the ice cream the road trip with no aesthetic other than nervousness and inner dread A girl with dark hair and a voice like Skipping stones over a hot spring wrapped in a baby pink blanket and grasped tightly by a million tubes she holds my hand, under a flickering a flickering green light she says . "I would like it to twinkle, I miss that dearly even if I don't live to see it I didn't choose to end so quick I regret it, I found my home in your heart and i hope that you did in mine I'd be your partner in crime anyday, and I know that in a million light years like a venn diagram, you will eclipse with the sun and moon and you'd find me a million light years away and you'll shine on me, I know so I'd animate us a happy ending and I know you want to write us one too but like every memory, it isn't meant for sweetness, it will never be they're bitter like non-fiction but at least reality tried to be on our side" . flatlined, tenth of January 2021 she isn't lost, she hasn't found home because I'm not there yet she isn't forgotten, her "father" reminisces every day, a solemn soliloquy in her idea of a gray ending he's behind gray bars and gray walls even rats don't give him company he really is alone I built my home in her and she did in mine our hearts uninhabited will drag behind us and I guess, that's the saddest part of it all . (I found home but I'll wait: I'll wait: I'll wait to reach her: because I know she can't reach out to me: till then I'll live in my own heart: write a million more poems: and hope to also be :found and remembered) . (Imagine living in your heart and it reminds you of someone else, over and over again) . (no ending of ours is happy, it's either white gray or black, which one is it? You tell me) .

aureatemoonshine 

[weakzen]

Sausage Apparatus

Mason puts the magnetic poetry tiles on the Detective's fridge to good use.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m warning: absolutely filthy poetry

AO3 version

-

Fuck these late summer heat waves.

Fuck the damp clothes bunching up every available crevice. Fuck my car's broken air conditioning. Fuck this stupidly hot, sun-baked molten doorknob.

Okay, actually—maybe that car one is more on me for not getting it fixed some time in the past five years. Sorry car, you've never done a single thing wrong in your entire beautiful life.

Unlike this front door, burning my goddamn fingers.

With a pained hiss, I wrest my keys from the lock, step inside, and kick the whole thing shut behind myself. The grocery bags stick to my shoulders for a moment, canvas straps caught on my top before sliding down my arms to plop on the floor by the shoe bench. Mason's are already tucked inside it, I notice, in their usual spot. A tired smile pulls at my lips.

At least I'm not the only idiot who wore boots today.

I dart over to the kitchen as soon as I manage to peel mine off, hunching over the sink first to wash my hands, then to fill a glass with the coldest water the tap can muster. It doesn't really cut it, though. Not today. But the freezer does, and I linger inside its open door for a long moment after the ice cubes splash and stop spinning in my cup, bag of frozen fruit pressed to my neck while I waste energy in front of the only shitty and inefficient form of air conditioning available in my apartment.

But right now it's completely worth the increased hydro bill, and Mason's probably hogging the damn fan again in the bedroom, so fuck it.

I stay put.

At least until I'm a bit cooler with a glass much emptier and a bag of raspberries that's starting to get a little sad and flaccid.

I toss it back into the freezer and shut the door, only to see see a new message stuck to the other side, apparently. A longer one. Which is… strange. Because Tina hasn't been over in a few weeks.

Shrugging, I take another sip and start to read—

I shot lust and pounded you raw

—and immediately fucking sputter. Choke. Shit. Water down the wrong fucking tube.

Water down the front of me too, throat retching violently as I try not to spit everywhere.

And somewhere between the deep, wet, eye-watering coughs that tear though my chest, and the burning gasps that follow, a raspy, “Oh my god,” escapes me too.

I think, anyway. I mostly focus on trying to wipe all the dribble away from my chin and neck.

Priorities.

The hand at my mouth is quickly joined by more across my body, one sliding around my hip to squeeze, another stroking up the center of my back. Mason hooks his chin on my shoulder, stubble scratching gently against my skin as he presses in close from behind.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, quiet concern in his voice. He rubs circles between my shoulder blades for a moment, then adds, more suggestively, as his lips brush against my ear, “If you want to choke, we can find you something much more fun to do it on.”

A laugh wheezes out of me, followed by a few weak coughs and a hoarse smile. “I'm sure.”

I set the glass down on the counter, then close my eyes to take a few deep breaths. The burn in my throat almost matches the one on my face. My cheeks are swollen, uncomfortably hot. Mostly from the choking, the afternoon heat.

Maybe a little from what I read too.

With a final pat, Mason's hand glides down to curl around my other hip, his chest and bare arms nestled against me while his long fingers trace paths above my waistband. I fold my arms and sink back against him, into his familiar warmth, heat I actually enjoy, even on scorchers like today when we mostly end up sweat-stuck together.

And we're already starting to do a good job of that.

“Did you read my message?” he asks, smirking against my cheek.

“Didn't really get a chance yet. That first line nearly killed me.”

He chuckles deeply, wrapping his arms around me, folding them beneath mine as he kisses my neck. “Not the kind of death I wanted from it. I was hoping for something… smaller. And repeated.”

I grin. “Well, I'm not finished, so maybe you can still make that happen.”

He scoffs in response. “There's never a maybe about that, sweetheart.”

“There's a first time for everything, sunshine,” I tease, chuckling. “But, alright. Gimme a moment to brace myself for this.”

His smirk widens as I inhale deeply and open my eyes to the clumpy, loose ring of words spread around the face of the freezer door.

There are hundreds of them. Tiny white strips bearing black text. All from a set of magnetic poetry.

Tina's gift to me, a long time ago, one she pressed into my hands at the station the morning after she visited my apartment for the first time. She said my fridge looked lonely—and I countered that it looked blissfully empty, but still let her stick her words to it. Sweet, cheerful messages. A new one every time she visits. Keeping me and my fridge in good company and happiness.

I'd say the appliance might be blushing furiously at the moment, from what Mason undoubtedly arranged across its surface, but I know it's already witnessed far worse things from the two of us and our other… creative uses of the kitchen.

A smile pulls across my lips as my eyes fall on the message centered within it all, a laugh already building in my chest while I start to read.

I shot lust and pounded you raw panting you moan from a thick milk pole sausage apparatus crying at the sky I make her soar come hard by the lake rocks water sun sweaty us we lie together lazy smelling luscious enormous purple meat still deep in her juicy woman eating you after lather from me & our delirious want frantically licking her smooth pink hot honey smear my spray through your fingered ache bare beauty beneath him one thousand sordid times cold winter through summer rain why whisper gorgeous please scream elaborately as I tongue worship you with love sit on me

In the end, it's not a laugh that sputters out of me, so much as a long, shuddering, high-pitched and very dry wheeze. Tears bead at the corners of my eyes as I buckle, sag, and shake against him. His arms slide even tighter around my body, holding me steady, smirk sharpening against my skin while a deep chuckle rumbles out of his chest.

“Fuck me, wow.” I wipe at my eyes, another bout of laughter seizing me, one that he joins as he kisses along my neck. “Did you write a goddamn poem about the time we fucked by the lake?”

Mason only grins briefly in response, hand sneaking up to grope my breasts while his lips continue to press distracting kisses. Wetter ones. With a tongue that drags hot along my throat and teeth that nip to tear goosebumps from my entire body. He sucks me into his mouth in a way I know will leave a mark later, but his lips pull a low moan from me rather than a protest, and all I can do after that is angle my head to give him even better access.

And he wastes no time in taking advantage of it, wet suction, his groaning breath, and my soft moans of pleasure the only sounds in the apartment for a long moment.

Eventually, he murmurs into my skin, “You're gonna have to be more specific about which time by the lake you mean.” He smirks again while I laugh, and his hips roll forward too, cock pressed hard and even more firmly against my ass. “But I'm glad you enjoyed the poem so much, sweetheart,” he continues, thumbing my stiffened nipple through the layers of fabric. “I thought you might find it… stimulating.”

I want to protest that too, if only for the smug way the words leave his mouth and the little tug he gives me after for emphasis. But I already know he felt it the moment it happened, that he can always sense it when it does, just like he'd be able to tell right now if I lied and told him that his raunchy fucking poem hadn't stirred a single thing in me.

Hadn't gotten me just the tiniest bit aroused.

Not at all.

I huff out a breath.

The bastard.

“It is pretty good,” I admit, only a tad begrudgingly. My hand finds the top of his, and I start interlacing our fingers before he immediately completes the movement and curls both of us together in a secure grasp. “Didn't think poetry was really your thing, though.”

“It's not,” he says, then shrugs slightly. “I told Nate what I got you for your birthday and he said I needed to be more thoughtful in the future. And that I should try doing something romantic for you to make up for it.”

A deep laugh bursts from me. “Fuck, I wish I'd been there for that conversation.”

“You didn't miss much.” He grins against my neck. “It was more sighing than talking.”

“I dunno, his sighs are still pretty good. Did he at least give you credit for putting a bow on it?”

“No, and he couldn't say anything or even look at me for a minute after too.”

I laugh again. “Well, I liked your birthday present.”

“Good.”

With that firmly said, he spins me around and immediately kisses me, directly, deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth as he pulls me tightly against him. My arms curl around his neck, and I lose myself in it, in him, in our embrace, his hands roaming me, squeezing me, his dark, rich scent enveloping me, the heady taste of him rolling sweet into my mouth, layered with salt from my skin and the moans passing hot between our lips and the other heat building steadily between us, between my legs, from the aching and pleasurable familiarity of it all.

From him.

Mason. Sunshine.

My partner.

A wild thrill jolts through me at the notion. An unfamiliar thrill, still so unused to thinking of him that way. A frightening thrill too, in a way, like falling through the darkness, unable to see, unable to stop, unable to discern anything except the silent plummet and the certainty that, no matter how far I fall, I'll never shatter against the ground.

Because he'd never let me.

And I know he feels it. My thrills, my arousal, the tangled mess that lives inside my heart. All of it.

Maybe that's why he breaks away to rest his forehead against mine, gazing at me through half-lidded eyes and long lashes and wide pupils darkened with want. Maybe that's why his hand comes up to cup my face too, thumb stroking something soft across my cheek. And maybe that's why he smiles, a small, quiet, devastatingly genuine lift of his lips before he speaks.

“'Cause your opinion is the only one that matters, Alex.”

That gets an honest blush out of me and I have to look away, overwhelmed by the soft swell of emotion expanding rapidly through my chest.

I fumble for a clever reply. A snarky redirect. I find one too. But… it starts slipping away somewhere within the freckled expanse of his neck, the few sweaty strands of hair curled against his skin, escapees from the tie he's borrowed from me to pull it all back.

And, whatever I was going to say, I lose it entirely when I glance back up and notice the way he's staring at me with those pretty grey eyes.

I wonder if it will ever stop taking my breath away. Or tugging at something that aches within the deepest, most painful parts of me. I wonder if it will ever feel familiar, the way my heart speeds up, the heavy warmth spreading across my chest, the tingle that ripples and reverberates throughout my entire body, the one he drops into me with that look of his, every damn time.

And that look… the unrestrained desire. The ferocity softened by fondness. The tenderness. The deep adoration. The absolute certainty guiding the entire intensely focused expression.

Every time, it's like he's gazing into my soul when he looks at me like that. Like he's truly seeing me. Like he can't see anything else but me.

And doesn't want to either.

I have to look away, a knot forming in my throat.

It's too much. It's still too hard to see. Too hard to even think about.

I don't know if I'll ever get used to it. Any of it. Or if it will ever get any easier, not seem so overwhelmingly impossible despite it happening. Despite feeling that. Seeing that. Being wanted like that.

Being loved by him.

…But.

I do know that I don't want him to stop.

And I also know that he never will.

“…Well, I liked your poem too,” I finally mutter, exhaling a shallow breath before I summon the courage glance back up. “So, thanks.”

Maybe the words are weak, shaky, coming from a dry mouth and a barely cooperative tongue. But they're honest. They're an admission I can manage at the moment.

They make his smile widen too.

I have to glance away from that as well. It's… too much right now.

So instead, I uncurl my arms from around his neck, slowly drawing my hands down the front of him, letting my gaze fall too, back into his freckles while I hope the tremble in my touch and the sudden shine in my eyes isn't as apparent to him as it is to me. But I know that hope is futile. And completely unnecessary too, when he's already seen far worse, far more humiliating things from me.

When he's already witnessed the hardest, rawest, bloodiest parts of me and did nothing but handle them gently with no judgment.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply to keep that shine from becoming something more, but an unexpected texture under my hands forces them open again.

Hair.

It takes me a moment to realize that he's not wearing a shirt.

It takes me a moment longer to realize that he's not wearing anything else either, save for the crystal dangling from its usual spot around his neck.

It takes me significantly less time to realize I need a better view—so I blow out an exhale and lean back to get one.

Of course.

One that he's only happy to oblige too, of course.

Mason angles himself for me, smirk on his lips, teeth on them too, tugging the lower one into his mouth as he groans out a low noise of encouragement. I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips in response, or the way my gaze roams down his chest, his abs, down the long and solid length of his legs, and down the long and solid length of something else straining eagerly against me.

Raising a brow, I chuckle slightly and give him a grin.

“You hot today or something?”

His smirk deepens, and reels me back in against him. “I'm hot every day. Thought you knew that already.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it's hard to tell behind how modest and humble you are.”

“What can I say, I have a lot of good qualities.”

“Can't argue with that,” I reply unthinkingly, then stiffen slightly, a flush rolling across my cheeks.

I glance away again, but his hand returns to my face, thumb stroking over that blush before he draws my gaze back to him by kissing me once more. His mouth and lips move with a slow intensity, a deliberateness, a familiarity too, in a wholly different way than before. I know this kiss, just like I know his look and so many other wonderful things about him.

It's reassurance.

And it's something I lose myself in too, wrapping my arms around him again, my own lips speaking gratitude in response before our conversation shifts into desire.

Into pleasure.

Until we finally break for air.

I smile softly as I breathe against his lips. “You wanna go steam up a cold shower—”

The words barely leave me before he starts pulling me toward the hallway, but I plant my feet and pull back.

“—after I put the groceries away,” I finish, giving him a pointed look.

His shoulders slump, and he groans loudly as he rolls his eyes, but he still immediately stalks over to the front door and snaps up the shopping bags. Then he yanks open the fridge and starts shoving everything into it, regardless of whether the item belongs in there or not, and regardless of whether it's on the correct shelf if it does.

Regardless of my loud protests and swearing too, as I scramble to fix his chaos, snatching the fucking cans and rice and goddamn laundry detergent out of the fridge to be put away elsewhere. But he doesn't give me a chance to do much more than that before he's tossing the bags away empty and tugging me down the hallway toward the bathroom.

I grumble a little as he does.

At least the tomatoes are safe on the counter, though.

Soon we're in the bedroom, and my top is flying somewhere behind him. My bra quickly follows, and he follows me, kissing, stumbling, as I lead him by the hips walking backwards toward the bathroom. He pulls off the tie at the end of my braid too, stretching it between his thumb and forefinger before he lets it shoot off toward the window with a soft plink.

Sighing, I cock my head and give him a look, but he only chuckles in response and starts combing his fingers through my hair to unravel it.

I carefully pull the tie from his hair, then roll my eyes and shoot it off in the same direction. “You know, I do have a question about your poem.”

“What about it?”

“Where, exactly, did you want me to sit?” I ask, slowly grinning. “Your face or the sausage apparatus?”

“Both.”

I huff out a laughing breath. “You're so greedy, sunshine.”

Mason smirks, then slips his finger down the front of my jeans to tug me closer for another kiss. As he undoes the button and yanks the zipper down, he murmurs against my lips.

“Only for you, hot honey.”

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Two

Summary: Nesta returns home when she hears the news that her father is in the hospital. She has one final conversation with him. Note: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: angst, mention of child abuse, minor character death Bittersweet Masterlist

August

The funeral was small. Just three sisters and a few old, distant relatives.

It was a bleak day, the humidity itself enough to make you squirm where you stood. Dark clouds roiled in the sky, but the rain never came. Not when Feyre gave a eulogy. Not when they buried him in the ground. Not when Elain collapsed on the fertile grass. She watered the earth more than the sky did that day.

Nesta’s father died two weeks ago. It was sudden in the way that everyone knew he didn’t have much time left, but no one thought it would really happen. Elain didn’t want him to die because she loved him. Feyre didn’t want it to happen because she didn’t want to face her conflicted feelings. And Nesta didn’t want it to happen because she still had so much to say to him, none of which was pleasant.

She had gotten a call from Elain just two days before he passed. He was getting out of bed when he collapsed to the floor, immediately losing consciousness. Elain sounded frantic amidst the sirens of the ambulance, begging her sister to come to Maine. Despite her reservations, Nesta promised that she would be there as soon as she could. She started her car the minute they hung up. Not for her father, but for Elain. Nesta would never forgive herself if she let Elain deal with this alone. She’d already shouldered so much responsibility in her twenty-two years, and this was a burden she shouldn’t carry alone.

The drive was only four hours, but it felt like a lifetime. The highway was curiously vacant, only a handful of cars passing by. The only audible sound was the engine’s hum. Other than that, the car was eerily silent while Nesta drove, her knuckles white from clutching the steering wheel so tightly. Her palms were damp with the dreadful feeling of anticipation. Sunglasses shielded her eyes, consequently hiding unshed tears and blocking the blindingly bright sun. She usually played music during drives, but today was different. Today was unknown.

Nesta hated summer. Summer had high expectations. It expected her to be happy. It expected her to wake up with the sun. It expected her to spend her time outside when all she wanted to do was sleep until noon. While most people basked in the warmth of summer, Nesta found solace in the frigid winter.

Much to her dismay, the only direct route to the hospital was through Nesta’s old neighborhood. The longer route, which steered clear of Ashgrove Drive, added another half hour. She refused to take the long way and risk not being there with Elain. It was just a house and nothing more. That’s what she told herself at least.

When the street sign came into view, she pressed her foot harder on the gas pedal. The two words in and of themselves spiked Nesta’s heart rate.

Ashgrove Drive.

Fear clawed its way up her throat.

It’s just a neighborhood. Stop panicking.

With a stoic face, her eyes didn’t waver from the road in front of her. Innate curiosity told her to let her gaze wander from the street. Just a peek. But she held her ground. Nesta didn’t spare a glance at the playground she used to spend her afternoons at. Or the middle school she so dreadfully loathed. Or the people who knew everyone’s name and their business.

And certainly not her childhood home.

When she reached the stop sign at the four-way intersection, she checked each way for other cars. Unfortunately, her old house happened to sit on the left corner directly behind one of the stop signs.

Just one glance and Nesta was transported back in time.

“Why the hell did your teacher just email me to inform me that you weren’t in her class today?”

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I just really miss Nala. I couldn’t go to school.”

“That cat was put down a week ago and you’re still whining about it? Get over yourself, Nesta. You’re being a baby.”

"But -"

“If you speak another word, I will make sure you regret it. No one cares about your hurt feelings, Nesta. I didn’t raise you to be a weak bitch.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know how you turned out to be such a waste of space. I gave up everything for you, and I got nothing in return.”

Waste of space.

Waste of space.

Waste of space.

A horn blared, shaking Nesta from the deeply buried memory. She was still sitting that the intersection, staring at the blue shutters and fading paint of the house. Peeling her eyes away from that haunting house, Nesta accelerated out of that damned neighborhood.

When she finally arrived at the hospital, Nesta sat in her car for a few minutes before going in. Intrusive thoughts were flying through her head so fast that she could barely decipher them.

Will Elain be happy to see me?

Will everyone resent me for leaving?

What am I going to say to Feyre?

What if he dies and I feel happy? What kind of person does that make me?

The car got smaller and smaller as her thoughts grew bigger and bigger. Sweat dripped from her forehead, the hot air nearly suffocating her. A panic attack was slowly bubbling to the surface.

Before it could hit her, Nesta let out a curse, unbuckling the seat belt to get out of the car. She pulled herself free as she gasped for fresh air, leaning her body against the car so her knees didn’t give out.

Pull yourself together.

After a couple deep breaths, the anxiety ebbed away. She smoothed a hand over her frizzy hair and stood up straight with determination. Shutting the car door and locking it with a beep, Nesta entered the hospital.

After navigating through the maze of hallways for a good twenty minutes, Nesta finally found her sister. She was crouched over on a chair, her shoulders drooped low. The cheap chair sat across from a hospital room, presumably their father’s. Elain lifted her head from her hands when she heard Nesta approach. It pained Nesta to see the tears in her sister’s eyes. Her face was puffy, her clothes rumpled. Without hesitation, Elain threw herself into Nesta’s arms, which were already spread open. The impact of Elain’s body against Nesta’s was forceful, but it was incomparable to the ache in her chest. Nesta felt Elain’s tears drip on her shoulder, her shirt soaking up the grief. Wrapped in each other’s arms, Nesta closed her eyes with content. Something in her felt whole again, like she found a missing puzzle piece. Gods, how she missed Elain. She missed the strawberry scent of her hair, the way Elain’s head was perpetually tilted to the side, the tiny freckles that spattered her nose.

“I missed you so much,” Elain cried, echoing Nesta’s own thoughts. Her heart broke just a little more.

"Ditto, kid.” Nesta stepped back to inspect her younger sister. “Where’s Feyre?”

Please don’t be here.

“She couldn’t get a flight on such short notice. She was finally able to book one that leaves late tonight, so she should arrive early tomorrow morning.” A worried look crossed Elain’s face.

Nesta exhaled a big breath. She didn’t have the mental energy to face Feyre. Not today.

“How are you doing?” Nesta asked softly, tucking a strand of Elain’s hair behind her ear. When they were young, Elain would beg Nesta to do her hair nearly every day. And while Nesta brushed her silky hair, Elain would spend the entire time rambling about anything and everything.

They hadn’t done that in years now.

“As good as I can be, I guess,” Elain answered with a shaky smile. It didn’t reach her eyes . “Better now that you’re here. I’m so happy to see your face, Nesta.”

Nesta tugged Elain’s fragile body close to press a small kiss to her forehead.

“What’s the latest?” Nesta asked, nodding her head toward the door of their father’s hospital room.

Elain’s face crumpled with sorrow, tears welling up in her eyes. “The doctors said they couldn’t do much. He’s been sick for years. They said it’s a miracle he even survived this long.”

Nesta nodded before glancing behind Elain at the door once again. Elain watched her with the gentlest eyes.

“He said he wanted to speak to you.”

Nesta’s head snapped back. She didn’t think twice. “No.”

“Please talk to him,” Elain begged. Gods, she looked so small. “If not for him, then for me.”

“Elain…” Nesta warned. Don’t make me do this.

“I don’t know exactly what happened between you, but what I do know is that it’s torn our family apart. You need to see him,” Elain whispered. “Please.”

It’s torn our family apart.

Nesta’s stomach twisted with guilt. Elain was looking up at her with something akin to hope, like Nesta had the power to fix their fucked up family. She had let down Elain one too many times already. It wouldn’t happen again. She couldn’t say no.

Without uttering a word, Nesta walked past Elain and opened the door.

She was immediately blinded by the fluorescent lights that hung from the tiled ceiling. It made death look even paler. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, a strong stench hit her nose: the scent of rubber gloves and unending grief. The rhythmic beep of the monitor was a reminder of an imminent death. A spider web of tubes and wires surrounded her father’s hospital bed. She couldn’t tell where they went or what they were doing. It looked as though he was wrapped in a cocoon. And when Nesta’s eyes landed on her father, he was already looking at her.

"Nesta… you look stunning,” her father croaked out. Despite the artificial light, his hazel eyes glimmered. His wrinkles deepened when he gave her a sad smile, his face marred with years of life. A face that, after seven years, was now wrinkled and drab. His gray hair had thinned out with time.

Nesta shifted uncomfortably.

“I know you’re unhappy with me, Ness,” he confessed quietly.

Ness. She hadn’t heard that nickname in years, hadn’t thought about it. It was her dad’s name for her when she was a young girl. He would call her the “Loch Ness monster” when they played hide and seek; no one could ever find her.

“You deserve an explanation…” he struggled to continue. She noticed his hands trembling. “I should have told you years ago.”

Nesta didn’t break her silence, but she pulled a chair to the side of his bed. She waited for him to continue. She would listen to his bullshit excuses. She would put up with his stories of cowardice. But the minute he finished telling his fabricated version of the story, she was going to let out everything that had been stirring inside her for years. She wasn’t going to hold back, not even when he was on his death bed. Nesta wouldn’t pity him. He had felt sorry for himself his whole gods-damned life. He didn’t deserve another ounce of sympathy.

Her father expelled a shaky breath. Nesta couldn’t tell if it was because he was nervous or because he was dying. She didn’t particularly care either way.

He began from the very beginning. His relationship with her mother. The year leading up to Nesta’s birth. The early years of her life that she had no recollection of. The reasons behind his behavior, behind her mother’s behavior. The incident that changed everything. The year her mother left. All that happened after that fateful day. Everything.

She didn’t know how long he talked for. Minutes, maybe hours. Any concept of time was lost when he uttered that very first sentence. Now, Nesta was holding onto the arms of the chair so as to not fall off and collapse.

When her father managed to finish his story, his voice was so hoarse that he was barely audible. And Nesta… Nesta was unable to fight off the tears. She choked out a sob, the strangled noise ringing in her ears. Tears for her father, for all that she had put him through over a grudge. Tears for the countless years wasted resenting him. Her throat burned with years of guilt, rendering her speechless. For once in her life, she didn’t stop the tears that ran down her cheeks. There was still so much to be said but Nesta didn’t have the strength to utter a single word, so she reached for her dad’s hand and squeezed gently. It was cold, too cold. But he squeezed back, his fragile fingers holding onto Nesta’s with the love of a father. She heard him murmur soothing words as her entire world came crashing down.

The words that had played on repeat in her head for years rang louder than ever.

You’re a waste of space. All you’re good for is hurting people. You deserve nothing.

“Your sisters…” her dad wheezed, “spend time with them, Ness. You need them as much as they need you.”

Nesta only nodded, her body racked by violent sobs. Her head was heavy. It was so, so heavy. She rested her forehead on their joined hands when his heart monitor started to race. Nesta’s eyes snapped to her father’s, which were already closed.

“No,” Nesta whispered in shock. She shook her dad’s arm, desperately trying to wake him up. The monitor got faster and faster. She needed to tell him, she can’t keep it in. “Daddy! Wake up… no.”

Her breath caught in her throat when the heart monitor flatlined. Her lips parted as she cried out, but nothing left her mouth. Nesta clutched his hand, his body temperature getting colder and colder by the minute.

“No!” She was screaming now, and she relished the burning of her throat. The pain. Nesta heard nothing but a ringing in her ears. She couldn’t see anything except her dad. Her dead father.

He couldn’t hear her. She knew it was too late, but that didn’t stop the words from leaving her lips.

“I’m so sorry, Dad.”

She kept repeating herself for what felt like hours until her voice was raw and her eyes were burning. The words continued to leave her lips even when the doctors rushed in. Her apologies spilled out as a nurse pulled her away from the bed. She was still whispering “I’m sorry” when Elain rocked her back and forth in the waiting room. Nesta didn’t remember stopping, not even when she drifted to sleep, and not when she woke up the next day drenched in her own tears.

[elizabethemerald]

TOA Dragonriders AU!

The sands glimmered in the damp heat. The lava tubes that kept the city warm even in the most biting of winters came especially close ot the surface here, keeping the nesting grounds almost too hot for human comfort. 

Jim could already feel sweat beginning to form under his long ceremonial robes. Today was hatching day. The day the young dragons would break free of their shells and bond permanently with one of the candidates who ringed the nesting site. There were far more candidates than hatchlings so inevitably some were left unchosen. The elders stressed again and again that there was no shame in not being chosen, but it never felt that way to those left standing on the sands when the last egg was empty. 

Jim scanned the crowd with increasing desperation. He was hoping to catch sight, past the shimmering waves of a heat, a glimps of red hair that belonged to his mother. As chief healer for the Keep of Arcadia she was often kept busy, but Jim had hoped that she would be able to make it to the ceremony. Still probably best she wasn’t here to see her son left standing alone at the end of it. 

He started to scan the crowd again when a voice to his left stopped him. 

“I haven’t seen her,” Toby said. 

Tobias Domzalski was Jim’s oldest and dearest friend. His grandmother had dismounted her own bronze dragon at the entrance to the nesting ground and had settled in the stands. It mean a lot to know jim’s friend was keeping an eye out for his mother as well, though it still hurt that she wasn’t here yet. 

“Don’t worry, my parents are to busy too.” The came softly from Jim’s right. 

Claire Nuñez, daughter of Councilwoman Nuñez glared at the sand in front of her. Jim glanced towards the seats of honor, where Vendel and the council members were gathered. Lady Nuñez did indeed seem busy as she talked with the other council members. Likely wheeling for some political leverage once they return to the council floor. 

Before any of them could say another word, Heartstone, the dragon Matriarch unleashed a keening rumble that shook the chamber, then turned her attention to her brood of eggs. Heartstone was a beyond massive dragon, with warm orange and red tones in her scales. She hadn’t left the nest chamber since these eggs had been laid. Any fool who dared to attempt some harm to her unhatched young would face the unbridled wrath of the Queen Dragon. 

The humans in the chamber fell silent as the rumble continued, echoed and carried on by the other dragons. Dragons of every color and size; crammed into the stands, squeezed in the entrance way or standing outside; picked up the rumble until the very air seemed to shake. 

Jim focused on the eggs before him. They were beginning to shake, some had hairline cracks appearing on their surface. There was a breathless anticipation hanging over the candidates. The hatching was beginning. 

An egg near th emiddle of the clutch suddenly burst apart, sending flaming fragments of shell in every direction. The Fragments froze in the air, then were pulled back towards the dragon that slowly uncurled its body. This dragon had a coloration similar to its mother, heavy in the warm oranges and reds. The floating pieces of shell settled into slow orbits around the hatchling. Then they dropped when it discovered its own tail and started chasing it. Several chuckles echoed from the crowd at the adorable sight. 

“Energetic. And gravity powers?” Eli Pepperjack muttered a few candidates down the line. “That will be a handful!”

The dragon stopped its chase after a moment. Jim held his breath as it made a bee line directly for him. However rather than sitting at his feet and connecting their two minds the hatchling wove its way in between his legs like a cat. After a few passes of rubbing itself against him it happily walked over to Claire to repeat that same action. Clare could only stare at it in confusion before it left her and plopped itself down in front of Toby. 

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Hello!” Toby practically crowed in joy as he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around his dragon’s neck. Nearby attendants stepped forward with bowls of food for the hungry hatchling. Jim could see Toby’s Nana crying quietly in the stands. 

Jim and Claire began to fidget restlessly as more and more eggs cracked open revealing their former occupants. Some of the hatchlings were just as spectacular, while some were less so. However no other hatchlings behaved the way Toby’s had. Each directly to its chosen and sat before them. 

His concern continued to grow as more and more of the eggs cracked and burst and more of the hatchlings chose their bond mate. He tried to ignore Eli’s running commentary on each of the dragons as they emerged. Instead he focused on scanning the crowd, again hoping to spot his mother. 

A strange noise from the nesting ground brought his attention back to the eggs. One on the far side of the grounds suddenly crumbled in on itself. Noises of concern could be heard from the stands as the egg collapsed from the size of a potato sack to that of a baseball. 

The noise echoed again and a hatchling appeared out of mid air with a small storm of purple lightning. It ran forward than in another crackling jump disappeared. Jim almost pitched forward as a powerful head but hit the back of his legs. Before he could turn there was another crack the dragon teleported to Toby’s side. It rubbed itself all over is sibling then headbutted Toby. Finally the dragon teleported in front of Claire where it immediately sat down. 

Claire collapsed at once, throwing her arms around the dragon, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks. As she sobbed against the dragon Jim could hear her speaking in her mother tongue. 

“Estoy tan feliz de conocerte, luz de mi vida.” She said. “¿No eres la cosa más bella del mundo?”

Jim would have been mystified by the strange behaviour of Toby and Claire’s dragons if he wasn’t so distraught. Two dragons had approached him without choosing him. Was he not worthy of being bonded to a dragon? Had he messed something up some how?

“James Lake.”

A flash of crimson from the stands caught his attention. His mom slipped into the crowd. Jim couldn’t stop tears of frustration from rolling down his face. She had actually come, only to see him fail. 

“James Lake.”

The voice in his head dragged his attention forward. A hatchling walked proudly toward him. Its scales were a mix of black and silver edged in red and blue. It had the most stunning eyes Jim had ever seen. 

It reared back onto its hind legs, flaring tiny wings. A blue aura radiated out from it as tiny blue sparks fell from its open mouth. The aura jumped to Toby and his Dragon and Claire and hers. Jim felt all three minds, no, all six minds join together at once. 

“We are one.” The dragon’s voice filled his head. Then it sat in front of him. 

Jim fell to his knees, holding the dragon. His dragon. 

“My human.”

So I was suddenly inspired to write some stuff with dragons. I might write more about this AU. Some other ideas I have are Blinky and Aaarrrgghh (human dragon riders) recognize the strange bond that the Trio’s dragons have (because their dragons had a similar bond) and offer to train the three in dragon riding. At some point Gunmar will kill the Dragon Queen, Heartstone. Gunmar and the Gumm-Gumms are evil dragon riders who steal eggs from the queens and enslave their dragons, forcing them to bond. Eli and Steve are there and are skipped over for dragons, but they both get chosen in the next brood. Aja and Krel show up eventually on dragons with fairy wings. Their bodies are also different from the rest of the humans. 

Send me any questions you have about this AU!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Surrender

Sequel to Breach, The Cell, and Corrupt

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, mention of blood, self-harming thoughts.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: So I’ll leave y’all for now to guess at the time frame of this but it will become clearer as we go. Here we have Winter Soldier going a bit off his programming again but not entirely. 

Please let me know what you think and reblog if you can :D

--

Three days passed since the shower. Since then, you hadn’t returned to wash again. How could you ever get clean in a place that had been so soiled? When they brought you food, you did not touch it, and when they spoke to you, you did not respond. You only rose to tend to your basest needs in the stall and returned thence to the flimsy hospital bed. Under the clinical sheet and thin flannel blanket, you longed for the end. Not just the end to this prison, but everything. Your life wasn’t your own anymore. It was Hydra’s; it was the soldier’s.

On the third day, you had started to turn cold and the orderlies had tried to rouse you. When they had forced you onto your back, you had fought as much as you could, but you were weak. No food, no water, you were wasting away. You were easily restrained under thick straps against the bed and an i.v. was poked through your skin. From what you could understand through your haze, you were suffering from extreme dehydration. The thought didn’t scare you, it beckoned to you. Your body was only withering as your soul had. Soon it would be done.

The day after, you awoke feeling lighter. Livelier, even. The flow of the intravenous was like a shock of adrenaline in your wilting body. You were still strapped to the bed, your head pounded as you lifted it to look around. You could sense movement through the window but could not peer through it from your purview. You dropped your head and huffed. It was far from over.

The bolt of the door clicked and you turned your head to watch Doctor Ilyich enter with a nurse on his tail. You blinked and looked back to the ceiling as he pulled up as chair and sat next to your bed. His cold stethoscope pushed against your arm as he checked your pulse and vitals, moving under the blankets to your chest. You still wore nothing more than the robe which smelled of must and sweat.

“Very good,” He sat back, “You are recovering.” You kept your eyes closed as you willed him away. “You.” He grabbed your wrist gruffly, “Will eat now or we will force a tube down your throat.” You shook your head and tried to pull away, “Look at me!”

Your eyes snapped open and you glared at him. “Just kill me.” You croaked through dry lips.

“Now that would defeat our purpose. Waste all this hard work,” He waved around the room. “You, my dear, are not here to die.” He signaled to the nurse with two fingers, “You are here to do quite the opposite.”

The nurse left through the open door and he waited with a grin on his face until she re-entered with a wheeled machine. You had never seen anything like it before. Ilyich parted the robe beneath your restraints and you squirmed as he bared your body. You still hadn’t grown used to the humiliation; that was the worst of it.

He pushed buttons on the odd machine and the screen lit up with a black and white image. You glanced between him and the device in confusion. What was he doing? You began to struggle against the straps frantically. 

“If you do not stop, we will sedate you…” The threat did not scare you; in fact it would be favour. Ilyich growled and grabbed your thighs as he dug his nails sharply into your skin. “Quit or I will awake the Asset and let him hold you down for me.”

You went still at once. Ilyich took the wand attached to the machine and a bottle from the cart. He squeezed a cool gel on your lower stomach and you shivered. You were terrified. You had no idea what he was doing but you were certain it wasn’t good. He spread the gel with the wand and pressed along your pelvis, a low hum whirred from the machine. You gripped the sheet below you and waited for him to be done.

“Too early,” He removed the wand and wiped it off. “But she is healthy. A perfect specimen.” Your heart was racing as you watched the nurse pack up the device and hand the doctor a paper cup. “We have supplements for you. To keep you strong.” He looked into the cup and smiled; a devious expression. “Remove the straps, nurse.”

The nurse did as she was told and you were freed. Slowly, you sat up as the doctor stood. You hadn’t the strength to resist and were too afraid to try. The threat of the Asset loomed in your mind. “Here. Take these.” The nurse poured water from the pitcher into a glass; the same you had ignored several days past. You shakily accepted the paper cup and water, eyeing the capsules with dread. “Do it or I’ll force them down your throat myself.”

You flinched at his tone and tossed back the mouthful of pills and gulped down the water to keep them from sticking to your tongue. You handed back both cups and pulled your robe closed. Wordlessly, Ilyich grabbed your left arm and slid the i.v. from your flesh and pressed a cotton swab to the dot of blood that appeared. 

“Pressure,” He instructed and you replaced his fingers with your own. “Now, this will be your final warning. Co-operate or you will be chained up like the dog you are.”

He gestured the nurse from the room. She pushed the cart away and Ilyich followed. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at you. “A meal will be brought in an hour and you will eat. Then you will proceed to the shower as normal and wash yourself.” With that, he stepped out and slammed the door behind him, the lock noisily slid back into place.

You gulped and lowered yourself unsteadily from the bed. You braced it, your legs shaky and weak. You held onto the wall as you edged to the window and peered out into the other room. Ilyich moved his hands before him as he spoke to Yakovna. The latter nodded in interest and turned to grab a folder from behind him. Ilyich took it and opened it as he pointed to a specific line. He smiled and returned the file to the other doctor.

You couldn’t hear through the thick glass but you figured they were talking about you. Why were you so important? A toy; an animal, really. Used and abused by their monster. You leaned against the glass and your eyes strayed fearfully to the other side of the chamber. The pod was open; empty. Your heart dropped as you searched around for any sign of the soldier. He was gone. Deployed on some deadly mission and his return would mean soon you would be his next target.

--

When an orderly entered with a tray, you sat and ate in detachment. You did not taste the unbuttered sandwich nor the cubes of cheese and sliced vegetables. The fair was much fresher than what was offered to employees in the cafeteria. You would be thankful if you weren’t aware that your luxury was a means of their cryptic ends. You drank a full glass of water to wash down the bland food and waited until a guard arrived to take you away.

You walked to the showers stiffly. Your eyes bounced back and forth as you kept an eye out for the return of the Asset. You knew it was unlikely that he would come charging at you in that moment but you could never expect when he would appear. He was like a phantom; rising in your most vulnerable moments. When you asked the guard about the soldier, he was as silent as ever. You knew the question was futile, but you asked anyway. The anticipation of what was to come was far worse than its fruition.

The water was painfully hot. You welcomed the burn as you stood beneath the stream. You stood with your back to the shower head, alert for any movement in the airy chamber. It was still but for the patter of water and clouds of steam. When you finished, you dried off and dressed in the folded cotton that awaited you on the bench. It wasn’t your usual scrubs but a plain cotton dress with thin straps. It was shapeless but hid little of your figure.

You knocked on the door and waited for it too open. The guard led you back along the chilly corridors. In all your time there, they had not allowed you slipper nor shoe. You were kept helpless in little more than clinical polyester. The dress was even less. Your skin was covered in goosebumps but it could be fear as much as the temperature.

The pod remained empty. You sat at the table and flipped through the pages of your only book. You didn’t read, didn’t even try, only listened to the flutter of pages as you waited. What else could you do but prepare yourself for the inevitable? Hours passed; sitting, pacing, laying. You stared at the blank walls and ceiling as you drowned in your dread. No sleep; no peace.

Then you heard it. Your heart raced at the clang. Footsteps and a flurry of motion. The lab was dark outside your window but you could see by the ever present light of the pod. You peeked out into the next room. The Asset was limned in shadows as figures in lab coats trailed behind him meekly. Yakovna kept the other doctor at bay as they watched the returned assassin prowling as a wild animal would. It was the same deadly transfixion which had taken him weeks before; the day he had found you in that cupboard.

Your eyes widened but you were frozen in place. The Asset turned suddenly as if he could sense you. Yakovna and the other doctor backed away as the soldier tilted his head and neared the glass with decisive steps. His metal hand slapped against the window so hard you were sure it would shatter. He reached up with his other hand and removed the mask from his lower face. His eyes caught the little light present; a sinister flash in the night.

He brought his hand back again but stopped mid-air. He turned as the doctors had called out for him to stop and he squared his shoulders. Yakovna pointed to the door which would lead him to you. You watched as he turned and tossed aside his mask. His footsteps seemed to move the entire building as he entered the hall and stomped towards you room. The handle turned and the door shifted only slightly. 

A bang and the lock fell loose in the door as the Asset punched his way in. You backed away as he stepped inside, pressing yourself into the corner as you held your hands to your chest. He closed the door, though it was unable to latch, and the room sparked as he flipped the switch. The fluorescent glow was harsh as the space lit up. His eyes quickly found you but he did not approach.

He blinked and neared the table. He pulled out the chair and turned it slightly. He looked to you and pointed to the empty seat. You stared at him and warily parted from the wall. You inched close with small footsteps. He did not move, merely watched as you lowered yourself onto the chair. He nodded and backed away.

You couldn’t look away from him. There was a streak of blood across his forehead and the ends of his fingers, just above the top of his gloves, were stained in red. His black gear shone with even more blood and you gripped the skirt of your dress nervously. He pulled off his gloves one at a time and tossed them on the table. Next he unbuckled the harness from his chest and dropped it with his gloves. The thick one-armed jacket followed and he slung it across the back of your chair; it reeked of dirt and blood. Next he removed the belt lined with knives and other covert gadgets. The belt was coiled next on the table.

He was left in nothing but a tank top, his dark cargo pants, and heavy combat boots. The panels of his arm caught the light as he turned and went to the sink. He twisted the faucet and washed his hands. Next he splashed his face and scrubbed the blood and dust from it. A swipe of his wet fingers over his hair and he stood straight. He spun back to you and you almost fell off the chair as he made to approach.

He stopped himself and lightened his step before proceeding. He peered down at you as you avoided his gaze; your eyes clung to your shaking hands. He lowered himself to his knees before you and his hands covered your smaller ones. He pulled them apart and held them gently as he examined them. You watched the top of his lashes as he turned them over and traced the lines of your palms with his thumbs. He raised them and looked up at you as he brought them to cradle his face. You held his head as he let go of your hands, afraid to provoke him.

His hands fell to your thighs and lightly rubbed them through the cotton. His fingers ran along the tops then sides, tracing the curve of your legs as his blue eyes watched your face. You tried not to quake as he touched you. His hands settled on your hips and his thumbs pressed to your pelvic bones as his pupils grew.

He reached up suddenly and tore your hands from his face. He stood and drew you up with him. He lifted his shirt over his head then bent to unlace his boots. You could only watch as he undressed before you. With his boots kicked aside and stuffed with his socks, he dutifully shoved his pants down and stepped out of them. Entirely naked, you kept your gaze away from his cock.

He got closer and took the straps of your dress between his thumbs and index fingers. He slid them smoothly over your shoulders and the fabric rushed down your figure into a puddle. He offered his real hand and you stared at it anxiously. You knew what would follow. His unexpected gentleness made the reality a little easier.

You took his hand as you hung your head and he led you to the bed. He stopped you beside it and let go of you as he climbed up first. It looked even smaller as he laid across it. He reached for your hand again and pulled you to the bed. You let him guide you and stretched out beside him. He turned your back to his front and pulled you close on the narrow mattress. His hand ran the length of your body; lingering on throat, collarbone, breast, stomach, and edged around your vee.

His nose tickled the back of your head as he smelled you. You closed your eyes as you let his hand rove your figure. The intimacy of his touch made his actions even more unsettling. You felt a twitch along your thigh and braced yourself. He continued to explore every inch of your with his fingers, his other arm beneath you as he hugged you to him. His warmth was almost intoxicating.

He slipped two fingers along your vee. He felt your bud carefully then pressed it until you squirmed. Soft circles reverberated through your body as he moved his fingers. You felt your eyes burn as the tears threatened. You were so weak. This beast came to you, devoured you, and it felt so good. Your fear was not enough of an excuse for your guilt.

His hot breath glossed down the back of your neck as he pressed himself even closer. His metal arm wrapped around you from beneath, his hand cupped your breast as he bent his head and nuzzled your shoulder. Your breath audibly hitched as the tingle spread from your pelvis to your thighs. The swirls deepened to ripples and you reached down to rest your hand on his as he cozened the orgasm from you. You whined, your tears leaking down your cheeks.

His hand descended lower and he pushed your leg over his. You arched your back without thinking. You felt even weaker as your body overwhelmed your mind. As afraid as you were, as helpless as you were, you offered no resistance to him. You were a party to this. You wanted this, didn’t you? The tears dried up and you sniffed in resignation. Stop thinking; just let it happen.

You felt the head of his cock at your entrance and you opened up to him. What little pleasure you could eke out of this place you would. He sank into you patiently. Relishing each inch with a growl. You grabbed onto his metal arm as he thrust into you the first time. You pushed your head back so that it was under his. His nose brushed along your cheek as his lips dragged over your skin. You murmured as he worked inside of you slowly; kindly. It was so unlike his intrusion in the night.

The bed creaked beneath your bodies as you writhed against each other. Your laboured breaths mingling as you moved in tandem atop the small mattress. You gasped with each plunge he took into you. His motion grew more urgent but not rougher. He held you as if you were precious to him, his free hand walked up and down your body from thigh to chest. The flurry built and you mewled once more in orgasm.

He snarled and his arm tightened around you. His teeth nibbled at your ear as he chased his peak. He was humming, almost purring, as his strokes grew longer, deeper. He was muttering as his motion stuttered. “M-m-m-” He whispered with gristle, “Mine.” He hissed as you felt him gush inside of you.

He slowed and the bed steadied beneath you as he stilled. Your walls buzzed around him as he remained inside of you. His entire body relaxed as he kept you close to him and pressed his forehead to the back of your head. His chest was sticky with sweat as it rose and fell against you. Your eyes were wet again and you pulled your hand up to cover your face.

As your body went limp, he began to move again. You felt him stiffen inside of you and the metal frame of the bed groaned. His thrust were hungrier this time. You exhaled in a quiver. It was as he said; you were his.

+

tags: @brigidwolf @thepettyavenger @tuyetnhivo @thosecikinnn @glitterypinkkitty @thoughtlesstales @selinbaskaya @sathlens @vitamingrant @lilithhellfire @bbyspiiice @blackpantherimagines @kweenkxtrina @heavenlyblyss @letsagomario @collette04 @secretlyactivated @xxm3xxj @roses-and-absinthe @asleep-amid-the-flowers @mrsbarneswillseeyounow @crownofrowan @sunstarskyhappiness @xxxelettaxxx @rainbowkisses31 @xdatbitch @quant-um-fizzx @couldntbedamned @scarletlingeries @directionerfae @bodhi-black @kyllorren @captainarp @hardygal69 @sargeant-bbarnes @heartislubbingdubbing @aekr @arkhamsanity @lazinessisalliknow @grossceleste @jordysgirl87 @spn-marvel-nerd @kissedbythedarkness @fandomkolors @brokensunflowersworld @msdmc1 @collette04 @hannahxem @noteyebox @imkloeyjarvis @titty-teetee @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @phoenix21love @momc95 @buckycaptspideypool @justballoonfishthings @ms-munchkin @whosmarisaaarw @kxllyxnnx @sathlens @calspixie @satinprincessxo @amethyst-the-thot @docharleythegeekqueen @iiqueer-vibesii @carol-dark-vers @l0rd-disick @jilldsumner @hufflebucky @lanabanana-86 @nerdypinupcrystal @notyourtypicalrose @pink1031 @agent-spidey @wassupbitchesssss @lucifersnipnips @thirstyforsomeyandere @supernaturalonice @stuckybarton @ruff-m3rc @rainbowkisses31 @heartbeats-wildly @tea-with-seb @the-lululemon @abesottedlass @poppyshawn @obsesseds-world @jazztherebel @holylulusworld @yagurlrosie @desir-ae @adreamemporium @ashrod98 @buckyxwintersxldier @spaghettirogers @buckybarneshairpullingkink @kastheabsolutepessimist @daggersofloki @odinson-barnes @amelia-acero @marvelmaree @steadypetty @they-call-me-le @wintersoldier1017 @supernaturaldean67 @biba3434 @marvel-fan23 @basementcafe @periodtcevans

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 10

On the morning of Winter Solstice Selene found Eli outside exercising; in fact, over the last three weeks that's how Eli had started her mornings.  She knew the woman wanted to get back to her pre-tube physique but she hadn't been pushing herself this hard before -- discovering her dead husband had triggered the change in her and Selene didn't know what to do about it.

'Hopefully Dr. Xu is making headway...' she found herself thinking as she headed over to the corner of the yard that Eli had taken to exercising in.  It was a fairly flat area, mostly shielded from the sun in the afternoon and evening, and would have thick grass coverage once the seasons changed; it also was outside of the stable area so there wouldn't be animal droppings to worry about either.  Maybe she could pave a small area to give Eli something solid to exercise on too?  And when spring arrived with its downpours a paved spot would keep her out of the mud as well...Selene mentally stuck it on her To Do list. ((Continued below cut))

Eli was currently doing push ups, and doing them really damn well -- far better than Selene could ever hope to do.  She didn't look up as the builder approached, and Selene waited silently and counted out 52 push ups (and who knew how many she'd already done before Selene had even come outside) before Eli finally came to a stop and shifted her legs around to sit cross-legged in the cleared area of frozen grass.

"Did you still want to go to the Solstice gathering?" Selene asked. For a long moment Eli was silent, then she simply nodded; Selene returned the nod and smiled at her.  "Yay, all right -- did you want to be the bringer of cheese or the meats?" She took a step back as Eli got up; once the woman was up and out of the shadow of the edge of the nearby stables Selene could see sweat droplets sparkling in the woman's eyelashes and a thin sheen of it over her face -- she'd need to get inside and get dried off before she froze.

"Cheese, I guess."

It wasn't enthusiastic but she'd take it.  "Ok then - I'll go get the foodstuffs while you get cleaned up.  We've got a couple hours before everything starts but usually people gather early to watch Django get the hot pot started.  It'd be a really good time for you to meet and mingle, talk to people."

"I don't know that I feel up to mingling."

"Oh.  Well, uh..."

Eli gave her a strained smile.  "Sorry.  Don't mean to make things awkward, I just..."

Selene didn't press her to continue; instead she nodded and led the way back into the house where Eli disappeared upstairs to her room and Selene turned into the kitchen.  She'd bought some nice cuts of beef and chicken and a very soft and delicious white cheese from Sophie and Emily a day ago.  After her first Solstice in Portia Selene had decided to vary what she brought each year; the first time she'd brought diced up layered carrots and last year she'd brought cornballs from her own garden which had turned a small spot of the pot into a spicy chowder. This year would be the first time she'd brought any meats.  Hopefully they were sliced thin enough that they'd cook up quickly once they were in the pot...maybe she should have checked with Django first.  Oh well.

Eli should at least be well-received for bringing the cheese; the soft white was a Portia favorite and it tended to sell out quick when Sophie had a new batch ready to go.

A quick glance in the fridge showed that the wax paper wrapped around the meats hadn't leaked, and there weren't any grease marks on the paper bag that the cheese was in - it was nice to see that she wouldn't need to put them into other containers or worry about the bags ripping on the way in to town. Selene grabbed a potato fruit fritter out of the bag next to the cheese (she liked Sophie's pies and fritters, what could she say?) and retreated to a chair, slowly munching on the fritter as she waited for Eli.

She was washing grease off her fingers when she heard Eli coming down the stairs; the Dubei woman was combing her hair off to the side as she walked, and was wearing a sweater Selene hadn't seen before - it was a burnt orange color with goldenrod colored trim along the sleeves and collar.

"That looks nice.  When did you get that one?"

Eli glanced down and smoothed down the sweater's hem.  "Couple days ago.  Carol was nice enough to tailor it a bit so it fit better across my shoulders."

"Going to need a lot of tailoring soon, huh?"  That got a faint smile from Eli; Selene grabbed the meats and cheese and led the way out of the house toward Portia's gates.  "What were celebrations like, in the Old World?  Were there a lot of holidays?"

"Saying there were 'a lot' would be a massive understatement. You could find a festival or holiday going on almost every other week," Eli answered.

"Wow... That sounds hectic, but also fun."

Eli shrugged.  "Isn't that true of any holiday?"

"True.  Oh, here-" Selene briefly spun around and walked backwards, holding out the bag with the cheese in it.  "Best cheese anywhere around."

Eli took the bag and tucked it into the crook of her elbow.  "So...how does this festival work?"

"Well, we have a giant hot pot that Django gets started with a broth base.  We wait 'til it gets boiling, then everyone starts tossing ingredients in.  Everyone is welcome to eat as much as they want and because of how big the pot is you'll find little pockets of dozens of different flavors -- and, when we're done, all the leftovers are divvied out to everyone to take home, or available to eat for free at the Round Table for the next couple of days.  After we've all eaten we have a snowball fight -- or, WOULD have a snowball fight.  What snow that's out in the fields right now isn't all that packable since it's not fresh so I'm not sure if Gale has something else planned instead. And THEN, after that, we all take pictures together."

"...'all,'" Eli repeated.  "Who does that include?"

"Everyone in Portia, if they want to," Selene giggled.  "I help build the riser platforms each year.  When we're done with the hot pot and everyone heads off to the snowball fight I, Paulie, and a couple others move the pot out and get the risers in place for when it's picture time."

"Are the pictures just...for free? For anyone?"

Selene nodded.  "Yep.  And a lot of the pictures get printed in the newspaper too so even if you don't manage to grab a copy today you can clip it from the paper later."

They were approaching the central plaza now and Selene could already smell the vegetable broth; Dawa and Paulie were standing near the massive hot pot helping Django feed logs to the fire burning beneath it.  Gale, Gust, Ginger, and Russo were already there too, and so was Carol and Martha and standing with them were the triplets, Toby, and Jack as well.  Their arrival immediately caught the attention of the children; Selene subtly moved Eli around the plaza's edge in the opposite direction.

They stopped at the benches over near the Research Center and Eli sat down, and sat the bag of cheese on the bench beside her.

"That is definitely a large hot pot."

"Yep.  No idea who first forged it but it's been in use for awhile - not sure what they used before.  Maybe just a giant cauldron or something."

They sat and waited, and watched as more of Portia's residents began to show up.  There were a lot of curious and uneasy looks tossed their way; few people seemed willing to do more than nod or wave, and Selene was pretty certain most of the friendlier gestures were aimed at her and not Eli.  Really made her wonder what Lee might have been telling others since Eli definitely hadn't done anything to warrant the weird looks she was getting.

Eventually, as more people showed up and more greetings were exchanged, Martha's attention wandered enough that Toby broke away from the group they were all standing in and as Selene suspected the boy made a beeline toward them.

He stopped just short of the bench, eying Eli for a moment or two; despite having a heavy coat on along with his backpack he had managed to also strap a wooden practice sword to his back and the handle jutted awkwardly over his left shoulder.

"Hi!  Are you really three hundred years old?"

Eli blinked at the boy for a moment, then sat up a bit straighter.  "I think I'm closer to 370, but yes."

"What did you do in the Old World?  Were there adventurers?"

Selene watched as Eli's gaze moved from the boy over to where his mother was standing and chatting with Carol and Alice; after a pause Eli looked back to Toby.  "I was a ranger.  It was a type of soldier."

"Ha!" was Toby's response.  "Django said there was more to you than it looked!  Did you fight in the war?  Did you shoot robots with guns?   Was there really robots everywhere you looked? Did you use only guns or did you still use swords and stuff?  Do you know how to use a sword?"

"Toby, one at a time," Selene interrupted dryly.  Eli got bombarded enough as it was thanks to those nosy scholars.

A small smile crossed Eli's face.  "I didn't fight in the war - I was already injured and inside that tube by the time the Calamity hit.  I'm not even sure what event started it.  As for AIs - yes, we had a lot of them.  They did a lot of the work for us, but not ALL of our work.  We didn't use swords but we had some long-handled machetes as part of our camping kits and if we fought in close combat we had bangsticks.  They were these metal rods of varying length that, if you swung and hit something with it, would release a little electric shock with a loud bang, hence their names.  And, I know how to dance with a sword but not how to fight with one."

Selene had been listening quietly as Eli rattled off the answers to Toby's rapid fire questions but the last answer caught her attention.   "Dance?"

Eli nodded.  "Dubeian saber dancing.  Was a hobby I picked up when I was a teenager and carried it along while serving - I wasn't especially limber or graceful but it was still fun."

Toby pulled a face.  "Dancing?  That sounds boring."

"Maybe, to someone who hasn't ever seen it.  You started out with plastic practice props, worked your way up to wooden ones, then blunt metal, then sharpened metal, and the last 'rank' was sharpened metal with a middle, inner strip that you lit on fire."

THAT got Toby's attention.  "You danced with fire?"

"Me?  No.  I only made it up to the sharpened metal rank - live steel, as it was called.  Once I was out of school I only got the chance to study and practice when I was on leave from active duty."

"That sounds pretty neat, actually," Selene mused.  "Sounds kind of dangerous too though - a sharp edge AND fire?"

"It WAS dangerous, and that's why it was fairly challenging to work your way up the ranks.  You learned the basic moves with the plastic, then added weight and balance with the wooden ones.  From there you began picking up the advanced stuff with the heavier but blunt metal props, and you needed a perfect score from a certified instructor to move on to the sharpened ones.  When you got to the sharpened rank you had to have so many hours of supervised practice as well as a certain number of dances performed and scored by eight different instructors, all perfect scores and with no injuries or else you had to start over and put in the time and effort again.  Being as it became something I did on the side to keep myself busy when I was on leave I never had the time to put together the dances or log the hours needed."

"Are you bothering Eli?"

Selene jumped at Arlo's voice and spun around to find him standing behind her with his arms crossed and his attention squarely on Toby.  

Toby jutted his lower lip out at Arlo.  "No!  I'm learning about the Old World."

"Fine, but your mother is looking for you either way."

"Aw man..." Toby slouched off through the crowd back toward Martha who greeted him with a glare and what Selene imagined was a very short and to the point lecture on running off when she clearly wanted him to stay put.  He...did that a lot, and could probably recite any lecture by heart now.

When he was gone Eli leaned back against the bench and stretched her legs out.  "He wasn't bothering me.  Just asking questions."

"Fair enough. Martha WAS actually looking for him however."

Selene shifted around to perch on the arm of the bench, looking up at him.  "Are the scholars going to work today too?"

"Not that I know of.  Gregory and Adam are going to stay out at the sinkhole just in case they do, and also to keep guard.  Mali and the others planned to come take part in the festivities but I've no idea if the scholars will too."  Arlo glanced over a shoulder and skimmed the crowd, then returned his attention to Eli.  "I did want to mention that Lee gives a sermon every year before we eat - whatever he might say today know he's more or less said something similar every year.  This might be the one time I can honestly say it shouldn't be personal."

Eli nodded but didn't say anything in response.  After a few moments Arlo moved to sit on the bench with the bag of cheese between himself and Eli, and not too long afterward both Sam and Remington found them and stood about chatting as they waited for Django to signal that the broth was ready; it already appeared to be boiling and Selene spied what she thought were vegetable bits floating around in it.  Shouldn't be too long now.

"-Eli, I had a question about Stewart," Sam suddenly asked, abruptly changing the subject away from the weather.

"What about him?"

They'd all had a chance to talk to Stewart at least once now; the All Source AI was polite and helpful but Selene found his constantly shifting facial projection to be massively distracting.

"What are we going to do with him?"

That was a question Selene had thought about too.  Wendy, the other All Source AI they'd found, was currently in the Research Center and wouldn't be able to ever leave it now that her original power supply had been damaged beyond repair -- she'd always be tethered to the power supply they'd rigged up for her.  Stewart, on the other hand, had been specifically built to be mobile; his inner battery needed repair due to the ravages of time but he was confident they could fix it even with limited technology, and that would leave him with about three months worth of power if he was forced to go without his docking station. Could they move his docking station out of the facility and figure out how to power it up here?  It seemed like a huge waste to leave him down in the facility or for him to walk back and forth between there and town.

"I'm not sure yet," Eli answered after a lengthy pause.  "He seems convinced the reactor is still fully functional for now, so we've got a bit of time to figure something out.  But he'll have to be moved somehow -- the fuel inside a reactor has an expected lifetime and to be honest I'm surprised it's still working after all this time.  It won't last forever though, and there's no way we can make more of what fuels it."

"We were able to make a new power source for Wendy," Selene said.   She glanced toward the Research Center -- Wendy had seemed satisfied with the power output of the high voltage dual engine set up they'd put together.  "Could we move the docking station and make do like we did with her?"

Eli was silent for another long moment - Selene could only imagine the calculations going on in her head.  "--it's...possible, I guess.   But it'll need a lot of room, first and foremost - we'd need his docking station for sure, along with his memory cores and server banks, and then space enough for whatever power source we come up with to run it all.  He might need his own dedicated room entirely."

Remington's eyebrows shot into his hairline.  "He really needs that much power?  That much room?"

"Yeah, that seems-" Sam paused, then shook her head.  "Wendy didn't need that much of either.  What's the difference?"

"They're different models," Eli answered.  "They might both be All Source AIs but their duties are drastically different and they have different specs.  And I bet if we could find Wendy's original memory cores and servers her power and space requirements would shoot through the roof too."

Selene huffed out a sigh at that.  "Man...we've lost so much, haven't we?  I hope we haven't damaged Wendy on accident."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Eli replied, looking over to her.  "If she says she can manage with her current power level then she knows what she can and can't safely process."

"What would happen if we got her hooked up to more power?"

"Probably nothing.  Her memory cores aren't attached and she's not connected to anything else to warrant more power right now."

"She DID say that she couldn't teach us anything because all she did was give orders, but she's given us a few blueprints since she said that," Selene said slowly, tapping a finger against her chin as she thought - what did a memory core or server bank even look like?  "If she had her memory cores, would that make a difference in what she could teach?"

"A huge difference.  You can't teach something if you don't remember knowing it in the first place.  With her it's likely she DID know the inner functions of certain technologies but that information was stored in a separate memory core than what she's carrying onboard now.  If we separate Stewart from his servers and cores he'll lose a lot of what he knows too."

"Which seems like a poor idea," Arlo broke in.  "Having those medical texts is helpful but having something on hand that actually knows it and could teach it to others is way more valuable."

Sam shrugged. "The clinic DOES have that storage room upstairs, and also the space around it to add on another room or two - it'd make more sense to install Stewart in the clinic than it would here at the Center, since he's a medical AI.  I think it was just last year that Dr. Xu was talking to Albert about a possible expansion too."

Remington shook his head at her.  "He only did that because Phyllis wants to open her own office.  I think the plan was adding on and giving that space to her to start out with but she found a place out in South Block that she's trying to buy instead. He probably wouldn't say no to an expansion to house Stewart but I don't know that any plans or budget from before would be useful now since he wasn't factoring in an All Source AI's needs."

Selene stood up and stretched as she noticed Gale taking his place at the center of the crowd.  "Eh, leave it for another day - looks like it's about time to start."

Portia's townsfolk had all clustered around the hot pot and Selene and the others were basically at the back of the group; Gale was a little hard to hear but, as he did every year, he greeted everyone and then invited Lee to start his sermon.

-----------------------------------------

Eli listened quietly as Lee detailed how, after the Calamity, the sky had darkened and sunlight had disappeared.  AIs had gone rogue, crops were failing, people were starving - humanity already pushed to the brink was getting even closer to extinction.  To hear that finally, in a moment of need, people came together to ensure survival was nice...even if the story as a whole was very bleak.  

'To think I outlived all that because of a stupid tube and science I can't understand...'

One of the first things she'd asked Stewart was why she was down there - why she was in that tube - and the AI couldn't tell her.

Not because he didn't know but because he'd been ordered not to tell anyone outside of the project involving the tubes.  And what that project was was also something he couldn't share, and no amount of administrative access he could grant her would give her access to those files.  He couldn't go against his orders or his programming and had been very apologetic but ultimately she'd gotten nowhere with that subject.

The rest of her questions had been directly answered, at least, and it painted chaotic, terrifying, and destructive final days for the facility and the people of Dubei.

First had come a bombardment from orbital railguns.  Eli hadn't even known there WERE railguns up in orbit, and if they had fired freely on Dubei she imagined no one in charge had known they were there either (or if they HAD known, why weren't there defenses in place?).  Who could have gotten railguns into orbit without anyone detecting them?  Maybe they were inside something else...hidden, so that no one would suspect. And if that were the case then it could have been any nation behind it, and while Eli knew diplomacy had been breaking down she didn't think the Generals would have kept something this potentially devastating a secret...

Then Stewart had detailed how, in the immediate aftermath of that first attack, a small group of unknown assailants had forced their way in and appeared to be there to steal top secret information from various government-funded research projects.  Stewart didn't know what files in particular they had come for but they were systematically searching floors and attempting to breach his encryptions and firewalls before they'd been subdued either by security or by circumstance; the orbital bombardment had leveled over half the city and obliterated that part of the facility that had been above ground, and the damage had caused the air filtration and circulation system to go haywire during the infiltration. Several of the underground sections were subsequently flooded with such severely polluted air, smoke, and particulates that it had caused many to suffocate (even some who had tried to get protective equipment on had been killed before it made a difference) before Stewart had been able to get the systems under control again and broadcast an order to begin evacuation once the intruders had been dealt with.  

A small silver lining to this was the suffocation had taken out some of the attackers too, though their losses paled in comparison to the number of employees that had died. There was a mad scramble by those left to try and pack and prioritize, and to the credit of the survivors a lot was able to be salvaged and taken with them as the remaining living AIs were able to carry a lot more than a human could. But it was during the rush to leave that they'd been hit with a second bombardment and Stewart lost all contact with the surface world.  In the chaos of the second attack Stewart had issued a total evacuation order: if it couldn't be immediately carried out on one's person then it had to be left behind...supplies, personal effects, the fallen, everything. Those few that were left alive to hear the order made it out through old maintenance tunnels.

And that was it.  Ever since then Stewart had been the lone guiding force within the facility and had struggled to keep it functional (especially after an earthquake struck about 73 years after the second bombardment and had destroyed even more of the facility), and make certain that the remaining stationary AI assistants like Pauline as well as Eli in her tube survived until help arrived (something Stewart admitted he had lost hope for several times over the centuries).

That was a touchy subject... Eli had been in a tube, and so had all but two of her squadron.  It had definitely hurt to know that most everyone she'd worked with AND her husband were all dead in the same room she'd spent over three hundred years "sleeping" in and that it had only been sheer dumb luck that the earthquake's damage hadn't reached far enough into the room to take her out too.  Thinking about it, even briefly, was enough to make her eyes sting and well up and she quickly squashed it down and tried to focus on the end of Lee's sermon.

Better times...  Yeah, compared to what she'd been told had happened, and what had been been endured, these times were certainly better.   Humanity had a future even if it felt like she didn't.

 Don't think about it.

At least, don't think about it until the next session with Dr. Xu.   Or, bare minimum, she should aim to make it through today without falling apart.

"-all right, time to start adding things."

Eli flinched a bit as Selene - she hadn't even noticed the woman had moved from the other end of the bench - grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her toward the enormous hot pot, giving her only a moment to pick up her sack with the cheese in it; Arlo stayed with them and had produced a small bag of eggs from somewhere - she was about to ask where he'd been hiding it when she noticed Sam pull a cluster of some leafy green herb out of the bag she seemed to carry everywhere.  She handed whatever the herbs were to Remington and then pulled out a parcel wrapped in wax paper; Sam wasted no time in approaching the pot and dumping the contents of her parcel in and Eli watched as a small shower of tiny meatballs plopped into the boiling broth.

"What'd you end up bringing?" Remington asked then.  He had a small pocket knife in hand and was carefully cutting off the string that held the bundle of herbs together; she caught a whiff of it as well as a closer look and thought it was coriander.

Eli opened her bag and pulled out the chunk of cheese inside it, and managed to smile a bit as Remington's eyes lit up at the sight of it.

"Ha, you actually managed to get your hands on some of Sophie's cheese?  That'll win you a lot of friends today I bet." He wiped the blade of the knife clean on the hem of his shirt then offered it to her, handle first.  "Here, this'll help."

The cheese was the size of her two fists put together and it cut smoothly.  She did notice a couple of approving looks as she dropped the first few pieces into the pot and watched as it melted and floated on the top almost like a cream.

"Should I try to spread it out?" she asked, glancing over to Remington; Arlo and Selene seemed to have moved on to other spots around the pot, chatting with the other townsfolk as they walked and dropped in cuts of meat and freshly cracked eggs at random intervals.

"You can, or you can claim a little spot and let others come to you," Remington answered.  He started gently twisting the coriander into small handfuls that he sprinkled over a wide area of the hot pot's surface; the boiling broth quickly sent the little green bits floating away or sinking inward.

Along with the sudden surge of various types of foodstuffs appearing in the pot there were a lot of people and a lot of separate conversations going on around her; for now she decided to slice up about a third of what she had and spread it in the same area.  As she was carefully cutting off a few more slices one of the short, hairy men appeared at her elbow with what looked like fresh fish fillets.

"Hey, look at that," was the man's greeting as he spied the cheese in her hand.  "I always end up eating all that myself when I manage to get my hands on it."

She recognized him in that he was identical to the three others like him that she'd met, but his glasses were more opaque and a different size and shape than the ones his brothers wore.  Quadruplets?  "Would you like a piece to eat?"  She cut off a decently thick bit and offered it to him; he accepted it with a grunt and smile and popped the whole thing into his mouth before beginning to carefully slip the fillets into the broth.

"-so, you're Eli.  I'm Qiwa.  You meet the rest of my brothers yet?"

"I've met Dawa, Sanwa, and I saw a third brother on the night I was introduced but I'm guessing that wasn't you.  How...uh, how many of you ARE there?"

Qiwa began to chuckle, and didn't respond until he had all the filets in the pot; after wiping his hands on his shorts (Eli couldn't fathom how he wasn't freezing) he began to point to various spots in the crowd.  There was Dawa, and Sanwa, and there was...three, four, five...

"-there's SEVEN of you?" she asked, looking down at Qiwa in amazement.  "What's in Portia's water and should I be concerned?"

That got a deep belly laugh out of Qiwa.  "Don't worry, you'll get used to it!  We at least color code ourselves."

He kept on laughing and Eli shook her head - seven identical brothers, good grief.  She cut a couple more slices of cheese and let them drop in; Qiwa headed off, still chuckling, and for a brief moment Eli was left standing more or less by herself as people milled around.   Seeing that the pot was pretty cheesy where she was standing she decided she would move around after all and carefully edged off to the left toward a  dark-haired woman who was carefully adding in what looked like dumplings but before she got too far another woman stepped in her path and cleared her throat.

"Oh, uh - hello." Her brain stalled on the woman's name; she knew she owned the bakery and she recognized her from earlier when Arlo had sent Toby scampering back to her.

"Hello.  Sorry to bother you on a holiday but could I have a word in private?"

"Sure."  Eli returned the cheese to the crumpled up bag and tossed the knife in with it as well, then tucked it under an arm and followed Martha - THAT was her name, right - as the woman headed over toward the far wall and gate that led out of Portia.

Once they were away from the crowd Martha inhaled deeply and seemed to be trying to force a smile but it didn't quite cover up how tense the woman seemed.

"You might have guessed this already or been told but I'm Toby's mother," Martha started.  "I know he ran off earlier to pester you with questions and now all he can talk about is you being a soldier and fighting robots."

Eli winced a bit.  "Sorry about that.  I didn't mean to-"

Martha waved her hands and shook her head.  "No, it's not that - I'm used to him being a nuisance and overly excitable when he gets fixated on something.  It's more that I know exactly what he's going to do next and I wanted to ask you NOT to indulge him."

"...huh?"

Martha sighed and ran a hand over her headband and then through the hair it was just barely holding back from her face.  "His father was an adventurer, and it got him killed.  Toby is dead set on being an adventurer too, and while Django has been humoring him and teaching him some very basic swordplay I know without a doubt that he'll come asking after you to teach him how to fight as well.  And I don't want you teaching him anything, because I don't want him encouraged to go off into the wilds like his father did."

...well, that's not what she'd been expecting.  Eli mulled that over for a few breaths - it was a reasonable enough request, on the surface. "I can abide by that, sure.  Can I ask you something, though?"

"Oh good!  And, of course."

Eli shifted the cheese from one arm to the other, turning her head to skim the crowd and pick out where Toby was standing with the other children again; he had that practice sword in hand and was waving it wildly as he spoke, and the others were laughing along with him.  "I don't mean for this to sound insulting or belittling, but how confident are you that you can keep him from running off, if he's determined to follow after his da?"

Martha's expression faltered a moment and then she sighed heavily.  "Well...so far I've not had much luck..."

She trailed off and Eli nodded, more to herself than to the woman -- that was what she thought the answer was going to be.  It would seem little boys are just as headstrong now as they were three hundred years ago; it was a bit endearing but knowing how concerned Martha was just based on how she was acting now...

"I won't teach him anything if you don't want me to, but it sounds like - at least for the time being - he's not going to let go of that particular dream.  And if that's the case, maybe he SHOULD be learning how to take care of himself in a fight."  She turned her attention from the kids back to Martha.  "Since you worry he's going to run off anyway learning how to handle himself in a dangerous situation and how to deal with injuries and survival techniques would be valuable information for him.  THOSE are topics I'm well versed in, and I wouldn't mind teaching him.  But, I've got an idea for a compromise: I could bore him to tears with it in the process and see how much he likes the adventuring life then when he gets to see what all is needed for it."

Now it was Martha's turn to mull things over, glancing between Eli and Toby but seeming to be looking through them rather than at them.   "I...didn't think of it like that. I try not to think about it in general because I just don't want to lose him like I lost his father.   And, what do you mean when you say you could bore him?"

"I am definitely well-practiced in not thinking about things," Eli said quietly.  She took a breath and then flashed Martha a half-smile.   "And yeah, bore him with it.  If we make learning the skills and the act of adventuring seem like more trouble than its worth that might work better than forbidding him from doing it.  He's a kid after all: I've not met a kid who didn't push boundaries or rebel against their parents. This might be a phase you can turn him away from but if not at least he's not walking out into the wild unknown not knowing a thing about how to take care of himself.  -- and actually, I had another deterring idea.  How's his grades?"

----------------------------------------------------

After the hot pot gathering they'd all gone out into the fields for the largest game of "flag tag" Eli had ever participated in.  Everyone was exhausted and muddy by the end of it but they all remained in good spirits as they trudged back in to town to goof around in front of cameras (old-fashioned film cameras...another thing that had been old even in her time).

While she'd admittedly not felt like mingling or even really felt human this morning Eli found she was glad she'd let Selene drag her out.  The weird looks had mostly stopped by late afternoon and while only a handful of people had been brave enough to walk up to her she felt less...like an outsider, more or less.  And she hadn't run into that minister either so the whole day had been pretty peaceful; she had a small photo of herself with Selene, Xu, Arlo, and Dawa posing beneath the large tree that took up the center of the plaza, and her jacket smelled faintly of wood smoke as she walked back toward Selene's place.

In the morning she'd be heading back into town to meet Martha at her bakery, before Toby had to be at school.  He didn't know it yet but he was about to be offered survival and combat lessons, taught by Eli, on the condition that he had to get high scores on all his schoolwork for the next two quarters.

Martha had been tickled pink by the idea as it seemed Toby was a little terror in school too, and while the prospect of having to focus in school may not deter him initially Eli still vividly remembered her boot camp days...they'd find out how determined Toby was when she started putting him through his paces (both physical and mental - took more than just being strong to be a good ranger).

But, on the flip side of that particular coin, if he kept with it he'd be one heck of a well-trained adventurer.  At the very least that ought to relieve a bit of Martha's worry about the kid if their combined efforts couldn't turn his attention away from a future career of adventuring.

She would also need to drop by the Civil Corps building and give Remington back his pocket knife - she hadn't been able to find him after the tag game so it was currently in her own pocket (and she'd made sure to clean the cheese off before closing it).

When she got inside she borrowed a thumb tack from Selene and stuck the picture to the top edge of the headboard of her bed, then changed into the loose pants and shirt she'd designated as sleep wear and crawled under the covers.  Along with needing to talk to Martha and Toby, and return Remington's knife, she was also expected down in the facility to babysit the scholars...it was going to be a very busy day.

[aaknopf]

The poet Quan Barry is also a fiction writer, whose mischievous We Ride Upon Sticks has just been published. In the fall of 1989, the seniors on the losing Danvers Falcons field hockey team avail themselves of some locally-sourced Salem witchery, in the hope of concocting a winning season. They make a pact, signing their names in a spiral notebook with Emilio Estevez on the cover, and rip and tie strips of Falcons-blue tube sock around all their arms, sealing their dark bond. In the scene below (which includes a special guest appearance by the poet Philip Larkin), the team mingles with members of the football team at their favorite pizza joint. We meet one of the more mysterious players, Girl Cory, so-called because there’s also a Boy Cory on the squad; Boy Cory’s story, like that of Girl Cory, their teammates Jen Fiorenza (whose awesome, high-teased bangs are known to all as “the Claw”), Abby Putnam (ancestor of an original Salem accuser), and others in the mix here, is a journey of identity, community, and the magic of high school friendships.

from We Ride Upon Sticks

“Our butts are going to States this year,” said Jen. “Where are your butts going?” Just then Girl Cory walked in. For a moment the air in Rocco’s filled with the scent of aquamarine waters and palm trees, the harmonies of steel drums, then just as quickly it was back to cheese pizza and the crackling of the deep fryer. “ ’Sup?” Log called out. Most guys at Danvers High didn’t talk to Girl Cory. From what we could glean of teen-boy-dom it seemed most teen boys only have a finite amount of confidence, and they couldn’t afford to go blowing it willy-nilly on a hopeless case like Girl Cory. It was plain to see she was out of everyone’s league. Most people accepted this. It was pure science, like the apple falling from the tree. Girls like Girl Cory didn’t date regular human boys. Historically, since the invention of written records in the girls’ third-floor bathroom concerning who was banging whom, Girl Cory had never dated anyone at Danvers High. Mostly she left in her wake a trail of names from the local private-school universe, places like the Prep, Pingree, even some faraway boy at Deerfield. Log’s “ ’Sup?” was still hanging in the air. Only he among his brethren had confidence to burn. Little did he know but “ ’Sup?” was an excellent question, one we’d been secretly wondering all our lives. Yeah, Girl Cory, what’s up? As she stood at the counter, Girl Cory nodded at Log but didn’t say a word or even take off her Ray-Bans. “And what does your soon-to-be captain have to say about you hosers going to States?” whispered Brian Robinson in a small voice, only looking at Girl Cory indirectly via a shiny plaque mounted on the wall, as if she were a Medusa with the power to transform flesh to stone. “Which is it?” he said. “You guys going to States, or 2-8 again?” “For your information, we haven’t voted for captain yet,” said Jen. Her Claw gave him the stink eye. Rocco’s adult son Vinny slammed her order down on the counter. Ceremoniously, she rose to retrieve her Diet Coke and two slices of Hawaiian. She noticed Log Winters was still staring at Girl Cory. “Take a picture, my friend,” she said, bending over and whispering in Log’s ear. “It’ll last longer.” Then she raised her voice so that all of Rocco’s could partake in the annunciation. “Besides, Cory already has a boyfriend.” “Who’s that?” said Log. “Nobody you’d know,” Jen projected. “He sent her flowers today. Isn’t that right, Cory?” Girl Cory turned and flashed Jen a look that simultaneously said both shut up and keep talking. She was an enigma like that. Honestly, none of us really knew her. Even now that we were all part of the sisterhood of the blue sweat sock, it was like she had constructed a wall to keep us out, a sunroom off the kitchen where she could sit and drink her Earl Grey in peace while the rest of us crowded around a plate of stale bagels in the breakfast nook. Girl Cory pulled a wad of napkins from the dispenser and went over to where Little Smitty was sitting with Mel. What’s up, Girl Cory? All season long, the rest of us standing around wondering, Girl Cory. What. Is. Up? And then one day we’d take a big juicy bite of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge, and to our everlasting sorrow, we’d find out. “Philip” made his first appearance during the ’88 season shortly after Girl Cory passed her driver’s test. It was late October, one of those autumn days when the afternoon sky prematurely takes on a hazy shade of winter. We were just off the school bus after returning from a massacre in Gloucester, 4-0. Truthfully, the score didn’t accurately reflect the gutting we’d endured at the hands of the Gloucester Fishermen. The two senior co-captains, Gina Packer and Mary Ellen Sommers, had gotten into a fight during the coin toss over whether to pick heads or tails. At one point, Gina reached over and ran her finger through the blue face paint where Mary Ellen had spackled the letters DHS on her cheek. We winced. It was like watching someone ruin a beautifully frosted cake. When we finally arrived back at Danvers High, Julie Kaling stopped reciting that part of the Nicene Creed about God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, her crucifix glinting in the dark of the bus. To be honest, after the kind of outing it had been, some of us found her religious yammering weirdly comforting. We’d grabbed our stuff from the locker room and headed out to wait for our moms to come get us or to bum rides with the seniors who lived in our neighborhoods. Girl Cory had hit the two-fecta, having recently passed her driver’s test and been given her own wheels to boot. Her brand-new white Fiero was parked in the student lot. The Fiero had been purchased weeks before her driving test and was just sitting around in her multi-car garage collecting dust. Driving was still a novelty to her, the monogrammed fingerless gloves still fun to slip on. That day she was giving Abby Putnam a ride home. It was Abby who pointed out the mint-green envelope stuck under the windshield wipers. Girl Cory peeled the envelope off the wet glass and held it between her fingers like a dead roach. “This is a wicked bummer,” she said. “Can you get ticketed here?” Abby shook her head. She watched as her friend tore open the soggy envelope. Girl Cory’s face betrayed nothing. If anything, she looked a little more bloodless. “Lemme see,” said Abby. She took the slip of paper in her hands and stared for a long time at the blurred writing, the washed-out words as if painted in watercolor. Roses are Red— Your Fiero—it’s White— With seating for two. Don’t! Put up a fight—take me with you! The next day before practice we showed the letter around. Heather Houston performed a close reading on it worthy of a 5 on the AP English test. She commented on the juvenile use of the Dickinsonian em dash, the strange imperatives, the elisions, the contradictory tone of both fight and flight. “Whoever wrote this is not playing with a full deck,” she concluded, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It doesn’t even make sense. Like this part. ‘Don’t!’ Don’t what? Use your words, people!” She was practically spitting she was so worked up about it. Poor Heather Houston took weak syntactical choices as a personal affront. Julie Kaling patted her comfortingly on the back. “I dunno, I think it’s sweet,” said Little Smitty softly. This was back in the days before Emilio and the blue tube sock, back when Little Smitty ate all the spinach on her plate happily with a big smile as though it were cotton candy. “What I will say,” said Heather, offering a second conclusion about the note, “is Philip Larkin he is not.” Becca Bjelica looked at AJ Johnson and silently mouthed, Philip who? We were all thinking the same thing. Nobody rolled their eyes at her. How were we supposed to know some curmudgeonly British poet, even one who’d written: They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. And thus “Philip” was born. That first year “Philip” mostly left little things lying around in plain sight, like a cat who brings its owner dead robins. A tube of Chanel lipstick without the actual lipstick in it. A box of chocolates, but instead of sweets slotted in each compartment, there were rocks. Girl Cory took it all in stride. We didn’t tell anyone in the adult world because what was there to say? Some poor slob had the hots for a girl so beautiful she should have been in a music video, and he left her crazy presents? Back then the word “stalker” wasn’t really part of anyone’s vocabulary. Fatal Attraction had come out the year before, but that was just stuff that happened to sexy creeps like Michael Douglas, who banged complete strangers and mostly had it coming. And so Girl Cory learned to live with it. And so we learned to live vicariously through her. In time, we began to look forward to “Philip’s” offerings. They made us feel like maybe somewhere down the road, somebody, anybody, might possibly want us. Even the time he dropped a note in her schoolbag that said, “I hate you, you stupid peckerhead,” and signed it “Much l♥ve.” We were a bunch of mostly inexperienced teen girls. We thought that’s what true romance was supposed to look like. A boy telling a girl she was a stupid peckerhead, but she was his stupid peckerhead. Lord, make us worthy, we prayed. God from God, Light from Light, Boyfriend from Boy Who Considers Us a Peckerhead. It seemed like the thing to ask for. None of us ever thought to pray for a better caliber of boy.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about We Ride Upon Sticks by Quan Barry

Browse other books by Quan Barry including her four poetry collections published in the Pitt Poetry Series

Read the full text of Philip Larkin's "This Be the Verse" at the Poetry Foundation

Peruse other poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series 

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 27

Your Skin: Part 2

You will be surprised to see what great biological activities take place in the epidermis. Even when a person dies, this layer does not die right away. After death the nails and beard continue to grow. This occurs because of the activities in the germinative epithelium, which makes up the basal layer of the epidermis.

Beneath the epidermis is the dermis, a relatively thick layer. This is the layer which keeps the skin lively and firm and which produces the color. Many works of arts are present in this layer to complete my splendid structure. This layer consists of connective tissue with fiber bundles that is made of collagen protein. As people get older, their skin dries up and starts to lose its collagen proteins. Once the fibers start to decrease, I lose my firmness, and then I start to wrinkle. Although people are not happy with wrinkles, which are inevitable, I don’t think this is something to worry about; wrinkles are also a sign of maturity and experience. In the structure of my dermis there are other parts that have very important functions: The sweat glands, which are in the shape of coiled tubes, spread throughout the body act as ventilators; in addition, the hair follicles, the sebaceous gland, which helps to nourish and moisturize the hair, the chromatophores (pigment-containing cells) that determine the skin color, the hair muscles that give your hair flexibility and the blood vessels that nourish me are all important. I also have special receptor cells that can sense temperature, pressure and pain and there are nerve endings scattered among these cells.

In different parts of the body I am more sensitive to particular sensations. My sense receptors (corpuscles) vary in shape and you human beings have named them after the scientists who discovered them. There is Pacini’s corpuscle, Meissner’s corpuscle, Ruffini’s corpuscle and Krause’s corpuscle. Each of those receptors is thought to be receiving independent stimuli, but this has not been proven by experiment yet.

Do you ever wonder why you and your friends have so many different skin tones? This is the result of the work of the chromatophores (cells that contain pigment) which are located in the dermis, at the point closest to the epidermis. These cells, which have a number of branches, move in relation to the intensity of the light, and their branches can stretch and shrink back. These movements cause the pigment granules (melanin granules) to disperse within the cell or aggregate towards the center. This is how they can lighten or darken the skin color, causing you to get a “tan.” The seasons, the length of the day and the intensity and duration of the sunlight all affect the movement of these cells. These cells darken your skin color during the summer and lighten it during the winter. But, why is this necessary? This is a wonderful physiologic mechanism that has so many amazing purposes and meanings. I am sure you have noticed that people who live in Northern Europe and North America have a lighter complexion than those who live in the more southerly regions of the earth. This is because the countries in these northern regions are exposed to a less intense sunlight for a shorter time. The further north you go the more rainy and cloudy it is. However, sunlight also plays a very important role in the synthesizing of vitamin D in your body. The molecule known as 7-dehydrocholesterol can be converted into vitamin D only with sunlight. Vitamin D is a fat-soluble vitamin that is highly important for calcium absorption and bone metabolism. If you do not have enough exposure to the sun, then vitamin D cannot be produced; this could result in disorders like rickets (most common), as well as several other bone diseases and skeletal complications. However, it is interesting that sunlight is a two-edged sword. Neither too much nor too little sunlight is good for you. Too much exposure to the sunlight damages my health, causing such diseases as skin cancer and eye disorders. Our Lord God Almighty has made all parts of the earth suitable for human life. He knows well, of course, what people need in order to be able to live in places that have less sunlight and in other places that have a great deal of sunlight. In order to allow people to benefit from the sunlight everywhere, He has given the necessary qualities to my chromotaphores and the melanin granules that they contain. In places that have less sunlight, my chromotaphores synthesize less melanin. The melanin disperses throughout the cells or the cells move downwards, and my color lightens. This allows more sun absorption and this sunlight is used for vitamin D production. In sunny places, however, people are more exposed to the ultraviolet rays of the sun as well as other forms of radiation. This is why the risk of my cells becoming mutant and cancerous is greatly increased. In order to avoid such a situation, more melanin is synthesized in people who live in sunny places. The melanin in the chrotaphores gathers towards the center of the cell and my color darkens. Thus, excess sunlight is absorbed by my melanin pigments thanks to their special structure and function. This prevents other sensitive cells from becoming damaged and cancerous.

During hot weather, in order to balance your inner body temperature, the blood vessels that pass through the skin expand and more blood is carried through the skin. I give off the water in my blood through my sweat glands. While this warm water called “sweat” spreads over my surface and evaporates, an important amount of heat is released into the air. Thus, your inner body temperature does not increase and you remain cool inside. Thanks to the work of my sweat glands, I can also get rid of some nitrogenous waste and thus support your kidneys. During cold weather, however, the activities of my sweat glands decrease, and this helps you to stay warm. The blood vessels narrow so that the blood in me is reduced. More warm blood is channeled into your body so that your important inner organs do not become cold. The muscles of my hairs contract and the hairs straighten, thickening the layer of hair that covers me. It feels like you are covered with a blanket. If your body temperature falls off significantly, my receptors stimulate the muscles that lie under me and these muscles produce heat by vibrating. That is why you shiver from cold! Women have fewer hairs on their body. Do you think this is unfair? Of course not! Unlike men, women’s bodies are created in such a way that they can store a greater percentage of fat among the tissues under the skin. This hypodermic fatty tissue not only protects women from cold, but it is also used as extra storage for nutrients that they use when breastfeeding. It also helps protect women’s muscles and bones against bumps and shocks from the outside. So, this tissue works both as a temperature isolator and as a “shock absorber.” There is nothing unfair about this. And, it proves that God gives each of His creation exactly what they need and deserve.

Some people say that the skin is a mirror of the body’s health; this is true. The fact that I am visible and can be examined easily makes me the first organ to display symptoms of many diseases that lie below. Abnormalities that appear on me are usually a sign of metabolism disorders, ulcers and other glandular disorders in the body. For example, if your liver is being affected by a poisonous substance, this shows up as red spots on the hands. But not only physical ailments affect, me; I am also affected by your spiritual condition. Of course, the opposite can happen, too. That is, diseases on the skin can affect your inner organs.

I have mentioned before that my ability to renew and repair myself is very great. God willing, I can repair mild burns, bruises and cuts easily under normal circumstances. However, if the bruise goes as deep as my basal layer, there might be a scare there to remind you in the future and to give thanks to God for your health. In addition, in diseases like diabetes, my ability to renew and repair myself is weakened and I cannot easily heal. In such cases, you have to take the utmost care to keep me clean so that I do not get infected.

Well, I think that I have said enough about myself. I will not continue to go on about the many symptoms of diseases that can be seen on me, including, allergies, itchiness, and infections. However, it is important for you to know that I can demonstrate hundreds of different conditions that are caused by a great range of factors, such as genetically transmitted diseases, immune system disorders, and bacterial, viral, and fungal infections. But don’t worry! As you can see, the majority of people live a healthy life despite these risks. The Creator has provided your body with a protective mechanism and has taught you how to take care of yourself. My job here is to indicate the Creator and how He has made me a flawless work of art that demonstrates deep meanings behind its complexity. Rather than continuing to give you a lecture on dermatology, it would be better if you were to live according to God’s consent. If you do so, you will be protected from diseases; even if you do become ill, you will have greater patience and moral strength. You will also be more thankful to God for your health.

[imhereforbvcky]

Make Me Believe - Part 7

Senior Year: F is for Finals and Feelings and Failure

Masterlist  -  Series Masterlist  -  Part 6  -  Part 8

Summary: You keep meeting Bucky Barnes in unexpected places around campus and he keeps acting like you know each other, like you’re dating. As your friendship grows, you find yourself wishing he’d do more than pretend.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, 2 idiots doing their idiot routine

Word Count: 1900

Bucky dragged you down the block with your arm locked under his as you approached the club. The thundering music reached your ears long before you spotted the serpentine queue of patrons waiting to slip inside.

“Bucky, no,” you groaned.

You were not a huge fan of clubs, generally, but this club in particular was at the bottom of your list. It was flashy and gimicky, and way too expensive. Worse yet, every other night was a theme night, each one more ludicrous than the last.

“Oh yes,” he chuckled, holding your arm tighter and pushing forward. “It’s perfect. It’s too laughable to take seriously. We need to lighten up. This is our new friend-date spot.”

You sighed, ceding the point. One more night. “What’s the theme tonight?”

“Tight and bright,” he grinned, spinning you with a flourish out from your spot tucked into his side. Suddenly the vibrant outfit made perfect sense. Your brightest yoga pants fit right in with the line ahead and the light sweater Bucky had picked was already glowing violet under the club's ultraviolet haze.

“How come you’re not in dress code?,” you demanded as you came to a stop outside the door. With tequila still heavy on your tongue and buzzing in your fingertips and toes, you nearly stumbled into him.

“Don’t need to. How many times have I told you, make friends with bouncers.”

“Uh never? You said bartenders.”

“Okay fine, befriend b-people. Bouncers, bartenders…” he trailed off, trying to think of another.

“And Buckys,” you smirked, tapping his nose with the tip of your finger.

He laughed and took your hand before stepping to the door. The bouncer knew him immediately and they shared a short, loose hug and a few casual words. After a quick scolding about dress code, he let the both of you through.

It was like stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia. If only Narnia was a bad 80’s fantasy. The lights were dim and there was artificial fog rolling low on the floor. Brightly colored laser lights flashed across the room in erratic patterns. Everything was plastic and fiber optic.

Exactly how you remembered it: flash and gimmick.

The patrons wore very little, thin and short neon spandex dresses, tight denim in light washes that glowed violet under the blacklight. The staff wore even less, illuminated by the glow of the bar, or the play of light off the fog. One bartender leaned forward with a tall royal blue drink complete with swirly straw and a bright red maraschino cherry.

Another wandered past in roller skates and spandex shorts, holding a tray of jello shots. He stopped and offered one to you and Bucky. You reached for your wallet, but before you could withdraw the cash, Bucky had embraced the man and stood laughing over something shouted in his ear over the rumble of the club.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” the man waved you off before disappearing into the crowd.

“You really do know everyone.”

He shrugged and guided you deeper into the fray where you danced and drank until you forgot every last one of the million reasons you shouldn't.

After a full night of sugary drinks in jello cups and fake syringes and plastic test tubes, the pair of you were beyond drunk. You stumbled into the cool night air, tucked under Bucky’s arm, nearly doubled over laughing. You’d danced and laughed and drank until you were dizzy and couldn’t tell which of those three was the reason.

“‘M tired, and it’s so hot. ‘M skipping my run with Steve tomorrow,” Bucky slurred as you pointed down the sidewalk in the direction of his apartment.

“Tha’s fair,” you agreed, “Think I sweat off more per ounce than I drank.”

Bucky snorted his disagreement. “We had a lott of jello shots. Jello’ssstill alcohol.”

“But I dinn’t drink it; I ate it,” you argued, stumbling into his side. “‘Cause it’s a solid.”

“Is it?” His face scrunched up in thought. It made you giggle and want to lean up on your toes and kiss his crinkled nose. “Or is it a non-newtonian fluid?”

“Nooo, ‘cause issa square.”

“Oh yeah,” he frowned.

“C’mon, engineer, you should know this!” you teased, pinching his side.

He laughed and folded over, dragging you down too with his weight across your shoulders. This was where your heart lightened, where it became so difficult to let go. The laughter came easy and the trepidation faded to a shadow with every squeeze of your shoulders, the warmth of his laughter in your ear.

“Notthat kind,” he defended. “Mechanical doesssn’t care ‘bout jello. But Tony would know!” he lit up with excitement. “Let’s call Tony!”

“Bad idea, Bucky!” You snatched the phone from his clumsy fingers and smiled softly at his pouting. “It’ss 1:30 in the morning an’ you’re gunning for an internship at his dad’s company.” You pointed at his chest with a clumsy jab. “Plus, you know I’m right.”

“You’re so smart,” Bucky mumbled, squeezing you tight to his side. He kissed the top of your head and you laughed, too drunk to be upset, too happy to realize you should know better.

You really should know better.

Surely, this was merely the high before the next crash that would break your heart all over again.

“Я тебя люблю,” he muttered against the crown of your head. (I love you.)

“Hmm?” you giggled.

“Но ты мой друг,” (But you're my friend.) he complained dropping his cheek against your hair. “Но ты больше чем просто друг.” (But you're more than just a friend.)

This was how you knew Bucky was well and truly drunk. He had a penchant for languages that astounded you. There was no foreign language requirement for an engineering degree, but Bucky had somehow managed to take on three, that you knew of. Meanwhile you and Steve struggled through French together, barely remembering simple verb conjugations while Bucky was nailing case endings in multiple alphabets. Clever bastard.

“Bucky I can’t understand you,” you chuckled as you made it to his doorstep.

“Что мне делать?” he asked, warm palms braced against your cheeks. (What should I do?)

It felt clumsy and strange but the way he was staring at you, had your brow furrowed, trying to see. Confused and drunk and entranced you shook your head slowly, trying to convey again that you couldn’t understand a word he said.

He looked down at you with big serious eyes and a deepening frown. There was a strange sadness to the turn of his lips and the softness in his eyes. As if, by shaking your head, you'd answered his question without meaning to or even knowing how.

“Но я думаю... я влюблен в тебя.” (But I think… I'm in love with you.)

You pursed your lips, watching the odd play of earnest feeling and drunken glassiness dance across his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Buck. Let’s just get you into bed.”

Upstairs, Natasha woke to the shuffle of clumsy drunken feet and the hush of giggling voices below Steve’s window.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, seeing her shift upright and peer out the window, down onto the stoop where you and Bucky approached the apartment Bucky shared with Steve.

She sighed but didn’t lay back down, watching, listening. “Our idiots are here,” she whispered.

“They patched things up; that’s a good thing,” Steve mumbled. He winced at the light from his phone as he checked the time. “Bucky’s been a pain in the ass for weeks.”

“It’s not a good thing for her,” Natasha complained. She remained pressed to the window, listening, making sure they made it inside when she heard it. Bucky and his stupid mouth. She froze for a moment. “ ‘M gonna kill ‘em both.”

The following morning Bucky stumbled out of bed with the acidic bite of nausea on his tongue and the pulse of a hangover deep in his skull.

His first coherent thought was, Never again. Followed quickly by, How the hell did I get home?

He finally made his way downstairs, still scrubbing the water from his freshly showered hair. Steve stood across the counter from Natasha. Bucky didn’t bother to greet either on his path to the coffee pot.

“You seen Y/N?” he asked as he poured a cup. “Thought she would’ve stayed here last night.”

His eyes flicked up to his friends and he finally registered the hostility brewing icy and dark. Natasha stood resolute. Her glare beat against him like an early winter’s sleet.

“She slept on the couch, I think,” Steve explained around a mouthful of oatmeal. “Left an hour ago. Not even she can withstand the wrath of Romanoff for that long.” He grinned, clear blue eyes darting to his partner’s. She didn’t spare him so much as a glance for his playful jab.

“Ты идиот,” (You’re an idiot.) Natasha seethed quietly before taking a quick spoonful of grapefruit.

“What?” Bucky returned her glare.

“У тебя есть чувства к ней.” (You have feelings for her.)

“What are you talking about,” Bucky focused too closely on his cup.

Natasha rolled her eyes and let the spoon fall heavily onto the edge of her plate. Its loud clank rang through the apartment like a shot.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” she leveled at him. “She might not understand your second hand Russian but I do.”

“I don't even remember coming home so…”

She only glared. Not accepting his excuses, however true they may be. You don’t fall in love with someone over one drunken night. To her, the pertinent facts remained unchanged. He was lying and they both knew it.

She hadn’t so much as mentioned his return the night before; he did because he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“I thought you weren’t going to interfere?” Steve smirked, leaning his hip on the counter.

Her sharp gaze snapped to Steve for a moment before she finally pointed an angled hand toward Bucky in frustration. “He’s in love with her.”

Steve laughed while Bucky sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, too hungover to parry this attack.

“Well obviously. Have you seen them together?” Steve chuckled between sips of black coffee. “They’re like an old married couple. Best friends my ass.”

“You have to tell her,” Natasha scowled at Bucky.

“I have to tell her nothing,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall with his eyes closed.

“But you’ll say it in a thousand ways she can’t understand? Confusing the both of you? Keeping her close enough to make you feel just good enough? You never say what’s important when it counts, do you.”

“I tried! She’s with that Quill guy!” Bucky defended. “If I tell her now I’m just the asshole who poisoned that and ruined this.” He gestured to himself, shaking his head in defeat.

“Идиот.” (Idiot.) Natasha shook her head with a deep frown while Bucky threw his hands out in frustration. “Bы оба” (Both of you.) “He broke up with her at the end of last term, Bucky!”

Even hungover as hell and stinging from the pain of this conversation, his attention snapped at her revelation.

“What?” he rasped. “Why didn’t she tell me? What happened?”

“You, Bucky.” The crease in Natasha’s brow deepening as she wondered how he could be so goddamn dense. “She wouldn’t give you up.”

Next Chapter >>

[chrysaliseuro2019]

Crowds,Canals & a Musical

Chris headed off to Kent for the family and friends catch up while I stayed in London. Walked into West End and walked out as fast as I could. The sheer volume of people led me to wonder if aimlesstours.com had a worldwide special to London for Saturday 22nd June. The purpose of my visit was to buy a ticket to a play. Had a shortlist of four but all appeared sold out online so Half Price Tix - a total misnomer that should be reported to consumer affairs - was the last option. Unfortunately the first three choices not available so had to settle for number 4.

Scoped out the location of the theatre as suspected I’d be against the clock at showtime 7.30. Skedaddled out of the West End as fast as I could heading towards Angel to catch up with Georgie’s old mate Alex. A few hours to kill allowed for some exploring around the shops but even better a lengthy walk along Regents Canal which stretches for 13+ kilometres but I can’t claim to have walked that. With the sun out it was a walk of joy to watch the Poms and others celebrating the arrival of summer. The path a mere 2 metres at its widest snakes alongside the canal which is flanked by endless barges most looking to be occupied as houses. Did notice you could buy one for £100,000 seemed a little steep for a near derelict floating narrow home with no land included. Still, with London real estate prices, maybe it was a bargain.

There was plenty to see while enjoying my walk - many cyclists some wobbling nervously keeping a wary eye on the canal while others earnestly weaving their entitled way through the walkers consisting of families pushing prams, cuddling lovers, friends with or without dogs , strange odd-bods and every other person drawn to stroll the towpath (wondered if I fitted into the odd-bods category). Then of course there were the runners (all to be admired in my book), some plodding possibly under the strain of extra winter kilos while others fleet of foot bounced along barely raising a sweat.

Finally were the hardier folk, those taking to the canal on blow-up dinghies or in spa party boats happily yahooing along decked out in costumes, beers in hand seemingly oblivious to the colour of the canal, whatever effluent it might be carrying and the patches of green scum floating along with them.

Met Alex for a drink at a pub along the canal The Narrowboat and very much enjoyed our catchup. Apart from her Aussie accent Alex is very much a London girl these days thriving on the variety a big city offers.

As expected had to bolt to get to the theatre in time but while expensive £7+ for a day pass (compared to Melbourne $8+) it is frequent meaning if you miss one tube then another one will follow shortly after. Got to Phoenix Theatre in Charing Cross Road with a few minutes to spare to see Come From Away, the story about small town Gander in Newfoundland Canada where 7000 stranded passengers were housed for 5 days during airspace lockdowns after 9/11. I’d seen a documentary on it before leaving home and thought the premise interesting as a humanitarian story. So how did the play shape up? Firstly it was a musical but I can’t remember any of the songs. Secondly (and I could be wrong here) I’d be surprised if Newfoundlanders speak with an Irish accent but that’s how the British actors portrayed a Canadian accent. On the plus side the production was tight, actors enthusiastic and it was often amusing and occasionally poignant. However I seemed totally out of sync with the audience with my lack of enthusiasm as they were hollerin’ and whoopin’ throughout and at the end cheered loudly and shot up as one in a standing ovation leaving me feeling conspicuous as I sat, so I too joined the ovation. There’s a lot of North American accents in town so maybe they were making up the majority of the audience. Meanwhile I left wishing I could’ve got into any of choices 1-3 (Hamilton, Present Laughter, Black is the Colour of My Voice).

Sunday was catch up with friend Abigail from London days of ‘79-81. Met in Sloane Square (can’t ever think of Sloane Square without Princess Di coming to mind) for lunch with one year’s news condensed into 3 hours. As always it was wonderful to see her. While in the ‘hood it would be negligent not to peruse the shops in Kings Road which probably like most of us have lost their edginess of yesteryear. Gone are the avant-guard designers of the 60’s replaced largely by smaller chains like Reiss, Anthropologie etc. Nonetheless it was no hardship wandering along checking out what’s hot in London.

Bus back to Pimlico where Chris arrived home from his big weekend. Quiet night in catching up with news from home, blog etc.

Post Script - saw first hand how reactive London Police are to something out of the ordinary in 2019. A young heavily accented man with a freshly bandaged arm in Islington was running up to people yelling ‘Please help me’ ‘You’ve got to help me’ in desperate pleas. I saw him hassling an elderly lady with her backing off quite alarmed. He then approached another person doing the same. I slipped into a bookshop for a brief mosey and by the time I emerged, only a few minutes later, 2 police cars had arrived and the police had him on the ground handcuffed. Last I saw he was still beseeching for help and being loaded into the police van. Sadly London has more than its fair share of homeless, down-and-outs and trouble souls in 2019. :(

[yes-invisiblegirl-me-blog]

Blog 3: TAKE PRECAUTIONS

A brisk walk on a cold, crisp day, whether for fitness or for fun, can be exhilarating and refreshing. Or, it can be a direct route to frozen toes, hypothermia, or one of those to-the-bone chills that can take hours to thaw. Last week was tough for me. The temperatures dropped from the 40s to the 30s to 20s, and that was the morning temperature alone. I didn’t want to get up and face the harsh cold weather. However, the cold air found its way into my room. The cool breeze creeped through my window and ran and circled loops and loops around my nose, and because of those icy loops I now lay in my bed with a stuffy nose and an aggravating cough. How can you prevent the runny nose but still enhance your health? If you wear the right stuff you can prevent these problems. As the old saying goes, "There is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing."

Layering for Cold Weather Walking

Rule number one to dress for a cold weather walk is to put on layers that will wick away moisture, insulate your body from the cold, and keep out the wind and rain. You'll need three layers to do this:

·         Base Layer: Any clothing that touches your body directly should be made from a fabric such as polyester that will wick moisture away from your skin and prevent you from feeling clammy.

·         Insulating Layer: This layer might be a shirt or vest that you can take off easily if you get too hot (and slip back on if you get cold again). How warm the insulating layer should be will depend on the temperature. It can be made of polyester fleece, wool, or down.

·         Windproof and Water-Resistant Outer Layer: Top it all off with a jacket designed to keep out the elements. Look for breathable jackets that will let your body moisture evaporate but keep out wind and rain. A jacket with a hood provides extra protection.

Underwear

Briefs: Underneath it all, you should wear briefs made of synthetic fabric rather than cotton or a cotton blend. Nylon or polyester is better, as cotton will hold sweat and won't dry quickly.

Bra or shimmel: For women, a sports bra made of a wicking polyester or polypropylene fabric is a good choice. Avoid cotton or cotton blends that can cause uncomfortable chafing when they get wet with sweat. A shimmel is a sports top or bra that extends down over your lower torso, providing an extra layer of insulation for very cold days.

Undershirt: Men may want to wear a short or long-sleeved sweat-wicking undershirt. This should be of silk, polypropylene, or other wicking fabric.

Tights or base layer bottoms: For temperatures below freezing, especially when winds are high, you can keep your legs cozy by wearing a pair of tights or base layer bottoms under your pants. Silk or polypropylene long john bottoms, or even winter-weight pantyhose, work as well. Tights or pantyhose can also help prevent chafing of the thighs and calves.

Shirts

When walking in the cold, your shirt should be made of a wicking fabric rather than cotton or a cotton blend. Cotton holds in sweat and can leave you cold and clammy. A wicking fabric shirt will take the moisture away from your skin while providing a base layer.

As it happens, many marathons and half marathons give finishers the perfect shirt to wear for winter walking—a technical wicking fabric long-sleeved shirt.

Pants

Your cold weather walking pants also should be made of wicking polyester fabric. Running tights or looser-fit running pants are ideal. For convenience, look for styles with zip pockets and an elastic waistband. On wet or snowy days, it's especially important to not wear cotton or denim. If you venture out in jeans and they get wet, you're setting yourself up for hypothermia.

If you expect to be walking on rainy days, you may want to invest in a pair of waterproof rain pants. These can be expensive but can also provide a great deal of comfort. They'll also keep the wind out and some have an inner fleece layer for very cold climates or skiing, which can come in handy in temperatures below freezing.

Socks

The most important thing to keep in mind is the bulk of your walking socks. You don't want to wear a pair that's so thick they crowd your toes together inside of your shoes. 

Footwear

You'll need to your feet warm and dry when you're walking in the cold. One option is a flexible athletic shoe that has a water-resistant and wind-resistant upper. Choose walking shoes with a flexible sole. If you can't bend or twist the shoe with your hands, your feet will be fighting it with each step. When waking for fitness, choose a waterproof athletic shoe or trail running shoe.

On Your Head

Covering your head will help keep your whole body warm. Some features to look for in a winter walking hat include ear flaps and a bill to shade your face on sunny days. Your walking hat should be waterproof.

Besides covering your head, you'll want to keep the rest of your body from the neck up warm and cozy. Some options to try: 

·         Balaclava: This is a hood that goes over your head and neck, leaving only your face exposed. Often you can pull it up over your mouth or nose as needed.

·         Neck gaiter or scarf: A neck gaiter is a sleeve that goes around your neck to keep your neck warm. You may prefer a traditional scarf to use for this purpose.

·         Buff: This is a tube-shaped piece of fabric that can be worn as a balaclava, a neck gaiter, or a hat.

I hope you take these points into consideration. If not, you will end up with one runny, disgusting chilled nose.