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jj-ktae · 4 years

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Note II - Aldehydes

Moodboard : Courtesy of the lovely Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet ! Thank you for helping and hyping and just being here whenever I need it.

› Title : Fragrances › Genre : Angst, Fluff, Romance, Composer!Jungkook x Perfume Maker!Reader › Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader › Warning : Mentions of Suicide, heavy subjects, depression (none of these are used with the idea of glamourising mental illness), strong language, smut in later chapters probably. Do not read if any of these trigger you.

› Author’s note : This is another version of the story I wrote a few years ago for GOT7. Some of the events will be different, others will not change just like some paragraphs will be the same and others won’t. Informations, definitions and words are taken from here and here.

› Summary : In the world of Perfume making, it is believed that everyone has their own natural fragrance. It is also believed that everyone has that one scent capable of making them feel a thousand things. You find yours in the form of a composer on the verge of breaking, right when you have to face one of the biggest challenge in your life.

Masterlist | Note I - Ionones |

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Note II: Aldehydes

An aroma chemical that contains a functional group consisting of a carbon, a hydrogen, and an oxygen atom. Aldehydes can be derived from natural or synthetic materials. There are different types of scents associated with this chemical function but the most commonly referred to when profiling a scent as “aldehydic” is a sharp, metallic, crisp, slightly fatty impression often associated with the smell of clean textile or hot iron. One of the first “aldehydic” fragrances is the famous N°5 created by Perfumer Ernest Beaux in 1920 and launched by Gabrielle Chanel in 1921.

Your second day is worse than the first one. Jimin is all over the place, mixing essences and sniffing everything he can. You’re glad though, it makes him go silent whenever he concentrates on something, and you have time for focus. It doesn’t help because you’re still frustrated if not more, but at least you can overburden yourself in peace.

The only light in all that shadow comes from the memory of Jungkook’s scent, precise yet unknown. You try to create something similar, but it’s everything and nothing at the same time and no matter the amount or variety of scent you use, you can’t even get close to it

His scent is a mystery.

It adds to your misery, like a voice mocking you for not being able to recognise a scent while another one forces you to crave for more. It feels like chasing a ghost.

The sound of your head against your office takes Jimin out of his momentum. “What’s happening?” He inquires. He gets up from his own working area to stand next to your powerless soul.

“When is the meeting?” You try because it is potentially the only hope for today. That powerful lady came in early to inform you about an upcoming meeting with the marketing team. The project seems big, because Jimin started to work as soon as she flew out of the laboratory. It’s been one day and he is so open about himself that you can already read his body language.

“3 p.m. I was thinking about a brainstorming. Let’s think about a concept.” He offers because this is going nowhere. You’re about to give up at any minute, and he needs you to be into it.

“What concept? I’m running in circles.”

“Sexy? Provocateur? Romantic? Angsty? Bucolic?”

“All of these have already been worked on so many times...I don’t think they want to go for something as...forthright. I’m quite sure they won’t be satisfied with a mere sexy perfume.” It’s what you understood - if your sudden creative freedom is anything to go by.

Jimin understands, his eyes now wide. He has no idea how to achieve that, but he still thinks you’re brilliant for thinking out of the box. He picks his notepad and starts writing everything you said, his brows furrowed.

“We want to be unique. The concept needs to be appealing to the greatest number without being too cliché. We are free to use what we want.” He notes things down and you find yourself peeking at the words, meaningful yet complex.

“So we need to mix a little bit of everything.” Jimin stops for a minute before a whine escapes his thick lips, “I’m lost, help me.”

“We can’t work this way.” You raise your head slowly, ruffling your wild locks in a nonchalant way. “We have to find a scent and put a concept over it. We can’t force the scent based on an imaginary idea.” This only works when a brand has specific goals but here you have nothing. You can’t possibly force an idea into your head.

Jimin looks pitiful as he puts the notepad away. “It’s going to be harder than I thought.”

And just like the day started, the meeting followed. You were not expecting much of it and you were right. The marketing project came and explained you were free to do anything you wanted. Their main objective was to follow you on whatever you wanted to create, and it’s infuriating.

How many times do you have to repeat that you can’t do it before they start to believe you?

Jimin, who was stressed before the meeting is now dejected and it almost breaks your heart because you feel responsible. You send him home earlier and decide to work on your own. Two hours later you leave the lab with Orchid oil all over your bag and the urge to cry.

There is only one way to make you feel better. You feel ashamed, like you’re addicted to something but you have to admit it.

Jeon Jungkook’s scent is the only thing worth smelling.

When you come back from work, there is no trace of him. His backpack is gone, the bed looks neat, and even the towel he probably didn’t use is dry. There’s still his smell, fresh in the air and it makes you run back outside to find the bridge where you had found him the night before.

He is not there.

You were exhausted, but you’re suddenly on fire. This situation is stressing you more than it should be when you don’t see him. It’s like you won’t ever see him again. You look around all the bridges you can find close to your place. Jungkook is nowhere to be seen.

You open the door of your apartment with a heavy heart. It’s like you lost something precious and it’s making you angry. What the hell is happening to you?

But you open the door and it hits again, like a whirlpool of long lost feelings and dried memories.

Jeon Jungkook is in your living-room, and his delectable scent pounds in the deepest zones of your brain. He is sitting on the floor by the small table, right hand dancing over bright white paper and guitar on his lap so you only see his back, but it’s the biggest relief you had in years.

He doesn’t turn around when you let your bag fall on the floor, he doesn’t move when you stop next to him. He looks absorbed, entranced. His knee is shaking to an unknown beat, mimicking his left hand which is drumming on the soft brown wood of the instrument he is holding.

“God. I thought- I’m so stupid.” You don’t want to share your worries with him, but the thought of him throwing himself off a bridge is still fresh. It stings more than it should, more than the pain you’re supposed to feel when confronted with a stranger’s despair.

“Hmm?” Jungkook doesn’t move toward you at first, but eventually his hand stops, and he glances up at your pallid features and tensed body “What’s wrong?”

“I came back home and you were not here. I thought...I thought you did something stupid.” You let your body fall on the couch. It’s like blood is circulating again into your veins, your skin going back its initial colour.

Jungkook is puzzled, like he doesn’t understand why it would be so dramatic for you. “I went around town after I grabbed some stuff from my place.” It’s crazy but he feels sorry for you. “I’m sorry for worrying you” he trails off, scanning your face some more. He has no idea how to react to a stranger panicking over his disappearance. His own family doesn’t panic when he doesn’t show up. He is lost as to why you would be so affected by anything related to him when no one else barely does.

You snort, not mad at him. You’re high on his smell and it’s all that counts. “It’s okay.” Your eyes find his, and his tilted head looks like it’s searching for any sign of discomfort. He only stares back, with eyes way too shiny for someone as dark as him. He looks candid, like he has everything to discover and it’s a mystery how he turned out thinking about the worst. You have no idea what he might be thinking - excepted that you’re probably out of your mind for reacting like this but he doesn’t question your intentions, for whatever reasons. You finally notice the papers and decide to move on before it gets too disturbing to deal with. “What are you doing?” you nod toward the torn pieces of paper and point a finger at the pile stacking up next to his crossed legs.

He swiftly puts it under his leg. “Nothing. Did you just come back from work?” He tries to change the subject. His voice gets higher and you instantly decipher his anxiety. He isn’t good with facing his own problems and it’s way too early to go into deep talks about lyrics and melodies. He might have agreed to a crazy proposition, but that doesn’t mean he is going to open to you. At least not now.

“I looked for you all over the place.” You admit because it’s a normal thing to do when somebody is in distress. Jungkook is dumbfounded.

“Why would you do this?” The situation in itself is already crazy enough as it is. He doesn’t mind you being friendly with him, even though he is pretty sure he doesn’t need it, but to the point of being dead worried for him?

“You were about to throw yourself off a bridge. I don’t know what kind of life you’ve been living but it’s pretty normal to freak out when something like that happens.” Your outburst shocks him. He doesn’t understand the impact of his actions over his surroundings. He has always thought he was just a detail in everyone else’s lives.

It has always been this way. He writes in the shadow for people to shine. Him not being here shouldn’t matter to anyone.

“It’s my business. I’m staying here because I have nothing left and it’s easier than staying in my empty apartment and facing my failures. It doesn’t mean we have to care about each other.” Jungkook doesn’t want to sound mean but he has to make it clear to you. His distress is by no mean a way to ask for anyone’s pity. He refused to add anyone into that mess, let alone a stranger.

It’s obvious, in a way. You know it’s stupid but this scent, it’s making you go wild. You can’t let it pass until you know what it is.

So you agree, taking the same tone and hoping your voice isn’t wavering. “I’m not here for you, I’m worried about another human being wanting to end his life. If it gives you the illusion that I care, I’m sorry about that.” You get up and you sound mad, something Jungkook notices as soon as you close the door a bit too violently.

No matter how mesmerising his scent is, he is apparently not that friendly. You’re not hurt by his words, because you don’t care enough personally to be affected. You’re being selfish, only thinking about your own benefit and what his scent could bring into your life. Jeon Jungkook himself doesn’t pull you in at all. He is someone you barely know anyways.

He doesn’t move from his spot in the living-room until later that night. He suddenly has too many things to write and too little time on his hands. He decides to stop when his wrist starts to hurt and his body hits the mattress of his new bedroom like a bag of sand hits the ground.

He feels at ease in the small room. Wood is covering the floor, and it is the same colour as the tiny office by the window. The view is peaceful, with buildings popping up from the floor like mushrooms and lights festooning the city in tiny dots. The bed is large and thick with soft bedding. The scent of the washing powder turns Jungkook into a nostalgic boy when he rolls into the bed, stretching his sore limbs. He feels even more stupid for feeling comfort in a seemingly empty room.

He falls asleep right away, exactly 10 seconds after you do. You’re both too exhausted to care about each other, but you both know you’re no strangers to your own common serenity.

And just like you understand the importance of his presence for your brain to function, he notices he needs your place to exist in his creative yet tortured mind. As stupid and as hard to believe as it is.

When you get up the day after, you see him by the kitchen’s table. He is sipping on orange juice that is not yours, and munching on toasts you definitely didn’t buy.

You go to the coffee machine, your head too cloudy to deal with his strong presence.

He speaks first “Want some juice?”. He is trying to make it up to you for his cold behaviour. He just isn’t used to being around you yet. He isn’t used being around anyone yet.

Also, he is the worst when he composes. He needs absolute concentration.

You sip on the hot liquid and nod his way. He hands you a glass with an unreadable face.

“Have a nice day.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He tries to be nice, because there’s nothing much to say to someone you met two days ago. Maybe his pride spoke for him yesterday, or maybe he decided to accept the hand of a stranger, because it’s less burdening than accepting his failures to his entourage.

You drink the fresh juice fast and walk away. “Thank you.” It is too hard to be rational right now, because the smell seems even stronger now. You probably come off as rude when you don’t reciprocate his words but you don’t dwell on it; that boy isn’t going to accept any sort of compassion anyways.

You enter the bathroom and get hit by the scent of his shower gel. Not that scent either.

You get ready at the same time as you build your resolve. Motivation is the key so maybe if you believe in you and your assistant, things might work out. Jimin is already here when you arrive, his citrus smell filling you from the first floor to the lab. He is joyful, like he found something awesome.

“Boss! Have a sit, come come!” His thin hand adds a tiny pressure to your back, leading you to your office.

“What’s happening?” You barely have the time to comprehend; he is already putting a sample in front of your noise.

You freeze.

“Wh-where did you find t- t- this ?” You utter, immediately thrown off by the odour.

“I was looking through essences this morning, and I thought we could start with a base, just to see what we could make of it. It’s...”

“Winter fir and Balsam*.” You conclude. Everything in this base is satisfying but the most important detail is that you remember this base. You smelled it this morning when you entered the kitchen.

You smell the very distinct feelings of comfort, warmth and softness which invades you whenever you’re close to Jungkook.

Jimin added a little twist to it, tho. “You added Cottage Herb Garden**”. The latter grins at you, visibly proud of himself for coming up with such a smart idea. He too gives off that feeling of freshness that is found in that herb. It is serene and woody and gives off feelings of sweetness and sensuality. Cottage Herb Garden fragrances are made using Aldehydes synthetic scents.

“I didn’t add much, but I thought it would go well because they both make great seasonal fragrances. I only put 8% though, how did you find out?” he looks shocked but not surprised, like he was half-expecting you to guess it yet still thought it would go unnoticed.

“The herb comes last. The earthy smell that lingers in your nose, it’s this one. Smell it again.” You tell him and he takes his time filling his nose. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment before opening them again.

“This is Cottage Herb Garden.” You confirm and his mouth is now wide opened. He can’t believe he is working with such a talented person.

“So, do you think we could try? I feel like we’re using a lot of Aldehydes but at the same time it feels like a soft base note…” Jimin trails off, his fingers playing with the bottles.

You acquiesce, mind already elsewhere. It feels like the first step to Jungkook’s identity and it is energising. You take a sharp breath, startling Jimin who laughs at you because it’s like you found life again.

“You sound satisfied.” He offers the sample along with a genuine smile and for the first time, you smile back at him, thankful.

“You did great. I wonder why they hired me when you’re doing great on your own.” It’s true. Jimin came up with extremely complex scents and came up with a base note you would have never found on your own.

Jimin rolls his eyes and decides not to answer. If only he could have a quarter of your talent. He opens his notebook and starts writing, his eyes now shiny with glee

Base notes: Aldehydes (Synthetic) = Winter Fir / Cottage Herb Garden.

You put the sample in front of you and stare at it. So that was it. You smile to yourself, in a way, it’s like you can almost smell Jungkook.

You spent the rest of your day looking for another element to add to your base and when nothing comes to your mind you feel frustrated, but it’s the best you can do for now. Jimin is exhausted and snoring in a corner of the lab, his petite body squeezed between two cabinets. You shake him to wake his sleepy body and tell him to go home when you give up for the day.

It’s been so long since the last time Jungkook felt this satisfied. He didn’t go out, too engrossed into his lyrics to care about the light of the sun peeking through the opened blinds. It’s leaking off his pen, like he can’t stop the flood of ideas and he feels like a mad scientist, crazy and ecstatic. He takes a break around dinner time and when his stomach starts creating its own music.

He takes out noodles from the food he bought the day before. Living with you meant sharing a flat, but he wanted to provide his own necessities. Participating in daily life matters is only natural, after all.

His phone rings, and the caller ID makes him sigh. He is too hungry to face what is about to come, and his spent brain is screaming for rest.

He coughs, keeping his voice steady “Yes.” His tone is disillusioned. Jungkook barely gets any call nowadays, and except from work, he only knows one person who can annoy the hell out of him so much.

“You remember me? I thought depression AND amnesia hit you at once.” He wants to hang up when he hears the throaty voice. It’s heavy with judgement but then again, when is it not?

“And you wonder why I don’t call you, Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook finishes the sentence in a sigh. Yoongi is awesome at being a nagging mother.

“You’re too busy being away I guess. Artists are such a handful.” He hears steps and after a while, Yoongi speaks again. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting in front of your flat.”

“I moved out.” Jungkook looks fine with the revelation. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hears Yoongi’s car and supposes the latter is already going back to his place.

“It’s been two days. I’m living with a girl.” He blows hair on the steaming bowl of noodles, ignoring his friend’s deep shriek.

Yoongi doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. Jungkook leaving on an inspiration crusade is common, it’s something he does whenever he gets overwhelmed by his feelings. Never once did he actually move out to live with someone else, let alone a girl.

He doesn’t even remember when was the last time Jungkook even dated someone. “Living together as in...romantically?” he tries, suddenly wary because he expected a lot of answers, but not this one.

“I couldn’t write anymore. I’m renting a room in her apartment.” He swallows the food like he has been starving for days. There is not the slightest hint of discomfort in his voice.

Yoongi laughs after a while “You’re living with your landlord. God, Jungkook, I know you people need some sort of inspiration to exist, but to the point of living with some old lady for the sake of music...”

“She’s not old.” Jungkook has no idea why it’s the only part of the sentence he reacted to, but all of a sudden he doesn’t want anyone to make fun of the person who took him in, not when he wrote ten songs in the span of two days. Not when he feels like no one can hurt him in your quiet kitchen.

“Anyways. Lunch with me tomorrow, how does that sound? Shall I check on that woman you’re living with ? How much is she charging you ? Aren’t you being scammed?”

“I can’t.” Jungkook sighs, ignoring the numerous questions because this is so typical of Yoongi to make sure no one is messing with him. “I have to eat with my parents, don’t tell them that I moved out.”

“You have always been doing everything you wanted anyways, what would it change if he was to know?”

Because he is going to crush me down like fine dust.

It has always been the same, and no matter how successful he was at some point, his father was never satisfied. Not when music is not a certain source of income, not when reputation comes before everything else.

“I’m hanging up.” He announces once panic overtakes him and hears his friend objects, telling him he will meet with him no matter what.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to see him. It’s just complicated. Jungkook has always been different from others. He was raised with Yoongi and they had the same nanny when they were young. The age difference rapidly made Yoongi turn into the older brother as time passed, and while he was the one introducing Jungkook to music making, he quickly stopped to take over his family’s business. He never explained to him how he drifted from music, but he is now all about business. Their respective parents were and still are too busy to deal with education, and while Yoongi grew up like the sharks his father works with, he took after a quieter side, the one that tells him to do what he wants instead of chasing money.

Yoongi often tells him he is a fool, that he doesn’t need anything else if he can have a bright future with his father’s company. He often answers that he doesn’t want to work without a purpose, and Yoongi always tells him to stop being a hypocrite and rely on his father’s money if he was to spit on it.

It’s true, Jungkook doesn’t know struggling. He was born in a rich family with a lot of possibilities. He was able to become a lyricist after a lot of failures, and his parents never gave up on him financially. This is probably why he is so affected when he can’t write. He doesn’t know how to deal with difficulties, he who lived with all the good things of the world.

He hears the door opening and your sore body appears before him, surprised to see him home. It’s like you were expecting him to run away, again. You don’t speak when you see him, mouth full of noodles and wearing the same clothes you left him in this morning. The silence is thick, oxygen heavy with uneasiness. Jungkook blinks, slurping on the noodles before wiping his mouth hastily.

“Want some noodles?” It’s hard to catch on the words, but he moves the bowl in front of him, and you understand.

You nod.

No matter how strong the smell of seafood is, his scent always wins over everything else. You decide to stay close because you’re slowly deciphering his smell, and you need more time to know where you’re going.

He goes to the cupboard like he has been living here for years and fills another bowl before sitting back. You’re surprised by his sudden gentleness but brush the worries off. You’re supposed to feel weirded by the fact that an unknown man is now living with you, but none of you are freaked out.

Jungkook is too happy to be productive again. You’re too drawn into your memories to stop everything.

You sit in front of him and after a couple of minutes, he speaks. It takes you out of the now soggy food.

“What’s your job?” Jungkook sounds interested, but you know he is only trying to ease the mood.

“I’m a perfume composer.” You decide not to dig further into the matter. It’s a peculiar world, something that only a few people can relate to. Most people think you mix synthetic molecules into expensive glass bottles, wrapped in glitters and hidden into luxury boxes with frills and furbelows.

And you get offended, knowing fully well that it’s exactly what you think you’re doing.

Jungkook doesn’t sound impressed, you’re not surprised by that.

“Sounds complex.” It is. It truly is, and even more when he is entering your every pore. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it.

“It’s not.” you lie, “How about you?” His face lits subtly, and he seems shy all of a sudden. You don’t know this side of him yet, and you wonder where his emo behaviour went.

He coughs, putting the bowl down. “I’m a lyricist. I write lyrics and sometimes I compose, but I mostly write.”

“That sounds complex.” You muse. Jungkook is a tormented artist, then. It explains why he keeps on dreaming on bridges like he is filming a music video.

“Sometimes it’s complex, sometimes it’s a matter of course. I’ve been having a blackout recently.” It’s a confession, and he doesn’t know why he is sharing such a deep problem with you, a stranger.

You forget about the food “That’s why you were surrounded by torn papers.”

He chuckles. “Exactly. I’m getting there, though.”

It feels different to deal with such an open Jungkook. He chats like you’re close, smiles sometimes, he is almost glowing.

That evening you learn that he uses a pen name to write lyrics. He doesn’t want to tell you, but you know too little about the music industry and he finally spills the beans.

JK.

It sounds like some mysterious pen name used by thriller writers but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you decide to go to bed. No matter how comfortable you both seem, you’re not ready to share the part about you being addicted to his scent. He goes to his spot near the small table in your living-room and his hand goes back to a wild dance, covering the blank paper with ink. He is inspired.

He goes to bed right when you get up the day after and wakes up late for his lunch with his parents.

It’s not like he is eager to meet with them.

Plants. Plants plants plants. You look through the samples with haste. You know it has something to do with nature. The base note has to be about something else.

“What are you doing?” You smell Jimin the minute he opens the door, but you don’t let yourself be interrupted. You know you sound like a stalker, but you might or might not have smelled Jungkook’s jacket this morning, and you are sure of a thing: there is only one element left to create a frank base.

You don’t know when you switched from creating a perfume to reproduce his scent, but it doesn’t matter.

“All the samples are here, right?” The organ is huge and cabinets full, but it’s not enough for you. Jimin throws his vest on one of the chairs and approaches you, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. I think that’s quite a lot, actually.” He peeks from behind your shoulder, and sees your hands going through the numerous bottles, unsatisfied.

“No. No. These are generic scents. You don’t have any rare roots names, you forgot a lot of exotic fruits and most importantly, you don’t have anything uncommon.”

Jimin makes a face. He is not lost, he is adrift. “I’m afraid I don’t understand...”

“Tobacco abs, myrrh, resinoid, Balkans...” You talk but it sounds like a whole new language even for your assistant.

“Well, we have listed a lot of names. Most of them were used by previous composers, but we added more. I didn’t think it needed that much to be completed.” He knows about perfumes, he has a lot of knowledge, but you’re suddenly on a whole new level and can’t be reached.

You’re suddenly talking about tobacco odours and it freaks him out.

“I have a lot of these at home.” This could seriously help you. You barely use these, and most of them were sent by your father and collected on the internet. It’s the first time you can actually put them to good use because you know they could help, but you can’t bring them here.

Also, you think about how much easier it would be to just move work to an environment bathed by that scent which makes you crazy. How stimulating would it be ?

Jimin is expectant, but you don’t say more. He finally waves a worried hand in front of your face and you snap to meet his blinking eyelids.

“Let’s work from my place. This is what I often did.” Your offer makes him take a step back. He is not used to you being so devoted to this project.

“Are you sure? I don’t think the boss would object. We’ve had a few composers with weird demands before.” He doesn’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re a genius to his eyes and the mere idea of him seeing the place where you created such amazing products is electrifying. He can’t wait to know more about your ways.

“Good.” You glance around the room, “I don’t like this atmosphere.” You don’t mind if Jimin sees your place. At some point, you’re pretty much sure you could go with anything as long as you find the missing pieces of this conundrum.

You’re aware that you’re turning into an obsessional mess, but it feels pleasant to have a goal. This goes beyond everything you experienced, it gives you a fuel you didn’t know you could have.

You take the day to gather some samples and ask Jimin to let the boss know about your change of plans. At the end of the day, he helps you carry the numerous samples home. You’re a happy mind, torn between apprehension and excitement.

You open the door and Jungkook sees two huge boxes enter the living-room. He is rubbing a towel against his wet hair but he catches your box before you can let it crash to the ground. Jimin lets his own fall with a soft thud and you’re startled when you hear a dismayed squeal, along with Jimin’s shocked face, his finger pointing at a puzzled Jungkook.

“JK?!”

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* Winter Fir and Balsam : This redolent mixture of refreshing natural pine mingled with a sweet, peppery, delicately refined and soft base note of balsam has a soothing and warm character. It evokes particular feelings of warmth and comfort. The mind’s eye (and nose) recalls Christmas trees and sleigh rides and happy times by a fireside or even in a small apartment among special friends or family.

** Cottage Herb Garden : Sparkling blue waters, gentle summer winds and cozy brick cottages nestled in the lush, serene English countryside characterised this green floral scent. Enticing notes of sweet, earthy, star anise, fresh basil, grassy parsley, aromatic wild flowers, fresh garden greens and a woodsy, sensual musk base note comprise this complex aroma.

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lokidiabolus · 3 years

Text

Last Resort - Chapter 2

Fandom: The Maze Runner

Pairing: Thomas x Newt

Warnings: ex boyfriends, AU

Summary: Three years after breaking up with Thomas, Newt finally thought the past of hating each other was behind them, until Thomas asked him for a favour - pretend they got back together for a week while staying at his parents’ home. Because it was an absolutely dumb idea, Newt was inclined to refuse, but then found himself in the house he used to visit when he was in love and happy and the bitter reality of only pretending for people he always liked made him miserable. But it was nothing against dealing with Thomas himself for a week straight and trying not to fall back in love that hurt them both.

Or: Prompt ch. 192 with added spice. Or something. I just needed to write for a while :’)

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I think I never did so much rewriting like I did with this chapter. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I swear my brain just can't come up with anything else. Scrapped like 6 pages asdfjslfjslfjsdl. Now it's short :c

Anyway, guess I just wanted a bit of Thomas' insight for it. He's complicated lol. Or maybe not really, just trying to keep up. Don't we all though lol.

Oh and @izzymultifan (actually remembered)

Unbetad!

EDIT: (17. 5. 2021) I edited the ending with a lil continuation of the scene I previously deleted, because I thought it was unnecessary, but then I returned to it after few days and thought it should stay. It's not very long but I guess it's kinda important.

***

Thomas woke up disoriented, thirsty and definitely not rested enough, like when his alarm goes off on a workday and he only slept for four hours. But here was no alarm, no work, just him waking up with a flinch and realizing he wasn’t in his flat, and he wasn’t alone either.

The blond hair right in his face immediately pushed him into realization he was holding onto Newt like he was his lifeline, one hand under the shirt on his belly, other on his chest clutching the fabric, and an unmistakable morning hello tenting his pants, digging right into Newt’s backside. In retrospect there wasn’t much worse Thomas could have done to him, except maybe having a hand down his pants (which admittedly he used to do sometimes when they were together, but then again, that situation definitely didn’t scream murder like it would now).

In a sleepy confusion that hazed his just-woken-up-brain he searched the foggy memory on how this situation came to be, no matter how familiar it felt to him. Newt made himself pretty clear about sleeping together, so the sudden closeness – well, more like an absolute merge, unless he’d slip in – no, no dirty thoughts, bad Thomas, bad – didn’t make much sense.

The night came back to him embarrassingly slow – he got drunk because for some reason his dad decided to decimate his super precious whiskey, even though normally he hoarded it like a dragon his gold. He could only think of Newt being the incentive, drinking the whiskey so fast in his dad’s eyes, while Thomas downed it all to save him from barfing (Newt’s alcohol tolerance never existed in the first place, he disliked about any kind of it, and as far as Thomas remembered he got drunk only once with vodka mixed with orange juice on Aris’ wedding, because he could barely taste the vodka in it until it was too late). Then the world started spinning, Newt dragged him to his room somehow… which sounded farfetched, so maybe dad helped, he drew blank around that area honestly, probably because he stood up and all the alcohol began circulating faster. Then they talked… probably, and then Thomas fell asleep, since that’s all he could recall.

And now his hard-on was trying to get some, and he held Newt against himself with sheer ferocity of an obsessive hugger off his meds and the realization dawned on him like tons of bricks. Was he going to wake him up if he let go? Newt always woke up at the slightest noise before, there was no way of going to pee at night without getting back to the blond blinking owlishly at him, asking what happened. Was this Newt he barely knew anymore still the same? Still twitchy and light sleeper and grumpy and slow to rise when getting up?

Thomas didn’t have much choice anyway, did he. He just had to let go either way, and preferably remove his hips from Newt’s back and act like it was no biggie to be hard when in bed with his ex. He slowly untangled his hand from the front of Newt’s shirt and retreated from under the shirt as well with the other hand and managed to roll onto his back without Newt visibly stirring, which was a success. Unless he pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to Thomas about pushing into him like a horny teenager, which also worked.

Not like he hadn’t been doing that in the last month of their relationship anyway, just... ignoring the problem until it went away (a problem named Thomas) and well, ultimately it succeeded. It would work now too, and Thomas refused to poke the wasp nest this early in the morning – judging from the clock at 8:04 – and just went with the flow.

Need coffee, he thought unhappily when the headache set in. And water. Maybe some alone time in a bathroom first.

Newt didn’t stir until Thomas slinked out of the bedroom, which was a complete lie.

***

“Dad, just drop it,” Thomas repeated for fourth time when his dad couldn’t stop haggling him about his childlike alcohol tolerance the moment he appeared in the kitchen, asking for black coffee. He couldn’t tell him he drank Newt’s portions and without that argument nothing would sound plausible anyway, so he just dodged it with an increasing headache. Newt got up about half an hour later and didn’t speak a word to him – Thomas would even say he avoided his eyes several times, which meant he was absolutely awake in the morning to witness all of Thomas’ struggle to even exist around him peacefully. Which he couldn’t for years, really, so this only proved it.

It was fine. Thomas learned how to deal with it, despite taking him two years to come in terms of being hated by a person he loved since he was 17. Well, everything around the breakup took a lot from him, but he dealt with all eventually, right? He could finally look Newt in the eye without having all the incoherent anger and frustration pile up and he could talk to him fine as well unless they breached one of the thousand forbidden topics. Like them. Like family. Like love. Like sleeping. Like breathing, existing and fucking just trying to live.

Anyway. All dealt with, of course. No hard feelings.

(Lots of them.)

“You dealt with the drunkard just fine, right Newt?” his dad chattered towards the blond, patting him on his back and Newt forced a smile and a nod. Thomas saw this particular expression too often to not recognize it and huffed while sitting down at the counter with his own coffee.

He was used to being a bad guy anyway, no matter how much of the blame he genuinely deserved. They both knew he didn’t get drunk because he wanted to get wasted enough to drop unconscious on a spot and Newt would be a hypocrite to badmouth him when he was pouring all his whiskey to Thomas’ glass with thankful expression yesterday. But then again, not even he could tell Thomas’ dad about it, so they just had to have this unspoken oh yes, Thomas is a real piece of work as always.

Which sort of sucked. But Thomas couldn’t care less what his dad thought about his alcohol tolerance, it wasn’t like he threw up everywhere or broke mum’s precious bowls set (again). Not that he expected Newt to defend him anyhow, but he could at least say nooo, he was fine, he just fell asleep or something. Not that it surprised him he didn’t, but…

“He used to drink majority of guys from my work under the table and now look at him,” his dad delivered his fifth Thomas can’t drink for shit jab. He sure loved to milk that. “At least he has you to look after him, huh.”

Thomas stared at Newt’s back with mild annoyance the more the blond refused to elaborate on anything, just smiling at his dad while making himself a cup of coffee, and then Thomas’s eyes suddenly fell on the nape of Newt’s neck with a vicious, red mark near the hairline, and his whole body seized up like he got paralyzed.

A hickey? Since when? From who? What? Wait, was Newt already dating somebody else?

Saying already like three years were short amount of time… Thomas mentally scolded himself and his body raised up on its own volition, like being pulled in by some invisible force towards the blond. He had no clue if it were a twisted need for revenge or vindication or just him being unable to come in terms of not being told or warned, or maybe all of it together, he just couldn’t stop and plastered himself all over Newt’s back, trapping him between his body and the counter, circling his thin waist like a vine (he got thinner for sure).

“Of course I have you, don’t I,” he purred into Newt’s ear, loud enough for his dad to hear perfectly, and felt how Newt’s whole body froze, his hand mid-stir of the coffee. Thomas could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. “Looking after me when I get hammered into unconsciousness.”

“Yeah.” Newt’s voice sounded small, and Thomas wanted to bite down at that red, angry place on his nape like an animal. His dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but his ego sure would. He let his hands slide lower, to Newt’s hips, grabbing a handful, and the habitual movement made him restless. He did it zillion times during the time they were together. He did less, he did more, naked, clothed, lying, standing up, in whatever situation, touching Newt was his privilege.

And some fucking horny prick just took it?

Just marked his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, Thomas, ex-boyfriend for three years, pull yourself together, you’re not 17 anymore – like a property and he didn’t even fucking notice?

Newt’s breath hitched and the spoon he was holding dropped into the coffee, splashing the black liquid around it, dribbling down the drawers under, making the blond curse under his breath.

“Sorry,” he immediately said towards Thomas’ dad who was handing him a cloth to wipe it with, and started squirming. “Thomas, leggo. Can’t reach.”

“Don’t wanna,” Thomas refused, squeezing Newt even tighter. “I’m hangover and miserable and you’re supposed to take care of me.”

Thomas’ dad snorted but took the hint and retreated while calling at his wife the boys are being rowdy again, Anna! And the kitchen fell back into silence, except of their breathing, with Thomas plastered against Newt’s back like he wanted to topple him over (he sort of did).

“Do you enjoy being a bloody prick?” Newt finally broke the spell, pawing at Thomas’ hands to get them off, his voice an angry whisper. “What’s your deal, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hangover,” Thomas huffed, not letting go and to be completely honest, Newt wasn’t really trying as much, just slapping his hands half-heartedly. “Could’ve at least said I didn’t give you any trouble, I covered for you the whole night.”

“You gave me loads of it!” Newt started wiggling, and Thomas had to fight the urge to just bite down, mark any piece of skin available, to make the restlessness go away. “You were heavy as fuck, I had to carry you all the way to your room!”

“Yeah, and?” Thomas grabbed him lower, and Newt pinched his hand in revenge, which finally made him let go with sharp breath.

“Fuck you,” the blond barked at him with fiery eyes. “I don’t know what you are trying to prove but groping me is not on the bloody table, get it?!”

“Mhm,” Thomas rubbed the place Newt pinched him at. “Sure. No fun allowed, got it.”

“Fuck off!”

Thomas hated how Newt turned away and the hickey was so visible it made his insides churn. He used to talk about his problems a lot these past few years, so he could finally let go of whatever was holding him in place, unable to forget, and he thought he reached that point, that he was free.

Looking at Newt marked by another man… no. He was not. Still stuck, still the same.

Still angry and miserable.

Still… there.

***

The fact Newt refused to talk to him completely was an understatement. Thomas blamed his unsteady approach on the alcohol, because what else he could blame it on – his own feelings? He sodealt with those already, there was nothing that would make him see red.

Except of a hickey on his ex-boyfriend’s neck, that would do it. Apparently.

But still – it was the hangover that made him stupid, right. If he’d be completely sober and not aching anywhere and his mind clear, he would just… shrug at it. It was Newt’s business who he slept with or not, or who he let bite his nape like a dog (some young fucking idiot who thought hickeys are still sexy? Stupid shit).

Not Thomas’. Not anymore.

The more he tried to push it away from his mind, the more his mind pushed back, just pointing it out loudly every time he glanced towards the blond sitting on the couch in the living room, bundled in a fluffy blanket, fiddling with his phone.

He was fiddling with his phone a lot actually. Texting somebody?

The guy who left the mark?

Thomas felt the irrational anger seep into his consciousness again and he forced it back down with a frown. He knew asking Newt to help him to get his parents off his back wasn’t exactly a great idea (asking ex to be your bf again for a show just screamed trouble), but at the same time asking anybody else just felt… wrong.

Thomas had to admit he’d be able to go along with this only with Minho, probably. Because Minho was a born actor, he’d be able to breeze though this with ease and Thomas’ parents would like him for sure, because, well, everybody liked Minho, honestly.

Asking Teresa or Brenda was just… desperate. Because other than them it would be Newt and getting back together with Newt… well. Thomas could tell from the moment he saw him getting into his car in front of Newt’s workplace it was going to be tough for both of them.

Not much of a surprise so far climbing Mt. Everest would be easier than keeping his chaotic feelings under control.

“You need some fresh air,” his vision of Newt got obstructed by his mum in a frilly apron she wore unironically and he looked up to her with half-lidded eyes.

“I think I need chicken soup, actually,” he offered in response, because dragging himself through the snow outside now sounded like a death penalty.

“Air first,” she insisted, adamant, and turned towards Newt like an executioner. “Right, Newt? A walk would do him good.”

Newt looked at Thomas and Thomas just knew. He was doomed. Newt was going to betray him like Scar did with Mufasa and he’d enjoy it, he could see the glint in his eyes, just shining there, spelling revenge in big, neon letters.

Please, he mouthed at the blond in desperation and Newt tilted his head to the side and then his mouth curled up.

“Sure, that’s a great idea, Anna,” he signed the death certificate without an ounce of shame and relished in it.

Fuck you, Thomas mouthed again, and Newt sent him a condescending smile. Fuck him especially.

***

“You’re unusually quiet,” his mum casually pointed out like she didn’t just drag him out to cold ass weather while holding a knife (butter one, but that’s what made it scarier), despite his very vocal (or vocal sort of, too loud and his brain wanted out of his skull) protests.

“Hungover,” he reminded her bitterly. The snow under their feet crunched sharply and the noise was tearing his brain to pieces, like walking on a broken glass and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to act like it wasn’t killing him.

“Well, it was nice of you to cover for him,” Anna shrugged like she didn’t just blew their cover with a killer one liner and Thomas probably shouldn’t have been as surprised. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink.”

“That’s cuz he can’t drink for shit,” he mumbled with a frown. “Did dad notice?”

“No,” she shook her head. “He was too busy boasting about the partnership. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him so happy, you know how he hoards the whiskey otherwise.”

“Yeah, cheapskate,” Thomas snorted, and the noise sliced his brain painfully, like an instant karma.

“Think he was happy about Newt being back too,” she hit the nail on the head a bit too close to home and Thomas hated how his stomach lurched at it. “Well, you know him.”

“Sure is happy for not getting any grandkids,” he just grumbled and Anna patted him on his back.

“We still have Hannah,” she reminded him sweetly. “Maybe one day she’ll feel like having kids and force you to babysit for her two times a week.”

“Me? You’re going to be the grandparents, it’s your obligation to babysit!” The idea of taking care of Hannah’s kids made him scared for life, and they didn’t even exist yet.

“Pretty sure Newt wouldn’t mind,” she chirped happily, and Thomas loathed how right she probably was. Newt never really showed any kind of real interest in having kids or anything, but he never minded babysit for his own sister, and generally all the kids liked him.

Not that thinking about that had any merit anyway, since they split up with a point of no return. Maybe Newt already planned kids with the new person who left the distasteful hickey on his nape, or the person who he kept texting, and the more Thomas thought about it, the more his chest burned.

“Cherish him a bit more, would you,” she poked his arm. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you have some beef between you. Had an argument before coming here?”

Why the fuck is she so perceptive?

“A bit,” he answered quietly. “No biggie.”

“Set things right,” she plainly ordered him like he was ten again and had do her bidding. “I don’t want another sad Christmas.”

There isn’t going to be any Christmas for us, he wanted to tell her, but kept his mouth shut. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be anything for them, at all.

I really need some sleep.

***

Not very often did the morning come so peacefully, like a gentle spring washing over tired soul, leaving it invigorated. Thomas basked in the pleasantness of it, a quiet, warm and relaxed moment where he slowly woke up from a dream into reality still welcoming and soft like he never left the fantasy realm.

He took a deep breath, stretching, slowly coming to realize of contours of another body pressed into him, and under his hands and around his legs and under his chin. The soft blond hair came to view when he opened his eyes, with Newt draped around him needily, and his heart melted.

The first night in their flat. Their home. A place that only belonged to them, these walls and floors, and small kitchen and big windows, for them together. It came true, finally, inevitably, for Thomas to have Newt all for himself, to share his mornings, his evenings, his life with him. Nothing else could make him happier.

“You already up?” came a sleepy rumble from Newt’s chest, the hands holding Thomas’ waist slowly moved up, to his back, pushing them even closer together.

“Just woke up,” Thomas kissed the top of the blond strands, his own hands traveling over Newt’s back, right onto his butt, kneading it.

“Mmmm.” Approving sound doubled his endeavour and then Newt was slowly grinding to him, lazily, his lips stretched in a smile, reaching to pamper Thomas’ neck with small kisses. “This sure is nice, huh.”

“Love it,” Thomas agreed with the sentiment while grabbing Newt’s thigh and hiking it up over his hip. The blond softly moaned at the contact and Thomas pushed more into it, completely awake and needy and allowed. There was nobody that could hear them, scold them or gasp in shock like a puritan at them making out – just them, two lovers in their home, free to make love any time they wanted.

And Thomas wanted too much.

***

He never stopped wanting.

He woke to his room bathing in shadows, with the blanket twisted between his legs, his headache still present, even though in weaker state than in the morning, and his body wasn’t any less sluggish. The walk with his mum didn’t help him much, just added to his misery with freezing cold and nagging reality he couldn’t play this game any longer, which made him feel empty and unhappy.

He didn’t feel this unhappy in a while, it usually only came back when he heard of Newt about a year after the breakup. Every time his ex came back to his life, even when somebody only mentioned him in a passing conversation, Thomas’ chest set off that painful pang in it, like a trigger just waiting to be pressed, and he fell back into hollow kind of depression.

He got rid of it, somehow. He built walls around himself, he locked all of his twisted personality traits and pushiness and hateful behaviour away, he spent years searching for more he could fix, for all that made Newt unhappy with him, what made him leave Thomas after seven years without really talking about it.

He thought he managed to become a better person. He believed he could change the way he acted. He hoped if he ever talked to Newt again, at any point of their lives, he would be at least able to show him he wasn’t that ungrateful, lousy boyfriend anymore, that they could at least be friends. Somehow. Just talk normally. Just… exist in the same room without… Newt making that anguished face, like it hurt him still.

Thomas tried. But failed. Maybe it was just recurring theme of his life – to touch something wonderful, to taste true happiness, just to fuck it all up and lose it.

Maybe he was just obsessive. Suffocating.

Maybe making mistakes were rooted too deep in him to get rid of.

Maybe… it was simply impossible.

***

Newt was playing games with Hannah in the living room when Thomas came back down. Hannah made fun of him for sleeping all day like an old guy and his mum said something about hoping he didn’t catch a cold and gave him a bowl of chicken soup.

The strange, unattached feeling stayed with him since he woke up, and only doubled when he saw Newt’s neck marked by some fucker on display. His stomach churned at the implication there was this unknown guy waiting for Newt to come back home, who kept impatiently sending him texts that made Newt frown and smile in turns, like he just slowly sunk back into the problem they never resolved. Thomas felt disgusted with himself, and angry, and, when it came to it, immensely tired.

“Oh, you have the whole week free?” his mum asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’ bubble of trying to eat the soup like a mental case of lobotomy, and he realized there had been a conversation going in meantime and he didn’t catch any of it. Newt wasn’t playing the game anymore, though Hannah still furiously pressed buttons on her controller, and instead of it sat on the couch, turned towards Thomas’ mum at the table.

“Yeah, thought getting out of the city might do me good,” he answered her with a soft smile and the idea of another week like this sent Thomas into desperate mode. Even though it was him who forced Newt to take whole week off, because… he only had bad ideas, obviously.

“But there’s bit of a rush now, right?” he entered the conversation impulsively and Newt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “At work. Christmas and all that being close.”

“Yeah, it’s… a bit hectic,” the blond admitted, making Thomas’ mum go aww. “There’s lots of people taking vacations they didn’t spend yet, so we usually work crunch time.”

“Yeah, kind of same,” Thomas added. It wasn’t really a lie. But not the truth either. “And I know I said a week, but I’ve got some texts from work already, thought of going back tomorrow instead.”

Newt stared at him with an evident confusion, but Thomas knew at this rate they were going to crash and burn again if they stayed, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep it civil when his blood boiled like in a bull taunted with red flag.

Except the red flag was an unknown nobody on the other side of the line of Newt’s phone.

And bed.

“Uh,” came from the blond. “No, wait. What? You…”

“We can visit again during Christmas,” Thomas offered a big fat lie, he almost bit his tongue at it. Christmas were a taboo, he knew mentioning it were already risky, but it gave him an out with his mum, so that worked at least. “When it’s calmer.”

“When is what calmer?” Newt still stared, Thomas said almost disbelieving, and he just prayed for him to play along and not act like he knew nothing about it.

“Work,” he answered stiffly. Too stiffly, he realized, since Newt’s eyes narrowed.

“Uh oh,” he heard Hannah interject, which meant he already failed in the mission to make this believable. Fuck.

“I need a smoke,” the blond announced instead of reacting and stood up sharply. Then shot Thomas a badly masked glare. “Keep me company?”

He wanted to say no but couldn’t when his whole family watched them like during tennis match. So he just nodded and followed Newt outside of the house while feeling like slapping himself.

***

“Care to explain or am I supposed to guess.”

The cigarette was lit, its fiery tip shone bright in the darkness of the porch once the automatic light shut itself because they weren’t moving like they rooted in the wooden floor. Newt was wearing his coat and Thomas only stood there in the long-sleeved shirt, which in retrospect was probably a mistake.

“I did explain,” Thomas said. “Just thought about work-,”

“No, you didn’t,” Newt stopped him immediately while crossing one of his arms on his chest while other held the cigarette like a weapon. “You said a week, so I took a week off. I’m not bloody leaving now. It’s my vacation.”

“I also said three days would probably be enough,” Thomas asserted. “And they are. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Why?” the blond demanded. “It’s not like I suffer here. I like this place. What’s your problem?”

That kind of question had no easy answer and Thomas held Newt’s eyes only for few seconds, before looking away.

“Am I the problem?” came another question, even sharper. “You just can’t stand me anymore, so you want to leave?”

“You know that’s bullshit,” Thomas scoffed. “Since when did I ever-,”

“No, I don’t know!” Newt interrupted him with raised voice and Thomas flinched. “I don’t bloody know anything about you anymore! You brought me here and expected what? War? Did you want us to fail?”

“Why would I want us to fail?” Thomas’ eyes widened in a shock. “What kind of fucked up logic would that be?!”

“I don’t know!” Newt barked. The cigarette he was holding was slowly fading away, the ash falling everywhere how he moved his hand. “But something’s up since this morning, so obviously you’re lying about work and I want to know why!”

Well, finding out his ex-boyfriend had a lover, or a sex friend or whatever the other person was definitely served as a wake-up call. Thomas couldn’t overlook it – he thought he’d be fine with anything, it had been years, but one fucking hickey and some fleeting texts and he just had the rising urge to tear the walls he built down and get angry and make Newt inevitably miserable, which he despised.

He fucking loathed it. And himself. And everything around him.

“Why did you even agree to come here?” he couldn’t help but demand. “Why did you even bother playing this stupid game when you have somebody home? You trying to make him jealous or it’s just your thing?”

Accusing – stupid Thomas, fucking idiot, just talk normally, what’s wrong with you – as always.

“What?” Newt’s eyes shot up, wide in honest surprise. His cheeks were red from the cold, or maybe embarrassment, Thomas didn’t know. “What are you talking about?”

“About that hickey on your neck?” Thomas pointed towards the incriminated spot and Newt’s whole body went rigid.

“A hickey…?” Newt’s free hand was touching the place now, his voice shocked. “You… ugh.”

“Look, it’s not my business, clearly,” Thomas rubbed his eyes tiredly, desperately trying to make an excuse for his own consciousness why he couldn’t look at Newt. “But obviously it’s causing you trouble with him, so. As I said. Three days are fine, we can leave now. Go back home. Forget about this.”

And forget about me trying to corner you, and me getting hard in the bed with you this morning, and me sounding jealous and lame, and me… just for being me.

“Are you fucking with me?” Newt’s voice sounded disbelieving. “Are you bloody serious right now? A hickey from some random guy appeared over night here? That’s what you’re saying?”

Overnight…?

“Overnight?” he asked a little dumbly, which forced him to look Newt in the eyes, where he saw hell unleashed. It made his throat squeeze almost hard enough to suffocate him.

“You think I just popped back home for a quickie, then back to your bed in the morning like a bloody Cinderella?” the blond seethed, the cigarette in his hand morphing into a protentional weapon of choice. “Where did that even came for, for fuck’s sake? You’d been seeing me for two days, never noticed anything, and then suddenly your Esmeralda syndrome got cured or what?”

“But-,”

“You bloody drunk fucker,” Newt took a step towards him and Thomas found himself hitting the entrance door with his back, when he automatically tried to back out. “Should have known your bird brain won’t remember anything.”

The realization hit Thomas like tons of bricks right in his face, able to cause heavy concussion if it were real.

“I did this?!”

“No, the bloody sucker behind you, who the fuck do you think?!” Newt’s voice was harsh, but Thomas could only hear the bare fact he made a hickey of size of Texas on his ex-boyfriend’s nape while spending the next day being jealous… of himself.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out with an ugly relief flooding his veins, which was all sorts of wrong. Being relieved over attacking his ex at night definitely did not count as a good point in anybody’s book. “What the fuck.”

“Calmer now?” Newt sighed in exasperation and Thomas couldn’t say he was. It just opened door to another set of bad he had to deal with.

“I attacked you when drunk?” he asked quietly, and Newt blinked in surprise.

“Attacked?” he repeated and then barked out a laugh. “No, you really didn’t. You were drunk out of your mind, for fuck’s sake.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t think it left anything,” the blond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if in memory, which was kind of hot – no Thomas, it was not hot, but embarrassing, shut up -. “I mean you just munched on me a little, then fell back asleep. No harm done.”

“You made a fuss about us sleeping in one bed but it’s no biggie when I leave a hickey?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little and Newt’s face showed signs of hesitation.

“Look…” he tried after a moment, the cigarette in his hand nearly gone. “I… don’t know, you were just sleeping while holding me, it doesn’t mean anything-,”

“And that’s fine with you?” It was Thomas’ turn to interrupt him, and Newt looked a little lost for a moment.

“I suppose that’s fine with me, yeah,” he admitted slowly.

Thomas looked at his shoes, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the knot forming in his belly over the day already started easing off, for purely selfish reasons he had, but at the same time his head became even a bigger mess than before.

“So what does it mean?” he asked after a while. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, I thought… you’d rather leave than stay with me longer, after today, but…”

“I want to stay,” Newt answered immediately. “Unless you really don’t want me here. Then no, of course. I had the same problem the first day, feeling all kinds of weird and jumpy. I guess I just sort of dealt with it. Stepped out of my comfort zone and all that.”

“Sorry you had to.”

It wasn’t like Thomas wanted Newt to change anyhow by doing this favour for him. But he’d also be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he wished Newt to feel good here. With him. Selfishly, hopelessly. Like before, like they were okay. Like they still… liked each other. At least a little.

He knew that kind of hope was self-destructive and harmful, but he didn’t stop loving this man three years ago, after going through an immensely rough patch, so he wouldn’t stop loving him now for no reason either.

“No need to be sorry,” Newt interrupted his thoughts with much softer tone than Thomas expected. “I mean even despite it’s you, you didn’t really do anything bad yet.”

“Wow,” Thomas snorted. “Way to ruin the mood, boyfriend.”

“I try,” Newt grinned, and it seemed like the tense mood dissipated and they both relaxed enough to breathe easier. Thomas possibly wouldn’t even notice he had been so strung up until now, if the huge boulder of irrational fear of fucking up didn’t fall off his shoulders with a bang.

“And just for the record,” Newt added while finally inhaling the last puff from the already burned-out cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I noticed you digging into me in the morning.”

“Of course you did…” Thomas banged the back of his head against door in utter shame. “Because universe hates me, and you had to fucking wake up.”

“Yeah, well,” Newt let out a small shrug. “I got hard at night, if it makes you feel any better. Let’s call it even.”

“What.”

“Had a real nice dream,” the blond casually announced like he was ordering pie with no filling and Thomas was a stupefied cashier at Costa Cafe. “Woke up with you being handsy with me. Tried to scramble away, cue for you to make the hickey and fall back asleep.”

“Uh.”

“1:1, right?” The sly smile Newt’s mouth produced did things to Thomas’ underbelly and before he even caught himself, he automatically reached out and grabbed Newt’s side.

Fuck.

“Pretty lousy score,” he just said – bad Thomas, stop making a pass at your ex -, “That’s no match whatsoever.”

Newt glanced at his hand resting on his waist and then back to Thomas with a thoughtful hum.

“I’m not that good at sports,” he just said, looking back into Thomas’ eyes. “But you might be onto something.”

Thomas took a deep breath and risked the second hand grabbing other side of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer. The layers of clothing made him dissatisfied, no matter how cold it was and how his skin already felt like ice, he just wanted to get under the coat and the sweater and the shirt and make Newt react somehow. The blond just silently watched him, let him do whatever he wanted, and somehow it felt like a test and Thomas was scared of failing it.

“That’s it?” Newt broke the tense silence around them when Thomas just stood there, holding him.

“Thinking,” the brunet mumbled with a frown.

“About?”

“How to touch you without it being classified as groping,” he moved his hands a little lower as an experiment, getting no reaction. “Since it’s off the table.”

“Pfff.”

He hesitated, then gingerly let go of one side and reached for the zipper lodged under Newt’s chin, keeping the coat closed like a fortress. His hand barely cooperated with how frozen it was, but Newt still didn’t stop him and that encouraged him unfairly.

“Newt.”

“Yeah?” the blond’s voice was quiet and close to his face.

“What’s with all the texting?” He kept holding the zippier between his fingers like he couldn’t decide, and Newt made a soft huh? noise in the back of his throat.

“You were on your phone the whole day,” Thomas lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Is there somebody…?”

A sigh. Thomas let go of the zipper.

“That’s Alby,” came a reply and if Thomas wasn’t already propped against the door, he’d take a step back. There was nowhere to run now, so he just let go of the blond completely, nodding.

“He’s my partner,” another string of words Thomas comprehended but wished he didn’t. “A bit demanding one.”

“Sounds like it,” he just commented, staring at his feet until Newt’s shoes came into view as well when he stepped closer.

Seriously testing me. That’s-

“A bit cruel,” he breathed out with a puff of white smoke and Newt pushed further and pressed his mouth against Thomas’. His cold lips lingered for a moment before parting, their breaths mingling, and Thomas’ heart fought really hard to get out of his chest and run away. The proximity was non-existent, Newt stood so close their chests were touching, and his eyes were so dark, and pupils blown wide Thomas got easily lost in them.

He always did. Nothing had changed.

“You look cold,” Newt whispered to his lips, hovering so close their mouths gently touched when they took a breath.

“Freezing,” Thomas answered in daze, holding back only by a miracle. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond man flush against him, to grind into him, to kiss him so deep his toes would curl, and he’d buck up, he just wanted so much it made him suffer.

“Alby’s my colleague,” Newt dropped quietly. “Funnily… you weren’t wrong about work being in a rush now. He’s struggling a little. Wanted to know my opinion.”

A colleague. And nothing else?

“Nothing else,” Newt answered like he could read his mind and then sagged against Thomas’ body like the energy just left him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.

“I thought I can handle being this close to you,” he heard him mumbling into his shirt. “But the more I am, the less I can fight it.”

“I thought I can handle you dating somebody else,” Thomas added to it while letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. “But obviously not. It’s scary. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed with him. “Me neither.”

He wasn’t sure if this had been some sort of consensus they reached, or just a fling that happened because they were both lonely, but Thomas didn’t want to let go – even though he should have, logically, to protect them both. The pain they caused to each other three years ago was still there and festering under their skins, but the more Newt was pressed into him, breathing softly, the more Thomas noticed his reason slowly creeped away, like a thief in the night disappearing with loot.

But he wanted. For fuck’s sake how he wanted to just hold him close and promise him love and eternal happiness, and the scary part was he couldn’t promise shit. His love was real, but not unconditional, happiness was fleeting and simply relying on both of them and the rest of the world deciding whatever to fuck them up or not.

But…

“I give up,” he mumbled, weary to the bone. At Newt’s soft hm? he just sighed. “It’s fucking cold.”

The blond barked out a laugh, but nodded and let go of him, immediately taking all the warmth away.

“Then shall we assure them we’re not breaking up again?” he nodded towards the door and without waiting for Thomas’ reply he already reached for the handle. “Or not leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” the brunet conceded. “Hannah’s going to be milking this for the rest of the week…”

“Serves you right,” Newt laughed quietly while opening the door and Thomas kept the answer to himself.

We’re not breaking up again rang in his head like a bell, deafening his reason even further. Newt didn’t protest when he reached for his hand on their way inside, and he wondered if his heart was ready for another trial.

He ignored the uncertainty and took a leap of faith.

#newtmas #tmr #the last resort series #the maze runner #izzymultifan #edit 17. 5. 2021

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chloroformthelittleb4stard · 3 years

Text

Family Relations - Part 4

Summary: Your criminology teacher is acting all kinds of weird, which is the norm, except for the part where his eyes glaze over and he tries to kill someone. Stiles, the hero he is, tries to stop your professor with little avail until he gets some unnoticeable help from you. Stiles seems to find himself with you at the location of multiple attacks, just barely making it out alive. Through the bloodshed feelings, family, and friends mix to create a perfect blend of chaos and calm.

T/CW: Blood, gore, like a lot of fucking gore, swearing, body horror?

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I hope it's worth it. This is a long chapter but because the first part is short I put a time skip in the middle of it, that's what the = means. P.S - Happy mother's day!

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You'd convinced him to stay with you for the night because of what you were absolutely sure Allison and Scott's "after-pack-meeting" activities would include. It wasn't hard, as soon as you mentioned the prospect of Stiles' precious sleep being interrupted by their shenanigans he was on board with staying at yours. Your dorm had two beds, you'd been lucky and not gotten a roommate, a blessing and a curse really. You'd laid the sheets out and gotten your extra pillow, all ready for Stiles to get to sleep. The only problem was, Stiles wasn't particularly interested in sleep yet. You'd had a long day, mostly it was just that bout of magical fighting that wore you out but still, you were tired, and Stiles simply didn't want to be in silence.

"So, Y/n..." You'd been listening to the sound of Stiles fidget like mad, and you were wondering when he was going to snap and finally talk to you.

"Yes." Your tone was smooth and song-like. Despite needing sleep desperately you wanted to talk to Stiles, he was fun to talk to. You'd always been kind of a loner, it was easier to stay hidden that way, but you didn't need to hide with Stiles and it felt fucking amazing.

"What's D.C like?" He didn't look at you when he asked, staring straight up at the ceiling, but you were happy to stare at him, studying the moles on his cheek and the way his hair laid against the pillow.

"It's, interesting." He snorted, turning to you as you whipped your head away so you didn't get caught staring.

"Care to elaborate on that?" He had a dopey smile on his face, looking at your side profile like his life depended on it while he waited for you to respond. You felt his gaze burning your skin, it was a burn you could get used to.

"I don't know what you want me to say. Traffic's a bitch if you live in D.C, that's for sure. It took me half a hour to go eight miles from my house to school." He sucked in a breath at the statement, like simply hearing about traffic that bad was physically paining him.

"Good thing is if you live in the city you don't really need a car. My mom didn't have a car, neither did any of my babysitters, so we took the metro and the subway everywhere." He hummed, like the thought of the subway actually pleased him.

"I'm going to be in the city, that's for sure. FBI headquarters is on Pennsylvania ave." His muttering made you giggle, surprised that he knew so much about the landscape.

"You've been there before?" Your smile was wide from laughter and you didn't even care if you looked like an idiot, you were having fun.

"Yeah, once. I looked at going to George Washington so when I toured we stopped by. It's a really ugly building by the way, they should fix that." He was quirking a smile as well, glancing between you and the ceiling to try and look discreet.

"Yeah they should." You were trying to be quiet for the sake of your dorm mates but you were having trouble, Stiles was funny and it felt so good to laugh. You hadn't laughed like this in years, always too stressed to find anything amusing.

"So, what's is like rooming with Scott?" He made a vague hum of mediocrity, shrugging and leaving it at that.

"Care to elaborate on that?" You giggled using his words against him.

"It's good, we've been like brothers since we were little kids so it's really not that big of a difference. We spent a lot of time together at my house because my dad was gone a lot so living with him is kinda familiar." You felt a pang of sympathy when he said his dad was away, you thought back to your dad and how absent he'd been. The memories cut off almost as suddenly as they'd started.

"What about your mom?" He took a deep breath, he had a slight frown on his face and you knew immediately that you'd hit a nerve.

"She died, when I was a kid. She had a type of dementia and it, killed her." He was fully frowning now, and he was no longer fully with you, his eyes had glazed over and he was staring right through you. He shook his head and came back, frown gone and a small smile took its place.

"I'm sorry, both for what happened and that I brought it up."

"It's ok, it's been a long time and it brought me and my dad really close so it wasn't all bad." His silver lining was slim, slimmer than was arguably debatable to even count as a silver lining, but you didn't argue. He'd shared enough of his past with you, and you felt honored by the confession even if you did accidentally cause it to happen by asking. The fact that he shared something with you meant a lot.

"My mom died too, she was hit by a car when I was 13 and she died in surgery." The air was tense, but Stiles' expression and morphed from fake stability to real sympathy as your eyes locked and you tried to comfort each other without words. You fell asleep shortly after that, Stiles had stayed quiet for more than five minutes and that was all it took for sleep to wave its wand and take you under it's control.

Screams woke you up, screams from within your dorm. They woke Stiles up too and you both sprung to get re-dressed properly, rushing out the door as soon as you'd slipped your shoes on. The screaming was coming from down the hall and you already had a sinking feeling what had happened.

It wasn't uncommon for your fellow dorm dwellers to leave their doors open, it helped circulate cool air in the desert that was California. Being born and raised in D.C left you significantly more paranoid than most of them however, and so you decided you'd rather just suffer the heat than the possibility of getting robbed blind. You'd told some people in the common room at the beginning of the year about your fear and they'd all but laughed at you, saying that nothing like that happened here. You'd never wanted to have been so wrong in your life.

One door was already wide open, and blood was smeared on several other doors, also open. It seemed that the killer had gone down the hall, checking who decided it was too hot to save their lives. The first body was in the doorway of the room three doors up from yours. It was sprawled out on the floor and you and Stiles nodded, agreeing not to go into the room considering the carpet was currently soaking up the victim's blood. It seemed there were plenty of others anyways.

Room after room, one slaughtered college student after another left you feeling ill beyond belief. You didn't need to be told what had happened, you already knew. You had never actually had the chance to see what happened when the killer was finished with their dirty work, what they did to the people they used as instruments of mass murder. Sadly it seems you didn't have to go searching to find out. At the end of the hall was another body, this time with a knife in its hand, most likely from the kitchen in the common room. Its throat was cut, much like all the other victims.

The screaming had long stopped, you assumed it came from one of the other residents who peeked out into the hallway and saw what looked like a scene from an upcoming Scream 5. Stiles was bent over the body, examining what you assumed was its deadness.

"Whatcha looking at?" He gave you a vague noise of acknowledgment before standing up and looking at you with a face slightly paler than it was before he bent down.

"I think you should see this Y/n." You squatted down next to the corpse, examining its overall lack of life and raising an inquisitive eyebrow up at Stiles.

"Look in her throat, through the cut." You'd really planned not to come this close to a corpse in your life. What's that saying? Make a plan and the universe laughs.

The throat was indeed, mostly just bloody and disgusting, but also intriguing. The windpipe and both carotid arteries were slashed straight through, a feat that was essentially impossible to do for the normal non-possessed human. In the back of the windpipe, which you could just barely see through the cut, there was a small mark. You dug your phone out of your back pocket, almost dropping it with how much your hands were shaking, and turned your flashlight on to it's brightest setting so you could see the mark clearly.

It was a small symbol, lines and swirls within a small circle that struck you as soon as you saw it. With a soft thud your ass met the ground as your precarious balancing act failed and you fell from your squatting position.

"Are you ok?" Stiles' voice was lost as your brain went into panic mode, the new found information stirring up a whirlwind of anxiety.

"We need to get out of here. Like, right now." Scrambling up from the blood soaked floor you made your way back to your dorm room, dragging a confused Stiles behind you asking a million and one questions.

Without answering any of them you grabbed your nearest backpack and started destroying your dorm room in an attempt to gather all of your most important belongings, a mix of underwear, clothes, and books thrown into your worn backpack.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me or do I get an explanation for why we need to leave your dorm room? Y'know other than the murdered college students..." Stiles had passed the stage of being thoroughly confused by you, that ship sailed when you fought off the vine that attacked you both. Now however, he was fed up with not having answers to the predicament you now found yourselves in.

"Can I explain it to you in the car? We need to leave ASAP."

"The car has a name, it's Roscoe." You rolled your eyes, of course he named his car, and of course now is the best possible moment to tell you.

"Less talking more walking please."

"Sorry." The keys jingled as he grabbed them and yours, tossing your purple keychain to you so you could lock up. You took the stairs two at a time, almost tripping over Stiles in your haste to get out of the building.

The car seats were cold when you got in but you couldn't be more awake than you already were, adrenaline and fear coursing through your blood, the symbol seemingly burned into the back of your eyelids, haunting you whenever you so much as blinked. Stiles booked it out of the parking lot, Roscoe's tires making an awful screeching noise as he turned while reversing, a move that would have scared you had there not been the max amount of fear already happening.

"So, explanation." He raised an expectant eyebrow at you, biting his tongue to let you answer before he spiraled into asking questions without enough time for you to answer them.

"Uh, do werewolves have symbols for different concepts, like danger and stuff?"

"Y-yeah they do, there's one for revenge it's a spiral. Why?" A spiral, of course the supernatural weren't creative when it came to symbol differences.

"Ok well witches do, it's called the witches' alphabet, it's a few symbols they mean stuff, the one we just saw in the corpse was the symbol for revenge. It's used to channel the chosen energy into whatever magic you cast." Your voice was shaking, the lack of oxygen in your system making you feel light headed, or maybe that was the endorphins, who knows.

"Ok, so what does that mean?" Stiles was shaking as well, not liking the sound of any more revenge business. He had to deal with this once before, he didn't want a repeat supernatural problem.

"It means that whoever cast the spell is one, vengeful, two, meeting the victims beforehand to get the symbol on them. This is bad, like, really bad." You had to actively sit on your hands to stop their fidgeting, the nervous energy bubbling inside your body like a volcano.

"Just what we need, a witch who wants vengeance. Was a normal evil witch not enough?!" Stiles' comment made you chuckle, the breathy act brought a twitch of a smile to his face, your happiness spreading to him in the midst of your crisis.

"Apparently not. Where are you going, the dorms are the opposite way."

"I don't know, I didn't want to take you back to Scott until I knew what was going on so I kind of just started driving around." Had you not been stressed beyond belief at the moment you would have been endeared by Stiles' care for his friend and roommate, but at the moment it was just irritating.

"You just drove us in the middle of the night down a street you have no idea where it leads? Really Stiles?! Take us to Scott, now." You were fuming but upon seeing the dejected look in Stiles' eyes at your harsh tone you were reminded as to how hard this entire situation must be for a normal human, werewolf pack member or not.

"Please. Could you please take us to Scott." Your manners had escaped you for a moment but with the regaining of your senses they came back. A pang of guilt struck you at how mean you'd been to the brunette next to you. Reaching out for his hand which was resting on the stick-shift you hoped silently that he would accept your unspoken apology. He did accept, a blush rising to his cheeks at the skin-to-skin contact that you initiated and a smile creeping on his face.

Moments after your mutual flush and giddiness over the contact Stiles pulled up into the parking lot of his own dorm, the tar lit up just barely by a floodlight near the sidewalk. Unwinding his fingers from yours he was the first to get out of the car, you following shortly after, the cold air hitting your bare shoulders per your tank top which you just now realized was covered in blood.

Rushing to Stiles' side you wrapped your arms around your torso to try and cover the evidence of your dorm's activities, only to realize that your arms were the source of the problem. A mix of various people's blood was coating your arms, the red solution drying crusty on your skin. Thankfully it was the middle of the night, the darkness mostly covering your blood-stained everything.

Looking over at the mole-covered man next to you you took in the sight of him, surprisingly not covered entirely in blood. He had spots of it on his hoodie, only barely visible thanks to the floodlight, but he'd managed to stay clear of the mess, something you were currently jealous of. You wouldn't be able to take a shower until you were back in your own dorm and you were really dreading the idea of having to wash off both of your arms in the small dorm sinks.

Stiles opened the door for you and the heat influx from the building was a welcome change, the goosebumps immediately vacating your skin. You both headed up to his dorm in relative silence, trying not to wake his neighbors up. It was a harder feat than it should have been, given how often Stiles almost tripped on the single flight of stairs up to his shared room.

You could hear snoring coming from one of the beds, presumably Scott's, and the embarrassing situation you'd found your friend in made you momentarily forget your current predicament. In the darkness you could see two bodies in Scott's bed, the smaller one of which you assumed was Allison, tucked under her boyfriend's arm. They were sleeping so peacefully you almost felt bad to wake them, Stiles however, did not. With a loud enough greeting and the swift act of turning on all of the lights in their dorm, he woke his roommate and his roommate's girlfriend up with a startle.

"Stiles! They were sleeping!" You'd wanted to put up a semblance of good will with the woman you'd met less than 24 hours ago but in reality you were stifling a laugh, biting your tongue to keep from bursting out. The couple let out groans of protest at being woken up in the wee hours of the morning but got up eventually anyways, thankfully somewhat dressed after what you were still convinced their nightly activities consisted of.

"What the hell dude?" The were-wolf's voice was groggy from sleep and the rough scratch in his throat reminded you of Stiles' voice less than two hours ago when you were woken up by screaming neighbors.

"Sorry but you really can't be asleep right now, also yes that is blood on Y/n's, well everywhere, I will explain that in a minute. Allison could you help her clean up? Scott I need to talk to you." Nodding Allison took immediate heed to Stiles' request and looked carefully for a space to lead you that wasn't covered in blood before eventually deciding 'fuck it' and grabbing one of your slowly drying arms, washing the blood off of the area in the small sink.

There wasn't a lot of space in the dorm for a private conversation but you and Allison made small talk in an attempt to give the boys some facade of privacy.

"So, rough night I guess?" She let out a small chuckle at her own joke while you allowed a smile to creep onto your face at the problem you had earlier found yourself in.

"You could say that. Someone decided it'd be a good idea to murder a solid percentage of my floor mates so, y'know, the night could have gone better." She gasped at that, the light air of the conversation having gone as soon as you brought up the traumatic events that had occurred.

"Murder? Oh God. By 'a solid percentage' you mean how many people exactly?" Your mind flashed through the bodies you'd seen, counting at least six in the haze of the night.

"Six, maybe more. I don't know for sure, it was a lot. We found who did it though, kind of." You wished that you were dealing with a normal murder where finding who did the killing actually solved your problem. Sadly, that wasn't the case and the situation was getting more and more fraught in your mind the more you stressed about it, the images and circumstances pulling the strings in your mind so tightly they were beginning to fray.

"Are you ok?" Allison's eyes were kind and you noted in the back of your brain to thank Scott that he had such good taste in girlfriends.

"Yeah, I think so. I'm not hurt or anything, just a little shaken up." She nodded silently before going into nurse-mode and scanning your now-clean left arm.

"No scratches, all of this blood seems to be someone else's. I think most of the blood is other people's but I need to wash off the other arm to be sure."

"Be my guest, I wasn't feeling the whole blood-sleeve look anyways." You shrugged and let out a small giggle at your own joke, Allison following suit as she lathered up the ruined washcloth for another round of scrubbing.

You were in the process of cleaning the blood from underneath your fingernails when Stiles and Scott crept up behind you, interrupting the light bonding that you had started with Allison.

"Ok, we need to get out of here and go back home, right now." Scott took on more of a dominant personality when in charge and it made you glad that someone knew what to do, even if you didn't. You'd already grabbed spare clothes from your dorm room so you and Allison waited by the door nervously while Stiles and Scott scrambled to gather their most important belongings.

"Where is home?" You knew where you were from and where your home was, but you doubted that everyone would be game for catching a flight at almost 4 a.m.

"Beacon Hills, it's where we all met. Stiles and Scott are from there, so is most of the pack, I moved there sophomore year. The pack started in Beacon Hills, the town is like a beacon for the supernatural, it's probably the safest place to be because it's home territory, Scott's pack has been protecting it for years now."

"So Scott's the alpha?" It made sense given his natural leadership abilities and his friendliness, but it was still a little odd to see your friend as the strongest were-wolf out of the entire group you saw the other night.

"He's a true alpha too." You'd heard of true alphas, mostly by myth however, they were rare but the more you thought back on Scott's character the more it made sense. He was easily one of the most loyal people you'd met, and he was brave as well, fighting for people he didn't even know, or people he didn't know well. He was willing to risk his life to save the barista on the day of that attack, even willing to let her see him shift, it was only logical that he was a true alpha.

Your conversation was interrupted as it took all of five minutes for the two best friends to pack their things, swing the backpacks stuffed full of items over their shoulders before they led the way back down to the Jeep that was parked out front.

The ride was quiet and tense, Stiles in the front with you and Scott in the back with Allison, explaining the specifics of the situation that you had purposely left out because you didn't know how to explain it without making a joke out of it. Dark humor was quickly becoming your most solid coping mechanism for morbidity.

Scott went to protect Allison as she ran up to her dorm to grab her things as well, insisting that she tell her roommate she was going home so no one would file a missing person's report and make the entire situation more complicated.

She came back downstairs quickly, Scott in tow looking noticeably dazed as he held on to his girlfriend's hand when she plopped in the back of Stiles' Jeep. You let out a snort at what had most likely been a 'our lives are in danger' make out and let them have their secrecy as Stiles started up for what was the drive to Beacon Hills.

#Family Relations #tw gore #tw blood #tw swearing #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski/reader #stiles stilinski/witch!reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #tw body horror #Family Relations part 4

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sunshineandfangs · 5 years

Text

Klarosummer - Lemon Squares || Sauveuse et Bourreau

@klarosummerbingo

Sorry, I was late, but this is my latest entry to “My-Brain-Needs-to-Chill” a memo to myself.

Warnings: brief but graphic depictions of gore and mentions of abuse.

Klaus narrowed his eyes listening to the fearful and angry mutterings of one of the corner tables. He traced the edge of his brandy glass, not particularly impressed by its strength. Gulping the last mouthful, he set the glass on the bar and sauntered over to the table.

“Why so glum?”

They eyed him warily, noting the higher quality of his clothes. Wondering if he came from the lord’s castle, if he was there to question their recent lack of tribute.

To their noticeable surprise, he instead snagged a nearby chair, pulling it over to sprawl in, knowing it would make him seem less threatening. He could compel the answers from them if he had to, but compulsion was a blunt tool, made far less effective if he didn’t know precisely what he wanted.

And in fact, he didn’t. Klaus had only recently arrived in the little hamlet, intending to pass through on his way to a larger city. But the stench of fear and hate had been near palpable, and he couldn’t help his curiosity.

What manner of monster was tormenting this little town?

---

He raised his eyebrow, allowing his face to portray an air of curious concern. Waited patiently as the table shifted with unease. The silence stretched as the men exchanged a series of looks, before one of them reluctantly started to speak.

“There’s been trouble recently, sir. And if you are wise, you’ll heed our advice and leave this place as soon as you can.”

“Is the concern truly so great that you would advise travelers leave?”

Klaus’ curiosity and intrigue only grew as the men simply nodded solemnly at his words. Little hamlets like these needed some manner of foot traffic to sustain themselves these days, as the exchange of goods became ever more prevalent.

They literally should not be able to turn away strangers, and yet that was precisely what they were attempting to do.

His eyes dilated as his gaze carefully locked with each man in turn, knowing they would close ranks and refuse to divulge whatever secret this town held. Likely afraid that whatever horror had visited them would deter strangers forever. A true death sentence.

“Tell me, what is this cause for concern?”

Klaus felt his eyebrows creep steadily higher as a wild tale unfolded.

---

Three Months Ago

A scream tore through the still morning air, dawn’s first tendrils of light only beginning to creep over the land.

Nearby farmers that had already started their morning stilled in their fields and barns, clenching their pitchforks and hoes as they ventured toward the source of the noise.

It had been a feminine cry, a woman’s hysterics they were all hoping, even as uneasy shivers crawled down their spines. Even for a woman, that shriek had been terrible, invoking sparks of primal fear.

And they didn’t like that.

They should have no need to fear anything. Strong and capable as they were, protecting and providing for their women and children.

Yet when they came across the source of those screams, most shouted out themselves. One of the younger ones, only just out of his boyhood years, wretched into the grass, spiting up bile onto the dirt.

For there in the entryway of a small two-person cottage was a man.

Or the remains of a man rather, his body cut into more bloody chunks and ribbons that any of the men could count. The rest of him was smeared across the floor in pools of blood, offal such as intestines and stomach and liver intact, but gruesomely displayed just out side the door.

And just beyond the open door, the wood left open from where the woman had coming charging out the house, was a head. Standing on its bloody stump and smiling a too wide grin, lips peeled back to reveal rotting teeth. His eyes seemed to bulge from the graying flesh, eyelids similarly removed.

By God, none of them had seen anything like it.

More and more bodies were found by panicked villagers, many ending up near catatonic after seeing such horrors. No display was alike, each corpse cut and desecrated in new ways.

With the townspeople panicking, hostilely eyeing neighbors and strangers alike, it was no wonder that it took several weeks to realize one other fact.

Children were going missing.

And it was always a child related to one of the dead...

Then, whispers and rumors starting circulating. Of strange women being seen with the newly departed not long before their demise. Sometimes fair of hair and other times black. A few times red of hair even, a mark of devilry if there ever was one.

But no matter how cautious, people kept dying and children kept vanishing.

---

Now, Klaus wasn’t one to care for the concerns or problems of humans. More often than not he may have even been the cause of them himself. That being said, such elaborate and macabre displays weren’t really to his taste. He could appreciate the gruesome creativity he supposed, but that was really more his brother’s style.

What did actually upset him was the children. Cruel as it sounded, death was often the kindest fate that awaited those in the clutches of monsters. And such things were not tolerated by him or his siblings when a child was involved.

A second compulsion blurred his table mate's memories of his appearance and questions, as he blurred away a moment later. Hunting for the creature whose death he would relish.

---

Somewhere deep in the woods a beautiful blonde woman smiled at a tiny, slip of a girl. Her frock a bit dirty and worn, her face drawn and tired.

The blonde extended a hand to the little girl, waiting patiently as the child considered.

Small fingers eventually reached out to twine with the blonde’s her eyes large and hopeful as she followed the woman inside, lured by promises of warmth and comfort and food.

---

Caroline paused, brow furrowed, lemon rind still pressed against the metal grater. She had conned Klaus into helping her with the Mystic Falls Bake Sale, an annual charity drive that donated its funds to Families Forward Virginia. And as always, Caroline was on a spree, making batch after batch of the famous Forbes Lemon Squares.

A baking spree, Klaus just disrupted with his disturbing choice in storytelling.

“What the hell, Klaus?! Why would I want to hear your creepy recounting of personal history?”

She whirled around to make sure he could properly see her angry gesturing, her pointed stares as she glance between his eyes and the abandoned mixing bowl on his side of the counter.

He offered a dim half-smile, his normal amusement from her reactions quelled by an odd, uncharacteristic sadness. Though he obligingly returned to his designated mixing, staring into the batter as he whisked.

“Apologies, sweetheart, I find I’m in a bit of a mood today.” He shook his head, tone returning to the normal soft and weird affection he spoke to her with. “What you’re doing though is admirable, Caroline. We both know monsters will continue to exist for eternity, but you’ve found a way to aid the survivors.”

The two lapsed into silence, the kitchen filled with only the sounds of their baking.

“I never found her you know?”

“...What?”

“Whoever was terrorizing that town. She disappeared not long after I started hunting for her.”

“Why were you? Hunting her, I mean?”

Klaus whirled to face the blonde, a little hurt despite himself at her continued low opinion of him.

“Caroline,” he stated quite seriously, voice low and a bit harsh, “there are lines even I do not cross.”

She didn’t look at him, pouring mix over the prepared sugary crust, though her voice was soft when she finally replied.

“I know.” She paused. “But what if you were wrong?”

He stilled, confused by the shift.

“I mean think about it. You just told me she suddenly stopped and the children’s bodies were never found. After her rather,” Caroline’s nose wrinkled, “colorful displays she certainly didn’t seem to be ashamed of her actions. So, perhaps she wasn’t harming the kids, Klaus.”

He shook his head. “Your faith is misplaced, love.”

Caroline finally turned to him an odd expression on her face. She cocked her head looking thoughtful.

“Is it? I think La sorcière de Pierre,” the French easily rolling off her tongue to Klaus’ utter shock, “was just dramatic, not evil.”

Caroline left to relax in the living room, the squares set to bake in the oven, Klaus stood stunned still for several long moments before he bolted after her.

“What did you just say?” He whispered hoarsely.

“They were the monsters, Klaus. Molesters and brutes all.” She spoke this calmly, Old French elongating the vowels of her words.

And Klaus stared, mouth slightly agape, at the woman he had failed to find all those centuries ago.

---

Author’s Note: To my irritation several words in English translate to French with the same spelling which ruins the point. Anyway, this one is “Savior and Executioner” in French. I already used German so despite some Hansel and Gretel similarities it’s French. Apparently there was a similar tale from France circa 1697 so good enough for me! Plus, I set it in France. So there lol

La sorcière de Pierre = The witch of Pierre

FYI that’s a real charity to aid children, I don’t know how reputable that particular one is, but considering donating to such funds if you have the means.

#Klaroline #KlarosummerBingo #Klaroline Fanfiction #Klaroline Drabbles #Klaroline Edits #Klaroline Photosets #Klaroline Aesthetics #My Writing #My Edits

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cherryyharryy · 6 years

Text

Chapter 1: Jugular Notch

The Drink You Spilt all Over Me

Voices were blending into one constant whine; once tolerable, but the line was crossed around the time Adeline’s parents reenacted the Dirty Dancing lift. Chatter about Daniel's big home run and Susan's promotion and the approaching snowstorm had slowly slipped away into the sticky heat that had been accumulating all evening.

The house wasn't near as large as it had appeared upon her doomed-from-the-start arrival. Half-empty glasses of forgotten red wine strewed about marked the spots where every soccer mom in the neighborhood had once stood.

All the oxygen in the room had successfully been replaced by sweat and raw body heat. The stench that'd been building up has been in question, but now, hours after a risen moon, it's clear that perfumes only spritzed on special nights have combined to create a unique haze that filled every inch of the place. Deep breaths would only bring her closer to passing out.

A lovely sheen of oil mixed with makeup smothered her face, weighing down her eyelids. She doesn’t even want to guess how nauseating she must look. But as she scans the revolting sight playing before her, she realizes the state of her attraction isn't important, and doesn’t look near as pathetic as Ms. Hardy, who thought five beers would be enough of a confidence boost to catch the eye of the local butcher.

The drumming in her head leads her ears to summon a pulse that normally isn't there. She’s slowed her heart down at least five times tonight, and another round of meditation was well on its way. She’s been huddled in this corner for as long as she could tolerate...because she’s an adult now.

And being an adult means you can go to the Ramsey's party but you can't drink.

Being an adult means watching every self-respecting businessman and PTA member re-live their glory days.

Being an adult, apparently means, dividing your time up between wasteful and pitiful.

She really could use a drink.

On this splendid evening, she learned that darkness is deceiving. It provides a layer between her eyes and the repulsion that's been sweeping 145 east seventy-second street, but delays the warning of bulky watches and worn out heels that consistently invade her space. And 80's music will never be the same; forever tainted with images of shameless middle-aged drones trying to recapture their youth.

She’s decided she’s had enough, well, she had enough three hours ago, but now she’s really done. An escape is needed for sure, that is if she wants to survive. Because being an adult means just that: surviving.

Trying to find a path out of the sea of ripened bodies proves to be a challenge. The disturbing line dance that's forming has Helen taking off her hand-knit sweater while holding in the schnapps that threatens to spill past a closed lip smile and a squeal.

Adeline sucked in her stomach and slid past everyone who'd begun moving in unison to the left. With the back door in clear view, and a new surge of adrenaline in her bones, she wiggled her way through the crowd, exhaling once her hand touched the doorknob.

The cat door swings back and forth a few times before leaving her in complete silence. The moon was hidden, and if she hadn't attended countless barbecue gatherings, Marykay parties, and tee-ball banquets, she’d be nervous. But too many summers were spent shuffling around every backyard in this town for her to worry, having map-like memory of every tree, swimming pool, and swing set for her to fear a star-lit backyard.

She swears there's glitter swirling with her breath in the gelid air. Her heels scrape against the concrete slab as she shuffles in circles, attempting to jump-start her circulation. The sting of frost was soothing for only a moment.

"C lunch?"

Her head whipped around to follow the voice, the rush of air drying her lips out as goose bumps riddled her bare arms.

"C lunch, right?" The raspy voice asks again.

"What?"

"I'm in D lunch."

"What are you talking about?" She takes a step closer to the heap of blankets piled in a lawn chair, tucked into the corner where the garage joined the house, curly hair sticking out from under them.

"I see yeh leavin' lunch every day. You sit by the vending machines. And you’re always writin’ in that old journal. What do you write about anyways?"

His voice is slow, and she doesn’t know if it's due to the hypothermia he's surely gained by being out here, or if that's a natural quality. Either way it's a little too intriguing for her liking.

"Are you aware that you're successfully coming across as the biggest creep I've ever met?" She’s now only a few feet away. The blankets are tempting, and when he starts to unravel the little nest he's created, his choice of clothing makes her jealous. A thick black sweater clings to his body, but not as much as the tight jeans. She looks down at the olive green dress plastered to her skin, observing the effects of a harsh December night on her bare thighs.

"I apologize, love," he picks through the blankets before pulling one out and holding it out to her. "Will this clear my tarnished image?"

She hesitantly grabs it. "For now I suppose."

"Good. I can't have a fellow Edgewood high survivor mad at me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Told you, m'in D lunch." He leans back in the chair and readjusts the blankets to shield his body again.

"That's not what I mean."

"Right, well, y'should really be more specific with your questions. I'm a lot of things, Adeline. M'smarter than you, tallest in my family, and just last week I was asked if I would be interested in a modeling career. However, luckily for you, I understand your vague request. My name's Harry."

Anger spikes her nerves and all thoughts of being cold are forgotten and replaced with wanting to slap the smug look off his face. Instead of wasting another second on this boy she hastily heads back for the door.

"Oh, whoa, don't have t'leave, I mean no harm.”

Her hand freezes on the door handle. After rolling her eyes she peers over her shoulder, pulling off her best glare.

“I don't bite, love," he smirks. "Well...that's a lie actually." A dry laugh follows his words. He smiles for the first time and a dimple makes its appearance. Of course; he wouldn't be complete with only a chiseled jaw and wind swept hair.

She contemplates her options: She can head back in to watch her respect for everyone in this town disappear forever, or stand out in the cold with some arrogant jerk named Harry.

"Here," he says, snapping Adeline out of her thoughts. He squirms around before pulling a bottle of vodka that's half full from under the blankets. She raises a brow and wraps the blanket tighter around herself.

"Relax. Didn't drink this all tonight. S'been a work in progress." Her brain is being jerked in two directions; one towards Harry's enthralling accent and the other put off by his cocky attitude.

She takes small steps towards him. “So there's no excuse for your ignorant behavior?"

"Ouch, was tha' really necessary?" He pulls the bottle back as soon as she reaches for it.

She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Well you haven't exactly been a gentleman."

"I only speak the truth, darling." He holds the bottle back out, but only because he knows she’ll leave without the incentive.

"You don't even know me."

"I know I was smart enough to dress for the occasion. That dress doesn't look very warm." He nods towards her outfit. "I know tha's been bothering ya, that I said I was smarter."

She avoids eye contact as she reaches for the bottle, this time he allows her to take it. "I would be offended if you weren't so full of yourself." She pressed the bottle to her lips. The sting makes its way down her throat, warming her up better than any blanket could.

"M'just pushing your buttons, love. I've gotten quite bored out here."

She passes it back to him and watches as he throws his head back to take a sip. His hand has no problem wrapping around the entire bottle. "What are y'doing out here anyway?”

"The same as you I'm guessing." She reached for the bottle but instead of complying with her gesture, he pops the cork back on and slips it back under the blankets. "This needs to last me at least through the end of the year. I'll be in this same spot come graduation night if the urge strikes you."

She takes a step back to distance herself from him. Even with a snarky attitude she can't help but feel lured in. They wallow in silence, the only sound coming from the monstrosity taking place inside.

"Ah...there they go," he grumbles. The ill-fated countdown made its way to her ears no matter how hard she tried to block it out. She glanced down at a pair of flushed, green eyes staring back at her. "Growin' up sucks."

"It does."

"Well then how about one more? For the sake of growing old. What do y'say?" He pulls the bottle back out and pops the cork off. “Happy New Year.”

Swallowing in anticipation and yearning for the burn she didn't know she needed, she lets the blanket slip down her shoulders to give her hands better access, exposing her skin to the sharp cold.

Harry stands up, towering over her as the blankets topple to his brown boots. His feet attempt to move but catch on the pile of fabric, causing him to wobble in place before teetering over.

Something crossed between a yelp and a squeal leaves her mouth. The vodka that was supposed to make it to graduation seeps through her dress, dripping its way towards her nude pumps. If her body weren't so numb she would’ve had the energy to cuss him out, but all she does is look up at Harry to see his eyes wide and jaw slack.

"I—I’m sorry."

She closes her eyes and breathes in through her nose, filling her lungs with as much air as she can, speaking through clenched teeth. "It's...ok...was an accident." He makes a noise between a grunt and a cough, and when she opens her lids, the gleam in his eye is evident. "Are you seriously laughing?"

"M'sorry but the look on your face was priceless." He doesn't even try to hold the laughter back now, his eyes squint forming lines around the corners, and every one of his white teeth are on display.

"Whatever, Harry." She tosses the blanket at him only for it to combine with the heap on the ground.

"No wait, lemme help you clean up." His laughter dies down and the red tint on his face begins to fade. His hand on her lower back gently nudged her towards the door. He slipped them inside, up the stairs and in the master bath without anyone noticing.

***

Adeline spared herself the horror of her own reflection, keeping her eyes locked on her shoes against the tiled floor of the master bath. However, curiosity won, and sure enough, the sight before her was disturbing. Black smudges had settled in the creases of her eyes and her lips were dried and shriveled prunes. She looked nothing short of pathetic.

Harry stepped out of the adjoining closet holding a long gray t-shirt and made his way to where she was leaning against the sink.

"Here, think this is long enough. If you’d worn pants you'd have more options.”

She rolled her lips together and sucked in a breath, "I'm not in the mood. And I'm not wearing that."

"Why not?" He inspected the shirt to find what had displeased her about it, looking up in confusion when he found nothing wrong.

"First of all, I don't feel comfortable wearing Mr. Ramsey's shirt," she crossed her arms over her chest and rested her weight on one leg. "And second of all, I don't feel comfortable wearing Mr. Ramsey's shirt, in his house, where everyone in town will see."

"Are yeh serious? First of all, no one will notice," he mocked. "Second of all, who cares? Unless you want to smell like cheap vodka the rest of the night I suggest you put this on."

She ran her tongue over her teeth and steadied her eyes on him. There was no way she was going to walk down those stairs wearing nothing but her principal's shirt.

"Fine," he quipped, tossing the shirt onto the counter. He reached behind his head and began pulling the sweater off his body. Swirls of ink decorated his skin, toned muscles rippled and pulsed. She had to fight to keep herself from staring. He tossed the sweater to her, nailing her in the face. When she removed it he was already sliding his arms through the t-shirt.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You can wear it. That's wha' most people would do."

She held it out in front of her body to check the length, secretly hoping it would be long enough to wear. "Turn around."

"What, and miss the show?" He ran a hand through his hair as his lips curled up. "Okay, okay, don't give me the glare again." He held his hands up in surrender and turned to face the closet. She waited a few seconds to make sure he could be trusted before peeling her now ruined dress off. The sweater was actually longer than her dress, reaching a little pass mid-thigh. It was warm from being wrapped around his body and she couldn't stop herself from pulling the collar up and breathing in the scent of his cologne.

"You can turn back."

He rolled his eyes and returned his hand to her back, ushering them out and towards the stairs, her soaked dress balled in her hands.

"Thanks," she squeaked, before they started to head down.

"No problem."

Once they reached the bottom, her mother came bouncing towards them with a big smile on her face. "Adeline! I was looking for you, we're leaving now. You'll have to drive though, your father's had a little too much." A giggle slipped past her lips, letting Adeline know she's had a little too much as well.

"Um, thanks again," She said, looking back at Harry as she followed her mom to the front door.

"You're welcome, love. And cute underwear by the way. Pink is your color."

#ribsfic #ribsc1 #harry styles #harry styles writing #writing #harrystyles #harry styles fic #cherryyharryy

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journalxxx · 6 years

Text

No Rest for the Wicked (3)

"Hey. Higgsbury."

Wilson woke with a gasp, heart racing and chest heaving as something touched his shoulder. His overwhelmed brain took in his surroundings in a frenzy of disconnected bits: the setting sun, the rough table he was napping on, the spilled ink on his half-finished blueprint, the blood rumbling in his own head, the tiny pins and needles tickling his left arm, the gaunt harasser standing beside him.

"Say, pal. You don't look so good."

Wilson blinked at Maxwell, wondering why he was still alive. Oh, right. Not a dream, this one. Not a dream. He wondered if the other man could hear the gears furiously turning in Wilson's brain to sort through real memories and fleeting visions in an effort to make sense of his current situation. He probably could, it felt like they were very rusty and grind-y.

"Can you please. Never say those specific words to me again. Please."

"Have I caught you at a bad time? It didn't seem like there was much inventing going on at the moment."

Wilson drummed his fingers on the table nervously, still dizzy with adrenaline. He focussed very, very hard on eliminating all thoughts of sadism and murder and assorted violence from his brain, but the sight of Maxwell's nonchalant mug made it exceedingly difficult.

"You always catch me at a bad time. When you want to disturb me, just assume it's a bad time. And then don't do it. What do you want?"

Maxwell regarded him with something unpleasantly akin to amusement. He glanced at the ruined sketch on the table.

"Strange dreams, eh? What was this one about?"

"...You don't want to know."

"I beg to differ."

Wilson squinted at him, rubbing his arm to restore the circulation. Well, if he insisted.

"...I wanted to observe the effects of prolonged consumption of raw monster meat on humans. You were the test subject, but you refused to eat it, so I made an incision in your epigastrium-" He poked at the exact spot on Maxwell's abdomen as he explained, "and created a fistula large enough to introduce the minced meat directly in your stomach from the outside. It made you turn into that half-beast thing you used to scare me with when I was travelling to the throne-" He illustrated that passage too, hunching his back and mimicking claws and fangs with his hands and mouth, "and, since you behaved like a rabid dog, I had to put you down. Via decapitation. Then I dismembered you and put your organs in jars with formalin for later study. I think I was doing something with your liver when you woke me, but I can't remember what."

It was rare for Wilson to manage to reduce Maxwell to silence, but those precious few times were always so deeply worth it.

"...I'll say." He eventually commented, scratching his chin pensively. "I never thought there could be any decent material in that hairy nogging of yours, but it looks like you may have turned out not too disappointing a King, after all."

Wilson groaned, rubbing his hands on his face.

"What do you want, Maxwell?"

"Why do you keep asking me? You said you needed my help with some project of yours, remember?"

"Uh... yes, yes, I do. Give me just a moment." Wilson quickly gathered his tools and cleaned up the mess on the table. "You always have such impeccable timing. I've been sitting here all afternoon, but of course you show up the moment I put my head down for five minutes."

"You said I could come when I was free. Well, I'm free now." Maxwell crossed his arms condescendingly. "If your beauty sleep has the priority, I can come back next week or so."

"You've got a busy schedule, haven't you? I suppose that standing around doing nothing and glancing judgementally at people who are actually working does eat up time." Maxwell was about to reply, but Wilson opted for a strategic retreat. "I'll be right back."

"So, what do you need me for?" Maxwell asked when Wilson came back with an armful of equipment. He watched with silent disapproval as Wilson dropped the items messily on the table, save for one vial filled with transparent liquid, which he carefully placed in a roughly-crafted canister. Wilson didn't miss the brief glimpse of concern that crossed Maxwell's eyes when he opened the case containing the syringe. "...I'm just realizing I should have asked this much sooner."

"You know that weird feeling you get after being revived - the feeling that you are indeed very much alive and well, but not quite as healthy as you were before? And no matter how much you eat or rest or heal, you never seem to regain your top shape?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was sure you would, given how vocally you complained about it when you burst out of my meat statue two months ago." Wilson paused to observe the content of the vial against the light: no suspicious discolorations or sediments. "As it turns out, it's a shared affliction. It happened to me too before... before, and others in the camp have confirmed experiencing the same problem. So I decided to see if anything could be done about it."

"I take that you are concocting some sort of serum. Do you need some specific ingredient or magic boost you think I can provide?"

"A fair assumption, but no. I believe I've already hit on a promising formula, and now I only need a suitable subject to test it."

"Ah. You see, that was my second guess, only because I gave you enough credit to reach on your own the obvious conclusion that I would never agree to that."

"Come on, don't be difficult. I promise you it's perfectly safe."

"Says the man who thought that powdercakes were safe for consumption." Maxwell squinted at the vial, hands clasped behind his back. "What's in there?"

"Oh just, you know... some minerals and... organic material. You needn't concern yourself with the technical details-"

"If you had said snake oil, it would have sounded less fishy. Which minerals? What organic material?"

"Well..." Wilson scratched his chin, pointedly avoiding Maxwell's inquisitive gaze. "Some nitre and ground bee stings. And- you know those funny-looking hyphae that were growing on the eggplants we forgot we had? Well, I thought-"

"You must be joking." Maxwell's face contorted into the most comically over-the-top expression of affronted disgust Wilson had ever seen. "Dirt and mold. You mixed dirt and mold into a bottle and you called that a cure? How did you even come up with such a ridiculous idea?"

"Exactly like I come up with every ridiculous idea I've ever had in this wretched place: by using our ridiculous machines, that's how. Or are you going to claim that there's more scientific merit to grinding flower petals to make dream gasoline, or whatever that foul thing is supposed to be?"

"Well, at least that foul thing isn't supposed to go straight into my veins! Your 'cure' is going to give me lockjaw or bubonic plague, if not both at the same time."

Wilson decided to dedicate a single moment of his life to envisioning how risus sardonicus might look on Maxwell's already grotesque set of facial features. He found that his imagination wasn't yet capable of producing such horrors, and he was ultimately grateful for it.

"I told you it's safe. I've already administered samples to some rabbits and pigmen, and they're all perfectly healthy. I've even had a dose of it myself, and as you can see-"

"You took it yourself?" Maxwell gaped at the scientist in utter shock. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Well, rabbits and pigmen aren't humans. Results obtained on them are only partially reliable to predict the effect the serum might have on actual people. And I didn't think it wise to use a potentially flawed drug on an already debilitated patient. I haven't died yet since we met, so I figured I would be the perfect subject to take note of any relevant side effects or issues. There haven't been any, by the way."

"You're a lunatic." Maxwell's bewilderment almost made Wilson laugh. It seemed like such a simple and straightforward process to him. "A complete, raving madman. That thing could have killed you more painfully than I ever did."

"That's extremely debatable, but let's not get sidetracked." Wilson joined the tips of his fingers, flashing his best ingratiating smile at Maxwell. "Care to assist?"

"No, not really. Besides, I've just finished recovering from that accident with the spider queen, so I may still be a tad too 'debilitated' for-"

"You've been 'just finishing recovering' from those two glorified scratches for at least a week. I don't doubt that that is due to the aforementioned post-resurrection weakness, and it is not even remotely just an excuse for you to be even less productive than usual. However, as the resident physician, I am positive you're at least well enough to withstand a harmless drug trial. Does this quell your fears?"

Maxwell pursed his lips, surprisingly giving some serious thought to the matter. "...Wolfgang has died too, once. And he's certainly fitter than me at any given moment. Why didn't you choose him?"

"To be fair, I did ask him first. But..." Wilson considered his fingertips. The memory of that colossal man mewling in horror and backing away from the raised syringe like a cornered animal would haunt him for the rest of his days. "I think he has a phobia of needles. Among the other things."

"Hm. Hard to blame him on that one. The needle of that syringe is barely smaller than an organ pipe."

"It's the best I could put together with the materials I found. Just be thankful I was able to craft one or I would have to resort to scarification."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"You wouldn't like the feel of that either."

Maxwell scrutinized him and his whole apparatus with blatant hostility. He didn't speak, and eventually Wilson sighed in defeat.

"...I can't force you, of course. But I do mean it when I say it's safe. It has given me no side effects whatsoever, I just need to establish if it's actually effective or not." Wilson tapped his fingers on the table, pensively. "I guess I could try again with Wolfgang. Wickerbottom could help me talk him into it, she’s good at that. After keeping him on a light diet for while. If he threw a fit in his best shape, he'd probably break my neck with an accidental flicker of his-"

"Oh, fine! Stop whining!" Maxwell burst out, throwing his hands to the sky. "And don't you dare say that I never do anything helpful. I'm literally throwing my own health to the wolves for your divertissement here."

"Splendid!" Wilson grinned, immediately filling the syringe with the precious liquid. "Uncover your shoulder. You don't have any allergies, do you?"

"If I said yes, would you reconsider my involvement?"

"I guess that's a no. Sit." Wilson stood up, politely leaving the chair free for his unhappy subject. Who didn't sit. Nor uncovered his shoulder. Wilson rolled his eyes. "What is it now? I swear, all this fussing for a single prick. Next time I'll just knock you out beforehands and save myself half an hour of pointless arguments."

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that I can simply refuse to sit to foil your brilliant plan altogether. There's little you can do to my shoulder from down there."

"...Wow, a height joke. Haven't heard one of those in a while. You're just desperate to buy time at this point. Sit before I stab this in your rear."

Wilson patiently waited as Maxwell begrudgingly complied and took as long as humanly possible to remove the several layers of clothing hiding his shoulder. Wilson also merrily ignored the constant muttering as he applied some antiseptic on the area.

"Mankind owes me a lot for confining you here and saving any possible future patient of yours from your misguided attempts at- Ow!"

"Yes, I'm sure such a charitable deed completely outweighs the God-knows-how-many unexplained kidnappings you've perpetrated in your whole life."

"Not as many as- Ow! This thing burns!"

"Hardly. I'd like to say you deserve a statue for your past and present heroism, but I think there are already far too many around here."

One last completely unwarranted 'ow' marked the end of the unbearable torture as Wilson pulled out the needle and pressed a patch of silk gauze on Maxwell's shoulder.

"Done. It's going to be just a little sore for-"

"You literally just said no side effects whatsoever!"

"That's not a side effect, it's a completely normal local reaction. It won't last more than a few days anyway."

Wilson put away his tools while Maxwell nursed his achy joint with a scowl. "Fine print and shady semantics are more tools of my trade rather than yours, you know?"

"Maybe, but at least I make a point of rewarding blind faith instead of squashing it. Your contribution towards scientific advancement is highly appreciated." Wilson smiled, producing a life-giving amulet from his pocket and handing it to Maxwell with a flourish and a small bow. "Please accept this for your trouble."

Maxwell froze in the middle of buttoning up his shirt, gaping at the item with sheer horror.

"...Oh God, I am going to die."

"No, no no no, this is just for... extra precaution. Just in case. Just in the remote eventuality that the serum might have some utterly unexpected and yet unobserved contraindication. Which it won't, I'm sure. Do feel free to bring to my attention any malaise that may bother you though."

"I hate you."

"Oh come on, I'm joking. Mostly." Wilson chuckled as Maxwell motioned to take the amulet. He instinctively gripped it harder though, suddenly struck by an unpleasant thought. He met Maxwell's puzzled glance with firm eyes. "By the way, I would dearly appreciate it if you used it as intended, this time."

"...I believe I should be granted the freedom to decide how to employ my payment, shouldn't I?" Maxwell's expression changed as well, subtly but unmistakably. Wilson already regretted breaching the subject, but he had no intention of backing down from his request.

"I'm serious. If this ends up like the last one, I'm not going to trust you with another again. They're far too precious to be wasted."

"Wasted, uh?" Maxwell scoffed, letting go of the amulet and standing fully straight to look down on Wilson. Wilson hated how easy it was for the man to look effectively imposing. "Maybe you should give this to someone else then. God forbid I should ever use it to look after myself in the way I see fit."

"You did nothing of the sort. You broke it. You took a resurrection tool, a literal life-saver, and disassembled it.” Wilson clenched his fists without even noticing, the argument from a few months before still fresh in his mind. Sometimes Maxwell’s behavior was truly unjustifiable. “And for what? To make another goddamn nightmare amulet!”

“That is what I’d call ‘looking after myself’’, yes. All this time you’ve spent around me, and you still don’t get how my powers work. You’re dreadfully unobservant for a scientist.”

“Look, I know what you’re driving at, but how can you possibly not understand that there’s nothing more important than resurrection items here?! They’re our only lifeline! They literally avoid death! We should scavenge for parts to craft them, not the other way around!”

“You’re astoundingly wrong. The smartest thing we can do is to avoid dying in the first place. We don’t build meat effigies during a famine, do we?”

“That’s not the same thing-”

“Maybe not for you, but it is for me!” Maxwell burst out suddenly. “I need nightmare fuel, don’t you get it? Suppose I get slaughtered against some unholy monster with no fuel and a resurrection amulet. I get brought back to life, and then what? If the monster wakes too early, it may very well slaughter me again before I can make a run for it! And even if I manage to get away, do you really think I can gather all the materials I need to survive quickly enough on my own? If I have fuel though, my duelists can lure the enemy away or maybe even kill it, and my gatherers can collect resources for me even if I’m injured. So yes, Higgsbury, having a functional nightmare amulet and therefore decent fuel reserves does qualify as safeguarding my life, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I- wait, wait a minute.” Wilson shook his head, momentarily stunned. For whatever reason, Maxwell hadn’t bothered to explain his reasons in such detail before, and the scientist had to admit there was a logic in them. Still, the remaining flaw was glaring. “You’re talking as if you had to survive completely on your own. There’s no need for you to be so obsessed about the fuel when you have plenty of other people to rely on. Anyone can help you find food or gather materials or get out of a tricky situation, you don’t need to have puppets ready all the time. No one can bring you back if you get killed though.”

“A brilliant reasoning. One, however, that is based on the certainty that you won’t be left behind, if things took a turn for the worse. In case you haven’t noticed, my puppets take care of almost all the heaviest and most time-consuming tasks around here, which is surely a great encouragement for my former captives not to lynch me. But if I run out of fuel, who’s to say they won’t suddenly remember their grudges?”

“Oh come on, that’s ridiculous. We’ve been camping together for months, you can’t possibly still believe the others to be so untrustworthy. We’ve had each other’s backs dozens of times by now, you must see that they’ve let bygones be bygones. No one would hold it against you if couldn’t provide materials for a while. We could easily split the work among ourselves.”

“Do you really trust them that much?”

“Of course I do! They’re all perfectly respectable-”

“Then why haven’t you told anyone about the throne?” Maxwell’s smirk was sharp, contrasting strongly with his eerily soft tone. Wilson was caught off guard.

“...I… It’s not the same-”

“Again, it’s exactly the same thing. You haven’t because you’re not sure how they’d react. And you’re not even the King who brought them here. Consider my position for one moment and you’ll see that I have excellent reasons to be unsure how they’d react to anything I may do or not do. Hence my interest in having my own backup always ready at hand.”

“...You’re looking at this all wrong.” Wilson shook his head again. “You have more backup than ever, or at least you would if you bothered to acknowledge it as such, and yet you still stick to your paranoid schtick. Hell, you’d rather stroll on your own among spider nests instead of honestly asking for help. Anyone would have come with you if you had asked. I would have come with you if you had asked.”

“I did ask you!” Maxwell retorted venomously. “Last month! Or have you conveniently forgotten?”

“What- You didn’t ask me for help! You asked- no, you demanded a red gem! Without even explaining why. A red gem I couldn’t give you because I needed it for an amulet!”

“Oh, right! The amulet you then gave to the robot. The goddamn robot, of all people! It doesn’t even live here! It shows up only when there are giants around, drops gratuitous threats against all things organic, and then vanishes again. Why would you even bother to craft an amulet for it? I’m sure it just wants to see us all dead-”

“You mean like you did?!” Wilson’s voice raised without him really noticing, too caught up in the discussion. “Do you even hear yourself? If there is one person here who shouldn’t ever dare question other people’s honesty, that’s you! At least WX has never actually done anything to hurt us, which automatically makes them more trustworthy than you!”

Maxwell didn’t reply immediately. He waited, hands clasped behind his back and a strange, unreadable scowl on his face, until Wilson properly registered the meaning of his own words.

“...That. That is exactly it. That’s what everyone thinks, that a perfect stranger would be easily more trustworthy than me, no matter the circumstances. That’s what would make anyone hesitate to help, even just for a second. And a second of hesitation can mean a lot when I’m about to be mauled by a hound. That is why I need my own backup.”

There were times, many times, when Wilson genuinely thought that Maxwell was hopeless. That he would ultimately seal his own fate through the sheer stubbornness of his own self-absorbed idiocy, no matter how much effort Wilson put into trying to avoid that. And yet.

“...I have never hesitated.” Maxwell didn’t meet Wilson’s eyes as the scientist spoke, apparently too busy with fixing his tie and waistcoat. “Not once.”

“...You needed backup too. And I was the only one around to provide it. You have a wide choice now, though.”

“Do you really think that?” Wilson asked bitterly, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Do you really think that’s all there was to it?”

Even though Maxwell’s attire had long since been freed from any wrinkles or unsightly folds, he was still messing with it. Nevertheless, Wilson patiently waited for his answer, as one waited for a bully to decide whether he felt like dedicating ten seconds of his life to stomp on the elaborate sand castle one took two hours to build.

“...No.” Maxwell didn’t elaborate any further. It was a fortunate decision, for Wilson was already nearing his limit of tolerance for the day, and the umpteenth gratuitous jab or tirade against his stupidity, his morality, his naivety may have just convinced him to never spare another glance at Maxwell’s mug again. Or so he liked to think.

“...Good.” Wilson nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you can consider me your backup then.”

That finally tore Maxwell’s attention off his goddamn suit. Wilson shrugged in response to his befuddled glance.

“Honestly it’s ridiculous that I even have to say it aloud after I’ve effectively been your backup for God knows how long, but I guess you might benefit from hearing it. I’m not going to leave you behind, or ignore a request for materials or assistance, if only you can find it in yourself to spare two minutes to motivate it. You have my word on it. And if you were to leave the group for any reason that doesn’t involve egregious misbehavings on your part, like trying to murder people in their sleep or something of the kind, I’ll leave as well. How does that sound?”

Wilson may as well have turned into a turnip halfway through his speech, judging by the sheer bewilderment of Maxwell’s expression.

“What the devil is this about, now?”

“This is about making you stop wasting resources on problems that aren’t there. You can go without fuel for a few days or even weeks, if you need to, even if you can’t take care of the foraging. Just ask me, if you don’t feel like asking the others. And for heaven’s sake, take this and wear it!” Wilson outright slipped the amulet around Maxwell’s neck, pressing it firmly against his chest to drive the point more clearly. “Don’t break it. Don’t repurpose it. Just wear it.”

For the second time that day, Maxwell was shocked into silence, his eyes darting between Wilson’s face and his hand. The amulet pulsed under Wilson's palm, instantly warming up as the protective magic activated, and started to beat faintly, like a second heart perfectly in synch with the wearer's. It was a refreshing change to feel its natural, regular beat, without the rush and unsteadiness that blood loss and such distressing circumstances caused. The rhythm was pleasantly familiar, and distracting enough for Wilson to suddenly realize that he had been idly standing before Maxwell for a little too long, a little too close. He let go of the amulet and took a few steps back, until he bumped against the edge of the desk, his mind oddly blank.

“Why are you so obsessed with these things, anyway?” Maxwell asked, his tone somewhat subdued as he took the pendant in his hand and rubbed some invisible dust off the red gem. “We have meat statues and even a couple of touch stones. I could die three times within the next hour and I’d still be able to come back without an amulet.”

“Statues can be destroyed and the closest stone is almost a day away from the camp. Amulets are always the safest option.” In truth, Wilson couldn’t quite explain it. Maxwell was perfectly right, living in a large group had allowed them to secure plenty of materials for more resurrection items than Wilson himself had ever hoped for. But, as irrational as it may be, Wilson only felt truly safe when he and everyone around him were wearing a life-giving amulet around their neck. “I just don’t like taking any chances.”

“Mh. If I didn’t know you to be so scientifically inclined, I’d be tempted to call you superstitious. I guess it’s only anxiety then.”

“You can call it however you like, but it’s the reason I’ve managed to survive this long. Always having a backup plan is what allowed me to best the oh-so-dreadful King of the Shadows.”

“Ah! That’s precious.” Maxwell laughed, without any real bite. Unexpectedly, he leaned against the table too, beside Wilson. He regarded him with a conspiratorial smile, all traces of the previous argument gone from his demeanor. “No need to embellish the truth, pal, I was watching too. Remember the first time you jumped into a wormhole without amulets and the like and without having any idea what would happen? Where was your backup plan then?”

“Ah, but you forget that at the time I was being cornered by a tallbird at the edge of a cliff, without proper armor and at dusk. Jumping in the wormhole was the backup plan, you see.”

“...God, you really are the one who bested me. Why. How.” Maxwell lamented as he covered his face. “Did They really wish to humiliate me so? Why couldn’t it be Wickerbottom? Surrendering the throne to her would have been immensely more dignified. Honourable, even.”

“Maybe you just weren’t as good at your job as you thought. Or I am a genius survivalist. Take your pick.”

“Neither.” Maxwell rubbed his shoulder absently. “Are you planning to study the effects of whatever filth you poisoned me with watching me as I slowly shuffle off this mortal coil, or may I retreat to meet my end privately?”

“You’re free to go. Many thanks for your unwavering trust and enthusiasm.” Wilson simply watched as Maxwell shrugged on his coat. He tried his very best to sound as casual as possible with his next question. “Oh, by the way. Have you been experimenting with your puppets again?”

“Hm? No, not lately. Why?”

“Oh, never mind. I was just wondering.”

“...You were just wondering.” A single glance from Maxwell was enough for Wilson to know that he was simply hopeless at sounding casual. “And why were you wondering, may I ask?”

“I was just wondering! You do that sometimes! They used to work differently when I met you, and now they’re more specialized or something-”

“I only ever revised them that one time, because they were giving me troubles. You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t think there was something wrong with them. Why?”

“I, uh… well… to be honest, they did a strange thing yesterday. And I was wondering if it may be because you were, I don’t know, trying out a new spell or-”

“Did they try to attack you? Because that would be your fault. I told you you’d eventually get on their nerves if you kept getting in their way while they’re working.”

“No, no no. In fact, it’s… it’s the exact opposite.” Wilson stopped for a moment. “You know how they always pretend I don’t exist, right? They don’t communicate, they don’t listen, they walk through me, they don’t even look at me, and all that-”

“Yes. I am aware of how my own puppets work. Get to the point.”

“Yes, right- by the way, why do they do that? I remember you said they behave exactly like you, but you don’t-”

“They behave like I would behave if I were an entity of pure shadow with no need or obligation to interact with other people in order to survive. Thus, they ignore you. The point, Higgsbury.”

“Right, right. So, the other day I was following a koalefant track up north, between the forest and the swamp. Your puppets were there too, chopping and mining and the like. They didn’t acknowledge me, as usual, and I ignored them too.” Maxwell crossed his arms and threw his head backwards with deliberate slowness, staring stolidly at the sky with a groan. “I guess, uh… I guess I must have been a bit distracted. The next track was very close to the edge of the swamp, but I thought I was far enough from- are you listening?”

“Regrettably.”

“...Right. Anyway, I must have gotten too close to the swamp and I didn’t notice the tentacle springing from the ground until too late. I was- it was about to hit me, but… one of your puppets pushed me out of the way.” Maxwell didn’t move, nor he replied. Wilson continued. “The tentacle actually struck it. It vanished. The other two had stopped working too, they were watching the whole thing, but then they resumed their job as if nothing happened as soon as I got far enough from the tentacle.”

“...Mh.” Maxwell eloquently commented.

“...I thought it was odd. Even in battle your duelists tend to let me get slaughtered if I don’t stick close enough to you. And your harvesters are even more passive. So I was wondering if you had changed them.”

“I haven’t.”

“...Doesn’t your neck hurt?”

“No.” Maxwell finally directed his scowl at Wilson instead of at the murky sky of the Constant. “Is this the conundrum? The puppet probably just tripped. You can add this to the long list of strokes of luck that have spared you yet another painful death. Rejoice.”

“It didn’t look like it just tripped. I don’t think it was even near me when I knelt down to examine the track. And the other two were staring too-”

“Look, I’d understand your perplexity if they had tried to skewer you, but they actually helped you for once. All the better, yes? Why does this concern you so much?”

“Why doesn’t it concern you?” Wilson insisted. “Your puppets are behaving abnormally without your direct input. What if something or someone else was influencing them?”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” Maxwell scoffed. “There are no other shadow magic users around here. And They certainly wouldn’t hijack my puppets to save your neck.”

“Well, maybe there’s another possibility.” Wilson hesitated. Discussing the matter with Maxwell had seemed like a good move the previous night, while disturbing thoughts were keeping him awake long past the sunset. In that moment, not quite as much. “What if there was someone else with the same powers you have?”

“Bollocks. I’m sure there are only two human beings who ever became acquainted with shadow magic, and the other one is the current Queen. Not to mention I would have already noticed. I keep a keen eye on the invisible forces at work in the area, you know?”

“Maybe it’s someone you haven’t noticed because… they haven’t used their powers yet. Maybe because they don’t know they have them…”

“...I’m not sure I’m quite following you, although you seem to be heading in a very specific direction.” Maxwell frowned. Wilson felt like he was melting under that stern scrutiny. All right, there was no point in beating around the bush.

“...Listen. I sat on the throne, right? I’ve been King. Maybe while I was there, I did absorb a bit of shadow magic. Maybe the puppet responded to that, and therefore defended me. Or maybe- maybe I made it defend me without noticing-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Maxwell raised a hand to stop him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this what it’s all about? Are you still being paranoid about the throne? I told you you’re fine, stop overanalyzing every trifling thing that happens to you.”

“But how can you be so sure?” Wilson insisted. “What if I did take control of your puppet for a moment, without noticing? I was about to be killed, I asked for help! Maybe not vocally, but surely subconsciously. And help I did get, from shadow slaves that barely even bothered to acknowledge my presence before! Don’t you find it weird?”

“...Oh my God, you’re-” Maxwell muttered through his teeth, and then stopped abruptly. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of literally biting Wilson’s head off, flushed and irate as he looked. However, he reined himself in with uncharacteristic grace. He rubbed a hand on his face, then he sighed and drew the Codex from the inner pocket of his coat. He held it before Wilson’s eyes. “Listen, and listen well. Shadow magic isn’t something you just ‘absorb’ because you sat somewhere for a while. Even if They allowed you to tap into its power freely, without proper study and willing sacrifice, you couldn’t use it for anything more than cheap parlor tricks. I’ve been honing my own skills for decades, at great personal costs, and I’ve barely scraped the surface of what this book has to offer. Now, ingrain this simple concept into your brain: the mere thought that someone like you, without an ounce of talent or knowledge or training about magic, could overturn my own spells, even for a second, even by accident, is utterly ludicrous.”

Wilson wrung his hands nervously. “...Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Maxwell did sound as sure as one could possible get, but his stern demeanour deflated into a discouraged sigh before Wilson’s unresponsiveness. “But you won’t be convinced that easily, I guess.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust your expertise on the matter, mind you.” Wilson offered. “It’s just that… I keep thinking about it, and I can’t help but feel that I can’t just have left the throne room unscathed. And all these weird things that have been happening-”

“Are definitely not weird at all. I thought we’d been over this. Why have you been fixating on this so much?” Wilson shrugged, not knowing how to reply. Maxwell considered him for a moment, scratching his chin. “Have you tried doing it again?”

“Doing what?”

“Controlling a puppet.”

“No, of course not! I-”

“Well, shame on you then. What good can your harebrained hypotheses be without repeatable evidence?” Maxwell suddenly grabbed Wilson by his arm and dragged him in a seemingly random direction. “Come. Maybe some good old scientific method will convince you.”

“Wha- wait, where are you going?” Wilson stammered, stumbling along.

“To test your theory. Or rather, to make you fail at it as many times as you need to be convinced that it’s impossible.”

“Why are you suddenly so invested in this? I thought you were busy.”

“I’m always invested in watching you make a fool of yourself. Ah, there’s one.”

Maxwell pointed at the farm just outside the camp, where one of his puppets was filling his third- no, fourth basket of berries, freshly picked from the neat rows of bushes. They stopped to the side of the field, and Wilson watched the puppet accomplish its task with methodic precision for a few moments.

“Well, have at it.” Maxwell plopped heavily on the ground and popped a few berries into his mouth from the closest basket as he opened his book and idly started flipping through it. Wilson gaped at him.

“I have no idea how to do it!”

“Do whatever you think you did before. See what happens.”

“You aren’t being very helpful, you know?”

“Because there’s nothing to help you with. It’s impossible. We’re only here to establish that.”

Wilson muttered unrepeatable words under his breath. He tried his best to forget about Maxwell and focussed on the puppet. He stared at it, took in its featureless silhouette, a seemingly two-dimensional Maxwell-shaped smudge of inky blackness. He tried to take in its very essence, its unthinking, unfeeling existence, created for the sole purpose of going through a limited and established set of motions. If there was really any power in him, it couldn’t be too difficult to steer such an empty vessel towards his own desires. He decided he wanted to make it drop the basket. Easy enough. He focussed on that thought. He visualized it. He imagined the exact gesture, he imagined the puppet’s grasp on the basket loosening, his hand opening, the item dropping on the ground, spilling its contents all over. He ordered it. He willed it into reality. He put every ounce of his mental faculties into that specific wish. He wanted it.

Nothing happened.

“Your face is redder than your waistcoat. Try not to get yourself a stroke, I’d certainly be blamed for that.”

Wilson found himself slightly short on breath. Had he been holding it without noticing? “How am I supposed to command these things? How do you command them?”

“I don’t. They don’t need orders, they’re autonomous and smart enough to know what they have to do.”

“Do you really think there’s no chance I did that?”

“Let’s put it this way. The day you’ll manage to take control of any of my puppets for half a second will be the day I’ll entrust the Codex to you as the legitimate owner and superior user of its dark arts, and I’ll also humbly prostrate myself at your feet begging for your teachings. How likely does that sound to you?”

“Not much, but it’s certainly an excellent motivation to keep trying.” Wilson grumbled. He tried again. He stared at the puppet hard enough to bore a hole in it, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists with the sheer effort. He absolutely, positively, unmistakingly bid it to drop the basket. He even outstretched his hand towards it, as if to transmit his order through his very own body, and- and then Maxwell snorted loudly and he got completely distracted.

“What? What?” Wilson burst out, his cheeks burning. “You gesticulate all the time when you’re channeling your magic!”

“Yes, because I have magic to channel. What are you channeling?” Maxwell cackled. Unhelpful bastard. Wilson groaned in defeat.

“I can’t do it. Not like this, at least. Maybe it happens only in very specific circumstances, like if I’m very stressed or in mortal danger.”

“A brilliant hypothesis. Let’s test that too.” Maxwell sprang to his feet, radiating the most unsettling merriment. “Give me a minute to fetch my sword.”

“Quit it.” Wilson grabbed his jacket to stop him. “All right, you win. I must have been wrong. That still doesn’t explain your puppet’s behaviour though.”

“Maybe he just wanted to end it.” Maxwell shrugged, putting away his book.

“End what?”

“Its life.”

Wilson blinked. “Is that a thing that they do? Do they get… depressed?”

“You’d get depressed too if you were a somewhat sentient, disposable tool forced to chop trees for the entirety of your fleeting existence.”

Wilson considered the silent worker for a long moment, before Maxwell stretched his back with a showy yawn.

“Well, as entertaining as watching you achieve absolutely nothing for the last fifteen minutes has been, I think I’ll head off. Feel free to keep trying if you think that you may have better luck without me interfering with your blooming powers.”

“...Right. I think I’ll head off as well.” Wilson murmured. He turned on his heels and took a step towards the camp, and found itself right before- no, within the puppet, as it was passing by to put down another full basket. The puppet seamlessly phased through him, as they oft did, but the basket could not. It bumped against Wilson’s chest and fell on the ground, berries rolling everywhere. The puppet stopped. It looked down at the basket, somewhat dejectedly. Then, its eyeless face turned towards Wilson. Straight towards him.

Maxwell clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Wilson’s blood froze in his veins.

“...Uh, sorry.” He found himself saying as he knelt down and started gathering the scattered fruits. “Here, I’ll just…”

The puppet observed him for almost a full minute. Then, when Wilson was almost done cleaning up the mess, it grabbed two full baskets and walked off towards the camp.

“...When you say that one of these days getting in their way will get me killed, you’re clearly joking, right?”

“Not really. A duelist could definitely do it, with enough motivation. But foragers don’t have much violence in them.” Maxwell stopped for a moment. “Although, if I were them, and I am, I wouldn’t be above ganging up on you, tying you to a tree and chopping off a few of those luxuriant locks of yours.”

Wilson instinctively run a hand through his hair. “That’s not funny.”

“That wasn’t a joke either.” Maxwell smiled one of those creepy smiles of his. “Good afternoon, pal.”

Wilson silently tried his hand at an improvised hex centered around broken ankles, bees and Glommer’s goop. Just in case. He shook his head as he finished gathering the spilled berries. He put the basket near the remaining one, wondering if carrying them to the camp himself would be enough of an apology for-

He blinked, his thoughts finally connecting. It had dropped the basket. The puppet had dropped the basket.

“Maxwell, wait!” Wilson called out, but Maxwell had already disappeared. Should he find him, tell him? It may have been an accident. Maxwell- he would almost certainly deem it an accident, wouldn’t he? And yet, the puppets were always so very precise with their movements, and so very aware of their surroundings… Could Wilson have…?

He stared at the baskets, more confused than ever.

#don't starve #maxwil #maxwell #Wilson P. Higgsbury

49 notes · View notes

supersecure-blog · 5 years

Text

Week 6 Lectures

Never would I have thought that I would receive a lecture via a skype call... however this course continues to surprise me. Notes for this week’s lectures as per usual :) This week notes will be in their purest form: brain dribble.

Morning Lecture

WEP:

Needed a 64 bit key, but how do we get users to generate a 64 bit key. Was a lot to ask users to generate. Designers decided to generate the last 24 bits by themselves, using an IV.

Seed was different for each packet, 40 bit key that was shared and everyone used, and then the 24 bit value that was generated.

To decrypt, you get the 24 bit thing sent in the clear - (IV) and combine with the secret to get the 64 bit

Danger when someone transmits the same data under the same key - data is replicated in the same frame

Collision for IV - square root of 2^24 = 2^12 ~= 4000

Relatively small amount of packets needed to be sent before collision

Mixing data and control (key characteristic of attacks):

WEP attack - carrying out the normal function, can be abused by users to gain more control

I.e. Richard smuggling expensive express envelopes by hiding them in a satchel, posting them to himself

If there is a potential ambiguity in the channel and you are able to control how that is resolved - you gain control of the channel

Buffer Overflow:

Computer rapidly switches between jobs - “context switching” rather than concurrencyModern cpu’s use the notion of interruption Stack keeps track of what is being used

Latest process - top of the stack. When it’s finished, the information about the process gets thrown out, stack pointer gets moved down

After process have been re-awakened, need information about what the process is currently doing. This is stored in the disk, because RAM is expensive

Stack is also used to store local data about the program - much faster

Running program data is in the stack, as well as other frozen processes

Stack is stored backwards -> grows down

If can persuade the buffer you are writing to is bigger than it is - then you can be writing to other memory of the person that is asleep

Pointer to the next instruction about to be executed -> control

Contains other information

Write to the return address, overwrite the current thing

Proof of work:

Bitcoin - can’t counterfeit easily (work ratio)

No matter how good something is, every 18 months your attacker gains 1 bit of work due to Moore’s law i.e. lose one bit of security

Number of transistors per square inch on integrated circuits had doubled every year since the integrated circuit was invented.

Disk encryption:

Thread model - attacker has physical access to the disk, assume full control of the hard drive

Generate random key, encrypted version of the key stored in the disk

Evening Lecture:

Web Seminar

HTTP:

Application layer protocol used to send messages between browsers and web servers. HTTP requests go from the browser to the server.

Databases / SQL - browser sending an HTTP get request from the server with the username and password as data

Server queries database with “SELECT password FROM users WHERE match”

HTTP Cookies/Sessions

An HTTP cookie is a small piece of data sent in a response from a web server and stored on the user’s computer by the browser

A session cookies is a unique ID generated by the server and sent to the user when they first connect or login

Browser sends it with all HTTP requests

XSS - cross-site scripting is an attack in which an attacker injects data, such as a malicious program

Reflected XSS - occurs when user input is immediately returned by a web application.

Stored - you enter data which is stored within the application and then returned later

xss.game.appstop.com

SQL injection is a code injection technique in which malicious SQL statements are inserted into an entry field for execution.

Goal behind an SQL query is to gain access

‘ or 1 == 1 --

Blind SQL injections are identical to normal SQL Injection except that when an attacker attempts to exploit an application rather than getting a useful error message

Cross Site Request Forgery:

Attack on an authenticated user i,.e. Already logged in

When you log in to a website it sends you a cookie to your browser to keep you logged in.

Bank attack:

If attacker knows the format of the bank request, they can hide a transfer request inside an img using html

Cross Site Request Forgery Defences:

Primary mitigation is with tokens

Generate a suitably random token, store value server-side

Sent token to user, expect this token back as part of any user requests

In a GET request, this token will be appended to the URL

If a website has XSS vulnerabilities, CSRF mitigations are pointless

Crypto Seminar

Payment Process: Current versus Bitcoin:

Current payment systems require third-party intermediaries that often charge high processing fees

Machine-to-machine payment using the Bitcoin protocol allows for direct payment between individuals, as well as support micropayments -> reduce transaction costs

Crypto:

Built using cryptographic principles i.e. blockchain and hashing

Difficult to fake transactions - too many bits so it isn’t worth

Blockchain:

Method of storing data

A chain of chronologically linked blocks where each block is linked to the previous block

Blocks are unique - no two blocks will have the same hash

Data:

Consists of hundreds of transactions

Put around 2000 transactions in one block

Hashes:

Block’s hash summarises the data into a combination of letters and numbers

SHA-256 hashing algorithm

If a transaction in the block is changed, the hash is changed

This is important because each block has the hash of the previous block -> need to check against all previous blocks

Tamper evident

When a transaction is mine, it isn’t immediately added but placed in a transaction pool

The miner gathers enough to form a block - called a candidate block

Hash the block header along with a nonce

When we hash we hope the block hash value is below a certain target value

The nonce is a random number brute forced by miners to try and create the correct hash

When nonce is found, it is broadcast and the block is added to the existing chain

Proof of Stake:

Growth of mining pools could eventually lead back to a centralised system

PoW mining uses excessive amounts of electricity

PoS algorithm attributes mining power to proportion of total bitcoins held, rather than computing power

Rewards are transaction fees rather than new cryptocurrency

Types of crypto currencies:

Bitcoin

Uses the SHA-256 algorithm - very processor intensive and complex requires lots of dedicated hardware

Litecoin

More accessible for normal uses to mine on their CPUs as the algorithm used is less CPU intensive, but more memory intensive

Facebook Libra

Centralised architecture - libra will be managed by the Libra Association, having more control over the blockchain

There is no ‘mining” - to set up a node on Libra, need $10000

Privacy:

Blockchain doesn’t have a strong concept of identity (public, private) key pairing

Doesn’t exempt transaction from tracing

Two main ways:

Relations between address - inferring identity

Interactions between nodes and users

Monero:

Unlinkability -> stealth addresses with view keys

Transaction mixing -> ring signatures

Concealing transaction amounts -> RingCt signatures

Historical flaws:

51% attack:

Double-spend

Purpose might also be to discredit a crypto instead of money

Credibility decided on the majority

Off-springs created one’s solution for a hash is not added into their own spin-off

Motive might be to discredit the cryptocurrency

Past Attacks:

Usually happened on small networks

Verge 51% attack, on April 2018

Groups of hackers found two main flaws in the system:

Bug which lowered the hashing difficulty for a hashing algo (Scrypt)

Verge allowed 5 different hashing algorithms, and only the difficulty for Scrypt is lowered

Hacked 3 times over 2 weeks

Cryptocurrency exchanges:

Mt.Gox - bitcoin exchange that was launched in 2010. Handled over 70% of all Bitcoin transactions in 2013

Previous owner retained admin level user account when MtGox was sold in 2011

Attacker logged in to the account

Assigned himself a large number of BTC which he sold on the exchange

Price dropped immediately

Obtained private keys of MtGox clients

Created selling orders on these accounts and bought the BTC he stole

SQL Injection vulnerability was found

MtGox user database began circulating online and included:

Plain text email addresses

Usernames

MD5 Hashed passwords, with some unsalted

Future of Cryptocurrency:

Adoption

Overcoming resistance from:

People

Established finance institutes (eg banks)

Governments (they don’t like that you don’t pay tax by concurrency)

Ease of use

Volatility

Threats

Blockchain its laek

Quantum computers

To the sft that utilises cryptocurrency

Cryptocurrency wallet/exchange/

Strong private keys

Symmetric Ciphers

Two sorts of ciphers, symmetric and asymmetric -> regards the keys

If you know the key

For a symmetric: you can decrypt and encrypt

For an asymmetric: you have separate private and public keys to decrypt and encrypt (RSA)

Earthquakes:

How would I cope, how would my business cope? -> ‘gobag’

Home Study - read up about the “block modes” - only need to learn/understand ECB, CBC, CTR

Authentication:

Identifying for who? Computer/human?

Facebook. Police, baggage screening

Authentication and identification - what is the difference?

What decisions?

Computerised authentication system -> needs to make a decision about whether it is you or not

Factors:

Something that you have

Something that you know - i.e a password. Easy way of doing authentication

How do you know that you share the same secret?

Something that you are - Unfakeable

Two factor authentication:

Something that you have AND something that you know i.e. and password

All of these things seem different, but ultimately they are all just things that you know, and are all secrets

Something that you are can be replicated

Serious problem -> authenticating bombs, missiles etc

Biometrics - not real authentication, collecting another shared secret from a person, and can be bypassed

#week 6 #lectures

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cardiococktail · 4 years

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Health Benefits of Ginger

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11 Proven Health Benefits of Ginger

1. Contains gingerol, which has powerful medicinal properties

Amazing Health Benefits of Ginger

Impressive Health Benefits of Ginger

Surprising Health Benefits of Ginger You Need to Know About

The potential health benefits of ginger:

Incredible Health Benefits of Ginger

Health Benefits Of Ginger That Are Seriously Impressive

Here. Are some amazing ginger benefits you may not know:. 1. Used for upset stomach and improves digestion-system-. Ginger can work wonders for digestive health. The book healing foods says that ginger “protects and heals the gut, hastens the movement of food through the gastrointestinal tract, and reduces wind, bloating and cramps.

1. Contains gingerol, which has powerful medicinal properties

One of the most impressive benefits of ginger is its anti-cancer properties, thanks to the presence of a powerful compound called 6-gingerol.

Test-tube studies show that ginger and its components may be effective in blocking cancer cell growth and development for ovarian, pancreatic and prostate cancer.

Ginger and turmeric are two types of flowering plants that are widely used in natural medicine. Ginger , or zingiber officinale, originated in southeast asia and has long been used as a natural remedy for various health conditions. Its medicinal properties are mostly due to the presence of phenolic compounds, including gingerol, a chemical thought to possess potent anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties (.

Ginger has very powerful natural pain killing properties. Much like capsaicin, gingerol relieves pain by acting on receptors in the nerve endings. Researchers have found that ginger not only has a direct effect on your pain pathways but it also helps relieve inflammation which may be an underlying cause of the pain.

Amazing Health Benefits of Ginger

Runners and gym-fiends, this one’s for you: a small study out of the university of georgia found that daily ginger supplementation also reduced exercise-induced muscle pain. Btw, you don’t have to ingest ginger to reap it’s muscle-soothing benefits. In a previous interview, leah sherman, a naturopathic physician in portland, oregon, told health that ginger’s warming essential oil improves circulation and blood flow, making it an ace at relieving tired muscles.

Apparently ginger is a starring ingredient in many green juices for good reason. While the ancient root has long been touted a sick-day panacea in traditional chinese and ayurvedic medicine, the overall health benefits of ginger are wide-ranging, according to karen ansel, r. D. N.

Impressive Health Benefits of Ginger

Ginger is a root of the plant zingiber officinale.

It is a natural anti-inflammatory and antioxidant. Its health benefits are in large part to compounds in the root like gingerones, gingerols, shogaols, and paradols. While ginger has many health benefits for everyone, here are 6 health benefits of ginger for men.

Cooking ginger for a short period of up to 6 minutes actually enhances its health benefits (as you can read in my article about the health benefits of cooked and dried ginger ). Luckily, ginger has a tasty flavor that doesn’t need to be “masked” in order to reap the rewards the plant has to offer.

Surprising Health Benefits of Ginger

Investigators report that gingerol, flavonoids, and tannins have hypoglycemic properties. More recent research shows the potential health benefits of ginger on glycemic status, beta-cell function, and lipid profile. Consumption of powdered ginger can lower fasting insulin blood glucose levels, and insulin resistance in participants.

With its anti-oxidants, ginger can seriously help to repair any split ends and dry hair problems. Mix some ginger oil with your shampoo and watch how its natural moisturising powers help to fix any dryness. Click here to read our ten health benefits of ginger.

The best of east meets west in ginger, because current medical research agrees that ginger has a myriad of health benefits. Ginger root (in dried or fresh forms) is said to help:. Soothe digestive disturbances. Lower cholesterol. Lower blood pressure and cancer risk. Chinese or japanese practitioners typically use fresh ginger medicinally to relieve dryness and heat, and dried to relieve dampness and chill.

The potential health benefits of ginger:

Did you know that the combination of beetroot juice, ginger and lemon comes with over 7 health benefits?. Just grind some ginger, lemon juice and beetroot juice in a blender. Collect the mixture in a cup and strain the mixture to obtain a clear juice.

Improves absorption. One of the health benefits of ginger is that, improves the absorption and stimulation of essential nutrients in the body. It does this by stimulating gastric and pancreatic enzyme secretion. Read also: what is malabar spinach? : health benefits and nutrition facts. Cold and flu prevention.

Ginger has been shown to help support memory, along with other brain functions. One study examined the benefits of ginger extract on various aspects of brain function in 60 middle-aged, healthy women. These women were randomly assigned to receive either ginger extract or control once daily for 2 months.

More Incredible Health Benefits of Ginger

Ginger, lemon & honey – when these natural ingredients are put together they create a delicious, functional drink that can help you to start feeling better from the inside out.

Heat-treated ginger was thought to have a stronger effect, but both types of ginger were found to be equally helpful. Applying a cream or gel containing ginger directly onto the affected area may also be beneficial. According to the results of one. Ginger has numerous other benefits that can help to improve other aspects of your health as well.

Benefits That Are Seriously Impressive

For thousands of years, lemon and ginger have been important components of traditional medicine, and when used individually, they can have impressive effects on the body. However, when the two ingredients are combined in a beverage, they become even more important for health.

Both, ginger and turmeric have impressive anti-inflammatory benefits as well as other medicinal properties for health. Ginger is definitely a spice I will be regularly adding to my diet.

The post Health Benefits of Ginger appeared first on MyCardioGrade.net.

source https://atlantaloser.com/health-benefits-of-ginger/

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jj-ktae · 7 years

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Fragrance II : Chypre

Title : Fragrances

Genre : Fluff, Angst, Romance

Pairing : Jaebum x Reader

Summary : You are a perfume composer, he is a lyricist, and while you’re left with too many possibilities, he is out of inspiration. Your only bond is an unknown fragrance.

- Teaser - Vetiver - Chypre - Fougère - Leather - Oud - Neroli - Gourmand - Ambergris -

Fragrance II : Chypre

Chypre is the French word for the island of Cyprus and is pronounced “sheepra.” It refers to earthy, woodsy, and mossy base notes with top notes of citrus.

Your second day is as horrible as the first one. Bambam is all over the place, mixing essences and sniffing everything he can. You’re glad though, it makes him go silent whenever he concentrates on something, and you’ve got time for yourself. You have nothing though, excepted worries and a tiny tingle in your nose.

Jaebum’s scent is printed in your brain.

You try creating something similar, but it’s everything and nothing at the same time and no matter the amount or variety of scent you use, you can’t make it.

His scent is mystery.

It’s frustrating for two reasons. The first one is that you don’t like it when you can’t recognise a scent, the second one is that you crave the said scent.

The sound of your head against your office takes Bambam out of his momentum. “What’s happening?” He inquires. He gets up from his own working area to stand next to your powerless soul.

“When is the meeting?” You try because it is potentially the only hope for today. Your new boss came in early to inform you about an upcoming meeting with the marketing team. The project seems big, because Bambam started to work as soon as she flew out of the laboratory.

“3 p.m. I was thinking about a brainstorming. Let’s think about a concept.” He offers because this is going nowhere. You’re about to give up at any minute, and he needs you to be into it.

“What concept? I’m running in circle, Bambam.” You lift your head high enough to slide your hand under it and you let it fall back, eyes closed.

“Sensual? Casual? Suave? Fresh? Bucolic?” He proposes, hesitation filling his usually cheerful tone.

“It’s too...plain. Even if we have nothing, we can’t work the same way everyone does. I want to do something different, and I think this is what the boss wants.”

Bambam nods “You’re brilliant.” He walks to his office and comes back with a notepad.

“So we need to mix a little bit of everything.” Bambam stops for a minute before a whine escapes his thick lips, “I’m lost, help me.”

This only works when a brand has specific goals but here you have nothing. You can’t possibly force an idea into your head for a brand you know nothing of.

Bambam looks pitiful as he put the notepad away. “It’s going to be harder than I thought.”

How many times do you have to repeat that you can’t do it before they start to believe you?

That day, you send Bambam home and stay a little longer. You spend exactly two hours mixing scents before your head start aching.

There is only one way to make you feel better. You feel ashamed, like you’re addicted to something but you have to admit it.

Im Jaebum’s scent is the only thing worth smelling.

When you come back from work, there is no trace of him. His backpack is gone, the bed is as brand as new, and even the towel he probably didn’t use is dry.

There’s still his smell, fresh and printed in your nostrils and it makes you run back outside to find the bridge where you had found him the night before.

He is not there.

You put your keys in your flat’s door with a heavy heart. It’s like you lost something precious and it’s making you angry. What the hell is happening to you?

But you open the door and it hits again, like a whirlpool of long lost feelings and dried memories.

Im Jaebum is in your living-room, and his delectable scent pounds in the deepest zones of your brain. He is sitting on the floor by the small table, left hand dancing over bright white paper and you only see his back, but it’s the best relief you had in years.

He doesn’t turn around when you let your bag fall on the floor, he doesn’t move when you stop next to him.

“God. I thought- I’m so stupid.” You don’t want to share your worries with him, but the thought of him throwing himself off a bridge is still fresh. “Hmm?” Jaebum doesn’t look up, but eventually his hand stops, and he glances up at your pallid features and tensed body “What’s wrong?”

Jaebum is puzzled, like he doesn’t understand why it would be so dramatic for you. “I went around town after I grabbed some stuff from my flat.” It’s crazy but, he feels sorry for you. “I’m sorry for worrying you” he trails off, scanning your face some more.

He swiftly puts it under his leg. “Nothing much. Did you just come back from work?” He tries to change the subject. He isn’t good with facing his own problems.

“I looked for you all over the place.” You admit because it’s a normal thing to do when somebody is in distress. Jaebum is astonished.

“You were about to throw yourself off a bridge!” Your outburst shocks him. He doesn’t understand the impact of his actions over his surroundings. He has always thought he was just a detail in everyone else’s lives.

It has always been this way. He writes in the shadow for people to shine. Him not being here shouldn’t matter to anyone.

“It’s my business. I agreed on coming here because I have nothing left. I’m too proud to admit my mistakes and I’d rather hide here than face reality. It doesn’t mean we have to be here for each other.” It’s obvious, in a way. You know it’s stupid but this scent, it’s making you go wild. You can’t let it pass until you know what it is.

You agree. True. “I’m not here for you, I’m worried about another human being wanting to end his life. If it gives you the illusion that I care, I’m sorry about that.” You get up and you sound mad, something Jaebum notices as soon as you close the door a bit too violently.

No matter how mesmerizing his scent is, he is apparently one big jerk. You’re not hurt by his words, because you know you don’t actually care about him. You’re being selfish, only thinking about your own benefit and what his scent could bring into your life. Im Jaebum himself doesn’t pull you in at all. He is someone you barely know anyways.

He doesn’t move from his spot in the living-room until later that night. He suddenly has too many things to write and too little time on his hands. He decides to stop when his wrist start to hurt and his body hit the mattress of his new room like a bag of sand hits the ground.

He feels secured in the small room. Wood is covering the floor, and it is the same colour as the tiny office by the window. The view is peaceful, with buildings popping up from the floor like mushrooms and lights festooning the city in tiny dots. The bed is large and thick with bedding. The washing powder turns Jaebum into a nostalgic boy when he rolls into the bed, stretching his sore limbs.

He falls asleep right away, exactly 10 seconds after you do. You’re both too exhausted to care about each other, but you both know you’re not uninvolved in your newly found serenity.

And just like you understand the importance of his presence for your brain to function, he notices he needs your place to exist in his creative yet tortured mind.

When you get up the day after, you see him by the kitchen’s table. He is sipping on orange juice that is not yours, and munching on toasts you definitely didn’t buy.

You go to the coffee machine, your head too cloudy to deal with his strong presence.

He speaks first “Want some juice?”. He is trying to make it up to you for his cold behaviour. He just isn’t used to be around you yet.

Also, he is the worst when he composes. He needs absolute concentration.

You sip on the hot liquid and nod his way. He offers a fresh glass of orange juice with an unreadable face.

“Have a nice day.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He tries to be nice, because there’s nothing much to say to someone you met two days ago.

You drink the fresh juice fast and walk away. “Thank you.” It is too hard to be rational right now, because the smell seems even stronger now. You enter the bathroom. His shower gel is opened and you approach your nose.

Not this scent.

After a while, you take off your clothes and decide to forget about this. You still need to work on a perfume, and you know how this is going to end up: You and your assistant against the void.

Which happened, just like you predicted. Bambam is already here when you arrive, his citrus smell filling you from the first floor to your own lab. He is joyful, like he found something awesome.

“Boss! Have a sit, come come!” His thin hand adds a tiny pressure to your back, leading you to your office.

“What’s happening?” You barely have the time to comprehend, because Bambam is already putting a sample in front of your noise.

You stop moving.

“Where did you find this?” You utter. Your brain is wandering into oblivion.

“I was looking through essences this morning, and I thought we could start with a base, just to see what we could make of it. It’s...”

“Natural Oak moss.” You conclude. Everything in this base is satisfying but the most important detail is that you remember this base. You smelled it this morning when your entered the kitchen.

It is one of the element you find whenever you are close to Jaebum.

But something seems different. “You added patchouli.” Oak moss is part of a base of scents called Chypre, which includes many categories. Bambam himself wears a Chypre based perfume, but is more into the citrus part of it, with connotations of bergamot and subtle neroli. Here it’s different, it’s a mixture of wood and plants, and you understand why you thought about vetiver at first. Natural Oak moss isn’t used anymore because of it allergenic potential.

“I only added 5 percent of patchouli, even I don’t smell it anymore, how did you find out?” Bambam is chocked but his eyes are shining like you’re a goddess.

“Patchouli is the final touch, the one that lingers. Smell again, softly.” You tell him and he takes his time filling his nose. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment before opening them again.

“This is patchouli.” You confirm and his mouth is wide opened. He can’t believe he is working with such a talented person.

“So, do you think we could try? It’s unusual to use these two connotations, but I guess it works this way...”

You acquiesced, mind already elsewhere. It feels like the first step to Jaebum’s identity and it’s energizing. You take a sharp breath, and Bambam laughs at you.

“You sound satisfied.” He offers the sample along with a genuine smile and for the first time, you smile back at him, thankful.

“You did great. I wonder why they hired me when you’re doing great on your own.” It’s true. You did nothing, and Bambam already found two base notes by himself.

Bambam rolls his eyes and decides not to answer you. If only he could have a quarter of your talent. He opens his notebook and starts writing

Base notes: Oak Moss, Patchouli.

You put the sample in front of you and stare at it. So that was it. You smile to yourself, in a way, it’s like you can almost smell Jaebum.

You spent the rest of your day looking for another element to add to your base and when nothing comes to your mind you feel frustrated, but it’s the best you can do for now. Bambam is exhausted and snoring in a corner of the lab, his long and thin legs squeezed between two chairs. You shake him to wake his sleepy body and tell him to go home.

Jaebum’s day is the best he had in years. He didn’t go out, too engrossed into his lyrics to care about the light of the sun peeking through the opened blinds. It’s leaking off his pen, like he can’t stop the flood of ideas and he feels like a mad scientist, crazy and ecstatic. He takes a break around dinner time, and when his stomach starts creating its own music.

He takes out noodles from the stuff he bought the day before. Living with you meant sharing a flat, but he wanted to provide his own necessities. Participating into daily life matters is only natural, after all.

His phone rings, and the caller ID makes him sigh. He is too hungry to face what is about to come, and his spent brain is screaming for rest.

He coughs, keeping his voice steady “Yes.” His tone is disillusioned. Jaebum barely gets call nowadays, and excepted from work, he only knows one person who can annoy the hell out of him so much.

“You remember me? I thought depression AND amnesia hit you at once.” He wants to hang up when he hears the throaty voice. It’s heavy with judgement but then again, when is it not?

“And you wonder why I don’t call you, Jinyoung.” Jaebum finishes the sentence in a sigh. Jinyoung, his best-friend, could be worse than a nagging mother.

“You’re too busy being away I guess. Artists are such a handful.” He hears steps and after a while, Jinyoung speaks again. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting in front of your flat.”

“I moved out.” Jaebum doesn’t panic. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hears Jinyoung’s car and supposes he must be about to go back to his own castle.

“It’s been a day. I moved in with a girl.” He blows hair on the steaming bowl of noodles and ignores Jinyoung’s astonished sounds.

“Ok, hang on. You moved in with a girl? As in, a special girl? Or...?” Jaebum snorts and shakes his head, forgetting about the fact that his friend can’t see him.

“I couldn’t write anymore. I rent a room in her flat.” He swallows the food like he has been starving for days.

Jinyoung laughs at the other end of the call. “You’re living with your landlord. God, Jaebum, I know you people need some sort of inspiration to exist, but to the point of living with some old lady for the sake of music...”

“She’s not old.” Jaebum doesn’t want his friend to mock you. He can finally work, he feels alive.

“Anyways. Lunch with me tomorrow, how does that sound? Be sure that I’ll come and check the person who is most probably taking advantage of your frivolity.”

Jaebum only rolls his eyes. “I have to meet with my parents. Don’t tell my father about this or I’ll beat you up.”

“Wow easy. You have always been doing everything you wanted anyways, what would it change it he was to know?”

Because he is going to push me down like dust. Jaebum thought. It has always been the same, and no matter how successful he was at some point, his father was never satisfied.

“I’m hanging up.” He announces and hears his friend object, telling him he will meet with him no matter what.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to see him. It’s just complicated. Jaebum has always been different from his environment. He grew up with Jinyoung, raised by the same nanny. Their respective parents were and still are too busy to deal with education, and while Jinyoung grew up like the sharks his father works with, he took after a quieter side, the one that tells him to do what he wants instead of chasing money.

Jinyoung often tells him he is a fool, that he doesn’t need anything else if he can have a bright future with his father’s company. He often answers that he doesn’t want to work without a purpose, and Jinyoung gets mad, accusing him of being a hypocrite who is able to work freely because of the money he spits on daily.

It’s true, Jaebum doesn’t know struggling. He was born in a rich family with a lot of possibilities. He was able to become a lyricist after a lot of failures, and his parents never gave up on him, providing money, shelter, food, and everything he should be able to get himself if he had a stable work. This is why he is so affected when he can’t write. He doesn’t know how to deal with difficulties, he who lived with all the good things of the world.

He hears the door opening and your sore body appears before him, surprised to see him home. It’s like you were expecting him to run away, again. You don’t speak when you find Jaebum, mouth full of noodles and wearing the same clothes you left him in this morning. The silence is thick, oxygen heavy with uneasiness. Jaebum blinks, slurping on the noodles before wiping his mouth hastily.

“Want some noodles?” It’s hard to catch on the words, but he moves the bowl in front of him, and you understand. You nod.

No matter how strong the smell of seafood is, Jaebum’s scent always wins over everything else. You decide to stay close because you’re slowly deciphering his smell, and you need more time to know where you’re going.

He goes to the cupboard like he has been living here for years and fills another bowl before sitting back. You’re surprise by his sudden gentleness but brush the worries off. You’re supposed to feel weirded by the fact that an unknown man is now living with you, but none of you are freaked out.

Jaebum is too happy to be productive again. You’re too drawn into your memories to stop everything.

You sit in front of him and after a couple of minutes, he speaks. It takes you out of the now soggy food.

“What’s your job?” Jaebum sounds interested, but you know he is only trying to ease the mood.

Jaebum doesn’t sound impressed, you’re not surprised by that. “Sounds complex.” It is. It truly is, and even more when he is entering your every pore. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it.

“It’s not. How about you?” His face lit subtly, and he seems shy all of a sudden. You don’t know this side of him yet, and you wonder where his emo behaviour went.

He coughs, putting the bowl down. “I’m a lyricist. I write lyrics and sometimes I compose, but I mostly write.”

“That, sounds complex.” You muse. Jaebum is a tormented artist, then. It explains why he keeps on dreaming on bridges like he is filming a music video.

“Sometimes it’s complex, sometimes it’s a matter of course. I’ve been having a blackout recently.” It’s a confession, and Jaebum doesn’t know why he is sharing such a deep problem with you, a stranger.

You forget about the food “That’s why you were surrounded by torn papers.”

He chuckles. “Exactly. I’m getting there, though.”

It feels different to deal with such an opened Jaebum. He chats like you’re close, smiles sometimes, he is glowing.

That evening you learn that he uses a pen name to write lyrics. He doesn’t want to tell you, but you know too little about the music industry and he finally spills the beans.

Defsoul.

It sounds like some indie heavy metal band but you don’t tell him. Instead, you decide to go to bed. No matter how comfortable you both seem, you’re not ready to share the part about you being addicted to his scent. He goes back to his spot near the small table, and his hand goes back to a wild dance, covering the blank paper with ink. He is inspired.

He goes to bed right when you get up the day after and wakes up late for his lunch with his parents.

It’s not like he is eager to meet with them.

---

Plants. Plants plants plants. You look through the samples with haste. You know it has something to do with nature. The base note has to be about it.

“What are you doing?” You smell Bambam the minute he opens the door, but you don’t let yourself being interrupted. You know you sound like a stalker, but you smelled Jaebum’s jacket this morning, and you are sure of a thing: there was only one element left to create a frank base.

You don’t know when you switch from creating a perfume to reproduce his scent, but it doesn’t matter.

“All the samples are here, right?” The folder is huge, but it’s not enough for you. Bambam throws his vest on one of the chair and approaches your body, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. I think that quite a lot, actually.” He peeks from behind your shoulder, and sees your hands going through the numerous names, unsatisfied.

“No. No. These are generic scents. You don’t have any rare roots names, you forgot a lot of exotic fruits and most importantly, you don’t have anything uncommon.”

Bambam makes a face. He is not lost, he is adrift. “I’m afraid I don’t understand...”

“Tobacco abs, myrrh, resinoid, Balkans...” You talk but it sounds like a whole new language for your assistant.

You’re suddenly talking about tobacco odours and it freaks him out.

You turn around to face him. He is an apprentice, after all. Maybe you shouldn’t go too far with him. “I have a lot of these at home.” You stop. Home, of course. Why didn’t you think about this sooner?

Bambam is expectant, but you don’t say more. He finally waves a worried hand in front of your face and you snap to meet his blinking eyelids.

“Let’s work from my place. This is what I always did.” Your offer makes him take a step back. He is not used to you being so devoted to this project.

“Are you sure? I don’t think the boss would object.” He doesn’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re a genius to his eyes and the mere idea of him seeing the place where you created such amazing products is electrifying. He can’t wait to know more about your ways.

“Good.” You glance around the room, “I don’t like this atmosphere.” You don’t mind if Bambam sees your place. At some point, you’re pretty much sure you could go with anything as long as you could find the missing pieces of this conundrum.

You’re aware that you’re turning into an obsessional mess, but it feels pleasant to have a goal. This goes beyond everything you experienced, it gives you a fuel you didn’t know you could have.

You take the day to gather some samples and ask Bambam to let the boss know about your change of plans. At the end of the day, Bambam helps you carrying the samples home. You’re a happy mind, torn between apprehension and excitement.

You open the door and Jaebum sees two huge floating boxes enter the flat. He is rubbing a towel against his wet hair but he catches your box before you can let it crash to the ground. Bambam lets his own fall with a soft thud and you’re startled when you hear a dismayed squeal, along with Bambam’s shocked face, his finger pointing at a puzzled Jaebum.

“Defsoul?!”

207 notes · View notes

heartpridetrust · 7 years

Text

Vata Season – Air and Ether

Vata – is composed of air/ether is responsible for all energy and movement in the body. Catabolism. The heat principle of Pitta and the heavy principle of Kapha cannot do anything without the force of Vata.

Vata is considered nuclear energy, vibration, and is associated with sense of hearing, responsible for the breath, governs the hollow organs, abdomen and thorax. Air = electrical energy (the electron moves because of the air element), pulsations of the heart, movement of the muscles, contraction of the heart, breathing, movement through the intestines and is responsible for elimination. The flow of thought and desire are derived from Vata. The air and ether element of Vata gives us freedom, peace, and expansion of consciousness and is responsible for love and compassion, but when out of balance it will create feelings of separation, isolation, emptiness, insecurity, fear, and anxiety.

Vata imbalances will show up as Fear, insomnia, insecurity, anxiety, sciatica, arthritis, loss of memory, emaciation, breathlessness, tremors hyperactivity, restlessness, many forms of digestive disorders especially constipation and abdominal distention.

Vata is intimately related to our vital life force, the play of intelligence, and the communication between the cells

This season use Sesame oil or Vata Massage oil by Banyan for topical application before shower, and do your feet and scalp before bed to decrease anxiety. Plan of life, consistency is vital for keeping Vata in balance. Keep on a scheduleand consider some restorative Yoga and Meditation.

Keep your digestive energy good by making a tea out of a combination of Fennel, cumin and coriander seeds. Add 2 tsp. of these seeds to a cup of water, bring to a boil and let steep while you eat your meal. Sip on this after you are done eating.

Use Ghee as your major source of oil. One to two teas per meal will stimulate digestion. Only eat when hungry.

Ice and iced drinks can decrease digestive secretion and cause undigested food (ama) in the body, this causes a multitude of problems. Drink things at room temperature or hot as teas. And start having soups, Kichadee and stews for meals.

If sleep is a problem consider taking relaxing herbal teas before bed these help to balance the central nervous system thus help improve sleep. Chamomile, Gotu Kola, Jatamansi, Hops, Valerian, Passion Flower are some of the many herbs used to quiet the mind. Nutritional elements that can be beneficial are Magnesium, and warm goat, 2% Cow’s milk or Almond milk with Cardamom before bed to relax the mind. Use Lavender essential oils on your feet. The homeopathic cell salt “Kali Phos” can also be helpful.

Focus on Restorative foods and herbs such as Adaptogens, which include American Ginseng, Astragalus, Suma, Ashwagandha, Shatavari, Punarnava, and Tulsi. Rasayanas which is an Ayurvedic term referring to Adaptogenic herbs, restorative herbs and herbal compounds that are mixed with ghee, honey, date or figs, sucanat sugar or rice syrup.

Don’t forget tongue scraping and oilation– the tongue is the vital organ of speech and it is how we perceive taste. The tongue reveals the totality of what is happening throughout the body. Tongue scraping first thing in the morning and at the end of the day stimulates the 900 different taste buds and the organs of digestion, it also eliminates the bacteria that can accumulate.

Another healthy practice for oral hygiene is to massage the gums with sesame oil. After you do this swish some sesame oil and rub it into the gums, spit out when done and rinse out mouth with a natural mouthwash. This helps to remove toxins from the mouth and is anti inflammatory to the gums.

Nasaya Oil– The nose is the door to the brain and to consciousness. Nasaya (application of oil in nasal passages) helps correct disorders of prana (life force through breath) affecting high cerebral, sensory and motor functions. You can use plain sesame oil or Traditional Nasaya oil (my favorite is the one from the Ayurvedic Institute which we have at the office if you need some), this contains Gota kola, Calamus and Skullcap in a base of olive oil and sesame oil. Lie back and put 4 drops in each nostril once or twice a day, morning and afternoon or early evening is best. This will aid in clearing the dried up mucous that accumulates during the winter and is a great preventative for sinus related problems, ear infections, headaches and eye problems.

Nedi Pot – gentle cleansing of the nasal passages.

Vata Digest by Banyan – This combination relieves excess bowel gas and should be taken with meals.

Avipatikar – This is a traditional Ayurvedic digestive formula specifically for the first phase of digestion. If you feel discomfort within the first hour after eating chances are this formula would be very helpful. One half tsp in warm water after meals.

Triphala – This is one of the most widely used Ayurvedic formulas and one of the safest. It is safe for all body types and is used for detoxification of the entire GI tract, maintaining regularity, supports weight management, improves complexion and strengthens urinary tract.

Castor oil– Castor oil is one of the most healing of oils both topically and used occasionally internally. It has the potential of relieving any inflammatory condition when used as a castor oil pack. Soak a cotton cloth in castor oil and place on the area that needs relief, put a hot towel over the cloth and a heating pad. Do this for 15 to 20 min. do not purchase castor oil from the pharmacy.

Start you day with a hot cup of Cheltic Salt (1/4 tsp.), Local Honey (1 tsp)and Lemon juice (1/2 a lemon). To say the least this combination will help cleanse the gut and stimulate digestion.

Eat your largest meal at lunch time with a warm cup of digestive tea. Digestive tea is an equal combination of Cumin, Coriander and Fennel seeds. Add 1 heaping tsp per cup of water, bring to a boil, steep, strain then drink. Always make this up fresh.

Do not consume heavy foods at night time especially dairy. Digestive fire is low in the evening and ones ability to digest this mucus forming food is decreased.

Break out the Ginger tea to support circulation and digestion.

#ayurveda #vata dosha

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stoping-idiots-since-1994-blog · 8 years

Text

Do You Feel With your Heart or Your Head?

When I was a small child, my family used to joke about the differences between my brother and I. They would say, amongst other things, that my brother had a heart of gold and I had a heart of stone. Of course, everyone who heard this somewhat cruel statement knew exactly what they meant by it. They had deemed my brother possessed saint-like qualities and I was about as approachable as, well, a rock. You probably have noticed that most people consider the heart as the place where virtues and emotions stem from. “Evil” beings are sometimes described as “heartless” because they seem to have no morals. And since I was marinated in religious seasoning for years, I also know that the heart is portrayed as the emotional powerhouse in a certain book called the Bible. Proverbs 4:23 - Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it. The mind, however, is typically seen as the center of logic. We use phrases like “use your head” to tell someone to start thinking objectively. Some people go as far as comparing an intellectual person to a kind person based on the heart and the brain by saying something like, “your Tommy may have a big brain, but my Johnny has a big heart.” All of this should sound familiar. Unless, of course, you are an ancient Egyptian. The Egyptians were quite intelligent scientists for their time. They understood that the heart had a pulse, though they described it as a way to communicate with the rest of the body. Their belief system concerning the heart was that it held the “mind and soul” of a person. They also believed that the heart controlled movement as well, basically removing the need for a brain. They weren’t very sure what that mysterious lumpy organ was doing in the head, but some of them hypothesized that the brain was used to produce snot. When embalming a body in preparation for the afterlife, the Egyptians would remove the brain and leave the heart. Maybe they assumed that there were no tissues in the afterlife. So, who is correct about the nature of the heart? The general public (including the Bible and my family) or the Egyptians? The answer is none of the above.

1: The purpose of the heart

First of all, I would like to make it clear that many (if not all) chordates have what us humans recognize as hearts. The heart is not unique to homo sapiens. It is present in other animals of our phylum because it is a strong organ used to circulate blood, and larger animals need stronger circulatory systems to pump the necessary amount of blood through their systems. We are not special because of our hearts.

In the above diagram you should be able to pick out four chambers. The upper chambers are called the atrium and the lower chambers are called the ventricles, as you can see by the labels. The atrium receive the deoxygenated blood, and the ventricles pump out the oxygenated blood to the rest of the body.

*Note: Be thankful for the separate receiving and sending chambers of our heart. Reptiles receive and send blood from the same chamber in their hearts, allowing the oxygenated blood and deoxygenated blood to mix. This lowers the overall oxygen content in their blood, meaning they have to lay in the sun for a ridiculous amount of time in order to make up for the lost energy. Imagine having to bask in sunlight for eight hours in order to be able to move (actually, it doesn’t sound so bad).

So what is a heartbeat? Basically, it is the result of the heart squeezing to push the oxygenated blood out and relaxing in order to allow deoxygenated blood to rush in. Our heartrate speeds up when our body is alerted by the need to circulate or pump more blood to the rest of our bodies and to ultimately convert more energy in order to accomplish an upcoming task.

*Note: Blood carries many vital materials that our body needs for energy conversion and other processes that we would die without (I have a more in depth article about blood queued for the future).

How does our heart know when to speed up? They have chemoreceptors that “know” when we:

a) are running low on oxygen, b) have an increased amount of carbon dioxide, c) have a decrease in pH in our blood stream.

The above occurrences happen when we start breathing faster.

2: The purpose of the brain

In the present day, we are somewhat more sure of what the brain does than the ancient Egyptians were. However, we still are quite befuddled by how exactly this organ works. Thoughts are still mysterious happenings, and modern day science can only attempt to explain why we have dreams. To save myself the trouble of guessing how exactly the processes of the brain occur, I will only discuss the functions of three areas in the brain shown by the above diagram. Since we are discussing feelings, I’ll focus on the three “feely” areas of the brain: the frontal lobe (13), the temporal lobe (2), and the cingulate gyrus (6). The frontal lobe is dedicated to expressing emotions in a communicable way. It is also responsible for the development of personality. The left hemisphere is theorized to focus on auditory language, while the right hemisphere focuses on unspoken language (like facial expressions and art). This leads to a common assumption that the left side is the more “logical” while the right side is the more “emotional.” Both sides are vital when you consider the fact that they determine your social and emotional behavior along with your decisions and memory. Sustaining an injury to this area could result in a complete personality change, altering who you are and how you decide to do things. *Note: A very interesting function of the frontal lobe is the modification of emotions to fit society. It’s like we are programmed to fool ourselves… The temporal lobe processes sensory input in order to categorize it and remember it for later use. It allows us to develop language, recognize objects, visualize complex images, store long term memories, and pack sounds into convenient packages like words. If this section of your brain is damaged, you could have problems remembering certain images and telling where words begin and end. *Note: You could also suffer from something dreadful called apathy. The cingulate gyrus aids in emotion formation, learning, and memory. It also links behavioral effects to cause based on sensory stimuli and chemicals. *Note: This part of the brain plays a key role in the development of clinical depression and schizophrenia. All three sections receive information from the thalamus, which communicates the sensory signals that they thrive off of. Also, notice how each part seems to have something to do with memory, which leads us to an interesting question. Do memories make us who we are?

3: Emotions and logic

So, what are emotions exactly? Emotion (n.): 1. Strong feeling 2. Any specific feeling, as love, hate, fear, or anger Thanks for nothing, dictionary. Because of you, I had to resort to using my own memory. From what I have gathered in the past, emotions are chemicals, or at least caused by them. Emotions are used to further a biological cause, like hunger is used to make us eat and fear is used to remove us from dangerous situations. Animals with higher developed brains all have “emotions” to some extent. Logic, however, is much trickier to describe. Scientists are pretty sure that logical reasoning occurs in the frontal lobe. They really don’t know much more than that. *Note: Interestingly enough, the frontal lobe is one of the “feely” parts of the brain that I discussed in the section above, despite it being used as the location for logical reasoning. People seem to assume that logic and feelings are kept separate, but this is not always true.

4: Conclusion

Think back to the beginning of this article (or scroll, if your memory is that bad) to where I mentioned the bible verse that states “all things flow from the heart.” It should be evident by now that actually, all things flow from the brain. Our personalities, our memories, our very self comes from that seemingly useless squishy organ suspended in our skulls by brain juice. Even so, people continue to believe that the heart is the moral compass and the place where feelings emerge. The heart does not even contain the proper mechanics to “read” emotions, let alone morals. As valentine’s day swings around the corner, people will begin to say sentimental things like, “my heart is all yours” or “you broke my heart!” *Note: If you hear the latter example said by someone, call medical assistance immediately. Actually, just call a morgue. They’re pretty much done for. However, as I have just shown, the heart has nothing to do with romance, morality, or anything really except squeezing out blood. So why do people still reference the heart when discussing emotions? Potentially, this is done because the chest area tends to experience strange sensations when we start to feel certain emotions. Humans probably assumed these sensations came from the heart itself. Also, our heartrates tend to speed up because of certain emotions (but this is simply because the entire body is prepping itself for a particular purpose). All in all, people have really ran out of excuses now that we have scientific proof that the brain is behind emotions. What I especially want to emphasize is the fact that hearts are not what makes humanity special. We are not the “big-hearted” species that we sometimes claim to be. In fact, if the size of your heart determined how compassionate you are, then blue whales are angels in disguise. They have hearts so large that several full grown humans could sit in one and never have to touch (not sure where this picture is from, but it’s quite eye-opening).

So what sets us apart from the rest of biotic matter? If nothing else, the development of our brains makes us special as animals. Because of our extremely complex and hardly understandable though processes, we have become sentient. That is a major accomplishment for our kind, and it has been the deciding factor in our existence as homo sapiens. Otherwise we would be just another mindless species foraging for food in a lonely corner of the universe, never looking beyond the here and now of the day, never wondering why any of it mattered. Our minds are our advantage, and will remain so as long as the other creatures of this earth remain mentally beneath us (so if someone makes a comment on our hearts being what makes us who we are, I give you my permission to beat them upside the head with science).

5: Vocabulary

Chordate (adj): belonging or pertaining to the phylum Chordata, comprising the true vertebrates and those animals having a notochord, as the lancelets and tunicates. Homo sapiens (n): 1. (italics) the species of bipedal primates to which modern humans belong, characterized by a brain capacity averaging 1400 cc (85 cubic in.) and by dependence upon language and the creation and utilization of complex tools. 2. humankind. Phylum (n, plural): Biology. the primary subdivision of a taxonomic kingdom, grouping together all classes of organisms that have the same body plan. Circulatory system (n): the system of organs and tissues, including the heart, blood, blood vessels, lymph, lymphatic vessels, and lymph glands, involved in circulating blood and lymph through the body. Atrium (n, plural): Anatomy. either of the two upper chambers on each side of the heart that receive blood from the veins and in turn force it into the ventricles. Deoxygenate (v): to remove oxygen from (a substance, as blood or water). Ventricle (n): Anatomy. either of the two lower chambers on each side of the heart that receive blood from the atria and in turn force it into the arteries. Chemoreceptor (n): a receptor stimulated by chemical means. pH: Chemistry. the symbol for the logarithm of the reciprocal of hydrogen ion concentration in gram atoms per liter, used to express the acidity or alkalinity of a solution on a scale of 0 to 14, where less than 7 represents acidity, 7 neutrality, and more than 7 alkalinity. Organ (n): Biology. a grouping of tissues into a distinct structure, as a heart or kidney in animals or a leaf or stamen in plants, that performs a specialized task. Apathy (n): absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement. Chemical (n): a substance produced by or used in a chemical process. Clinical depression (n): Psychiatry. a depression so severe as to be considered abnormal, either because of no obvious environmental causes, or because the reaction to unfortunate life circumstances is more intense or prolonged than would generally be expected. Schizophrenia (n): Psychiatry. Also called dementia praecox. a severe mental disorder characterized by some, but not necessarily all, of the following features: emotional blunting, intellectual deterioration, social isolation, disorganized speech and behavior, delusions, and hallucinations. Thalamus (n): Anatomy. the middle part of the diencephalon through which sensory impulses pass to reach the cerebral cortex. Sentient (adj): 1. having the power of perception by the senses; conscious. 2. characterized by sensation and consciousness.

6: Sources (or further reading)

Dictionaries --> “Webster’s New World Dictionary,” [x]

SCRIPTURE (I don’t recommend it) --> [x]

Egyptians are awesome --> [x]

Learn more about that pumping thing --> [x][x][x]

Brush up on Neuroanatomy --> [x][x][x][x]

#valentine's day #heart #brain #emotions #neuroanatomy #neuroscience #science

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