#i slapped. so many gnats

[solace-seekers]

got to play the fun game of Is It Bugs Or Just Paranoia??? at work today!!!

[dracocheesecake]

What do you think Kai would do with a protective s/o? Like, does the all supreme warlord really need protection? Not really. Is she on his power level/fighting skill? Absolutely not, the thought’s nearly laughable (or at least, probably laughable to Kai anyways). But if anyone so much as poses half a threat to the bull, is she going to start going off into as much a war mode as she can muster to defend him? Yea, without a second thought.

I just think its funny, it’s like having a guard dog but you’re a navy seal and the guard dog in question is just like a very feisty chihuahua.

Oh my goodness this is a hilarious/adorable thought. Especially if we're going with Spirit Warrior Kai- an immortal- and a mortal s/o it becomes even more so. X'D Kai would definitely find it amusing andadorable, to say the least.

Now if we're going with warlord mortal Kai, then it's still an incredibly hilarious situation. Oogway cracking jokes about Kai's little "bodyguard". Kai would probably give her the title "lapdog", or "gnat". I can just imagine they're in a meeting with another general- a loose ally of sorts- and when the conversation gets more heated she starts hurling threats and insults the other general's way, while Kai's leaning back smirking the entire time. "You might want to be nicer to me. I could sic her on you."

She'll probably try to take care of whatever cuts and scrapes he accumulates, too, all while scolding him for being stupid...

No, no, hold it-drabble incoming:

"Do you think you're immortal?" She snapped, cleaning what many would have thought a small scratch on the bull's hide (especially the bull himself), but to her was a wound as severe as anything. Kai's ear twitched in her direction, and then he looked over his shoulder at her.

"What answer would make you more angry?" He asked, smirking.

She slapped his back, and he chuffed in amusement.

"Stop being stupid! What if you're wounded even worse next time?"

Kai shrugged, undoing some of her work- she was no healer, and the peeling bandages showed her painful efforts- vain in attempt, but not sentiment.

"No one has managed it so far."

She snorted in disgust, and the noise buried the worried sob that had actually been building; his arrogance was a danger, not only to his soldiers but his physical being. He really did think he was immortal. Still, for his sake she held herself together, focusing on her work.

She patched up the rest of the cuts and patted his back again. "Now go get some rest. You'll need it if you're going to lead the march tomorrow. We'll be crossing enemy lines, soon."

Kai rolled his eyes. "As if I need a wetnurse," he grumbled. There were notes of affection in his tone, though, poking through the exasperation, and despite his objections he obeyed.

She waited for his breath to even out, and then she reached forward and brushed her fingertips against one of the scars tracing across his ribs. Then another one, on his chest- and there!- A nick on his throat she had missed.

Kai was an excellent fighter, he was right, he didn't need her protection- but she thought about all the ways he could be hurt, about how his own carelessness could kill him, and tears welled in her eyes, knowing she could only do so little to protect him. One of Kai's hands reached up, clasping around her wrist, and she quickly blinked her tears away. She perked up as his eyes opened and steeled her voice.

"Sorry," she said, "I was just checking these scratches. I didn't mean to wake you."

Kai watched her for a moment, his eyes searching hers. Then his grip and gaze softened.

"...Does it bother you that much?" He asked.

She couldn't contain herself anymore. That spark-bright rage that had been known to jump to General Kai's defense the moment anyone even thought to cast him a ill glance now turned against him. Hot tears, now flooding over the dam of her restraint, poured down her cheeks.

"Of course!" She cried, "Do you know how hard it is, watching you march out to battle every day, you being as stupid and arrogant as you are, when I can't do anything to protect you? Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be so weak?"

She may have barked much more such things at him, half unintelligible through her rageful sobs; she couldn't remember. She couldn't even remember exactly when he had taken her in his arms, or when she had finally lost her breath. All she knew was that she was now sobbing straight into his chest.

Kai just held her for a long while, and then he sighed, shrugging. "I told you that it's hard to care for me. Just ask Oogway."

That only made her more angry, and she sobbed even more. Kai must have realized his mistake, because he then continued, his tone turning slightly more apologetic, urgently so:

"-Not that I don't care! I'm not that stupid, or ungrateful...It's just...It's- you're only-"

She glared up at him, and Kai groaned, cursing, probably loud enough for the occupants of the nearest circle of tents to have heard it and woken from their sleep.

"I'm not trying to- I mean, I just- I don't...Dammit."

Kai held her closer, so much closer that it almost squeezed the breath from her, but then his grip relaxed. He snorted and then released her- but only to cup her face in his hands. His shoulders hunched somewhat, his attempt to make eye-contact on her level.

"I get it, you care about me, for some reason-stupid choice, really- and trying to look after me makes you feel better...but you're only a gnat."

He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Even so...thank you. For everything...And I will try to be more careful, if it means you won't go into hysterics and scare away all of me and Oogway's allies, or yell at me after every battle."

And then that smirk returned, though a little less mean-spirited than before; but she understood his meaning. Her tears dried, and she smiled a little. Then she reached forward and nipped at him, making him grin and lean away.

"You better!" She snapped, "Or else I'll do more than yell at you!- And you know General Hayou had it coming!"

Kai raised his brows. "He just sneezed in my direction."

"He could have made you sick! He deserved to get chewed out."

Kai snorted in amusement and leaned back onto his cot, pillowing his head on his hands. "I don't get sick. Besides, if it ever came to an actual fight, I think I can handle him."

"He's a crocodile almost twice your size, you arrogant cow!- See, this is why you need me!"

"What? To nibble the ankles of all my enemies?"

"Shut up and get some sleep!"

"You know- maybe we should put you on the front lines tomorrow, instead- you could glare at Fenhua's army, and they'll probably take off running. Would save us a lot of trouble."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If they know what's good for them, they'll take one look at you and take off running- knowing that I'm right behind you, and knowing what I'll do if they even touch a single strand of your fur."

"What? Nibble their ankles? So scary!"

"And worse."

Kai laughed, finally settling himself down and closing his eyes. "I don't doubt it."

[squeeneyart]

Curses - Chapter 4

AO3

The edge of the wood inches closer, and the end of their journey with it.

Jon reconsiders his travel plans.

Given more room in his journal, Martin would have gleefully berated his own stupidity for nigh on ten pages. There were no pages to spare, so it seemed he had no choice but to enjoy himself.

Jon was nice. Sort of? Nice enough to put most of Martin’s larger concerns to rest. And they’d exchanged names, which Martin should not have along with eating food offered by a member of the courts, and it was all fine, wasn’t it? All a gesture of good faith. It could even mean they were friends, and friends helped each other. Not with the expectation of help in return, God no. He wasn’t about to ask any favors.

Why ruin the last pleasant days they had with problems Jon had no obligation or ability to solve?

And the day was pleasant. After the reintroductions they enjoyed their semi-shared lunches, Martin’s boot sitting upside down on a rock in the hopes that the remaining water would drip out. The ground was dry after days of wet grass stains and discomfort, and some of the flowers around them had opened up fully in the sunlight to reach for warmth, like they too knew that winter was finally behind them.

Things would have stayed that way, but Martin had a quick eye for particular creatures, including one that had already crawled halfway up Jon’s sleeve.

“Oh, Jon, don’t move,” Martin said, enjoying the feel of the name. “You have a little spider on your-”

Jon’s brows shot up and he jerked upward, thrashing his arm about and slapping at it without any thought to where it might be. “Did I get it?” he said rather forcefully, examining himself up and down.

With a slow blink, Martin stood up and looked at Jon’s sleeve. The spider sat defiant, still clinging around the bunched up fabric at the elbow. Martin put a hand up.

“Stay still and I’ll get it,” Martin said.

Jon froze. “You-”

Without another word Martin’s hands snapped forward and grabbed the offending bug, checking between his fingers. He found the spider stock still, presumably in terror. He held back any comparisons. “There he is. No harm done.”

“You say that as if it’s a good thing-”

With only one boot on he walked a good few meters away towards a bush and released the thing to its business. “And it’s gone. You’re welcome.”

Jon brushed off his sleeve as if the spider could’ve left something behind. “I would appreciate it more if it were dead.” 

“It all ends the same, doesn’t it?” Martin said as he walked back. As he got closer Jon’s rather frazzled expression came starkly into view. “Sorry. I didn’t think someone like you would be that scared of spiders.” 

“Disgusted. I’m disgusted by them. And my wings should have been a giveaway on how I feel about a natural predator.” Jon gestured at his back, the large moth wings fluttering with irritation. “I’d say it’s a very appropriate reaction.”

“You’re so much bigger than all of them, though!” Martin exclaimed, making a pinching motion with his fingers to show the difference in scale.

“Most of them, and it’s not as if I’m actually scared of being eaten by the little ones.”

Martin didn’t want to think too hard about the implications of that first part, but he continued, “Even if they’re not all tiny, you have magic-”

Jon scoffed. “And mortals have boots. It doesn’t stop them from hating the creatures and their legs and eyes a-and moreover, I’d say I have just as much a right to despise a part of the natural world as you or anyone else.”

“I suppose,” Martin said. He sat back down, as did Jon after inspecting the rock he’d been sitting on. “I sort of figured you’d all be above that? Something about nature and the necessity of every living thing, or something. Spiders are important, eating gnats in the summer.”

Eating one of his berries, Jon replied, “I’ll gladly disparage one of the many ‘gifts of nature’. No matter how bright it burns, my personal hatred of them can’t eradicate every spider on this earth.” He muttered the last part as if it was some great injustice.

“Well… it could’ve been a magical spider? Bent on haunting us beyond the grave when it's killed?” Martin posited, understanding immediately the dumbfounded look Jon gave him. A haunted spider? He shouldn’t have been reaching that far just to be contrary.

“Have you considered that stories of this place might’ve colored your judgment?” Jon asked. “I don’t doubt I need your guidance to exit these woods, but so far your paranoia seems unreasonably heightened.”

“That-” Martin started, then stopped. What was he to say to that? He felt his neck turning red and sputtered out, “It always looks that way when caution makes for safer travels. You don’t know what would’ve happened otherwise, so… yeah. You can believe what you want, but I know to be careful out here!” God, he was talking out of his ass.

“Right.” 

“And-” Martin continued nevertheless, “you threatened to curse me less than a week ago, and some sort of water spirit tried to get me.”

“You said yourself that it was harmless!” Jon retorted. Looking back where Martin placed the spider, he sighed. “Anyway, no, the spider was not magical. It was just a horrid thing that I’m glad to be rid of. Thank you for removing it.”

“Only more of them as the weather improves.” 

“And less of them bothering us indoors. Another reason to leave the woods on your schedule.” His mouth twitched slightly, though in which direction Martin couldn’t say.

Martin let out a sigh of his own and looked up into the trees. It was getting to be that time, but it was a lovely day for sitting and chatting in the shade. That was just selfishness, though, pure and simple. They would need to move soon.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Martin said, playing with some grass, “what’s in Thornsbury that you walked all the way out here?”

When a reply didn’t come immediately, Martin looked up to see Jon threading his fingers together and apart, face contorting in indecision.

“Or… we could not talk about it,” Martin added quickly. He hoped he hid his disappointment well enough.

Jon shook his head. “I was told to go there on the advice of someone who seemed… knowledgeable. Probably.” He looked down at his hands, one of his pointed ears twitching, then looked at him with a self-conscious smile that had Martin’s heart stuck in his throat. “Truthfully I don’t know what’s there, but it should come as little surprise that I’m hoping to find information I don’t currently have.”

If Jon looked at him like that one more time that day then Martin would fall down dead, and all that over an answer so incredibly vague that it really told him nothing except that Jon was mildly embarrassed. 

But that was the most important part, wasn’t it?

Instead of lying on the ground and closing his eyes until the world moved past him, Martin asked, “What are you hoping for?”

At this Jon seemed to relax, as if he’d had this particular answer rehearsed. “First, I want to be clear that I have interests outside of my general hunger for knowledge.”

“Okay…”

“So, much like mortals, I'm not born with some internal sense of everything I can do. Individuals like myself need to go out of their way from time to time to learn about themselves. My hunger comes the most naturally, as does my ability to sense when something is hidden, but it often doesn’t lead to much in the way of… practical magic. I have some things sorted out, but there are plenty of abilities others have which allude me. And I find that frustrating.”

This took Martin aback, but really, what had Jon done since they met? An amount of flight that looked more like slow, sustained jumping. Martin assumed asking a fae to help with anything physical was a bad idea, but perhaps in this case it was less to do with secret rules of politeness.

It would be rude to bring it up, though. “What kinds of things?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Elemental magics, telekinesis. One of my neighbors is very handy with making items move on their own to complete tasks. That would be helpful. I’d appreciate having something that could write down what I say in my own hand, for instance.”

“So one of the other fae told you Thornsbury was the place to learn magic like that?”

“...Something along those lines.” That embarrassed look again, strained but not uncomfortable. 

Was Jon basing this whole trip on a single piece of vague advice? Was that the extent of his motivation, the word of a few people at most that maybe this random human town had something that would develop his abilities further?

And here was Martin, assuming something complex or sinister. He could’ve laughed if he didn’t think it would come off as mocking. Sure, Jon could be trying to learn something dangerous, but deep down he couldn’t see him looking to hurt an innocent person somewhere. No, this was a man who ran into the woods, got lost partway through, and then he fell out of a tree and got mad about it because someone caught him in the act in more ways than one.

Glamour brought to mind a picture of irresistible grace and beauty. The ridiculous pull in Martin’s chest at twitchy ears and nervous hands gave him no plausible deniability. Not that Jont he wasn’t nice-looking, too, especially when he was in a good mood-

Shit.

“I know it doesn’t sound like a sure thing, but I won’t learn without taking risks so-”

“So we’d better get moving!” Martin interrupted. He grabbed his boot and slid it back on before pushing himself up off the ground. “Said I’d get you there after two nights. Don’t want to make a liar of myself.”

“That’s-” Jon stood, brushing himself off and taking one last look for hitchhikers on his person. “I won’t hold you too strictly to that. It’s not like I have an appointment.”

“I know. Getting there is important to you, though.”

It seemed to be the end of the conversation, as Jon nodded and let Martin lead him onward. Whether it was an amicable silence was hard to determine, but Jon was clearly lost in thought. Had he pried a bit too much? Taken advantage of some fae rule of honesty after they’d exchanged names? No one ever talked about what giving one’s name entailed to the letter, or what it meant when a fae gave theirs. Or when a fae and a mortal exchange names-

Before Martin could spiral down this particular rabbit hole, Jon cleared his throat to get his attention.

He shook his head. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh. Um. What is it?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your reason for travelling? You mentioned family?” Jon asked slowly, as if measuring his own words. “I would be interested to know what brings you here often enough to know this place so well.”

For a moment Martin panicked, waiting for words to be forced out of him, but nothing came. He put that particular fear to rest and let out a long breath. “My mother lives down this way. Um. Lived. Passed away in the winter.” 

Jon’s face fell, and he turned back towards the road. “Oh. My apologies.”

“It’s fine.” And it was, really. Nothing stuck in his throat as he spoke about the loss. In his own way he’d come to terms with it. “Someone needs to go through her things, and I’m the only one she had, so… yeah.”

“And was she… old by your measure?”

Despite himself Martin snorted. “A bit old, I guess, but mostly it was illness. It’s been coming for a while now. As natural as anything.” 

“It seems a long distance for a mother and child, even if they’re both fully grown.”

There was an implied question, but Martin just shrugged. It was a long distance. It’s why he never wanted to walk it. “I suppose it is.” 

“And risky.”

Very. “You could say so.”

At that point Jon ran out of insinuations and was left searching for something else to say. Martin knew it was difficult to talk about from the outside. It’s why he hadn’t bothered to tell many people in his village of his reason for leaving besides those who could see to his home every couple of days. He wondered idly if they still did so, or if they’d already grown tired of doing chores for someone they barely knew.

Martin let Jon search for the right words for a good long while. The effort was worth more than anything a member of the courts could ever think to say on the subject, or the people of his village for that matter.

If he found any, Jon kept them to himself and fell back to arguing about the benefits and drawbacks of the seasons. They would most likely never come to a conclusion because, despite Martin having most of the same complaints as Jon about winter, he wasn’t going to risk ending the conversation with a concession.

--

The emotional whiplash of that day was more than enough to put Jon to sleep within minutes of reaching Martin’s next preferred camping spot. He didn’t even make it to a tree this time, and why bother? The nights were still cold and he didn’t mind falling asleep while basking in the warmth of the fire. He had no final thoughts, just one last goodnight to his friend before they both left the day behind. If Martin wrote anything in his little book, Jon couldn't recall. 

When he woke the next morning Martin still slept with his back to Jon, using his heavy cloak as a pillow. A small leaf had lodged itself in the end of his ever-loosening ponytail in the night, and Jon couldn’t resist the urge to pick it out with all the artfulness his fae blood granted him. Then he lay on his back to judge the day ahead. The dew had settled over everything in the early morning, but the sun would almost certainly dry it all up in the coming hours. Their last full day would be a beautiful one, neatly mirroring the weather from the day they met. 

What an irritating thought. He didn’t need nature smugly bookending their travels.

It wasn’t long before Martin awoke, groggy and stiff from lying on the ground. He patted the area around him, face scrunched and squirting, and Jon leaned over to grab Martin’s spectacles off a nearby stump.

“Here, before you knock them over.” 

“Ugh, why’d I put them there?” Martin mumbled, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“I suppose I keep throwing you off,” Jon remarked, stretching his arms out in front of him. From behind, his wings opened out in a similar motion. They were growing stronger by the day, and in his mind much nicer to look at. “Too many exciting changes like sleeping on the ground or getting ahead of you while crossing a stream. I’ve disrupted your routine.”

“You make up for it by having good eyes,” Martin said, removing his spectacles again and wiping them with his shirt. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” 

Without much else to look at, he kept his gaze on Martin gathering his things together and found himself mentally appending plans for the future with him as a presence in it, small as that presence may turn out to be. Mortal lives were fleeting things; what was he but a longer-lived fleeting thing, strong one season and fragile the next? 

Impulsive decisions had one great flaw and benefit: the ease with which one could change them. Thornsbury was a destination and he would follow up on his tip, no doubt about that. Summer had just begun, though. What was another day, another week even, when he had so many? He certainly wasn’t in a hurry to return home.

The only thing he needed to know was Martin’s thoughts on the subject. Clearly Martin was in a hurry himself and needed to complete the business with his mother. Would Jon be welcomed along in such a solemn task? Or would it be better to go to Thornsbury and meet Martin at a later date once the deed was done? In a few weeks Jon’s strength would be greater and he could offer assistance if anything needed to be removed. Would that be the right time?

If Martin noticed the scrutiny he didn’t jump or make a fuss, though his ears did turn a slight pink. Perhaps if Jon looked hard enough for a glint in the eye or a turn of the head, he would be able to tell if his friend shared his thoughts. 

All he saw was the soft, continuous line that made up the cheek and neck, stubble dotting the skin all the way down and only curving to gather at the chin. 

Martin kept his eyes down, shifting things around in his bag. “Ready to get started?”

Jon blinked a few times. “Yes, but if there isn’t some final gauntlet at the end of this I’ll require an explanation of your services.”

“You really want to know all the things I’ve learnt to avoid in this place?” Martin’s humorless smile struck a sympathetic chord.

Jon kept on. “Once we get out of here I’ll take a list so I know where to steer clear of on my way back. Unless you’ll be conveniently standing at the crossroads waiting for me to trip into you?”

The smile fell and Martin kept rooting through his bag, though Jon doubted he was looking for anything in particular. “If you plan on coming this way again, I can tell you the way I would take. I’ve done it for people before.”

It was a kind offer that felt like a door in the face. He mumbled some agreement and they both began the walk forward, a repeat of the many days past. 

Silence followed. The thought crossed his mind that he wouldn't mind a bit of rain to cool things down a little that morning. He knew none was coming and should have been glad of that fact. That he wasn’t was one of many facts he’d stowed away to think about at a later time but had begun to pile up when he wasn’t looking. 

He was certain now that the secrets the man reeked of were nothing but the kind one kept out of habit or politeness. What did Jon know about the relationship between a human and their parents? Normally these details would sit in the background, a low hum of the unknown, but a death? Perhaps that could pull all sorts of things to the forefront of Jon’s detection. It lifted a weight off of him to piece it together and see Martin clearly. To put it simply, Martin was a man who wanted to help Jon succeed, even if it meant rushing through what could be the last day they spent together before they went their separate ways. Or maybe he needed to get to his mother’s home more urgently than Jon realized, and no other thought to the future entered his mind.

Really, would it be too much to ask for some rain? Even a summer court fae needed cooling down, and Martin had proven willing to shield him from getting wet.

“Are you feeling all right?” Martin asked. “You’ve slowed down quite a bit.”

Jon finally noticed Martin a few feet ahead of him, all concern. He picked up his pace. “I’m hoping for some shade soon. We won’t be getting any more rain, I think.”

No rain came, and neither did any large events occur to hinder their travels. No felled trees, no mudslides or aggressive animals. It was a perfect day; they spoke of nothing important at all. With each hour Jon felt his opportunities slip away, and Martin was more than helpful in making the time pass by asking questions about Jon’s interests, his life back home, whether he’d ever been this far north before, anything he could think of with a genuine interest that pulled the words from Jon’s mouth, no magic necessary. 

They ate lunch, backs against the same tree, and he shared his food with Martin to earn another big smile. As far as he was aware no spiders crawled on him for Martin to catch. Once, as they ate, Martin bumped his knee against Jon’s and he teased him for his paranoia about the creepy little things. Jon bumped his knee back and said if any more came near him it was Martin’s fault for attracting them, and so on and so forth.

They walked, and walked, the sun sprinting ahead of them toward the west and already brushing against the treeline. Soon a clearing appeared before them, and Martin stopped with some surprise.

“Wow, we’ve made really good time. We’ll camp here and take it easy the rest of the evening.”

Jon whipped his head up towards his companion. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m done walking for today. Sorry if I pushed us a bit too hard,” Martin said sheepishly, stretching his arms towards the sky. “But you’ll be off to Thornsbury by tomorrow.”

With a dry laugh, Jon remarked, “Right now I’d be glad to sit down for a week, Thornsbury be damned.” And with Martin’s blessing he sat on a stump, rubbing his ankles.

“Don’t say that when you’re almost there,” Martin said with a hint of sincerity. He began work on the fire. “I don’t know how curses work, but I’d rather a whole town didn’t suffer because I insisted we keep walking.”

“Even at my strongest I don’t think I could pull off something like that,” Jon said, rubbing his eyes. 

“Still. Watch your language,” Martin said, smiling. 

Jon watched in silence as the fire was built in deliberate steps by a well-practiced hand. In the last week he’d never paid much attention to the process. What else should he have been doing on their final night? What else could he say? 

Pulling his knees to his chest, Jon said, “I wouldn’t have been able to, you know.”

From the young and crackling fire, Martin turned. “Hm?” 

“Curse you. I can’t actually do that sort of thing. I was embarrassed when we met so I said the first thing I could think of, but I don’t know much about curses at all. One of the many topics Thornsbury might have for me, actually.” He allowed himself a self-deprecating chuckle.

“...Oh.”

Jon’s heart sank. What did that mean, that blank ‘oh’? He’d already said he wasn’t going to curse Martin, but had the man not believed him? Had Jon misread the situation somehow, and Martin had been acting all this time under the belief that he was under implicit threat? 

“Even if I was able, I wouldn’t have. That was true when I said it and it is now. But I can’t. Really, there aren’t a lot of ways I could harm you as I currently am? Physical strength only really comes further into summer, and you already know how I am about my own magic-”

“Jon?”

They locked eyes, and Martin’s mouth tilted into a smirk. “I take back my apology. It was your fault you fell out of that tree, and if I hadn’t caught you, you would’ve been just as snotty to me. So there, you prick.” 

This must’ve contorted Jon’s face horribly as Martin’s lit up in a snorting laughter. Heat shot up Jon’s face and ears and he hated how pleasant it felt and how nice Martin looked when laughing at him. If he could have cursed the fire for its flattering light he would have, but everyone involved knew it to be impossible. 

So he reached into his bag, took out what remained of his non-foraged food, and began to eat. “Yes, fine, I was in the wrong. Enjoy eating your unpleasant crusty bread.” It didn’t mean much considering they’d be out of the woods tomorrow, but it was what he had.

“Guess I would be without it eventually,” Martin replied, though a grimace snuck through the unbothered acceptance. “I appreciate you sharing it before, though.”

“You’re trying to make me feel bad,” Jon deadpanned.

“No! Well, not entirely,” Martin admitted, then turned his face away slightly. “But I did want to thank you. It’s been nice travelling together… I’ll miss it.”

With a calmness he didn’t quite feel, Jon said, “I know you have things to take care of, but I wouldn’t mind if you accompanied me further down the road.”

“What?”

“I-” He wasn’t familiar with the landscape. Signs could be unclear. Thornsbury could look like any place. All the excuses that came to mind made him sound incapable of finding his way through a one-room barn. Unthinkable. “I’m sure I could find my way, but it would be reassuring to have your knowledge of the area, and going on alone sounds miserable once you’ve enjoyed someone’s company long enough. No one will be there to fill the space but myself.”

With the sun falling behind the trees and the red light of the fire casting everything in a similar tone, Jon almost missed Martin’s cheeks growing dark. “I… My mum-”

“I could come along with you, then. Whatever is in Thornsbury can wait a few days,” Jon said with a dismissive wave of the hand. 

Martin pushed the bangs off his forehead, knocking his spectacles slightly askew. “Why?”

“Why? Wh…why not? We have different destinations, but from what you said they can’t be more than a few days away from each other. And it’s not as if I need to be a part of whatever business you have if that’s what you’re concerned about.” He looked down and scratched at his face. “In fact coming into town as I am may cause a scene. Same for Thornsbury. Hadn’t thought about that part as much as I should have.” 

“Seems like an important detail,” Martin said, though he seemed to struggle with the words. “I- Listen-”

Apparently Jon’s reasonable requests were too strange for his companion, as Martin opened and closed his mouth like a stranded fish. It wasn’t a straight rejection, as Jon had feared. In fact, a smile was trying to find purchase but each time was dragged down by something Jon couldn’t place. A rising pressure pushed at the back of Jon’s skull, screaming at him to tear down a brick wall crumbling before him. 

The will to do something about this vague and frankly baffling feeling left him in the dust as an internal struggle reached its completion and Martin slumped in place. A very different kind of laughter, resigned and regretful, bubbled up between his lips before petering out into a quiet, “I’m sorry. We can’t.”

Jon frowned. “If it’s my company you’d rather be rid of-”

“No! God, no,” Martin exclaimed. “I’d love to spend more time with you. I just… can’t.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I can’t. I can’t stay here. I can’t leave. I can’t do anything.” Martin leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. “Shit. ‘Course this happens now.”

In spite of himself Jon pounced on this near-confession of something like it was a dangling piece of meat. “What do you mean you can’t?” 

With the most miserable expression Jon had seen yet, Martin lifted his head from his hands and groaned, “I’m already cursed.”

[sordidery]

@recholeric, ❝ there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you. ❞ blue && gansey.

DISAPPOINTMENT SPREADS THROUGHOUT HIS CHEST. the day wasn't planned to have such a sorrowful note to it, but it seemed destined that gansey was to feel miserable. yellow grass scratched at his knees and sweat lined his forehead. the sun, rapidly exiting golden hour, gave him an excuse to keep his eyes ahead, away from the person beside him. he had been excited to take blue on a solo hike. to tell her about peculiar weather patterns around leylines and to try to make her laugh. alas, the sun was nearly set, they had no new leads, and the end to their private moment loomed ahead, the pig an orange blob in the distance. they've been stopped for a few minutes now, talking, dawdling. he kicks at the ground, crushing a wheat colored blade of grass beneath his deck shoes, and slaps at a gnat just below his elbow.

❝ i didn't know anyone could tell you what to do, jane. much less tell you what not to say. ❞ the nickname is a tactical sidestep, or maybe, a method of detachment. he's not sure there is a difference between the two. he won't press, won't beg for an answer he knows she won't give. she's just as bad as adam sometimes. he regrets his tone, he knows he sounds bitter. he can't blame her for the despondency he feels at the thought of her purposefully keeping something from him even though that might make him feel better. no, this always happens. it goes like this : gansey, sanguine to a fault, assumes his total honesty means other people will follow in his lead. they don't. he bares his heart and is met with secrets or lies or resentment. he looks over to blue and can't bring himself to look away. ❝ do your surprises ever end? ❞

[dirtykpopsnaps]

The Resident Bad Boy — Mark Lee smut

Warnings: This fic contains 18+ material. Anyone under 18 seen interacting with this fic will be blocked!!

Contains: bad boy!Mark. Banter between Mark and Y/N. Hate fucking. Unprotected sex. That’s basically it.

Requested:

Words: 3, 478 (wow...I’m getting these requests out faster than I thought. But, I’ve had this request on my mind since it came in...oops😬😬)

———————————————————————

I sigh softly, nibbling lightly on the toast in front of me. Out the window of the kitchen, I’m just able to people slowly waking up in their homes and starting their days. Calmly, my eyes flit over to the digital clock set into the stove. The clock displays back the time 7:00 AM and I climb off the seat. I grab my plate and place it in the sink, grabbing the toast off the top. I shove the toast into my mouth and grab my bookbag off the floor, throwing it over my shoulder. “I’m heading out, mom! Have a nice day!” I call out before walking to the door and heading out into the street.

Calmly, I walk down the street towards the bus stop. Each house on the street looks similar, but different at the same time. At the end of the street, a large stop sign signals the place for the bus stop. A few students are already gathered around the bus stop, some just waiting for the bus and others already studying. I join the group of students and wait patiently. Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long before the bus shows up. Quickly, students step onto the bus and take their seats. I find a seat at the very front of the bus, setting my backpack next to me.

As the time passes, the bus makes a few other stops. Students climb onto the bus and find their seats, talking excitedly to their friends. Up until the last stop, everything is fine. No one bothers me and I sit alone, looking out the window at everything passing. At the last stop, as I do every day, I duck my head and try to avoid all attention. Sometimes this works, other times it doesn’t. Today is one of the days where it doesn’t work. A few people climb onto the bus, finding their seats and talking happily. Then, a person appears at in the isle next to me. “Is this seat taken?” They ask, their voice filled with mock curiosity. I swallow thickly and shake my head, picking up the backpack and pulling it onto my lap. Chuckling to himself, the person takes the seat next to me.

As soon as he sits down, I look out the window and refuse to look at him. The bus slowly starts moving again and makes its way towards our high school. After a few minutes, the boy next to me speaks up again. “Aww, does someone not want to look at me? Did I upset you?” He asks, using a mocking baby voice and trying to get his face into my line of sight. I huff in annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Leave me alone, Lee. I don’t need your shit this early in the morning,” I growl. Finally, I turn my head to look at him and scowl at him. Just next to me, a thin but muscular young man is smirking at me. His eyes are large and dark, chocolaty brown. His hair is fluffy and dark brown, as well. Just looking at this boy, some might say he looks angelic. But, this boy’s angelic looks have never fooled me. Since the day I met him, I’ve known just the kind of person he truly is.

This man right next to me is Mark Lee. He’s a year above me, a senior at my high school. This young man, as angelic as he may look, has made my life a living hell since the day I met him. My family moved here just a couple years ago due to a promotion my father got. It moved him to another department in Korea and my mother and I moved with him. The day that I started at Seoul Performing Arts High School, I met Mark. He strutted right up to me and started flirting. Most girls would have melted into a puddle. He was the most popular boy in school. He was a bad boy and add to that that he was debuting as a kpop idol, and every girl wanted to be with him. Every girl, that is, except me. I didn’t know who the hell Mark Lee was, but he was too confident and conceited for me to ever fall for him. I wanted nothing to do with him and, ever since that day, he’s made it his goal in life to bother me and bully me.

At my statement, Mark raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you don’t need my shit, huh? Well, you’ll just have to deal, little miss perfect,” he laughs cruelly. I roll my eyes, huffing and looking out the window again. Mark laughs again. “Oh, don’t act like that. You know you like me,” he laughs, wrapping his arm around the seat of the bus and onto my shoulder. I glare at him, shoving his arm off my shoulder.

“You. Wish,” I glare, turning away from him again. Mark rolls his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

“Fine. Just meet me at our hall during break,” he says plainly. Instantly, my throat feels dry and I look at him, taking deep breaths.

“Who says I want to meet with you?” I ask, lowering my voice. He shrugs his shoulders lightly.

“Well, you’ve never missed one of our meetings before,” he reminds me. I huff again, slumping down in the seat. Mark laughs at my actions, patting my head like one would a petulant child.

Finally, the bus makes its way up to the high school. Kids begin climbing off the bus and I separate myself from Mark Lee as soon as I can. He doesn’t try to stop me and I can see him meeting up with his friends, talking calmly. However, what they’re talking about doesn’t seem to catch his attention. He keeps throwing glances at me and, when he catches me staring back, he blows me a condescending kiss. I roll my eyes, making my way into the school and heading towards my classroom. When I get into the classroom, I find my seat and immediately take a book out of my bookbag. I open the book on the desk and start flipping through it, looking over random bits of information.

For the most part, my morning is fairly normal. My day starts with my vocal practice lessons. The teacher is critical, but only because they want us to do as well as we can. I stay to myself, working with the techniques that he teaches us. About halfway through the class, I start to feel things being tossed at the back of my head. I frown lightly, refusing to turn around and acknowledge it. I know exactly who’s throwing the trash at me and I’m not encouraging him. However, after about another 10 minutes of having trash tossed at me, I whip around. Mark is sitting at the back of the class, laughing with his best friend and looks away when I whip around. “Stop it!” I hiss at him, turning back around and ignoring him for the rest of the class.

At the end of class, the school bell rings loudly. Everyone begins packing up their bags and heading out of the class, walking towards no specific place. We have a 50 minute break now and the students get to spend it however they see fit. Quickly, I gather my bag and throw it over my shoulder, walking out of the room. Looking around to make sure that no one is watching me, I walk in the opposite direction of most students and head further into the school. I walk along the long hallways, making my way towards an empty wing of the school. The classrooms here aren’t used until later on in the day, so this has become our normal meeting spot. As calmly as possible, I head down the hall and wait for him to appear.

Not long after, I hear heavy footsteps as someone makes their way down the empty hall. The person walks along and then turns down the same hall as me. When he sees me standing there, he chuckles lightly. “See? I knew you would show up,” he smiles knowingly. I glare at him, crossing my arms again.

“I hate you,” I sigh, shaking my head at him.

“Well, obviously, you don’t. I mean, it was your choice to show up. You didn’t *have* to come here,” he points out. I take a deep breath, pressing my lips together tightly.

“Whatever,” I mumble, walking down the hall to one of the empty classrooms. Mark follows after me, making no effort to be any quieter. He walks into the room after me, closing the door quietly behind him.

As soon as he enters the room, I press him against the door and smash my lips against his. Mark grunts in surprise, but falls into the kiss soon afterward. When we pull apart, he shoots an infuriating smile down at me. “What a nice greeting. Finally you’re being nice to me,” he chuckles. I narrow my eyes at him, tugging hard at his hair in response. Mark grunts again, screwing his face up in pain. He swats at my hands, pulling them out of his hair. I flash him a tight-lipped smile and he rolls his eyes. “You know you can drop your act here. No one is around to see that you actually *care* about Mark Lee,” he says.

“I *don’t* care about you. You’re just infuriatingly persistent and persuasive. Not to mention, you’re good with your dick,” I tell him. He laughs lightly and I slap my hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

See, when Mark had first suggested we fuck, almost a year ago now, I had laughed in his face. I hated him. He was like an annoying gnat that just wouldn’t leave you alone. He would pull at my hair. He would lob balls of paper at the back of my head. He would outright flirt with me in front of everyone and anyone. And I can’t tell you how many girls hate me because of that. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he had suggested. So, against my better judgment, I showed up. He broke into this huge, shit-eating grin as soon as he saw me. Then, he pulled me into an empty classroom in this very hall and fucked me better than anyone ever could. I’d never been with anyone before that, but I just...knew. He was a major asshole, but he was *so* good with his dick. And, when I told him I was a virgin, he actually showed me kindness and caring for the first time since I had met him. Ever since then, at least once a week, we would meet up and fuck.

When Mark’s laughter has died down, I take my hand away from his mouth. For a few seconds, we just stare at each other, then I lean up and pull him into another deep kiss. This time, he’s not caught off guard and slips his hands down to my hips, holding them tightly. “Someone’s eager,”he chuckles, working on the buttons of his blazer, “What’s the hurry? Don’t you wanna savor the moment?” I glare up at him.

“No, I don’t, Mark. You know we don’t have that much time,” I remind him.

“Jeez! If you wanted my dick that much, all you had to say was ‘please’,” he laughs.

“Mark Lee, if you don’t shut your pretty mouth right now and I fuck me, I *will* leave you right here,” I warn, pulling off my blazer and throwing it over a chair. Mark does the same, working on his tie and shirt.

For a few moments, neither Mark nor I talk to each other. We busy ourselves with throwing off the pieces of our elaborate uniforms and place them around the room. I start working on the buttons of my skirt to drop it, but Mark stops me. “Hey, you know I like that cute little skirt. Keep it on,” he winks. I roll my eyes and stop trying to take it off. Now just in his boxers, Mark drops to his knees and looks up at me. Slowly he trails his hands up my legs until he reaches my panties. He snaps the band against skin, smirking to himself. “These, however...these need to come off,” he chuckles darkly. Immediately after, he slips them down my legs. When they reach my feet, I kick them off and he sets them on top of my blouse and the little bow. Calmly, I slip off my shoes and socks, leaving me in only my bra and uniform skirt.

Standing to his full height again, Mark steps back and hums happily. “Always so gorgeous,” he chuckles. Without hesitation, he drops his last article of clothing and, suddenly, he’s completely naked in front of me. The morning sun lights up his tanned skin beautifully, but my eyes immediately fall to his cock. It’s already standing at attention and ready for us to play. Just staring at it, my mouth waters slightly. It’s just a little longer than average, but it’s very thick and veiny. It always feels so amazing inside of me. After a few seconds of staring, my eyes flit up to his again and he still has that infuriating smirk.

As soon as my eyes meet his, he strides up to me and holds me close. His hand is pressed against the small of my back, keeping us chest to chest. He captures my lips in a heated kiss, swiping his tongue at the seam of my lips. I open them immediately and his tongue makes it’s way into my mouth, fighting for dominance with mine. Although I fight back, I know that he’ll be the one in charge. He’s always the one in charge. Finally, I give in and allow him to take dominance. I feel him smirk against my lips and I have half a mind to slap him, but I decide against it. If I actually were to slap him, he would probably leave me high and dry. Mark moves his lips away from my mouth and starts pressing light kisses against my jaw and neck. “No...no marks, Mark. I can’t cover them right now,” I moan, leaning my head back to give him more access.

“You’re no fun,” he frowns, nipping at my neck.

“Mark,” I say, gritting my teeth. He sighs lightly and continues descending down to my chest.

Smoothly, he begins pressing kisses to the tops of my breasts. He moves the cup of my bra aside and takes my nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. I gasp loudly, threading my fingers into his hair and tugging. He hums against my breast, nipping lightly at the pebble in his mouth. “You’re always so responsive,” he says, moving to the other breast. I hum lightly, tugging at his hair again.

“Mark, don’t waste time,” I moan, trying to steady my voice.

“You’re still no fun,” he groans, leaning back and adjusting the cups over my breasts again. He steps away and takes in my figure, deciding where he wants me. “I wanna see you bent over that desk,” he stares, gesturing his head towards one of the desks nearby.

As soon as the order escapes his lips, I walk over the desk and press my chest against the top, gripping the far edge. I look over my shoulder and bite my lip. “You coming, Lee?” I ask, catching him staring at my ass as the skirt slowly moves up.

“Be patient,” he chides jokingly, striding over and gripping my ass cheek in his hand. He kneads it for a few seconds before pressing his hard cock against my crack. “Are you ready for this?” He asks.

“Just waiting for you stop being a tease, Lee,” I sigh, tapping my fingers against the desk impatiently. I can almost hear him roll his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, woman. Do you ever just take in the moment?” He groans in annoyance.

“Not when we only have 50 minutes to get ourselves off,” I snap.

“You should come to my dorm sometime. I’d take my time with you there,” he hums.

“In your dreams, Lee,” I growl.

“Oh, you bet. Every single night, darling,” he chuckles. I glare at him over my shoulder.

“Mark Lee, fuck me now or I *will* leave,” I growl. He rolls his eyes again, fisting his cock.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up,” he mumbles in frustration.

Just as I’m about to respond, Mark steps up behind me and rubs his cock through my folds. I moan loudly, tightening my grip on the edge of the table. Mark laughs at my response. “Isn’t it you who’s always chiding me about being too loud?” He laughs.

“Mark,” I growl in annoyance, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself. However, before I can say anything else, Mark moves his cock to my hole and presses in. My breath catches in my throat at the feeling and I gasp, clutching the edge of the desk. Mark groans, slowly working himself into me.

“Jesus. No matter how much I fuck you, you’re always so *tight*,” he groans, slowly pulling his cock in and out. Each time he presses back in, he goes in a little further. After several minutes, he’s finally worked himself all the way in.

For a few seconds, he just sits there and allow me to adjust to his size. I can hear him taking deep breaths through gritted teeth, trying not to move before I say he can. When I’m fully adjusted, I nod my head quickly. “Fuck me, Mark,” I moan, pressing my ass back. He groans again, moving his hands to my hips and pulling out. He slams his cock back into me, finding that spot that only he can. I moan loudly, throwing my head back at the pleasure.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me,” he moans, quicken his pace.

“Only...Only for you, Mark,” I whine, panting slightly.

“Who’s cock makes you feel this good?”

“Your’s, Mark! Your cock makes me feel so good!” He growls, slamming into me yet again. He presses his front against my back, stopping for a moment.

“That’s right, babygirl, only me,” he growls, nipping at the skin of my neck. I groan at the feeling but, before I can chide him for leaving marks, he’s thrusting again.

Quickly, his thrusts reach a point where the desk is scrapping against the floor. That familiar feeling in my stomach is rising and I whine softly. “Mark...Mark, I’m gonna come,” I moan, leaning back against him.

“Come for me, baby. I’m almost there,” he groans. At his words, I allow myself to fall over the edge. I lift up one of my hands, biting it as I fall over the edge. My cunt flutters around Mark, clenching and unclenching involuntarily. He groans loudly, spilling inside of me. I whine, feeling his cum already dripping down my legs.

“Shit...I didn’t mean to do that,” he pants worriedly.

“It’s okay, Mark. I’m on the pill,” I pant back, resting my face against the desk. He laughs lightly, taking in deep breaths.

“Fuck, that’s great,” he says.

For a few seconds, we both just allow ourselves to come down from our highs. When we’ve calmed down enough, we start pulling our uniforms back on. We pull on all of the different parts, checking each other and making sure that we look presentable. I tug my blazer back on when I suddenly notice the unexpected coolness against my cunt. I gasp loudly, searching around the room frantically. “What, what?!” Mark asks in confusion.

“My panties! Where are they?! They were just on top of my blouse!” I whisper-shout, turning around in circles. Mark laughs lightly and I turn to him, my jaw hanging open.

“Why are you laughing at me?!” I ask in shock. Smirking, he tugs something out of his pocket and I’m just able to recognize the color and lace of my panties. “Hey, give those back!” I say, snatching for them.

Quickly, Mark shoves then back in his pocket and smirks. “You’ll get them back when you come to my dorm,” he says plainly, then he turns on his heel and walks off. I stare after him, my jaw hanging open. He did *not* just do that. Finally getting a hold of myself again, I hurry down the hall after him. I hit his arm, begging him to give them back, but he just keeps laughing at me. When he get back into the occupied part of the school, I’m forced to drop it. However, I keep pleading with him for the rest of the day. Let’s just say...I don’t get my panties back...that day, anyway.

[angryschnauzer]

Overnight

Summary: It may have been a mistake to get off the highway, your car breaking down on an abandoned back road. But just in time a tow truck appears, and the mechanics garage isn't far away... but when you find out the parts will be delivered overnight, you storm off towards town... and somehow find yourself where you least expect.

Pairing: AU Mechanic Chris Evans x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Dubious Consent, AU, Greasy Mechanic Chris, Backroads Fic, Unprotected Sex, Thunderstorms, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, unprotected anal sex, Sloppy Seconds, Kitchen Sex, Dark Chris, Slightly Creepy Fic

A/N: This is a slightly twisted story, i wouldn’t say it was ‘dark’, but it does have a slightly sinister undertone. I’m also tagging it as dub-con (dubious consent) as although reader never says no, she is never asked either. This is very much a work of fiction, and i urge the reader to take responsibility for their online consumption, so ensure you read the warnings before reading and then only proceed once you have accepted what this story may contain. It is not a light and fluffy fic.

I do not operate a tag list, but you can follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as every time i post a story i will reblog there. I have too many stories to do a masterlist, but you can find my entire back catalgoue on AO3 through THIS LINK.

A while back i also wrote a Seb AU Mechanic fic, and here is the link for that: Caught In The Storm

Overnight

You should NOT have turned off the interstate. Sure, you would be stuck in bumper to bumper tailbacks in the searing heat, but surely it would have been better than this. The further you’d driven, the worse your car had sounded, the metallic clanking sound getting louder and louder the further you drove. Something made a loud THUD and you felt the power steering go, and glancing in your rear-view mirror a large oil patch was appearing behind your car as it slowly started to cough and splutter, before coasting to a halt on the side of the cracked road. As the engine died you thumped the steering wheel, cursing and screaming at the broken piece of junk, before with heavy limbs you pulled yourself from the car. 

 Standing on the rough gravel at the side of the road, your hands on your hips, you glowered at the car, a faint hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. The sun beat down and you could feel the heat of the day sinking into your bones, gnats and midges trying to gnaw at your skin as you slapped them angrily away. Dark clouds grew on the horizon but did little to obscure the beating sun high above you. 

 Checking your cell phone you weren’t surprised to see the no service icon, you were in the middle of nowhere, more likely to be dragged into the surrounding swamp and eaten by god knows what than to be able to call anyone. Just as you were lamenting your woes, the sound of an old diesel engine came rumbling to yours ears, and glancing down the road you saw an ancient tow truck coming into view. Standing in the road you waved your arms to flag the vehicle down; even if it couldn’t help then maybe it could take you to a working phone.

 The truck came to a stop in front of your car, and as the engine cut off and the driver’s door opened, you felt your body go tight. The man that climbed down from the cab looked like sin on a Sunday, long denim clad legs striding towards you, ball cap on backwards doing little to shade his face from the pounding sunshine, and a t-shirt that seemed to be painted onto his broad chest and wide shoulders;

 “In a spot of trouble there darlin’?”

 You let out a huff, you weren’t about to let some back roads hick try and charm his way into your panties… though said panties were suddenly becoming damper by every second he stood close to you. Shaking your head, you stood tall and puffed your chest out;

 “My car has died. If I could borrow your phone to call Triple A, I haven’t got any signal on mine…”

 The guy looked you up and down, his gaze resting on your chest as a bead of perspiration ran down your neck and between your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips;

 “AAA don’t come out here, its subcontracted out to us locals. I’m on my way back to the garage now if you want a tow Sweetheart?”

 Letting out a deep sigh you nodded, returning to your car to grab your purse as the man started to unreel the towing line and called out to you;

 “Hop up into the cab Princess, this won’t take a moment”

 Rolling your eyes at the pet names you bit your tongue; the guy was after all helping you out. Gripping the handle of the tow trucks door you looked down at the old worn paintwork ‘Evans Autos’. You quickly fished your phone out of your bag and snapped a shot, setting it to upload to the iCloud once you got in range of any signal… at least that way if this greasy backroads mechanic chopped you into little pieces you had left a trail of evidence. 

 Pulling the door open you let out a small yelp when you came face to face with a big brown dog sitting on the passenger seat;

 “Scoot!”

 The dog looked at you with utter disdain, and firmly remained sat on the seat. Waving your hands a little you frowned at it;

 “C’mon, scoot over!”

 Over the sound of the towing winch whining at it pulled your car up onto the truck, you heard the mechanic call out;

 “You’ll have to climb over Dodge… he likes the window seat”

 Turning back to the big mutt you could have sworn it had a smug ‘so there’ look on its face, and as you climbed up and around the dog, you sat in the middle of the wide bench seat. Looking around you couldn’t find any seatbelts, so just sat with your hands firmly clasped in your lap. The sounds of lockers being shut hit your ears before the driver’s door opened and the mechanic climbed into the seat next to you and grinned;

 “Best hold on Babe, it’s a bumpy ride to the garage”

 “I’ll be fine, thanks” you muttered as he gunned the engine and pulled away.

 -

 He hadn’t been lying; the roads were atrocious. With each bump and pothole you were bounced closer to him, the dog the other side of you seemingly able to spread out across not only his seat but part of yours. You could have sworn the mechanic was aiming for every single bump possible just to be able to watch your breasts bounce as the truck hit each stone. 

 With each jolt and jiggle your thigh was pressed closer and closer against his, and when the truck hit a huge hole in the road you felt yourself almost  lifted from the seat, suddenly pinned back by his strong arm quickly thrown across your torso to hold you down and from slipping from the seat. The skin of his tattooed bicep was pressed against the exposed neckline and chest, his scent invading your senses; a warm spicy aftershave and motor oil and gasoline. You could feel your panties getting wetter as your legs parted so you could plant your feet on the dusty floor of the truck but it did little to alleviate the aching between your thighs. 

 Finally he slowed the truck and turned the wheel into a sharp left-hand turn, the truck bouncing along a gravel driveway until an old wooden auto shop came into view. Pulling the truck to a stop he climbed out, holding his hand out for you;

 “Dodge likes to sleep in the cab…”

 Rolling your eyes you took his hand and climbed out as gracefully as you could, your short sundress sticking to the seat before you yanked it down to retain what was left of your dignity;

 “So Babycakes, there’s a coupla’ chairs round the side if you want to take a seat whilst I look at your car, and an icebox on the counter just inside the shop, help yourself to a water”

 “Umm, thanks”

 -

 You glanced at the time on your phone. You’d been waiting three hours; the sound of your car being taken to pieces by the mechanic was all you’d heard for most of that time. The only thing that seemed to have changed in those three hours was the humidity rising and the storm clouds coming closer. Rising to your feet you stretched your limbs and turned the corner of the auto shop, glancing at the mechanic as he lay on the floor below your sorry looking car as it was raised on the hydraulic lift;

 “Sir?”

 “Chris”

 “What?”

 “It’s Chris, not Sir…”

 “Ok, Chris. Do you know how much longer it’ll be?”

 Chris pulled himself out from beneath your car, wiping his hands on a rag that was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans;

 “For today, I’ll probably be done in an hour…”

 “Great!”

 “... but I need to overnight the parts I need, so it won’t be ready until tomorrow”

 “What? When were you going to tell me that?”

 “I’ve just ordered the parts Honey”

 You let out a grunt of frustration;

 “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow… you could have told me sooner”

 You turned on your heel and started to walk away;

 “Where ya’ goin’?”

 “To find a motel, or a guesthouse, or somewhere to stay at!”

 “On foot?!”

 “YES!”

 -

 You had stormed off, anger driving your feet as your white sneakers slowly got covered in brown dust that puffed up from the gravel driveway with every step you took towards the road. Finally you reached the cracked asphalt, taking a sharp right-hand turn and you started along the road. By now the humidity was hanging in the air and it felt like you were walking through soup. Even the midges had given up, their tiny wings not strong enough to cut through the cloying stillness. The sun was now obscured by dark clouds, but you continued on. Finally a crossroads came into view, and you willed your heat-tired muscles to push on, coming to the sign and stopping. The shortest distance was to take a right, so scrambling over the accumulated gravel you continued your journey. 

 -

 An hour later your legs were weary. Your dress clung to your skin as sweat beaded across your brow, down your chest and back. You held your arms out as you walked, hoping just by moving they would cool your skin, but having little affect.

 Finally a small house came into view, further buildings behind it mostly hidden by trees. The hair on your arms stood on end with Goosebumps and you could smell petrichor on the air, you knew the storm was about to break. Quickening your step you found the energy to trot down the rest of the way, past the worn mailbox with most of the letters worn away, the last three just spelling out ‘van’, but you were oblivious, the first raindrop hitting your skin and you sprinted towards the house. 

 By the time you reached the porch the parts of your dress that weren’t stuck to your skin due to sweat were doing so thanks to the rain. A crack of thunder boomed as a flash of lightning lit the sky, and as you cowered under the porch you heard a bark and a very wet brown dog suddenly ran for cover, shivering on the doorstep. Another crack of thunder made you jump, and the dog cowered against you, you crouching down to wrap your arms around the scared creature. Looking at the name tag that hung from its collar you read it; ‘Dodger’, and your heart plummeted to your stomach. Before you could even fathom what had happened, a familiar voice was behind you;

 “You were walking over an hour and you still manage to find your way back here?”

 Turning you looked out to the lawn where Chris stood, the rain pouring over him, his t-shirt stuck to every curve of his body and his jeans hanging low on his narrow hips. Slowly striding towards you he wiped the rain from his face as he stepped under the porch, reaching around you and opening the door to the small cabin;

 “You took a right and another right, didn’t ya?”

 “How did you…?”

 “Well, if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff, I woulda told you to turn left at the end of the driveway. Instead walked a giant triangle and found yourself back here”

 You let out a strangled noise, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, before your body sagged;

 “Can you… can you give me a ride into town?”

 “Nope”

 “No?!”

 “The town is tiny. All we got is a church, a market, and a drug store. Nearest motel ain’t for thirty miles, and you wouldn’t wanna stay there… unless you like cockroaches”

 You could feel your bottom lip quiver, trying to hold back the tears before Chris’s voice softened;

 “I got a couch you can stay on, no funny business, no obligations…”

 He was close, so close. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and you found your mouth moving before your brain could stop it;

 “What if I wanted funny business?”

 There was no more preamble, no more hesitating, he stepped forwards, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other on your waist as he pulled your body flush against his own, his lips meeting yours.

 The kiss was fierce, your mouth willingly opening as his tongue pushed against your own, dancing together as you tasted one another. His hand on your hip pulled at your dress, curling it up in his fingers until your skin was there to touch, his large hand gripping the soft cheek of your ass. He pushed you back, the hardness of the wooden clapperboards of his cabin rough against your skin, but you were blissfully unaware of it. He pressed one leg between yours and you ground your hips against the firm denim clad muscle of his thigh, in turn the thick hardness that was growing between your bodies he rubbed against your hip, moaning into your mouth as the friction helped release some of the tension that had built during the day. 

 Snaking a hand between your bodies, your dress had already ridden up so he was easily able to slide a hand into your panties, leaving streaks of motor oil across the pale fabric as he sought out your clit. Pushing two wide fingers down he found your soaked entrance and gathered some of your wetness, before bringing his fingers back and rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bud. His lips parted from yours, resting his forehead to your own for a moment you panted into his mouth, the air between you hot and thick, before those kiss plump lips make their way to your neck, sucking and licking at your jugular as his beard scratched against your skin. 

 Your head lolled back and rested against the wooden side of the building, the storm raging around you as you felt your orgasm starting to build. Your hands clung to Chris’s strong arms, his skin patterned with tattoos that you yearned to run your fingertips over tenderly. Your body started to shake, your orgasm growing closer as that coil in the pit of your stomach wound ever tighter, your hand finding its way to the firm bulge that was pressing against your hip, and as you squeezed the hot muscle through the denim you started to come, Chris’s mouth finding your own against as he swallowed your cries of passion. 

 He stilled his fingers as you trembled against him, quickly unfastening the buttons of his fly and pushing the garment down just enough to free his thick cock, taking hold of your thighs as he lifted you.  With strong hands he gripped at your panties before ripping them from your body, the ruined pieces of cotton falling to the floor at your feet. You felt the wide tip press against your still trembling entrance and with a grunt he thrust into you, filling you completely as you screamed out his name.

 You clung to him as he started to fuck you roughly against the wall, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting being drowned out by the storm now wild overhead. With each thrust your body was sent to heavy, the thick stretch of him inside you making your legs tremble as he held one leg over his hip, letting you try and keep the other held up as he pawed at your breasts, pulling your dress and bra down until you spilled out, your tits bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts. 

 No words were spoken, your moans the only thing that could leave your lips as Chris fucked you so hard you were sure you’d never be able to close your legs again and made roadkill of your pelvis with his powerful thrusts. You were trembling around him and you were getting closer and closer to coming again. His lips were on your neck again and muttering the dirtiest things in your ear;

 “Are you gonna cum on my cock babe? Make me fill you with my cum until its dripping down your legs… you’re squeezing me so damn tight, gonna pump you full then take you inside, make you sit on my face, would you like that? Wanna feel my tongue on your cunt?”

 “Oh fuck… Chris, yes… fuck, keep going…”

 He laughed quietly before picking up speed, the slapping sound of his heavy sac against your ass filling your ears as the wide root of his cock rubbed and dragged against your clit. With a grind of his hips you were coming, your fingernails clinging to his back as you shook with pleasure, triggering his own orgasm as he pumped hot ropes of creamy seed deep within your womb.

 Holding you against the wall, he kissed you, his tongue working against your own before he slowly pulled out of you, letting your feet fall to the floor. Your head swam from the pleasure surging through your body, only partially aware of Chris pulling his jeans up enough to keep them on his hips before he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you inside.

 Moments later you were being dropped onto a large bed, the covers messy from when the previous occupant had simply gotten up and dressed that morning, and you watched as Chris stripped his soaked clothes from his body before crawling onto the bed, his gaze feral as he pressed a line of kisses up your sternum before his lips found yours again. His fingers worked deftly against the ties of your wrap summer dress, pulling it open and helping you to wriggle out of it; all whilst his lips never left yours. 

 Finally he pulled away, his strong arms bulging as he flipped you over and pulled your hips up until you were resting on your knees. His wide tongue pulled a thick stripe through your cum soaked folds, from clit to asshole, before grinding his face against your crotch. His tongue was everywhere, sucking on your clit before moving to your well fucked entrance, then moving up and pressing against the tight ring of muscle between your asscheeks. With more insistence he pushed his tongue against your back door and you sighed into the old sheets below you, your fingers curling in the cotton as he slid two thick fingers into your soaked channel whilst his tongue worked against your asshole. When his thumb found your clit a shockwave bolted through you, your scream into the mattress from sheer pleasure as you unashamedly ground back against him, moaning his name as your legs shook. He pulled his mouth away and spat on your asshole, working a finger in up to the knuckle and you started to cum, his fingers in your cunt rubbing against that spongy spot whilst his thumb worked figure eights over your clit, and you found yourself squirting your release as you screamed with pleasure.

 You were aware of Chris pulling away, your body trembling and fluid in the prone position. You heard the quiet click of the cap of a bottle before a cool viscous liquid was slowly spread over your ass. The touch of Chris’s fingers exploring your most hidden of places had you pushing back against his touch, relaxing as he slid two oiled fingers slowly into your ass, massaging you, stretching you. By now you were drooling, your tongue working against the cotton sheet as you bore down as he pushed a third finger into your ass, the quiet squirt of more oil being applied directly inside you had you knowing what was coming, and humming a low moan as you felt his fingers pull away only to be replaced with the well-oiled fat crown of his cock. 

 Turning your head you watched as he pushed the wide mushroom into your tight ring of muscle, groaning as your secret walls gripped him so hard. His large hands pulled your cheeks apart and he spat on his dick as he started to push into you, filling you, parting your walls with his meaty girth. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pushed harder, reaching around and rubbing at your clit whilst he rocked his hips back and forth before he was finally balls deep in your ass. 

 “So fuckin’ good, feel so tight around my dick Baby, taking me so well... “

 His mouth was as dirty as you had hoped, praising you for taking his dick in your ass as he started to fuck you, pushing his legs open to widen your own and allow him in even deeper. Your hands scrambled at the covers trying to find something to grip onto, some sort of purchase, before he was suddenly pulling your arms behind your back and gripping your wrists with his massive hands. Folding your arms across your sweat drenched back he used them to anchor himself as he fucked your ass even harder, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you as your empty cunt ached to be filled. As if reading your thoughts - or you could even have said it aloud, who knows you were so high on pleasure - he grasped your arms in one large hand before curling the other arm beneath you, pushing three fingers into your soaked pussy as he fucked your ass so hard you doubted you’d be able to sit down for a week without feeling it.

 “Fuck… gonna cum Baby, gonna fill this ass with cum so deep…”

 “Yes... Chris, FUCK, fuck my ass, I want your cum…”

 “My fucking gorgeous anal cum slut, your cunt is gorgeous, but I’m gonna fuck this ass from now on… never had an ass this good, this tight… gonna have you gaping by the time I’ve finished with you… my cum dripping down your legs, gonna make sure you never wear panties again, need you ready for me to bend you over and push my dick up this tight ass to fill you with another load…”

 Your orgasm took over, gripping Chris’s dick and fingers so hard it set his orgasm off, a second wave of your orgasm so intense that as you felt your body milking Chris, the room went dark and you blacked out.

 -

 The room was dark, the sound of rain outside soothing to your ears as you tried to figure out where you were, then snippets of your memory came back; your car, the garage, Chris… the storm… fucking him… Turning you saw him quietly asleep beside you, you winced as your muscles protested against moving, but the need for water and the bathroom was too much as you quickly slipped out of the room. 

 Having found the bathroom, you attempted to clean yourself up a little before walking through the small cabin to the kitchen, taking a glass from the counter before filling it and drinking the whole thing at the sink and filling it again. Two warm hands wrapped themselves around your naked body from behind, warm lips and a rough beard found your neck and Chris started to kiss along your shoulders, his hands finding your naked breasts as he cupped them whilst grinding his hard dick into the crease of your ass. Setting the glass down you spread your legs a little wider, and a warm hum of appreciation reverberated through Chris’s chest as he dipped his hips whilst pushing you forwards over the old porcelain sink, the smooth crown of his dick pushing against your used asshole, and you felt the pop as he sank into your cum soaked walls.

 Groaning as you leaned forwards and gripped the cool porcelain, you opened yourself up for him as he ploughed into your murky depths, his thick thighs pushing your legs wide apart before he lifted one of your knees until it was resting on the countertop, your other foot only just reaching the floor as you were stood on your toes, Chris fucking your ass harder this time, gripping your hips as he filled you again and again. His hands moved to your breasts and he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling the hardened teats until they were painfully hard. Snaking his hands up your front he wrapped his fingers over your shoulders so he could pull you back onto him harder, his thrusts increasing in speed. Your cunt was leaking juices down your inner thighs, and with each thrust his heavy sac would slap against it, reminding you of its emptiness, and you found yourself begging;

 “Chris please… fill my pussy…”

 Chuckling he pulled one hand down and spat on it before pushing three fingers into you, all whilst continuing to fill your ass with his fat cock;

 “You like that? You like having all your holes stuffed? You’re just begging to be filled, used, fucked…”

 “Oh fuck… harder… fuck me harder…”

 With a grunt he increased the speed of his thrusts, the front of your thighs pushing painfully against the sink, your leg muscles screaming at the way you were stretched wide open, but the pleasure was too intense to stop, you needed it, you needed the release.

 You came again and Chris fucked you straight through it, somehow finding the skill to fuck you even harder, sliding a fourth finger into your slick channel as he stretched you so wide. Your head swam, the sound of the storm outside closing the world in around you, and as you came again so did he, filling your ass with another load of his cum.

 Afterwards he carried you to his bed, wrapping his hard body around yours as you fell into a dreamless sleep, the reality of the world far far away.

 -

 Handing over the keys you smiled at Chris as you took them from him. Your body ached and was sore beyond belief, but it was certainly a night to remember. You had slept in until well past midday, only waking when your stomach had growled from not eating anything. Picking at some leftovers in Chris’s fridge, you’d found your soaked sundress draped over the back of a kitchen chair, pulling it on you shivered at the damp touch of the fabric before you’d stepped out of the cabin and found Chris fitting the parts he’d had on overnight delivery to your car. The bill had been more than you had expected - the parts costing more than you had in your purse - so when Chris had smirked at you and suggested an alternative payment, you had sighed with pleasure as he’d fucked you bent over the hood of your car, his dick filling your cunt as he had three fingers stretching your ass. You’d cum so hard you were left shaking, and he had pulled out just before he came only to push an inch into your ass and fill you with another load of his cum.

 With your keys in hand you kissed him, your tongues sloppy before you pulled away just as the sound of tyres could be heard on the rough gravel of his driveway, another tow truck pulling up alongside Chris’s. 

 Sitting in your car you gave him a wave as you pulled away, watching the garage disappear into the distance before you turned your attention onto the road ahead, pulling out onto the dry again asphalt, another summer storm starting to gather on the horizon.

 -

 Not thirty minutes later you were standing at the side of the road, kicking the flat tyre before screaming out at the sky in frustration. You checked your cell phone, groaning when you saw the out of service sign, before stashing it back in your purse. 

 The sound of an old diesel engine could be heard in the distance, and you looked up to the sky before closing your eyes;

 “No… it can’t be…”

 Taking a deep breath with your eyes still closed, you heard the engine get closer until it came to an idle beside you, and familiar voice greeting you;

 “Baby… you need a ride?”

 Chris hopped out of the cab, slipping his hand beneath your dress and giving your ass a squeeze;

 “Gotta watch out for that sharp gravel, it’ll blow tyres out real bad…”

 -

 Sitting in the cab you watched as Chris hooked your car back onto the tow truck, before ducking back inside the truck, this time just the two of you;

 “Where’s Dodger?”

 “Sleeping on the porch… Now, we’re gonna have to order you a new tyre Baby…”

“Let me guess, it’ll be delivered overnight?”

 He leant back and started to unbutton his jeans;

 “You never got to taste my dick last night… how about you try it now whilst I finger that ass ready for the next round? Huh Baby?”

 Settling onto your knees on the wide seat, you took him into your mouth, sucking him as he started the truck, unaware of the rusty nail that he dropped into the pocket of the door, a small piece of tyre rubber still attached to it… he’d found you, and he wasn’t about to let you drive off into the sunset...

[quantumlevitation]

trash husband WIP

You were awoken by the summons; no matter, it is part of your service. Even the most determined souls do not control when suffering comes.

When you slide back the door to the captain’s office of the twelfth division, it is filled with the humid, thick breath of someone who has had the better part of a bottle of wine. Your medic’s eyes wander over to look at the bottle. The calligraphy alone on the label is worth more than your family has had over ten generations. It is mostly emptied of its contents.

The captain does not look as drunk as he more than likely is, but there is a cast to his eyes, a slackness to his face, that lets you know that tomorrow morning will probably bring multiple deaths if you do not help.

“What assistance can I provi—“ He cuts you off.

“What is morality?”

You set your bag on a nearby chair. “The choices you make in your life. A way to harm the fewest while benefiting the most. Are you feeling ill? I have a drink I can prepare to minimize any hangover tomorrow. Lieutenant Rangiku speaks highly of it.”

He sighs and speaks. The words seem rusty, unused. “I have done what many call horrible things.”

“It is the first thing one learns about the Lord Captain. That his love for science and knowledge comes before any other concerns. That one must be aware that the usual practices of obligation and honor need be set aside if one is to come under his influence.”

His eyes narrow, bringing creases and folds to the thick paint on his face. “Is that what you learn? Who teaches that?”

You tilt your head. “It is common in nature for poisonous animals to have bright coloration.”

“Do you condemn me, then?” A sharper edge to his voice.

“I do not feel that I know enough to go so far as to condemn. The captain sees the current of souls in and out of this world, the ebb and flow of spiritual pressure, from a vantage point that I may not be able to comprehend, and I must make allowances for that.”

“I certainly fear you, as one should fear a sharp blade. But right now you are a patient of mine and I set aside those ideals. Judgment should not enter into healing.”

“Or what? What if it does?

“Then we begin to play God. And that is not a role I seek. Where is Nemu, by the way?”

“She is…indisposed.”

You cease questioning. In the twelfth division, “indisposed” could mean anything from a mild cold to clinically dead.

“Well. It seems clear to me that you would benefit from this remedy. I will prepare it for you.”

You take out a clear bottle of fluid and insert a syringe into its rubber cap, draw out a precisely measured amount. That goes into another, larger, bottle and its contents shine, swirl, and settle. He watches you work.

“You aren’t going to examine me before administering that?”

“It’s almost not medicine. Just some electrolytes and a touch of painkiller.”

“Imbecile. Perform an examination.” He sits with arms open.

You reach your hands out in the traditional manner and your awareness flows into his being. What you sense makes you gasp. There is hardly a part of his body that is unscarred or unmodified, and some of the modifications make you gasp with their elegance and power. The ones you can understand, at least. There are currents of energy and seemingly natural organs that you wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to start to treat.

You start to examine one of them, fascinated, and he slaps your mind out of his body like a gnat. “Do you see how useless your skills are on a body like mine? How little you know about the potential, the ways that we can be more and greater?”

He giggles and slouches lower in his chair. “You are a child compared to me. An insect. A maggot.”

“I am here to help. I hope to do so. If the captain prefers, I will take my leave.”

He shakes his head, starts to stand and finds it more difficult than expected. Papers and tools from the desk fly across the room as he tries to support himself. You wordlessly offer your shoulder and walk him to the door that he had been trying to reach.

It is a small, sparsely furnished room, a place to rest that does not require a trip to the captain’s more formal quarters further away. He waves a hand at a square box by a small sink.

You open the box and find a small tub of cream and fresh, snow white towels. You pull a small table towards the bed and find that he has slipped off the golden decoration he wears and slid half out of his captain’s robes and is shirtless, his bare chest pale in the half-darkness. The makeup only goes to his mid-chest and covers his hands.

As your slick fingers trace his face, rubbing the cream into every angle, you begin to realize: this is a handsome man. A very handsome man. The planes of his face, the softness of his skin, the curve of his lips; you continue your work, but everything you uncover increases the discomfort you are starting to feel in your chest and in the pit of your stomach. The cool smell of the cream combines with his nearness, a metallic whiff of some chemical and, below, something darker. You feel the need to try to conceal that you are trying to memorize it.

He sits motionless, seemingly unaware of your existence as you start on his hands. Long, thin fingers with a powerful tension latent in them. Your heart begins to pound as you place his hand over yours, then turn it for a better angle. You shake away a thought of this hand coming up to touch your face, its gentleness a contrast to the many cruelties it has known, and leaving a trail of white to mark its territory.

His bright golden eyes have not closed. You have to lean close to him to sponge the makeup from the back of his neck and the idea of pressing your lips to the smooth skin that you are uncovering has to be forced from your mind.

You do not know how long you have been lost in thought, but you shake yourself and return to the other room for the medicine.

You hand it to him without speaking. He looks at you, grabs it, and downs it quickly, almost throwing the bottle back to you, and collapses on the bed.

You roll him over, a shameful hand on the taut muscles at the back of his waist, and pull a light blanket over him. He is already asleep.

A bowl by the bed, a light on in the bathroom, and you gather up your things to go. A final look into the dark bedroom. The thought of returning to your duties relieves you.

You wonder if anything is ever going to be the same.

[into-the-stratosphere]

Champagne Morale

Arthur x Forger Fem Reader

Summary: Going undercover at a charity ball hosted by one of the richest men in the country was hard enough as it was, but Arthur was certain flying solo would draw more attention than he’d like. If only he knew someone who could act well under pressure and improvise at a moment’s notice... like a top-notch forger. He just hopes she’ll say yes last minute.

A/N: Found this absolutely gorgeous picture (I’m still trying to find credit for it 🥺) and thought the guy looked like Arthur and this came from it. Hope you enjoy!

Champagne Morale

Arthur x Forger Fem Reader

Warnings: None besides brief mentions of some drinking.

WC: 2309

Pre-Inception

This wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to spend her Saturday night.

(Y/N) was dressed to the nines in a gown worth more than all the rest of her wardrobe combined, surrounded by the city’s wealth feigning charity. The older couples stalked the ballroom floor in their finest, eyes catching on anything less than spectacular, staring her down, trying to determine which family she belonged to in order to deserve a place on the guest list. They were like vultures on the hunt, scanning for any sign of imperfection. The only comfort she found was her hand tucked into the crevice of Arthur’s arm, leading her from the prying eyes— her “date” for the evening.

He’d been frantic when he asked her to accompany him earlier in the week, barely letting her get her door open before he’d launched into his rehearsed speech; he’d only just found a way to squeeze his name onto the private guest list of their next target’s charity ball that he’d forgotten to account for the plus one attached to it.

“It would look more suspicious if I arrived alone, plus you’re an excellent forger, so we could better cover each other if we started drawing anyone’s attention.”

She leaned on the doorframe, a bemused smile spreading her lips as he continued to list why it would be mutually beneficial for her to accompany him. He could go on for hours and not list the same reason twice, she thought. Ever the vigilant point man. (Y/N) held up a hand, Arthur falling silent at the gesture, holding her gaze.

“If you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask, Arthur,” she said, throwing a wink his way before closing the door. The last thing she caught was his mouth gaping as he stammered, the tips of his ears hinting pink.

She bit her lip to keep the self-satisfied smile off her face from the memory, reveling at how she of all people could get Arthur to crack. Glancing around, she accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, sipping on it a moment before looking towards her companion. He looked dashing, really; his suit was trimmed to perfection, expertly accentuating his slim but fit figure. A black bowtie sat snugly at the base of his throat, albeit a bit off kilter. She stopped him a moment to straighten it, letting her fingers linger a beat on his lapels before smiling up at him. He grinned, a familiar half tilt of his lips before offering his arm to her again. The only thing he hadn’t changed was his hair: slicked back, his signature.

As they paced around the edge of the room, (Y/N)’s eyes darted from face to face. “Which one is he exactly?” She whispered from behind her champagne glass.

Arthur minutely jutted his chin towards a man standing near the temporary stage, surrounded by laughing millionaires. Whether what he had said had actually been funny was only consequence; anything the surrounding gnats could do to earn his favour, they wouldn’t question.

(Y/N)’s eyes fixed on the man over the rim of her glass, studying his mannerisms. He was at least mid fifties, wearing a mild suit that, while designer, didn’t quite suit his loud voice. He slapped the man next to him on the back with a laugh, the poor recipient buckling under his heavy hand. She tilted her head, watching the target hand his plate off to the staggering lackey. Though he grinned at his boss, she could see the pressure building on him as the night went on. There’s the right hand man.

She turned to Arthur, handing him her nearly drained champagne glass, “Darling, would you mind holding this for me a moment? I’ll be right back.” Before he could protest, she was halfway across the room, bee lining for their target.

He pressed his lips together, watching as she slipped into the inner circle of groupies with ease, throwing her head back with laughter at whatever their target had just said. His jaw clenched at the sight of the man turning his attention her way, bringing her hand to his lips in greeting. He gestured around the room, and Arthur swore he felt a blood vessel pop as the man put a hand to the small of (Y/N)’s back, showing her around the stations he’d had arranged for the ball.

He tried distracting himself, finishing what was left in (Y/N)’s champagne glass as he made a mental note to grab her another before she returned. A passing waiter took the empty flute from his hands, leaving Arthur to shove his hands in his pockets, gripping his loaded die with white knuckles as he turned away from the pair now meandering by the reflection pool, a posse of millionaires trailing slowly after them.

As long as she’s having fun. If he clasped his die any tighter it would surely shatter.

Arthur wasn’t left to his sulking for long; (Y/N)’s laughter drifted by his ear a few minutes later, and he turned his head to see his target walking her to where he leant against the wall. The man eyed Arthur up and down, standing straighter before pressing a final kiss to (Y/N)’s knuckles. She looked up at the host through her lashes, a coy smile gracing her features that made Arthur’s heart pang.

I’m not… no, I couldn’t be jealous.

(Y/N) was his friend, had been for years. Are we really only friends though? All his memories with her flashed through his mind in an instant, flushed cheeks and tentative touches. As he watched her bid their host a far too fond farewell, his pulse raced. Is that all we are?

She grinned until the target finally turned away from the pair, letting the disgust fall over her features when she knew his gaze was elsewhere. “I swear to God if he touched me one more time I was going to vomit.”

Arthur could barely restrain his laughter, the target shooting him a glare that he didn’t care to cower from. He wrapped one arm around (Y/N)’s midsection, rubbing soothing circles into the exposed skin as she brooded.

“Am I allowed to spend time with my date now?”

“Come on, you know I did that for the intel. Plus I can learn so many new characters from those snobby wannabes.”

“I’m sure you did.”

He grinned as she threw a weak punch into his chest, minding how she just as quickly drew back into his hold. The little green monster was sated for now. In fact, it certainly didn’t mind when she asked him for a dance, to get the feeling of his hands on me out of my mind, dragging him to the middle of the room where they blended in with the swarm of couples roused by the band.

He took her hand, his other falling to her waist, swaying quickly to the jazzy tune, watching laughter, genuine laughter bubble up her throat. Arthur dipped (Y/N) low, breathless by the way her hair fell from its intricate styling. He grinned at her, pulling her back into his chest, their breaths mingling as the tempo picked up again. For a song, they weren’t two con artists studying a target, two friends pretending to be dates— they were a complementary pair, dancing the night away oblivious to the pompous splendor surrounding them. Anyone who looked at them could tell the chemistry they shared— even the jealous host watching from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest.

When the song ended, their chests heaving from exertion, all the room applauded the quintet situated on the temporary stage, bowing to their audience before starting up their next melody. (Y/N) and Arthur drifted away from the dance floor, locking arms as they sought the cool air blowing over the reflection pool.

They strolled around as they talked, glancing over the small tables of finger foods scattered on their way, careful to keep a good deal of distance from the man of the hour who hadn’t stopped shooting Arthur venomous looks since their dance ended. (Y/N) was pointing out a tray full of exotic caviar worth as much food that could feed an entire household for months when Arthur noticed the security on the edge of the room, eyeing the pair with wary expressions.

He watched from his peripheral as one stepped up behind the host on the stage, preparing himself for his speech to thank all the wealthy donors in the room as the band was packing away their instruments. He stalled as the guard whispered in his ear, his gaze latching onto the pair once more with a newfound suspicion.

Arthur cleared his throat, turning (Y/N) away from the stage with a hand on her arm, looking out over the calm waters. “We may have to leave soon.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, masking her surprise with a pleasant expression. He could tell she was listening into the conversations around them, trying to key in to how long they had.

The security detail became more mobile across the room, moving towards the exits of the venue. Arthur swore under his breath, slowing their pace to be equally spaced from the nearest guards. “We’re going to need a diversion.”

“Already on it.”

Arthur didn’t need to question her plan, feeling her weight drop onto his side as she giggled airily— playing drunk, he realized. An older woman nearby scoffed under her breath, something about minding how much one should drink in public, and Arthur shot her an apologetic smile, draping one of (Y/N)’s arms around his shoulders to better support her. One of her heels caught around the hem of her dress, (Y/N) kicking it away in a mock drunken huff, pressing further against Arthur’s body. Were he not so hyper aware of the extra guards appearing from the exits, he would have taken just a second to appreciate the sensation of her warmth bleeding into him, filling his chest until he felt he could float without a dream.

He tilted his head down next to her ear, “Alright, we’re going to need a better distraction to get out of here— maybe a prior engagement we forgot about that we need to get to right away—“

Arthur didn’t need to finish the rest of his plan as (Y/N) deftly swiped a leg from under him, teetering over to the side—

Where the reflection pool lay waiting to catch them.

Gasps shot through the crowd to see the tipsy couple splash into the water, rushing to the pool’s edge to watch the chaos. While the host hastened to the microphone to call for attention and order, the feedback making all the guests cringe under the volume, under the surface Arthur shook his head incredulously at (Y/N), who only shot him a cheeky wink.

The two emerged, beautiful clothes ruined, gasping for air. A handful of guards reached for their hands, pulling them from the water as some waiters went off to fetch some towels. (Y/N) shivered, clinging to Arthur’s arm as she sobbed, apologizing for ruining such a lovely evening meant for charity.

Arthur had to keep from rolling his eyes at the theatrics. Expert forger indeed, there wasn’t a single face without a pitiful turn of the lip, (Y/N)’s performance tugging at her audience’s hearts. If he didn’t know her, he was sure she’d even get a reaction out of him.

She shivered in his arms, stumbling to her feet as her gown clung to her legs. She sniffled, her mascara dripping down her face— whether from the water still dripping from her hair or her expertly crafted tears no one could tell. As a waitress passed along some warm towels, Arthur thanked her and began to move towards the exit, catching the glimmer of mischief in (Y/N)’s eye as they finally passed through the crowd.

As the wealthy elites finally drew back towards the host on the stage, Arthur risked a whisper to his date, “Certainly not what I had in mind, but you definitely got the job done. You know, if you wanted our date to be over, you could have just asked, (Y/N).”

Arthur could only glimpse (Y/N)’s bemused face as she realized what he said before she pushed him towards the pool again, but not before he caught her wrist and dragged her back in with him.

The host sighed on stage to see the happy couple go under once more, smothering the jealousy at having lost quite a catch.

Before (Y/N) could begin to swim for the surface, Arthur pulled her face towards his, grinning as her lips met his eagerly, bubbles dancing around their bodies as they floated a moment, too caught up in one another to care for air or what waited for them when they’d resurface once more.

They finally broke apart, pulling one another to the surface to greedily drink in lungfuls of oxygen. The only crowd to greet them this time was the waitstaff informing them they would have to leave. The two ducked their heads in apology, rushing out the door before anyone else would think to stop them.

When they burst onto the street in front of the lavish venue, wrapped in one another in a desperate attempt to keep warm, (Y/N) turned to Arthur, teeth chattering, “You know, I think I’d prefer we stayed dry on our next date.”

No, she certainly didn’t expect to spend her Saturday night drenched to the bone with a man who’s kisses tasted like champagne and confessions, but she definitely didn’t regret it either.

[darkisrising]

You are someone else, I am still right here, by DarkIsRising

Thanks to @treescape for the prompt: Vaderwan: “Kill my feelings, kill my soul. Kill everything I am.”

Mature themes, dark, a little violent... Oh, boy, it’s baby’s first Vaderwan y’all! Read here or on ao3 

You are someone else, I am still right here

If ever there was a time for a well-executed escape, it would be right about now.

Now, when Obi-Wan is sitting on the cold, durasteel slab that serves as a cot, the kick of the regurgitated air supply coming through a vent too small to pass through and too high to attempt with his injuries (and maybe in his younger days he would have attempted it anyway, but he’s feeling too worn down by sands and suns to so much as make it an idle thought).

Now, when he can hear the echoing tread of regulation boots made heavier by body armor as troopers pass by his cell (and if he closes his eyes it’s almost like he’s back on the Negotiator, his men walking through the halls, and he tries not to think of how many could very well be his men because his heart can only ache with so much regret).

Now when he can feel the turbid miasma of darkness that chokes the Force with a fetid, acrid stink that is so near to the scent of sulphur that Obi-Wan can almost feel the heat of lava and the singe of a lightsaber as it bears down on him (and the screams sound in his ears, of a future denied them and a past that becomes blighted with every clash of their blades, as they do every night when sleep eludes him and every morning when meditation does, too).

But escaping is a dangerous game at present. And even were he to make it off this cruiser, where else is there to go but back to the same desert planet, the same skin-blistering heat, the same stretch of rolling, yellow dunes?

There’s sand on the floor. Even here it follows him and Obi-Wan stares at the grains of it, of where his boots and the boots of the stormtroopers that captured him have tracked this trace of Tatooine into his prison.

His eyes are still downcast as the door of his cell opens, as someone steps inside, and he can hear the grit of it as black boots—impeccably clean in a way he never could convince his restless apprentice to keep his as he grew—grind the sand underfoot.

“Hello, my dear,” Obi-Wan says. It’s been a while since he’s used this particular tone—insouciant in the face of certain death—yet it comes easily now. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand…” he gestures to his leg, the break of it plain in the strange angle of his knee.

“Oh, please, Master—” and that one word spoken in the mouth of this near-stranger does more to eviscerate him than any broken bone could hope to “—allow me.”

There’s no point in keeping his screams from ringing through the small room, no point in pretending that the agony he feels as his bones shift, and realign, and are made to grow together at an unnatural speed is anything less than absolute.

When it’s over Obi-Wan sags against the wall. A furious sweat dampens his forehead and his skin shivers with shock. Still, he digs deep into the teeth-clenched inner reserves of strength he’s had to cultivate over his life and in a thin, jaunty tone says: “Many thanks.”

Anakin snorts in dark amusement and then raises his hand. Obi-Wan is jerked forward, plucked into the air by an invisible grip until he is standing on his newly re-formed leg.

Tilting his head up, Obi-Wan forces himself to meet Anakin’s gaze: yellow where once a crystalline blue had been.

So much of him is still the same and that is it’s own cruelty.

“Two years, Obi-Wan,” he says, mouth flattened, and Obi-Wan could almost believe that it’s from disappointment. “That’s all it took me to find you.”

“You always were exceptionally efficient at anything you set your mind to, Anakin.”

“And you were always exceptionally arrogant, my master.” The door behind him closes and now Obi-Wan is alone in this cell with Anakin. He’s alone in this cell with Anakin and Anakin’s pressing darkness that winds through the empty spaces between them, doing more to burn away the breathable air than a fire ever could. “You know very well that is no longer my name.”

“You must forgive me. Where I’ve been living hasn’t afforded me the ability to stay current on galactic events,” he bluffs. “Tatooine is rather in the middle of nowhere, as I’m sure you remember. Is there something else you’d prefer I call you?”

“My name is Darth Vader.”

Obi-Wan lets the silence sit and then gives a careful, neutral: “Ah.” A muscle in Anakin’s jaw bulges as he his teeth grind together. “It’s lovely.”

The air turns more dense—more claustrophobic—as the weight of Anakin’s ire bears down on him. “You,” Anakin says, stepping closer and Obi-Wan holds his ground. “Are so—” Whatever he had been on the verge of saying is bitten away and then banished by a swift shake of his head. “What’s on Tatooine, old man?”

“Sand.” Obi-Wan says without thinking and he gets an invisible vise around his throat for it.

Anakin persists, stepping nearer, staring into his face and he’s close enough that Obi-Wan can see the industrial shuttle light cast a sheen on his eyelashes. “Why of all the planets in all the star systems did you choose that one?”

“The…” he pants through his swiftly closing airway. “Weather.”

“Try again.”

“Always...admired…” Flickers, like a gathering of gnats, are at the corner of his vision now and his lungs are burning for breath. “...Jawa culture…”

“Obi-Wan,” he chides, tightening his grip and this time Obi-Wan can only muster a sound—nothing like words and everything like the desperate last gasp of a dying body—as blackness eats away all that he sees.

He’s on the precipice of unconsciousness—a cliff’s edge that he is inching toward with every passing, choking second—when abruptly he’s released. He collapses in a heap, sputtering for air, and when his vision darkens again this time it’s because Anakin’s form is looming over him. Yellow eyes glint and gold flecked hair spills over his shoulder as he crouches over where Obi-Wan lays.

“Let’s try this again.”

“Must we?” Obi-Wan wheezes.

“Why were you on Tatooine?”

Any number of thoughts roll through his sluggish mind—obfuscations, goadings, taunts—but none of them will throw Anakin off his question for long. And, to his credit, it is an excellent question. It is the question that Obi-Wan most dreads he discovers the answer to. The reason he didn’t leave Mustafar to throw himself into the fray of battle once more. The reason for the hut in the dune sea and the quiet vigil he’s held on the Lars homestead and the yawning loneliness of desert nights beneath an impossible spill of stars. It's the reason, the one thing, that has kept him tethered to this mortal plane when so often the winds of Tatooine have beckoned for him to follow their howling call during a sandstorm and let them swallow him down.

But this.

This is what he was tasked with: the protection of a boy at any cost. At any cost, and his obfuscations and goadings and taunts might very well be the thing that strikes fire to the tinder of his former apprentice’s rage enough to kill him once and for all, but who will protect the boy, then?

He needs a distraction. One that will last.

He needs to enter the maw of the creature that Anakin has become and dwell there a while.

Anakin is kneeling now, coming ever closer, and there is one last gambit he can try. One last ploy that might very well break his spirit, his heart, his mind, even if it keeps him alive for years to come.

“Why were you on Tatooine, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan licks his chapped, split lips. He tastes the metal tang of blood and says, in a voice that is ruined by violence, “So that you could find me.”

Anakin recoils at that, jerking backwards as if he’s been slapped. “No,” he says. “No you were there for a reason. I know it. They must have sent you...”

The laugh that Obi-Wan huffs is real. “Who? Who is there left to send me anywhere?”

“The Council—”

“Is gone,” Obi-Wan says. “The Order is gone. I'm all that is left.” Obi-Wan grits his teeth against the bruises and bleeding, fights until he is on his knees. Anakin’s eyes widen as Obi-Wan pulls himself upright and now they are of a height. “Do with me what you will.”

Anakin’s mouth is soft when it finds him; warm when it falls open and he lets in a hungry, questing tongue as it seeks out the taste of Obi-Wan—shattered and battered and brought low—and Anakin savors them all with a moan. Obi-Wan wishes he were strong enough to keep his eyes open, but it’s easier to forget where he is—who he is—when there’s not so much light.

Arms wrap around Obi-Wan’s waist, holding fast and tight and he breaks away from their kiss to give a yell of agony at the pain Anakin’s questing hands mete. Anakin doesn’t notice, whispering instead into the vulnerable curve of Obi-Wan’s throat: “You know how much I’ve wanted this. For years and years I’ve wanted this.”

“I know.” Subtlety had never been a trait that Anakin had cared to nurture. There have been all the ‘fresher doors accidently left open as his padawan showered and all the cots claimed as Obi-Wan’s own inexplicably filled with the sleeping sprawl of a knight fresh from the field, and all the war zones where the only way to save Obi-Wan’s life was to shield him beneath the protective weight of General Skywalker’s body.

“You said it was forbidden.”

“It was.” And even though his cracked ribs sing and the places where blaster fire singed his flesh crack open to bleed again, Obi-Wan reaches up. He brings his arms around Anakin’s broad shoulders, and their bodies press together until there is only cloth and heat and dwindling time between them. “But who is left to stop us now?”

He lets himself be taken then, murmuring praises all the while because this is something Obi-Wan can do. He can become Anakin’s pet—his plaything—and maybe someday when the years have stripped Obi-Wan of his pride and his body has been broached by another so fiercely it is no longer his own to claim... maybe then he’ll look across a field of some new battle, some new planet, some new space station to see the blue eyes of another Skywalker, a new Skywalker, a Skywalker that has lived and grown and come into his own, and he’ll know it all will have been worth it.

[monofpoke4life]

What Goes Around...

The discord I’m a part of had a Secret Santa, so here’s the zagr fluff I wrote. Please Enjoy.

"Stupid Zim! Stupid Dib! Stupid stupid field trip," Gaz growled as she hastily wiped away her silent tears. Her words echoing off the empty bathroom walls.

She shivered as she wrapped her arms around herself tighter, providing what little warmth she could for her bare upper half. Her cheeks flaming with what had happened earlier. 

Her eyes closed as what transpired just five minutes ago replayed in her head. 

She waded out into waist deep water to cool off, and to give her Game Slave a break. She was enjoying the contrast of the sun on her face and shoulders and the cool water at her waist when she heard it.

The fucking insane screaming of her brother and Zim, as they fought about who knew whatever it was they were fighting about. Rolling her eyes, she dove under, and resurfaced a moment later, content to ignore them and resign their blathering to the background as always. 

That had been her first mistake as she took the chance to subtly adjust her bikini top, frustrated that she tied it a tad too tight. She should've paid more attention, and then maybe she wouldn't be in this damn mess that she now found herself in.

Suddenly, she made her second mistake as she heard Dib's annoying screams rapidly growing closer, and turned around just in time to see Dib flying at her.

Her wide eyes narrowed as she regained her composure to briefly glare at the proud green bean, on the beach, who had just yeeted her brother in her direction.

With a sigh, she had stepped back to avoid getting crushed by Dib's average-but-fun-to-tease large head, and that's when she stepped into her third mistake. She should've taken more than one step. She should've gotten the hell out of there! But no. She calmly waited so she could taunt him about it.

However, whatever clever remark on the tip of her tongue was lost as a flailing Dib made contact with the water with a sickening slap of skin, and his hand desperately reached out to catch himself on anything he could use to pull himself up with. 

A gasp escaped her lips as she was suddenly jerked forward by her bikini top. A millisecond later, as Dib disappeared beneath the murky lake water, there was a tug, the tearing of fabric, and then weightlessness. The unsettling kind that let her know that her brother wasn't hanging on her anymore...because there wasn't something to hang onto anymore.

Her eyes squeezed shut at the part of the memory. Her cheeks burned, her throat grew tight, and her teeth ground together at the memory of her practically punching herself in the chest in her attempt to cover herself. She didn't have time to punish her brother as she took off to the closest building, the bathrooms, where she now found herself locked within.

"Fucking bullshit," Gaz snarled and slammed a fist into the side of the stall. She hated to act dramatic like one of her ditzy classmates that this was, "the end of the world," but it was! Oh it absolutely was! At least, it was to her reputation.

  Now, after this horrible incident, even if they were still scared of her, they would still snicker at the memory of the girl who flashed the lake. No matter how many beatings she gave or threats she made, her reputation would forever remain tarnished for the rest of her time at school.

"When I get out of here those idiots will pay! Not even gnats will find their entrails when I-"

Her rant was cut short as she heard the restroom door open. 

With a frown she quietly pulled her legs up to rest her feet upon the seat as she didn't want anyone to know she was still here. She just wanted to hide or evaporate into the ether. Just anywhere but there, and just forget about that day.

As the women did their business and gossiped afterwards in front of the mirrors as they primped their hair and reapplied makeup, Gaz quietly sighed and buried her face into her knees.

This was the worst day of her life, and it couldn't get any worse.

"LITTLE GAZ WHERE ARE YOU?"

"AHHH!"

"A boy!"

"This is the girl's room!"

"Get the fuck out!"

"You filthy, flabby skinned hyoomans cannot tell the mighty ZIM what to do! I shall leave when my business is done!!!"

As chaos graced her ears, Gaz groaned and gently hit her head against her knees repeatedly. Apparently things could get worse, and the dookie was going to hit the fan.

"We're getting security!"

"Begone MOPS!"

Gaz couldn't stop the snicker from escaping her lips at the misspoken meme as the door banged shut behind the pack of screeching harpies. 

As the door bounced open, and slowly drifted shut, Gaz became hyper aware that she and Zim, who was apparently looking for her, were the only ones left alone inside.

Wanting to get this done sooner rather than later, Gaz lowered her feet, straightened her back, and crossed her arms over her chest, as she growled, "What do you want, Zim?" 

At the sound of her voice, Zim pivoted on his heel, boots scratching against cement, and strutting towards her stall. 

"My reasons, Little Gaz, are my own," he sneered, as she watched his boots stop in front of her stall and turn around. Not daring to take a chance at looking at her. Smart guy. For once.

Gaz opened her mouth to say something back, but stopped as a breeze from the open window sent a chill down her spine. 

Shuddering, Gaz barely heard the sound of ruffling clothing, but she did hear the slight jostle of the stall door. Her head snapped up, and her eyes widened. There, hung over the door and held in place, was Zim's outer, magenta tunic.

"What's that for?" She growled impatiently. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, especially seeing it without an ulterior motive. Not that she didn't try to see one. However, she couldn't think of one. It's not like he planned this. He wasn't smart enough for that, especially with how hard he tried to get out of this field trip. Not to mention to have the brains to understand she'd be vulnerable in a moment like this.

It was silent for a moment, before Zim awkwardly cleared his throat.

"A soldier should not be caught without armor."

Okay...maybe he understood more than she thought.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously before she stood up, gently yet quickly, plucking it out of his grasp.

The material wasn't so bad. This would do to fetch her things so she could properly change. Maybe she'll just maim him a bit.

However, as she began to pull it over her head, she froze at what he said next.

"I-I...Zim is sorry."

"What?"

"I threw the Dib-weasle at you on purpose in the hope that you would doom him. I did not anticipate the loss of your chest thingy."

Her fists clenched the alien material, pulling it down and into place, as she slowly inquired, "If you knowingly messed up, then why are you here? Shouldn't you be running and screaming?"

"Hmph, Irken Invaders never run."

"Then what was last Thursday?"

"...A strategic retreat."

"A very loud strategic retreat."

At that, Zim grew silent. Clearly throwing a silent fit that she had a point, Zim refused to acknowledge her statement, for that would mean admitting she, a "stinky human" was right.

She merely smoothed out the wrinkles of the sleeveless tunic, and quietly basked with a smirk upon her lips. At least something got a predictable response from him. But, seriously, what was up with him? First the tunic and now an apology? What was next?

Gaz opened the stall and Zim immediately jumped back. His back brushing against the adjacent sink. He looked back and tugged at his light-pink, long sleeved shirt to make sure it didn't come into contact with any sink water. Finding none, he instinctively wiped his gloved hands against his black leggings.

"You never answered my question, Zim."

"Eh? What question?"

Gaz took a deep breath, one arm still crossed over her chest, as the tunic, which made a nice coverup, was still quite thin.

She took a threatening step forward. Zim gulped at this, as she elaborated, "Why aren't you 'strategically retreating from me?"

At this, Zim straightened his back and shoulders, arms clenched at his sides, and eyes closed. He looked like he was ready to face a firing squad, and with the wrath she's inflicted upon him in the past, that comparison was highly accurate.

He raised his chin up high, sweating bullets, as he finally answered. "To run from you is pointless. I know no matter where I go, no matter where I hid- retreat to, you, Little Gaz, would find me despite my far superior Irken training. I came to you, sparing your pitiful human time and effort, in hopes that you may hurt me less than you normally would."

Ah. That made sense. Zim would do anything to save his own skin. 

"Turning yourself in? That's all?" She inquired with suspicious eyes and incredulous brows raised. Shouldn't he be bragging and begging for extra mercy for the "peace offering" he provided as well?

At this, Zim's eyes opened, suddenly relaxed, as he shrugged.

"Erm eh, yeah that's about it."

"Nothing else you did to escape a nightmare world of pain?"

"Nope. Nothing."

Gaz glared at him, and watched his every movement, watching for his body language to give himself away as usual. However, he just stood there, blinking owlishly at her.

Her cheeks started to feel warm, but she easily fought it down as she quickly closed the short distance between them. 

"Ow!!!" Zim yelled in pain as his hand flew up to his throbbing shoulder. Despite, "surrendering" himself to her punishment, he glared indignantly at her as she pulled her fist away.

"That, whiner, is for throwing Dib at me and causing all of this!"

Her free hand pulled back again, and Zim froze with his eyes clenched shut, expecting another hit. However, the pain never came even as he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes tighter as he was jerked sideways, probably to be kneed or something, and yet nothing happened except his side bumping into hers.

Zim's eyes flew open just in time to see her release him from her one-armed hug. 

He didn't get a chance to fully process it, as Gaz softly said, "And that's for lending me this. I can actually get my stuff from the buses now and change. Thanks."

"Oh, heh heh, of course. Totally did that on purpose. You may praise Zim more, Gus."

As Gaz opened the door, she frowned and rolled her eyes before she asked, "Hey, where is my brother anyway?"

"The Dib-feet? He ran into the forest when you ran in here."

She huffed. Of course he did.

However, this information made her smirk to herself, and when she opened the door, the sight beyond her made her smirk widen.

"Ya know, maybe when I find Dib, maybe I'll doom him a little extra. Just for you."

Out of the corner she watched him punch the ai as he exclaimed, "Yes! Just as I planned! Victory for ZIM!"

She rolled her eyes with a small smile at that, before she began to the long treck to the parking lot. 

Zim came to the doorway and stood, watching her go with his chest puffed in pride. 

She gave a wave as she, not even looking back, called, "Thanks again, Zimothy."

At the use of her demeaning, non-Zim name, Zim began to throw a small gremlin fit. However, he didn't get very far, didn't even get to scream or yell, as the women from before, with park rangers, swiftly approached him.

"There he is, officer! That's the little pervert who went inside the girl's restroom."

Meanwhile, as Gaz kicked a pinecone along the asphalt, she snickered as Zim's screams could be heard from off in the distance. Maybe she'd make it up to him some day, but for now, she'd bask in the karma freebie the universe gifted to her.

[random-imagines-blog]

Seeing Stars (Thranduil x Reader Oneshot)

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2189 Summary: A snowy walk with Thranduil goes slightly awry.

You’ve never breathed in air that felt so crisp and clean before. The cold was so much that you could barely feel it as you walked among the trees, bare during the winter. Your breath was coming out in a misty vapor, nearly freezing the tip of your nose, but once more, you could not feel it. The snow had paused for the moment, which was why you had decided to take this walk, and to your surprise, the grand King Thranduil of Mirkwood had decided to join you, leaving his covered throne room to walk outside. The stars were beautiful tonight, though the King was a distraction from the sights around you. And the sounds, since you could hear the animals in the forest scurrying around, getting the last of the food before hiding away for hibernation. There was no such thing as perfect in the world, but if there was - this was the closest that you believed anyone or anything could come to it.

“Is it hard to live in the forest during the winter?” You found yourself asking, then realized with horror that you had not addressed Thranduil in the way that he liked. “Your majesty,” You quickly added on. He, being taller than you, flicked his eyes downwards with amusement at how you hastened to add on the title.

“It  has flaws, though they are few, of course. We elves have learned to deal with things like ... temperature.” You could feel the ego in his voice. The ‘better than thou’ attitude that you had gotten used to from him, but you never spoke aloud about. Because you also knew that it was all just on the surface. If he truly thought he was better than humans, he never would have kept you around, surely.

“With your very long lives, you might have learned some manners?” You said, more as a suggestion. You really were overstepping your boundaries, you knew, but you were of the human reason, which automatically meant a stubborn streak. He raised an eyebrow at you, very much like the Drama King that he is.

“Manners?” He pondered, looking straight ahead of him. He’ll rise to the bait, he supposed, if only to prove you wrong. “Will you accompany me out of the forest tonight?”

“Why, what’s out there?” You asked, a shiver going up your spine. There may be peace in middle earth now, with Aragorn as King, but there were still dangers lurking about, like wild animals and bandits.

“Less trees, I imagine,” Thranduil said. He offered you his arm, and you took it. This was very rare indeed, since it’s not as if you were of elven nobility. You were just a messenger that Legolas had sent from Minis Tirith, a human that he trusted to get the message across. You had expected to return right after getting an answer, but Thranduil had invited you to stay and curiosity got the better of you. It wasn’t everyday that you were invited to stay in a beautiful Elven city.

“I almost think you’re up to something, your majesty,” You added his title on quicker this time. He seemed to like that since his hand patted your own which was against his arm. His footing was sure, quick and light, while you felt like an Oliphaunt next to you. While he didn’t make a sound against the ground, managing somehow to avoid any fallen brush and branch, you sounded like you were trampling through a forest thicket.

“At least any animal would be scared away by your noise,” He retorted. You curled your nose at his direction but didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. He hummed, amused by that, as you walked out of the borders of the forest, and into wide open space. It was almost scary how far you could see. How far, perhaps, someone could see you. The thought made you hold onto him a little tighter. “It’s not as lonely if you look up.”

So look up you did.

There were so many stars that at first, you thought that you had walked out to see a swarm of fireflies. But it was the wrong season for those, and once it reached your mind that it was indeed the sky, and that the cold of the night whisked away the clouds so you could see them properly, and the moon was barely a sliver so it’s light was not a distraction, your breath caught in your throat. Your neck started to hurt from bending it upwards at the angle, but that didn’t matter.

Thranduil stood beside you, not looking up, but looking at your profile. His eyes were narrowed at your reaction, a curiosity with a touch of confusion. He’d seen the stars many times, but did not pay them attention the way you did.

“I’ve heard that humans have stories for the stars. Tell me,” He commanded gently. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting somewhat patiently. He didn’t like to not be the center of attention for the moment. He wanted you to look at him, or at the very least to speak.

“Stories?” You asked, finally giving your neck a break, and turned to face him. “Oh, I guess that there are a few. Don’t the elves have special meanings behind the stars?”

“Yes.” He said, but gave no other answer. He was still waiting for you to do as you commanded. There was an expectant look in his eye that drew you in, which made your mouth start to form the words.

“I guess the big one is shooting stars,” You started. “When you see one fly across the sky, you’re supposed to make a wish. It’ll make it come true. Though I haven’t tried that since I was young. My wishes never came true. I decided it was a waste of time and-”

“What did you wish for?” Thranduil cut in.

“Adventure,” You said with a laugh. You looked back upwards for a second. “I guess that it did come true, though it took some time.”

“Patience is a virtue,” He said, rather hypocritically, but you weren’t about to point that out. “Let’s begin the walk back.”

“Alright,” You said, falling back in line with him, but a step behind. “We also use constellations to find our way.”

“So humans do have some sense after all,” He said, the corner of his mouth going up in a rare smile. You laughed a little at that, smiling down at the ground.

“That’s almost a compliment, King Thranduil. Are you feeling alright?”

“Perfect,” He responded. “Does everyone wish for adventure on these shooting stars?”

“No, I imagine not. People want a wide variety of things. Love, maybe. Money, definitely. Gold. Power. The list could go on and on.” You two walked in silence for a moment, before a thought came to you. “What would you wish for?”

He turned to you, his perfect white hair hardly moving as he did so. There was not even a trace of a wind here amongst the trees.

“I am King of these woods. What makes you think that I have want for anything?” He questioned you. It wasn’t as severe as the words would have made you think. He was softer at that moment, like he had thought of something. It seemed more that he knew something was missing, and he was asking you to tell him what it was. You crossed your arms in front of you to keep in the shivers, as the still air still had a chill to it. You could smell snow in the air.

“A wish could be outlandish if you wanted it to be. The only limits are your imagination.” You let yours spread as you looked at the canopy that blotted out the stars above. “I would wish, right now, for my mother’s cooking. The way that she made bread, oh and the wine, and the cakes that were always moist! If I think about it anymore, I’ll be beside myself with hunger.”

“You’ve never tried elven cakes,” Thranduil said, as close to snorting as a distinguished elf could be. “They’d put your mothers to shame.”

“I ought to slap you for even making that comment. You’re lucky that you are a King, your Majesty. Such a thing is almost treason back home.” Your cheeks were starting to get red, as well as your ears. Those very words were fighting ones. Were you not getting closer to the company of guards, you would have yelled at him.

“And then I would have to imprison you for laying hands on the King. I’d end up having to keep you here forever. Perhaps that would be my wish,” He said, with a smirk that made orcs seem tame. Your human temper was flaring up now.

“That would be a cruel use of a wish. If I were you, I would use it on something more important, like a personality to go with those looks,” You shot back, your irritation was definitely clouding your judgment. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m the only person who spends time with you who isn’t a part of your guard. Maybe that should tell you something.”

“That I should attempt to swat the gnat that flits around my face?” He asked, clearly enjoying himself while your mood went darker and darker.

“You’re cruel,” You said with narrowed eyes, stopping your walk by going in front of him and standing. You were not the tallest human by any standards, not even as tall as Thranduil, but you knew some tricks to make you seem big. Puffed out chest, head held high. “And you’re arrogant, and you’re-”

As you leaned in to try to seem more threatening, your mind gave you a bunch of warning signs. A guard could come along and shove a sword through you at any moment for threatening the King. Thranduil himself could knock you away from him in a blink of an eye. He was a skilled warrior, after all. You froze, only a few hair widths away from the face of the King, who looked as if he were made of stone. He wasn’t moving. You weren’t moving.

But then thinking about all that he had just said, the fire returned. How dare he? Just because he was an elf, he thought that he was better than you. He thought that he could just imprison you.

You wanted to scream into his face, but that would just make things worse for you. An elf would come along and take your arm with ease and lead you to the dungeons. The tale of Bilbo and the Dwarves had reached your ears some time ago, but you would not have the same luck escaping, you knew that much. So you did something else. Something that Thranduil’s all-seeing eyes would not have been able to see coming.

Your soft lips touched his own cold ones, right at the corner where they went into a dimple, leaving just a trace of a kiss there. There was a thin line between love and hate, between lust and anger. Let him stew over this reaction for a while.

You blinked and settled back onto the soles of your feet, having somehow managed to go on your tip toes without realizing it. Thranduil stared at you still, not having blinked once during the encounter.

“I should keep you here,” He said, his voice low.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction that you wanted, or were expecting. And now you became nervous, almost terrified at the prospect of him locking you up because you went with a smug impulse. You weren’t so smug now, that’s for sure.

“That is my wish. There is a shooting star somewhere. I’ll wish on that right this moment. I wish for you...” You closed your eyes like a coward, expecting the worst. “- to stay here in Mirkwood with me for the rest of your natural life.”

“I don’t know if your son would like it that his friend,” You emphasized the word, though you were more of a messenger than a friend to the elf, “-is being kept a prisoner by his father.”

Thranduil laughed. Oh, he laughed, which would be damn adorable if it didn’t seem so threatening given the circumstances.

“Perhaps prisoner is a strong word,” He said, a rosy glow on his cheeks, which you noticed when you slowly opened your eyes once more. “I’d like you to continue to stay as my guest.”

“As your guest?” You questioned. “Even though I just kissed you?”

“It was certainly unexpected,” He said, offering you his arm to continue the stroll despite being near his palace once more. “I’m curious as to what you would do if I gave you compliments rather than teasings.”

[writingoflarka]

The Waltz

(written during a sleepless night listening to royaltycore music, and inspired by @inky-duchess due to their lessons on high society)

"If it pleases you my dear, you can pretend I'm someone else."

His hand lingers on my waist, and I swear I can feel his fingertips digging into me, through the layers of fabric. The violins begin to quicken their pace, as if the musicians are compelled by some frightful force. It's hard to find something to say in reply, as my focus shifts to the quickened movements almost in step with the music. Yet it is still a waltz. One, two, three, one, two, three.

"I don't think it would do me much good," I say at last, settling into step even as the music shifts to distracting plucking and high shrieks. "And I believe I told you not to call me 'dear.'"

Isaac hums, the corners of his mouth twitching, but he doesn't reply. For once it seems he's run out of rebuttals, and clever thoughts. It can't help but put me at ease, as we gradually carry ourselves in step with those around us. I make the mistake of looking away, noticing the many stares. It's not their looks that cause my pulse to quicken, but the murky emotion behind them.

Isaac lets out a hiss as I scuff the toe of his shoe, nearly snapping my ankle in the process as my heel tries to find firm ground. He seems to move gracefully, pulling me back to the rhythm, and regrettably back to him. His dark eyes put me on edge again, and likely he feels how stiff I've become. His fingers shift against my waist, something I'm uncomfortably aware of.

"We should be more friendly, you and I," he says softly as we spin past the violins that have been joined by the cry of horns. "Just this one night. Really, after this, how long until we'd see one another again?"

He has a point, but even so I have no interest in showing complacency. Not since he'd forced his hand upon me. This dance was the best he could hope for if he truly wanted to gain something from me. I keep my gaze down, trying to find something to reply with. The mule of a man had proven that a simple 'no' was incomprehensible.

But thankfully, I don't have to think of something. The music rises and falls gracefully, and the dancers stop, us included, leading to a roar of applause. My chance to back out. I pry my hand from his, and my glove loosens on my fingers, his grip is so tight. I draw back, giving a nod of respect.

"Enjoy your evening, sir," I say, and turn quickly to the safety of the crowd.

I hear him walking behind me, the half-step of his limp, and I quicken my pace as much as this gown will allow. I must look like some frightened crab, skittering across the sand. To the safety of the ocean, where I could disappear and hide away. Quicker and quicker as the next group of dancers start to tentatively step forward and find their partners. I don't dare look behind him, in my head I can still hear him. His footsteps like the waltz. One, two, three, one, two, three.

I weave behind a stout gentleman and begin my own waltz through the crowd. A frightened, desperate dance. I'm certain I bump elbows with gentleman and ladies, and I feel sorry, but surely anyone who can see my face can understand my urgency. The heat in my cheeks and ears. I assure myself that as I come closer and closer to the stairwell, that I am faster than Isaac. That I can weave quicker. My steps are able to turn and change where his must halt and assess. I tell myself this over and over as the bottom of the steps finally roll under my quickened pace.

I make a bold choice to stop, to turn and look behind me. For a moment I'm afraid he will be standing right there having kept pace with me somehow. When I turn back to the dancers, he is not there, and yet somehow this makes me more anxious. If I can't see him, he could be anywhere. I try to scan the crowd, searching for his shade of green, but I can't spot him.

"Are you leaving?" I hear from behind me, and the tension coiled inside me is suddenly snapped, and it's only by quick reflex that I grab the railing and keep myself from a certainly painful tumble. And there is Lyle, standing near the top of the stairs, donned in soft blues and gold. It takes all I have not to slap his offered hand away. I just want to be alone.

"Yes," I say, letting him guide me up the stairs. "I've had enough. The noise. The people."

"It's a celebration," he tells me, as if I don't know. "It's odd not to participate."

"I've done my share," I let go of his hand, and my dress pushes against him as I move. "I need a moment. Just a moment."

He doesn't seem to like this response, but he knows he can't force me. Even if he wanted to, it wouldn't help. All he does is glance at me, and winds his way down the stairs, and I take off as he does. The halls are mostly empty, save for the wandering person. Every step I hear is him. Every sound is him. I try to maintain whatever composure I can, until at least the cool night air greets me as an old friend.

At last I let myself feel. With sputtered breath and a tremble in my hands. I bat away at my waist, as if he's left some mark on me. I can't wipe the hot stream of tears that roll down my cheeks. I find the nearest bench, a stone slab that is more of a decoration than something for actual use, and sit down to collect myself.

I can still hear the music inside. Much less powerful out in the night air, but the horns still hum in my ears like gnats. I remove my gloves, wiping at my eyes, and gripping at myself so tight I fear my nails might leave a mark. Being held is a comfort only I can provide at the moment. And as I hunch forward, feeling the strain of the lace at my back, I hear the tapping of my heel as my knee jerks up and down in a feeble attempt to remove my nerves. I can still hear the waltz in its tapping. One, two, three, one, two, three.

Regular Taglist: @atoxicrose, @ageeksnerdyworld

[zoya-nazyalantsov]

Pirates of The True Sea Chapter 1

(pirates of the carribbean inspired zoyalai fic lmao)

Nikolai Lantsov, aka Sturmhond, has a problem. Cursed by the fearsome pirate, Morozova, Nikolai must seek the one treasure that can cast out his demon: The Sun Summoner. 

Zoya Nazyalensky wants power. Aboard Morozova’s ship of extremely questionable morals, she joins him in a quest to search for an object of legends that bring power to all who wield it. 

As Nikolai and Zoya’s search for the mythical Sun Summoner endures, time pressures them both into an uneasy alliance, one that leads to sword fights, betrayal, small science, and… romance? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. 

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546391

“To the gallows with this filthy pirate!” announced the governor who hovered waspishly above the crowd. His bulbous nose and ballooning figure glared down from the balcony to said pirate.

“Privateer, actually,” said Nikolai Lantsov with a tight voice as he struggled against the coarse rope that burned around his neck. Death by hanging was not the way any pirate should go, especially one as respected as Sturmhond. Stormchaser. Prince of the Seas. Demon Prince. He had many names, but that was beside the point. The gallows were no respectable place to die, especially not with a murderous demon trapped inside one’s heart. 

Release me. Nikolai felt the creature stir inside the chambers of his chest, scratching lightly at the sinew and muscle. 

No. He knew that if the monster was released, it would kill everyone in the square. He glanced around quickly, estimating about one hundred people. One hundred people were waiting for him to break like a pathetic little twig. Unfortunately, the monster knew this as well and he felt it grin. His traitorous heart jumped as the claws tightened around it. 

Let me take control and I can save us. I can save you, it said. Nikolai gritted his teeth, ignoring the call of darkness and evil. 

I hate you. At this, the demon smiled. 

I am the pirate and the pirate is me, Sobachka. 

“Any last words, Sturmhond?” growled the executioner. Trying to remain human, Nikolai answered thoughtfully, banishing any indication of a curse out of his mind. He missed the cerulean waters, the taste of fine liquor, and the salty smell of the ship. His undignified week in the cellars had dulled his golden skin and his disguised red hair became almost a reddish gold. Not to mention it left him smelling like old rainwater left to dry in a stable cleaned with manure. It was not one of his finer moments. 

“Got any kvas?” he asked and was silently thankful to hear a few snickers from the crowd. “I’m rather parched.” 

“Argh.” spat the executioner at his feet. Nikolai spotted several gnats and mosquitoes caught in his gnarled peppery beard. “Death to the pirate then,” he said, placing his hand on the lever. Nikolai felt the anticipation of the people and prayed to his Saints. 

I didn’t think it would end like this. Nikolai closed his eyes, waiting for the snap of the lever and the subsequent snap of his neck. 

Suddenly the executioner cried out in pain and a shriek followed from somewhere among the masses. Nikolai’s eyes shot open and he was met with two stormy blue eyes. The figure was hooded, dressed in black and gold, flew across the platform wielding a silver sword. The mysterious savior struck down the executioner with swift ease. Nikolai watched wildly as the townspeople darted like guppies to avoid the falling bodies of soldiers onto the square. He took in a sharp inhale as the feral eyes of the stranger faced him, sword raised over their hooded head. He forced himself not to flinch as the figure sliced the sword over him, severing the rope that suspended him in two. 

Nikolai dropped to his knees, gagging, and felt a small but firm hand grip his shoulder. He was free. The figure jerked him to his feet and thrust a sword into his hand. He grabbed his hat back from a petrified soldier and placed it upon his head. 

“I’ll take that back, thank you,” he said. He took off sprinting along with the figure, boots slapping against the cobblestone street. He set his gaze ahead to the ocean, the only place he’d ever known freedom. The path was clear and straight. 

“You’re coming with me, Sturmhond.” said a smooth, feminine voice from under the veil. Nikolai squinted closer at her robes as she dragged him running through the town. A patch was sewn onto the sleeve: an eclipsed sun. The dreaded symbol of Aleksander Morozova. A mix of fear and disgust rolled through him and he snatched his arm away from his captor. 

“What does Morozova want with me?” he hissed, running towards the docks. He glanced back to find an angry group of soldiers chasing them. “That wretched pirate was the one who got me caught in the first place!” he exclaimed. The figure’s hood fell during their escape, revealing a mass of dark tresses and healthy brown skin. Her bright eyes flashed towards him. 

“Follow me and I will explain”, she said, gesturing to a gargantuan ship leaving the harbor. My ship? Nikolai blinked at the magnificent wooden ship that moved quickly towards the open waters. The crazy woman tracked down my ship. The deck of the Kingfisher called to him like the call of the open sea. He spotted the frantic waves of his crew, shouting and howling at him. 

They raced towards the dock, dodging and deflecting the stray bullets that flew around them. The rotted wood creaked under his feet as he approached the Kingfisher. The woman jumped with effortless strength and grabbed the rope that dangled patiently from the side of the ship. 

“Come aboard, Sturmhond!” cried a scar-faced woman with red hair. Nikolai brightened at the sight of her. Genya. She threw down a second rope and he grabbed a hold of it, pulling himself up. 

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” he shouted triumphantly to the soldiers who gaped at him from the edge of the dock. “No governor alive can ever catch the great Sturmhond!” 

“Curse you, Sturmhond!” shouted the Governor with a fat fist thrust into the air. One curse is enough to deal with, Governor, he thought bitterly. He laughed as he swung himself onto the deck and tipped his hat in the direction of the reddening Governor. He landed gracefully in front of the woman who saved him, face hardening into a mask with ease. 

“Now what to do with you?” he contemplated aloud. “You who wear the colors of Morozova.” The woman faced him defiantly, unbothered at his words. 

“Peace, Sturmhond,” she said. She cast off the black robe, uncovering a weathered blue kefta. Typical. Morozova’s whole crew was made up of people like her. The most powerful grisha flocked to him like how sailors were lured by sirens. He promised them riches and power and worst of all, they always believed him. Nikolai was thankful for his band of grisha that knew the truth. Some had even escaped the clutches of Morozova’s ship, The Merzost, like Genya and David. 

“Stormwitch,”  murmured someone among the crew. 

“Stormwitch indeed,” he echoed, folding his arms. “What is your business in saving me from a most unfortunate fate?” he asked with curiosity. “Not that I’m ungrateful, of course, but I do wonder…” He leaned closer, awaiting her answer. A slight crease formed between his brows upon studying her expression. She seemed bored. Bored? We just escaped flying bullets without a scratch and the woman is bored? 

“I escaped from the pirate Morozova and went to find the greatest pirate in the True Sea. I followed whispers, rumors, stories, all to find that the great Sturmhond is hanging from a noose on some obscure island in the south,” she said with disdain. You have your former captain to thank for that. But of course, he couldn’t say that. One more person who knew about the curse was another person who knew of a weakness he possessed. “Obviously your reputation precedes you. Apologies if I’m a bit disappointed,” she added. Nikolai felt a sense of tension stir within the crew. He saw his friends, Tolya and Tamar, place a cautious hand on their respective weapons. 

“No, no,” he said, forcing an easy smile on his face. “I apologize for not living up to your expectations Miss…” 

“Nazyalensky. Zoya Nazyalensky,” she replied sourly. 

“Miss Nazyalensky. I swear I’ll spend the rest of your stay on this ship making it up to you. Sturmhond guarantee.” he said, throwing in a wink. Zoya rolled her eyes but he didn’t miss the slight lift in the corner of her mouth. Interesting. He walked to the upper deck, her piercing gaze trailing his movements. The wind rustled his red locks as he placed his hand on the wooden steering wheel, painted with chipped gold. “So you’re looking to join my crew I suppose?” 

“Yes,” she said. “Morozova has grown power-hungry and mad. I will serve no evil madman.” She seemed disgusted as she said his name and Nikolai knew how she felt. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. 

“Who said I wasn’t mad, darling?” he joked. His crew laughed along with him. “No worries, we are not evil here.” 

I would say otherwise, said the demon. 

“And what do you have to offer us?” chimed in young Ivan. 

“Yeah!” 

Zoya whipped around towards the crew which recoiled at the movement. They’re scared of her, aren’t they, thought Nikolai. She looked wild, standing in the middle of the ship with her ebony hair whipping in the breeze. A wide berth had formed around her, leaving a large clearing between her and the rest of the crew. 

“What can I offer you?” she said, a small smile on her beautiful face. “The winds belong to me.” she declared, closing her eyes. A gust of air rocked the ship, rustling the creamy white sails. The sailors on deck made sudden grabs for the nearest steady object as dark waves churned around them. Nikolai, however, made a point to stand his ground. He planted his hands at his sides, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. Zoya lifted off the deck like a saint ascending to the heavens. She opened her eyes, glowing a deep royal blue. “I am the Stormwitch.” Power. The woman was raw power, both literally and figuratively. Nikolai clapped politely when she finished. 

“Thank you for that lovely demonstration, Nazyalensky,” he said, leaning onto the railing of the balcony. “But we’re missing one important question.” He let his words linger in the air for a moment. “It’s perhaps the most important question of all, the one that will determine whether you stay on this ship or not.” He forced his eyes away from Zoya, who looked at him with a sense of utter disbelief. He studied his nails, ignoring the muffled laughs from his crew. 

“Spit it out, Sturmhond,” she said with some annoyance. 

“Why should we trust you?” he asked. 

“You can’t,” she said. Nikolai let out a hearty laugh.

“I’m not sure you’re helping your case,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at the girl, standing in her cerulean robes. 

“I’m simply being honest, Sturmhond,” she said. She smirked slightly as if she knew he’d already decided upon her future with the ship. “An honest pirate is hard to come by these days. And I believe that I am worth my weight in gold.” Saints, she was good. Perhaps it would be interesting to have her aboard. She was a curiosity, a mere person of interest. Yes, that was it. 

“Let me consult with my colleagues,” he said. “Genya, David, Tolya, and Tamar, if you would meet with me here please?” He nudged open a mahogany door behind him that led to the captain’s quarters. The four of his friends followed him inside. 

It was just as he left it. A messy pile of maps was scattered across his simple wooden desk like sand on a beach. He eyed the numerous swords leaning against the wall and picked up his favorite: a silver sword with a violet gemstone embedded into the pommel. It was a gift from a fellow pirate, a much better one than he was. He knew the Wraith was out there somewhere, being a hero to those in need. 

“I say to let her stay,” said Genya, tying back her flaming red curls. “She came to us with a way to get you out of the gallows after we’d been struggling for weeks. Granted, she didn’t reveal herself to us.” Tolya and Tamar nodded, although they exchanged a worried glance. 

“I agree with Genya,” said David while Tamar rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, of course, you do!” she said. “Nikolai, I’m not saying she has to leave, I’m wondering if we can trust her.” Nikolai palmed the sword in his hand, considering her words. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t wondering the same. Zoya Nazyalensky’s sudden appearance and motives were not as she presented them to be, that much was obvious. She could have let him swing for all she cared. And the part about him being the ‘greatest pirate in the True Sea’ was all just flattery, as much as his ego denied it. The woman was playing a game and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be part of it. 

“Tolya?” he asked. 

“Let her stay,” he said in a low voice. “And if she tries anything she’ll face the consequences.” 

“Alright,” said Nikolai. “Seems like we’ve made our decision.” He replaced the sword back on the wall and turned to the door, bursting through. The crews’ eyes snapped up to him. He made his way down to the lower deck, stopping just in front of Zoya. Her face was fixed into a frown, her lovely blue eyes boring into his. It was as if she dared him to refuse her passage aboard the ship. She possessed the passion, skills, and nerve it took to be a good pirate. And her abilities as a grisha could come in handy on his search for the Sun Summoner now that he was free. Nikolai met her with a confident smile. 

“Well then Nazyalensky,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Welcome aboard the Kingfisher.” He extended a rough scarred hand out from his teal pirate coat. Her hand clasped his and the deal was done. 

[amphipodgirl]

Thank you to @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire​ for tagging me! I continue to work on writing up the ten plagues in my Exodus AU. Today I’m sharing the plague of gnats. TW: swarms of insects.

And then come the gnats. It's not unusual to have to brush a gnat or two away from one's face, especially as the dusk draws on. But this is...unusually many gnats. Increasingly many gnats. Impossibly many gnats. Soon it is a choice between working with a face full of gnats, eyes full of gnats, a mouth full of gnats or doing no work at all because the hands are so busy swiping and slapping and waving at gnats. Everyone starts to wear cloth over their mouths and noses, and if they can get cloth fine enough (or they can manage without sight) their eyes as well. The gnats still tickle the skin, though, since one can't work entirely covered, and slaves in fields and building sites have no choice but to continue working anyway. Some slaves are pulled away from these tasks to wave fans for the governors, the overseers, the scribes, the priests and the Pharaoh and his court, for the wives of all these people. It's not bad to be pulled onto fan duty – it's often inside, or at least in the shade, and the eddies of air may clear some gnats away from the slaves as well as the masters.

I tag @gampyre​ @thehoneyedhufflepuff​ @carryonsimoncarryonbaz​ @cynopoe​ @vkelleyart​ and anyone else who would like to show us a peek of an ongoing project!

[burtlederp]

BTHBingo Card Pt. 1

Writing Blurb 9! It’s finally here! Sorry about the wait. Introducing our new boy, James! He’s not a box boy, he’s from another world that still has slaves. We might see some more of him, we might now. Who knows! Anyways, this also counts as my first BTHBingo tile!! Only took me, what... A month to get started? Yeah. Well, better late than never!

Outlined means it’s been requested, colored in means it’s been done. Masterlist. @badthingshappenbingo​

---

It was hot. Blistering, even. The air was thick with humidity, the moisture heated to boiling by the sun. Cicadas trilled, some determined butterflies fluttered over the field, but most life had seemingly taken shelter from the direct light. No birds were flying, nor singing, no life in sight. 

Well, there was a man. 

The man's name was James, and he was a slave to a master who had been absent for a week. The master of the house was his newest. His old master had died in his sleep, and all his slaves sold as swiftly as his property. James did not know his new master, Master Theobold, very well: he had been around for a day before leaving. For what reason, James did not know. He was a slave, he wasn’t privy to such information, his old master had made him learn that through a whip. But Master Theobold had left a ‘to-do’ list for the three slaves he owned. Though he had included no deadline, said nothing about getting it done before he returned, James assumed his master expected it to be done by the time he got back. It was a little frustrating to see the other two slaves did not feel the same.

The list had been long, and the week not long enough for it. While Nancy and Hearthom lounged about inside the house, escaping the heat, doing nothing, James was out here in the field, working. He had been the only one working for the past few days, and nights. He had fed the livestock every morning and every evening, bringing in the animals as dark came and letting them out to pasture when the sun rose. He had done the laundry, washed the outsides of all the windows on the house, painted the fence, mucked the barn stalls, tended to the gardens, and many more items that had been on that list his master left out on the counter in the kitchen. He had not read it, he couldn’t read, but Nancy could, and she read it to him whenever he needed. He had not slept or eaten in days, too busy to do so, and could not remember the last time he had had a drink of water. He wanted one, very badly, now. But the thought of resting, of not getting all the list finished, and being punished for it, terrified him. The old wounds on his back often still hurt him when he moved a certain way, reminders of the times he hadn’t finished his tasks in the time provided. The pain just made him work harder. 

He was out in the field south of the house, beginning the tiring job of prepping it for the next growing season. It had been newly purchased after being left alone a long time. It was a meadow now, with tall grasses and wildflowers and all manner of weeds, all with roots that had burrowed deep into the earth. James punched the shovel into the dirt, overturning a clod of dirt, and did so over and over and over again. It did not always come easily. Often he ran into rocks, into taproots, into thick bundles of roots, and he would have to set down the shovel and get down on his hands and knees, attempting to dislodge the obstruction. Flies and gnats, the only other creatures besides the butterflies out here, pestered him incessantly, but he steeled himself to ignore them. They only slowed him down. He had worked harder jobs before, lifted heavier things, ran further distances, swung an axe more times than he used the shovel, but in the heat, he could not compare this task to anything. 

His back was already sunburnt, he knew that well enough. It had been burned ever since the first row of upturned dirt across the field, and had steadily gotten worse. His sweat stung, dripping into his eyes, down his burnt back, into old wounds not quite healed over, and he was thankful it had ceased; he no longer was sweating. He was so hot. He was tired. His arms ached and shook, and every time he raised the shovel, it became harder. His knees were weak, like at any second they threatened to buckle. He was so, so tired. He wanted to lie down and fall asleep until night fell. 

He paused, briefly, sticking the shovel into the dirt and leaning heavily on the staff. His breathing was ragged, his hair still slick with the not-quite evaporated sweat. His eyes stared down at the ground beneath his bare feet, all four of them. His vision was swimming, he was seeing double. He squeezed his eyes shut, wiping his brow on his arm, only to remember he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He only had robes from his waist down that he had long girded up. They were growing too hot as well, but he knew he could not shed them too; it would be indecent. Well, more indecent than he already was. 

He pushed off the shovel handle, going to continue his work, and nearly fell over. The push had been weak, but enough to throw him off balance. He staggered sideways, and managed to catch himself, wheezing, and went back to his place. He lifted the shovel, squinting as he looked down at the ground, trying to aim his next move. But it was so difficult. His vision was blurry, the sun so terribly bright. He felt sick, his head throbbing. He distantly was aware of his arms dropping the shovel, his own stance wavering slightly. Gods, he was so tired. So tired. He just wanted to sleep. So tired. So hot. He had to keep working, though.

But he didn’t. When he had gone to lift the shovel, his body had not obeyed. Instead, his eyes rolled up into his head, his knees buckled, and his limp, overheated body collapsed into the turned dirt. The shovel staff fell, and rested against his heaving sides, his body struggling to get enough air in, to cool him down. Alas, it could not be done while the sun still shone overhead.

~*~

CJ wiped sweat off his brow, cursing. He was glad he was finally going to be home again, but why did the weather have to welcome him back with such intense heat? He felt dirty, no, grimey, with sweat and dust from the road and from the bugs he continually slapped and just stopped wiping off. He probably looked a sight. But then again, how could someone not on a day like today? It was too hot to do anything.

If the slaves aren’t doing anything when I get home, I don’t blame them. He thought, panting hard. As he came over the rise, he raised his head, and sighed in relief. There was his house, the large plantation mansion, a half mile away, past the fields, not too far now. Spurred on by the desire to be home (and in shade), his pace quickened, ever so slightly. Yes, he’d only been gone a week, but it had been a very long week. He hated leaving home. 

So focused on his destination, he nearly missed the progress of the new field he’d bought a couple months prior. He stopped, doing a double-take. It had been a thick meadow before, not ideal for growing or grazing, and he had had plans to have the two male slaves start preparing it come Autumn. But here it was, a third of it upturned, bare dirt mingled with pale roots in the bright sun. But his attention didn’t dwell long on it. He was distracted by the limp form he saw lying on that dirt. 

CJ swallowed. He shrugged his bag off his shoulder and onto the road, running and jumping the old wooden fence, sprinting across the field and dropping to his knees beside the man. 

“Hey, hey! Are you alright?” CJ shouted, trying to shake the man awake, hands on his cheeks, but the man was unresponsive. CJ recognized him as the new slave he’d bought that past Sunday. What was his name? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter at the moment anyway. CJ tossed the shovel off of the slave, and scooped him up into his arms. The slave was a tall, thin, yet muscled fellow, and CJ was not tall, but he was strong. He tossed the poor man over his shoulder and moved quickly across the field, carefully over the fence, and towards the house, his bag forgotten in the lane. 

“NANCY! Draw a bath, a cold one!” CJ bellowed as he kicked open the front door. “Do it now!” Nancy had been reclined on a chair in the living room, springing to life as her master entered, half from her obedience and half from having the daylights scared out of her. 

“Y-yes master!” She answered, running as quickly as she could across the house to the master’s bathroom. 

“HEARTH! GET SOME ICE FROM THE FREEZER, NOW!” CJ shouted, raising his voice even louder, unsure of where the other slave was. 

“Yes master!” A voice called from the kitchen. CJ stormed towards his own bathroom, carrying his third slave, muttering curses. As he entered his bathroom, an inch of water was at the bottom of his enormous tub, the cold spigot spilling water. Nancy jumped as he entered. 

“I-It’s going to take a minute to fill sir!” She stuttered, eyes wide. 

“Fine, help me with him,” CJ growled, and Nancy quickly stepped forward, helping her master lower the slave off his shoulder and into the tub, the slaves' head lolling against the side. 

“Go get ice and whatever else is in the freezer!” CJ ordered, and Nancy hurried away. CJ bent over, pulling his knife from his pocket and cutting off the slave’s garments, tossing them to the side as Hearthom’s large figure came through the door. In his hands was a large bucket of crushed pieces of ice that CJ tore from his grip. He held it under the spigot until water overflowed the sides of it, and he promptly dumped it over the unconscious slave. There was no response, and CJ pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. There was a pulse. 

“More ice!” CJ demanded, turning to Hearthom, who flinched back, and rushed out the door, nearly running poor Nancy over, whose arms were full of bags of frozen food. She squeaked in alarm as Hearthom nimbly danced around her, just barely avoiding collision, then exited as Nancy darted into the bathroom.

“What was his name again?” CJ asked her sharply as he lowered the slave into the rising water level so his hair was getting wet. The water was turning brown already from the dirt and dust on his skin. 

“Wh-who? Hearth--?” Nancy looked at him, confused, placing the bags of food in the tub. 

“No, scab! I mean him!” CJ snapped, gesturing to the man whose forehead he was pressing a bag of frozen peas against. 

“O-oh, I--Um--James, his name was James,” Nancy answered quickly, swallowing, recoiling. 

“Help me, Nancy!” At her master’s harsh command, she leaned forward, holding the ice on the man’s neck while CJ arranged packs of frozen food around him. James’ breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, his lungs struggling, his pallor ashen. His tired, brown eyes fluttered, opening weakly. 

“Ah, good, good, there we go, there you are,” CJ’s voice was soft, reaching up and putting a gentle hand on the slave’s cheek. “Perfect, perfect. James, can you hear me? James?” Brown eyes, glazed and distant, flickered to his master’s face. His brow furrowed.

“M-master…?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, his mouth so dry, it felt like his tongue was swollen, getting in the way. Was… was he lying down? In water? Ice water?

“Yeah, it’s me bud. Keep your eyes open for me, will you?” CJ smiled. “Nancy, get a glass for the poor man.” Nancy nodded and scurried away as Hearthom returned with more ice. The two men gently shifted James so he was sitting up a bit more, and carefully emptied the second bucket of ice onto the abdomen of the slave. James groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut, fingers balling into a fist as his head lolled to the side.

“No, no James, come on, no sleeping, not yet,” CJ shifted James’ head, tipping up his chin so his tired brown eyes could meet his master’s green. Something cold pressed against James’ forehead and neck, feeling lovely. He was so hot, this felt so nice, but unreal. None of it felt real. It was all somehow warped to him, nothing still, every straight line wavering just slightly. He stared up at the ceiling, wishing it would stop bending in, falling slowly towards him.

Something pressed against his lips--water. He let it in, drinking greedily, too weak to lean forward or to raise his arms. They felt like lead, immovable. The hazy form of his master was in front of him, holding a glass to his mouth from which he drank.

“There we go, there we go, yeah, that’s good, good,” CJ said softly, not letting the delirious man drink too much too fast. When James emptied the glass, his master refilled it in the spigot as Nancy returned with more ice, Hearthom gone to do the same. The water level was high enough, and CJ turned it off.

“Hey, hey, James, can you look at me?” CJ asked, and slowly, James raised his eyes to rest on him, though he wasn’t sure if the slave was actually focusing on his figure or not. “Hey, James. We didn’t ever really get the chance to meet properly, did we? I’m CJ, I’m your new master.” James nodded slightly.

“I know,” James breathed. “I remember you.” 

“Well, that is a very good thing. I would be worried if you didn’t.” CJ smiled gently. James didn’t. “Hey, what were you doing out there in that field? You weren’t working, were you?” His heart sank as James nodded again.

“Yessir.” His voice was so soft, so quiet, CJ was glad he’d turned off the water or else he wouldn’t have heard him. “I… I was trying to… To finish the list you left… before you came back.” CJ’s eyebrows knit together. 

“The list…?” CJ puzzled, rubbing his chin. He remembered it, suddenly. The scrap of paper he had scribbled on before he’d left Sunday night, just trying to make sure and remember all the projects he wanted done eventually. Had James really thought he wanted all that done in a week? “Oh, the list.” CJ sighed. “How much did you get done?” He inquired haltingly. James closed his eyes, thinking, slowly raising an arm from the brown bathwater to hold a handful of ice to his neck.

“Half, I think… At least…. Five, six things… I’m sorry, Master.” James croaked, opening his eyes again, looking to his owner mournfully. 

“I, heh, about what?” CJ scoffed. “James, I…” He studied his slave. He had already known he looked terrible, but CJ noticed how tired the poor man looked. “James, when was the last time you actually slept?”

“It’s… been a few days.” James responded. “I was trying to finish the list.” CJ closed his eyes, scoffing, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“James, I am so sorry… That… That wasn’t a to do list. Well, it was, but not like… I didn’t… It wasn’t things I wanted to get done before I got back, it’s things I want to get done by next planting season.” CJ explained. Nancy entered with another bucket as James processed this. A soft, gentle smile turned the corners of his mouth. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

“Oh.” He said softly, barely audible. CJ held the back of his hand to James’ neck. Still warm, he motioned for Nancy to dump the ice.

“I think that’s enough, thanks Nancy,” he said. She nodded, and left. CJ turned back to the quiet man in the tub. His smile had faded.

“I’m sorry.” CJ thought he had heard wrong for a second, but no, James had whispered the apology.

“Whatever for?” CJ frowned.

“I… I assumed--”

“Oh, hush James.” CJ shook his head, smiling. “You… You have done nothing wrong. Foolish? Yeah, you went out and did hard labor in a hundred-degree heat, nearly the same percentage humidity! But… Disobedient? Wrong? Nah. Nah. You’re fine.” CJ patted James’ cheek and got to his feet. “You saved you and Hearthom’s asses a lotta work come spring. Now take it easy. Get clean, get some new clothes, and rest. You’ve earned it.” CJ smiled, standing at the door of the bathroom, James watching him tiredly. CJ knocked once on the doorframe and left the man alone in the tub with his thoughts. His very, very tired thoughts. 

Nancy, at some point, delivered a towel and a set of clean clothes, and left a bar of soap out for him. Eventually, James found the energy (from where, he had no idea) to get the soap and wash himself as best he could, continually jerking awake again. The water was cold, yes, but he was so fatigued. He was comfortable sitting down, with something to lean against, no hot sun beating down on him….

When he opened his eyes next, he wasn’t in the tub anymore. It was dark. He was clean, dressed, in a bed. Not his bed, no, not the comfortable pile of hay in the barn, but a bed. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here, in a bed. Beds aren't for slaves, his old master spat in his mind. 

But James couldn't move. He was exhausted, and he had never felt anything so soft as the pillow beneath his head, the mattress under his body, the sheets, down comforter, and blanket on top of him. It was comfortably cold outside the covers. He didn't want to move. He closed his eyes, and let himself slip off to sleep.

[tangyyyy]

Bon, parce que je te connais et que tu vas me faire un truc ultra angst tu vas te faire pardonner avec du pure fluff avec cet autre prompt^^ , Fluff numéro 7 “wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me.”

Here it is !!!! :D

My second dads!elu one shot ! Many many thanks @juuuunaaaaoooo, you made me write again !

Guys, you can request any prompts anytime in my box, really… ;)

Anyway… I hope you’ll enjoy this one !

Worst parents ever

Lucas is in a hurry. The rain began to fall on the streets of Paris and the young man has no umbrella. Walking on Boulevard Barbès, Lucas tries to bury the baguette he just bought under his coat, nobody likes wet bread. A fast-moving car passes by him and, driving in a puddle of dirty water, splashes his jeans. “Damn…” he grumbles, fastening his pace a little more.

Night has fallen on Paris and the Christmas decorations shine brightly. Lucas has never been a great fan of the holiday season. Especially Christmas. The endless family dinners, the fake kindness and the crappy gifts of his old aunts? No thanks, not for him. Eliott, on the other hand, loves Christmas. Lucas remembers, nostalgic, of their very first Christmas together, many years ago. Offended to learn that Lucas didn’t like this great tradition, Eliott had done everything he could to make this evening unforgettable. Thanks to his many talents, both physical and artistic, he succeded, although Lucas has always refused to admit it. He smiles. After a busy day of work, he can’t wait to find his man and their daughter.

Éléonore, said Nour, is now two and a half, almost three. Lucas often looks at her and can’t repress a whiff of anxiety at the idea that she can grow up so fast. His thin blonde hair leaves place, for some months, to thick chestnut hair that Lucas and Eliott have the greatest difficulty to style. On his little nose, many small freckles have appeared. Only his big deep blue eyes like Lucas’ don’t seem to change. Now capable of the most spectacular acrobatics, she’s also a talkative little girl with an overflowing imagination, just like Eliott. Lucas is sure of this and can say, objectively, that their daughter is the most beautiful person in the world.

Going home every evening to his apartment that he loves so much, coming back to his lover and his daughter… He was so happy! Once in front of the big massive wood door, Lucas pushes it and come inside. Automatically, he puts his keys in the small box placed on the entrance furniture, takes off his shoes, leaves his soaked coat that hangs on the coat rack and walks in the narrow corridor, the baguette unscathed by any trace of rain in his hand. A smell of tomatoes, thyme and rosemary tickles his nostrils. Tomato in the middle of December? Lucas knows that Eliott can be very creative in kitchen but making such an affront to seasonal vegetables? No it’s not in his habits…

Lucas finds Eliott in the kitchen, busy over the sink, washing a green salad. Looking around him, Lucas doesn’t see Éléonore. No doubt she must be playing alone in her room with her many toys as it happens to her more and more often…

“It smells good.” Lucas say, smiling.

Eliott, who didn’t hear his manwalking behind his back, jumps and put a hand on his pounding heart.

"Damn Lucas, you scared me…”

Lucas laughs and puts a little kiss on Eliott’s cheek before placing the baguette on the worktop.

“What are you doing?” He asks, curiously, as he sits on one of the high bar stools near the sink.

"I had no idea so I warm a jar of ratatouille.” Eliott replies by refocusing on the salad.

“Mmmh… good idea!”

Last summer Lucas’ mother had gave them several jars of fresh ratatouille, telling them that during the cold and long winter months, they could at least have some sun in their plates. Smelling the scent of Mediterranean vegetables bursting with sun and olive oil, Lucas licks his lips in advance. Éléonore, too, loves the ratatouille of her grandmother. She, who, however, begins to sulk the vegetables for a few weeks, makes an exception for the famous Mamie Marie’s Ratatouille.

“You had a good day?” Lucas asks, absently looking at Eliott bustling around the salad.

"Meeting, meeting, meeting and… Meeting! We’re on a new project. It’s going to be great but it’s hyper ambitious so there’s a thousand things to see upstream of the real…

-Oh ok, cool.” Visibly immersed in his own mind, Lucas now stares at a tiny gnat drowning in the sink full of water.

"And yours?

-Yes, yes, it’s been okay…” He answers absentmindly, staring at the gnat.

Silence falls in the kitchen. Drops of water come to the windows and the wind rises almost conceals the noises of the Parisian traffic. Only Eliott continues to work on the preparation of the meal, Lucas remains motionless near the sink.

Finally, Lucas frowns and redirects his focus to Eliott, now busy taking out the plates and cutlery of the small wooden furniture on his right.

“It means that you’ll spend a lot of time with Amélie…

-Well yes, she’s the pre-real workload so yeah indeed, I’m going to work a lot with her. Why?

-Just to know…” Lucas scowls, crosses his arms against his chest and forces himself to think of something else.

Knowing very well why Lucas asks such a question, Eliott bites his cheek, forcing himself not to smirk. Nevertheless he’s not decided to let such an opportunity to make fun of his lover. For years Eliott has been working with Amelie, Lucas has always been jealous of the young woman. It’s true that Amelie is an attractive woman who has never tried to hide, in the past, the attraction she felt and still feels for Eliott. But he’s always very clear with her. Although Eliott can’t be more faithful to Lucas, the young man can’t help but worry. Diyng of jealousy to know that Eliott is gonna spend most of his time with this very beautiful and clever artist, Lucas can’t think straight anymore.

Eliott, pretending to clean the sink a little more, discreetly walked to Lucas.

"Besides… Speaking of Amélie… Today she showed us the new shoes she bought, really high heels, Louboutin. Wow, it makes her legs beautiful, you should see that… Aoutch!”

Lucas just kicked him.

“Stop it already!”

Eliott now laughs openly.

“Stop what?!

-I don’t fucking care about Amélie’s legs!

-You should, she’s beautiful! And then her little dress…

-For fuck’s sake!”

Raging and crimson cheeks of shame, Lucas punches Eliott’s shoulder. The latter, far from being offended, laughs again and walked closer.

“You know I don’t like that girl and you play with it!” Lucas complains, folding his arms back and lowering his head sulkily.

"Sorry, sorry… I can’t help it!” Eliott say, wiping a small tear of laughter at the corner of his eye.

He tries to take him in his arms but Lucas is struggling.

"You’re just a fucking sadist!”

Eliott laughs again and finally settles down. He puts a soft, gentle hand on Lucas’ cheek, encouraging him to look up at him.

“I’m sorry, but… I can’t believe you’re still so jealous. Even after more than ten years, the house, Nour, all that…

-Yeah I know it’s ridiculous… ” Lucas breathes, biting his lip.

“No it’s not ridiculous, it’s… quite flattering actually.” Eliott smiles. "But once again… You’re the only one who counts, you know it.”

Lucas smiles as well, sighs and relax his muscles. His hands rest on Eliott’s hips.

“I know…

-And then you have nothing to envy to Amélie.

-Really?

-Really.”

Lucas, still sitting on the bar stool, legs apart to accommodate Eliott closer to his body, raises his eyebrows.

“She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen though.

"Yeah well…” Says Eliott unconvincingly. “Allow me anyway to put your tastes about women in question.” As Lucas prepares to retort, his man keeps talking. "She’s too tall… My type is smaller people…” He finished with a mocking smile.

"I’m not that small!” Lucas complains.

"Who tells you that you’re my type?

-You jerk!”

As Lucas begins to slap Eliott’s abs with his fists, he grabs his face with his hands and puts his lips on his.

“I love you Lucas…” he whispers between two kisses.

“I love you too, bastard…” Lucas answers.

The two men kiss each other. Eliott’s hands are set in Lucas’ neck. The latter grabs the bottom of his husband’s tee-shirt and strokes his bare stomach. Their tongues touch and play together. Eliott’s hands move up in his hair pulling them slightly. Lucas scratches his thin skin lightly, stroking his belly button and his ribs. Deep in his throat, Eliott lets out a small sigh of ease, without getting away from the mouth of Lucas. It’s the latter, at this sound, which moves away slightly, he licks his red and swollen lips, he rests his hands on his knees. Eliott frowns and looks sulky.

“Wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me.” He says, trying to take him back to him.

Lucas smiles. Yes, of course, he would love to keep kissing him, but at the same moment, a whole other preoccupation is coming to his mind.

"If we don’t stop right now, I’m not sure I could control myself for a long time…”

Eliott cuts him off by sticking his pelvis to his.

“I like that…” He moans close to his ear.

“I think it’s more reasonable to wait for Nour to be sleeping Babe…” Lucas smiles again, not finding the strength to walk away.

Hearing his daughter’s name, Eliott sighs, puts his forearms on Lucas’ shoulders and displays a look of deep reflection.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” He admits in a half smile. “It would be a shame to traumatise her for the rest of her life… By the way, where is she? That’s it, it’s teenage time? She doesn’t even want to come and kiss her father after a hard day at the childcare centre?” Eliott asks, glancing down the corridor to the bedrooms.

Lucas raises his eyebrows, losing his bright smile. He moves a little further and looks Eliott straight in the eyes.

"You’re joking right?” He asks his husband.

Eliott, not understanding what Lucas means, rising in turn a mocking eyebrow.

"Yes, Lu’, it’s a joke. I don’t seriously think that our two-and-a-half year old girl is already in her teens…

-No, I mean… She’s playing in her room right?

-Well yeah, I guess.

-Eliott…”

The two men look at each other, the same expression scandalised on their two faces. The situation seems to clear suddenly for one as for the other.

“Did you get her at the childcare center when you went out of work?” Lucas asks.

"No! It was you who were supposed to pick her up on the way back! You didn’t do it?

-No I didn’t!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Understanding that their daughter is not at home as expected, Eliott rushes to the other end of the living room, to his phone that he had put there an hour or two ago.

“6 missed calls from the center!” He shouts, panicked.

"They tried to call me too!” Lucas answers from the small entrance where he went to get his coat in which he had buried his own phone.

Pacing up and down in the living room, the phone sticked to his ear, Eliott calls back the childcare center. Lucas joins him, collapses on one of the chairs, takes his head in his hands, nerves alive, succumbing to the stress of such a situation.

"Hello… Yes, I’m Éléonore’s father.” Eliott introduces himself, his worried eyes staring into Lucas’ anxious ones. "I’m really sorry, there was a misunderstanding and… Yes, yes, very well, thank you. Sorry again, we… We just… I know… Yes… We’re coming right now, sorry, we’ll be there in five-ten minutes.”

Coming out of the house with Eliott, Lucas doesn’t mind the rain anymore. In a big hurry, the two men walked fast to the childcare center.

“Fuck! We spoke about it yesterday! It was you who had to go and catch her!” Lucas yells, already out of breath.

"No no no! It was you who was supposed to come home with her!

-But that makes no sense! It’s you who came home first!

-Yes but the center is on your way, not mine!”

The two men remains silent, each convinced to be right.

After a little while, Lucas lowers his head and burries his hands in his coat.

“Damn… We’re the worst parents ever…” he said in a sad and shameful tone.

“Don’t say that.” Eliott answers without looking at him or slowing down.

"But we’re not even fucking able to decide properly who’s supposed to care about our daughter at the childcare cen…”

-Shut up!“

Lucas is guilt-ridden. Honestly and in theory, he knows very well that he overreacts. Éléonore is perfectly safe at the childcare center, they’re only late for an hour and then mistakes can happen from time to time… But he can’t help himself. How could they forget their own daughter? Worse still, how did they do to not realise earlier that the little girl wasn’t in the house? And if she hadn’t been to the childcare center, what if a stranger had come to get her? What if, what if … Before Éléonore came into his world, Lucas was the first to make fun of all those parents feeling guilty for the slightest mistake about their offspring. And now, he and Eliott find themselves in the same situation… What a joke!

Eliott pushes the door of the childcare center and introduces himself to one of the childcare worker at the entrance. On his heels, Lucas sees Éléonore playing quietly alone with small wooden cubes. Not caring a lot about the worker, he breaks off quickly, takes off his shoes and rushes alongside the little girl on the playthings. He crouches down and takes her in his arms.

"Oh sorry… Sorry babygirl…” He holds her tight and kisses her hair. “We’re here.”

Obviously the little girl doesn’t seem to have realised that her two dads had forgotten to pick her up. Lucas puts his hands under her armpits, places her against his chest and keeps her close to him while standing up. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Letting herself be carried into the entrance, the little girl sees Eliott in great discussion with the childcare worker. Visibly surprised to see that her both of her dads have exceptionally come to get her, Eleanor made a funny face.

“Papa?

-Yes, see? We came both! We really wanted to see you!”

Lucas stops near Eliott. The latter turns to his husband and daughter, smiles and lays a kiss on the little girl’s round cheek.

“Hi you. How are you?

-Good!

-What did you do today?

-I did the painting!” The girl answers playfully, proudly showing her two little hands on which there are still some traces of red paint.

Lucas turns to the woman.

“We’re really sorry, I don’t even understand what happened…

-Oh do not worry too much! As I said to your husband, this can happen to everyone.

-No but really, sorry…

-Listen, you’re not the first to whom it happens and you wont be the last, believe my long experience.”

Lucas smiles at her sheepishly, absently stroking his daughter’s hair.

“And then…” Keeps saying the woman. “It’s a pretty good thing!”

At these words, the two men raise their eyebrows.

“It means that your world doesn’t revolve around Éléonore only. That’s a good thing! She needs to see that everything is not just working for her only, that she’s not the center of the whole world, especially at that age. There are times when we don’t necessarily think about our children, it’s pretty healthy actually.”

Lucas bites his cheek, thinking back to what they were just doing to forget their own daughter. Seeking to hide his embarrassment, he drops the little girl on the ground so that she can get her shoes in the small lockers near the entrance. Eliott bends down and helps her to put on her shoes.

Seeing two other pairs of shoes in the lockers, Lucas looks up at the woman.

“There are still children?

-We don’t close until late, around 9:30 pm, for parents who have atypical schedules.”

Lucas nods before putting on his own shoes.

Once Éléonore has put on her thick coat, Eliott takes her in his arms. The little girl frowns and tries to struggle.

“Nooo! I want to walk!!” She gasped. Eliott doesn’t let her go and shakes his head.

"Sorry kitten but it’s raining a lot and…” He glances at Lucas. The latter shrugs. “And as we left the house quickly, we forgot to take an umbrella so we will walk very quickly to not get wet.”

Lucas bites his cheek again. They didn’t even think of sheltering their daughter from the rain… really, they fucked up everything today! The shrill voice of the little girl draws him from his dark thoughts.

“Will you run?” She asks Eliott. Éléonore loves when Eliott carries her on his back while running at full speed, it’s even one of her favourite activities. His father laughs.

"Of course! Everything you want tonight Mademoiselle Lallemant.” He replies, kissing her forehead.

His coat on, Lucas turns to the woman, standing there, watching them tenderly.

"Well… We’ll go now. Thank you very much and sorry again for all that.

-Do not worry, not a big problem, really. Next time make sure to keep your phones with you.” She answers with a smile.

"It wont happen again.” Lucas adds, shaking her hand. "Nour, you say goodbye?

-Goodbye!” Nour yells, still in Eliott’s arms, waving her hand to the woman.

"See you tomorrow sweethart.” She greets her back, giving her a small wink.

On the way back, Lucas looks in front of him, Eliott running in the rain, holding Éléonore firmly in his arms. The little girl laughs loudly. Lucas could never get tired of this laugh for sure.

Back home, while Eliott kneels in the small entrance, helping their daughter to get rid of her coat and shoes, a burning smell suddenly rises to Lucas’ nostril.

"Oh fuck!” He rushes into the kitchen. In the saucepan, the ratatouille is totally burnt and lets escape a blackish smoke. With a quick gesture, he grabs the pan and puts it in the sink before running the water.

"Damn fucking shit… That must be a fucking joke…” Lucas takes his head in his hands. “We make everything mess!” He slaps his forehead with the palm of one of his hands.

He feels so guilty to not being able to do anything right. He would like to be that perfect, caring, organised father, but deep down, tonight, he still feels like a teenager who has trouble growing up. He knows it’s fleeting, he’s aware that most of the time things don’t go so bad but… Tonight is too much…

On his back, he feels Eliott taking him in his arms. The man puts his hands on his stomach, puts his head on his shoulder and hugs him, his chest stucked to Lucas’ back.

"It’s okay…” he whispers in his ear.

“But Eli, look, we’re fucking pathetic…” Lucas complains, thinking back to the forgetting of their own daughter and their house full of an unpleasant burning smell. He begins to run out of air and feels his belly knot. Eliott moves slightly away to give him room to turn around.

“Hey, hey, calm down, Lucas… look at me. Look at me…”

Lucas turns around and stares into the calm and reassuring eyes of his man.

“Nour’s perfectly fine, she’s here, with us. And about the ratatouille… It doesn’t matter at all. It’s nothing… ” He told him confidently. Lucas nods, soothed by the sound of Eliott’s voice.

“What are we eating then?” He asks in a weak voice.

Eliott frowns and thinks.

“Hmmm… we can order a pizza!” Leaving Lucas’ eyes, he turns towards the living room in the direction of Éléonore, who is busy telling the contents of her day to one of her stuffed toys, sitting on the ground at the foot of the Christmas tree. "Nour… Do you like pizza?”

The little girl raises her big blue eyes towards her father. She doesn’t answer anything, obviously not understanding what Eliott is asking to her.

“Pizza… You know, the round good thing with other stuff on it…”

The little girl frowns before refocusing on her stuffed toy. Obviously what her father tells her, not only does she not understand it but she doesn’t really care about it either.

“Oh my God…” Eliott blows tragically, a hint of indignation in his voice.

“What?” Lucas asks.

"Our own daughter has never tasted pizza in her whole life…” He says, eyes round, slowly turning to his husband.

“Well… Uh yeah… Maybe not with us but wi…

-That’s the real shame, Lucas! What unworthy fathers we are!” He exclaims in a perfect dramaqueen’s impersonation. "We have to fix this right now!” He adds, grabbing his phone to call their favourite pizzeria.

A smile on his lips, Lucas looks at him, his own blue eyes filled with unspeakable tenderness.

A little later in the evening, Eliott and Lucas are settled in the couch. Éléonore is sitting between them. Just out of the bath, her hair is still wet and her skin smells like baby soap. In her hand, she holds a small slice of pizza she carries to her mouth, already smeared with tomato sauce. Her two dads watch her eatting with appetite.

"So? You like pizza?” Lucas asks her smiling.

The little girl just nods, too busy eating her new favourite dish to answer properly to her own father.

Lucas sighs of ease, keeps smiling and lets himself go against the back of the couch, a hand resting on his daughter’s back. He looks at the ceiling thoughtfully. Eliott prefers not to waste time and takes a large slice of pizza.

"You know what?”

Eliott turns to him, traces of tomato sauce at the corners of his mouth, just like their daughter. At this sight, Lucas laughs.

"I think we’re not so bad fathers…” Lucas says.

“Of course we’re not.” Eliott replies.

“We forget our daughter at the childcare center, we almost burn our kitchen, we don’t eat at the table but on the couch by putting crumbs everywhere but…” He pauses, watching Éléonore and Eliott. “We’re happy like that.” He finished with a smile.

"And that’s what counts.” Adds Eliott, his mouth full of pizza.

"Yeah, that’s what counts…”.