#eighthourbliss

｡° ⸻ @eighthourbliss.

Busy was a goddamn understatement. Emily could feel the dark circles under her eyes mingling with the bruises at this point, creating a terrible concoction of death-stares and slow blinks that gave her away no matter how much make up or caffeine she tried to hide it all with. She wouldn't even have to be worrying about this type of caring interrogation if she'd just been allowed to work. That wasn't Ms. Casey's fault, though. It'd been a strange mixture of Peter's and her own, and she'd never pin her blames on someone else. Not even that monstrous shithead she called Boss.

Emily would've made a joke about   swapping places   if the hypothetical guilt wouldn't have eaten her alive. She'd never want anyone to have to deal with the shit she goes through. Especially not the sweet Ms. Casey. Instead, she fixes her with a placated type of expression, head cantering aside as she leans into the nearest wall.

       ❝ Has it been that obvious I haven't been around? ❞   A slant to her smile creates a tantalizing smirk.   ❝ Missin' me that much, Ms. Casey? ❞

Mark laughed, hand resting gently on the small of Gemma’s back as she spoiled him rotten with kisses. “I thought it being my birthday meant I could get whatever I wanted?”

He was only arguing for the sake of arguing; far be it for him to deny a day of Gemma showering him in affection. A gentle nudge to her nose was all the warning he gave before he kissed her lightly on the mouth, and then Mark was sitting up as prompted. Gemma would have to pull on his arm to get him to stand, though (mostly because Mark thought it was cute when she did).

subtle smut. | @eighthourbliss

they're newborn into this world.

this room is their hospital bed, their incubator, a mother's womb. the walls are tiled and high arched, like an auditorium that would carry their voices to God. there is a yellow light suspended above them, red nylon curtains seated at every corner of the room, as if they were centered on a theater stage. this isn't the first testing room they've been shepherded in together, but neither will ever know, not in these muted iterations.

james tilts his head up. the sensation of being watched--or worse, put on some sort of display--was pervasive and unpleasant. the sound of a microphone crackles softly from a speaker seemingly invisible. despite james' instinct to seek out it's source, he lands upon nothing. the voice is everywhere and nowhere, a man's, delicate and soft.

' please engage. ' the voice's command is sterile and weak, like it was supposed to be non-threatening. james distrusted it regardless. there are posters hung up on the walls, dates of professional showings, the promise of an invigorating tango. ' you have a show to put on. ' were they supposed to mimic the silhouettes portrayed on the laminations? to dance?

tentatively, he stands, offering gemma his hand. it is, perplexingly, cold, hard, and shiny. he cannot read her expression, but she takes it nonetheless, a subtle tremor pulsing through her calves as she stands. james notes her heels only then--perhaps the cause of her brief unsteadiness--bright red to match the shimmer of her sanguine dress. likewise, he's fitted in a ballroom jumpsuit, open necked to the bottom of his breast bone, his musculature displayed through the plunging gap.

his arms move into an instinctual disociar position, one hand lacing carefully with gemma's, the other seating at her side beneath her ribs. he feels the heat of her body beneath the thin cloth, the xylophone arches of bone.

one foot, then the other. the glide is seamless, movements starting slow and falling into place.

' what are we doing? ' he whispers, just for her.

' i don't know. '

james and gemma live forever in that room, dancing until they collapse, just to get up and dance again.

but when bucky emerges into their shared living quarters--their beds are tucked into opposite walls to discourage fraternization, doctor mauer had said, you know what that means, dont you, soldier?--gemma is sliding her feet into a pair of scarlet heels. they add a good three, four, five inches to her legs, even as she sits there, contemplating them.

she looks less at rest tonight than she usually did after a shower that scalded off the remnants of the day.

' where'd you get those? ' bucky questions, raising an eyebrow. as he seats himself, he thumbs the seam of his prosthetic, considering removing it for the night. it smothered him in his sleep, sometimes, and he'd wake gasping and choking. but he thought gemma might call him on his bluff if he slept without it, and still roused from a nightmare, so he stops. (he also thought she might crawl into the narrow twin, just behind him, threatening to fall right off, just to smooth comforting circles into his shoulder. she'd whisper that it was okay, and in those moments, it always was. he pretended not to know.)

' i'm not sure. ' she returns, feet slipping out of them a second time. she picks them up by the ankle, walks out into the center of their quarters, and smiles. ' want me to model these for you? ' bucky feels some pang deep in his chest. he doesn't know what it is, just that it hurts. ' only.. only if you want to, gem. ' the breath gutters out of him as he says it. the idea of her in a backless dress, hair pinned over her head, adorned in perfume and soft makeup and a shimmering necklace portrayed a dazzling mental image. gemma was stunning as she was, but to imagine her happy and radiant and free of this fucking place--the shoes would have to do for now.

nealie's eyes are locked on her from where she sits, staring unabashedly with perhaps the worst pout anyone was capable of on the severed floor. ms. casey was permitted to touch her forehead, however briefly, to gauge just how feverish she is. of course, it was only a temporary and professional measure til the wellness kit could be acquired and a thermometer brought out.

you're burning up.

"well—" her brow knits, eager to argue on her own behalf, even as a chill passes down her spine. "i mean, it's fine. get me some..." she clears her throat, fighting a cough. "tea and an aspirin or something and i can go back to work. that's basically what i'd be doing at home anyway, right?"

[ from Love is in the Air? . accepting ]

Their room looked like a crossover between a hurricane landfall spot and a place ransacked by a criminal. There was fabric quite literally everywhere, stretched over all available furniture in their dormitory: both beds, the dressers, any available seats and even Melissa's vanity. It was all occupied by the very focused actress, who had been moving from one corner to the next and stitching it all by hand, checking the designs every now and then.

The college's drama festival was approaching - and while every theater student eagerly awaited their chance to perform for a larger audience that wasn't just composed of their own colleagues, they didn't have the resources for everything. The people from other courses were busy with their own things, too - so a lot of work for the sets, costuming and make-up needed to be done by the aspiring actors themselves.

Melissa had been cast as a queen for that play: their own take on 'A Midnight Summer's Dream', and the brunette was beyond excited with the idea of making the most lavish costume she could for her Titania. Even if she was to pretend to be in love with a fellow colleague dressed as a donkey, the woman looked forward to that test of her abilities of remaining in character while fawning and devoting herself to another with such a comical appearance.

Given the earbuds hidden by chestnut hair, Melissa never realized that Gemma had slipped inside their room - instead, she carried own with the patient stitches, handcrafting a dress that would surely shine under the spotlight and the attention of the crowd alike. But her concentration was broken when a donut box suddenly appeared in her line of sight, complete with a red ribbon and lovely flower designs.

Reaching out to her mp3 player, Melissa pressed pause - and then craned her head, finding Gemma's grinning face on the opposite end of the hand holding the container. The older female laughed then, shaking her head while removing the headphones and gladly taking ownership of the gift - it made Melissa realized how hungry she was, not to mention hurting from the repeated motions of sewing . Opening the donut package, however, revealed another cute surprise.

There was a card over the sweet treats, showcasing the adorable design of a donut with sparkly eyes and hands united as if pleading the reader for a favor; it was finished off with a glittery font that read 'Donut forget me Valentine!'. That got a brilliant laugh out of Melissa - loud and unrestrained, a thumb moving over the ink at the bottom that formed the letters to Gemma's name, as well as a little heart.

met with a graduating darkness, miss casey not yet in attendance (a fleeting thought passes through the soldier's tempered mind, why?), the winter soldier decides the most appropriate course of action was to simply wait for her. it finds the lattermost seat, settling into the appropriate course like some cold, reticent statue, and it waits.

when the entranceway cracks, the sterile hall lights beaming through, the winter soldier unclasps it's mask, easing the rubber frame away, as it had been directed. it acknowledges miss casey with only it's eyes, grey-brown boring through the dark.