#Precision surface equipment

[jingbang1]

1、 Cutting method

Cutting method is currently one of the most widely used thread machining methods. This method can use cutting tools such as turning tools, cutting cutters, and milling cutters for machining. The cutting method is simple to operate, but requires precise machining equipment and low machining efficiency. In addition, due to the slow relative movement speed of the cutting tool, it may cause the problem of rough machining surface.

2、 Etching method

Etching method is a chemical processing method, which has the advantage of being able to process very small and complex thread shapes. The etching method requires the use of chemicals such as acids and bases for processing, and requires hazardous material management and strict operating procedures. In addition, the etching method also requires the processing of molds, so the cost is relatively high.

3、 Rolling method

Rolling method is a processing method that uses rollers to press the workpiece and convert its shape. Rolling can process the surface of a workpiece into parallel and continuous external and internal threads. Compared to the cutting method, the rolling method has the advantages of high machining efficiency, good surface quality, and high material utilization of workpieces, especially suitable for large-scale thread processing.

4、 Line cutting method

The wire cutting method is a method of using high current discharge to process the spiral shape on the electrode along the workpiece. This processing method can produce very small spiral lines, with high processing accuracy and good surface quality. However, the processing speed of wire cutting method is relatively slow, and it also requires periodic maintenance and upkeep of the processing equipment.

[lasercleaner]

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[dannyboy-writes]

Just some

okay so this started as something and drifted but im going with it! will prob make a pt2

Meeting the love of your life in the workplace is not the best idea, especially when you have to work together after breaking up.

Especially when the work is undercover as a couple.

“Look, I don’t want this anymore than you do, so let’s just do the work and get it over with,” Natasha said, dropping her bags in the house you were assigned to.

The Jones, married couple in hopes of starting a family.

Everything you and Natasha were not.

“I’ll take the spare room, you can take the main one,” you shrugged, making your way to the room to get settled in.

You unpacked your bags and laid in the hard mattress, kicking off your shoes. Questioning yourself whether the grey shape in the ceiling was mould, or if you were in fact, losing your mind.

It looked like Elvis.

A knock on your door lured you away from the shape, and you groaned, leaning up.

“I’m going to shower,” Natasha told you. “Is that okay, or do you want to go first?”

“Uhm, you go. I’ll check if the equipment is ready for the stake out.”

She nodded and left, as you got fully off the bed, grabbing a pen and notebook and heading to the dining table, to get the inventory.

Some time later Natasha took your place with the notebook as you left for the shower.

You hummed a soft melody as you dried yourself and tied your towel loosely around your waist, putting on a shirt on your still damp torso.

“We should have bought something to eat,” you complained, looking in the empty fridge. “I’m starving.”

Natasha looked towards you, taking in your tousled hair and the droplets of water falling off it and into your shirt, which was already sticking to you, restricting your moves, but also showing off your muscles and figure.

A frown in your eyebrows and a familiar melody coming off you, as you went through the many cabinets and drawers there were. One specific strand of hair, sticking in your forehead bothered her.

A wave of your hand took her off her trance, “Natasha, I asked if you want pizza?”

She blinked twice to recompose, unsure. “Yes, I do. With peppers,” she added.

You muttered a ‘Yeah, I know, and extra cheese,’ before picking your phone up and calling a restaurant.

“So, how’s inventory going?” You asked her.

She hummed, “Rather boring…” And she moved forward to you, sticking her hand in your face, moving a loose strand of hair out of the way.

She earned an eyebrow raise and your face, stoic.

“It was bothering me, sorry.”

You chuckled. “Bothering you, huh. Spend a lot of time checking my hair lately?”

Her face turned as red as her hair, definitely not expecting that reaction. “Just some of it,” she decided.

You ate in almost deafening silence, only humming in delight, and both of you decided an early night’s sleep would be good for the tension built in the room.

You weren’t sure if it was the mattress’ rock resemblance, or Elvis gazing at you from above, or Natasha’s words, but rest did not come easy.

Shifting from one side to the other, finding no cavity in the surface. The cover was too thick, and the fan too loud and timid in its cooling function. 

The window showed just enough light that you could make the outlines of the furniture in the room, and you followed carefully and almost with perfect precision each and every angle.

To your annoyance, the bedside clock glowed too much in the dark. Its led lighting the room red. A ’2:43’ burning your eyelids.

Just some of it.

And her calloused fingers tracing your forehead.

You decided it was definitely the fan’s loud whirring, and turned over, hoping to rest.

You rose with the sun the next day, shining warmly across the room, hitting your face with just a little too much light.

You could hear Natasha cleaning up in the kitchen and so you made your way there, stopping to clean your face quickly in the bathroom.

“Morning,” she told you. “There’s fresh coffee.” She pointed with her head towards the machine, and you nodded.

She had been training.

Maybe even gone for a run in town, you weren’t sure. 

Her hair had been neatly tied in a braid, before it disarmed with the movement, and you could still see the waves it had formed. You could still remember the way it fell after a long day, or a mission. 

“Sleep any good,” she asked you, blinking you out of your trance.

“Not really.” You poured some coffee into a mug and took a sip. “You?”

“Hm, some. The mattress could be better.” 

You laughed, “You should try mine, it almost feels like the one in Bagdad.”

She laughed too. “I take it back, my mattress is alright.”

You hummed, drinking some more coffee. “Did you go for a run?” 

“Oh, yeah. Town’s apparently dead at 7, it was peaceful.” She told you, “Why?”

“No nothing, your hair is– Well it looks like you ran.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Spend a lot of time looking at my hair?” She teased.

You choked on your coffee, your face heating up.

“Uhm, some of it, I guess.”

She grinned at you, her eyebrow still up high. But with a softness still.

Part II

[morallyinept]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 15

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 9.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Was being rescued real or just a dream? Smut in this chapter. Mentions of death/addiction.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 14

Captain Sandy Eccles and First Officer Mark Kowalczyk sit in the cockpit of their Airbus A380, preparing their journey from New York to Madagascar. 

Sandy settles into his seat at the controls, papery fingers dancing across the instrument panel as he initiates the pre-flight checks. Mark, meanwhile, takes up a position beside him, double-checking each step of the process to ensure nothing is overlooked.

"Flight control surfaces checked," Sandy announces, his brisk voice calm and authoritative. "Elevator, ailerons, and rudder are all responding within normal parameters."

Mark nods in acknowledgment, his eyes scanning the various gauges and displays before him. "Hydraulic systems pressure within limits," he confirms, his tone focused and precise. "No anomalies detected in the engine indicators."

As they make their final preparations in the cockpit, a cheerful voice greets them from the doorway.

"Good morning, Captain, First Officer," says Emma, one of the senior cabin crew members, with a warm smile. "I thought you might like a pick-me-up before we start boarding."

In her hands, Emma holds a tray with steaming cups of coffee and a small basket of pastries.

Sandy’s face lights up with appreciation. "Emma, you're a lifesaver, doll," he exclaims, reaching for a cup of coffee. "Thank you so much."

He observes the coy looks exchanged between Mark and Emma who both seem to blush simultaneously and smile before she heads out and closes the cockpit door behind her. 

“When are you going to quit making moon eyes and ask her out?” Sandy muses as he sips at his coffee.

Mark's cheeks flush even more pink as he shakes his head smiling. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah.” Sandy quips. "It's that obvious."

Mark chuckles as ground crew members bustle about below them, preparing the aircraft for boarding. Sandy and Mark take a moment to soak in the tranquil atmosphere and enjoy their breakfast.

The crew complete their final preparations for boarding, and Sandy and Mark continue their meticulous checks, verifying the functionality of crucial systems such as communications, navigation, and emergency equipment.

"Emergency exits are armed and cross-checked," Sandy announces, his gaze sweeping over the overhead panel. "Cabin pressure and oxygen systems confirmed operational."

Mark nods again in approval, his attention shifting to the weather radar display. "Weather radar functioning normally," he reports, his voice carrying a note of vigilance. "Keeping an eye on storm activity along our route. There’s a small swell over north-east Africa. Nothing to get too excited about."

With the pre-flight checks completed and the aircraft ready for departure, they find a brief lull in the hectic pre-departure activities to indulge in a conversation about their upcoming destination.

"Madagascar, huh?" Mark remarks, glancing at Sandy with a relieved smile. "Ever been there before?"

Sandy nods. “Several times. It never gets boring. You?”

“First time. Got a layover.”

“Has Emma got a layover too?”

Mark turns away trying to stifle a brewing grin.

“Mmm-hmm.” Sandy says, flicking controls with a smirk. “Enjoy it together. It’s paradise at this time of year. Stifling... with the heat.”

Several hours in and the flight has been smooth sailing as they cruise high above the Atlantic, but ahead looms a growing storm system, visible on the radar as a swirling mass of red and yellow.

And Sandy can see the darker clouds miles out in the distance.

He glances at Mark, his trusty co-pilot, and adjusts his headset over silver streaked hair. "Looks like we've got some weather ahead. Let's start planning a deviation. Those clouds are looking pretty gnarly."

Mark nods, his expression focused. "Agreed. We'll need to navigate around the storm to avoid the worst of it. The width is reported at one hundred and forty miles.”

“Hurricane?” Sandy queries.

“Possibly. I'll contact air traffic control for updated route instructions."

As Mark radioes air traffic control, Sandy studies the storm on the navigation display. He recognizes the signs of a significant cell but remains calm and focused, his confidence bolstered by his past experiences navigating similar weather systems.

"We'll need to deviate round to the south of the continent to skirt the edge of the storm. Once we're clear, we can resume our original course." Sandy says. 

"Roger that," Mark replies, jotting down the revised route on his flight plan. "I'll inform the passengers about the deviation and reassure them that it's just a precaution."

Sandy nods as Mark speaks into the intercom. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your First Officer speaking. We've encountered some rough weather ahead, so we'll be deviating from our planned route to avoid the storm. This’ll tack on about an extra hour of flight time and we apologise in advance for the delay. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened, and we'll do our best to keep the ride as smooth as possible."

Back in the economy cabin, both Frankie and Jude, unknown strangers at this point, don't hear the announcement, both have their headphones in; Jude being blasted with rock anthems and Frankie absorbed into a film he isn’t all that interested in. 

With the new route set, Sandy and Mark begin the process of adjusting the aircraft's heading to avoid the storm. As they descend to a lower altitude, the turbulence increases after a little while, causing the plane to jostle and sway.

Sandy grips the control yoke firmly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Storm’s got a damn wide berth. Hang on, Mark. It's going to be a bit bumpy."

"We've got this. Just a little further to go round." Mark reassures. "Nice and easy."

Despite their best efforts, the storm's intensity grows, and the turbulence becomes overwhelming. A powerful downdraft slams into the aircraft, causing it to lose altitude rapidly.

Alarms sound on the controls and Mark gasps realising a turbine has malfunctioned.

“Fuck.” Mark's heart races as he quickly scans the engine indicators. "Turbine two is showing abnormal readings," he reports, his voice tense. "Looks like it's malfunctioning due to the sudden change in airflow."

Sandy weighs their options. "We need to shut it down before it causes more damage. Initiate the emergency shutdown procedure for turbine two."

With a sense of urgency, Mark follows the established protocols, shutting down the malfunctioning turbine to prevent further complications. The aircraft shudders again as the remaining engines strain to compensate for the loss of power.

"Emergency checklist initiated," Mark confirms, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them on the control panels. "Shit. It’s not working!”

"We're losing altitude!" Sandy shouts, struggling to regain control of the plane.

"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday-" Mark begins radioing into air traffic control.

A loud explosion is heard on the left side of the plane.

Sandy frantically adjusts the controls, trying to stabilise the aircraft with Mark. Despite their best efforts, the aircraft continues to falter, its descent becoming increasingly erratic.

"I can't hold her! We’re going down! Brace for impact!" Sandy bellows over the screech of the failing engines. 

“Brace! Brace!” Mark yells into the radio, his shrill instruction echoing around the aircraft. The faint sounds of screaming can be heard from the cabin.

With a deafening roar, the plane strikes the surface of the ocean, its wings shattering upon impact and fuselage torn apart. Water floods into the cockpit as the aircraft begins to sink beneath the choppy waves.

Sandy is killed instantly upon the impact of nose diving, and Mark fights against the rising water, desperately trying to free himself from his seat. But it’s no use. 

He drowns, unable to escape his fate, moments later. 

After just over a year on the island; one year, one month and ten days to be precise, (or if you want to get real into the numbers to work it out, I’ll save you the trouble - it’s four hundred and five agonising days) with it just being the two of them, the hustle and bustle of people suddenly swarming around them can be too much to bear. 

It’s a natural reaction, after spending copious amounts of time in a peaceful place with no noise except the soft conversation of the person beside you, that any loud noises or crowds will alarm you. 

Jude watches Frankie for a brief moment, like all the hysteria around her has fizzed away and she’s studying him under a microscope. Watching how he becomes bewildered and a slight panic rises up inside of his wide brown eyes, taking them over, and then disappears as quickly as it comes. 

And then he's alert once more, like he’s just woken up and knows where he is all over again, a sudden spark of remembrance breaking through the dark dementia-like cloud swirling inside his mind.

Frankie will be ghostly still until a small movement, a sudden jolt in his back like he’s hiccupped, will convince her he isn’t a robot sitting rigid on the chair next to her in the ship’s main control room as they wait to dock on the mainland.

They’re dry and dressed in ill-fitting Navy gear; grey sweatpants and sweaters that are a little too long in the arms and swamp their malnourished frames. It feels strange to have shoes back on her feet as Jude looks down at the plimsolls with laces tied in a neat, floppy bow at her ankles.

Frankie holds a warm cup of coffee inside of his right hand that he sips slowly; the other is firmly interlocked with her fingers inside her lap. The bitter aroma of it filters into his nose and it’s a scent he savours for a few moments, even if it tastes like watered down shit, waiting for the familiarity to register, before he sips it and licks the sharp residue off of his lips. 

Jude reaches forward and wipes away a drip of coffee caught inside his bushy beard fibres, shining at her like a brown diamond, and smiles. She tugs on his beard gently. 

“I’m going to miss this.”

“I’m fuckin’ not.” Frankie chuckles. “It’s coming off the first chance I get.”

She purses her lips and makes a sad face as he rolls his eyes, smirking as he drinks his coffee some more, bewildered that he’s drinking coffee again at all after drinking tasteless rain water for so long. 

A swill of officers are on deck, chattering and the sounds of radio exchanges with tinny voices is heard somewhere in the distance, ebbing around them. 

Frankie looks back and forth at Jude with an expression that is mostly unchanging during the journey back to land.

It begins to creep her out a little bit the more she sees it; making prickles rise on the back of her neck. He suddenly has a way of making her nervous for absolutely no reason at all each time she glances up at him hunched over the coffee cup unmoving and looking like he has no idea where he is again. 

Through the rhythmic hum of the engines filling the air, she finds herself struggling to comprehend the reality of their situation herself. It all feels like a dream - a hazy, surreal blur of events that she can't quite wrap her mind around.

They've been rescued, she reminds herself, her heart pounding in her chest as she gazes out at the vast expanse of ocean stretching endlessly before them. After days - or was it weeks? - in the aftermath of the tsunami, they've finally been found, plucked from the brink of oblivion by the steady hand of fate.

But despite the overwhelming evidence of their salvation - the towering masts of the ship, the crisp uniforms of the crew bustling about their duties - Jude can't shake the lingering sense of disbelief that clings to her like a stubborn shadow.

It all seems too good to be true, too improbable to be real. She pinches her arm again and feels nothing but a terrifying numbness to it.

Wake up...

Frankie notices and glances down at her squeezing her skin between her nails. 

“Hey,” he says, releasing her grip. “Jude. It’s really happening.”

His eyes draw her in, ground her feet to the soft vibrations of the ship cutting through the waves, drawing ever closer to the distant horizon where the promise of land awaits, she finds herself clinging to his hand tighter, her fingers white-knuckled with tension.

Each passing moment feels like a lifetime, each mile bringing them closer to a destination that still feels impossibly far away.

But then Frankie flinches again, like music blasting through earphones loudly into his ear canal unexpectedly as the captain approaches them.

“We’re almost there, not much longer now. We’ll escort you guys to the American embassy. I’ve had a chat with them about you. They’re going to help you get home.” He announces clearly. 

“Thank you,” Jude replies, timidly, the sound of her own voice seeming too loud to her as her thoughts try to arrange themselves into some sort of comprehension.

“Where’s ‘there’?” Frankie questions the captain.

“South Africa, Cape Town, Sir.”

“I’ll be back. Drink some of this shitty coffee.” Frankie smiles at her, as he pushes the cup into her trembling fingers.

"I hate coffee..." She smiles, weakly.

"I know." Frankie squeezes Jude’s hand and then follows the captain.

Frankie hovers beside him looking out at the large windows in the vast control room.

“Captain. You said we were found amongst a group of islands?” Frankie asks him carefully.

“Yes Sir, the Prince Edward Islands.” He points to the satellite at two large, land-shaped clusters. “Those are the mainland islands, but we picked you up on a smaller rock scattered further out. There are lots of them. The islands have been previously used for penguin conservation. No-one inhabits them anymore though.”

“I think someone did at some point.” Frankie concludes.

“What do you mean?” The captain asks. 

“There was evidence of someone being on that island long before us. There was a man-made structure built, like a shelter? We found a switchblade and rusted tin cans. And remains…”

The captain nods thoughtfully. “It could have been someone from the conservation team, or maybe someone like yourselves who got stranded for a while? Fishermen get stuck out here on a regular basis if the tide turns. But there haven’t been any reported people missing to my knowledge for years. We’re out here a lot, supporting the territories. We have our base at Port Elizabeth.”

Frankie thinks for a moment. “Your officer in the boat, he said he looked for us. I’m wondering how far off course the plane was when it crashed,” Frankie says, folding his arms around himself as he looks out the window at the empty sea presented before him.

The captain turns to him. “Most searches are conducted in and around the immediate area where the plane drops off of radar-”

“Yeah, I know. I-I used to fly. Army. Retired.” Frankie explains tentatively.

“Ranking?”

“Captain.”

The captain salutes at Frankie out of respect for an equal. “Your training kept you alive. Might’ve been a different story if you were just a regular civvie.” 

As Frankie stands on the deck of the naval ship, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, he can't help but reflect on the harrowing journey that brought them both to this moment.

Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against them, they had survived - against all logic, against all reason. And as he looks back on their time adrift at sea, trapped on the island, enduring the forceful brunt of the tsunami, he realises that the captain is right; it probably was his training in the army that had kept them both alive for so long.

In the face of danger, his instincts had kicked in, guiding Jude through the treacherous waters with a steely determination born from years of discipline and resilience.

Whether it was rationing their meagre supplies, building shelter, or weathering the brutal storms that swept across the ocean, he had drawn upon the skills honed during his time in the military to keep them safe, to keep them alive.

But it wasn't just his training that had seen them through - it was also the unwavering bond forged between them in the crucible of adversity. Together, they had faced the raging tempests and the relentless swells, standing side by side against the onslaught of the island’s fury.

And in those moments of darkness, it was their shared strength, their shared determination, that had sustained them when all hope seemed lost.

“Crews were out here, including us supporting them, scouting for wreckage for weeks. We found some, but of course you have to remember the ocean is vast; debris can travel in all sorts of directions on the current, and can travel at different speeds. It’s impossible to search the entire ocean for survivors, especially when we didn’t find any at all in the immediate vicinity where the plane went down.” The captain swallows and Frankie watches distantly as his Adam's apple bobs in his throat like a forlorn knot. 

“I’m sorry that you guys weren’t found sooner, I really am. We were convinced everyone on that plane had perished, all the evidence we found suggested it. You guys drifted so far from the crash site, that it’s a pure miracle you survived.”

“A miracle.” Frankie snorts.

“What else could it be?” The captain queries. 

Frankie doesn’t answer. Instead pondering it quietly to himself as he stares back out at the ocean as an officer approaches the captain diverting his attention. 

Emotionally sterile and just gazing out at nothing; seeing nothing even though a dark land shaped mass is visible on the horizon now.

There's a surge of hope - a flicker of excitement igniting deep within his chest at the prospect of finally reaching solid ground after so long being lost.

But alongside the hope, there's also a twinge of apprehension - a nagging doubt curling into something fretful that whispers in the back of his mind, reminding him of all they've endured and the uncertain future that lies ahead.

Frankie looks down at his hands to find them shaking again. Fingers trembling with a mind of their own.

He squeezes them into tight fists, nails cutting into his palms, and willing himself to calm down.

When the ship docks, Frankie and Jude are escorted to a Navy vehicle and driven inwards from the coast towards central Cape Town. 

Jude looks out the window, observing the colourful, loud world that has left them behind for so long. The dusty streets, the aromas from food stalls as they pass bustling markets making her stomach growl with the infusion of spices tickling her nose as they waft in through the windows of the car.

The yells and sounds of people crowded in the streets make her ears ache. The rumble of passing cars reverberates heavily through the air, their engines growling as they prowl the bustling streets. The screech of brakes and the blaring of horns add a discordant note to the air and she practically jumps out of her skin every time it happens.

She feels a gentle squeeze around her hand and looks across the seat at Frankie as he holds his arm out and she shifts closer to him, into the safe embrace of him, ever wearing that cautious gaze in his furtive eyes.

“Who are you going to call?” Jude asks him dreamily, as they both stare emptily at the scenery whizzing by them in a blur.

“Ghostbusters,” he remarks with a sardonic grin and then shrugs. “Fuck, I don’t even know…”

Despite being rescued, a pang of anxiety claws at his starving gut as he comes to a sobering realisation - he doesn't know any numbers off by heart to call anyone and let them know he's safe.

In the chaotic aftermath of their rescue, amidst the flurry of activity and the rush of emotions, he hasn't given much thought to the practicalities of reaching out to loved ones. Now, faced with the stark reality of his predicament, he feels a surge of panic rising within him. How will they know he's alive? How will they know he's safe?

Will anyone even care to know?

“You gonna call your mom?” He asks, swallowing down the bile. 

“I bet she won’t believe it’s me really calling her.” Jude says with a weak smile birthing out on her face.

It seems an incredibly daunting thought; the anticipation to call and hear her voice is overwhelming, surreal even. Like it will never bloom into fruition because the pain of saying the words out loud - explaining where she’s been for the past four hundred and five days - is unbearable to even begin unravelling apart to make sense of for herself, let alone another hysterical person on the end of a phone line.

As the Naval car rumbles along the busy streets, inching its way towards the embassy, Frankie and Jude find themselves momentarily halted by traffic jamming up. The sounds of honking horns and distant chatter fill the air, mingling with the stifling heat of the evening.

In the midst of the commotion, a young African boy on a battered moped pulls up beside them, his eyes wide with curiosity as he peers in through the car window.

His dark skin is coated with a sheen of sweat, and his gaze, filled with a mixture of wonder and innocence, falls upon them both, taking in their appearances with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Frankie can feel the weight of the boy's curious stare, a silent observer to their dishevelled state - clothes too big, hair wind-tossed, faces etched with exhaustion and relief. Frankie meets the boy's face, struck by the depth of emotion reflected in those big, expressive eyes.

There's a silent exchange between them - a moment of connection that transcends language and culture, bridging the gap between their worlds with a simple glance.

For a brief moment, time seems to stand still as they lock eyes with each other, their worlds intersecting in this fleeting moment of shared humanity amidst the chaos of the city streets. There's something oddly poignant about the encounter, a silent acknowledgment of the fragility of life, the universality of human experience.

The boy doesn’t know about Frankie and Jude’s life-altering struggles, that they’ve been lost for so long, and yet he smiles at Frankie, offering a mouth full of chipped and wonky teeth. 

But as quickly as it begins, the moment passes, the boy gives Frankie a shy smile before revving his engine and disappearing into the throng of vehicles. 

His eyes, already weary from months of uncertainty and hardship, begin to sting with unshed tears, and a lump forms in Frankie’s throat as he struggles to contain the overwhelming swell of feeling.

In that brief exchange, something profound has shifted within him - a stirring of empathy and compassion that cuts through the layers of cynicism and weariness that has come to define his existence. It’s as if the innocence and wonder reflected in the boy's eyes has pierced straight through to his soul, awakening a dormant part of himself that he has long believed to be lost.

Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over, Frankie turns away from the window, unable to shake the weight of the moment.

Jude reaches up and kisses his neck, feeling his beard tickling her cheek.

As the Naval car inches forward once more, carrying them ever closer to safety and sanctuary, Frankie finds himself grappling with a newfound sense of vulnerability, a rawness of emotion that he has long buried beneath layers of bravado and stoicism.

Frankie looks down at Jude nestled against his chest and kisses the top of her head.

The Navy officers escort them into the American Embassy in Cape Town; a large and formidable white building with heavy security and armoured vehicles. The American flag is flapping around in the breeze and Jude looks up at it, feeling a sense of familiarity and deep seated relief to view the stars and stripes waving back at her.

They’re escorted to the consulate main building where a representative for The States meets them and shakes their weary, calloused hands as he regards them over the rim of his thin spectacles carefully. 

“Wow, you guys have really been through the ringer, ain’t ya?” He says with a Southern twang, motioning for them to sit and regarding their dishevelled, malnourished appearance with some appal. “I’m Jake. I’ll be assisting ya’ll whilst ya here with us.”

“How long will that be?” Frankie enquires, anxiously. He scratches at the back of his head, his cap still firmly planted on top of his scraggly curls that reach down to his shoulders.

“Hopefully not long at all. Take a seat, make yourselves comfy there.” Jake motions to the chairs again; watching as they sit on the edges tentatively like the chair will swallow them whole. 

“What’s going to happen to us now?” Jude asks. “We just wanna go home.” She explains trying to stifle a swamping yawn.

The thought of finally returning home feels like an alien concept. It's a notion that seems both tantalisingly close and impossibly distant, like a dream she's afraid to fully grasp for fear of it slipping away.

“And we’re going to get ya back there for sure, ma’am. We need some details from ya so we can get ya some new passports and check a few things out. Now, I hear you’re ex-military, Sir?” Jake says, addressing Frankie directly.

Frankie nods and slumps back in the chair.

“Well, that works in your favour. We can get ‘em to help escort you guys home, through the back door as it were.”

Frankie smiles through tight lips as Jake clears his throat.

“Back door?” Jude queries, confused.

“Without much of a hubbub. You guys’ll make international news soon enough.”

The thought fills Frankie with a potent mix of anxiety and apprehension, as it does with Jude. The thought of their faces splashed across television screens, of their harrowing ordeal dissected and analysed by strangers, sends a shiver down Frankie's spine.

It's a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgement that awaits them on the other side of this journey - a world that seems increasingly foreign and hostile with each passing moment.

“What happened to the plane?” Frankie braves. “Do you know why it came down?”

Jake pauses and clasps his hands together on his desk. “Yeah, I remember the story. Was mechanical failure from the storm. The engines failed I think, from what I remember. It was all over the news worldwide, social media and all that kind of stuff. I don’t really understand that Instagram thing myself, but they never found any survivors.” Jake explains.

He pulls out his iPhone, taps onto the screen then hands it to Frankie. It’s a Google search page of all the headlines and images from the crash.

Frankie scrolls through them with an unsteady finger. He stops when he sees a headline with his own face and name listed as one of Flight 816’s missing passengers. An old army photograph of him in his sandy combat gear, eyes squinting in the sun. 

Frankie turns the phone screen to Jude and looks back at her with worrisome, dull peepers. 

“Shit...” She mutters skimming the article. She hands the phone back to Jake and he puts it on the desk. 

“We’re going to put ya guys in a hotel not too far from here, give you some comfort and ya’ll can get some rest. Before that we’re going to get ya checked over with a couple of doctors, make sure you’re healthy, that kinda thing.”

“Can we make some calls?” Jude asks him eagerly.

“Of course ya can. I’ve no doubt ya families will be keen to hear from ya. I imagine it will feel like a miracle to them, huh? To have ya back after all this time?”

Jude gulps as her fingers knot in her lap.

“Listen guys, I can’t imagine what y'all have been through. But we’re going to getcha home, we’re going to help ya as much as we can, okay?”

“Thank you, Jake.” Jude says to him, offering him only a glimmer of a small, worn out smile. 

“Ya need anything, ya let me know.” Jake opens a file on his desk. 

“A razor would be a great start.” Frankie clarifies.

Jude smiles at him and nods in agreement.

“Y’all will have everything ya need, don’t worry. Alrighty here, let’s start with ya full names, shall we?” Jake picks up a pen. He looks at Frankie and waits for him to answer. 

“Catfish,” Jude replies rather deadpan. 

“Hmm?” Jake asks, eyebrows raising.

She giggles, almost like a snort that hiccups out of her, and Jake looks at her slightly bemused.

She can’t help but laugh out louder until she can’t stop. Real gut rolling belly laughs that erupt out of her mouth and Frankie joins in too, snickering until eventually he can’t contain it and lets out a loud hawhawhaw that continues to roll out from him, until he clutches his stomach like he’s doubled over in that crazed laughing pain.

Jake observes them both bewildered. “Y’all wanna let me in on the joke?”  

They both undergo a medical at the local hospital as soon as they wrap up the formalities with Jake, escorted by a representative from the consulate to translate for them where needed.

A lot of hustle and bustle through their exhausted state, when all they really want to do is to eat, sleep and call their loved ones. 

The delay is starting to get to them as they exchange tired and impatient looks between themselves, gripping each other’s hands and squeezing when it starts to get overwhelming.

They’re separated temporarily as they’re examined; a feeling that neither of them want to get used to.

A palpable sense of unease settles over Frankie like a heavy shroud. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he finds himself separated from the familiar presence of Jude - the one constant in an ever-shifting sea of uncertainty.

Frankie clocks Jude’s furtive, panicked gaze back at him as she’s ushered behind a curtain and feels the pang of anxiety hit her gut too, making her stomach all swirly like the ocean current that has tried - and failed - numerous times to drown them both.

With each passing moment, Frankie finds himself growing increasingly restless, the minutes stretching out into an agonising eternity as he waits anxiously for her return.

The sterile surroundings only serve to amplify his sense of isolation, the stark fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that dance mockingly across the walls.

Frankie sits on the examination table in another bay as the doctor asks him about his general health and prods gently at his stomach and over his ribs. He listens to his heartbeat and takes a swab from his mouth. 

In the other bay, a similar process ensues with a female doctor who takes blood, swabs and asks a barrage of personal questions to Jude. 

“What have you been eating on the island? Have you been ill at all whilst there? When was your last period?”

“Period?”

Jude’s mind cast back to the blood trickling down her legs in the sand and the gut wrenching pull in her stomach reminds her of the unexpected loss all over again, like a wave smashing into her.

“Urm... I can’t really remember, maybe seven months or so, maybe less? I’m sorry, it’s all so…” She searches back in her mind against the blank void of time, unsure exactly when it was that she’d had her last one on the island. 

It’s not really something you consider at first, bleeding monthly on a deserted island with no sanitation products to hand. But when it’d happened a few weeks or so into first being stranded there, the heavy belly cramps registering deep in her uterus, and discreetly keeping it from Frankie’s awareness, she’d used dark strips she’d torn off a t-shirt and rolled it up inside her panties. It felt like she was living in the dark ages before tampons even existed. 

But out in the middle of nowhere Jude had to adapt and she hid the evidence well from him. Or at least if he did know, he was good not to mention it and add to her embarrassment.

But then she realised, that slow unsettling feeling creeping over her shoulders, one day on the shoreline washing out her hair, that she hadn’t had a period for some time after they’d started sleeping together.

Dawning on her then that they’d been pretty reckless, but when you’re in the throes of passion and wrapped up in one another, practicality flies out the window. But the months had worn on and there was no real repercussion from their love making, no signs of a pregnancy. No period, no risk of a baby right? 

Evidently she was wrong. 

“You’ve lost a lot of weight, it will affect your cycle for a while, but as you gain weight again it should return to normal. If it doesn't, your doctor back home can advise you further.” The doctor says. 

“I urm... I-I think I had a miscarriage on the island.” Jude squeaks quietly, unable to look the doctor in the eye like she’s done something shameful.

She lowers her clipboard and touches her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she replies gently. ”If that’s the case, I’ll need to examine you, make sure there’s no lingering infection or anything, will that be okay?”

Jude nods and lays back on the gurney as the doctor pulls on some latex gloves.

In the other bay, the doctor places his cold stethoscope all over Frankie’s bony back, asking him to breathe in and out and hold his breath for as long as he can. He asks him about any injuries sustained, anything that worries him currently and how he’s feeling in his general state of mind. 

Frankie shrugs. “I’ve been stuck on an island for over a year thinking I would die every day. I’m sure there’s a fuckin' adjustment period for that, right?”

The doctor doesn’t appreciate his sarcasm and doesn’t respond, instead writing out a prescription for vitamins and supplements. 

“I had a fever... On the island, not too long ago, and a rash too.” Frankie mutters through a stifled yawn. 

“What kind of fever?”

“I’m not sure. I was out for a few days. Hot, vomiting... Delirious, that kind of thing.”

“And the rash, was it all over your body or just concentrated?”

“All over I think. Red and angry."

“Were you bitten by a mosquito at all?” The doctor probes, regarding him.

Frankie shrugs again. “Not that I specifically remember. I was bitten by a lot of things out there.”

“We’ll take some blood, check it for anything that could be lingering in your bloodstream. You could have possibly had Dengue Fever. It's quite common out here with mosquito bites. But easily treatable if you have access to meds, which I appreciate you didn’t, of course... Couple that with your malnutrition and weak state, you’re lucky you didn’t catch anything worse. I’ll prescribe you some meds, make sure it’s all gone. Have you got any allergies? Any medication that you’re sensitive to?”

As Frankie absorbs the doctor's questions, he finds himself torn between conflicting impulses.

On one hand, there's a voice in the back of his mind urging him to speak up - to lay bare the truth about his past addiction and the struggles he's faced in order to ensure he receives the proper care and support he needs.

But alongside that voice, there's another - an insidious whisper of doubt that sows seeds of fear and uncertainty in his heart. What if they judge him? What if they see him not as a survivor, but as a liability - a broken soul in need of fixing?

The thought of laying bare his vulnerabilities to strangers fills him with a profound sense of unease, a fear of being labelled and stigmatised further for the demons he's battled in the past.

In the end, as the doctor's gaze meets his own, Frankie makes a choice - a leap of faith into the unknown. With a deep breath and a steady resolve, he opens his mouth to speak, ready to face whatever consequences may come with the truth. 

"I... I have a history of addiction. Drugs. Cocaine."

The admission hangs heavy in the air, casting a palpable tension over the bay as the doctor's expression shifts, registering a mixture of surprise and concern.

Frankie can feel the weight of their scrutiny bearing down on him, but he refuses to look away, steeling himself against the fear that threatens to overwhelm him.

"I've been clean for... for a while now," he continues, the words coming more easily now that he's broken the silence. "But I thought you should know. In case... in case it's relevant to my treatment. I can’t have any meds that have any psychoactive effects.”

There's a beat of silence as the doctor absorbs his words, their gaze searching his face for any sign of deception or evasion. But Frankie meets his searching gaze head-on, his eyes clear and unwavering as he waits for his response.

Finally, the doctor nods, a gesture of acknowledgment tinged with understanding. "Thank you for being honest with me," he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Frankie watches as the doctor strikes through his previous writings on his pad. "Let's take some blood."  

Frankie holds out his arm as the doctor pricks it with a needle.

“What happened to your neck?” The doctor asks, turning Frankie’s head gently so he can examine the scars that run across it.

“I was burned when the plane crashed...” Frankie surmises, his thoughts turning dark as he remembers the smell of his skin sizzling in the water.

“Hmm, looks like they’ve healed pretty well. They look like they were partial-thickness or second degree when it happened. Might be best to apply some topical cream to help with the fading. I’ll add it to your prescription.”

The doctor places the blood vial in a testing bag and gives Frankie a cotton ball to hold against the needle poke hole in his arm.

“Overall, I’d say you’re in pretty good shape, considering. The malnourishment is reversible, you need to simply eat. Foods that are rich in vitamins and high in energy, fortified foods and vegetables, that kind of thing. In moderation of course. I can’t stress this enough, but if you gorge you’ll make yourself really sick. Your stomach has shrunk significantly, so although you may feel famished, you need to fill up really slowly, okay?”

Frankie nods. “Sure.”

“Refeeding syndrome can be fatal, alright?” The doctor warns and Frankie is nodding so much it feels like his head might fall off his shoulders. 

"Eat small and slow. Got it."

“I’d advise you to visit your dentist, your optometrist, and follow up with your own doctor too when back home. Check on your overall health with them regularly until things get back to normal with your body. Keep an eye on any changes to your skin too; you’ve been exposed to the sun for a long time without a barrier, so check on any moles or freckles you have regularly for any changes. They all look okay to me at the moment.”

“No problem.” Frankie replies; his foot tapping on the floor anxiously.

With a heavy sigh, Frankie clenches his fists in frustration, a surge of restless energy coursing through his veins. Every instinct screams at him to find a way back to Jude, to break free from the confines and monotony of the examination bay and seek out the one person who has become his lifeline in this tumultuous world.

In the other bay, Jude winces as the doctor takes an internal swab and bites down on her lip. 

“You can sit up now.” The doctor says with a sincere smile. “On first inspection you look completely fine down there, but I’ll send this to the lab and we’ll know for sure. I can write you a prescription for some contraceptives if you’d like, it might help with regulating your periods during the transition back to your normal cycle. In the meantime, rest. Take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

The moment she says it, Jude starts to well up. The natural reaction you have when anyone shows you any kindness or sympathy at your plight. 

The doctor hands her a box of tissues and she takes a few out, wiping her gritty eyes. 

“It might be a good idea to seek some therapy, talk to someone about your ordeal. You’ll find your emotions will be up and down for a long time and that’s perfectly normal.”

Jude nods at the doctor blowing her nose. Emotions being up and down is a fucking understatement. 

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor, and she’s all too eager to get out of the bay and be back with Frankie. 

“How did it go?” Jude asks him through red eyes, and he pulls her in for a long, tight hug.

“Horrible.” Frankie replies stoically.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Absolute agony being away from you.” He says softly. 

“It was.” Jude agrees. 

“You ever heard of refeeding syndrome?”

“No.”

“We gotta eat real slow, even though I wanna devour a fuckin’ whole cow right now.”

Jude snickers.

“Did they take your blood?” Frankie asks.

Jude nods. “Pesky vampires,” she remarks through a smirk up at him. 

"C'mon. Let's get out of here. I fuckin' hate hospitals." He says.

The hotel room isn’t that fancy.

Nothing over the top; conspicuous and modest, but more than anything it’s clean and smells fresh with a lemony scent lingering in the air around their nostrils.

The air conditioner is whirring out from under the window and the net curtains billow softly in the recycled air flow. 

They wander into the small room and look around like they’ve just hit the jackpot.

There’s a double bed with clean, crisp sheets. Actual pillows and a night stand with a gloaming lamp. There’s a small flat screen mounted to the wall on the opposite side; an armchair and a closet with empty hangers.

Large windows offer a glimpse of the city skyline twinkling in the dark, a reminder of the world beyond their temporary sanctuary.

It's a moment they've both been longing for, a brief respite from the chaos and uncertainty that has consumed their lives all day.

For Frankie, the sight of the hotel room is a balm to his weary soul - a tangible reminder that they have finally reached safety after so many harrowing experiences.

He takes a moment to savour the simple pleasures of a comfortable bed and a hot shower, luxuries that he’s sorely missed during their time stuck on the island.

They both simultaneously breathe in and out and turn to smile at one another in that ambient relief. 

Frankie puts down the carrier bag he’s holding, full of clean clothes that the embassy has provided, medicines and some personal items, such as coveted toiletries.

Jude is holding a similar bag for herself and has a key card for the room next door.

Frankie wanders over to the bathroom and there’s a large walk-in shower, sink and toilet with clean towels, mini soaps and a large mirror mounted on the wall above the sink and brightly illuminated. 

He steps inside gingerly and regards himself in the mirror, just looking at the worn face staring back at him that he no longer recognises.

Taking off his trusty cap that reeks of the sea and sweat, his hair is wild and untamed, shaggy below his ears and curling into his shoulders.

His once patchy beard is full and busy with wiry hairs that seem more silver in some places. It's been over a year since he last saw his own reflection, and the sight before him is both jarring and surreal.

His usually plump lips are cracked with dryness and a faded purple rather than the heart coloured cerise they usually are naturally. His dark eyes, that have seen and been through so much, are now dull and faded when they used to be full of vibrant zing.

It’s possible, he thinks, that he’s aged significantly beyond his years. He most definitely has, deep inside of him somewhere. 

Frankie regards his shrunken appearance, his collarbone so prominent as he removes his Naval sweater. His ribcage is explicitly noticeable and he winces at the state of his aching and tired body presented back to him.

“Shit...” Frankie sighs despondently.

Jude appears at the doorway, watching him regard himself as he runs his fingers through his beard and hair, examining every aspect of his gaunt appearance in the ghastly mirror.

She ventures into the bathroom next to him and dares herself to look at her own reflection, keeping her eyes to the floor like she’s avoiding a monster tailing her, until she feels Frankie put his hands on her shoulders behind her, anchoring her.

There’s nothing of her, the once supple curves of her body are now straight, flat lines with no definition or skin that glows with health and vitality.

Despite being tanned from months of relentless sun burn, her skin appears dull and lifeless. Hey eyes are sunken into the sockets of her skull and the bags under them just confirm wholly how tired she absolutely feels.

Her braid is hellishly tangled; her hair lifeless and no longer has the sleek bounce she remembers, filled with split ends.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, utterly aghast at the state of herself. 

“You’re still beautiful to me,” Frankie whispers, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her stomach. “Todavía tan jodidamente hermosa.” (Still so fucking beautiful.)

They look at one another in the mirror, trying to accept the alien looking strangers who are staring back at them with horrified reflections. 

“I’ll let you get washed up,” Jude begins, devastated as she heads towards the door, but he pulls her back by her wrist gently. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, hermosa,” he says softly and pulls her in close to him.

Frankie kisses her, tilting her chin up and she stands on tip toes as he pulls her close. She giggles and wriggles away from his face as his beard tickles her lips.

“Yeah, we really need to cut this,” Jude says, fingering through his crispy beard. 

Frankie steps away out of the bathroom for a few moments and brings the bag back in with him. He empties the contents of the toiletries onto the sink and finds some scissors and a razor, and holds them out to her. 

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world and shave this fuckin’ thing off my face?” He asks her through a wry grin.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she chuckles.

Jude cuts large chunks of hair from his beard carefully, keeping as close to his skin as possible as he perches on the toilet with the seat down.

Opening his legs so she can stand in between, his hands sweep over her backside and squeeze occasionally.

"This is very distracting," she hums as he kneads and squeezes her flesh.

"I know," he surmises with a grin.

Once she’s cut enough off, she wets his face and covers his chin and neck in shaving foam and begins running the razor over his face gently. 

“There you are,” Jude marvels as his taught skin is finally revealed from under the hair.

The same face she remembers from when he first appeared on the island, staggering up the sand bank towards her with wide, panicked eyes. “You want it all gone?”

He nods. “It’ll grow back soon enough.”

Frankie pulls down her sweats as she steps out of them and sits on his knee.

“How you holding up?” He asks as he feels the scrap of the blade over his skin. 

Blinking, Jude nods. “I keep waiting for it to feel real.”

“Yeah.” He nods. 

“This has to be a dream.” She sounds like she’s far away. “But… I’m not waking up.”

Frankie takes her hand and presses it against her chest. She can feel the steady throb of his heart under her finger tips.

“It’s real.” He confirms. "We're here."

Jude smooths away the remaining foam with her fingers when she’s done, revealing a smooth and pallid jaw line against the dark tan of his face, and he lunges forward and kisses her deeply. 

Frankie stands up as she wraps her legs around his waist and he steps into the shower with her, peeling her out of her remaining clothes as they’re saturated under the warming stream. 

The hot water feels incredible and they both gasp out in satisfaction as the jet sprays them down, laughing in relief and wonderment at such a simple thing as hot water after all this time of bathing in the murky sea. 

“Oh my God!” Jude calls out, closing her eyes, feeling the heat on her skin, and Frankie throws his head back, letting the water drown him and soak his shaggy hair.

He shakes it about like a dog and she laughs as he chuckles, kissing her again. 

He reaches for some shower gel and sniffs it in his hands before offering his palms out to her to smell it in return. It smells of herbs and bergamot; woody scents like the forest and the notes dance inside her nostrils long after it’s absorbed into her skin. 

He runs his soapy hands all over her body, taking his time to clean and massage her, working the nodules at the back of her neck, swooping his hands under her arms to run them down her back and grab her ass with them, making her smile and groan out. 

Frankie reaches for the razor and crouches down, tapping his thigh as she puts her foot on it.

Jude watches as he shaves away the hair from her legs gently, looking up at her with a smile pinched between his teeth as the water sprays against his back. He’s tender, running his hand over her freshly smooth skin and admiring her when he's done. 

"So fuckin' beautiful," he says in wonder.

Jude reaches for his hair, scratching around the back of his neck fondly with the shampoo as he kisses just above her wet belly button. 

On his knees, he hooks her leg over his shoulder and instantly licks up the seam of her pussy.

“Frankie!” She cries out, steadying herself against the tiles as her legs buckle unexpectedly. 

“I got you,” he says, smirking up at her, his hands firmly holding her backside and thighs and keeping her upright. 

She watches as his tongue slides against her, slipping into her folds and seeking out her clit. She groans when he latches onto it, sucking it between his lips as his hands slide around the front of her thighs and he pries her open with adept, soapy fingers. 

Jude reaches down, gripping onto his shoulder, cradling his head closer as Frankie laps at her pussy like a man completely starved.

The water trickles down her stomach into his mouth from the stream above them. With each breath, Jude feels the tension building within her, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap.

It's a sensation that courses through her veins, igniting a fire within her core that threatens to consume her. She can feel her heart racing, a steady drumbeat of anticipation that echoes in her ears as Frankie hums out in satisfaction, his skilled tongue rubbing around her clit deliciously.

“Yes, don’t stop…” Jude whines, tugging on his soaked hair, spirals of dark curls knotting around her knuckles.

He growls with the tension on his scalp, his fingers sliding up inside her as he laps at the succulent slit leaking sweetly onto his tongue as she builds. 

And then, suddenly, it happens - a release of pent-up energy that surges through her with breathtaking intensity.

It's as if a dam has burst, flooding her senses with a rush of raw, dizzy emotion that leaves her trembling in its wake.

“Fuck! Frankie!” She cries out, tears welling behind her eyes.

As she closes her eyes and leans back against the cool tiles, she can feel the tension melting away from her body, replaced by a deep and abiding sense of relaxation.

It's as though every muscle in her body has finally surrendered to the gentle rhythm of the moment, a moment where it's her and Frankie and they’re safe and warm and loving on one another, allowing her to sink deeper into the embrace of tranquillity.

He stands up and kisses her with an intensity that makes her unsteady on her feet. She can taste herself on his lips and sucks at them with a feverish want. 

“Jude,” he whines, closing his eyes as he feels her reach for his cock, hard and aching for her.

Frankie bites down on his lip as he watches her massaging it around the suds, squelching it through her fingers. 

He breathes out against her pores as she pumps him slowly. She feels his fingers grip tighter around her ass cheeks.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” Frankie husks. “Ever.”

She smiles and kisses him, working his swelling cock inside of her grip.

“I need you.” Jude moans, pulling him tighter to her.

He picks her up and pushes her against the tiles as she wraps her legs around him, crying out as he sinks his cock inside of her.

He gasps out loudly as he connects with her again, sliding in and out slowly as she kisses his shoulder, his neck over the rippled burn scars, lips searching for his again, finding her home within him. 

Home.

A word that has been tossed around so much today, carelessly that it loses all pronunciation on the tongue. A word that has felt so out of reach for so long.

Home, a place that used to exist in another world but now only exists right here, in this moment. 

Home isn’t a place anymore. They have no homes to go to, not really. It isn’t the safety of bricks and mortar, and sturdy foundations rooted in the ground. It’s not an apartment full of useless bric-or-brac. Four walls and a roof that occasionally leaks.

No, home is Frankie. Here in his arms. Home is Jude. Here in her arms. 

Their fingers intertwine and their gazes lock in a panting exchange. Frankie feels something shift within him.

It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a truth that has always been there, hidden in the depths of his heart. He looks at Jude, really looks at her, and sees not just the person that has been beside him, fighting with him all this time, but the very essence of home itself.

In her eyes, he finds a warmth that seeps into his bones, melting away the coldness that has plagued him for so long. In her smile, he finds a comfort that soothes his weary soul, reassuring him that everything will be okay.

“I love you, Frankie,” she gasps, tears in her eyes. “God, you feel amazing.” Jude whispers as he pants in her face, the hot mists from the shower steaming and swirling around them like gossamer ghosts bearing witness to their devout hunger. 

“I love you… fuck! Jude, oh fuck, Jude!” Frankie grunts, as he fucks harder and deeper against the tiles of the shower before exploding deep inside of her with a loud, breathy groan as he gives her everything he has.

Finally, they’re home. 

To be continued...

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[nasa]

The Artemis I Mission: To the Moon and Back

The Artemis I mission was the first integrated test of the Orion spacecraft, the Space Launch System (SLS) rocket, and Exploration Ground Systems at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. We’ll use these deep space exploration systems on future Artemis missions to send astronauts to the Moon and prepare for our next giant leap: sending the first humans to Mars.

Take a visual journey through the mission, starting from launch, to lunar orbit, to splashdown.

Liftoff

The SLS rocket carrying the Orion spacecraft launched on Nov. 16, 2022, from Launch Complex 39B at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. The world’s most powerful rocket performed with precision, meeting or exceeding all expectations during its debut launch on Artemis I.

"This is Your Moment"

Following the successful launch of Artemis I, Launch Director Charlie Blackwell-Thompson congratulates the launch team.

“The harder the climb, the better the view,” she said. “We showed the space coast tonight what a beautiful view it is.”

That's Us

On Orion’s first day of flight, a camera on the tip of one of Orion’s solar arrays captured this image of Earth.

Inside Orion

On the third day of the mission, Artemis I engineers activated the Callisto payload, a technology demonstration developed by Lockheed Martin, Amazon, and Cisco that tested a digital voice assistant and video conferencing capabilities in a deep space environment. In the image, Commander Moonikin Campos occupies the commander’s seat inside the spacecraft. The Moonikin is wearing an Orion Crew Survival System suit, the same spacesuit that Artemis astronauts will use during launch, entry, and other dynamic phases of their missions. Campos is also equipped with sensors that recorded acceleration and vibration data throughout the mission that will help NASA protect astronauts during Artemis II. The Moonikin was one of three “passengers” that flew aboard Orion. Two female-bodied model human torsos, called phantoms, were aboard. Zohar and Helga, named by the Israel Space Agency (ISA) and the German Aerospace Center (DLR) respectively, supported the Matroshka AstroRad Radiation Experiment (MARE), an experiment to provide data on radiation levels during lunar missions. Snoopy, wearing a mock orange spacesuit, also can be seen floating in the background. The character served as the zero-gravity indicator during the mission, providing a visual signifier that Orion is in space.

Far Side of the Moon

A portion of the far side of the Moon looms large in this image taken by a camera on the tip of one of Orion’s solar arrays on the sixth day of the mission.

First Close Approach

The Orion spacecraft captured some of the closest photos of the Moon from a spacecraft built for humans since the Apollo era — about 80 miles (128 km) above the lunar surface. This photo was taken using Orion’s optical navigational system, which captures black-and-white images of the Earth and Moon in different phases and distances.

Distant Retrograde Orbit

Orion entered a distant retrograde orbit around the Moon almost two weeks into the mission. The orbit is “distant” in the sense that it’s at a high altitude approximately 50,000 miles (80,467 km) from the surface of the Moon. Orion broke the record for farthest distance of a spacecraft designed to carry humans to deep space and safely return them to Earth, reaching a maximum distance of 268,563 miles (432,210 km).

Second Close Approach

On the 20th day of the mission, the spacecraft made its second and final close approach to the Moon flying 79.2 miles (127.5 km) above the lunar surface to harness the Moon’s gravity and accelerate for the journey back to Earth.

Cameras mounted on the crew module of the Orion spacecraft captured these views of the Moon’s surface before its return powered flyby burn.

Heading Home

After passing behind the far side of the Moon on Flight Day 20, Orion powered a flyby burn that lasted approximately 3 minutes and 27 seconds to head home. Shortly after the burn was complete, the Orion spacecraft captured these views of the Moon and Earth, which appears as a distant crescent.

Parachutes Deployed

Prior to entering the Earth’s atmosphere, Orion’s crew module separated from its service module, which is the propulsive powerhouse provided by ESA (European Space Agency). During re-entry, Orion endured temperatures about half as hot as the surface of the Sun at about 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit (2,760 degrees Celsius). Within about 20 minutes, Orion slowed from nearly 25,000 mph (40,236 kph) to about 20 mph (32 kph) for its parachute-assisted splashdown.

Splashdown

On Dec. 11, the Orion spacecraft splashed down in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California after traveling 1.4 million miles (2.3 million km) over a total of 25.5 days in space. Teams are in the process of returning Orion to Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Once at Kennedy, teams will open the hatch and unload several payloads, including Commander Moonikin Campos, the space biology experiments, Snoopy, and the official flight kit. Next, the capsule and its heat shield will undergo testing and analysis over the course of several months.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[undeadcourier]

This is the second in a series of posts meant to explore both real-life cases of radiation sickness and the sci-fi concept of ghoulification in some depth. Graphic descriptions of the physical deterioration of the body are included for informative purposes; reader discretion is advised.

For this second case study, I examine the effects on the human body of exposure to moderate levels of radiation over a long period of time, with a focus on the real case of the Radium Girls, in particular Mollie Maggia. 

Marie and Pierre Curie discovered radium in 1898, launching the Radium Craze. Radium was believed to have numerous health benefits and restorative properties and was used to treat arthritis, hypertension, schizophrenia, and even stomach cancer. It was also used in tonic water, toothpaste, and cosmetics, among many other products. 

After William J. Hammer created a glowing green paint made from radium and zinc sulfide, radioluminescent paint became popular in use on watches and clock dials. Three factories that used radioluminescent paint on watches and clock dials saw incidents of severe radium poisoning in workers, in Orange, New Jersey, Ottawa, Illinois, and Waterbury, Connecticut. 

Dial painters working for the U.S. Radium Corporation, most of whom were between ages 14 and 20, were assured they were safe and were not given appropriate personal protective equipment while exposed to the radium dust they used to mix the paint for the dials. Managers encouraged them to use their lips to create a fine point on their paintbrushes, necessary in the precision work they did, which caused them to ingest small amounts of radium during their shifts. In addition, the radium dust coated their hair and dresses, and some women, believing the radium to be harmless, even deliberately painted their teeth and nails to make them glow. Dial painters ingested about 76 microcuries of radium per year.

In addition to consuming radium in the paint, the dial painters were exposed to the radon gas that resulted from the decaying radium, increasing their exposure to around 13000% more than the maximum annual dose. For comparison, standing next to the Chernobyl meltdown would result in about 30 rem of radiation exposure. 10 rem is the lowest annual dose linked to an increased risk of developing cancer. 200 rem is enough to cause severe radiation sickness and death, and between 300-400 rem is regarded as a lethal dose.

When ingested along with food or water, roughly 80% of radium is excreted, but the remaining 20% travels throughout the body where it is deposited in the bones, emitting alpha particles as it decays and irradiating the cells on the surface of the bones. New bone growth results in radium being deposited deep into the bone where it remains.

The typical period of exposure among the dial painters was two years. Some developed mouth sores after only a month of working at the factories, but for others, symptoms took longer to appear.  First, the women would have felt fatigued and anemic as their damaged bones could no longer replace their red blood cells. 

Because they were primarily ingesting the radium, their mouths were often the most affected. By October of 1921, Mollie Maggia—who'd already had to have a tooth removed—returned to the dentist's chair to have even more of her teeth extracted. The radiation damage to her bones inhibited blood cell production, which in turn prevented the wounds from healing. The ulcers became necrotic and constantly oozed blood and pus. 

Throughout that November, Mollie's condition grew steadily worse, and in addition to the pain in her teeth and jaw, her hips and feet became sore.

As the painters' radiation sickness progressed, their joints would become stiff and severe pain in their limbs limited their mobility. The radium ate through their bones, leaving them perforated in a honeycomb pattern and prone to spontaneous fractures. The women's spines and long bones fractured and shortened.

Some of the women’s skin became so thin that even a fingernail scratch could cause it to split open.

Tumors the size of grapefruits or footballs developed on their bodies, and they suffered from blood disorders, menstruation issues, and sterility.

By January of 1922, Mollie was in constant, unbearable agony. Her teeth were rotting in her mouth and falling out before they could be extracted. In May, Mollie’s dentist was horrified when her jaw crumbled at a gentle touch. He proceeded to remove her jaw, not by an operation, but simply by pulling the disintegrating pieces out by hand. That summer, Mollie’s throat became painfully sore, and she experienced spontaneous bleeding from the jaw. By September, the radiation had eaten through the tissue of her jugular vein to the point of hemorrhage. Mollie's mouth and throat flooded with blood, and she died.

Mollie Maggia was the first from the U.S. Radium Corporation to die, just short of her 25th birthday, in 1922. 12 more women died the following year and another 50 fell severely ill.

[eoieopda]

blindsided (myg)

After years of dating, you thought you had Min Yoongi all figured out - you didn't. And when he flipped the script on you, you never saw it coming.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: Sequel to darksided. Word Count: 6K Content: SMUT (18+ - Minors DNI,) established relationship au, POV switch, softbf!yoongi turned dom!yoongi, sub!reader, sex tape, oral sex (f receiving,) v fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, squirting, multiple orgams, over-stimulation, spanking, biting, blindfold, praise kink, pussy slapping, general depravity, aftercare, fried chicken. A/N: Seriously, go read darksided (linked above) if you haven't yet. This takes place approx. two weeks later, and while the context isn't necessary, things will make more sense! Check out the playlist while you’re here. Tags: @exhibitachol @sstarryoong @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @miraculous-disaster @wakeupinahaze

For the first time in his life, Yoongi was avoiding his studio.

He had a mountain of work left to do on his mixtape – and, importantly, the drive to finish it – but that was precisely why he’d stayed away. Anytime he stepped foot inside over the past two weeks, his mind wandered far, far away from the task at hand. His previously unyielding discipline fell by the wayside the second he crossed the threshold.

Instead of focusing on the tracks he had yet to write, or perfecting the ones he'd already recorded, his eyes would roam over the surface of his desk on the other side of the room. It'd since been returned to its usual state, covered in various notebooks, and recording equipment. But it looked so much better with your bare, sweat-slicked body writhing on top of it.

And when he'd finally muster the willpower to look back at his computer, his gaze would pass over - and then jerk back to - the wall he’d pinned you against as his fingers fucked a river out of you. His blood pressure would spike as he pictured you there, relying on him to hold you upright, and any hope of accomplishing anything would drop dead on the floor.

The very same floor you’d fastidiously scrubbed to erase the mess he’d made of you, no less.

And then he’d think to himself: This isn’t a workspace anymore - it’s holy ground. 

Yoongi was running out of time, though, and he had to do his best to keep his mind on his work, off of you. Catching himself once again rewinding through recent memories, he let out a groan and forced his wandering eyes back to the screen in front of him.

He realized as he scrolled through his editing software that he’d done a piss-poor job of labeling his masters lately. This, of course, made it impossible for him to remember which track was which. On a whim, he chose the file in the middle of the folder and brought it up.

If he’d paid attention to the size of the file, he could’ve prepared himself for the consequences of pressing ‘play' - but he didn’t and he wasn't. 

“I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.” "Should I shut it off now until you're ready to start?" "I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though - when I signal you."

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he secured his headphones over his ears. He’d never been less interested in hearing his own music; so, without a second thought, he skipped over the next three minutes. As he did, his hand dropped down to palm his hardening dick through his jeans.

“Is it me, baby? Have I got you dizzy?”

Your little whimpers were barely audible in the recording, but they still managed to ignite a fire in the pit of his stomach. The blaze spread throughout his body when he pictured the way you looked below him then - so soft and shy, but with such carnal desire sparking in the dark of your eyes.

“I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.”

Anticipating your next line, his hand tensed around his cock. It was a pale imitation of that vice grip he found between your thighs, but it was something; and he would've taken anything.

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me. I - I know that you -”

Even caged between the walls of unimaginable heat, the irony of it all wasn't lost on him. The best recording he'd ever produced was created purely by accident -

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.”

- and it wasn't music at all.

“Get up.”

With Yoongi working hard on his creative pursuits, you begrudgingly committed to addressing your own. Like him, you had a to-do list long enough to circle the globe; but unlike him, you weren't buried in projects because you wanted to be. 

When Yoongi crossed off a task, he scribbled five more in its place. His mind never idled because he found inspiration everywhere. A half-remembered vignette from childhood that shook itself loose to become something beautiful. A word he encountered in passing that he’d transform into some modern-day epic. He generated this much work solely because his passion - like his potential - was limitless. 

To the contrary, you generated this much work because you were easily distracted. You’d start one project, and before you could finish it, your attention would flutter off on the wind like dandelion seeds. All those half-starts would stockpile until you eventually boxed yourself into a corner - and then, somehow, you'd keep stacking. 

Today's task was simple: you needed to transfer your recent photos from your camera's memory card to your laptop. Easy. Drag files from one folder to another, and then your contribution to this month's magazine spread would be finished. It should've only taken an hour - at most - for the upload to complete. 

Instead of doing what you intended, you ended up where you always did: happily lost in the weeds. This particular distraction was a folder from four years ago, when Yoongi took you on an anniversary trip to Paris. If you really had to defend this tangent, your scattered brain's game of word association wasn't far off - the photos you were supposed to tend to were from Paris Fashion Week. 

That counts for something, right? 

You snorted as you toggled through your archive. Had you taken a single photo of the stunning architecture, or countless historical sites you’d visited? Of course not. But you had snapped approximately one-hundred shots of an unaware Min Yoongi - buying you macarons; befriending a stray cat by an ATM; grimacing as he sipped wine you both hated but spent too many Euros on to waste. 

Wait, what were you supposed to be doing? 

Whatever it was, you’d swear up and down that you really did intend to finish it, but then you heard familiar, muffled footsteps. And then you felt the mattress dip slightly under the tops of your thighs and the elbows you’d propped yourself up on.  

And then the same Min Yoongi whose face beamed on your screen - slightly older, and even more adored - slid over the backs of your outstretched legs until his knees came to rest at either side of your ass. His body was warm as it loomed over you, but you shivered, nonetheless. 

Leaning in, he pushed your hair over your right shoulder and pressed a warm kiss into your left. Though he'd targeted an area several centimeters away from your spine, the aftershocks of this chaste contact rippled down its length. From there, the current divested and shot through each of your limbs, paralyzing you. 

You hummed and let your eyelids flutter shut. He ascended the arc of your shoulder, then your neck, leaving a smattering of kisses in his wake until the trail went cold. His quiet exhale tickled the skin below your ear, but he hovered in place - too far away. 

Reflexively, you whined and tilted your head to look at him. Effectively pinned, all you could do was survey his profile in your peripheral vision. “Baby?” You nudged. 

The hand he wasn’t using to hold his weight snuck under the hem of your tank-top and caressed the bare curve of your waist. His hypnotic ministrations on your side might’ve lulled you to sleep if you weren’t so intrigued by his so-far wordless affection. 

Thoroughly spellbound, your lids closed again while your lips remained parted. There was a moan building slowly in your chest, taking its time, but it was a gasp that tore out of you when his teeth nicked your lobe. His tongue was quick to soothe the pinch, and even quicker to solicit a mewl. 

You had no idea where this was coming from. Moreover, you didn't know what additional surprises this man was capable of. Though Yoongi had always been affectionate with you, he'd only recently unearthed some rare, raw sensuality that you never expected. In the time since this discovery, his touches became more frequent. You felt more of him underscoring each one, no matter how brief. 

The fingers skimming over your waist disappeared and left you cold, but before you could process the loss, they reappeared - lower now, pushing up the bottom of your underwear, and gripping the doughy cheek of your ass. Hard. Instantaneously, your hazy eyes re-opened. 

Min Yoongi truly contained multitudes. 

"Have I told you that you're my muse?" He purred into the shell of your ear as his hand massaged the skin he'd likely bruised.  

Enchanted once again, your sole response was a breathy moan. Only after his hand raised and smacked back against your ass did you realize he'd lulled you into a false sense of security. 

"When I ask you a question, I want an answer. Do you understand, baby?" 

Your shuttered breaths and accompanying nod weren't sufficient replies. His palm collided with your delicate cheek a second time, and it stayed there. The sting was muted by his fingers digging in and pinching; but it wasn't the pain that stole your attention. 

Instead, it was the wetness gushing between your clenched thighs when he whispered, "Use your words, angel." 

"I do," You muttered urgently, "I understand." 

The grip on your ass dissolved. You knew better now than to trust the warm hand kneading your cheek, but you couldn't resist moaning. Fuck - his touch was perfect. 

He contradicted the gentle caress below with a nip at your neck; and the kiss placed at that same spot preceded the true kill-shot. He hummed against your skin and your soul threatened to leave your body: 

"Good girl." 

The noise that escaped your mouth was stranded between a gasp and a cry. Oh, this man would be the death of you. 

"You inspired my next project today," He murmured between kisses to your neck. The tip of his nose was cold as it brushed across your skin and that disparity in temperature left you in shambles. "Not something I've done before -" He paused to suckle at your neck, no doubt leaving a mark when he released you, "And I need your help, baby." 

Another whimper escaped when his index finger snapped the elastic waistband of your boy-shorts; and you felt his mouth curve into a smirk. "I'll do anything -" You meant it. "Just - please, Yoongi, I need to feel you." 

"You will," His mirth left him in a breathy chuckle. It vibrated through your body and formed goosebumps as it went. "But not yet, angel. I want to savor this." 

Confused, you pouted - another exhaled laugh against your neck - and then, in a tiny voice, you asked, "What do you mean?" 

His hand slid up the back of your neck. With the base of your skull held gently captive between his thumb and middle finger, he guided you to turn your head to the left, then down. 

It didn't click right away. Silently, you blinked down at your camera. Is this what he wanted you to see? Why did - "Oh, no," you groaned as your head drooped forward. 

"Oh no?" He repeated, and though he tried, he couldn't hide the surprise in his tone. You quickly realized that he mistook your reaction for disinterest. He couldn't have been more wrong.  

Your sudden, complete deflation was simply your body buckling under the weight of unspeakable arousal. It anticipated the world-endingly perfect way he was about to fuck you; and it couldn't process the fact that it would all be memorialized. He really would be the end of you. 

Your head tilted until it rested against the side of his. "The memory card inside it is full, but there's a new one in my bag." 

Although you couldn't see it, you knew the corner of his mouth would twitch excitedly upwards at your words. At his, your mouth dropped open: 

"Any clothes you're still wearing when I come back to this bed will be ripped off. Got it?" 

It was difficult to tell which part of this exchange made your legs quiver the most: the stern warning itself; the contradictory soft, husky tone in which he said it; or the kiss the top of your head received when you responded - out loud - in the affirmative. He was gone before you could figure it out, making his way to the camera bag in the corner of your bedroom. 

He'd barely taken two steps when you frantically pulled your oversized tank-top over your head. It landed somewhere out of sight, and it was swiftly joined by your underwear - grey fabric soaked black. Your laptop was more carefully dismissed, tucked gently under the nightstand to avoid being ruined the way you were sure to be. 

When your head hit the pillow, your heart was already racing. Suddenly, you felt shy as you lay naked in your own bed, like you hadn't been in this position so many times before. There was a long-forgotten anticipation turning flips in your stomach. It bent your knees and brought your arms up to rest over your bare chest - you hadn't felt it since the very first time Yoongi saw you like this. 

As if he'd been summoned by your thoughts, Yoongi walked towards you with his focus trained on the camera in his hands. The tip of his tongue poked out through pursed lips as he carefully slotted the new memory card into the bottom, but it disappeared when the compartment clicked shut again.

He froze when he looked up at you, and your hammering heart threatened to make a break for it. 

"Baby," He was frowning. You raced to figure out which of his directions you failed to follow; but he interrupted the frenzy in your brain with that maddeningly soft, stern voice, "Why are you hiding?" 

Mouth open and poised to respond - with what, you weren't sure - you were cut off by the extended finger he raised to silence you. You clamped your jaw shut; his mouth curved ever-so-slightly at your quick compliance. 

See? You wanted to say, I'm learning! 

He removed the lens cap before his eyes flitted back up to you. "Hands above your head -" You did as he asked, though you didn't know where this was going. "- Close your eyes -" Again, you obeyed. "Don't move." 

And you didn't.  

You laid there with your eyes closed and listened for any sign of what was coming next. You could hear the muffled tread of his bare feet on the rug; and you expected further instructions - none came. Then you waited for any familiar noise from your camera - there was silence. But you smelled his cologne as he came closer, and the warmth you suddenly felt at your side told you that he’d reached you. 

“Lift your head up – but keep your eyes closed.” 

The eyebrow you raised in question was covered with some cool, silky fabric before Yoongi could have registered it. You received your answer in his actions. Gentle fingers adjusted the way the blindfold fell over your eyes, and then – even more gently – they tied a knot at the back of your head. Not too tight, but firm enough to keep it from slipping. It was no surprise to you that he’d handled this without disturbing a single hair on your head. 

His hands, once behind your head, now cupped your face. “You listen so well, angel,” He murmured before plush lips brushed against your forehead. “Lay back down the way you were.” 

Your head returned to the pillow and your elbows bent to allow your hands to meet above it. And you waited like that, trying to sense what his next move would be.

His footsteps padded off, and you figured he was seeking the best place to set up the camera. He paused, though, after only taking a few steps. The camera whirred – the auto-focus, you recognized immediately – and then it clicked. 

“So beautiful – you know that, don’t you? How stunning you are?”  

Click. 

“Perfect -” 

Click. 

“Mine” 

You couldn't help wondering how his photos would turn out. If your cheeks weren’t red under the blanket of his praise, it’d only be because you’d turned into a puddle. Your arousal had strayed far enough to slick the insides of your thighs, and if he didn’t touch you soon, you might liquify entirely and seep through the mattress to the floor. 

In the distance, plastic settled on wood. The strap affixed to your camera slithered over whatever surface he’d chosen; you could hear it slip over an edge, then it was silent. The bookshelf, you decided, third row from the top. Maybe second, if he liked the angle better? 

Without speaking first, he crawled up onto the foot of the bed. He paused there, likely kneeling in front of you. His hands slipped under your bent knees, and the only warning you got was him purring, “Come here,” mere seconds before you were pulled forward. You imagined that your gasp was still hanging in the air when you slipped out from under it. 

As soon as he was satisfied with your proximity, his hands found the insides of your knees and encouraged your legs to spread. “Now, baby -” He started, the heat of his breath indicating just how close his mouth was to your weeping cunt. “You’ll make sure the camera can hear you, won’t you?” 

The word was caught in your throat, suddenly bashful, but it eventually slipped out, “Yes.” 

You knew you’d failed as soon as you heard it, and you didn’t need to wait long to face the consequences. You jolted when his flattened fingers collided with your cunt - the sensation was a surprise, but the sound was what shocked you. Fuck! You could hear how wet he had you already.

Sodden, pooling, dripping. 

“Don’t be selfish, angel,” He tutted after withdrawing his touch from you, “Those sounds might come out of your mouth, but they don't belong to you, do they?” 

“No -” Your desperation was palpable when you responded with your whole chest. “They don’t. I – I won’t be selfish, I promise -” 

You cried out when he slapped your cunt a second time, an obscene chord formed by surprise, torment, and unbearable need.

“Whose are they?”

“Yours!” You choked, “They’re yours. I’m yours.” 

His arms hooked under your thighs and your pulse skyrocketed. “See? You are learning.” 

And then he lurched forward, flat tongue dragging upwards over your core with a pressure so perfect, your entire body tensed. He squeezed your legs harder when your back arched, and it prevented you from inadvertently slipping away from him.  

That devilish tongue swirled over your clit, and all you could manage was a whisper of a moan. He corrected you wordlessly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. The groan he pulled from you ricocheted off each one of your ribs on the way out. Satisfied, he hummed in approval against your cunt before he proceeded to flick dizzying circles over your increasingly sensitive bud; alternating paces in the way he knew would drive you mad.  

Both of your arms reached out, and your hands carded through his hair. You pulled him ever closer, which prompted him to shake his head furiously with the flat of his tongue pressed against your heat.  

“Oh, fuck!” you wailed. As much as you wanted to watch him, you knew that – even without the blindfold - the way his mouth moved so expertly against you would have made it too difficult to keep your eyes open. They were already covered, but you squeezed them tight enough to see stars as he suckled your clit. “Shit, baby – ah – feels so good.”  

The thread holding you together frayed further and further with every brush of his tongue against your most sensitive spot. The sound of his breathing, ragged and muffled with your thighs pressed harshly against the sides of his head, would have done unspeakable things to you - if your mindless gasping didn't threaten to drown him out completely.  

He shifted without removing his mouth from you, and he unhooked his right arm from under your leg. The heel of his hand glided up over your pelvis, your navel, and your breasts before stopping at the underside of your jaw. Two fingers tapped at your chin; you took the hint and took them into your mouth.

His tongue never let up on your clit as you slicked his fingers, suckling on them the way he did you. Once he was satisfied with the work you’d done, he pulled his hand back down to your cunt.   

Tongue still relentless at your clit, his middle finger swung the focus to your entrance, which was drenched by his saliva and your own slick. Meticulous and slow, he slid his finger inside of you. He moaned at the way you constricted around him; you melted. 

He never struggled to find that secret spot hidden behind your pubic bone. He'd proven time and time again that he was more in tune with your body than you were. Every curve, dip, and line had been committed to muscle memory.  

He could anticipate your reaction to every touch, even when those reactions varied based upon your mood or your energy level - and it was automatic. Unthinking but knowing. He teased this spot without mercy, and as he likely expected, you began to shake under his touch.  

The growing feeling in the pit of your stomach was one you knew he strived for. His favorite trick, once he knew the secret. And whenever you tried to resist – still uncomfortable with the way your body reacted to him – he gave you no choice. 

No poet could adequately describe how completely your orgasm consumed you. With the way you jolted against his mouth, he could’ve electrocuted you. You wriggled and writhed in his arms as you came, but he didn’t stop, even as your walls clenched around his fingers and your thighs pressed even more tightly against the sides of his head.

Your familiar moans devolved into some desperate sounds you’d never made before, curse words spilling out over your lips as you just kept cumming – but he still held tight to you as you bucked wildly in his arms.  

There was unbelievable pressure until there wasn’t.  

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” He growled with his face nestled into your quivering, dripping inner thigh. His teeth nicked the skin but were swiftly replaced with a kiss from his ravenous, open mouth. “That’s my good girl.” 

He let you collapse back onto the bed, but he denied you any time to recover.  

“I think you can do it again, baby. What do you think?” He teased, alternating words and quick kisses along the interior of your thigh. “Should we see how much more you can take?”  

You babbled something in response, but neither of you could’ve interpreted what you meant. Your limp neck rolled to the side while you tried to catch your breath; there wasn’t time. You felt him coat his fingers in the remnants of your orgasm moments before he slid them inside of you and curled them upward.  

The combination of relentless pressure and a feverish pace dotted stars across the insides of your eyelids. Breathless, dangling at the edge of a precipice, you stammered, “Yoo-Yoongi -” 

Despite the obscene squelch of his ministrations, his voice rang through, clear as a bell. “What, angel? Do you want to come again?” Stupidly, you nodded, but he didn’t scold you. Given your fucked-out state, he seemed to forgive your mistake. “Then come.” 

The blindfold covering your eyes was black, but your vision went white. As you spasmed and gushed uncontrollably around his fingers, there was a moment where you could’ve sworn your soul ejected itself from your body. If it was floating above you now, it would’ve seen how thoroughly you’d drenched your boyfriend; and how perfect he still looked with your juices dripping off his chin. 

His weight was shifting at your feet when you returned to your body. It took everything you had, but you lifted one, limp arm out in his general direction. No words, just an outstretched hand begging to find him. When it did, he slotted his fingers perpendicularly under yours, rubbed the pad of his thumb over your knuckles, and kissed the top of your hand. 

“What color?” he murmured against your skin. 

You sighed softly, exhausted but not yet entirely spent, “Green.” You paused and chewed on your bottom lip. After a moment of quiet, you asked, “Yoongi?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

It was pitiful how your request barely rolled off of your tongue, but the answer would surely be no if you didn’t ask. “Can I see you?” 

He was silent for a moment – so, the answer would be no even though you did ask – but then you heard his soft chuckle. Even after he pulled the blindfold off, your eyes were useless. Somewhere in the bright white haze was Yoongi, though you couldn’t confirm that the shadow in front of you was truly him. Maybe you truly had died. 

Blinking furiously, you refused to stop until your eyes remembered how to focus. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the dark figure before you took a familiar shape. Shirtless, with damp, black waves clinging to his cheekbones – there he was. Concern was etched into his features, but his narrowed eyes relaxed when you shot him a smile. 

“Color?” You inquired with a squeeze of your hand. 

When he dropped your hand, your heart fell with it. But he sat up on his knees, placed that hand on your cheek, and captured your lips in a kiss. It was perfect, but it was torturously brief.  

“Green,” He replied. He backed away from you until he was standing at the foot of the bed. One hand dropped to his belt buckle while the index finger on his other hand beckoned you. 

You crawled towards him until his palm silently instructed you to stop. 

“Elbows on the mattress, ass up,” He ordered as he made short work of his belt. It slid easily through the loops of his ripped jeans and clattered as it hit the floor.

You leaned forward as he instructed, knees and elbows digging into the comforter you’d absolutely need to wash later – especially considering the way your mouth watered when his jeans and boxers were discarded and kicked aside. Were you drooling? 

Your body buzzed with anticipation as he crossed to the side of the bed. You wished he took his time sidling over to you, so your eyes could continue to devour his lean, snow-white frame; but if the stiff cock encircled by his hand was any indication, Yoongi wasn’t interested in wasting time. Instead, he pushed himself up onto the bed, out of sight, and the next thing you felt was his hand collecting your hair, pulling, and forcing your face up to the camera. 

His free hand squeezed your ass cheek when he said, “Eye contact, baby. Show the camera how I make you feel. Can you do that?” 

With his tip teasing at your entrance, you weren’t confident that you could – but you’d sure as hell try. “I can,” Your determination was clear, even if the voice conveying it wavered. “I will.” 

“Good girl,” He hummed. He released your hair and placed a kiss on the same shoulder blade he had earlier - when he last had you in this position. “Now, take a deep breath for me.” 

It wasn’t graceful, the way you sucked in air as he penetrated you; it was an unholy, strangled sound, and it crashed through the quiet like a wrecking ball. Every instinct begged your head to droop forward, and your back to curve up upwards, but you fought them off. Praise for your efforts tumbled out over your spine between Yoongi’s shuttered moans. His noises had you clenching around his cock, and the tightened grip of your cunt transformed them into something guttural. 

He paused when he bottomed out. Like you, he seemed to be at a loss for words. The hand gripping your hip was holding on for dear life; and the one curved over your shoulder kept you in place, allowing him to bury himself as deeply as possible.

He didn’t speak until he slowly started withdrawing himself from you, “I love the way you take me, how that tight pussy fights me whenever I leave.” 

As his cock dragged over your g-spot, your entire body shivered. He felt it and chuckled; you hiccupped, “Still so s-sensitive.” 

“Green?” 

“More -” You begged, “Please, baby.” 

You asked for it, but you weren’t ready for it. His hips snapped forward and drove him back into you before you could process what was happening. And when he kept up that ravenous pace, rutting over and over and over your detonator, it took everything you had not to explode.

All your willpower was spent trying to withstand his thrusts, though – nothing could keep you from collapsing forward onto the bed as your white-knuckled fingers gripped the comforter below. 

Before your body could fully settle over the mattress, his hand on your shoulder evolved into an arm hooking over you. He pulled you upright as his arm crossed over your heaving chest; he didn’t stop until he had you pinned to his. 

Fucking upwards into you with shallow, staccato strokes, he scolded you. “What did I tell you?” His hand dropped from your hip and dipped between your quivering thighs. His rapid thrusts didn’t falter as his middle finger began to assault your clit. “Hmm? What did I just say?” 

“Eye conta -”

The end of that word mutated into a scream. He snapped his hips forward so suddenly, you never anticipated being shoved off the edge of the world. Your orgasm ripped through you, shutting off your brain and forcing your entire body to convulse around him. 

You went limp when you fell from your high; Yoongi’s hold on you tightened to keep you from collapsing. Unrelenting, he just – kept – rutting. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

You wailed when that fourth wave crashed down over you. Caught in its riptide, you spoke in tongues; writhing and shrieking and imploding. Could a person die from coming this hard? 

Yoongi’s panting pulled you out of the abyss he’d thrown you in. “Shit,” He hissed, “I’m so close - fuck, you feel so good -” You felt it all over when he growled into your ear, “Tell me where you want it, baby.” 

You answered, but it was impossible for your hazy brain to know for sure if you’d replied verbally or telepathically. Either way, he understood – he always understood – and his break-neck speed was replaced by deep, deliberate thrusts. He groaned out your name as his cock twitched inside you, painting your walls white. 

The kiss Yoongi left in the crook of your neck didn’t wash away with the water cascading down over the two of you. You could still feel the uniqueness of its warmth, even in a cloud of steam - under the hot, heavy droplets hitting your skin.  

Your eyes were closed to avoid the conditioner he was massaging into your scalp, but your exhaustion was likely to keep them that way. The only reason you hadn’t slipped down the drain yourself was your unspoken refusal to be separated from him. Though, with that invisible string tying the two of you together, you’d never be able to stray very far, even if you wanted to.

“Can you tilt your head back, love?” 

This one was a request, not a command, and he made no effort to move it for you. The weight of your sleepiness caused your neck to roll more clumsily than you intended; it gave up, and your head bumped against his clavicle when it dropped backwards.

“Sorry,” you murmured, but he was already chuckling. “My motor skills seem to have clocked out early.” 

His laugh ricocheted off the tile. “You won’t need them,” He mused as his hands gently worked the remaining conditioner from your hair. “We can use mine.” Then he kissed the crown of your head, not once but twice. You could feel his smile spread against your scalp when you giggled. “All done, baby.” 

He’d taken his time with you; and he’d taken great care to clean – then kiss – every sore muscle he encountered. And when he was done, he used a large, plush towel to wick the lingering droplets from your skin. His hands on your waist steadied you as you stepped into a pair of sweatpants, and he smoothed the damp waves that you disrupted in unceremoniously tugging an oversized sweatshirt over your head. 

Once the two of you were fully dressed, he cupped your face in his hands, kissed you deep, and asked, “Do you need a lift back to bed?” His eyes sparkled at his joke – of course, he meant lift literally – and his eyebrow arched when you meekly shook your head. “I’m not sold. Is that your final answer?” 

You, once again, shook your head. He exhaled amusement through his nose at your indecision. Then, he placed his hands on your waist. Perfectly coordinated – as always – he lifted as you hopped, pulling you into his chest while your limbs wrapped around him. He carried you easily back into the bedroom and set you down gently on the bare mattress. 

All of your bedding was spinning in the washing machine on the first floor of your home, but he had a fluffy, full-sized throw waiting there for you. You held up one side of it, silently inviting him to join you. When he settled at your side, your head ducked down and came to rest under his chin. As soon as his arm curled over your back, your heavy lids finally closed. 

You were both quiet, one foot in a dream, when the growl of his stomach startled you both awake. Erupting into laughter, you each craned your neck to see the other beaming back. 

He wiped the mirth pooling in the corner of his eye and sighed as his laughter petered out, “Delivery from that fried chicken place?” 

“Oooh, yes, please.”

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! The response to the first post was so incredibly overwhelming, I simply had to write a follow-up. I might continue to add one-offs to this darksided cinematic universe (lol) simply because I love their relationship dynamic. And the sexual journey they seem to be on, hahahah. Please leave feedback so I know what you liked and what you didn't! Also, lmk if there’s something you’d want to see in any possible future installments 👀

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

Synopsis: Receiving wind that Hydra has successfully managed to awaken another wave of winter soldiers, Captain America appoints his two best avengers, Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N, for the job. But aside from Bucky’s trepidation at reliving his worst memories, there’s something else rooting him in his place–the fear of inflicting harm on the woman he loves the most. Between her encouraging words and his violent past, what will happen when Y/N is forced to encounter her boyfriend’s alter ego?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Like seriously. Way too much angst.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬  Masterlist | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 construct different iterations of the simple human notion of waking up.

It was primarily described as a flutter of eyelashes—a realm of white that greeted the senses before giving way to a cascade of other colors. Then, there were instances where it was tingling whispers and the slight pressures of one’s touch that evoked the need to open your eyes and welcome consciousness.

When she was young, Y/N tried to find the truth behind those saccharine descriptions. Time and time again, she’d wake up, but whether it was her natural instincts or someone calling for her consciousness, coming to was never as gentle as described. It was an instant action, her mind urging her to open her eyes.

Her lashes would barely flutter before she took in her surroundings. And contrary to the books, the thoughts of the night before never occurred to her. She barely even remembered which side of the bed she had slept on.

But, for some reason, today was different.

Waking up felt less urgent. It was like her body was in a state of purgatory, caught between wanting to indulge in the placidity of unconsciousness and the need to be free from its confines. For the first time, Y/N felt aware of her surroundings before her lashes had left each other’s embrace.

It started with steady thumps, like the ebb and flow of a river, but admittedly, a little sharper. It infiltrated her ears, causing a slight furrow in the middle of her brows. An involuntary twitch of her fingers forced the numbness in her arm to dissipate, the pads of her fingers brushing against soft sheets.

She heard a groan next. She felt it, to be precise, clawing against the walls of her own throat—impersonating the breath she was trying to release. This sensation was different from all the other times she’d woken up. Even when she had taken hits in the past as part of the Avengers Initiative, waking up didn’t feel this jarring.

“Y/N,” she heard a voice, soft and dulcet—juxtaposing the sound she’d released earlier. “Y/N, it’s Steve. Can you hear me, doll?”

Yes, she tried to say, but the word remained a fleeting thought.

The soft sheets beneath her shifted, the bed dipping down. A hand caressed her arm, tethering her to the moment. It wasn’t Steve, as far as she knew. The hand may have been scarred and the fingers calloused, but they still held the daintiness of a female’s hands.

The woman didn’t speak. She only traced Y/N’s forearm, coaxing her mind to wake. It was then that Y/N felt a shift in her surroundings. The touch wasn’t surface-level. It penetrated her cells, echoing within the nucleus of her atoms. The beeping sounds inundated her ears, assaulting her eardrums with their discordance.

The caresses persisted, trailing her entire arm, while the woman behind them spoke, “Y/N, sweetheart, calm down. You’re safe.”

Natasha. The realization hit Y/N with full force. Natasha and Steve were with her, surrounded by these jarring noises and what she predicted to be a sterile room from the scent that wafted around her.

Ever so slowly, her eyelids fluttered, lashes releasing themselves from their confines. It took four spaced blinks for her vision to clear, the haze giving way to the bright blue walls and the medical equipment.

Medical Bay was Y/N’s second thought. But try as she might, her head couldn’t wrap around her reason for being here. Instead, it focused on finding Steve and Natasha, each on one side of her bed.

Natasha smiled down softly at her. Her forest green eyes, which were calculating in nature, softened. “You gave us quite a fright.”

“We’re glad to have you back,” Steve added gently.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but she wasn’t sure she could get the words out with how scratchy her throat felt. Steve regarded her carefully, wasting no time reaching over her bedside table and pouring her a glass of water. She accepted the glass with a solemn nod, gulping down the liquid.

While the water wasn’t cold by a long shot, its temperature was cool enough to tame the scalding heat in Y/N’s throat.

“Thank you.” Thankfully, her voice was clearer now, although it didn’t rise above a low hum. “How long was I out?”

Steve and Natasha exchanged a quick look, the former fidgeting with his hands. Maybe it was the question, or the ones they knew would ultimately follow. But something about this whole ordeal weighed a lot heavier than Y/N anticipated.

“Almost three days,” Nataha relayed. Simple and straightforward as she always was.

Y/N took the answer at face value, her mind journeying back to the events she last remembered. It was a bit fuzzy, flashes of her last mission here and there. Fridgidness invaded her senses without prior notice as images of Antarctica filled her head. 

Steve must’ve caught her tremors, possibly mistaking them for anxiousness. He carefully situated himself on the small hospital bed, his blue-green eyes calling for attention. “How much do you remember?”

“Not much,” Y/N admitted. It was like a mental wall had built up in her mind. Her senses seemed to be on overdrive. And for someone gifted with the power of emotional manipulation, she struggled greatly to rein them in.

“We had a mission in Antarctica. SHIELD gathered some intel about… about Hydra. Asked us to investigate.”

"The mission was a trap," Natasha stated with a sharp edge to her tone, casting a pointed glance at Steve. Y/N observed the tension between them Unlike him, Natasha didn't mince her words. "Hydra knew we were coming and set their enhanced soldiers on the loose. Unfortunately, you bore the brunt of it."

“Nat,” Steve reprimanded. His eyebrow arched, eyes wordlessly communicating his thoughts. 

Natasha showed no signs of relenting. “What's your point?”

“She just regained consciousness.”

“Congratulations, Captain Obvious. But in case you haven't noticed, I'm already aware.” 

Steve sighed, “Romanoff, I mean it. Let's not overwhelm her.”

“Coming from the one who started all of this.”

“I was giving her headnotes. Not the gory details you were seconds away from indulging her in.”

“Steve,” Y/N interjected, her tone reflecting her evident wishes.

Knowing he had lost this battle, Steve ruefully nodded. He shifted in his seat while Natasha leaned back on the bed as if offering Steve the floor to speak.

“The mission was meant to be recon,” he began, his words like ripping off a bandaid. He seemed eager to get it over with, to avoid prolonging the discomfort. His discomfort. “We were tasked with infiltrating a Hydra base to gather intel on their new program. SHIELD discovered they were developing enhanced soldiers, still in a dormant phase.”

A spark of recognition lit up in Y/N’s eyes. “The Winter Program,” she declared.

“Yes,” Steve confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. “That’s the one.”

He paused, uncertain whether to proceed or give Y/N space to remember. She wondered what had occurred during the mission to spur his hesitation. She tried to reach out to him, to soothe his compunction, but before she could command her powers, something stirred inside her.

Her powers. The reminder struck her like a crashing wave. Her hands involuntarily retreated to her sides, causing Natasha to jump in alarm. Y/N exchanged a worried glance with Steve, feeling the weight of her emotions swirling inside her.

“They took my powers. An agent from Hydra, Pavel! He took my powers, and he... James!” Y/N nearly bellowed her boyfriend’s name.

Her breathing turned shallow as her mind floundered with images from the last mission. She recalled the anxiety she had felt when she discovered the seventh pod. How her heart plummeted at the sight of the onyx engraving on the plaque—The Fist of Hydra. Her stomach churned at the thought, tears clouding her eyes as she remembered how Bucky had struggled to free himself from the invisible ward that kept him from her. How he fought against Pavel's orders to kill her. 

“Barnes is fine, Y/N,” Natasha reassured her. 

Y/N’s voice cracked. “I don’t remember.” A lonesome tear trailed down the length of her cheek, landing on her chapped lips. “I think he caught me after I fell? I remember a knife. But after that… after that, I don’t remember anything.”

It pained her to feel trapped in the darkness of uncertainty. No matter how much she urged herself to journey back, it was as if her brain was mired in the present, steadfastly refusing to be swayed. She could vividly recount the details of Pavel’s heinous face, the large scar that traversed down his right eye, and the upturned lips that were too sinister to forget. But that’s as far as her memory could take her. 

Steve caressed her hair, his fingers soothingly pressing against her scalp while his thumb traced an arc behind her ear with the slightest bit of pressure. Her tears didn’t cease, yet her breath caught in her throat, a demure whimper almost escaping her lips.

James, she thought. James must’ve taught him that.

“There was static on the end of Bucky’s line. He picked up on it, talking slowly and clearly to let us know you both were in trouble. We rushed as fast as we could, but the soldiers fighting us slowed us down,” Steve explained.

Natasha nodded, adding with a voice so dulcet that no one outside the Avengers could have known she was capable of such gentleness. “He was scared, котенок. Asked you to run and hide from him. By the time we arrived at the lower levels, he was already chasing you.”

“The Hydra agent had a weapon which destabilized our powers,” Steve added. “Tony’s suit malfunctioned, and Clint’s arrows wavered from their original course. One accidentally hit Hulk, and he got so angry, he knocked down the vents.”

Y/N gasped, “I was in there.”

He stared down at his lap, wringing his fingers together. “You were.”

She recalled it then. Her memory wasn’t lucid by a long shot, but her mind paved an avenue and led her across its cobbled path. The way Bucky begged her to run, the silver tears that dimmed his electric blue eyes, and the disassociation he faced when the Winter Soldier clawed his way from the abyss to the surface of James’ consciousness. 

“I told him I loved him,” Y/N admitted. The words were breathless, weightless on her tongue. “I—He tried to slit my throat, but I told him I loved him. He stopped.”

It could’ve been the senses that were now on overdrive, or it could’ve been the force behind the memory itself. But Y/N landed back on her pillow. Her body isolated itself from her surroundings, and her thoughts thrust her back to her past encounter with Bucky. 

Pandemonium hailed around her. The screams of her teammates were deafening, and the fear that gripped her added its own touch of discordance.

Bucky was long gone. There was no sign of the man she had grown to love and understand. 

Y/N felt like a deceiver as she stared down at death, molded in a steely knife and prophesied by a haunted soldier. Just hours before, she assured Bucky that everything would be alright—that they’d both find their way back home, safe and sound. 

She knew Bucky would. There was no way in hell that Steve would allow him to lose himself one more second to Hydra. But how would he feel when he came to be and discovered the gravity of his actions?

‘I don’t want my own violent dispositions to threaten the home that I’ve built with you.’ It echoed in her head. The words he’d used when they addressed his insecurities and concerns about the mission. 

A pained whimper followed the thought, and Y/N had a hard time wrapping her mind around it. Was it the memory of Bucky? Or was it the result of the soldier’s assault on her neck? 

Bucky and the Soldat. She scoffed then, but was it audible? She didn’t know. He had tried to warn her, distinctly describing Hydra’s creation as a menace—a monster from the depths of history’s wintry tales.

But she refused to see him as such. She knew this reaction was triggered by his fears, not by a thirst for destruction or a penchant for mayhem. The weathered dominion that harbored his darkness was not his choice to inhabit. If only Y/N had her powers, she would have rescued him from it.

Her powers. The missing link. The catalyst that would alter the equation. 

Y/N was never one for dependability. She never clung to her powers more than necessary, establishing an identity beyond their grasp. How pitiful did she feel then, having no means to survive but a set of implicit energy bestowed upon her for reasons unknown? 

The soldier grunted then, the edge of his knife sinking beneath her skin. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that Y/N had been denied her powers, or else the pain would have been too crippling.  

Maybe she died before the knife had even touched her. What kind of Avenger was she if she couldn’t survive a hit? As powerful as the Winter Soldier was said to be, was she truly so lamentable that she couldn’t fight her way outside of his grasp without manipulating his emotions?

Emotions. Emotions! That was it!

‘I’m convinced that even without your enhanced abilities, you would still be the only person able to influence my emotions.’

She cried at the memory. Bucky wasn’t fazed in the slightest, muscles rippling as he prepared to deliver the final blow. Y/N caught his wrist then, her knees digging into the dirtied ground.

"James," she implored, but not for the reasons he believed. Apathy marred his face, impatience unmistakably clear. "You’re good. You’re so good, James." He froze, his body still for a second. It was working. Y/N held onto that silver lining, wetting her lips as she hastily continued. "You don’t resemble these people. You’re James Barnes—my James Barnes. And my James is not a monster."

“прекрати.”

“I won’t stop. I can’t. You’re not theirs to control anymore. You don’t belong to them. You belong to yourself. And everything about you is so beautiful. Every part of you is worthy of love.” His knife dug deeper in warming, but Y/N didn’t relent even though her voice started to fade. “I’m not afraid of you. How can I be when I love you? I love you in all your nuances and dispositions. No matter who you are or who you think you ought to be, you'll always be my home.”

She repeated the words she had told him that day, syllables and vowels reverberating in the confined space between their rising chests. Bucky stilled, his frantic gaze hovering over her neck as if he was reining in his emotions and calling for every bit of control meshed in his veins.

His chest rose violently in contrast to Y/N’s shallow breaths. For the first time in a long while, their heartbeats didn’t match. He closed his eyes then, willing composure.

Bucky barred his teeth. He screamed, his fury bellowing across the base. Y/N closed her eyes, the sound assaulting her heart. There was a thud, a yelp, and a handful of chaos before the storm ended, and she found herself drifting against the silent shore.

"The weapon developed by Hydra was some kind of destabilizer. It served to hijack weaponry and intelligent systems. In your and Bucky’s case, it functioned as a neural stimulus."

“Emotional manipulation,” Y/N deduced.

Steve squeezed her hand. “They developed a formula that replicated your powers. When the discs attached, it subdued your abilities. As for Bucky, it had a different effect.”

“How so?”

“Shuri may have erased the trigger words from Bucky’s mind. But even she couldn’t mend his scars.”

Steve didn't continue, but the tension in his jaw and the sharpness in his voice conveyed what he didn't say.

“Is James back?” Y/N’s eyes were contoured silver as she quietly asked the question.

“No,” Natasha stated bluntly, her words piercing Y/N’s heart like daggers. “Not yet.”

“How so?” Y/N pressed further, watching the silent exchange between Steve and Natasha.

Natasha spoke first. “We're not entirely sure.” How unhelpful.

“You said something to him before you passed out,” Steve supplied. His shoulders hunched as he recalled the events of the days that had passed. “The only reason he went into Winter Soldier mode was the false environment that disc placed him in. But you altered his emotional response somehow. He charged at the Hydra agent and almost killed him had Tony and I not interfered.”

“What happened after?”

“He rushed to your side and stripped the top half of his suit to warm you up. You were bloody, bruised, and cold to the touch. He didn’t waste a second transporting you to the Quinjet.” 

“James?” Wistfulness filled Y/N’s voice. 

Steve’s lips thinned, extinguishing her hope. “More like Bucky and the Soldat.”  

It was silent for a while, Y/N contemplating Steve’s words. She bit on her lower lip, concentration etched on her features. Eventually, she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Both you and the Hydra agent manipulated Barnes’ emotional wireframe, almost at the same time. His two personalities clashed, bringing both of them to the forefront of his mind,” Natasha explained. 

“Couldn’t no one fix this?” Y/N paused, fumbling with all of the questions she wanted to ask. “Not Bruce or Dr. Cho? Tony?”

Natasha offered a sympathetic smile. "They would have if he had allowed them to."

A surge of pain jolted through Y/N's mind, causing her to whimper involuntarily. She slumped back in her seat, arms shielding her eyes from the sudden onslaught. A burning sensation in her heart clashed with the prickling in her brain, intensifying her discomfort. Natasha and Steve stiffened beside her, clearly alarmed by her abrupt distress.

"Could you please give it to me like it is?" Y/N lowered her arms, her eyes reflecting raw irritation. "There's an excruciating pain in my head that even Dr. Cho's medications can't seem to alleviate. So, please. I'm barely holding onto enough energy to speak, and I can't keep demanding answers for three days’ worth of questions. What happened after I passed out?"

A tense silence followed her outburst. Despite her claim of exhaustion, Y/N delivered her impassioned plea without faltering. She narrowed her eyes at Natasha and Steve, silently willing her powers to extend beyond her body. While she typically refrained from such actions, reserving her powers for missions or with prior consent, the waiting was becoming unbearable.

Fortunately, the Super Soldier Serum did little to conceal emotions from her perception. However, what Y/N both appreciated and resented about it was its amplification of human emotions.

Pain, guilt, and anxiety flooded her senses, instantly discernible. She tugged at these emotions, using them to articulate her own discomfort.

Though Steve disapproved of her actions, evident in his hands-on-hips stance, he relented nonetheless. “Bucky wouldn’t allow anyone to touch you. He was feral. Unpredictable. The moment Bruce reached out to check your pulse, Bucky lunged at him. It took all of us to pry him off so Sam could examine you. You suffered a lot of injuries, Y/N. The twenty-hour flight was unbearable. And—”

Captain America was known for his resilience. It was widely recognized that even in the face of adversity, he would bend but never break. Yet, in this instance, that wasn’t the case. Steve clenched his fists, his teeth biting into his skin. Y/N’s own hands clutched the fibers of her hospital gown tightly. Through the emotional connection she had opened between herself and Steve, a wave of anguish swept over her. Raw and scorching, it consumed her from the inside out.

Steve, ever perceptive, noticed her distress. He let out a long breath, gently rubbing Y/N’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I should have waited a while before using my powers.”

Steve nodded subtly, taking a full minute to compose himself before resuming. “You weren’t breathing, hanging onto life by a thread. You coded, Y/N. Twice. Bucky… he nearly tore the entire jet apart in a fit of rage. Your heart rate disconcerting, and every shallow breath you took was followed by Bucky’s wails or the Soldat’s furious cries. It went on like that for grueling hours, and I never wished more for Doctor Strange to be on speed dial.”

“We had Cho on speed dial, though,” Natasha added. Despite her composed tone, Y/N sensed an underlying tension. “She said you wouldn’t make it.”

“But I did.”

“By some miracle, you did,” Natasha smiled wearily.

It was hard to fathom how much could unfold in just three days. Skipping a day at SHIELD Academy seemed trivial compared to skipping a day in the life of the Avengers. Y/N's chest tightened as she drew in a deep breath. Tears welled up in her eyes this time, filled with her own sorrow and sadness. She reached out for Steve’s hand, seeking physical comfort. He gladly obliged.

“James?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. It was her final question, her last plea, before succumbing to her overwhelming emotions.

“Unconsolable.” So it was as she feared. “When Cho told us you wouldn’t make it, he almost pried the jet’s latch from its hinges. We… I had to knock him out. By some miracle, your body fought tooth and nail until we arrived and Cho put you in the cradle. When Bucky woke up, a part of him was still the Soldat. We tried to get him help, but he refused. Called it his retribution for your pain. Your pain and your absence were already leading him to the brink of insanity. So, if you wouldn’t be the one to bring him back, then he’d rather stay broken the way that he deserves to be.”

“His words?” Y/N asked. Steve nodded solemnly. “Where is he now?”

“Solitary confinement,” Natasha supplied. 

“Why?”

“You already know.”

“Can I see him? Please?” Y/N implored.

Steve and Natasha understood that denying her request was not an option. They both relented, with Steve giving her hand one final squeeze and Natasha planting a kiss on the crown of her head. Moving in sync, they headed toward the door. Aware of their keen senses, Y/N didn’t care to hide her feelings any longer. They had barely crossed the threshold when she let out a piercing shriek, unleashing all of her pent-up emotions.

She could feel her restrained powers clawing at her soul, the agony and pain twisting within her muscles. Most of all, she sensed Bucky, confined in his cell, grappling with his demons. She cursed Hydra for their atrocities, past and present. And she reluctantly admitted that a part of her cursed her own abilities too because, just this once, Y/N wished she didn’t feel so deeply.

Hi witchlings! Ramadan Mubarak to all my fellow Muslims observing these blissful days! I'm sorry it took me so long to post this, but I was not in the right headspace to write. I hope I made it up with a nice angsty chapter. On a brighter note, this series is getting one more chapter before it's finished. I hope you're excited for it!🩷

All-Works Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

Bucky Barnes Taglist: @ye0nvibezzn @justafangir1

Series Taglist: @msoldier @kandis-mom @nobodycanknoww

: ̗̀➛Read Chapter 5 -TRUTHS - here!!

[pillow-anime-talk]

12 fluff promt for uta plz

# tags: scenario; current relationship; soulmate!au (tattoos); light romance; fluff; couple goals; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. uta {tokyo ghoul}

author’s note: hope u like it :) have a nice day/night!

12. “But we are not married.” “Then marry me.”

Punk music played at medium volume and spread throughout the building, and you jiggled your right foot to it while keeping your both eyes on the colorful magazine in your hands. From time to time you also glanced at your boyfriend, Uta, who was a few meters away from you, tattooing another client who wanted a huge red dragon across the entire width and length of his back. His concentration was really intriguing, and not even your warm gaze could snap him out of trance.

That’s why, after a few tries, you focused entirely on the thick periodical, reading about the biggest fashion bloopers of this month and dozens of romances in the world of showbiz stars.

{ ･ﾟ✧ }

After another three hours, Uta finished part of the tattoo and thanked his male client for staying in the uncomfortable position for that time. Together with a middle-aged man who had a black beard and dark eyes, they agreed on the last meeting, and thus the last part of the beautiful painting that was to appear on the right shoulder blade. They shook hands, wished each other a nice evening, and then Uta closed the front door to his small tattoo studio, which he had been running for years on his own with no other employees. He turned off all the lights, then returned to a room decorated with a tattoo table, several cabinets, special equipment and a trash bin.

There was also a small, dirty-green leather couch and a table with a glass surface. There was you on the sofa, clutching a magazine in your hands, though your eyes were squeezed tight and your mouth slightly open. The calm face and light movements of the chest spoke loudly about the fact that somewhere in the middle of Uta’s work you fell asleep, and the only thing that appeared in your sleepy thoughts was the desire to drink a cup of coffee without milk and sugar.

For a brief moment, Uta didn’t have the heart to wake you up because he knew your life had been quite stressful in recent days and you had a lot of responsibilities in your private life, but at the same time, he didn’t want your head to hurt after this short nap, or worse, your back and neck.

Before waking you up, however, he glanced at one of the hands that was touching the paper and smiled at the small tattoo adorning your little finger. The drawing showed a full moon; light streaks and lines were made with the utmost precision – the tattoo looked like a real moon that can be found in the sky. After briefly glancing at your finger, he looked automatically at his own left hand and the left corner of his mouth twitched. On his pinky there was a drawing of the same size – the only difference was that there was a tiny sun on his pale skin.

He sighed though, touching your soft cheek covered with gold highlighter.

“... Mgmhm...” You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, which made the man laugh again. “Uta... It’s your turn to... Y-You have to take our kids to school... Mhm...” You said a little more clearly, though your voice was still quiet, muffled by yawns and the desire to stay asleep. It was, after all, close to eleven in the evening.

“Kids?” He raised an eyebrow and the silver earring a bit up. “But we are not married.” He added directly into your ear, and you wiggled your nose, keeping your eyes shut.

“Then marry me.”

Surely you dreamed something nice – there was a slight smile and a huge blush on your face. Uta gave up and decided not to wake you up. Instead, he lifted your body off the couch with no problem. He had placed the magazine on a glass table a moment earlier, next to a small candlestick and a vase of dead roses.

You were already soulmates, and that meant the bonds of marriage. Nevertheless, the vision of you two with a bunch of children and then grandchildren, although too beautiful, did not have to be unattainable.

[responsivethoughts]

The F-16 Fighting Falcon

Full power, liftoff and climb to desired altitude. A phenomenal, maneuverable flying machine, still the most favored aircraft to fly by many military pilots. Introduced in the '70s, the F-16 Fighting Falcon continues to be a cornerstone of many air forces around the world due to its exceptional performance, versatility, and relatively low operating costs.

It travels up to Mach 2, maintains a 350 mile (550 Km) battle radius, service ceiling of approximately 50,000 ft (15,300 m), and it climbs with the General Electric F110-GE-129 turbofan fully opened at a rate of 50,000 ft/min (15,300 m/min), so this "elevator" can take its passenger to 50,000 ft altitude in about a minute.

Many pilots prefer the F-16 Fighting Falcon for its design, performance, versatility, and technology. Its exceptional agility, thanks to aerodynamic design and fly-by-wire control, allows for precise handling. The powerful engine enables high speeds and impressive climb rates, making it effective in both air-to-air and air-to-ground combat. The bubble canopy offers 360-degree visibility, and the ergonomic cockpit, with a side-stick controller, enhances comfort during high-G maneuvers.

As a multirole fighter, the F-16 can perform various missions and carry diverse weapons. Advanced avionics and a fly-by-wire system improve stability and maneuverability. Cost-effective and reliable, with over 4,600 units built, the F-16 is widely used and trusted. Extensive pilot training and positive experiences further solidify its preference among military pilots.

Although it is officially known as the Fighting Falcon, the General Dynamics (now Lockheed Martin) F-16 is commonly referred to by the nickname 'Viper' - a name that was applied due to the popularity of the 1970s Battlestar Galactica TV series and its 'Colonial Viper' fighters.

An interesting and lesser-known fact about the F-16 Fighting Falcon is that it was the first production aircraft intentionally designed to be aerodynamically unstable. This design choice, known as "relaxed static stability," enhances the aircraft's maneuverability. By being inherently unstable, the F-16 can achieve quicker and more agile movements, which are essential in dogfighting scenarios.

The advanced fly-by-wire control system continuously adjusts control surfaces to maintain stability, allowing the pilot to focus on the mission rather than constant manual adjustments. This innovative approach marked a significant advancement in fighter aircraft design and has influenced many subsequent aircraft developments.

Due to its nimble design and capability, the Falcon can sneak in, low, over the terrain to key targets and objectives by evading discovery, thus maintaining a near-zero visibility by enemy radar equipment.

[crustacean-menace]

I am very intrigued by how the "Toa Tool" thing works.

Like, yeah, some are made by Arthaka or other famous universe toolsmiths, but for many matoran-turned-toa, their tools are often related to their professions or straight up are tools they had in hand that are transformed alongside them during the metamorphosis.

Vakama was a mask carver, carving masks from kanoka disks, and his tool turned out to be a launcher that could use the raw materials of his profession as projectiles (well, not a hard thing considering they already are used as projectiles by many, but still...).

Takua's Chronicler staff became Takanuva's Staff of light, a powerful weapon that, coincidentally, could also function as a rather deadly version of a Kohili Stick.

These items also seem to be strongly tied with their own wielder physical being, as the toa Hagah weapons were transformed along their users, but despite this, they can also be left behind for the sake of better equipment (Mahri Kongu) which, although understandable in some cases (Two hands), still feels weird. That's not just a weapon, that's a part of you.

Its such an interesting concept that seems so often discarded in favour of elemental powers and mask, but like... Its YOUR weapon. It is related to a matoran entire being, their life, their experiences and things they enjoy. It's a way to use one's passion in a way that lets them protect others, and often also have additional functions based on what they may need. How cool is that? Think about it.

There could be a toa of ice whose job as a matoran was janitor and their weapon is a mop that can freeze its tendrils and become a morningstar, or generate a frozen layer over what its passed over, painting ice paths in an instant.

There could be a toa of air who had a passion for botany and took care of the MU version of bonsai trees, their precision shears turned into a huge, bulky pair of scissors that can be used as a broadsword that can also manipulate air currents to cut things from distance.

There could be a toa of iron whose main job was welding, and lo and behold, the clunky, cumbersome equipment he struggled to drag around became a big flamethrower that it wears like a backpack, complete with a welding mask integrated on top of their own kanohi as a visor.

There could be a Toa of stone who enjoyed the life of a performer, juggling, somersaulting, doing precision throws and whose tool is now a set of spiky or bladed clubs that can bounce on surfaces and enemies alike and then return to them.

A toa of Psionics whose dream to write stories manifested into a strange staff, originally their writing stylus, able to manifest masterful illusions by writing words inside the enemy minds and trap them in stories through the mere strength of their narration.

[human-encounters-diary]

Day 12

I apologize for the rather abrupt ending of the last record, as circumstances became rather frantic after the recorded incidents. I will apply my best efforts to summarize the following events shortly. After the human volunteered to perform the repair of the damaged outer hover engine, a rather heated discussion broke loose, concerning the risks and other possible solutions to the current situation. The Vitrichl decided that the human should perform the repair, as long as it was proved that her chance of survival was high enough. Several tests were performed, and all of them concluded that the human had a surprisingly good chance at surviving the excursion, although it was unclear whether she would return unharmed, as there was simply not enough information known about Terrans.

The Vitrichl ordered for a group of personally selected mechanics and scientists of the crew to supervise the excursion over the video recording of the space suit the human would be wearing. I was assigned as a part of this group. The human itself, inexplicably, remained incredibly calm, seemingly not grasping the gravity of the situation at hand. Despite my best efforts to make her aware of the responsibility she was assigned, she remained unresponsive. "I am applying my best efforts to make you aware of the risk you are taking.", I stated, trailing after her. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I read the safety thingy, like, three times. And basically the entire board team will be there to guide me through the entire process and tell me exactly what to do. I'll basically not even have to think myself." "I would appreciate it if you did not neglect your thought process during such an important task." "Of course I won't actually stop thinking, it's just a way of speaking. Anyway, you'll have the entire video footage from my suit and as long as the suit remains intact, I should be fine.", Quinn continued. "Still, the probability that the system fails and you do not return…" "Is low enough.", Quinn cut me off.

"Listen, you oughta stop worrying. I might know nothing about alien technology, but this crew knows about it. And, to our luck, I'll have direct contact to them the entire time." She stepped into her assorted suit, machines around her closing and tying everything into place. Eventually, a helmet was lowered onto her head, the reflective surface hiding her face. She extended her right arm, lowering all her fingers except for the first and biggest one, which she pointed upwards. I could not decipher the purpose of this gesture, and as I could not see her facial expression, I was not able put any of my previous knowledge of humans to use.

The human underwent several further safety checks, before the medicals decided it would be appropriate to start the mission at that time. The task of the human was first to simply observe the entire damage, in order to confirm that our monitors grasped the entire extent of the damage. Furthermore, she should, under our supervision and precise instructions, reverse the worst damage she could and, at best, reverse the engine into a working state. The human was transferred into the duct from where all outerboard missions that did not require any larger equipment where started. As soon as the door opened and the human stepped into the void, medicals and scientists scrambled to examine her vitals. "Vitals are steady", a medical informed. Wrin pressed several keys on the control board, establishing the communication line between Quinn's suit and the SIIR Noxos. "Okay, Quinn, how do you feel?", Wrin, who was, for their standards, surprisingly sober, spoke into the communication tool. "Well, I feel like I've just drank a shit ton of water and then gone onto a roller coaster one too many times. Besides that, wow", Quinn's voice sounded from the other end. "Alright, I'm just going to pretend I understood any of that. So, give us a bit to get the suit camera sorted and then you can go on.", Wrin drawled, pressing a few more keys on one of the monitors. As the technicians confirmed a stable signal, Wrin began to guide Quinn into the direction of the damaged engine.

The human's vitals remained stable as she approached the engine in question. As instructed, the human began a scan of the area through her suit, linking the results directly into the main control quarters. Through the analyzation of the information, the technicians were able to confirm that there was no worse damage than our previous scans had recorded.

The human began to work on the engine. She removed the outer layer of metal within a few moments, which was almost fully demolished. As she worked towards middle of the structure, I observed her every step. She moved coordinated and careful, as if frightened that the engine might implode if she didn't (which was, admittedly, a rather real threath). Eventually, she removed a piece of charred metal, exposing an accumulation of cables. Wrin straightened as I took the communication tool from them and spoke into it: "Quinn, these cables are of high importance. Would you be able to reach the brown cable and remove it from its place? As careful as possible.", I added. Despite my, in my eyes, rather clear instructions, the human continued to reach towards a completely wrong cable. "Human", I interjected. "I do not mean to be insensitive, but that is not the cable I was referring to." "Huh? But that one's brown?", the human responded, tone signaling possible confusion, although I could not be sure, as her face was still hidden. "Human-", I started once again, thinking of the most polite way to phrase the following statement, but I could not finish, as Wrin pushed me away rather aggressively before taking the communication tool themselves. "Quinn, the mechanic‘s referring to the second cable from the far right.", Wrin eludicated. "…but that one's Magenta!", Quinn protested further. "Not to the mechanic. Different eyes, different colour perception.", Wrin quipped. Quinn said something indiscernably quiet, before continuing, carefully following Wrin's instructions. As these records' purpose is to observe human behaviour, I will not go into much detail describing the repair. If you wish to obtain more precise information about the details of this particular repair, I suggest you visit the archives, in which we keep all records of repairs, routine check-ups and everything else regarding the state of the ship, to gain a further insight.

The human proceeded the repair, although another thing of note happened rather towards the end: After the human had reconnected several wires and added a new protective layer on the engine's surface, the technicians tested whether or not the engine would start, obviously after the human had moved to a safe distance. The technicians started the engine at its highest setting, but with no success. No sound emitted from the engine. "Wait, let me try something.", the human sounded over the communication line. In spite of any common sense, the human moved closer towards the engine. The human inspected the engine, before suddenly, for some to me inexplicable reason, hitting the engine repeatedly with the flatter side of her hand. "Alright, try again." "Human Quinn, it is imperative that you move out of the immediate proximity of the engine.", I stated, but the human refused. "No, I wanna try something." "Human, it is-" "On one, come on, guys.", Quinn cut me off. "Start the engine on one." Against better judgement, the technicians began to prepare another start of the engine. "Okay, ready? Three, two, one, go!", besides my best efforts to stop them, the technicians started the engine at the exact time as Quinn hit its outer layer again. Fortunately, the engine did start. Unfortunately, the stuttering start of the engine produced a pressure wave that catapulted the Terran away from it. Eventually, her body was stopped by the cable attached to form a connection between the space suit that the human was wearing, and the SIIR Noxos. The body of the human did not move. Wrin, seemingly concerned, spoke into the communication line. "Quinn?" It took a few moments before we received any kind of answer, the silence filled with a slight buzzing sound. Then we registered the human's voice over the line. At first, the human only produced several sounds, possibly signaling pain. Then: "Well, I'm never doing that again." A pause. "Did it work? Is the engine stable?" "The engine is running. I wouldn't call it stable, but it will get us far enough.", one of the technicians informed.

Silence.

"Alright, Quinn, we‘re going to pull you back into the ship. Try not to move too much and uh…don‘t die.", Wrin spoke up.

"I can do that."

As the retraction program was started, I, accompanied by Wrin proceeded towards the intertravel duct. The human arrived shortly afterwards.

The suit seemed to be unharmed, a good sign, but its owner did not.

As a robotic arm removed the helmet and started to disassemble the suit, the human stumbled out. Stumbling, that was not a good sign. The human’s complexion was even paler than its naturally bright shade. And the skin of her face seemed to have a slight green undertone. Had it always been there? I could not recall. Perhaps their skin changed colours, similar to Wrin‘s species?

I was brought away from these suspicions, as the human opened her mouth and released a brown-green, odd-smelling fluid out of her mouth and onto the floor. This couldn‘t be normal, could it?

The human was immediately referred into the, for a ship and crew this size admittedly rather small, hospital wing. The medicals are currently observing and recording any interesting observations regarding the human‘s body. Unfortunately, while the medicals are treating Quinn to the best of their ability, it is difficult, as there is so little known about humans.

Although, perhaps this way I will receive more information regarding the anatomy of humans.

I will continue to record the recovery and the state of the human.

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 24

You embark on a new relationship and find out problems about an old one. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-23 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Just angst :) No use of Y/N. Whole fic is violent and smutty so Minors DNI. 18+ only

Length: 5.5k

Saturday, February 6, 2016 - Six Months Later

“Hey, be careful, you’re gonna break it if you keep pulling on it like that,” Derek rushed over, delicately pulling the camera from your hands. 

“Wasn’t going to break it,” you said, defensive. “These hands work with surgical precision, sir, I was just… leveraging it.” 

“Leveraging it the wrong way,” he smiled at you, shaking his head. He pulled the back open the other direction. “My camera opens differently than yours. See?” 

“I guess you’re the expert,” you rolled your eyes dramatically, smiling a little. 

“So they tell me,” he kissed you lightly. Even in the red glow of his homemade dark room, Derek was handsome. “OK, next you have to load the film…” 

He guided your hands through the process of getting your film set and ready before putting it into the chemical bath he had in plastic tubs in his bathtub. You sat on the edge of the tub, watching the pictures emerge. Andrew behind the front counter at the clinic, making a face at you and flipping you off. Jess standing profile and putting one hand against her growing stomach, her other one pointing at it as if to say “look what I did!” Derek looking out the window of your apartment with a cup of tea in his hand, lost in thought and unaware you were even taking his photo. Even one of Joel, raising his eyebrows at you as Tess leaned her head on his shoulder, smiling. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually printing pictures right now!” You rapped your nails along the chipped surface of the tub, grinning broadly. “I’ve never made pictures before!” 

“Truly a lost art form,” Derek smiled, sitting on the tub with his back against the wall, watching you. 

“All I ever did was drop them off at the Walgreens photo lab,” you said. “This is more work but a lot fucking cooler.” 

“Most cool things are a lot of work, unfortunately,” he said. 

“Ain’t that the truth,” you smiled a little. 

Derek and photography had become one of your favorite parts of life in the months since Tommy went out west with the Fireflies. You hadn’t really been looking for either one, just stumbled into both of them at once. 

About a month after the explosion, Andrew and Jess invited you over for dinner. Andrew had asked with such formality - usually it was just “Hey we actually got some decent shit, want in” not “We were really hoping you could join us on Sunday night” - that you’d gone to Tess and traded a few ration cards for a bottle of wine. Jess burst out laughing when you came in with it, which made you frown. It wasn’t until you and Andrew each had a glass - Jess begging off every time you offered - that they said why. 

“We’re pregnant!” Jess squealed it, grinning from ear to ear. 

It took you a second to figure out how to respond. If this had been before the outbreak, you would have shrieked and hugged her and asked for every possible detail. Now, you looked between them, concerned. 

“We figured the world might be fucked but you now what, we’re pretty happy we’re still around to live in it,” he said, holding Jess’ hand, an arm around her shoulders. “We could make life worth living for someone else too, right?” 

You smiled, a small smile but a smile. 

“You guys are going to be the most incredible parents,” you said, fighting back tears. “That baby… the luckiest baby on the planet.” 

You ended up thinking a lot more about what like had been like before and what it could be like in the future after that. Beyond just the medicine of it or how to better equip your students, you started thinking about what things you’d wanted for your child when that was possible for you. Things like a nursery and baby pictures and colorful toys. You wanted to give that to them, or as much of it as you could, anyway. 

So you’d started doing a little investigating in the underground markets, poking around to see what you could find to make those things happen. You met Derek in October when you were asking after Polaroid cameras at one of the stands. 

“Really, if you can just set one aside for me if you ever find one,” you were saying to the seller. “I’ll pay even a markup of whatever you’d sell it for normally, that and whatever film you have for it…” 

“Not gonna just sit on perfectly good product on the off chance you show up to buy it,” he said gruffly. 

“It’s for my best friends’ baby pictures,” you said, pleading a little. “They’re pregnant and I know they’re going to want pictures, who wouldn’t want pictures of their baby?” 

“If you want good baby pictures, you shouldn’t be looking for a polaroid, anyway,” the man who just came up to the stand said.

“Well I’m sure someone could take better pictures with a fancy camera,” you shrugged. “But it’s not like I have a darkroom at home.” 

“I do,” he said. 

“That doesn’t really help me though, does it?” You said, looking him up and down. He was handsome, his face sculpted, dark hair and light eyes, maybe a few years older than you with some salt and pepper starting in on his scruff. 

“Yes it does,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him. “I mean, I could… develop them for you. Or you can do it. I have all the stuff, I can… I could just give you some of it…” 

“But I wouldn’t know how to use it,” you were smiling now. The man was getting gradually more and more flustered and it was hard to not find it charming. 

“Well, I could teach you,” he said. “Just sometime. If you wanted to learn. I used to teach photography before the world went to hell, I promise I’m not a creepy weirdo trying to get you into his dark room.” 

You laughed at that, you couldn’t help it. 

“Look, if you buy,” he paused, looking over the man’s limited stock. “This camera body,” he set a Nikon that looked to be about as old as you down in front of you. “And this lens,” he grabbed one that really didn’t look any different than the others. “I will pick up the tab for five rolls of film and develop them for you.” 

You turned to face him, crossing your arms and smiling. 

“But how would I find you to get you the film?” You asked. “I don’t even know you.” 

“Derek,” he held his hand out. You took it and gave him your name in return. “There, now we know each other. And you can give me your film…” he patted the pocket on his messenger bag until he found what he was looking for - a small notebook with a pen stuck in the spiral binding. He wrote something and tore the paper out, handing it to you. “When you meet me there at that date and time.” 

It was in a week, at an address not too far from the clinic. You pursed your lips a little, resisting the urge to smile bigger. 

“What if I’m busy then?” You asked. His face fell a little bit. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m really bad at this,” he scrambled for the notebook again but you laughed and stopped him. 

“No, this is fine,” you said quickly. “I just really wanted to see what you’d do.” 

He shook his head and smiled a little. 

“Right, I deserved that,” he said, pulling out the ration cards to buy the film and handing them to the seller. He took them and gave the film directly to you. “So I’ll see you then?” 

“This will all be a pricy dust collector if you don’t,” you smiled. 

“Right, right,” he nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

He turned to leave as you went to buy the rest of the camera, but then he turned, walking backwards past the other stalls. 

“I mean that, just so you know,” he called to you. “Really looking forward to it. Like, a lot.” 

You giggled like a school girl. 

You’d spent the next week taking pictures of life around the QZ. It was strange at first, trying to figure out what to capture. You didn’t want to take pictures of nothing, that felt like a waste. But waiting until only the good things or only the important things happened would mean you wouldn’t have a full roll of pictures until who knows when and that would make your meeting with Derek pretty useless. Well, useless beyond the fact that he was handsome and charming and you’d like to see him again. 

You filled up the roll of pictures and kept your fingers crossed Derek wouldn’t judge your lack of skills too harshly when he actually went to develop the film. When you met up with him, it was outside a warehouse where he worked. You’d ducked out on your evening break from the clinic, still in your lab coat. 

“I would have come to you!” He said, his eyes a little wide when you came up. “I was trying to be nice and not ask you to provide a location, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable I wasn’t trying to pull you away from saving lives and things…” 

“There’s a man bleeding to death right now but I figured, screw it, I have a date to keep,” you said, trying to keep your tone serious. Derek’s face fell for a moment before he glared at you. 

“You’re cruel,” he smiled a little. You smiled back. “So I know you just came to surrender your film but I thought I could try to bribe you and see if I could convince you to have dinner with me. Call it a trade, you give me the film and I give you food. I also brought wine because I didn’t know you were a doctor who had to go save lives after seeing me…” 

“Seems like you’re getting the short end of the stick here,” you said, handing him the canister of film. “I get dinner and developed pictures out of the deal.” 

“Nah, see, I’ve conned you into giving me your time so, really, I’m coming out way ahead,” he smiled, leading you to a small grassy area alongside the warehouse, away from much of the sound of the streets of the QZ. He’d set out a blanket and put out a spread of jerky and dried fruit and bread and you sat there, talking, for close to an hour. 

Derek had been a photography teacher in Maine during the outbreak and had been saved from being turned by the fact that he was newly divorced at the time, living on frozen dinners because cooking for one sounded miserable. He’d been at the Boston QZ since the middle of ’04 and taught a class at one of the other QZ schools - one of the schools for kids who weren’t wards of the state - about photography. 

“It’s weird not teaching anyone how to shoot anymore,” he said. “It’s all history and composition and the like, none of the actual skill. Not like FEDRA is pumping out cameras and film.” 

“I hear you,” you nodded. “You know how I teach frog dissection now? Diagrams. No actual frogs. It’s still surreal even though I’ve been doing it the FEDRA way far longer than I was the way I learned it.” 

You glanced at your watch in passing and almost jumped up. 

“Oh shit,” you said quickly. “I have to get back, I was only supposed to be gone like half an hour…” 

“Think I can bring you back your prints when you’re a little less pressed for time?” He asked. 

“Speakeasy, Sunday evening sound good?” You asked back. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Things with Derek were easy. Simple. He was sweet and understanding and seemed to be pretty crazy about you. The first time you made him cookies, he took a bite and grabbed you and kissed you on the mouth before his eyes went wide. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for about two weeks and this cookie is so damn good I just didn’t even stop to ask…” 

You kissed him again just to calm him down. 

“You’re really a natural at capturing people,” he said once all your photos were printed and spread out on his living room floor. 

“Really?” You frowned, looking over the pictures. 

“Oh yeah,” he nodded. “You know just when to get the shot and you frame it up well. There’s some technical stuff here and there, sure, but you’ve got the eye, Hon.” 

He picked up the picture of Joel and Tess. 

“This is a great one,” he said before he frowned a little. “Don’t think I’ve met them. New friends of yours?” 

“The opposite,” you laughed a little. “I’ve known Joel… God, almost 20 years now. Jesus, I’m getting old. We just haven’t always talked during that time. We’re barely back on speaking terms now, trying not to rock the boat.”

“Sounds rough,” Derek frowned. 

“In fairness, the world did end in there,” you shrugged. “So I think some slack is due.” 

You’d been seeing Derek for more than three months and it was the first relationship you’d had that didn’t have the omnipresent cloud of Joel hanging overhead. With Tommy gone, he hadn’t come up. It made things easier. Your feelings weren’t different, they were just easier to take. 

Since the explosion the year before, you and Joel had struck a somewhat uneasy balance. You were no longer precisely avoiding each other you just… weren’t really seeking each other out. But every now and then instances happened like last week, where Tess wanted to meet and Joel just… tagged along. He mostly just sat there quietly, drinking a beer while you and Tess chatted a bit about goings on around the QZ and things you might need from the outside to continue your research. You got notes from her on things they were encountering outside the walls and what would be helpful to help them survive. Joel just… watched you. 

“Weird question,” you said as you finished your beer. “With Andrew and Jess expecting, I’ve decided to become the official photographer of the QZ’s greatest baby and have been practicing. Can I take a picture of you guys? I need more models.” 

Joel looked like he was about to protest but Tess elbowed him. 

“We’d be honored, Doc,” she said, leaning her head on Joel’s shoulder. You snapped the photo and smiled. 

“I’ll give you a print when I’ve got them,” you said, stashing the camera away in your bag again. 

“How are you developing that, anyway?” Tess asked as you gathered the rest of your things. 

“Oh,” you glanced quickly at Joel before looking back to Tess. “My boyfriend is teaching me. He was a photography teacher before so he’s basically spent the last decade and a half just collecting photography things. Think he’s just happy to have a student again, to be honest.” 

“A boyfriend,” Tess smirked at you. “You’ll have to tell me all about him next time we meet.” 

“We’ll see if he sticks around once he’s got nothing left to teach me,” you winked at her. Joel was looking at you, eyebrows drawn together, jaw set firm. “Good to see you both. Let me know if you need anything before we see each other again.”

Joel’s eyes were on you until you left. 

“I did make an extra print of this one,” Derek said, a little sheepishly, holding up a self portrait you’d taken in front of your mirror. It was after a long day at the clinic. You’d taken off everything but your tank top. Your hair was still braided, the ribbon hanging from the end only half tied and there were splotches of blood on your skin. You looked exhausted but determined. “If it’s OK with you, I’d like to keep it.”

“If that’s one you really want,” you shrugged. “Definitely better pictures of me out there. You should know, you’ve taken, like, all of them.” 

“I like this one,” he said, half smiling a little. “I like seeing how you see yourself.” 

“All yours then,” you said. 

When you made it home that night, you took all the photos out, looking them over. You had extras of your friends to give to them but you kept coming back to the picture of Joel and Tess. The lines of his face were crisp and clear, the grays coming into his hair standing in sharp contrast to the darker strands. He was making eye contact with you through the camera, his dark gaze heavy even through the lens. You looked into his eyes now, the first time you’d really had a chance to in so long. You traced the outline of his face with your fingers before you put the print in your drawer, where it couldn’t make your heart ache until you let it. 

You hadn’t expected to see Joel and Tess quite so soon, but when Elias called a full staff meeting Monday afternoon, you made a plan to go straight to Joel’s after the clinic closed. 

“As of now,” Elias said, handing out sheets of paper. “FEDRA will no longer be manufacturing the following medications. We’ll have to find ways around treating the conditions addressed by these medications…” 

“This is bullshit!” Kristen said, a pile of papers still in her hand. “This is going to fucking kill people!” 

“I don’t agree with it,” Elias said. “But we don’t have a say. We’ve already gotten our last shipments of these medications…” 

You reached around Joe, one of the nurses, to Kristen and tried to grab one of the papers. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, handing you one. You looked at the list and frowned. The drugs you’d used when you were miscarrying were on the list. Your stomach churned. 

“What are people supposed to do?” You asked, looking up from the list. “What’s the point of this?” 

“They needed to reallocate manufacturing,” he sighed. “So we have to work around it.” 

You hardly heard the rest of the meeting. You’d helped who even knew how many people miscarry since coming to the QZ. It was always miserable but you didn’t have the facilities to perform a surgical procedure for everyone. The medication was life or death… 

“What are you thinking?” Kristen asked as everyone broke up from the meeting, a pallor cast over the shift. 

“I’m thinking that there are ways around FEDRA,” you muttered. “There’s shit on here that I use all the time. There’s the abortive drugs, there’s the apparent shift to only broad spectrum antibiotics even though I’ve all but fucking begged them to require specificity in QZs so we’re not breeding superbugs. There’s a statin on here that I’ve given patients this week…” 

“This is fucked,” she muttered, stalking off toward the back. 

It was a relatively quiet day and you slipped out a few minutes early, making your way to Joel’s quickly. 

You hesitated before you knocked. You hadn’t been here since the night that Joel had killed McCarthy. That night had haunted you for months, the image of his broken body turning up in your dreams almost nightly. You had the sickening feeling that someone had died because of you. Even if you were terrified of him, even if you felt like the world was better off because he was gone, even though you knew that if anything like that ever happened to Joel you’d want to do the same, you never wanted to be the reason someone was dead. Now, you were. 

Tess answered with a frown. 

“Hey Doc,” she said. “Not that it’s not always a pleasure…” 

“I need a favor,” you said quickly. She shrugged and opened the door wide. 

“Think I found…” Joel came out of his room holding a map and froze when he saw you, looking you up and down. 

“She needs a favor,” Tess said, going to sit on the couch. You sat across from her. 

“When is the next time you’re leaving the QZ?” You asked. Tess and Joel shared a look. 

“This weekend,” she said. “Why?” 

“Going anywhere that might have a pharmacy or five that haven’t been totally gutted?” You asked. 

Tess smiled. Joel groaned. 

“Matter of fact, we are,” she said. “And Joel mentioned that you can bake.”

Saturday, February 13, 2016 

“So really, just ignore Bill,” Tess said. “He’s basically Joel.”

“Ah, huge grumpy asshole?” You asked. She laughed. 

“Exactly,” she said. “Frank, though, is going to fucking love you.”

You’d been walking for a few hours already, seeing mercifully few infected, just one stray clicker that Tess took down on sight in two shots. Joel had stayed behind - grinding his teeth about it when you met Tess at his apartment just as curfew ended that morning - because, apparently, Bill wouldn’t take kindly to being outnumbered. 

“The fact that you brought cookies, though, might make Bill like you,” she said. 

“Way to a man’s heart and all that?” You asked. 

“He’s just a guy who appreciates good food,” she said. “So if you can bring him food he likes? You’re in good. Better than me, that’s for sure. And definitely better than Joel, though that’s a low bar.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Would it be,” you paused, searching for the word. “Weird for me to ask how Joel is doing?” 

“Better now than he was a few months ago,” she said. “Thank fuck. I was getting so tired of his bullshit with Tommy…” 

“What bullshit with Tommy?” You frowned. 

“Oh, you know,” she waved you off. “You’ve been in touch with Tommy, right?” 

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “He sounded like he was settling in well out there…” 

“I think that helped,” she said. “Joel holding a gun to his head about getting out of town fucked them both over for a while, though.” 

You frowned. 

“What do you mean, holding a gun to his head?” 

You walked up to a large gate with a key pad and a camera mounted at the top. Tess smiled and waved at the camera. 

“Tess?” You asked. “What do you mean, Joel put a gun to his head about it.” 

She paused, looking at you. 

“I probably shouldn’t have said anything,” she said. “You should ask Joel or Tommy…” 

“Tess.” 

She glanced quickly through the wire gate, the door on a large, white house opening. 

“Look,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t have said shit if I didn’t think Tommy already told you but Joel basically told Tommy to get the fuck out of Boston after the Fireflies blew up that FEDRA building…” 

“What?” You breathed. 

“It was a mess,” she said quickly. “But I think they’ve figured their shit out for now, we can talk about it more on the walk back… Frank!” 

A tall, bearded man in a plaid shirt was jogging over to you, smiling broadly. 

“Tess!” He opened the gate and pulled her into a tight hug. “Ugh, it’s been too long.” 

“I know,” she sighed. “FEDRA’s been a bear lately…” 

He separated from her and looked you over quickly, smile more hesitant. 

“And who’s this?” He asked. 

“Don’t worry, we left Joel at home and she brought cookies,” Tess smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Bill will deal.” 

Bill, in fact, did NOT want to deal. 

The cookies, however, did help. 

“How did you get that… depth of flavor?” He asked. There was a gun on the table in front of him as he chewed. You tried to ignore it. 

“Brown the butter, substitute soy sauce for salt,” you smiled. 

He looked at you. 

“Soy sauce.” 

“It’s got that umami thing going on,” you shrugged. “Tried it once with cupcakes when I was baking with a kid I was nannying and she desperately needed something for a bake sale the next day and there was no table salt in the house. Now it’s all I use when I can get it.” 

“Soy sauce,” he said again. He took the gun to the kitchen the next time he got up. It didn’t come back out. Frank looked impressed. 

Frank took you down to the pharmacy in town after tea. It was strange, walking through the streets of a town that was intact and so empty. 

“So you’re a doctor then?” Frank asked as you walked. 

“I am,” you smiled. “And I really appreciate you letting me see what your pharmacy has…” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he waved you off. “Not like Bill or I really know what to do with much of it, anyway.” 

“In fairness, neither does FEDRA,” you smiled. “If they did, they wouldn’t be doing stupid stuff.” 

“How do you know Tess?” He asked. 

“I’m an old friend of Joel’s actually,” you said, choosing to leave out the whole ‘she’s sleeping with the love of my life’ thing.  

“Really?” Frank looked at you, shocked. “Didn’t realize he had friends. What are you, the paranoid old man tamer?” 

You laughed. 

“He wasn’t paranoid or old when I met him,” you said. “Believe it or not.” 

“Having a hard time picturing it,” he smiled. “But I’ll buy it if you’re selling it. Only because you’re so convincing.” 

“It’s the cookies,” you smiled back. “They’ll convince anybody.” 

The pharmacy was well stocked and mostly intact. You looked at it in wonder, eyes wide like a kid at Disney World. 

“I have a proposition,” you said, looking at the array of medications. 

“I’m all ears,” he said. 

“I will give you the names of common drugs and what they treat and their dosages,” you said. “I’ll even mark them in here so you can find them easily, there have to be sticky notes in here somewhere, if you let me take some of what FEDRA’s cutting off.” 

“Sold,” he smiled. 

Frank kept you company for a while, making easy conversation until he decided to go back to the house to save Tess from Bill. You spent the afternoon cataloguing the contents of the pharmacy, creating a stash for yourself to take back to the QZ and putting the most common drugs aside and labeling them carefully so they had resources. 

It was later than you really wanted it to be when you and Tess got ready to go after Bill fed you an absolutely insane meal with venison and potatoes (you’d set your fork down and said “Are you fucking kidding me” after the first bite which, thankfully, the man hadn’t found offensive.) 

You managed to wait until you were a mile into the walk back to bring the Tommy subject back up. 

“So he really didn’t tell you why he left?” She asked. 

“As far as I know, he left because the Fireflies wanted him across the country,” you said. “He asked me to come with him and I said no…” 

“He asked you to come with him?” She gaped at you. You just nodded. She shook her head. “Well for fuck’s sake don’t tell Joel that, they’ll never talk again…” 

“Why?” You asked. “I don’t get it…” 

“You never seem to,” she sighed. “For someone as smart as you are you sure get confused by some of the most basic things.” 

“Gee thanks, Tess,” you snapped. 

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I just mean… You were always a sticking point for them. That’s why Joel told Tommy to leave. You. If he knew Tommy asked you to go with him? He’d lose his shit. I’d rather not deal with that again.” 

“What do you mean I’m why he told Tommy to leave?” You demanded. “Does he really hate me that much? That he saw his brother being friends with me and he just needed to make sure I was miserable?” 

“Doc,” she sighed but you pressed on. 

“I thought things were actually getting better, that he was actually ready to tolerate my existence again,” you said. “But no, apparently he’s desperate to make me as miserable as he is…” 

“Look,” Tess cut you off. “I don’t know the exact reason. I heard a bit from Tommy when he radioed to check in and Joel wouldn’t talk to him and Joel wouldn’t tell me shit, Joel never wants to tell me shit when it involves you. You’ll have to talk to Joel or Tommy.” 

“Sorry,” you sighed. “I wasn’t trying to turn this into a complain about your boyfriend session.” 

“Joel is not my boyfriend,” she laughed a little. “But it’s fine. Fuck knows the man has plenty worth complaining about.” 

You laughed at that, adjusting your now full backpack as you continued your walk back to the QZ. 

***

Joel really didn’t like you being outside the QZ without him. He’d fought Tess on it. He’d fought Tess on it tooth and nail but she eventually put her foot down. 

“Look, Joel, if you want to control what she does then you need to figure your shit out with her,” she snapped. “But right now, you don’t want to be in a relationship with either of us so you really don’t get to control what the fuck we do. I’m taking her to Bill and Frank’s and you can sit down and shut the fuck up about it.” 

She stalked off before she even had her coat on. 

Joel knew she was right. He didn’t get to have a say in her actions or yours, especially not yours. Not really. He was nothing to you and that was by choice. He’d chosen distance from you because it felt like the safest route, the one that would let him get through the misery that was the world after the outbreak alive. 

And now you were outside the QZ, just you and Tess and he had no idea if you were safe. He wouldn’t know for hours. 

He spent more of his day than he really wanted to admit to trying to come up with a reason to see you the day after. Just to make sure you really were back and really were OK. That you’d made the journey in one piece, that no one had hurt you. You’d stopped working Sundays at the clinic so he couldn’t go there. He supposed if he did something supremely stupid and showed up at your door with an injury, you’d treat him. It had been so long since he’d spent much time with you, he wasn’t sure what you might try to DO on a day off. Where he might be able to just bump into you in passing. Say hi. Check for bites from infected. 

He’d nearly talked himself into just dropping by your apartment without pretense when there was the sound of a key in the front door and you were there, with Tess. 

Tess came in and kissed his cheek as a pretense for whispering in his ear. 

“Sorry for this,” she said, patting his chest before going to his room. He frowned. 

“Can I talk to you?” You hissed. You didn’t wait for a response, just marching over to him, grabbing his wrist, and dragging him outside in to the cold February air. 

“Have a nice trip?” He asked. You ignored him. 

“Did you tell Tommy to leave Boston?” You asked. He shocked back from you. That hadn’t been what he was expecting. You pressed him. “Did you tell Tommy he had to leave fucking Boston because of me?” 

He paused. 

“Yes.” 

He wished he’d lied the moment he said it. The look of pain on your face was sharp, acute. Like you couldn’t believe he’d do this to you. 

“Do you really hate me that much?” You asked quietly. “So much that you’d throw your own brother out of town just to make me miserable? Is that it?” 

In half a second, Joel weighed his options. He could tell you the truth and break your heart. Tell you that one of your best friends had orchestrated the bombing that had nearly killed you and was responsible for the death of one of your former students. 

Or he could let you believe the worst of him, the story you were already inventing. He didn’t blame you for it, he’d spent the last decade doing nothing but trying to push you away from him. At some point, you were bound to believe what he was telling you. 

“At some point that girl is gonna stop forgiving you.” That’s what Tommy had told him once. Maybe he’d finally reached that point with you. 

He just nodded once.

“I thought things were getting better,” you sniffed, tears in your eyes. “I thought that we could maybe, finally, be friends. Was that all just a way for you to manipulate me? To hurt me more?” 

Joel didn’t say anything. The tears in your eyes finally fell. 

“Fuck you, Joel,” you said, voice wet. “Just… fuck you.” 

You stalked off into the night just as snow started to fall and you left him standing there, outside, alone in the cold. 

A/N: Some relationship building this chapter (and a break from the drama drama of the last few entries) and a chance for Doc to be the one to call Joel on his shit - even if she doesn't ACTUALLY understand the shit.

I have a tag list that I update when I post! If you'd like to be added, please comment below :)

Thank you so much for reading and following along with this story! I love you all!

PS - Derek? Totally James Marsden in my head. This is why he got a description, he is a 40 year old James Marsden because Doc can PULL. OK THANKS BYE LOVE YOU GUYS!

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[beardedmrbean]

TOKYO -- A Japanese spacecraft touched down on the moon early Saturday, making Japan the fifth country to reach the lunar surface. But officials said they still needed to analyze the pinpoint accuracy of the landing.

Hitoshi Kuninaka, head of the Institute of Space and Astronautical Science, said they believe that rovers were launched and data were being transmitted back to Earth. But there could an issue with the power supply.

The Smart Lander for Investigating Moon, or SLIM, landed at about 12:20 a.m. Tokyo time on Saturday (1520 GMT Friday). Japan follows the United States, the Soviet Union, China and India in reaching the moon.

THIS IS A BREAKING NEWS UPDATE. AP’s earlier story follows below.

Japan’s spacecraft arrived on the surface of the moon early Saturday, but it wasn’t immediately clear if the landing was a success, because the Japanese space agency said it was still “checking its status.”

More details about the spacecraft, which is carrying no astronauts, would be given at a news conference, officials said. If the Smart Lander for Investigating Moon, or SLIM, landed successfully, Japan would become the fifth country to accomplish the feat after the United States, the Soviet Union, China and India.

SLIM came down onto the lunar surface at around 12:20 a.m. Tokyo time Saturday (1520 GMT Friday).

As the spacecraft descended, the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency's mission control said that everything was going as planned and later said that SLIM was on the lunar surface. But there was no mention of whether the landing was successful.

Mission control kept repeating that it was “checking its status" and that more information would be given at a news conference. It wasn't immediately clear when the news conference would start.

SLIM, nicknamed "the Moon Sniper," started its descent at midnight Saturday, and within 15 minutes it was down to about 10 kilometers (six miles) above the lunar surface, according to the space agency, which is known as JAXA.

At an altitude of five kilometers (three miles), the lander was in a vertical descent mode, then at 50 meters (165 feet) above the surface, SLIM was supposed to make a parallel movement to find a safe landing spot, JAXA said.

About a half-hour after its presumed landing, JAXA said that it was still checking the status of the lander.

SLIM, which was aiming to hit a very small target, is a lightweight spacecraft about the size of a passenger vehicle. It was using “pinpoint landing” technology that promises far greater control than any previous moon landing.

While most previous probes have used landing zones about 10 kilometers (six miles) wide, SLIM was aiming at a target of just 100 meters (330 feet).

The project was the fruit of two decades of work on precision technology by JAXA.

The mission's main goal is to test new landing technology that would allow moon missions to land “where we want to, rather than where it is easy to land,” JAXA has said. If the landing was a success, the spacecraft will seek clues about the origin of the moon, including analyzing minerals with a special camera.

The SLIM, equipped with a pad to cushion impact, was aiming to land near the Shioli crater, near a region covered in volcanic rock.

The closely watched mission came only 10 days after a moon mission by a U.S. private company failed when the spacecraft developed a fuel leak hours after the launch.

SLIM was launched on a Mitsubishi Heavy H2A rocket in September. It initially orbited Earth and entered lunar orbit on Dec. 25.

Japan hopes a success will help regain confidence for its space technology after a number of failures. A spacecraft designed by a Japanese company crashed during a lunar landing attempt in April, and a new flagship rocket failed its debut launch in March.

JAXA has a track record with difficult landings. Its Hayabusa2 spacecraft, launched in 2014, touched down twice on the 900-meter-long (3,000-foot-long) asteroid Ryugu, collecting samples that were returned to Earth.

Experts say a success of SLIM's pinpoint landing, especially on the moon, would raise Japan's profile in the global space technology race.

Takeshi Tsuchiya, aeronautics professor at the Graduate School of Engineering at the University of Tokyo, said it was important to confirm the accuracy of landing on a targeted area for the future of moon explorations.

“It is necessary to show the world that Japan has the appropriate technology in order to be able to properly assert Japan's position in lunar development,” he said. The moon is important from the perspective of explorations of resources, and it can also be used as a base to go to other planets, like Mars, he said.

SLIM is carrying two small autonomous probes — lunar excursion vehicles LEV-1 and LEV-2, which will be released just before landing.

LEV-1, equipped with an antenna and a camera, is tasked with recording SLIM's landing. LEV-2, is a ball-shaped rover equipped with two cameras, developed by JAXA together with Sony, toymaker Tomy and Doshisha University.

JAXA will broadcast a livestream of the landing, while space fans will gather to watch the historic moment on a big screen at the agency's Sagamihara campus southwest of Tokyo.

[institute-of-dolls]

There's a lot of kinds of dolls, some of them are talked about a lot, some not so much.

One of the less talked about its sciencedolls/researchdolls. Dolls that on the surface might look like researchers just, in labcoats flitting around, but who are highly specialized tools just like the equipment they work with. Like research aids, or Specialized interns, they help keep the lab running smooth by running errand, taking notes, gathering and running samples, helping set up and run expirments. They are studious, observant, precise and extremely helpful to any full time researcher or project director.

They're also very cute.

[starsreminisce]

As Lucien and Elain reclined in the vast expanse of the meadow, the gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers, Elain confessed her boredom. Lucien, ever resourceful, suggested fishing, prompting Elain's skepticism due to their lack of equipment. However, Lucien's confident wink hinted at a different approach.

With a mischievous grin, Lucien demonstrated the art of fishing with bare hands. Elain, initially hesitant and squeamish, struggled to grasp the technique, her fingers slipping over the slippery scales of the fish darting beneath the surface. Sensing her frustration, Lucien positioned himself behind her, his presence comforting as he guided her movements.

As they waited for the opportune moment, Lucien's hands subtly intertwined with Elain's, their fingers synchronized in anticipation. With a shared effort, they plunged into the water at precisely the right moment, capturing a fish between their hands. Elain's delighted squeal filled the air as she triumphantly held up her prize, a sense of accomplishment evident in her sparkling eyes.

"I got one!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement as she held up her prize.

Lucien's laughter echoed through the meadow, a warm and genuine sound that filled her with joy. "I never doubted you for a second, Elain," he praised, his smile tender and proud.

Watching her proudly cradle the fish she caught, Lucien mirrored her actions, demonstrating how to clean the others they'd gathered.

With a glance exchanged between them, Lucien offered to take care of the task, but Elain's determination surprised him. Insisting that it was her fish and her responsibility, she asserted her independence with a quiet resolve that didn't escape Lucien's notice.

Unbeknownst to Lucien, this humble fish would soon become more than just a meal. As Elain prepared to cook the fish, she was also preparing to accept the bond between them. With each slice of the knife, she embraced the connection that had been growing between them, symbolized by the shared catch they had acquired together. It was a subtle yet significant act of acceptance, transforming a simple fishing excursion into a meaningful moment of commitment and unity.