#palate cleanser from my last post

[arthurwethersfieldfanpage]

he was forced to eat cement as a kid </3

[lewkwoodnco]

Be More - George x Reader

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response.

a/n: am soooo salty i fell sick in the middle of my 12 days of fics '23 for xmas last year :((( so im giving myself a lil treat by doing a short series of valentine's fics! i SO don't know how souffles work if you can't tell so pls don't come for me, and a special special thanks to lisa @neewtmas for the apron idea heheh. all fluff, which is why I got all my angst fics out of the way beforehand if you'd like a lil palate cleanser :) also totally didn't make this a songfic cuz i was struggling to find a title :} btw I headcannon that george randomly zones in and out in everyday life and this has nothing to do with how much I may or may not do this myself ALSO was strongly influenced to post this earlier by the multiverse of George aka @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29@bobbys-not-that-small heh

warnings/tropes: lockwood and george bromance supremacy!!! baking, lots and lots of valentine's day fluff, awkward georgeeeee

word count: 2.8k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lucy handed George a steaming cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. The three of them were having breakfast as usual, and with the last strains of winter fading, Portland Row's kitchen was entirely too bright. He closed his eyes, pretending he didn't see the way Lockwood's hand lingered on Lucy's when taking his mug. They were bad enough on any normal day, but even worse nowadays, with Valentine's Day drawing achingly closer. He felt himself begin to nod off again from the gentle and comforting steam.

He felt a mild rap against his cheek, which he turned to see is from a well-aimed sugar cube launched from across the table by Lucy. He looked up to see her staring hard at him and Lockwood poorly concealing a snigger with his cup of tea.

"George. Have you or have you not got any plans for Valentine's?"

He takes his time wiping his glasses on his shirt sleeve before responding. "Nothing much. Though I've promised Y/N I'd spend the day with her."

He watched Lucy's expression carefully, and she seemed to be watching his. Truth was, with Valentine's drawing closer and closer, George was going into a mild panic. He hadn't exactly arranged it intentionally. They had been having a quiet chat on a morning when George had been too tired from the previous night's case to strictly follow, and suddenly she was waving goodbye, promising to see him next on Valentine's Day.

He had no idea what kind of a Valentine's Day he had agreed to, or how much of a filter he had had, and he had been dropping Lucy desperate cries for help, with decreasing subtlety. Was it a date? Was she expecting a date? Sure, they had went to that play together after Lucy fell mysteriously ill, and maybe they met up for lunch once a week. But she never referred to

His eyes slowly drifted close as Lucy and Lockwood's conversation morphed into gentle white noise, enjoying the warmth of the little sun streaming through their kitchen window. It felt nice to have a little break from his intense week of baking -

Baking! George snapped wide awake, clumsily climbing out of his chair and feverishly counting the stacks of meticulously wrapped, frilly pastry goodie bags lining the kitchen counter. It had become an annual Valentine's Day tradition for George to construct these small goodie bags of baked goods for a sizeable chunk of his extended family. He even roped in Lucy and Lockwood, and as Valentine's Day approached they'd all gather around the kitchen table at night, even if it was after a case, packing the delicaices George had spent the day baking, until one of them started dropping off.

It was tedious work, but they enjoyed it and were well invested in it - Lockwood fiercely so. When a cousin had remarked that perhaps the tradition was becoming a little tired at a family gathering last Christmas, Lockwood had accidentally-but-not-really smacked his head. George relaxed as he neared towards the end of the pile - just one more day of baking, and he'd be ready to send them off.

Lucy and Lockwood were mostly finished with breakfast anyway, so he chased them out of the kitchen and got to work. Once George had his first batch of cookies in the oven, he started planning for the supplementary baked goods. For instance, he was going to make a chocolate souffle for the three of them to share over a midnight supper tomorrow.

So when the kitchen door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air, George spun around scathingly, ready to threaten Lockwood with deflated souffles. But the hiss at the tip of his tongue withered when he saw who it was.

"...Y/N?"

"Hello. Baking, are you?"

George suppressed the urge to shield the vast volumes of confectionary goodie bags littering the kitchen's surfaces.

"...yes." With some difficulty, he slowly resumed his movements, explaining how this was something he did every year. In a way, he was grateful to have something to do with his hands, because the last minute or so reminded him that he had no idea what he normally did with his hands while standing.

"Oh. Need any help?"

It took George another half-minute to process her question. "With what?"

"With the baking, obviously."

"Uh...s'alright, I've got it all handled."

"No, please, I'd love to help."

George paused mid-stir, looking comically perplexed with a smidge of flour on his nose. "What for?" He bit his tongue, hastily back-pedalling since his tone sounded aggressively suspicious. "What I mean is, you wouldn't want to spend your day here, sweating like a pig - not that you sweat, and definitely not like a pig, no - I'm the one sweating like a pig..."

What he wanted to say was, their oven was ancient and so made the kitchen stupid hot every time he baked, but failed miserably. He set down his mixing bowl in defeat. Almost instantly, she stifled a giggle, trying to pass it off as clearing her throat, and George followed her gaze to his apron in horror. What the mixing bowl had previously been hiding was the horrendously cheesy 'kiss the cook' graphic on his apron.

It had been a ridiculous gag gift from Lucy, one that he had never intended to use but was forced to after his last apron caught on fire from one of his experiments with the skull. Bursting into flames would have been more useful now, He stood there, eyes watering from the heat, determined in his refusal to acknowledge both the apron and the smile she was doing a poor job of suppressing.

"Fine. You can start with the cookie batter."

About a minute or two later, it occurred to George that perhaps it would have wise to ask how much experience she had with baking. Not a lot, he soon discovered, when her bowl nearly flew off as soon as she switched on the egg beater. He dropped his mixing bowl instantly, waving away her apologies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't expect it to be so powerful."

He cautiously adjusted her grip on the bowl, gently guiding her fingers to a better hold.

"No, no, it's my fault. Not much of a baker?"

"...no."

"Okay, so what you do is, use one hand to hold the - other hand - hold the bowl, and the other holds the egg beater like - no, not quite."

He took a step closer, placing his hands over hers, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from her body, and the smell of her shampoo.

The last time they had been this close was on their way home from that play. With Lockwood out of town for a client meeting, and Lucy developing a mysterious case of the flu, it was only the two of them crouched under a tiny umbrella as they walked home after the play. George would have been more than happy to walk in the rain, but she was the one holding the umbrella, and was firm in her resolve to not send him back to Lucy with a head cold. With the little space between them, their cheeks brushed against each other occasionally, sending a jolt running through the side of George's face.

"Well...this is me."

George nodded dumbly, staring hard at the chips in her front door's paint, agonisingly aware of her looking at his face. He didn't dare turn to meet her gaze; they were far too close.

"I had fun today, George."

He sighed and briefly zonesout. As short as their chat was, he remembered very little, his focus only returning when she pulled her key out.

"We should do this again sometime," she was saying, as she turned the key in her lock. When he finally looked at her, there were the tinies raindrops on her eyelashes. There was something so pure and unassuming about the sight that it tugged at his heart. It made him want...more. More with her. With a brief smile, she disappeared into her home, leaving him standing alone in the rain. He stood there for a minute, prolonging the moment for some unidentifiable reason. It was a nice door. She had a nice smile.

It was as though she had read his thoughts from his eyes, for a faintly embarrassed air hung in the kitchen after that. For the next better part of an hour, they engaged in this delicate dance as they floated through the kitchen, carefully staying out of each other's way, never in the same area for long. It wasn't until she was sifting the dry ingredients that they next spoke.

"Hang on, that might be too much flou-"

As George touched her elbow, her hand jerked, sending a sizeable chunk of flour into her mixing bowl, along with a cloud of it directly in her face. He was sorry, of course, but as she spluttered and tried to blink through it, he couldn't stop the amused twist to his features. When she caught his eye, she rolled her eyes and sent a fistful of flour into his eyes. Now it was her turn to laugh as George groaned through the smarting.

"You're right, Mr. Cook, it IS hilarious!"

George scoffed, struggling to maintain his sanctimonius, above-petty-acts front as he wiped his glasses clean with as much dignity as he could muster. But on the inside, his defences were crumbling fast.

"You're acting like a child."

She looked mildly apologetic for a moment, and George felt a flash of truimph, before she raised both her flour-coated hands and resolutely streaked them across George's face.

"Egg on your face. Or should I say, flour?"

With that, all pretenses of civility were thrown out the window. The both of them swept up as many ingredients as they could and migrated to opposite ends of the kitchen table, pelting each other with everything that could be pelted. George landed a few well-aimed chocolate chips into her hair. She soaked the front of his apron with half a jug of milk, which was nearly enough to send him into hysterics. So it went on and on and on, until they ran out of supplies in their immediate reach, before resorting to shoving each other's faces into bags and tins of baking soda and powdered sugar. This, it occurred to George as he was rubbing cornstarch into her red, wheezing face, is strangely intimate.

Again, there was this tugging sensation in his chest, the kind that made him want to sit in his armchair for anywhere from half a minute to half an hour. The kind of sensation that could not be held in words. The closest he could get was the wish for a never-ending summer, or perhaps orchards full of cherry trees as sweet as the first pick. But even that fell short.

Just as she raised two fistfuls of sprinkles, the kitchen door swung open. Lockwood wandered in, looking sharp as ever in his too-small suit. The two of them smoothly parted, their faces burning under the flour, and George suddenly became very interested in the pastry dough he was kneading. He felt rather than saw Lockwood looking back and forth between the two of them, wishing that he'd just take whatever he needed from the kitchen and got out. But of course, he knew better than to engage in wishful thinking, especially with Lockwood's mildly gormless smile plain as day. "Hang on. George, you do realise that-"

Whatever it was that Lockwood was wondering if he had realised was cut off by the jam tart George shoved into his mouth, because the answer was probably yes, Lockwood, of course I realised that completely inane observation.

"Out. Out. I won't have you compromising the integrity of my kitchen." With a little difficulty, George wheeled a spluttering Lockwood littering soft pastry flakes all over his clean kitchen floor out into the hallway. He shut the door firmly and turned back apologetically, only just seeing the flour in her hair as she watched on amusedly.

"I sure hope I'm not starting up a ruckus - or was it compromising the integrity? - of your kitchen."

George felt his cheeks warming as he returned to the kitchen table. "No, of course not. You never know where Lockwood's been, is all. You're different."

Had he been standing this close to her the whole day, he wondered, close enough to see the pretty flakes in her eyes, softer than any pastry he could make? How was he supposed to look away? And how did he stand it?

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response, embarrassedly muttering something along the lines of how there was no need for any of that. As she got absorbed into getting the strips of dough just right, George glanced at the kitchen door, to see Lockwood silently making exaggerated kissy faces at him. George picked up his rolling pin and Lockwood fled immediately, without so much as a creak from the floorboards.

Now, they finally returned to their baking with proper focus, now that they were all tired out. She seemed to have picked up some skills pretty quickly, though he still kept an eye out in case she might do something that would, say, set her hand on fire.

An hour or so later, the phone started ringing obnoxiously in the hallway. With some difficulty, George peeled off one of his disposable gloves on his way to it. When he picked up the phone, he almost wished he hadn't, because it was that same cousin from last Christmas' gathering. As his voice wore on and on, George started wishing he had let Lockwood give him another punch or two, just to set him straight.

Suddenly, he picked out a few startling words from his cousin's nasally voice, which made his heart plummet, as the calendar in the hallway came into startling focus. He wandered back to the kitchen door, numbly hearing his cousin's complaints of why no one's goodie bags had reached yet. He blankly stared at her, and she stared back confused, slowing down her cutting of the strips concernedly. After a second or two, he hung up the phone, but was in too much shock to lower it.

"Today's date," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Today's date. It's not the 13th. I thought it was the 13th. Today is the 14th. Valentine's day was today, not tomorrow."

Even as he was saying those words, the calm look on her face told him exactly what he had feared - that she had known all along.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought this was what you wanted to do!"

"Unpaid labour."

"What?"

"You spent your Valentine's Day doing exhausting, difficult, unpaid labour." He clumsily placed the phone down on the kitchen counter, struggling to find the right words as he fought against the embarrassment. "I am so sorr- just a minute, I might have some loose change somewhere here-"

"Don't." George was spiraling with shame, kicking himself for his oversight, and she still had the gall to look that pretty and kind. "I didn't mind any of it one bit, I promise."

"I promised you something fun."

"George, this is the most fun I've ever had baking, and I've been making pineapple upside down cakes since before I could - oh."

She broke off when she finally looked up to see the growing shock on George's face. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek nervously, trying to gauge his reaction.

"So you do know how to bake."

"Only a little?"

He took in the sight of her apologetic smile, the careful dusting of flour on her face and her suspiciously clean clothes. "You could have said."

"Oh, but I was having so much fun." George rolled his eyes. "I spent the day learning how to construct the most adorable pastry goodie bags I have ever seen, and I did it all with my boyfriend. Believe me, it doesn't get more fun than this."

Not for the first time that day, George stared at her in wonder, like he couldn't quite figure out how she was real. Even now, when all she was doing was merely existing, words failed him. He had a feeling he'd spend lifetimes chasing shadows, trying to pin what was gone before it bloomed, and he still wouldn't be able to find the right words. There was no other way to put it, or colour it - he wished they were more.

He hesitantly extended his hand, brushing just a speck of the huge handprint of flour on her face with his thumb. He turned, walking out into the hallway, but then just as immediately wheeled back.

"Your WHAT?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[chthonion]

Surprise (mini) fic: Lost and Found

Hey guys! I wrote this last year as an editing palate cleanser, and this week, for reasons mysterious even to myself, I remembered that maybe I should post it.

You can find Lost and Found here. Summary:

As the War of Wrath draws to an end and Finrod mourns for Beleriand, he dreams of a home he has never known, with a light inside it that will plunge the world into darkness if it dies. He follows his dreams.

This is like four thousand words of distilled yearning. Also the vibes from some of my most intense dreams, which sometimes haunt me for weeks or years. Have fun?

[asmallorb]

Regarding the 2024 Election: Do not despair.

I left Tumblr for Cara a while back but I'm here again to make myself heard on the matter. This is a post I've been wanting to make to my US friends for a while, and certain events have spurred things forward. Do not despair. Always remember the future is unwritten. No matter what your friends or family say, no matter how much media pressures you that things are a certain way, no matter what polls say - your vote is not and never will be pointless. Both here in the UK and France there was a lot of uncertainty around whether the conservative parties would take the vote. But voter turn out proved them wrong. In an example closer to home for you; Oklahoma County came very close to flipping in 2020 as Biden and was only 3,326 votes shy. So yes, even if you are in a state where the rural mentality is dominant, that still shouldn't discourage you from making your own voice heard. Can you imagine if everyone who didn't bother to vote turned up and made the difference? Your vote matters. Period. So please, if you haven't registered to vote in the upcoming elections. Do so. ANYONE who says that your vote doesn't matter in the state that you're in, or discourages you from voting for whatever reason - doesn't want you to vote. If you feel like your vote doesn't matter, vote anyway. If you expect protesters to be around polls ready to intimidate you, go with friends, family or vote over post. In the US record numbers of younger voters have already signed up to vote, go be one of them.

I would also strongly advise adding some palate cleansers to your news feed. Because here's a hard truth that few are willing to accept - there is good in this world. There are good people doing amazing things and making real tangible progress that you are benefitting from right now and don't even know about. People think that negativity = being realistic and that gives them a free pass to not participate in making a better future, when in fact the opposite is true. While I myself am a firm believer of preparing for the worst, it's important to have room in your mind for hoping for the best as well. Because if you just roll over and accept the worst outcome, guess what, it will happen because you let it happen. I highly recommend Fix the News. https://fixthenews.com/ and the blog @reasonsforhope.

One last thing:

Don't let perfect be the enemy of done.

Yes, the democrats are not perfect. And should be called out by the people they're supposed to serve when they fail.

But struggling over if they're the perfect candidate is not going to help in this situation.

Vote, donate, talk to friends and family.

And most of all: do not let yourself regret not participating when you had the chance.

[winterandwords]

📝 Hello and a little WIP update

I've been drifting in and out of here pretty intermittently over the last wee while and life is lifing heavily right now so I'm here but not really.

Please keep tagging me in writing games if you'd like to. I'm keeping a stash of tags to catch up on when I'm able to catch up. In the meantime, I'm checking in and reblogging your posts and it's always lovely to see those.

Onto the WIPs...

I'm about to start structural edits on Spin Cylinder. I have notes. I have plans. It's my priority when I have time and energy for writing (which is pretty minimal at the moment). There's not much more to say about it other than I'm looking forward to tearing it apart and rebuilding it.

Name From Nowhere is resting. I'm giving the discovery draft some time to sit before I come back to it and start shuffling things around, but I don't think it'll need a huge amount of structural work. I'm going to stop using the Project Aria tag for posts relating to it and stick to only the Name From Nowhere tag now that it has a definite title.

Project Darwin had a flurry of activity after I finished the discovery drafts of my other two WIPs, but is most likely going to rest again while I focus on Spin Cylinder. Because it's fully outlined with a ridiculous amount of detail and it's so different in tone from the other books I'm working on, it's easy to dip in and out of so it's become my palate cleanser WIP.

I hope you're all having a great start to 2024! Big love 💜

[mbakuetshurisprincess]

The Secret Princess

AN: Hello my loves. Once again this is just a palate cleanser while I work on BTB3, Completely unrelated, y’all liked A Betting Woman A LOT more than I thought yall would fr thank you. I look at the reblogs and giggle at all the funny shit y’all comment so thank you for making me smile. University is about to revamp for me in the next two weeks so if I go ghost I DEEPLY apologize in advance. Also this is my last fic without a taglist, go check out my last post to join it! This fic is my first semi-supernatural reader, I wouldn’t really say she’s supernatural tho, more spiritually inclined. Just wanted to put that in their idk.  Hope y’all enjoy!

Summary: The wind always did seem to have a way of bringing certain things back to your doorstep. 

Pairing: Shuri x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of spirits kinda, idk spiritual stuff about people visiting you in non physical ways after they’ve passed. 

Word count: 3.447

Suggested listening: Moonlight - Chris Bloom

“Your company is my cup of tea This light in between us is dim just like The moonlight Shit got me feeling nice When you hit me up I feel a drop in my tum like Damn, am I in love? I might be if she comes to spend the night That could be nice”

You plopped yourself into your hammock chair and let out a hearty sigh. Finally a moment of calm after a long day, you gazed out into the French Quarter and people watched for a moment. Although you had only been in the space a year you loved how it allowed you to just observe people going about their daily lives. 

You reached for the blunt you had rolled the night before and brought it to your mouth. Taking one final look out into the Quarter you brought the lighter to the tip of the blunt and held it there just long enough for the paper to catch fire. You removed the lighter once you were satisfied and took your first pull of the blunt, savoring the aroma benefits that the rose and lavender had.

A light gust of wind swept past you and when you looked down at your blunt it had gone out. You shrugged your shoulders and relit the blunt, happy that it sparked again without canoeing. You turned your head to place the lighter down on the stand next to you and the same gust of wind swept past you, extinguishing your blunt once again. This time you were smart enough to notice the slight smell of sandalwood and ginger in the air when the wind passed you, both scents unusual for the New Orleans air to have. You were a clever woman and knew that once was an accident, twice was a coincidence but three times, three times was a sign. Deep down you had a feeling that you knew what, rather who the wind was trying to speak for but you needed one more attempt to know for sure. 

You picked the lighter back up again and lit the blunt for the final time. A second passed and the gust of sandalwood and ginger air was back again put out your blunt. You took the hint and put down the blunt and lighter, clearly, he wanted your full attention right now. 

“No sir, I don’t know what it is you want but I can’t today.” You spoke out to the wind, hoping he was listening. “It’s a full moon tonight. I’ve got plans.” 

You waited for a response or sign but none came, evidently, that wasn’t the answer he wanted. You dropped your shoulders in defeat, even in death you couldn't say no to T’Challa. 

“She’s here already?” You asked him. His response was to rustle the leaves underneath a light post across from your home. You could easily see the spot from your balcony and you knew when she came she would be able to do the same from her spot.

You leaned back into your hammock chair, satisfied that at least this time he was bringing her to you. 

While you were now in a relaxed state Shuri was in exactly the opposite. After a mission had gone wrong, Nakia, Okoye, and her were left in New Orleans with no way of communicating with Wakanda. She had sustained a decent injury in her abdomen that her kimoyo beads were not fully healing and Okoye had at least dislocated her shoulder.  Thankfully this city was slightly familiar to Shuri having been here once before. Running on pure hope, the young royal had led the group into the French Quarter hoping that by some miracle someone had heard her prayer and helped her once again. 

“Shuri we are LOST,” Okoye stated plainly. “We need to develop a plan on how we are going to get back to Wakanda.” 

“I have a plan,” Shuri said quietly as she continued walking ahead. 

“Walking around the French Quarter aimlessly is not a plan!” Okoye urged through tight lips, not wanting to alarm any of the drunken guests that surrounded them. 

“Nakia, are you concerned?” Shuri asked, turning around to face the two women. 

“Slightly,” Nakia answered truthfully. 

Shuri nodded, appreciating the honesty in her answer. “Okoye, only worry slightly then.” Shuri turned back around and resumed her path forward leaving the other women to follow her. Her fake confidence was slowly starting to leave her and she soon became worried that maybe her hope was a foolish thing to rely on. 

Just as those thoughts started to enter her head Shuri felt something, it made her pause in her tracks stopping just under a streetlight. She was being watched. Her travel companions stopped behind her and looked her up and down confused. 

“What is it?” Okoye questioned, concerned at the royal's sudden change in attitude. 

“I am being watched.” Shuri looked all around the ground level of the quarter trying to find the pair of eyes that alerted her. When she couldn’t find them she moved her eyes up higher scanning the buildings and open terraces until she found you. There you were just as she had hoped to stare down at her in all of your ethereal glory, lit by the early moonlight. 

You two exchanged looks for a minute before you tilted your head to the side inviting Shuri to come to you and make your way inside your apartment. It took you a few seconds to make it down the stairs and by the time you did Shuri and her partners were standing at the doorway. 

The Queen was the first to approach you, walking up to the bottom of the steps she bowed in front of you. 

“Princess,”

You narrowed your eyes at her when she stood up. Deciding to repeat her gesture you bowed to her. 

“My Queen,” 

Nakia and Okoye could both feel the fake formality in the gesture, it seemed more like a dig at each other than a showing off of titles. 

“You knew I was coming?” Shuri questioned. 

“He let me know not too long ago that you were here. Almost made me waste half a lighters fluid trying to get the message to me.” You replied with a shake of your head. Shuri nodded and Nakia glanced at Okoye to see if she had any idea what you two were talking about; she did not.  You looked over the women's state and instantly saw Shuri and Okoye’s injuries. He always seemed to bring her back to you when she needed you the most. 

 “Well c’mon in.” You stepped aside and held open your arms gesturing towards the door. “An Udaku on my doorstep, I should have played the lottery.” 

Shuri mouthed a thank you to you and led the two women up the front porch and through the front door. You followed behind them, “Take them into the back room Shuri, I’ll bring y’all some tea.” 

The three women walked all the way to the back of your house to the screened-in back porch, Shuri gestured for them to sit on the couch and after exchanging a weary look the women obliged. Shuri sat in one of the bean bag chairs and relaxed into it; silently thanking Bast that her prayer had been answered. 

Okoye and Nakia looked around the room, Nakia admired the art that you had displayed and the photos of snowy mountainsides. Okoye on the other hand was identifying points of exit and possible weapons within the room. What? Someone needed to be rational here.  

“You never answered our question Shuri, who’s home is this? Who is she?” Okoye wanted answers and the way Shuri was so willing to let her guard down only left her with more questions. 

Shuri sighed, she knew Okoye’s questions were reasonable but she didn’t want to give a straight answer before you got back. “She is a friend of the Udaku family, someone to who we owe a thank you for saving us tonight.” 

Okoye groaned, “That is not an answer Shuri! We walk around an unfamiliar city and happen upon some “Princess” to take us in for the night? Nakia, do you know who she is?” 

Nakia shook her head no in response, truthfully she was still too fixated on the art you had displayed. Something about a few of the landscapes felt familiar to Nakia but she couldn’t place them.  

“Shuri just answer the-” Okoye’s words were stopped by your sudden presence at the door, she hadn’t even heard you walk up. 

You smiled lightly. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, General.” You set the tray of tea down on the coffee table between you all. “Please have a glass, it’s not like home but it’s still strong.” 

Shuri was the only one to grab a cup and pour herself some of the hot tea. Okoye watched on in horror, wondering if this was how Wakanda’s monarch was going to go out. When nothing happened she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, thanking Bast that everything was fine, for now. 

“You didn’t come in here with that technology this time, thank you.” There was something about the way you said technology that caught Nakia’s ear and brought her back to the conversation; once again it felt familiar as if she had heard it said like that before. She studied you as you sat down on a mat on the floor, tucking your legs beneath your long skirt as you sat crisscrossed.

“I am nothing if not respectful of your space.” Shuri took another sip of the tea savoring the strong herbal taste. “Thank you for taking us in tonight, I am not sure what I would have done without you.”  

You smiled at Shuri’s thanks, “That tea should help with the pain some but if you want me to do something about your abdomen,” You turned to face Okoye. “And your arm, I’m gonna need to actually help you.” 

Shuri went to speak, to tell you that you could do whatever you wanted but Okoye’s voice stopped her. “Does no one else see the problem with this?” Okoye turned to Nakia. “We are just supposed to trust some random American whom we know zero information about to ‘help’ us? After everything?” 

You tried to act like Okoye’s questioning of your intentions didn’t hurt but deep down it did. You rose from the mat and grabbed your medical bag, allowing the sound of the wind to ground you. “Shuri, you’ve brought them here. Explain to them who I am.” 

Once again Shuri went to talk but you sitting down next to her and speaking stopped her again. “But, I can tell you by the way she’s holding her stomach that the first stages of infection are starting to set in. So I can sit here and wait for her to tell you who I am and allow it to fester further. Or you can trust her judgment that she brought you here unarmed in the first place and allow me to give her and you the necessary medical aid you need.”

For a moment nothing could be heard in the room but the faint sound of the wind coming in through the window. Nakia broke the silence first, being ever the pacifier in tense situations. 

“Please go ahead.” She nodded towards Shuri, “And you, start speaking.” 

You opened your kit and began creating the mixture of plants you would need to stop Shuri’s infection. Shuri took off her shirt leaving her in just her sports bra and sweatpants. She rubbed her head for a few seconds debating how to phrase her next sentence before just blurting it out. 

“This is Y/N Y/L/N, Princess of Jabari Land, and M’baku’s baby sister.” 

It all clicked in Nakia’s head, the sceneries were from Jabari Land, and the way you said technology was identical to the way M’baku did. “I was not aware M’baku had a sister.” She studied your face as you lifted it from your kit, noticing your similar features. 

You chuckled at her words as you began applying the paste lightly to Shuri’s stomach.“Then he’s done well by honoring our parents' wishes.” 

The Queen winced for a second when you applied slight pressure to ensure that the remedy had saturated her wound, upon hearing it you spoke a “Je suis désolé mon chéri.” just loud enough for her to hear and she smiled sweetly down at you. 

“You said she was a friend of the Udaku family, Shuri, who else knew of her?” Okoye looked you up and down trying to decide if she believed you let alone trusted you.

You could feel Shuri tense up underneath you before she spoke softly. “She was a friend of ‘Challa’s.” 

Nakia’s eyes became more focused on you, curious as to how you could have come into contact with her former lover. “You knew T’Challa?” 

You pulled your eyes from Shuri’s wound and over to Nakia. She could see the soft smile on your face. “I had the pleasure of knowing him when he was here with us and I’ve got the pleasure to still know him now.”

You spent the rest of the night explaining how you had met the former king. How after being shunned from your Jabari family for not following tradition and refusing marriage with a man, you ventured off out of Wakanda and into the United States, listening to the ancestors who spoke to you along the way through the wind. Eventually, you settled here in New Orleans and after living here for a year you felt a certain breeze come through, it called you into the city with its alluring nature and led you all the way to a very injured T’Challa. At first, he didn’t trust that you weren’t there to harm him but after you revealed your true identity to him, trust became quick with you two. 

You nursed him back to health and in exchange, he promised that he would never forget you and left you with a set of kimoyo beads. Although the physical time that you two spent together was minimal T’Challa still made it his mission to call and check in on you every few months and ensure that you were still doing okay. When he stopped calling one day you just assumed he had forgotten about you finally and had moved on with his life. It wasn’t until you were sitting outside one day smoking a blunt and a warm breeze that smelled like him passed you that you knew. No one had to call you to tell you he had passed, the smell of sandalwood and ginger in the wind was enough to tell you that not only had he passed on but he came to visit you like all the rest. A final way through the wind to tell you that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

By the time you had finished telling the story of you and T’Challa’s friendship you had patched Shuri’s wound and set Okoye’s arm. The moon was high in the night sky letting you know that it was later in the night than you intended to keep your guests up. 

“Alright,” You started with a clap of your hands. “We stay up any longer and I’m gonna run out of stories to tell.” 

Shuri went to protest, she loved to listen to you talk and claimed she could do it for hours but you hushed her with a look. “I’ve only got one spare bedroom, blame New Orleans architecture. But it’s got two beds so you two are more than welcome to have that.” 

Nakia mouthed a thank you to you, glad to have somewhere she knew was safe to rest her head for the night. Okoye just nodded at you, you could tell she had earned some amount of trust or at the minimum respect for you after listening to your story. The two women rose from their seats on the couch and made their way over to the open guest bedroom door. 

“Now you,” You turned your attention back to Shuri who was clearly very sleepy. “You can take my bed and I’ll take the couch.” 

“No, we will sleep together. In your bed.” Shuri declared, scrounging up her face and giving you a ‘what even made you think that wasn’t what was happening?’ look. 

“You need all the space to stretch out tonight.” You retorted, giving Shuri a look of your own. One that said ‘you’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m sleeping with you tonight.’ 

The Queen stood from her chair and did an exaggerated yawn holding her hand out to you. “Let's go.” 

That was all it took for Shuri to get you into your bed with her. You followed her up your stairs and crawled under your plush covers aside from her. As you assumed she would, she laid her head on your breast and wrapped her arms around your waist. You had asked her once why she enjoyed sleeping in that position with you so much, to which she replied that it was because she could hear your heartbeat in her dreams if she slept still enough. You wrapped your free arm around her waist and rubbed circles into her skin until she fell asleep. Only when you were sure she was truly asleep and you felt sleep coming to get you too did you finally speak. 

“Thank you for bringing her back to me.” 

Shuri was pulled from her sleep when her hands realized they no longer were holding tight onto your waist. Before she opened her eyes to find you, she heard you. The sound was faint but she could hear you singing a Wakandan lullaby, one her mother had sung to her many times as a child. She opened her eyes and saw you sitting out on the balcony with your back to her. Moonlight backlit your body and the sound of your voice entered the room through a small crack you left in the door. 

Light on her feet, Shuri made her way over to the doorframe so she could hear you better and watch you more intently. You were singing to the moon, the lullaby was a story about familial love. The song no doubt is a painful reminder for both you and Shuri about your former relationships with your respective families. When you finished, Shuri spoke softly to not scare you. 

“How come you’ve never sung like that for me entle?” 

You chuckled softly, you had already seen Shuri’s shadow so she didn’t alarm you when she finally decided to speak. “You should be in bed.” 

“You should sing more often.” 

You turned around and gave Shuri a look that only made her chuckle this time. She stepped out onto the balcony and sat down on the mat next to you. She leaned her head on your shoulder and you allowed it to rest there for a moment, savoring the sweet moment of silence between you and your love. 

“Did he really tell you we were coming?” You noticed how whenever Shuri brought up her brother her voice got quiet as if she worried saying his name too loudly would disturb his memory. 

You took Shuri’s hand in yours and interlaced your fingers. “Mhm, he always seems to bring you to me doesn't he.” 

Shuri let out a small puff of air in agreement with what you said. “Can you tell me what it feels like again?” 

You had answered this question for Shuri many times, trying to explain to her what it felt like when not only T’Challa spoke to you but any ancestor did. Any regular person would have found it annoying to continually answer the same question but you felt no burden obliging Shuri, especially when it was just you two being bathed in moonlight. 

“With T’Challa he comes to me like a breeze, a warm summer breeze. He’s always brief, never staying for too long, just passing by and staying long enough to feel his presence.” You thought for a moment about how you could further describe what T’Challa’s company felt like to you but no more words came to you so you just wrapped your arm around Shuri’s waist and pulled her close to you. You pressed a kiss to Shuri’s cheek and gave her a sweet smile. “Thank you.” She said and you nodded, not needing any thanks at that moment, just happy you could give her some amount of peace of mind. 

As you two sat there intertwined in each other and your own thoughts a breeze passed over you, smelling distinctly of sandalwood and ginger. A small nod from T’Challa signifying you had done well, you looked over at Shuri, and judging by the smile on her face you guessed she had felt it too. 

[kissmethroughthebone]

Topic of the day: when to leave a man.

You ever see something a man in your life does and go "WOW, you're disrespectful to that woman?"

Like for example, there's this older man I'm friends with. Lawyer turned comedian. Great fella otherwise, dirty jokes galore, the works. He tries to keep a good balance of offensive humor yet still being respectful and not demeaning to women, doesn't always hit the mark.

Recently he told me that he and his girlfriend are "basically winding down", a.k.a. slowly separating and weaning off of each other... Why, you ask?

Because her mom died (iirc) and he decided that he didn't need to be emotionally involved in all that, at least from the way he described that.

"Too serious and gloomy." He couldn't emotionally be damned to care. She begged and said no no no they should still be a thing, but he's sold on not doing it.

Played with her feelings, they were "friends" for 10 years and dated for another 5.

He bragged that while she said she loved him, he never said it back, since he "has loved so many people already and that never worked out, so I'm not interested in that again".

And she was alright with him, over the years, going out to other countries to fuck women all over the world (he's 70, for context).

And that......... was a lot to learn at a random Korean spot on a Thursday evening, but, okay. I am someone who doesn't find much taboo, but holy fucking shit.

And paired with how maybe last week, he told me that two years ago, he dated a 20-something (why am I adding the "something? She was most likely 20,) in Thailand who he was planning to marry......

The timelines clicked for me this weekend, when I connected those dots.

That was already bad enough, but the context of "I had an open-ish (or she-tolerated-me-cheating) relationship with a woman and was fully gonna marry someone else and leave her in the dark" is.......... gross.

Reminds me of another woman my mother was friends with; chasing after the same guy for 30 years.

Like he's not a catch sweetie, you're finally being used for sex and money after several decades and still mistreated by a man who has happily done the worst to you.

It's so disheartening.

But here's some stories, as palate cleansers:

Over the pandemic, I went on a date with some guy when I was 19. 300 bucks (platonic) for a steak dinner topped with crab meat and some other nice decadent treats, a nice time was had.

The guy, in his 30s/40s, went on a tangent about how his last ex was a woman he dated for 10 years or so, iirc.

She was getting older in the years, wanted a ring. He said he wasn't sure....

That was all she needed to hear.

They broke up, and in less than a year, she had a husband and a baby. The man was devastated, and all the begging he did was for nothing, just like hers was. And clearly not doing well, since his mid life crisis of "I need to take out a 19 year old on a date and pay her 300 bucks to tolerate my company". And we didn't work out. He resorted to posting pictures of himself almost fully naked in gym locker rooms, with old men with their ass out in the back of the photo, hoping it might inspire women to talk to him.

What a catch, hmm? Ew.

At least I got that laptop money I needed.

Another one:

My last serious ex's brother was a pathetic loser in many ways, but ontop of the addictions, mommy issues, and lack of a job, he did once vent to me about how his last girlfriend, he dated for maybe 7 or 10 years, just about?

She was like "We've been together awhile, since we were teens, and I want marriage. Are you down?" He said no, since he wanted to be sure and wait another 3 years to be sure, since that was a huge commitment and he had no way of knowing they would work out....

Ah, so.... you aren't sure you and the girl you've been with for almost a decade, as a romantic couple, would.... work as a committed romantic couple, so you.... want to exist as a romantic couple even longer.... with a fake commitment, but no security? Almost reaching her 30s with no ring or any chance of actual growth?

Same story, she was heartbroken, but left. (She needed to raise her standards anyway, he was a joke.) Guess what? A year or so later, new man, and to this day has TWO babies. And he, meanwhile, is still 31 and JUST now finally got a job, almost two years after having this conversation with me, and is being made by his mother to do chores. Haaaa.

I remember specifically going "Do you think you ever want therapy for what happened, since your mom's divorces traumatized you so much?", and he just outright refused, saying he doesn't need it, and that love is just doomed and not something realistic, and marriage isn't necessary.

....and yet, these women and the men they left for are happy as can be, poster families for the white picket fence American Dream of love, adoration, and success. Hmm.

Seems like only the losers are the ones who have self-fulfilling prophecies, with both genders...

"All men cheat", "There aren't men that do nice things for you like that any more", and on and on and on. It's tiresome!

"Women hate me and I am never gonna find love", says the sex addicted man who refuses to develop social skills or ever risk rejection. And specifically goes for women he considers "low quality" or "tolerable", instead of having enough self respect or self esteem to grow as a person. Ew.

"All men are sleazeballs" says the girl who keeps fucking the men with sticky fingers and patchy scalps that loiter at gas stations, who I would pepper spray for approaching me, rain or shine.

Like, maybe you're not having luck with women since you have no personality or hobbies and see them as sex objects while fearing love, accountability, conversations, AND your mother (or lack thereof!).

Maybe men are good, but you keep screwing the dudes who will pick up the phone in the middle of sex with you to tell the girl they actually want that they aren't up to much.

Have some accountability, jesus. Even I am aware of my own mistakes made, present and past. At least I try.

Anyway leave a nigga in the dust.

They will brag about stringing you along and mock you if you do, and only miss you when you're gone, because they have weird mental issues that prevent them from learning empathy and common sense like we all learned at age ten.

And leave a dude in the dust. What one won't, another will. And ask yourself, "Would my future husband act like this?" I've checked myself multiple times on this, when I've made mistakes.

"Would a future husband be spending all his money on Patreons for Marvel vs Zombies board games and not actually putting in the required effort to keep me interested in him? A future husband would not touch or treat me like this."

Don't have a sealed image in your mind as that one person being a potential husband for you.

They are an avenue you can take, yes, but not your sole path.

(That's a bar, ooooh, yeah.... I hope yall quote me if yall say that anywhere else! Haha!)

Plus, sometimes doors close for a reason. If these women stayed with these pathetic men, then they would've had their patheticness manifest in different ways.

Like you ever leave an ex and see them get ridiculously down bad after losing you?

And think "Ew, what a mistake it was to date that person?", and feel better about leaving them?

Exactly. Better to have a "fuck, why did I date them?", and not a "Fuck, why can't I leave them?" Since there's a rich nigga on Bumble right now waiting for you to text them, ready to take you out in your best beautiful "saving for a nice night out" garments and high end special occasion jewelry to a steak and prix fixe dinner that NIGHT.

Stop waiting for a text back at your apartment with the lights off, scrolling Instagram and refreshing their story endlessly, there's self care to do and people to see! Can be covering up those tear stained eyes with aloe gel and getting dolled up for Fine Rich Nigga Number #3 on your roster!

Think big! Love you, be safe, take care.

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 2: Barefoot in the Wildest Winter, Catching my Death

Heeeeeey. Welcome back, I call this a mini chapter. It's still almost 3400 words. Thats insane of me. This chapter is

Clove centric/ Clato

20 months after the war/ 7 after the epilogue of ARWBFB

Ironic because the starbucks I wrote this in was so cold my fingers were fucking numb, which you will understand the irony of once you read it.

This is not..intense. It's just a palate cleanser after the Glimmer Prequel I posted this week. I think everyone needed it. I honestly wrote it because we got 10 inches of snow last week and currently are getting multiple more inches as we speak.

Anyway!

Chapter title from Evermore (Taylor Swift)

Masterpost

AO3

Theres also a good bit of cashmere/enobaria mentioned in honor of @bodyelectric77 giving me brain amoebas. I'm just going to tag @kentwells because this whole sequel is your fault. Anyway! Love y'all! love the besties! love everyone! ( I just..love love),

By virtue of the location, the widespread villages littering the biggest mountain range in Panem like sprinkles atop a cupcake, District Two gets substantial snowfall. The kind of snow that allows an extra industry for capitol elites to come and pretend to live like a district citizen in a heated, maintained cabin on the mountainsides, where people can party and celebrate the simplicity of a winter snow in the way that only someone who doesn’t have to worry about keeping heat on can do.

 If you were a child in the district without the commitment (Privilege? Curse?) of training, you could celebrate heavy snowfall with snowball fights followed by hot chocolate with your friends in one of your living rooms. If you were a trainee, a possible tribute, snow meant drills in the cold, running despite snow reaching your knees, agility trials on ice. If you were a trainee with just enough of a rebellious streak, snowfall meant you snuck out with the other kids in your class and rode makeshift sleds down the hills otherwise used for terrain testing. And if you were a trainee that got caught, snow meant laying on your back in a bank of it, in shorts and t-shirts, until your skin burned and your body ached. If you were the right kind of District Two training kid- the punishment was worth the glimmer of childhood you got to experience. 

The snow was not even the worst part– District Two was extremely cold. Not the type of cold where the cute jackets and scarves produced in District Eight would be sufficient, but the type of bone chilling cold that it was a miracle the majority of the population did not freeze to death by the end of a particularly bad winter. The academy just factored the weather into training– figuring out ways to layer, to stay warm, how to get rest in these types of conditions, and how to keep at peak performance despite below freezing temperatures. The embarrassment of a tribute losing because they lost grip on a weapon (“because of the weather” is an unacceptable excuse), is deeply ingrained in any child who has gone through training in District Two. They considered it to be a privilege to train in such harsh conditions, a leg up on competitors of how to deal with what could be thrown on them in the arena. Weather was not an excuse for failure.

Clove, of course, knows these things. Years later she can handle Brutus’s remarks about her clumsy frozen fingers almost ending her life, but at the time it was an insecurity that was fortunately never addressed due to the scandal of her long-term hidden relationship and accompanying secrets coming to the surface. 

Despite her games being a literal arctic blizzard, the snow and the cold had not bothered Clove in the immediate after her games. Sure, there were times where if she closed her eyes long enough on her porch that it felt like she was back in the arena for the briefest of seconds. However the heat of adrenaline that rushed to her chest brought her right back, and when her eyes would fly open and land on her Victor’s Village yard she’d be snapped back into her new reality. A reality of survival and victory.

She was even somewhat fond of the snow, with the recollections of childhood, of times her and Cato had snuck out back in the dead of night to “practice” in the wintry conditions. 

“If it weren’t for your hair you’d blend right in.” Cato teased, but his hands slipping under her arms and knees revealed that he meant business. He tossed her, as hard as he possibly could, into an adjacent snow bank, where her tiny teenage body did indeed slip under the entirety of the pile. The fifteen year old girl would have in fact blended in if not for the deep espresso color of her hair. And the constellation of freckles all over her skin. And the deep evergreen color of her eyes. None of which, Cato knew, were normal details to notice about one’s training partner. 

The brief distraction would always be enough for Clove to grab him around the ankle, pull his feet out from under him, and bring him tumbling down right into the snow beside her. 

They’d always sneak back in with icicles in their hair, water dripping off their clothes as the snow melted away, and a redness that danced across both of their noses and cheeks. Sometimes the only thing that could properly warm them up after was sharing the same dorm room bed, with snide remarks from Clove about how he may as well be a human heater. While those remarks may be snide, they were never a complaint that is. 

It wasn’t snow after her games that bothered her, and truthfully, last winter hadn’t even been too terrible. Maybe somewhere, some cosmic control of the universe decided the people of District Two (realistically, the people of all of Panem) had suffered enough the previous year during the war. A couple of inches here or there, temperatures that dropped but never quite hit that bone chilling type of cold they were so familiar with. It was cold but not cruelly so, and that was nothing short of a miracle considering how many District Two citizens were displaced and without housing as a result of the rebels’ bombing. Those signature temperature dip and the blizzards would have been catastrophic to a district that was already facing such immense population loss. 

Now, over a year and a half since the conclusion of the war, brutal weather was back to strike their home with a bite. 

Multiple feet of snow combined with temperatures plummeting to near zero, both confirmed what Clove knew was coming: Winter in District Two was back with a vengeance. 

While Cato had been thrilled to have a classic District Two winter; to take his little sister sled riding, to introduce her to hot chocolate and the power of a hot bowl of soup at the end of a day in the cold (courtesy, of course, of Clove), Clove had truthfully been dreading the impending storm. 

The cold, quite frankly, hurt. 

It did not hurt from the biting sting of cold wind against flesh or because of tingling fingers and ears from too long outside; no, it hurt deep in her body, in every single movement of her joints. It hurt like her skeleton was crackling, like the marrow inside her bones itself was forming ice crystals that shattered with her movement. It wasn’t just the flexion of her fingers and shoulders that hurt at this point. It hurts to exist. It felt like her ribs were cracking with the expansion of her lungs. With every step, a dull pain inside of her hip sockets begged her to stop moving and just rest. She hadn’t been prepared for every joint that had been dislocated and every healed fracture to remind her that she was never truly going to be able to heal from what Snow had done to her. 

Clove, for the first time, understood what they meant when they called it bone cold. And holy shit did it hurt. 

She tried the rational and logical ways to warm up. She tried a shower with water so hot it should have blistered her skin off, but only slightly brought her down from the feeling of ice in her veins. She layered on two, three of Cato’s already oversized sweatshirts, swimming in layers of clothes that made her look like a child playing dress up without any warmth radiating deeper than her skin. She had laid in bed, weighed down by a comforter plus another ten pounds of throw blankets, that didn't even touch the ache inside her. 

All this is to say that Clove tried a lot before her desperation for any comfort resulted in her current position. On the floor…in front of the fireplace… both on top of and underneath the same ten plus pounds of blankets she had dragged downstairs with her. Even this, the combination of blankets, heat, and Cato’s clothes were only enough to slightly tamper down the ache. 

Still, it was apparently just enough for her to fall asleep that way, because the next thing Clove knows, she’s being gently shaken awake with a foot on her shoulder hearing the panicked whispers of “Babe….babe…Clove..babe…Clove..are you alive?” That can only possibly come from Cato, who is insistently shaking her awake. “Clove?”

“Hmmm?” Clove murmurs, peaking one eye open to glance up at the man oh so kindly waking her. He stands over her, flecks of snow melting on the tips of his hair, cold water running off the black waterproof fabric of his coat and onto her face all the way down where she lays under him. “Move back, you’re making me colder.”

“Are you okay?” He nudges her again, but kneels down to closer to the same height as her. He reaches out with an ungloved hand, and the second his icy fingers touch her face Clove recoils into her blanket shell. From this height Clove can see the redness along his cheeks and over his nose that makes him look closer to twelve than twenty three. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I’m cold Cato, and it really fucking hurts.” She whines, tucking her hands into the blankets with her. “I can’t get warm.”

“Right..okay…did you try the bed–”

“Do you think I laid on our living room floor without trying the bed first?”

“Okay, what about those really hot baths you like, I can take you-”

“Cato. I tried it. This is all that helps.” Clove whimpers, rolling from her back onto her side, facing the blaze in the fireplace. 

“I’ll be back just… Give me like..fifteen minutes.” Cato stands, and is already taking long strides upstairs before Clove even gets a moment to ask where he’s going. 

She lays there for what feels like years in the glow of the fireplace, in the warmth it irradiates and the minimal relief it provides. She feels the presence of him behind her, the light tugging of her blankets, before she sees him. 

“Don’t unwrap me, Cato, I’m warm-”  Clove protests, but when she feels large, warm hands sliding under her layers and practically wrapping around her torso she melts. “You’re warm, oh my god.” 

She doesn’t see him smirk, but knows him well enough to know he is, before he twists her to face him with the easiest twist of his wrists. He flashes her a grin, before pulling her flush against his bare, warm chest. Clove notices, absently, the way his wet hair falls just over his forehead how it did only in the immediate time after he showered until it dried.

“I’d prefer hot but I'll take it.” Cato taunts lightly as Clove buries her cheek against his chest, right over where his heart. “Comfy?” He teases, and a furrowed brow and a single narrowed green eye looks up at him in protest.

“Very.” Clove sighs, curling into him as his hands travel along the skin of her back and bringing heat with them. “You’re like a personal heater.”

“You could have called me, Clove…” Cato reminds her, tucking one leg over both of hers, using as much surface area contact as he could to bring her relief. “I would have come home.”

“You were with your sister, I wasn’t going to interrupt.” She doesn’t mention the embarrassment, the humiliation even, that she felt at the newest physical reminder of her time in the Capitol. A girl who used to love the snow, who loved the cold, now in pain greater than she’d ever admit to her husband. There were some things she didn’t even want him to know– her reduced pain tolerance, being one of them.“How did she like it?”

“She loved it!” Cato lights up, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes as he recounts his afternoon playing with his little sister. “Mom about killed me when she found out I was letting her go down the hill alone, but she had fun. No bones were broken.” 

“Mmm, remember that time we found a trash can lid, and I sat on your lap as we went down that big hill behind the training center in the middle of the night?” Clove muses, freeing her hands from her blankety protection and tucking them against his abs. She holds back a giggle at the way he flinches away from her cold touch, his muscle flexing under her fingertips. 

“You mean when we slammed into the brick wall and thought you broke your nose? And the giant bruise on my forehead that looked like you decked me with the handle of your knife?” Cato muses, wrapping Clove even tighter in his grasp, smiling to himself when he realizes that all the layers she used to try to insulate herself are his.  “Of course I remember.”

“Your entire body weight landed on me and crushed me into the wall, yeah, I thought I was broken.”  She wants to lift her head to scowl at him, but she is simply too warm, too comfortable, too safe right now to care. “You were giant, then, too.”

“We’re just lucky it was Brutus that punished us, not Enobaria.” There is a fond smile on his face as he thinks back to what cannot even be considered a simpler time –surely, laying on the living room floor with his wife, no games in sight, was far simpler than being fourteen and grasping for a glimpse of childhood– but certainly a nostalgic memory. 

“Lucky? He made us run four miles barefoot, Cato. I would have taken whatever Enobaria was going to throw at us.” Clove tucked her icy feet against his for emphasis, and Cato actually flinched out of the way that time. “See? You still don’t like cold feet.”

“Speaking of Enobaria…doesn’t she have that hot tub, why didn’t you go over? She’s in One isn’t she? You would have had it to yourself…” One would have thought, twenty months into sharing custody of Enobaria with Cashmere and District One, they’d have gotten used to her schedule, used to her not always being readily available at their beck and call.  

So many things had kept Enobaria in District Two, of course, in the past thirty some years of her life. Be it the limitations of interdistrict travel, the secret nature of her relationship with Cashmere (who had her own limitations, of course, considering the extent of the Capitol’s influence and abuse on her for over a decade), her commitments to her district and training, or maybe even Clove. Many reasons had existed to keep the Victor woman home, and now in the dawn of a new country, Enobaria had taken her well deserved freedoms. 

Of course, that did not mean that they could keep track of her. 

Some may go as far to say that Clove, Cato, and even Brutus, missed her sometimes. 

Not that a single one of them would ever utter those words to her.

“I thought about it.” Clove sighs, turning her face to press the other cheek against his skin, equally warming her face. “But they’re actually here, I guess they’re here for a while…until Glimmer has the baby. Cash wants to stay in One for a few extra months straight after, I guess, so they’re making up time here for now. And I did not want to interrupt something over there again, especially not in the hot tub…” She shutters, not from the cold this time but from a distasteful memory that she clearly has brought to the surface. “Besides…I didn’t really want to go outside.”

“It’s kind of funny that Enobaria and Cashmere act like kids with divorced parents…back and forth back and forth to split their time evenly. Why don’t they just stay here?” Cato raises an eyebrow, a coy smile on his face. “District Two is obviously the better option.”

“Cashmere can’t leave her brother and sister, you know that. And she’s definitely not leaving now that Glimmer’s gonna have a whole kid soon.” Not just a kid, a little girl, a fact that Clove had to hear from Glimmer multiple times a day. “It would arguably make more sense for her to move to One if we’re suggesting permanent moving..and you know she isn’t going to leave here.”

“Enobaria would never survive with a neighbor named Rhinestone.” 

Clove’s laugh is muffled against his chest, but he’s right. Splitting their time, like kids traveling between homes on holidays, was going to be their best bet. It didn’t make it any less funny, to imagine the mentor they all know and love spending half her time there.

Her laugh fades as her smile falls, and Clove can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I have to lay on the floor like this, I know it isn’t comfortable.”

“Clove..”

“I’m serious. This is just another new weakness, I guess. Just another thing Snow took from me.”

Cato’s hand slips off the skin of her back and Clove bites back a groan at the loss of warmth, before his hand holds the exposed side of her face. He doesn’t force her to look at him, simply strumming his thumb along her cheekbone. “Clove? I will bring the mattress down here, and we can sleep in front of this fireplace for the rest of Winter, hell, for the rest of our lives if it makes you feel even the slightest bit better. You aren’t weak, babe. I don’t even know if I could have survived what you did. You were tortured. And if this is how winter is going to go, this is how we’re going to survive it. Together.”

The composure she had tried so hard to maintain crumbles like the facade it is, and the gasping breath she takes startles Cato to the point that he has to look down at her.

“It hurts to breathe, Cato. My lungs hurt and my ribs hurt and it hurts to move and it hurts to bend my fingers. It’s like I'm frozen inside and it hurts.” Clove gasps out, burying her face firmly in the center of his chest. “I didn’t think i’d be in this much pain because of some fucking weather.”

Hurt. Pain. Neither words that Clove would ever admit to, not to anyone else in the world. To anyone but Cato, they made her a target, they made her vulnerable, and they made her weak. 

“I know, Clove. I know.” He admits, bringing his hand back down to her side, warming her up from the inside of her shirts. “I wish I could take it for you.”

I wish I could take it for you. 

What a gesture that is, in District Two, where pain makes you weak and vulnerable. To be willing to carry that burden, to take on that proverbial target. Only among District Two, would the admission of pain and the subsequent willingness to take it be such a marker of love. 

“I just feel like someone could take me out so easily and i’m so useless right now and-” 

“Noone’s coming after us. Noone’s going to take us out. And if they were, I think I’ve got it covered. I’m a Victor, too, you know.” Cato promises, bringing his lips down to kiss the top of her head, where she is nearly trying to burrow into his skin for the warmth he so readily provides. “I’ve got us, Clove. Pretend it’s my turn to keep watch in the games, okay? Sleep…relax..I’ve got us.”

“Am I gonna get a turn?” Clove nearly teases, and he can feel her lips quirking into a smile against his skin. 

He snorts, and somehow manages to pull her closer. “Once a snowman isn’t your biggest opponent, sure.” 

The pinch he feels on his side is enough for him to know that she was going to be just fine. 

[hughbot]

I was tagged by @womaninterrupted for my lockscreen, last movie watched, last song enjoyed and my most recent selfie.

1.) my Lock Screen is the boring standard issue Apple wallpaper. I change it about twice a month. The standard issue Apple wallpapers serve as a sort of visual palate cleanser for me.

2.) I saw Princess Mononoke in the theater Sunday. I too, want “to see with eyes unclouded by hate”.

3.) I was listening to Sam Cooke yesterday on the way home from the pool. Still trying to screw up the nerve to try a back flip off the diving board.

4.) the selfie was taken this morning for the expressed purpose of this post. I have bed head, which I have been prone to my entire life.

I am tagging no one because I get too overwhelmed by the choices of folks to tag.

[chronicallyonlinewriter]

Top 5 fave fanfics of ANY fandom 🩷

Also hi 🩷

Girl, I might as well just link to your profile lmao. Um, okay - I am a person whose interests change a lot, and so this list even changes a lot, but currently here are five of my faves (in no particular order): circle of fifths by @march-flowerr - a story about Ellie struggling in Jackson, while her family helps her pick up the pieces. One of the first TLoU fics that I really got deeply into, which is also one of the best-written fics for the fandom, I think, on Ao3. My admiration for this fic is also part of why I ended up forging such a wonderful friendship with the author - and I am so thankful for that, even if her dog is a giant bully. The Stars Incline Us by @wordspinning - Ellie is still trying to save the world, and her family is there the whole way. This comes with the caveat that I still haven't caught up to it because I am the worst, but everything I have read from it thus far has blown my mind - it truly goes to places I was not expecting, and I can just tell that it's going to continue to take amazing twists and turns. please don't go by @toointojoelmiller - A post episode 8 fic for the ages. I also have not finished this one yet, but I also just started reading it recently, and once I get started I just devour as much of it as I can. Considering there are changes to the story in it (and not in Ellie's favor), it's still all handled so beautifully and delicately, and the relationship of trust that builds between Ellie and Joel is so wonderful. BUS FIC I mean, on the road again (there I go) by @lauronk - I only recently read this one, but I loved it. I actually don't really go for AUs, but I always make exceptions for the ones that my friends write, and I'm so glad I read this one. Joel meets Ellie on a Greyhound trip across the country, angst and found family shenanigans ensue. the snowy day by @becomethesun was actually written for me as my Secret Santa gift last Christmas, and I stan. Joel and JJ have a cute winter day together, and it is such a palate cleanser for the soul after reading so much fandom angst. Also, hi. ❤️

[gothimp]

Book Recommendation Tag Game 📚

The last book I read:

The Greatest Hits of Harlan Ellison (edition with the foreward by Neil Gaiman and Cassandra Khaw). With the random online resurgence of I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream (and some of the worst takes I’ve ever had the misfortune of seeing) I had to re-read some Ellison to assure myself we’d read the same material… but yeah. Highly recommend. 👍👍

A book I recommend

Pretty much everything in this post, but specifically this year I’ve gotten like four of my friends to read The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. It’s an easy read sci fi with so much heart, easily one of my new favorites.

A book I couldn’t put down

Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid. I read it last year in one sitting and still think about it like once a week. The love interest really resonated with me and this book genuinely made me feel sick to my stomach from how well some of the content was portrayed.

A book I’ve read twice (or more)

I am not typically a re-reader but I have an extensive collection of John Keats and Percy Shelley, a lot of their works I have read and re-read and own several versions of.

A book on my TBR

Lud-in-the-Mist by Hope Mirrlees! I actually added this to my TBR because of a video Tim Downie made a while back and I just haven’t gotten to it yet because I’ve limited my new books until we make our cross-country move.

A book/series I’ve put down

Too many to count, I’m a notorious DNF-er. Finishing a book/series I’m fairly sure I’ll dislike usually just feels like a waste of time to me when there’s so many books I want to read. Here’s just a short list of recent ones, no offense if this is anyone’s favorite: The Dresden Files (hate Jim Butcher’s self insert and don’t like the mash of lazy lore he uses), Everything SJM (read her when I was in HS but she continually ruins the only characters I like and the author is just in general not a good person), Iron Flame (I hated fourth wing, rated it 2 stars, don’t know why I even tried other than it just being absolutely everywhere)

A book on my wishlist

The Djinn Waits A Hundred Years by Shubnum Khan and Certain Dark Things by Silvia Moreno-Garcia have both been on my list for a while and as soon as we move they’ll be some of the first I grab physical copies of

A favorite book from childhood

HOLES BY LOUIS SACHAR 📢📢📢 my childhood copy was so well loved that it was missing its front and back cover I love this book so much. Also a shoutout to two of my other childhood favorites: Howl’s Moving Castle and Maximum Ride.

A book you would give to a friend

Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb. I love the liveship trilogy so much that I always keep two copies of Ship of Magic. One is my personal copy of the first edition cover that matches the rest of my trilogy, the other has the newer cover and I lend that one out to friends.

A book of poetry or lyrics you own

I have several collections of John Keats and Percy Shelley. A personal favorite is my copy that has my annotated “A Defence of Poetry”

A non-fiction book you own

My Philosophy of Religion anthology that has my Kierkegaard annotations

What are you currently reading

One for my Enemy by Olivie Blake, I needed a palate cleanser after Ellison

What do you plan to read next

Bridgerton has me in the mood for romance and I have A Fragile Enchantment by Allison Saft and Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater unpacked from my physical TBR right now for summer reads. If my romance mood ends before then I’ll finally start Chlorine by Jade Song

tagged by @rosenfey thank you for giving me an excuse to ramble about books! 🩵📚✨

tag list (add/remove post in pinned): @nokstella @rindemption @katsigian @lestatlioncunt @mapeslyrup

@feykiller @werewolfspatula @archonfurina @haarleps @razz-berry

@elvves @estevnys @dragonologist-phd @superhaught

@avallachs @leopardmuffinxo @devilbrakers @pitchmoss @dekarios

[nightimedreamersworld]

Wipsday! Thank you for tagging me, friends @valeffelees @artsyunderstudy @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse ❤️ I'm posting this from the bus as I'm arriving from a 6-hour trip, so I still haven't had the chance to look through your wips, but I'm sure they're lovely!

So, because I just spent six hours on a tiny bus seat looking out the window, listening to music and imagining myself in an indie music video, it got me rather inspired to write... smut lol

I'm actually NOT at that part yet, but it's promising. I've had this idea for quite a while, plus a few phrases jotted down, and now I've finally started writing it properly. It's a fun Watford era post-truce fic with lots of sex, which should work as a palate cleanser to my main wip.

A couple snippets:

Doctor Wellbelove has just pulled an inflatable dick out of his bag, and I already know this will be the worst day of my life.

And another:

Then, he opens his bag and pulls out a packet of condoms.  "Now, do we have any volunteers?"  "You should go, Snow," Baz whispers, leaning over his desk and towards me. I refuse to turn to him, but I just know the look of malicious smugness that's plastered to his face. “Since you've got experience. Show us how it's done."  I roll my eyes. Months ago, there'd be smoke wafting off me and I'd be white-knuckling the desk by now. Now, though, I know he's just trying to get a rise out of me. It's been mostly half-hearted insults and childish probing lately, so I just try to ignore him.  Sometimes, it even feels good, to have Baz pushing at my buttons. Miles better than when he used to tear me down or try to kill me. (Though he still denies that.) It's as if, ever since we made a truce last year, we're almost friends.

Tagging: @cutestkilla @palimpsessed @captain-aralias @stitchyqueer @confused-bi-queer @larkral @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @whogaveyoupermission @facewithoutheart @aristocratic-otter and anyone who'd like to share!

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Have you stopped writing your metal head konig? Also obsessed with the playlist you made and loved merrily we fall out of line, it was so cute 🥹

Hope the universe is being kind to you 🖤

hey! thank you so much, glad to hear from you and glad that you enjoy the playlist <3

i haven't stopped writing for mh!k, no! i gotta say though that i'm in bit of a writing slump, i'm still working on getting my degree and there's a bit going on in my life, so i don't have that much energy right now to write a lot, so it's taking a lot longer to finish new chapters. i hope you understand <3 (i will try and post smth until next week)

small fics and drabbles like merrily we fall out of line work as a bit of palate cleanser. i also made a list with all the different ideas i had in the last few weeks, but i'm hesitant to share them because i cannot promise that i will ever find the time and energy to write them out xD

to end on a positive note: thanks for always returning to read my stuff, i see returning peeps in the likes, even if you never commented or anything, and those readers keep me going <3 i appreciate you

[oswlld]

oswlld's monthly wrap up: january

note: i am trying something a bit different this year, so bear with me as i figure out how i want to format this. i wanted to spend more time sharing what i consume, beyond what i rb, and put my thoughts in one place. these posts are okay to rb

--

The Fifth Season, N.K. Jemisin [started 11/03, finished 01/23] This was originally a dnf from 2023 that i decided to pick up again. My entry point into her work was The City We Became and fell in love with her voice. With Fifth Season, however, I felt like I loved parts of the story but didn’t fall in love with the sum of the whole. I will go more into why in the tags because it will touch on spoilers (mildly!) I still gave it 4⭐️ in storygraph. — The Moth Presents: All These Wonders, Catherine Burns [started 01/05, finished 01/31] I bought this collection from Half Price so long ago, I’ve forgotten what drew me in. Probably because of the Neil Gaiman foreword. I had not heard of The Moth so I went into this blind. Some of the stories made me wish I heard it live and feel the story breathe and beat with the audience. 4.25⭐️ in storygraph.

Flavorful Origins, Netflix [started: 09/28, finished 01/04] I watched s1/s2 in 2023 at various pts of the fall/winter. Finally wrapped up s3 in January and caught up. Unsure if its a complete series or ongoing, but I do hope to return to the series in the future if they do upload more seasons. This series reminds me of the YT channel Liziqi, where they take one ingredient and unravel the techniques and related dishes by region. A great palate cleanser amongst all the other shows I typically gravitate towards. — Last Twilight, GMMTV on YT [started 11/10, finished 01/26] The only show I watched in real time, as it premiered week by week. If I solely focus on the January episodes, for the sake of this post, I can’t say I was happy with the way the final act was handled. If I look back on the whole of it, it’s still really special to me. In fact, there are episodes that still stand as the very best in television, THE BEST. Still licking the wounds inflicted by the finale, though. — Moving, Hulu [started 01/08, finished 01/30] This lured me in by process of dash osmosis, which is the very best brand of entry pt. I am O B S E S S E D with this show, I am singing its praises! It soothed the scars left by the show Heroes. Amongst all the action sequences, espionage, and high school drama is this huge heart beating loud and strong. Lee Mihyun, the way I love youuuuu, the character you are 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼 Guys, she saved January for me.

Chevalier, Hulu [watched on 01/14] The short runtime (well, short for the current landscape of cinema) did give me pause. I think some of the emotional beats could have been deepened if given 20 more min of his involvement in the rebellion. I think I wanted the betrayal to really cut me to the bone, but it felt like a papercut. — BlacKkKlansman [watched on 1/31] At this point, I would follow John David Washington’s career to the very end. I love his natural charisma. I want to see him go thru alllll the situations and wish this movie gave him a lot more room to breathe. Laura Harrier took me by surprise, portraying the BSU president Patrice. The story came to a very mild end and felt very tame, but the suspense held its own.

Stick Season (We’ll All Be Here Forever), Noah Kahan [first time listening] I originally learned about him when I was in my Lizzy McAlpine hyperfixation last year and heard she was a feature in one of his songs. And then I discovered a duet Noah did with Hozier and knew I had to spend time this month to sit down and really digest his album. WHOA MAN, this is one of those formative moments when music perfectly aligns with my current state of being. Take that as you will. Current top 5: Come Over, Strawberry Wine, Northern Attitude, Halloween, Your Needs My Needs — Natasha, Pierre, & the Great Comet of 1812 [relistening] what else is there to say, this is a mandatory yearly listen when it becomes below 0 outside. When I saw this show live, it was a January date as well so this relisten really got me spiralling. These two albums got me Feeling 🧍🏻‍♀️ on my walks.

Minecraft [game, on Switch] I got this game as a christmas gift and was where I spend most of my waking hours outside of work. I enjoyed watch MC streams on twitch and knew I would enjoy playing on my own. I get it now, I am soooooo late to this game. I think and dream Minecraft. My mountain house and harbor builds? Immaculate. They basic, but immaculate. Now I’m in my fishing era, esp when I have Stick Season playing in the background (nothing else mattered when the sun was rising and the song The View Between Villages played in the bg, it was a religious experience). — Lethal Company [game, on Twitch/YT] My entire month has been hopping from one stream to another, lobby after lobby. This game is so fun to watch and witness how all the mods evolved as time went on. I don’t think I myself would play the game myself, as I am a bit of a scaredy cat, but watching my fav groups play has been a highlight.

[fastfur07]

How Everyone Tastes

(an exhaustive study by fastfur07)

I'm not going to tag so many people, but I went ahead and tasted everyone who reblogged this post (and wasn't a NSFW/kink blog). Note that this was based on blog vibes only. Here we go.

23iamtryingmybest: Kicking things off, you’re spicy like an exotic vegetable soup. Great appetiser; my taste buds are all warmed up now.

better-with-dragons: Refreshing and cool; smooth texture that really slips down your throat. No, hang on, I accidentally swallowed. Oh no.

bug-on-the-floor: Hang on, give me a minute… *sips water* yeah, nice and savoury with sweet hints. Not too hard, not too soft. Top-tier snack here.

cardnompfs: Smells like fresh linen or something, but the taste is better. Warm and comfortable mouth feeling. 

cursedexbf: Bitter and weirdly metallic. Doesn’t taste like you should be edible, but there you go.

fruitydraws: Very sweet and juicy! A great palate cleanser. I think I’ll savour you a bit longer– oops.

glassmice-blog1: Okay, I promise I won’t swallow anyone else. You’re actually almost tasteless, but the little hints I’m getting go well. There’s nothing wrong with mildness.

gulo-gulottun: Similarly to the last one, you’re like a little pick-n’-mix of some other tastes; it’s hard to make any out individually. It’s like a big mouthful of jelly beans.

ineedtherapyrn224: Mysterious, almost like licorice or aniseed but a little more appetising (at least to me).

jackthenibbler: Soft like a muffin, and a weird fruity taste alongside it. I can’t quite tell exactly what fruit, but it’s nice.

lemonblackberrytart: A lemon blackberry tart, obviously. Tangy and strong. Tarts were never my favourite pastry, but friends always taste better.

nightmarevore: Cool again, and I’m picking up some of that metallicness from earlier.

nomminmothdragon: Creamy and vanilla-ish. (I know you didn’t technically reblog the post, but I wanted to include you anyway, and it was worth it; you’re delicious.)

nompunhere: Tangy again, kinda like sour candy, and… new car smell? Iunno, that’s just what I’m picking up.

novorehere: Sweet and fluffy, very tasty indeed… aargh… CAN’T RESIST… MUST SWALLOW–

owo-vore-time: Savoury with a soft and familiar texture. Faint scent of pizza rolls.

roseytoesy: Turkish delight (the original one, like Narnia), but milder. Definitely an esoteric taste.

saltedgutz: Fresh and minty, and tickly like hard candy. Hey, stop wriggling so much.

standusermoment: Mildly sour like blueberries. Very piquant.

tinystarwatch: A nice cup of Earl Grey. 

toothsome-troodont: A little bland, but that’s to be expected from a new blog. Faint fruitiness.

totallyvore: Crispy and a little chalky to finish off. 

Damn, all those weird tastes. Remind me not to try so many new snacks at once in future. I need something to settle my stomach: I think I'll go eat Mango Anon.

[alexrosekey]

Old But Gold Pt.1

Ever since entering this ship in August last year, I have read quite a numbers of Lucius/Hermione fics, including the most well-known ones. But I have always curious about the wild west fics, the ones that are posted on other sites or written pre 2012 or pre the last HP book.

So today, I would kick start a new series called Old BUT Gold, where I will unearth some very old, very obscure Lucius/Hermione works that deserve to get more love from fellow Lumione lovers.

The first fic in this series is I Think I Know Enough of Hate, by the talented NoFootprintsInSand.

Summary:

Hermione and Lucius and the prelude to battle.

This story is short, but not sweet. It is sad, bitter and desperate. The weariness and despair of the prolonged war is so tangible, and so is Lucius and Hermione's attraction that goes along with their mutual loathing. And yet, there's something else beneath all the layers of antagonism, something raw and fragile and oh so tragic.

Having read a fair share of happy, sweet and fluffy Lumione fics, this fic is such a palate cleanser. NoFootprintsInSand is my fav Tomione author and finding this in her profile is such a surprise. A poignant one, since her writing is known for being so melancholic with a unique mix of poetic prose and gut wrenching intensity.

This fic was originally written in 2011 (the ff. net date before being posted on ao3), with a follow up that I will cover in my next post. For now, please check out this AU and suffer with me.