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dvoz-alternate · 4 years

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Hit by the Christmas Love Train

For: @soundofseventeen

In the spirit of the Christmas season I give you this!!

Word count: 2k+

Song listened and also used in the story: Underneath the Tree by Kelly Clarkson

Can I ask for the “character A slowly falls in love with character B over the course of several years, realization hits them that they’ve been in love with B for a long time hits them like a truck” trope with Joshua please? :) I can’t wait to see what you come up with!!!!

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You have been there since the very beginning. Tied at the hip with your best friend Joshua Hong. Birthdays were shared, movie nights spent at one of your houses, the heartbreaks one of you might have had, and finally you were even there to support and say goodbye to Joshua as he decided to become an idol.

You discovered your love for Joshua back in middle school. It was during your break period and you could finally feel spring in the air. You and Joshua were under a cherry blossom tree planted on campus, and Joshua was showing you a new song he had learned on his guitar. The light that managed to seep through the holes in the leaves illuminating his features. You fell in love with how happy and at peace he looked while showing you what he learned. You didn’t tell him about your crush in fear that you’d lose him as your best friend, and at the time he started to like someone else so you kept your lips sealed. Let’s just say that your crush never went away.

After graduating high school was when Joshua told he was going to try to be an idol. You always knew it was his dream so you being the supporting best friend, you swallowed your feelings and helped him get ready.

You make the long distance work between the two of you as you both go around doing your own thing. With the seventeen hour time difference you check up on each other through FaceTime or texts as one person is getting ready for bed and the other is waking up. Even with both of you being busy with college and superstardom you have made your friendship last.

On one of your visits Jeonghan managed to figure out that you had a crush on your best friend. You made him swear not to tell a living soul, and so far he has kept his promise.

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“So you are coming to visit the dorms during your break right?” Joshua’s voice through your phone. Placing it between your ear and shoulder you folded a shirt with a roll of your eyes but a smile still on your face. “I’m packing my bags right now. You know you didn’t have to pay for my plane ticket though right?” “If it forces you to come spend time with me in person for the first time in over a year then yes I will be buying your plane ticket. I need a refill on my (Y/N) hugs.” You couldn’t suppress your laugh as you finished packing. Looking at the clock on your nightstand you sighed, “You just had to pick the earliest flight to Seoul didn’t you?” “The earlier the flight the sooner I get to see you.” You could hear his smile over the phone. Pulling your phone from your ear you put it on speaker so you could close your suitcase. A loud thud was heard on Joshua’s side followed by rapid footsteps and shouting. “Is that (Y/N), the light of my life?!” “Yes Jeonghan it’s (Y/N).” You could imagine Joshua shoving Jeonghan’s face away from the phone, and you giggled at their antics. “Hi Hannie!” “Hi (Y/N)! I can’t wait to see you!” “Likewise. Hey Josh, I need to get going so I can sleep before my ridiculously early flight in the morning,” You told him getting ready to hang up. “Alright, keep me updated. Good night!” “Night.” Clicking the end call button you tossed your phone onto your bed before flopping on your back onto the mattress.

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Stretching your arms above your head you yawned, before grabbing your carry on from the overhead bin. Finally I can stretch my legs. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you walked out of the flight gate making your way to arrivals. Pulling out your phone you sent Joshua a message letting him know that you landed safely, and that you couldn’t wait to see them him. Pocketing your phone you shrugged the straps of your backpack up higher before seeing a handmade sign with your name on it. You weren’t expecting anyone to pick you up from the airport, especially not thirteen men dressed in either hats or hoods with face masks.

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Joshua had been pacing around the arrivals moving between the bench and the flight schedule board while twelve other members sat in chairs. They didn’t give him a choice of picking you up on his own. It was an all or none deal so really Joshua’s hands were tied, and he knew you’d love seeing all of them. As he was walking past the flight schedule one more time he noticed that your flight finally said landed. “Her flight is here!” Joshua exclaimed, hurrying back to the others who were either talking or on their phones. It had been so long since he had seen you in person and he was giddy. That got the group’s attention as they all sprang from the chairs. Hearing his phone ding he saw the text from you, and smiled as he put his phone back into his pocket. Seungkwan unraveled the large banner that they all made and it was big enough for all thirteen of them to hold. Joshua watched as you walked through the gate pushing the hair out of your face as you looked up from the floor. Your shared videos call didn’t do you justice. His heart fluttered seeing you again, but he brushed it off thinking it was just excitement to see you again. His eyes crinkled as he smiled behind his mask watching your face morph from confusion to elation as you recognized them. Abandoning his spot with Seventeen he engulfed you in a large hug before being swamped by the others.

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“You didn’t have to pick me up from the airport,” you laughed finally feeling like you were home in Joshua’s embrace. “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t pick up my best friend?” Joshua booped your nose with his finger. You shake your head to hide the slight fall of your smile as you were called “best friend”, but you had come to terms with that, and covered it with a laugh. “Come on, I’m still tired and I can’t wait to go back to sleep,” you shoved his shoulder as you went to give everyone else a proper hug.

After grabbing your luggage from the baggage claim you walked out to the parked van outside listening to the guys fill you in on things you have missed since your last visit (even though you hear a lot of it during your video calls with them). You sat on Josh’s lap on the way to the dorms, and he noticed that you had started to nod off. Smiling he gently laid your head on his shoulder and wrapped you securely in his arms. Whatever it was this felt right to him having you this close to him.

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“It’s Christmas Eve! Let’s get the dorm looking like Santa let with reindeer have free reign of the place!” Seungkwan shouted jumping from his spot on the couch. “It would be pretty fun and we can watch a Christmas movie or something,” Seungcheol added nodding his head. “Ooh! (Y/N)! Will you make your famous cookies?” Chan asked giving you a bright smile which is one you couldn’t say no to. “Hmm,” you rubbed your chin thinking about it teasingly. “I guess that’s a possibility, but only!” you pointed at Chan, “Only if I get some help from a few of you. You all eat like you haven’t eaten in days.” “Deal!” Chan and Jeonghan called dibs to working with you making cookies, and you laughed watching the antics continue unraveling before you. Patting Joshua’s shoulder you removed your legs from his lap as you stood up moving into the dorm’s kitchen followed by Chan, Jeonghan and Seokmin. With that everyone started getting busy pulling out decorations, lining door frames with tinsel and poinsettias.

Looking through the cupboards you pulled out various dry goods with the bowls and spoons you had the boys pull out. “Lights! Tinsel! Music!” Someone shouted from the living room and it really started to feel like the holidays. You had you just put the first batch of cookies into the oven and started the timer when you were spun around. Looking up you realized you had been twirled into Jeonghan’s chest who now was leading you in a silly, kitchen waltz. Seokmin and Chan were laughing as you all sang the Christmas song that was playing from the speakers. The smell of homemade cookies had started wafting through the dorm making it feel a lot more homey for the thirteen boys.

Joshua had finished helping Hansol and Mingyu string up lights on the fake tree that the company had brought up for them, when he heard the extra giggles coming from the kitchen. “Should we go check out what’s happening in there?” Hansol asked throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “For scientific purposes I think we should,” Joshua laughed as he trailed behind the two hiphop members. Standing in the entryway smiles broke out on the three new members faces as they watched the four of you dance like children and using spoons as microphones having your own mini concert in the kitchen. Joshua’s heart flutter as he watched you act goofy with his friends, it was at this moment he knew that he didn’t see you as a friend anymore. Your eyes met and you teasingly curled a finger at Joshua to join you. Taking offering he grabbed your hands swaying side to side as you belted out the lyrics to the song that was playing. “I can’t believe we weren’t invited to this!?” Jun shouted above the noise as others began to dance with each other in the increasingly crowded kitchen space.

With the cookies done the last thing that needed to be done was decorating the tree, and that was something everyone did together. Jihoon was handing you red swirled ornaments to hang on the tree and you were using a calculated eye to determine where to place the one in your hand. Finding a perfect spot higher on the tree you stood up on your tiptoes still unable to reach the desired spot. Joshua noticed your struggle and came up behind you, one hand on your waist and the other gently taking the ornament and placing it for you. Your cheeks warmed feeling his hand placed so intimately and his chest pressed against your back. “I think I have finally figured out what I want for Christmas,” Joshua breathed out. “And what might that be?” you asked turning slowly to face him. “You’re everything I need underneath the tree,” Joshua told you reciting the lyrics to the song you were both dancing to earlier. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest at his words. Is this even real?

Jeonghan had seen the way Joshua had looked at you in the kitchen, and it was different from how he usually looked at you. It was no longer “this is my best friend and I love them look” no this was “I think I am in love with you”. Using the opportunity to attach a mistletoe to a rod and string Jeonghan held it above both of you giving the two of you that little shove you needed.

Noticing something swing above your vision you both looked up seeing the white flowered plant. “Would you look at that,” Joshua laughed shaking his head. “I mean… it is the rules right?” you shrug your shoulders slightly smiling up at him. “It is the rules,” Joshua repeated leaning down to your face. Closing your eyes you felt soft lips touch yours. Wolf whistles ruined the moment causing you both to pull away rather reluctantly. Resting his forehead against your own Joshua chuckled. Whispering you closed your eyes, “You’re my home Josh.” “I’m your home,” Joshua pulled you in close to his chest hugging you tight. Breathing in his scent deeply you relaxed, “Merry Christmas Josh.” “Merry Christmas (Y/N),” he told you kissing the top of your head.

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spacebookettes · 3 years

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Witch

The Witch had strange objects the local people said. In her cottage. Warm metals. Smooth tools. Strange rocks. The Witch had long realised the potential of leaving these seemingly alien objects out in her cottage. The locals suspicious, but also grateful for future knowledge that helped them. Of course the old matriarchs of the small villages must be respected and kept distant. Politely shyly asked for help with some medieval problem. This Witch was especially good. She used only slight chanting and incantation; strange objects though she always seemed to have for any medieval problem.

The Witch used the intimidation of the old matriarchs in the medieval country to keep people away.

One of the locals had taken something once upon a time. The Witch held her smartphone and tracked the distance to the missing object. A foolish local was swiping the bleeping metal square with a strap. It had familiar numbers, though the local could not read letters. A line of words pinged onto the front of the metal square and a picture of a black cat, meant the thief had shockingly dropped the Witches possession. A Witches cat is not to be messed with. The local ran out of their draughty hiding place. The Witch retrieved the special object later, and the local wouldn’t go near the Witches cottage ever again.

The Witch had special knowledge that helped her in her predicament. Somehow her van had wandered into the past. She had been on her way to fix some electronic parts of the future. Though the Witch never made it to her future destination. The road had gotten bumpy. Muddy. No tarmac. The van had bounced along the suddenly old world lanes with terrified people in costume. It’s not Halloween the soon to be Witch thought. The headlights stretched out onto a stone remnant of a building. A large agricultural building was still vaguely intact and luckily uninhabited. Later the local farmer would come to learn to tolerate his new tenant in the once broken down farm buildings, long abandoned.

The Witch had walked the muddy lane, many times, looking for some sign of modern civilisation. All she’d found was an old can of cola she remembered she had thrown out of her van window when the road had become muddled. Oh how the Witch longed for a can of cola, even the cheap pretend colas. In fact the Witch dreamed of lovely E numbers; packaged nutrient lacking delights occupied the Witches longing dreams. Sometimes she’d sniff the hidden empty found can for remembrance of past artificial wonders. DEEP FRIED POTATO.

The End

By Peter Stringer

The Town

A Witch was needed. The best Witch was summoned. The Witch rode on horse back, her van concealed so not to scare anyone again. A great black steed was the Witches transportation. She thundered through the peaty green past world of her new home. Inspiring the local women who decided their lifestyle was unfairly balanced. An occasional girl thundered through the heathers of the past landscape. No one dare stop them. A medieval Amazonian culture was forming. Tribes of women would one day decide the fate of the colder green countries. Warm blooded invaders position in history contested.

But this particular town had a royal visitor in need. A royal visitor who had heard of a provincial woman; who could help her. Immortality the royal woman had wanted: an aged royal woman who had once been as strong as any man. She had kept this country secure in one of the most treacherous deceitful parts of history. She now wanted to go on into history the queen forever. The Witch gave her one piece of advice... “don’t trust the medieval medicine. You will live longer. Eat little meat a few times a week. Make vegetation your main food source, be kind to the people and they will remember you always. Try not to murder too many objectors.”

The End

By Peter Stringer

A Boy and his Witch

The boy mashed some greenery. Easier for his witch to eat. She hadn’t been able to get out of the bed recently. “It needs herbs" the witch orded, the boy took the greenery back downstairs. The witch was old, so was the boy.

The boy turned on the whale sounds; the witch made herself comfortable: she imagined they were arguing, she had no idea what whale arguments would be about and her imagination was not graphic. The witch drifted off into a contented sleep.

Her old wife recipes. The boy skipped through the mostly memorised book and found rock cakes. “not bad” the witch said, but “i had hoped for Toad in the Hole".

A parrot said something rude; the boy told it to fuck off. “that’s not how you talk to animals" the bed squawked.

“Leave the cobwebs" the witch orded as the boy lunged a broom at the corners of the ceiling. “the little darlings are welcome here. They need a home in the winter and it doesn’t hurt us to provide it.”

The boy searched the internet for a companion. A love poem he'd found in the back of the recipes. He wrote out to the letter in his dating profile.

The witch slept a lot. The boy spent more time searching for a companion. No one had answered his poem. He started deleting the profile, the poem slowly disappeared. The poem was working in his subconscious. Unbeknownst to him, he was rewriting it. Making the the strange little paragraphs to him enchanting.

Just drifting off on the couch the boy had an idea, he grabbed for the e ink paper tablet. A new adapted poem sprang from the electronic stylus. Hidden in amongst the ideas for some time... he found it, one evening, while skimming by candle light. His new herbal air plug-in squirted some exotic concoction into the room. He started reciting the poem. The candles flickered when he reached the end of the scrawled writing. A ping from his smartphone. One app he had not deleted.

The End

By Peter Stringer

The Twenty First Century Woman

The Twenty First Century Woman was lost in space. Fifty thousand years she had been sleeping in her drifting space shuttle. A great galactic light ship stumbled across her, a once in a universe chance.

The Woman was a smoker. Though no longer. No tobacco in this future. In fact Earth was no longer. And tobacco had not been saved.

The Woman struggled with the new culture. The Woman had grown up as a warrior, living in a time of great skirmish. The Woman only knew how to be violently helpful. The future was now peaceful. Great lightships searched the universe for knowledge. And the Woman’s knowledge was no longer needed. The Woman kept her armour and secretly wore it. This future people expected her to adapt to the minimalism they lived by. Her hair no longer ragged. The war grime long gone from her fingers. The Woman fought old battles in her imagination; The Woman invented new ones.

The news of this future was always peaceful. Preoccupied with science. No conflict to excite the Woman. The sports were un-robust. What had happened.

No aliens to fight with. This universe had only humans, for now.

The twentieth century Woman wished for a time machine so she could have purpose. How had humanity changed so vastly. The Woman searched the human history. There was no mention of the old skirmish, no documentation of the warrior people. The epic battles were missing. No one had any answers for her. They knew nothing of this history.

The Woman went down to her old space shuttle. Its ancient weapons still charred from discharge. She took out her shuttle, an asteroid field made for target practice. Some people on the light ship were observing the crude blasters. “old worldly exciting" The Woman flew into the asteroids, the hazardous navigation with the older technology was thrilling. Death around any next rock face. Blasting pretend rock enemies. The observers became bored of the oldy worldy distraction quickly, it’s novelty they felt held little scientific interest. So a lonely Woman was left to her war games.

To be continued.

By Peter Stringer

#witches #art #scifi #creative writing #fiction #books #timetravel #technology #medieval #history #story

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old-castlegachi · 6 years

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Untitled JaySteph Fic:

I wanted to get this out, mostly for @shauds02 so, see this as an “exclusive” first half of Chapter 1 bc it is fighting me. When it’s done, it’ll be on A03, like all ‘dem others. Either way, I hope you like it!

There is a lot Stephanie Here-To-Kick-Your-Ass Brown can handle.

An infinite anything from mortal wounds to a divine abundance of waffles no mortal could finish. Her point is that if there is an immortal feat no regular mortal can overcome, she had it down, done and deal, signed on that dotted line and took it home with her to do a victory dance and hug it to her chest. It is done, she has it handled and she never quit.

It is one of her faults and she embraced it.

This is all relevant information for what will be explained at her current predicament. It began after an exhaustive patrol where all she wanted was her two poufy duvets, blistering water pressure and the solvent for her flesh wound, it was already two nights old and begun to scab, they really did grow up too fast. Her entire form ached and it felt wonderful, a deed well done in physical personification and with light daring to fall in Gotham, she felt content and calmed.

It was her fault for taking her sweet time back home, humming a little the latest hot beat underneath her breath and already half-jogging her cool down stretches. It was all Red Hood's fault for being pathetic. He murdered people, all anti-hero, I-know-better-than-you-Bruce, when a lot of people knew better than Bruce – for being The Detective, he is an absolute face-plant when it comes to emotions, and people, and on sparing occasions, not-being-an-asshole – but as it stood? Red Hood was pathetic for face-diving into two trash cans and promptly slouching there on the concrete.

It was a very Tim maneuver and she expected Hood to do something else, shift and grunt, or move like human's do, prove his superiority here come on, but no. He stayed face-planted into a puddle on the cold, hard ground – oh, trouble – like a plank that'd fallen down or blanket that'd spilled, and okay, she didn't like it. She didn't like how much he not-moved.

And with curiosity, Good-Samaritan help a buddy out curiosity Stephanie flipped beside the prone form and nudged it with her boot. She cleared her throat, "Um. You should skedaddle before the daylight people come out –" Not even a grunt. Don't make her do this. Don't make her do this, " – I'll call Batman, I swear."

Nothing. Waffle-Iron-it.

It must be serious and "please, don't shoot me; don't shoot me –" was her mantra, wedging her steel-toed boots beneath his ribs and heaved him onto his back. It took a little wobble but thigh-workout's-galore, it worked and the red helmet stared, empty-faced upwards. Her mouth twisted and she shuffled closer, "Oi. You awake in there?" she tested.

In all the traps she's wandered into this is definitely the worse. And, while she's heard Red Hood is all about bad-taste, playing-dead seems to take it too far. So, only option is that beneath that helmet Jason Todd is passed-out like Timmy after a cup of decaf, unconscious for at least six hours and dead to the world or, the actually dead –

No. His chest moved. It's good.

This is bad.

Her three options are all worse than the former because no, she didn't want to call Batman to pick up his wayward son from his playdate with unconscious-makers and she didn't want to abandon him there for daylight pickings. Even if it was a good soul who dragged Red Hood to safety, it wouldn't be 'safety' with the gun-dependent there. Her third option is that Stephanie be the good soul and really, before she's thought about it, she lobbed the Red Hood over her back and shuffled to her apartment.

He weighed scientifically and at the very least, over two trucks worth. That is cement trucks with a prehistoric dinosaur playing rollerblades above. His helmet digs into her ear and his huge trunk-thick arms do not want to stay on her slim shoulders, despite how she bulked them up for exactly this purpose.

Once inside her apartment she breathed relief, straightened to her full height and dumped his self-entitled self on her lumpy couch. Her post-patrol routine, rids the cowl off her face, turns the heater on and stacks a plate of waffles in the microwave before she tuts at the figure prone on her couch. His neck will creak like that.

In care of her hidden attacks, she repositioned his head on the pillow and snapped off his utility belt, yanked off his boots, which stank by the way and dirtied her floor in dried mud and blood, loosened the straps of his Kevlar around his ribs and poked the underside of his helmet. If there was a switch it was unknown to her, besides he already looked better. Not waking-up to demand her lungs and livelihood better but breaths no-longer a death march better, deeper and softer than earlier.

She lightly rapped on his helmet, "You're going to be a little bitch when you wake-up. I can tell," Stephanie told him, following the microwave's ding and digging into her meal-of-kings, licking off syrup and chocolate chips she hummed, dumping dishes into the sink and swallowed down her post-patrol concoction of vitamins and muscle relaxants. Yay, for bat medical feats.

Her routine continued as it usually did a blistering post-patrol shower where she groaned enough for question's sake, blearily rubbed solvent into her wound and wrapped it up present-like, and burrowing into her two living-in-a-fuzzy-cloud duvets before she grunted, rolled out of bed and grabbed one to throw it over Hood because she wasn't evil, okay? And, she couldn't sleep knowing he'd be cold in her care. Stephanie Brown did not do comfort in halves, no sir and no madam.

This world hurt sometimes so for balance's sake constant comforts were required. It is just a truth of life.

Her old nemesis, the shrill alarm-clock, chimed after a pointed two and a half hours, and she sobbed a little and shut it off, groggily rolled out her bed and into the bathroom. Yay, for education. That morning her wrists ached so she clasped warmers on alongside her thickest hoodie, thermos-tights and jeans, shucked into thick socks before shambling into the kitchen for two bowls of cereal and a banana.

If she laid her head against the fridge, cursed the waking world and normative sleeping schedules for a minute that was her business, no one else's – after that, she took the milk out just like any other mortal. On her second brightly colored bowl of fiber love she blinked and found the strewn, lethally inclined utility belt in front of her face.

Other people read the back of cereal boxes or milk cartons, and she'd done that as well, but that morning she picked apart compartments and fiddled with bastardized bat-a-rangs. Her hands strayed to the handguns, heavier than they looked, ambidextrous hold – for the flinging-guns-about fancies – and speckled in blood. Oh yep, she has a murderer on her couch, shouldn't overlook that.

Her hands absently dissembled a handgun, only two bullets in the magazine, before she picked at the other with her foot working overtime to strike a tune, this with four bullets. It had been a productive night then.

Stephanie is in so much trouble and worst bit is, she doesn't even know by whom. Who will kick her ass for this? Herself or Batman? God, don't let it be Babs.

In her living room is a crash and a muffled swear that sounded oddly tiny, well, guess sleeping beauty is up. Did Hood sense his guns out, so figured his sunny disposition had to come out? Okay, yeah, that was bad. Early morning wit workout, it'll catch on. With all this at head, she took down another bowl and spoon and set it at the table before she flopped back into her seat.

So, she hadn't offered her leftover waffles or even the ceramic batman plate which made her snicker each time she wiped golden syrup off his judgmental frown, but it was still luxurious comfort; true to the Stephanie Brown path. And she had a suspicion that like most bats even a comfy kitchen chair will bite him in the ass.

Speak of ass and ass awoke. His scarlet helmet stared. "Morning Red Condom of Death –" That needed some work. Oh well. Stephanie shimmed a box at him, "Lucky Charms?" And, if he decided to grab his lethal-murder weapons and bolt, or even grab them and turn them on her, it'd be his choice. The former was expected for an emotionally-overwhelmed Bat. The latter was more likely but she reckoned she can talk him out of it.

Before her 8:30 class began though, is a question.

Except, Hood's estrangement from bats has done well, and he didn't act like a monkey-nut and sat down at her table. For all the world clueless to how he found himself there. It was pretty hilarious. "You invite every crime-lord for breakfast?" he asked, deeper than she expected with a mechanical slant to it.

"You're not really every crime-lord though, are you, Red Dead Redemption. Look," she said before a hissy-fit could start, "I have to leave for class in five minutes, so either you can leave or you can eat some cereal with me. I don't actually care but don't drama me and make me late." And with an angry crunch she swallowed another spoonful.

His voice lifted, "That's fair."

Then he took of his helmet – button at the back of it, perhaps – and it so was not fair. Stephanie chewed her mouthful, "Huh. You're not that awful-looking," she said. It lacked all tact for bodily welfare but Jason smirked, a tired little huff before he filled his bowl with cereal and chowed it down like popcorn. Stephanie looked at her innocent carton of milk, "I have milk, you know, if you want," she offered.

He shrugged, "Intolerant." Huh. Huh – Huh. Huh. Huh. Each day she lived to learn something new. Like, how his voice was deeper, more filled than she expected. That was definitely new. He cleared his throat, "Thanks." Her thumbs made an appearance of 'it's cool' because she's cool like that.

Less new was how humongous his shoulders are, practically expanding gravity in a five-inch radius if how he slouched wasn't a choice. Like, a smaller man had been pressed into his body to fit. That was a horrifying thought. His darkly tanned skin is thin, scratched by stubble and ripped scrap over a cheek which made him wince every so often, and his black hair is oil-shocked.

His teals are the absolute worst, though.

This is more a mess-of-a-man than Tim. And, he had worked so hard for that right, all for naught. That is a shame, an enflaming burning-hot-fire shame, and whatever will – Jason plodded onto his dirtied hand, stubbled cheek smooshed, "You're going to be late, Blondie," and absently ate another mouthful.

Waffle-Iron-It!

In the race against the clock she grabbed the banana, her pre-prepared lunchbox, a thick coat and was at the door before the call of –"You know you're not wearing shoes, right?" He slouchy leaned in the kitchen arch and she dropped it all, shucked into her shoes and packed it all into her backpack.

"I owe you one –" grabbed her keys and tossed-out, "Close the window on your way out!"

Then Stephanie had sprinted to the station, clambered into the bus seat when it finally – finally, bless the warrior amazons – arrived, re-read the article she needed for her second class, rushed off the bus and into the college, trekked towards her lesson and scampered into the back to fold into a seat just as the Professor began; and the crowd went wild!

Victory! Ah, she is so amazing!

Her hands are elbow-deep in a cow's kidneys and it finally fell into reality. Yes, she had lobbied a murderer into her home, tucked him into bed, bestowed him multi-colored fantastic cereal and left him alone in her home. Her instinct to hiss into her hands is foregone by bloodied guts but still Babs will definitely throw her to the Big Man for this. Then the lecture will growlingly emphasize, 'You are reckless, Stephanie. You aren't qualified to be a solo operative, Stephanie. You could've been killed, Stephanie.' Yeah, yeah Brucie-Bear been there, done that.

A shoulder nudged into hers, "You're muttering to yourself again, Steph." That 'worried' undertone that Stephanie would kidnap a spleen, cause a riot and dab-nab into the night prevalent. Except, this is Gotham, everyone had coping mechanisms Ms. I-Chew-My-Hair-Till-It-Doesn't-Need-A-Wash-Any-More Mace.

Her deep breath mostly smelt of blood and slightly of mildew, the luxurious lifestyle stench of Wayne Manor's water pressure cried out to her, again, and Stephanie huffed: "Thanks, Mace. Keeping me sane in here. Hey, did you understand the D of the pathology assignment? It is literally kicking my cute tosh…" No, she hadn't.

Dagnab-it.

In the wise words of a talking chicken, the sky is falling by the time Stephanie arrived home, unlocked the door with a hand, cellphone barely balanced in her shoulder. "You're kidding me," she had said, and on the other side Derek laughed that it is true, the Rock will be skintight in a superhero blockbuster but this isn't the deal.

It had totally bungee-jumped out her closed window that Gun-Fetish had been in her home, great situational remembrance there but to be honest, despite all the title Red Hood depicted he wasn't extremely murderous, was he? Hood had said thanks over cereal. Hood had looked tired and somehow small, forced to fit into himself. And, it is her belief that murderous people didn't do that.

Even if murder-y people are usually also the poor, unfortunate souls. It mattered that Hood hadn't felt murder-y, no slinging entrails to the beat no sir, and instead, he felt like a weighted man, a shadow of a person, not completely shattered but definitely not whole. Like bat-papa, like bat-son.

Speaking of bat-traits Hood had definitely snooped, except she spoke bat-speak and that practically meant affection, and he'd washed her dishes as in legitimately scrubbed old takeout from two-dollar bowls and he tidied her perfect lumpy couch and folded the heaven-in-a-cotton-home duvet into an Alfred worthy square. Her hand rubbed a bruise on her jaw and this is so totally not the actions of a crazy axe-murderer incarnate Red Hood.

In the kitchen arch and steaming hot chocolate in her hands, it felt like hope, an idea lodged in her skull and yep, Hood had bought this on himself. He should have taken into account her unwillingness to quit at alleged dead-ends before he over-exhausted himself into two trash cans; and Stephanie sipped her hot chocolate.

#jaysteph #Stephanie Brown #jason todd #red hood #batgirl the third #u nerd jaybirb #a03 #fanfiction

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Do Aphrodisiacs Really Make You Sexually Aroused?

By Athena Nassar

You are sitting on a picnic blanket with your lover. You feed her strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, because you think she enjoys them. Or maybe you are hoping that she will embody the spirit of Persephone and swallow them like pomegranate seeds. Either way, she is sitting in front of you with strawberry juice dripping down her chin onto her floral dress. She calls you to taste her, and her spaghetti strap tastes like the cherry stem at the bottom of an Old-Fashioned, but what are your intentions? She might sleep with you in a few hours, but will it be because of the chocolate strawberries that you so purposely fed her earlier that day? According to a recent study in The Journal of Sexual Medicine, the chocolate itself certainly doesn’t have enough phenylethylamine to make her jump your bones. Although it may feel as if you are closer to the Promised Land of unclothed women after a few cocktails, aphrodisiacs do not actually play a hand in his/her sexual arousal, and here’s why.

The movie 9½ Weeks, also known as the genesis of all S&M movies, lays out this utopia solely comprised of food and sex. In a scene that occupies a fat ten minutes of the film, Mickey Rourke feeds Kim Basinger an assortment of foods that I never knew could taste good together. The camera is zoomed in on Basinger’s mouth while she consumes a jalapeño pepper followed by a maraschino cherry. Just when I think things couldn’t get any worse, she downs a diced egg before the jello has the chance to get all the way down her throat. To top it all off, Mickey Rourke rubs honey on her breasts, and I just know that can’t be comfortable. Besides Kim Basinger being all too compliant, there is a critical misconception that this scene perpetuates. The visual of Basinger eating a variety of condiments while blindfolded suggests that she is being stimulated by the food itself, but Bettina Pause, a psychologist at Heinrich Heine University, claims that “a lot of our communication is influenced by chemosignals.” Considering the fact that humans have a pheromone nerve running from the nose into the brain, Basinger was most likely drawn to Rourke’s individual odorprint rather than his odd selection of petit fours. According to Pause, the aroma that emanates off of breastfeeding women encourages other women without infants to reproduce.

Now, I’m not arguing that aphrodisiacs don’t bring us any pleasure at all, just not the kind of pleasure that might first come to mind. The Smell and Taste Treatment and Research Foundation confirms that the scent of banana nut bread has the power to arouse women more intensely than any regular old banana, so there must be some truth to this aphrodisiac claim after all. My guess is that this boost of sexual arousal is due to the nutmeg, especially since the scent is amplified in the process of baking the banana nut bread. According to The National Center for Biotechnology Information, herbs and spices such as red ginseng and saffron are the only scientifically proven aphrodisiacs. Surely there is a certain satisfaction that we feel when we bite into a succulent piece of watermelon, but does this trigger some sort of sexual longing or are we just content with the fact that we fulfilled a strictly nonsexual craving? As humans that need food to survive, it would make sense to say that our brains feel pleasure when our stomachs are full. A study by The Journal of Neuroscience seems to agree with this assumption, concluding that “eating prompts the brain to release feel good hormones known as endorphins.” Of course, overstimulation of these endorphins can lead to obesity, or in other words, too much of a good thing is ultimately a bad thing. Although some sugar-filled foods generate more pleasure than others, this is not to be confused with a titillating sensation.

If I were to ask Google about the sexual enhancements of any food, the internet would surely find a way to muster together numerous articles about how that food makes you better in bed, so where do we draw the line? Does every food magically make you better in bed? What do we classify as aphrodisiacs? In the middle ages, people determined whether a food was an aphrodisiac or not based on the doctrine of signatures. Coined by German philosopher Jakob Böhme, the doctrine of signatures is defined as “the belief that natural objects that look like a part of the body can cure diseases that would arise there.” Similarly, foods that resembled human sex organs such as oysters, asparagus, and sea cucumbers were thought to heighten passion. Foods that were warm or moist such as chili peppers or curry were thought to provoke a similar feeling. Of course, we know that this theory is drastically wrong, and many classic pieces of literature have been written on the basis of this flawed ideology to further the belief that consuming oysters will contribute to vaginal wetness. In Bradley C. Bennett’s essay “Doctrine of Signatures: An Explanation of Medicinal Plant Discovery or Dissemination of Knowledge?” Bennett advises us to not try to cure a heart disease with a heart-shaped leaf, because there happens to be 2,584 leaves with the same exact shape. In my opinion, we shouldn't try to cure heartbreak with erotic food either.

The romance novel Like Water for Chocolate illustrates a new Mexican recipe for every month. Although her true love Pedro asks for her hand in marriage, Tita, the youngest of three girls, cannot marry, because she is forced to care for her aging mother. In the month of December, the heartbroken Tita makes chiles in walnut sauce for her niece’s wedding. Upon ingesting these chiles, the guests cannot resist the urge to make “mad passionate love wherever they happen to end up… some under the bridge between Piedras Negras and Eagle Pass… the more conservative, in their cars, hastily pulled over to the side of the road” (Esquivel 242). Tita, overwhelmed with lust, grabs Pedro’s hand, and they both go into a dark room. The room is so saturated in passion that it drives the doves, the pigs, and the chickens to flee the ranch. Tita is described as “experiencing a climax so intense that her closed eyes glowed, and a brilliant tunnel appears before her,” and suddenly, she opens her eyes to Pedro lying beside her, dead (Esquivel 243). Although Like Water for Chocolate depicts two lovers who die naked in each other's arms from the effects of a single chile smothered in walnut sauce, the United States Food and Drug Administration does not recognize any chemical in particular as a natural aphrodisiac. For these results, you would certainly need an abnormally large dose of sildenafil, also referred to as viagra.

In fact, one of the most popular aphrodisiacs, the Spanish fly, causes a very non-sexual reaction if it is consumed. Cantharidin, a chemical which is secreted by blister beetles, can cause a rash to form on the urethra, as well as a painful erection that can potentially last for several hours known as priapism. In extreme circumstances, ingesting this so-called aphrodisiac can even lead to death. Although chiles and diluted pomegranates won’t influence your libido, they are definitely a safer option than any version of the Spanish fly, whether it be emulsified, powdered, filtered, or so on. Marketing companies continue to advertise the Spanish fly as a love potion, either not knowing or not caring that it causes an allergic reaction. The Spanish fly is advertised on Amazon as “the number one aphrodisiac” in a bottle labeled “LOVE SEXPLOSION” with the price of $99.99, and that is not including shipping. Around fifty percent of the reviews say something along the lines of “did not work at all,” “not what I was hoping for,” or “will return later.” The customers were unsatisfied with the results to say the least, but when they are purchasing products that look like the image on your right, who is really to blame?

When you think about it, it isn’t that difficult to believe that aphrodisiacs are completely buried in mythology. After all, aphrodisiacs did earn their name from the goddess Aphrodite who emerged from the stomach of a large scallop shell, hence seafood being rumored as a sexual stimulant. Oysters, among other shellfish, are considered to be a natural aphrodisiac due to their supply of zinc and amino acids. According to Michael Krychman, a gynecologist at the Southern California Center for Sexual Health and Survivorship Medicine, “there is a very large placebo effect” that occurs in the experience of eating oysters. Sex is laced in the action of slurping something gooey down your throat, and often times, the experience itself can produce adrenaline. Oysters do contain zinc which increases testosterone levels and male sperm count, but the quantity of sperm produced by the testes has absolutely nothing to do with attraction. Barry R. Komisaruk, a professor of psychology at Rutgers University, presents an interesting question: “Could oysters possibly satisfy sexual deprivation?” The answer is most likely no, unless you happen to have a wet and messy fetishism or any other fetish pertaining to food.

Food and its correlation to sex is a major component of many films and works of literature, and the bible is no different. In the story of Adam and Eve, the first man and woman are unashamed of their nakedness until a serpent tempts Eve into eating an apple from the tree of knowledge. This depiction of the forbidden fruit as a temptation results in a further sexualization of these fruits beyond the biblical meaning. Circling back to Komisaruk’s question of sexual deprivation, do we only yearn for things that we are deprived of? If the bible had placed sloppy joes instead of apples in the Garden of Eden, would we sexualize that too?

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Laura Esquivel for writing Like Water for Chocolate.

Works Cited

9½ Weeks. Directed by Adrian Lyne, performances by Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1986.

Ansari, Shahid (et al). “Exploring Scientifically Proven Herbal Aphrodisiacs.” National Center for Biotechnology Information, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3731873/

Ault, Alicia. “Are Oysters an Aphrodisiac?” Smithsonian, https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/are-oysters-aphrodisiac-180962148/

Bennett, B.C. “Doctrine of Signatures: An explanation of medicinal plant discovery or Dissemination of knowledge?” Economic Botany, Vol. 61, 246–255 (2007).

Böhme, Jakob. The Signature of All Things. Giles Calvert, 1651.

Dallas, Mary. “Eating Feeds ‘Feel Good’ Hormones in the Brain.” WebMD, https://www.webmd.com/brain/news/20170831/eating-feeds-feel-good-hormones-in-the-brain

Eplett, Layla. “When Sparks Fly: Aphrodisiacs and the Fruit Fly.” Scientific American, https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/guest-blog/when-sparks-fly-aphrodisiacs-and-the-fruit-fly/

Esquivel, Laura. Like Water for Chocolate. Doubleday, 1989.

Hadhazy, Adam. “Do Pheromones Play a Role in Our Sex Lives?” Scientific American, https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/pheromones-sex-lives/

Like Water for Chocolate. Directed by Alfonso Arau, performances by Lumi Cavazos and Marco Leonardi, Miramax, 1992.

“LOVE SEXPLOSION Spanish Fly.” Amazon, https://www.amazon.com/Spanish-Fly-1-Natural-Aphrodisiac/dp/B073NPY7VF. Accessed 31 March 2020.

O’Connor, Anahad. “The Claim: Chocolate Is An Aphrodisiac.” The New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/18/health/18real.html

Puri, Ravi, and Raman Puri. Natural Aphrodisiacs: Myth or Reality. Xlibris Corporation, 2011.

Rupp, Rebecca. “Sex and the Celery: Ancient Greeks Get Busy With Help From Veggies.” National Geographic, https://www.nationalgeographic.com/culture/food/the-plate/2014/05/20/sex-celery-ancient-greeks-get-busy-help-veggie/

Sage, Jessie. “Forget sexy-time foods, the best aphrodisiacs come from the real relationship work.” Pittsburgh City Paper, https://www.pghcitypaper.com/pittsburgh/forget-sexy-time-foods-the-best-aphrodisiacs-come-from-the-real-relationship-work/Content?oid=16090770

Shaw, Gina. “Aphrodisiac Foods: Real or Placebo Effect?” Berkeley Wellness, https://www.berkeleywellness.com/self-care/sexual-health/article/aphrodisiac-foods-real-or-placebo-effect

Te, Faith. Eggplant No. 2, Philippine Islands.

Magee, Elaine. “Aphrodisiacs: Fact or Fiction?” WebMD, https://www.webmd.com/sex/features/aphrodisiacs-fact-or-fiction#1

Malmed, Alexandra. “Love Potions: A Brief History of Aphrodisiacs.” Vogue, https://www.vogue.com/article/what-foods-are-aphrodisiacs-history

#stretch2020 #stretch journal #researchpaper #emersoncollege

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