#airy-awry

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: Jade is drunk. That's it that's the story. Nah, there's some fluff and dancing with gn reader too.

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Mostro Madness

In the midst of bright neon lights, blaring music, and a crescendo of of excited voices, you wondered if your eyes were deceiving you.

They had to be. It was the only explanation. Because the man in front of you right now could not possibly be Jade Leech

Surely, this was Floyd Leech. It couldn't be anyone else, given his current state.

Suit jacket and hat discarded, bowtie undone, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to just above his belly button, his hair an absolute mess and sticking to a face flushed red and stretched with a wide fanged smile.

Alas, Floyd was currently on the dimly lit stage to your left, singing remarkably well into the mic while swinging back and forth with a half empty glass of whiskey in hand

Therefore, unless someone had duplicated Floyd, the eel smiling at you right now was none other than Jade Leech.

Completely and utterly hammered.

"Puffball." Jade was swaying on his feet, his special pet name for you lilted and floaty on his tongue. "You look..." He giggled softly. "You look beautiful tonight."

You briefly wondered if he was pulling your leg, laughing like that, but you decided to humour him anyways.

"Thanks, Jade." You said, sickly sweet. "You look absolutely enchanting yourself, hon."

Jade's eyes widened in surprise and he covered his face with his hands, his golden eye peeking out from between his gloved fingers.

"Oh my." He slurred, giggling again. "My love is kind to me tonight."

You rolled your eyes at his sudden bashfulness. He was going to be quite embarrassed about this tomorrow (unless he decided to be happy about all that transpired) and he had nobody to blame but himself.

A friendly- if you could really call anything involving Jade friendly- drinking competition with Azul and Floyd had gone laughably awry, leaving all three of them a mess.

Azul lay spawled across one of the couches, glasses askew, with eyes as wide as saucers. He mumbled feverently to himself, ignorant of Floyd drunkenly singing on stage and Jade turning into a giggly puddle at your words.

How the twins managed to get Azul to agree to such a competition in the first place was a mystery.

Truly, the Mostro Lounge 10th Anniversary party (staff exclusively) had devolved into chaos, given the utter state of everybody else there too.

"Jade, I think you should sit down." You say, raising an eyebrow at his horribly wobbly legs.

"Hmm... nooo..?" Jade's voice slurred. "I think... I would like to dance."

"Jade, you're in no condition to walk, nevermind dance!"

Jade's smile was lopsided. "But my love, it'd the perfect time to dance. Alcohol on the tongue, a beautiful setting, romantic music in the air~"

You would hardly call Floyd snarling crude lyrics into the microphone romantic, as good as his voice was, but you hardly had the heart to say no to Jade when he looked so excited.

"Darling~" Jade gripped your hands with own. "Dance with me. Please?"

He looked at you with wide bright eyes, crocodile tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

You sigh.

"Okay. But don't whine when you topple onto your ass and bring me down with you.'

Jade didn't reply, instead opting to let out another airy giggle and pull you to his chest.

Right hand on your back and left hand intertwined with yours, Jade led you into a messy attempt at a dance that had you swinging around with erratic janky movements.

You nearly fell over a number of times from stepping on each other's feet and knocking into people and furniture.

Jade didn't seem to mind. In fact, he looked utterly delighted. His sharp teeth were on full display, mouth stretched in a genuine happy smile as laughter bubbled from his chest.

It was a Jade that was on cloud nine, happy and free of care. He wasn't blackout drunk, oh no, but he was close. Enough to let go of his carefully crafted facade for a short while, surrounded by friends and loved ones.

Suddenly Jade picked you up and spun you in a circle, grinning at your shriek of surprise.

He came to a sudden stop and pulled you close once more, stroking your cheek cheek his thumb.

"I love you so much, my little puffball.' He whispered. "More than any mushroom in the world."

-End

......................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! I like the idea of Jade calling his s/o mushroom pet names so you're his Puffball hehe

Tagging: @krenenbaker @jadeleechisagoodboy @jaylleoo14 @hoboyherewego @officialdaydreamer00 @dadofdisappointment and @azulashengrottospiano @honey-milk-depresso for the Azul cameo ;)

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐘𝐨𝐮❜𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞 𝐏𝐓.𝟐

Summary ➳ Things go awry at camp and everyone heads to the CDC, Shane tries to let go of his suspicious but he becomes angrier.

(A/n) ➳ Flirting and writing creative insults are difficult, another thing to add to my list… I ended up making a MAJOR time jump, I’m sorry!

Word Count ➳ 2.3k

Content Warnings ➳ Female reader, angst-to-fluff, blowjob, TWD violence, panic attack, heavy profanity, mentions of animal’s death, violence, blood, alcohol use…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“C’mon.” Daryl grunted, pushing you head further down his cock. He was sitting on the closest rock while your knees dug into the rocky dirt, painfully poking your knees. You just hoped that they wouldn’t leave bruises.

His hand kept a grip on your hair, your jaw went slack and you allowed him to have complete control. He yanked you off him, and he snickered at your state.

Swollen lips and coated in saliva, your cheeks redden with streaks of dried tears. “Ya gotta help me, unless you want that bastard catching you.”

“Okay, okay.” You spoke, voice hoarse.

He pulled you back down to his cock, welcoming him into your hot mouth. Your eyes shut immediately, your tongue swirled around him, you hollowed your cheeks and attempted to take him further down your throat.

“Lookin’ pretty.” Daryl let out a groan, throwing his head back as his mouth opened, letting out an airy moan. “Takin’ me so well.”

As you worked with him in your mouth, you focused on what made him react the most. You gagged each time when the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. You were eager, desperate for more and more, moaning around his cock, adding more sensation.

The tip of Daryl’s ears are red, grunting in between his teeth, he was struggling to contain his moans.

Suddenly, you were tugged off his cock. Your eyes open in surprise, and you see him jerking himself off in front of you.

He pulled your head further back, forcing you to stick out your chest towards him. “Wait Daryl-”

He cursed like before, his cum spitting out all over your chest and shirt… Your shirt! You remain angrily silent as he pumped himself a couple of more times before stopping.

Daryl slightly leaned back, panting for air as he eyed you with a smirk. “Lookin’ quite pretty.” He commented.

“Gonna make me walk back to came lookin’ like this?” You asked him, pulling at your shirt and feeling it stick to your skin.

Daryl tucked himself back into his pants and his shit eating grin did fall. “Ashamed?”

“No. I just rather not have Shane up my ass about it.” You sighed, standing to your feet and dusting off your knees and back of the dirt.

Daryl picked up his crossbow. “Head on, I’ll see ya back at camp.”

Everyone surrounded the campfire as the freshly caught and cooked fish was passed around. Laughter and bickering filled the air, taking their mind off all the worries, even if it was just for a moment.

You sat in the folding chair next to Shane, poking at your food as it was awkward for you and Shane. You wanted to sit next to Amy or Andrea but Shane convinced you to at least sit next to him.

You avoided eye contact with him, still feeling hurt.

You saw from the corner of your eye, Shane placing his plate down on his lap and sighing. “(Y/n), ‘bout earlier-”

“Save it.”

“I should’ve not said that. I was jus’ worried.” Yet he continued. “Especially ‘bout the dog, I know you loved him.”

“That don’t give you the right to treat me like a teenager.” You picked at the fish, tearing it into smaller pieces. “He was a good boy, a good one.” Your voice shakes as your vision becomes blurred.

Shane’s hand comes around to your shoulder, pulling you to lay your head on his shoulder. “He was… I understand you want to believe in those guys, and I ain’t gonna stop my suspicions. We can’t afford to make mistakes.” Shane clicked his tongue, hesitating on his next words. “But I’ll try to tolerate ‘em for now.”

You looked at him, confusion written all over your face. “...You screwin’ with me?”

Shane laughed at your reaction, shaking his head and smiling. “I ain’t, I’m apologizin’.” It took you a moment before you looked back at the campfire and smiled as well. “I miss this.” Shane said as he rubbed your shoulder, using his other hand to eat his food.

Your appetite returned, but you attempted to sit up but Shane kept his grip on you. “You gonna let go?”

“Gotta accept my apology.”

“I gotta eat.”

“You’ll give in.”

“C’mon Shane!”

“Forgive me!”

Both of your laughter joins the chatter of the rest of them talking about Dale’s watch. It really brought back memories of before all of this happened.

“Alright, alright! I’ll forgive you-”

Amy screamed.

You jumped out of his gasped and looked in her direction, Walkers… More than you could in your now panicked state. They were coming from behind the R.V.

Everyone else began to scream as well, scrambling to get away from the fire.

“Shit!” You tripped on your own feet. “Fuck Shane!”

Shane dragged you a couple feet back, grabbing his shotgun and cocked it. “(Y/n) stay with Lori!” He stood in between you three and started shooting.

You pulled out your dagger, your eyes scanning all around you.

“Look out!” Lori cried out.

You dodged the lunge from the Walker, plunging your dagger directly into its skull. You kicked its body back and kept Lori and Carl close to you.

Lori held Carl tightly, he screamed and cried. You don’t blame him, you wanted to scream and cry too.

Gunshots rang all around you, screams and cries… You couldn’t focus at all.

It was all overwhelming.

The shotguns made your ears ring loudly, but you could still hear the screams loud as day. And those fighting without guns, fight with bats, smashing their heads in.

“(Y/n)!” Shane grabbed your arm as Lori and Carl remained behind him. “C’mon! Follow me!”

Once Shane released your arm to continue firing, you remained on Lori’s left, keeping your dagger up as Shane led you all to the R.V.

“Carol!”

“Stay close!”

“C’mon, y’all! Work your way up here!”

You grabbed an arm of another Walker and stabbed it in the head again, its body dropping to the ground with a wet thud.

You gagged, bringing your arm to attempt to block the disgusting smell of its rotting corpse.

“Right in front of you, Shane!”

Shane continued shooting down Walkers as you all got closer to the R.V.

“Get to the R.V.! Go!”

But now cornered to the R.V. You all had to face the group of them behind you.

“Morales, work up here!”

His shotgun now empty, Shane kept his arms in front of you, Lori and Carl. “Make your way to the Winnebago!”

More shots are heard, and you see the group that went to save Merle. They worked quickly to clean out the threats.

Daryl’s shotgun ran out of bullets, he used the butt of it to kill another.

Rick used his pistol as he too ran out. “Baby! Carl! Baby!” He repeated, falling to his knees as Carl ran to him.

Silence falls among everyone, except those who are still crying and clutching their families close to their chest.

You choked on your words as you reached out to Shane with bloody hands. You tried calling out for him but whimpers left your lips.

Shane, still filled with adrenaline, heard your sounds. His hands immediately on your shoulders, thinking of the worst.

“You hurt?!”

But seeing as the blood was only Walkers’ blood, he didn’t have to worry about you turning but trying to calm you down.

When your knees gave out, Shane was quick to support you, slowly sitting you down on the ground.

“I need you to breathe.” Hold your face in his hands. “Breathe for me, breathe.”

You started to become light headed, your breathing turning into rapid gasps. “I-I can’t-”

“We made it, we’re safe.” Shane felt helpless as he looked into your eyes, fear in them. “Everythin’s alright. We’re gonna be alright.”

You sat on your cot, looking down on your lap as the damp towel was thrown over your wet hair.

All you could think about was that night, you thought you were prepared for a surprise attack, but seeing them all up in your face, seeing them devour the living…

You couldn’t get it out of your head.

Imagine yourself as one of them…

It made your stomach churn, your throat go dry, and your body shake.

Nightmares, the nightmares from weeks before were of you turning or Shane… Sat on a chair, just listening to the horrid sounds.

“Hey.” You jolted, picking your head up to see Daryl with a plate of food in one hand, already sitting besides you. “Ya with me?”

You nodded, taking off the towel.

“Brought ya food.” He sat the plate on your lap, taking a swing from the bottle of wine he brought with him. “Notice ya didn’t eat anythin’.”

You took the fork and took a bite. It was delicious… But you chewed slowly and silently, unsure if you were going to vomit it all out.

“Ya gonna say anything’?”

Silence.

“Ya regret it? ‘Cause it startin’ to look like it.”

You shook your head.

“Then fuckin’ say it.”

You looked him in the eye. “I don’t regret a single thing with you, I never could.”

“Ya gonna finish eatin’?”

“I ain’t hungry.”

Daryl snatched the plate and dropped it on the group, he leaned into your neck and began planting kisses.

“Daryl-” Your hands come to his chest. “Are you drunk?” He grumbled something in response and you sighed, pushing him back. “You’re drunk.”

You took the wine from him and dropped it next to the plate, laying him down on the cot.

“C’mon.” He groaned, reaching for the wine.

“You had enough.” You giggled at his flushed face. “You gonna make it to your room?”

Daryl grumbled again, laying on his back, his head to the side. You laughed again, laying on his arm.

“I was serious. I loved it.” He hummed, closing his eyes. You shuffled closer to him. “Don’t believe me?”

“Shut up.”

“I-”

The door quickly opened, slamming on impact. “(Y/n)?” Shane said.

“Calm down Shane! Calm down!” Rick yelled, holding his best friend back, his arm around Shane’s neck.

“Daryl! Stop it!” T-Dog’s arms were hooked under Daryl’s arms.

Everyone was shouting over everyone, Lori stayed by your side confused and trying to get answers out of you. But you were more worried if Shane was going to end up killing Daryl.

It was like time froze when Shane came into your room, finding you lying next to Daryl… Then hell broke loose.

Shane was blinded by rage, his knuckles bloody as he was able to get a couple of hits on Daryl before he was pulled off.

“Imma kill you Dixon! You hear me!” Shane growled, trying to get out of Rick’s grip. Glenn wrapped his arms around Shane, worried and panicking. “I fuckin’ saw you touchin’ her!”

“Ain’t that fuckin’ sweet!” Daryl only laughed, ignoring everyone’s suggestions to shut up. “There’s more than jus’ touchin’!”

“Fuckin’ cut off your hands! Every fuckin’ piece of you! Feed you to the damn Walkers!”

Rick and Glenn started to drag Shane out and into a different room, Lori following behind him.

“Give me a sec.” You told Daryl, heading to Shane who was sitting down with Rick.

Rick placed his hand on your shoulder. “Are you-”

“What the fuck was that?” You demanded to know, slapping Rick’s hand away. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“The hell did I say? I don’t trust him!”

“You don’t trust him and you can’t trust me?!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“I appreciate your fuckin’ concern, I ain’t a fuckin’ child let alone yours Shane! Short your shit out!”

The room became silent as you both glared at each other. Rick was ready to step in at any second.

“Okay-”

“Fine. do whatever the hell you want.” Shane stood abruptly. “See how that works for you.”

“Best fuckin’ believe Shane, I fuckin’ will!”

With that, You turned on your heel, storming out of the room.

“Gonna suck him off to make him feel better ‘bout himself?!”

Now back in your room, with your back against the door as you took deep breaths to calm down.

Daryl sat on your cot, trying to wipe the blood off his face with your towel. “...He always like that?” His eyes narrowed as he too was still angry.

“It’s not- Shane’s just… I-I don’t know anymore.” You fall to the ground, crying. “I don’t know what happened to him. He ain’t the same anymore, like he’s goin’ crazy.”

No longer able to come up with an excuse for Shane’s behavior change. You don’t know where or how it started…

“When the world goes to shit, shows a side of ‘em you ne’er expected.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. You then got up and walked to Daryl, grabbing the towel to clean the blood he missed.

“You sure know yer way ‘round fixin’ people up.”

A hint of a smile returned to your face. “Years of practice. Now hold still.” Dapping and swiping his face, you poked his nose. “Is it broken? Feelin’ better?”

“Fine. look (Y/n)-”

“Jus’ shut up.”

Before he could finish, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. And Daryl’s rough hands gently cupped your face, your hands came to his wrist.

It was just the two of you and everything else disappeared. A kiss filled with frustration and passion, the tension still injured from earlier, but it soon vanished.

You both pulled away, your eyes meeting his. You had started to regret it until Daryl spoke.

“Ain’t that somethin’.”

You couldn’t help but smile and nod. “Yeah, it was.”

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

Taglist ➳ @easystreet07 , @daryldixmedown , @blackvelveteen1339 , @nosebleeds-247 ,

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

So let's say a magic spell has gone REALLY awry, and now all the M6 have bodyswapped with each other. What combinations do you think would be the funniest, and how do you think it would go down?

The Arcana Mini-HCs: M6 bodyswap

~ this was so much fun, thank you anon! I went for the funniest overall combinations in my mind, so I'd love to hear more thoughts on all the combos I didn't cover! - brainrot ~

Julian ends up with Portia's body - and boy is he mad every time he thinks he catches someone looking at his precious sister's face the wrong way. This totally has nothing to do with the fact that he's well over a foot shorter than he usually is. Or that his permanent tragic-hero expression looks so out of place on his sunshine sister's face

Asra ends up with Lucio's body - and takes full advantage of the opportunities. Doing the chicken dance in the town square. Getting "no ragrats" permanently inked across their chest in giant lettering. Telling everyone he meets that he's attracted to goats. Eating seven bowls of beans and then taking a laxative right before switching back

Nadia ends up with Asra's body - which doesn't sound too crazy at first, until you remember that this is a body that normally stays in the shadows. It can be a lot harder to give an authoritative command and wrangle a stubborn noble into paying their workers fairly when it's coming from someone who's all chill vibes and airy suggestions

Muriel ends up with Nadia's body - and oh, is it a strange sight to watch Nadia's smooth face twist into a flustered scowl every time someone approaches him calling for the Countess! He's almost too afraid to move for fear of messing up the fine clothes she has on, but it's nice to be able to walk through a door without smacking his head

Portia ends up with Muriel's body - depending on who you ask, it was either a total success or complete disaster. She almost brought back rumors of the Scourge with all the fun she had exacting justice on every creep in the South End. On the plus side, she realized how hard it was to dress such a large body and made him a new wardrobe

Lucio ends up with Julian's body - and spent most of the day cursing at the poor doctor for being so frustratingly, enjoyably tall. How is he supposed to replicate this feeling with mere heeled boots?? He did at one point see Asra in his own body, which resulted in the visual of a furious plague doctor chasing a giggling ex-count through the streets

[tgarrett26]

I would like to request about marvel cast x singer ari! Reader headcanon, please

Marvel cast x singer like Ariana Grande headcannons:

•Mackie would challenge sing-offs

•Sebastian would have a new karaoke buddy, it wouldn’t be every time in consideration of his confidence, but I’m sure you would help boost it.

•Evans would love a new car karaoke buddy, and you would definitely be it.

-He’d hype you up on high notes and try to mimic it once you leave the vehicle.

•Scarlett would love to have you join in on a live stream where she occasionally sings some of her old songs.

-She even sneaks a peek at you singing one of her newer ones when in the wardrobe trailer (who knows?)

•Ruffalo would be astounded, the kind and warm soul he is.

•Renner could never be jealous of your talents, but he understands his daughter’s appreciation for them and he wonders how you’d sing with his lyrics.

•Hemworth is not one to carry a tune, but you make him wish he could.

•Downey’s easy at boosting ego, but he’s kind with his compliments as ‘my daughter wishes you’d sing her to sleep too often for my heart, I don’t blame her though’ when you were too nervous to sing on camera per directors request for a scene.

•The Benedicts love dancing to your voice, they enjoy using your hums to get into character when the wifi is iffy or their music just gets repetitive for them.

•Paul Rudd is probably your biggest fan of all the cast members, but who can blame him when you have a vocal range as vast as the streaming options for film requests in the screening room?

•Brie Larson is one h*ll of a singer herself, but she appreciates your join-in when you’re over at hers for a house day or getting ready in the makeup trailer.

•Colbie Smulders? She’s a lover when it comes to your music, I’ve never heard so many pop songs come from her car (even before you joined the cast).

•The Toms? Their music taste is one of the most intriguing parts about them, but Holland can’t help himself with your classics and Hiddleston squeals when he hears your voice-whether it’s from a recording or live.

•Lizzie Olsen is not one to back away from some things and your joyous vocals are one of them, she can’t help herself when the light and airy tone of yours wafts in her surroundings.

•The directors easily get irritated by the interruptions on set by you breaking into song when something goes wrong, but why not break out or character completely when something goes awry?

•The crew is grateful they can hear you sing w/o having to buy tickets though they wonder if Corden will ever be able to get you on Carpool Karaoke if he can.

Honorable Mentions:

•Daniel Brühl is one heck of an Ari fan if I’ve ever heard one, but he beams when he thinks if you’re about to sing.

•Florence Pugh is always ready to listen to your music, but her expectations are always lifted when your voice starts.

•Emily Vancamp has broken character too many times if she hears you from afar, but it just makes her smile and she can’t help it.

•Hayley Atwell is not one to sing often, but her light voice carries and for it to mix with yours just makes her beam and get into it farther.

•Chadwick was only in a movie or so with you, but he was no stranger to your vocals even before he met you.

-He and Letitia had their fair-share of lip-synch battles to your songs, but neither of them have ever been willing to admit it.

•Xochitl has filmed one too many videos of her dancing to your music, but her moves and your lyrics are a Marvel-made match that won’t be beat (even by Florence and Toby sometimes, sorry Florrie).

•Hailee Steinfeld is just waiting for the day she can meet you on set and ask for a collab because your voices together won’t be beat (I see you collab of Stitches from years ago).

[makriiii]

Wary accord (Arthur morgan × f!reader)

Summary: Invited to Angelo Bronte's garden party, you couldn't see anything fairing well. However, as the evening fades to night, and nothing goes wrong, you let yourself enjoy it more than you planned.

Word count: 3.4k

Authors notes: This is just a one-shot with heavily referenced themes from my ongoing series rn - Caught. I had to take a break from writing hardcore and unadulterated angst. ☠️ I'm also open to any suggestions, so send them in! ;)

Warnings/tags: Lots of fluff, 90% sfw, mentions of wounds, guns, some angst.

Ao3!

Pt1 to Caught!

♡

Wary Accord.

Jack ran into his fathers arms with glee, you were just as happy as he was that he was safe and okay.

You were sure this night would've ended in blood shed. Instead, you begrudgingly had to do Bronte's dirty work, handling some grave robbers with Arthur and John.

You didn't much enjoy partaking in being nothing more than a lackey, especially for someone like Angelo Bronte. This made even worse when you heard what Dutch had to say.

"Mr. Bronte has invited us to a garden party at the mayors house." He announced, still seeming unbelieving in the invite himself whilst he chuckled. "And us, just simple country folk."

This didn't delight you, fully willing to stay behind that day if you could, but you feared something might go awry and it'd be best if you were there to help. You felt much with Arthur and John there. Plus, that Dutch. He has his way with his words, and you trusted those words.

-

You'd been busy helping Pearson all day, the whispers of dusk finally upon the camp. Ready to relax, you sat up against a tree near Hosea looking forward to dinner when you were suddenly startled awake by Dutch.

"Come on!" He shrieked, "If we are gonna make it to this party, we sure as shit better clean up a little."

The party. You'd completely forgotten about the party. Your original plans for the night squandered.

"So we're doing this?" Arthur asks, disbelieving you were to actually attend.

"Oh yeah." Hosea acknowledged. "Old friend Dutch Van der linde has finally shown his true colours." He teases.

Hosea could always make you smile, if not full on laugh. "Social climbing." He states flatly.

"Old Signor Bronte, that horrendous snake has invited us to the ball, Cinderella." He addressed to Arthur. You'd be sure to tease him with that later on.

"So my suggestion is we go and get you a gown." He chuckles, Hosea laughing along with him.

While they walk by, you try not to catch attention, putting ur hat lower over your face, to which Hosea comes over and flicks it off.

"You too y/n. We don't want to insult Mr. Bronte." Hosea chimes in front of you chuckling softly.

You got up hesitantly to travel into town with them, knowing your fate long since been sealed.

-

Your mares gait matched Arthur's. It wasnt long since you had made it into town with a group of people you never saw yourself attending a ball with.

"Arthur?" You glance to your side to see if you had his attention.

His eyes met yours instantly when you asked his name oh-so-calmly. "What is it?"

"Have you been to a ball before?"

"No," he gives you an airy laugh. "Not too many people like me have."

"Well, I hope you know how to behave then." You poked fun at him, your usual goal.

"Yeah? And what would you know about behaving?"

"More than you I reckon. We'll see who gets booted out quickest."

"Deal." He jokes, nodding with a funny look on his face.

"You know, I hope it's not too costly, I don't see another occasion that I'll use a dress again." You murmured, trailing off into your thoughts, counting the money you had now in your head.

"I can see that," he coughs a laugh out, looking you up and down. "I've never seen you in somethin' so fancy."

Your brows furrow, knowing the meaning behind his tease.

"I'd like to see you run around in a thick skirt, Morgan. I don't think you'd be so tough anymore." A grin splits across your face as the image of him with a skirt on whilst chasing someone down on foot crosses your mind.

"You doubt me too much." He fights back a small smile that tugs at his lips. "I could outdo you first try."

You started giggling when the little Arthur in your head tripped over and tumbled in response to his bet.

He raises a brow, questioning your sudden fit of laughter with just a glance.

"You wanna take me up on that offer? We'll race." Then, you thought of bringing heels into the equation.

You stopped him before he went to speak in between wheezes, adding the heels into the challenge. Now he didn't look so confident.

"If you can find a pair of heels that would fit me." He couldn't help but give up on his faked seriousness, all while you couldn't contain yourself.

You looked down to his feet, wiping tears from your eyes as you observe his feet.

"Don't think there's any that'd fit your fat feet."

"Well then, You're outta' luck ain't ya."

You exhaled sharply, calming your chest after all that cackling. "But we have to find the perfect slipper for you, Cinderella."

"Oh, shut it-" He pauses mid sentence to point to a store with dresses and suits on display. "Think that's our place, y/n." Dutch, Bill and Hosea already dismounting in front of it.

You sat in awe as you turned your horse to the ties right outside. You hadn't noticed this the last time you were through here.

"Careful, don't lose yourself in there." He snickers, dismounting with you. Clearly you had made your gawking too obvious.

"Oh please," you swat at him as you both walk for the door. "I'm not that bad."

When he opens the door to the inside, the slightly cooler air relieved you, everything smelt fresh, polished wood and all. This wasn't a place for an outlaw, made all the clearer when you spotted the clerk.

The store clerk instantly looked taken aback by your groups presence. Maybe you should've considered leaving your guns outside.

He wasn't all for you in his store, but you greeted him as softly as you could, keeping your hands well away from your dangerous metal contraptions.

"What can I do for you... folk?" His voice shrill and accented with what you could only assume as french.

Dutch waves over Arthur, who gives you one last glance before they all go to a different part of the shop, leaving you awkwardly standing there alone.

The man walks up to you after sorting out Arthur and the rest of them. "I assume you're looking for an evening gown?"

You nod, "Yeah, something that isn't too costly?"

He hums his consideration, scanning you up and down. "Measurements?" He asks out of the blue.

Now your face flushed. You would have infinitely no idea, which made you feel even more dumb.

"I-" You look away for a moment trying to think if you even knew. "I couldn't tell you..."

He makes a noise as if he already knew, gesturing his hand at you to follow him.

He sped walk so fast to your surprise, you weren't sure why he was in such a rush, having you near to jogging just to keep up.

When you reached a paltry, bright room with fabrics adorning mannequins. He had you remove most of your outer clothing and equipment. Discarding it to a chair left of you.

He was rather swift with your measurements, wandering around to find a small selection of dresses that he said would fit, with some adjustment of course.

You picked the prettiest of the bunch, almost feeling like a little girl again. Getting a new dress. It excited you - mostly.

"I'll let you try these all on, and your little boyfriend can hobble over to see, whenever he's done. But- over there." Now he shoo'd you to a dressing room, he seemed like he was trying to get the lot of you out of his store swiftly.

The curtain slid aggressively behind you, leaving you stunned inside, which you shook off but not without an amount of confusion.

You groaned, forgetting just how much of a hassle getting on dresses was, it took you a good while each dress you tried on, thankfully only three.

Once you got down the last dress - your favorite - you heard Arthur chime from behind the curtain, startling you so bad you jumped to cover yourself.

(Leaving the dress desc vague so you can come up with your own.)

"Can I see?" He questions, a mere curtain being all that separates you. He'd seen you unclothed before, but now it felt different.

"No, I'm half-naked." You scolded, but your disgruntled attitude quickly washed away when your eyes widened with shock.

Your words had only seemed to rev him up. His hand grasped at the curtain, but you stopped it before it folded back any further, slapping away his hand.

"Quit that you no-good buzzard." You hissed, fearing that the rest of the gang would hear, which would be too much for you to bear.

He crows in response, but doesn't continue dragging the curtain further. "I've seen you much more indecent than that, y/n."

Your face runs hot with his words, prompting you to start swatting and punching at the curtain to get him away.

"Get outta here before the sales clerk thinks we're doing some silly business back here." You fussed, mumbling lowly enough just for him to hear.

This prompted a defeated sigh, from the other side of the curtain. "Just give me another minute." You half-consoled, not a shred of empathy for him.

He came for the dress no doubt, but he preferred no dress just as much if not more.

"Okay, okay." He laughs, his spurs clicked as he took a few steps back.

Pulling up the sleeves that rested just by your shoulders, you took a look in the mirror.

The dress revealed a hell of a lot more than what you were use to, your bullet scar on your arm prevalent, though you didn't mind as much as thought you would.

With this dress on, there was no room for guns. So you had come prepared with a small thigh holster, only allowing for a tiny pistol.

You weren't sure what you were to do with your hair. Tapping your foot, to which you realized, you didn't have heels neither. This all getting more costly than you had hoped for.

Nestling your hair up into a loose bun, you quickly gathered the rest of your clothes before you forgot them to stuff into your saddle bags.

When you finally pulled back the curtain, you glared at Arthur with a 'are you happy now?' look for a minute. He himself stood dashing, if you put it lightly. A regular tuxedo, even on him, looked way better than it should.

You only gave him a small grace period before you walked passed him to find some heels.

"Wait-" He reaches for your arm and holds you back. "Let me get a better look, Miss l/n."

You stood in front of him awkwardly, his eyes quite literally feasting upon you which made you anxious and squirmy in his grasp.

"Hmm." His initial ogle replaced by his typical sarcastic grin, which already had you ready to sock him. "Looks fine enough, I suppose."

"And you?" You made it a point to make it noticeable that you eyeballed him up and down. "They might not let you in." It was a lie, and he could tell.

"You shoulda seen your face when you first came out." Puffing his chest out, much too proud. You gave him a small slap to his bicep, shaking your head.

Meeting with Hosea, Dutch and Bill, you finished the rest of your affairs. Climbing into the back of a carriage to eventually join the party.

-

The mayors house was magnificent, and damnably large. It felt daunting as it loomed over you.

Your eyes caught onto all of the intricate wood decals that sprinkled the faultless paint job. Every thing well lit by the warm street lights.

It wasn't a place you felt you belonged in with the life you led. Especially not with the people that were attending; Corrupt politicians and crime lords.

This whole situation was brittle and you had to run it nicely - not peeve anyone off.

A man greeted Dutch, then told the lot of you, no guns. No one suspected you of your gun, delightfully. So you followed everyone inside after they unenthusiastically handed over their weapons.

when you reached the inside, you flicked your head around to catch all the details in the interior. You had really only heard talk of such extravagant places like these. Certainly an experience, you thought.

Dutch looked to you, Hosea and Bill and told you to join the party whilst him and Arthur followed the man who led them to Bronte up a flight of stairs.

Your face soured, you had only a faint idea on how to seem a natural when speaking to the high flyers. Never the less, you did.

Eventually, you spotted Arthur who finally had left the balcony where he conversed with Bronte and Dutch. You dismissed yourself from the two men you spoke with, making your way to him.

"So? Did you find anything out?" You question, hoping he found out more than you had.

"No... not really. He suggested a take at the trolley station."

Your brow strung up. A trolley station? That sounded unusual to you.

"Good money, I suppose?"

He wasn't so sure either. "So it sounds. Dutch seems to trust it."

"Very well then." Nodding your head, in acceptance. "Whats he want us to do next?"

He hooks your arm in his abruptly, feeling a blush heat your face with his sudden act of affection.

"Try to talk to the mayor, get info." He says lowly, leaning over slightly as he walks with you to a group of men.

They stood in a small circle, chattering amongst themselves, scolding a man to their right that was much too drunk.

Arthur waited a moment before releasing you and reprimanding the man himself by touring him out. Leaving you with them alone.

They greeted you, to which you introduced yourself, waiting for Arthur to return, which he did, promptly.

They exchanged pleasantries for only a second before a series of pops interrupts their speak.

A splatter of blazing colours fill the dark sky, instantly captivating you. This wasn't something you'd seen before in all your long years of life.

You automatically pulled Arthurs hand to get a better view together. The sounds of the crowd behind you gasping and awing amongst the booms that sounded from the sky.

The bright twinkling and sparkling only lasted seconds each, spirals and scatters, each their own neon colours.

Greens, reds, blues, faded into smoke that matched the parted clouds, new splashes of colour never seizing to paint the gray and black behind them.

You stood in front of Arthur, sinking your head into his chest, gazing at all of the captivating lights before you.

Maybe your feelings for Arthur held you tighter than you cared to admit. He was still the one who had committed atrocities against you, which you weren't so quick to let go of.

Spinning around, you looked up to him, the blue in his eyes would perfectly match the skies if it were day, instead reflecting all the crackling lights you missed with your back turned.

"You know how to dance, don't you?" You beam, his hand in yours.

"No?-" He questions, not anticipating just what you had in store for him.

"Perfect!" Your hand tightens around his, leading him to the gazebo that stood not far from where you gathered just a moment before.

"I don't reckon we have time to embarrass ourselves right now."

"Oh, yes, you do. Believe it not, I still recall getting taught how to dance when I was younger." Snickering as you reveal your plans to a reluctant Arthur.

Stepping inside the lit gazebo, you glance around to make sure its clear. Smiling when you confirm it is.

"Ready?" Catching his hand before he felt he could change his mind - not that he had much of a choice in the first place.

He grumbles, but that tiny little spark in his eye proving he wasn't all that terribly put out by this.

His arm slowly slid down and around your waist, drawing you in close, in turn your arm raised up to his shoulder.

"Okay, now just follow my lead." You moved one foot back, the front of his shoe found your toes faster than you had imagined.

He corrects himself, much to the relief of your foot. "Shit- sorry."

"We'll go slow." You giggle, finding it funny that you were teaching Arthur of all people how to dance.

Which each step, his foot still strayed a few times, but he got the hang of it quickly.

"See? It's not so bad. But if you're still embarrassed from stepping on me, I can understand." Feigning a look of pity and a half hearted pat on his shoulder.

"I enjoyed stepping on them more than not." He shoots back, his timing lining up with the moment your heel caught on a loose board, nearly loosing your balance but Arthurs arm around you remained firm, holding you up.

"Not so tough are we, y/n?" He chortles, your pride hurting more than your feet.

You couldn't help the sheepish laugh that left you. "I demand you respect your teacher, Mr. Morgan."

"Or what? There ain't much you can do about it."

"We'll see about that." You challenge, returning to a slow rhythm. He never released you from his tight grasp.

Your bodies never left each others for the entire time, you both relished in it more than you'd ever address.

His hand eventually found your arm, his fingers gently brushing the double sided scar that he had punished you with upon your first meeting.

Dwelling for a few moments, he runs his hand up and over your collar bone, then meeting your chin. His gaze was soft, no trace of his typical cocky expression.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier." His thumb caressing the bottom of your plush lip.

"I-" He stops you from what he already anticipated you saying. Shaking his head.

"Not another word from you." He leans down, his mouth meeting yours. The most gentle show of affection he had shown you to date.

You leaned into it for as long as it lasted, cherishing each second it dragged further.

When he pulled away, there was a look you'd never be able to place on Arthurs face. You'd never forget it, that you could count on.

"I don't like that all the other men here get to see you like this too." He confesses, glancing over to the gathering, jerking upright when he spots something he didn't expect.

"I hope I'm not being too brash as I interrupt you two love sick fools." Dutch as much himself as ever with those words.

You and Arthur finally released from your embrace, standing side by side as if you both just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Dutch hollered out a hearty laugh, the ability to stay mad lost with the guilty looks you both held. "Save it for camp... now I heard mentions of Cornwall from Mr. Mayor and one of his men. Quickly both of you."

He chased you of the gazebo effectively, Arthur sighed as you strode back to complete the mission you'd been sent on.

-

"Oh good, I was starting to regret sending you both in there together." Dutch waited no time to tease you both further, making it obvious to Hosea and Bill who had a good laugh about it too.

"Yeah, yeah. We got somethin'." Arthur confirms, waving off the insult.

"Well then," Hosea chimes, excited with the news. "Think it's time to go."

That you could agree dualy on, your eye lids started to gain weight, desiring nothing more than to return to camp.

You all made for your ride back, collecting their guns on the way out, some speak of a bank heist along the way, which definitely prompted skepticism in you. As most of these takes did.

The carriage rolled up to you, not much time spent in terms of getting in. All of you wanted out of there.

Bill's voice haughty and filled with contempt as he complained about the 'high society pigeon shit.' Which plastered a drowsy smirk on your face.

Instinctively, you sat next to Arthur on the way back, dozing off on his shoulder not long after the carriage lurched shakily over the uneven cobblestone roads.

Guys I proof read this at 3 am so ignore any mistakes...

[astrum-aetherium]

this post has been in the passionate making for quite some time now, and now that it has finally found its deserved conclusion, i solemnly assure you that it's wholly worth the wait — i am convinced it will delight many. before we start, however, i need to implant an introductory inkling into your mind. picture this: going on vacation or merely indulging in the persistent, swelling summer heat with henry winter. it would be glorious. now that you're entertaining the notion, let me immerse you in the rather enticing concept of vacation!henry. note that this will be dirty — wickedly so. i haven't been able to stop thinking about this handful of scenarios since the summer started — and it's july. my mind is befogged to say the absolute least.

first of all, he would have to shed and thereby neglect his signature suits — the weather, certainly, would be the only insurmountable obstacle protruding his aesthetic, stylistic, and stoic path. he would simply lose control, unable to do anything about the sweltering heat — and yes, much to his displeasure, perhaps, he would be forced to abandon the multi-layered outfits and resort to much lighter clothing (if any at all). simply imagine him in those old money shorts or light slacks, summer-at-the-hamptons-style, with a loose, billowing, unbuttoned white shirt, sleeves rolled up and all. and sunglasses — god, the sunglasses. he would own the kind that have diopters in them, so he wouldn't have to alternate between his prescription glasses and his shades — he would already possess the best of both worlds. this, consequently, would lead to him rarely ever taking them off. think about that.

i want to imagine you dragging him out to a beach, maybe in maine or massachusetts (having forced him to drive you there in the first place via your convincing charms), or even him taking you on a yacht trip with his family as an eye-pleasing, gorgeous plus-one. or, you could always go on vacation together, just the two of you — he certainly has the money, and, undeniably, the motivation (the entire greek class did, after all, want to go into hiding in argentina, although for a vastly different reason). hell, you could simply go on a hike together as well. i know how uncharacteristic this sounds, but help me god — the notion thereof isn't letting me go. it has clasped a mighty grip around me. i simply cannot resist sharing it.

i need you to picture him in his light, airy outfit, hair disheveled due to the persistent sea wind, and wearing his expensive, dark shades — smelling of a mix of sunscreen, light cologne, and cigarettes. so tall and so ominous and yet so unwound, so absorbant of summer's grace. i would falter. i would never be seen again.

at the beach — and i've already received an ask about this in the past — he would be so unassumingly teasing, so that it would result in ache. actual ache. of course, being henry, he would bring a book, immerse himself in it, and not even consider getting into the water. the most he'd do is step in ankle-deep at your incessant requests and physical urgings. in spite of that, he would still be very indulgent — he would teasingly spread sunscreen all over you upon your merest inquiry, help you adjust your bathing suit and tell you if anything is awry about it for the sake of your modesty, whilst also keeping a curiously daring hand on your spine or your backside as you'd lie next to him. he would be reading attentively, neatly seated on the towel next to you — with you lying on your stomach in the sun and trying to absorb the rays even a little — and yet, one of his free hands would be on you. it could even go as far as his digits lightly grazing your glistening, waxy skin; this constant physical contact would result in various shivers arising all over your body and a certain, straining ache striking in the pit of your stomach.

of course, due to the beach being a public place, you wouldn't have sex there — unless you'd sneak out there at night and then consecutively complain about finding grains of sand everywhere — but that doesn't mean the two of you wouldn't relentlessly tease one another with the obvious allusion thereto. henry would grant you too many touches of an entirely indecent nature to be coincidental, including accidentally dragging his thumbs across your pebbled nipples under the pretense of fixing your bikini top. you, on the other hand, would do anything in your power to get him as riled up as you can — you'd carefully flash him on accident, tease him by exaggerating profusely whilst eating a popsicle, and emphasize swinging your hips as you'd walk back and forth from the shore to the water, fully aware of his observing you closely. all these things considered, i think it goes without saying — you'd end up with your ankles swung over his shoulders and him repeatedly sinking into you in the backseat of his car the very second you will have gotten in and driven out somewhere remote. you'd be gently mewling and crying for him to go deeper, his body so hot and glistening and slippery against yours, with the stale summer heat (commingled with the heat your bodies generate) and the scent of sunscreen permeating the car.

now, to the yacht scenario — admittedly, it's something i've been fantasizing and ruminating and losing my mind about the most. i can just imagine him sitting on the deck, maybe in the far back, with his legs crossed, reading a book with his sunglasses having slid down his nose a little. the wind would mess with his hair and his half-unbuttoned shirt, making him look all the more irresistible, even from afar. you would approach, then, lightly irritated with the fact he still resorts to reading whilst on vacation and in the middle of a picturesque lake, or ocean — disregarding both the breathtaking views and you. depending on whether his parents will be there or not, you'd assess your surroundings, and in the case of the coast being clear, you would muster up all of your courage and dare rip the book from his hands and plant yourself in his lap instead. irked and yet thrilled, he would, of course, welcome you with a firm embrace, flashing you a small grin — a grin that would only hide the merest bit of annoyance. his palm would drift across your thigh, bared by the wind billowing open your lacy beach robe.

"how tactlessly rude of you," he'd quip, trying his best at sounding irked, but unable to conceal his utter interest. exasperated and agitated with his behavior, you'd challenge him, "not as rude as your ignoring me all day." in response, he'd scoff. "i do devote my utmost attention to you during the night, however, don't i?" he'd remark, tilting his head to the side and involuntarily widening his smirk at the small, yet perceptible bite mark upon your collarbone, protruding from the lace. that, undeniably, would shut you right up — similar to the cock being slid down your throat mere minutes later in your shared suite as punishment for you having become so unbearably mouthy and audacious with him. in the end, you'll wind up with a different type of sunscreen all over your face — he'd come on it, hotly and thickly, only to leave you to the joys thereof and retreat to the deck again, flushed and yet centering his focus on his book anew.

whilst on vacation in a different country with it exclusively being the two of you, well — this is where we're offered so much potential. no matter the destination — italy, france, spain, portugal, malta — you would be able to find a way to mix his aesthetic interest with pleasure nevertheless, and constantly. you'd go see a library or an old ruin site in the morning (not after a refreshing round of morning sex before even leaving the hotel room), get impossibly daydrunk at lunch, shamelessly fuck against the window or even on the balcony as a result, go out to encounter more sights in the evening, get even drunker, and conclude the night with one last, gentle round with the windows wide open and the lukewarm night air billowing the curtains the same way your whimpers would swell in the silence.

furthermore, you'd fully indulge in all the wonders of sundress season — specifically the lascivious ones. more often than not, you'd forgo wearing any underwear, and make this noticeable to henry at, seemingly, the most inconvenient of times — at cafés, restaurants, museums, exploration tours, beach walks. this, of course, wouldn't specifically surprise, but nevertheless irritate him. in a mindful, protective manner, he would thenceforth try to keep an eye on your dresses and skirts out of the fear you'd accidentally expose yourself — only to ruthlessly punish you for the unnecessary added worry upon your first step back into the hotel room, without even taking that very garment off. by the end of that vacation, you will probably have been fucked in every outfit you brought. his diary, in latin, would speak of the same.

simply put, the vacation sex would be transcendental; hot, rough, sweaty, messy, desperate. you'd be forced to take multiple showers in a day, thereby going through way more bottles of sunscreen than usual. due to the heat, you simply wouldn't bear having sex at home or in your bed anymore — it would be on any surface proving cool enough instead, such as the kitchen or bathroom counters; desks and tables; against the chilled wall. he would have you flushed and panting, begging and moaning, thrusting into you so roughly and so deeply you'd threaten to disintegrate each and every time anew, simply evaporate in the sweltering air.

aside from that, and this goes without saying, he would pose unspeakable eye candy — too good not to indulge in. and don't get me wrong, i love a good suit, but i also love transferring the dark academia old money style to a much warmer time of year — where the light clothes and sunglasses come into play, and you'd therefore have to put less effort into undressing your counterpart. am i alone in this? simply picturing henry in a more summery outfit — specifically with shades on, which is why i keep referencing them constantly — is mellowing my brain. in addition, the way he would tease... so unassumingly, nonchalantly, imperceptibly — all the while anything but innocently. it makes my throat run dry.

i hope this post marks my stance in regard to the endless appeal of vacation!henry known. it's just such an indulgent notion to nurture. after writing and rereading all this, i find i am in urgent need of a cold shower. simply — god. i crave this, carnally.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Soft Sunshine

Word count: 2,247 CW: Food/eating mention Kaz is possibly OOC in this one, oops. Summary: The most ruthless man in the country, soft as putty in his spouse's hands. Who would have thought? When they share a comfortable afternoon together, the rare Kerch sunlight streaming in the window, Kaz didn't know how he could melt any further for them but it seemed he could still fall in love with them again every time he looked at them. Just, some very cute and fluffy content set after Kaz works past his haephaphobia.

Y/N felt a soft kiss press onto their cheek, rousing them from a dream. “My love,” whispered a voice sweeter than anything sold at the confectioners. They hummed, face subconsciously tilting toward that voice they loved so much. It sounded as if it came directly from the dream they seemed to still partially be in.

Another kiss fluttered onto one of their still-closed eyelids. “Come on, dove.” The bed dipped as their lover leaned over them to kiss their other cheek. “It’s time to get up.”

Y/N groaned low in their throat, rolling toward him and snuggling into his stomach. “No,” they childishly dragged the word out into a whine. “Five more minutes, lovely, please.”

Their husband chuckled softly, leaning further to kiss the now exposed back of their neck. “Unfortunately, my light and guiding star, I can’t give you that time. You need to wake up or our plans will go awry. I need you for the rest of my day.” He continued to kiss their neck as he spoke, kissing lower and lower with each sentence. When he finished speaking, his lips were lingering at the joint between their neck and shoulder.

His next words were whispered into their skin, as if he were scared to admit it even within such an intimate moment. “I need you for the rest of my life.”

Y/N grumbled but opened their eyes to see Kaz gazing down at them, a hand braced on the mattress while his other played with a strand of their hair. “Hello there, my love.” He smiled, the joy genuinely reaching his eyes. His voice was invaded by that smile, causing it to be so light and airy and filled with such a sweetness that Y/N couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Good morning, Kaz.” They uncurled from his lap and stretched, letting the mattress take their weight and releasing a high pitched squeak. “What time is it now?”

“It’s not morning anymore, love. You went to sleep around noon. It’s now a little past three bells by the Exchange clocks.”

“Ah yes, the only clocks that matter.” Y/N laughed. Their hand reached out to gently grip his sleeve, thumb rubbing absentmindedly across the fabric. “Are you sure we can’t idle just the next few minutes in bed? It’s really nice in here, all warm and cozy and snuggly.”

Kaz chuckled. “That and my pocket watch. And, as much as I would love to spend the rest of my life curled up beside you, my light, we have other things to do.” He stood up but stayed close enough that their hand wouldn’t slip away from him. “Now, come on, I got you something to eat and it’s going to go cold if you sit there much longer.”

Y/N nodded and sat up. They shifted the covers around a little bit, allowing them to pool around their waist. “Alright, alright, I guess I’m awake.”

He dropped a final kiss on their forehead before moving away from the bed. A moment later, he was back with a tray of food that was settled into their lap. Y/N shifted their legs around to balance it and get it comfortable on their lap. Kaz walked around to sit on his side of the bed and talk while they ate the snack, reaching over to steal a bite when he got settled.

Y/N swatted at his hand. “I thought you said this was for me!”

He laughed. “And it is. But if you’re not going to eat it before it’s cold, it might as well go to someone who’ll appreciate it.”

Y/N faked a gasp. “You monster!”

Kaz just snuck another bite off the tray. “You better eat faster then.”

They huffed a sigh but kept eating. “Alright, thank you for the snack. I skipped lunch for a nap instead and really needed this.”

Kaz just kissed their cheek. “I’ve gotta keep you in good health, dove. It’s my most important job.”

“So,” Y/N said between bites to switch the topic and avoid just how flustered his sweetness was making them. “What did you do for those three hours I was unconscious? Rob anyone yet?”

Kaz scoffed. “Dove, you know me. Of course I did.”

“Indeed, I do know you. So, how many was it? Five per hour? Or was it a good day and you got more?” Y/N laughed as they finished their food.

“For your information, it’s almost always five on a slow hour. Far more than that on the regular.” Y/N loved the fake offense he displayed only for their entertainment. “Besides, I don’t do the grunt work as often anymore. Today was just a light walk after lunch. I managed to get quite a few pigeons today.”

“Oh, my apologies.” Y/N took a sip of the water Kaz placed in their hand. “What else did you do today, Mister Boss Man?”

Kaz talked for a little bit as they fully woke up, blanket moved to wrap around their shoulders. He talked about the easier marks he’d gotten during that lunch break, the ledgers he’d gone through, the money the Crow Club had made, and the plans he was working on. All of it was said in the gentlest voice he’d ever used. Not many people who heard him speak in that tone, only ever used for his lover, would ever guess that he is the most ruthless and feared man in the city.

Nor would they even suspect it with the way Y/N talked to him as an equal. They were constantly teasing him and being playful around him while most others would be scared to even look at him. Some might say they were the sunshine and the storm cloud but those who knew them best knew it was just that they both brought out the best in the other. Kaz was gentler around Y/N and they were more open and carefree with him.

Apart, Kaz was brooding and dark while Y/N was melancholy and anxious. Both constantly check everything multiple times until it reaches their satisfaction. Together, they were able to release their worries and just exist with each other. Kaz had worked a long way to get where he was, both socially and mentally, and Y/N loved him for every second of time he was able to devote to them. 

“So,” Y/N asked when Kaz ran out of things to say, “do I still need to go pick up the vegetables for tonight?”

Kaz shook his head. “Anika got them for you on her way back from a job.”

“That’s good. I’m looking forward to the meal but was really dreading the market visit.” They shivered. “So many people, especially at this time of day. If you hadn’t insisted on my taking a nap at noon, I probably would have tried to do the market run earlier in the day with less crowds.”

Kaz hummed and rubbed their arm as comfort. It was still astonishing to Y/N how his bare touch came so naturally to both now. He had fought himself every step of the way to recover from his past and heal his mental wounds. Some days were worse than others but Y/N would thank any god or Saint who would listen for his ability to have more good days than worse.

“Now then,” Kaz’s voice brought them out of their own head, “are you actually going to tell me what we’re having for dinner? Or do I need to guess?”

Y/N laughed. “Go ahead and guess if you wish.”

He hummed thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head. “You have me stumped, I truly don’t remember any dishes that would have those ingredients.”

Y/N quirked a brow as they set aside the tray and stood from the bed, stretching properly. “Does that mean you give up, my beloved?”

“Surrender? Never!” He stood. “I am, however, a very patient man. I can wait until evening to know what the meal is.”

Y/N laughed and rounded the bed to gently peck his lips. “It’s a traditional Kerch meal I found in an old cookbook when cleaning out the Slat kitchen a few weeks back. According to the recipe, it’s from around the area you grew up in. I don’t know if I can pronounce the name properly but I’ll show it to you later and let you tell me then. Satisfied?”

Kaz wrapped his arms loosely around them, holding them close to him and grinning down at them. “Yes, my love, very.”

He dropped his chin to rest on their forehead. Y/N closed their eyes and leaned into him, savoring the feeling.

Kaz took a deep, steadying breath, and rubbed their back before pulling away. “Speaking of patience, we need to finalize the plans for the next big job.”

Y/N nodded. “And we will, don’t worry. We’ve already got most of them done, don’t we?”

They pulled fully out of his arms and wandered to the closet. Kaz’s footsteps thumped across the room to his makeshift desk still in their attic room, kept there for job planning. For a moment, they took the time to admire him. His dark hair swept away from his face, leaning over the desk and looking at a paper held under his hands, eyes sharp and concentrated but still holding a lingering gentleness. His eyes reminded them of amber in that moment, the way they shone with both an inner light and the sunlight that fell on him through the window. He looked like he’d just leapt out of a painting.

Y/N blinked, Kaz moved, and the painting was gone like a spell displaced. They padded back over to him and slipped under one arm to cuddle near him and look at the map. “Today is unusually sunny, don’t you think so?” They asked, flipping through a stack of papers nearby and looking for another map.

Kaz looked down at them. “Are you. . .wearing one of my sweaters?”

“We’re married, they’re our sweaters. And yes, I wasn’t kidding about the bed being warmer than the room. The sunshine helps but it’s still freezing today.”

Kaz sighed and rubbed a hand over their arm. “It’s fine.” Despite his soothing words, his voice still sounded off put. 

Y/N turned to look at him, throwing their arms around his neck and forcing him to look at them. “What, does it look bad on me or something? If you don’t want me wearing it, love, I can always just take it off.”

Kaz shook his head, eyes glancing down at their lips. “No,” he spoke slowly, “no, it’s fine, you don’t need to take it off.”

Y/N nodded and started pulling their arms down to turn back around. Kaz caught them, keeping their forearms on his chest and hands hovering awkwardly over his shoulders but too far away to touch them. His eyes glanced down at their lips again and he leaned in slightly. Y/N leaned forward themself, hands shifting to gently tangle in his hair. With their consent secured, Kaz dove in and kissed them like he had been drowning and they were air, starving and they were food, like they were the only thing he cared about in the world.

Kaz sighed into the kiss, hands shifting to Y/N’s hips to lift them onto the table. Y/N smiled against his lips, hands free to pull him as close as they could.

When they pulled apart, foreheads together and breathing hard, Kaz spoke again. “I actually . . . really like seeing you in my clothes.”

Y/N laughed, throwing their head back. “Darling, I love you so much.”

Kaz chuckled. “I know.” He looked down at the map they’d jostled. “We do need to deal with this.”

Y/N nodded and just picked up the stack of papers, perfectly comfortable to balance on the edge of the precarious table. “What do we have left? I know you wanted to find more exit routes and I wanted to go back over the guard rotation notes from Roeder, what else?”

Kaz hummed, staying close so they don’t fall over. “Exit routes really do need more work, guard rotations will help with that, and I think that’s it.”

“Lovely. Divide and conquer, my love.”

Kaz kissed their forehead before sitting down in an actual chair, Y/N’s feet sitting next to him to balance them out. Briefly, they thought about trying to slide into his lap and cuddle some more while working, but they didn’t want to push the good day any farther than the wonderful kiss.

Together, they examined documents and the map, marking where guards were and which routes to take at which times. Three or four possible escape routes were drawn up before both of them were grinning like fools.

The midafternoon sunlight had changed to an overcast twilight. Kaz sighed and leaned back. “Well, light of my life and love in my heart, I do believe we’ve done all we can here. Would you like any help making your mystery dish?”

“It would be wonderful to have some company doing that, thank you.”

Kaz took their hand and intertwined their fingers, his other hand gripping his cane. Y/N opened the door and the two descended the stairs to the kitchen for a quiet evening with each other.

Taglist (Check out my masterlist before sending an ask to be added!): @lou-hadrian-gardna26, @brekkers-desigirl, @nyx2021, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @winstonthecow22, 

If you like what I write, please consider reblogging it. Reblogging a fic gets it to be seen by a much wider audience than if you only like it. Please, help me spread my work around so other people can have as much fun reading it as you did!

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Nightmare On Wimbleton Street.

Marianna was a young girl who had a problem with going to sleep at night. She would wake up from the hours of 2 to 5 am and would stay up because trying to go to sleep 'felt weird'.

At one point, she couldn't handle the weird paralyzing feeling so she would go to her oldest sisters room where she'd snuggle with them, only for it to be a problem soon come.

During these hours, her imagination would go awry.

'There's something in my room!' She'd yell. Waking up her mom and her two other siblings, Julien, the oldest and Claire, the youngest of the bunch.

Her sister who is 5 years younger still sleeps with the mother, but still knows how to crack a joke or two.

'Mari, mari! Did you pee yourself?' Giggles her sister, Claire.

'Shut up!' Marianna throws her pillow at them.

Claire and Julien laugh.

'Whats the matter? The boogie man trying to get you?'

'Shut up!' Mari, throws another pillow at them. Gets up and starts chasing them around the room. In which they laugh.

'Girls!' The mom yells. 'Its too early in the morning to still be up like this.' She says begrudgingly. The mom has bags under her eyes.

'I have work in the morning!' 'Marianna, if you can't sleep. Just put your lamp on. I can't with this, again.' She slowly walks out the room, but not without an attitude.

'So what, you wanna sleep in my room?' Says Julien with a smirk.

'No. I don't know what I want to do.' Marianna looks down, slightly embarassed. 'I'm tired of that weird feeling I get before I go I lay to rest.'

Claire jumps on the bed , giggling. Somehow she's full of energy even in the late night.

'You gotta grow up, Mari.' Says Julien. The 16 year old snarls.

''Shut up!" Mari yells. 'Do you think I want to feel like this?'

Claire still jumping on the bed.

'Mari's scared of the bed time man! Mari's scared.' She playfully jumps on Marianna and tries to tickle her, Mari pushes her away.'

'Get off of me!'

'See, your YOUNGER sister even thinks you're scary! Grow up!'

Claire, the 6 year old jumps up and hugs her sister again.

'I'll sleep with you Mari! Mommy won't let me in her room.'

Julien shakes her head, smirks, and walks out of the room.

'Goodnight, weirdos.'

'Goodnight, weirdos'. Marianna makes weird faces, mimicking her sister. 'Ugh, she's so lame.'

Claire looks at her sister as she's getting into the covers.

'Claire!' Marianna looks agitated.

'Please sister, please.' She gives her the cry baby face.

'Ok. Fine. Fine.' Marianna lets out a deep sigh. They both lay down, Claire already on her way to sleep.

Marianna lays down and can't stop thinking to herself.

'Im eleven years old, I shouldn't be afraid to go to sleep. Why can't I go to sleep?'

She looks at the clock. It's 3:01 am.

She looks at the top of her ceiling, watching the fan constantly go around, and around, and around.

She looks at the clock, its 3:15 am. Still can't sleep.

Again, she continues to look at the ceiling.

It's now 3:23.

She starts to go crazy, and then she looks at the ceiling. and starts spiraling. At this moment she let's go and tries to close her eyes.

She closes her eyes for what seems like for 20 minutes. But something makes her feel 'frozen' as if she can't move and so she wakes up.

On the clock, its 3:45.

She gets up, she notices her sister is not in the bedroom with her.

'What?' She makes a confused look. She didn't here Claire get out of the bed. Where could she had gone?

She heres some weird music from outside of the hallway. Theirs a pink/lavenderish light coming from outside of the door. She creeps closer to door. The music is a little hazy, she can hear singing, but doesn't know what is being said.

She holds on to the door knob, but then she hears something. A yelp, and a laugh. Someone is yelling? But theirs a faint laughter in the midst.

She looks at the clock. Its 3:45. The clock never moved.

Marianna looks back to the door, slowly opens the door and is bestowed with the airy feeling that overcomes her.

Pt. 2 coming <3

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 7

“Write what you know”

Box | Magic | Cell

Cw: thoughts and descriptions of gore and death, capture, light abuse, wishing for death (in the context of a choice between that and torture), anxiety, royal Whumper,l

Thief paced around the room, bare feet silent against the rich marble floor. Their hands twisted together, fingers wringing anxiously as they walked, back and forth.

The room was lavish to all extents. A shimmering glass chandelier hanging from a high, intricately carved ceiling. The walls were white with gold detailing, swooping patterns framing the smooth paneling. The decorations were sparse, but not in such a way that it made the room feel empty, rather contributing to the open and airy feel. Sheer curtains were drawn over the large windows, through which Thief could see the hazy outlines of a forest view, trees blurred with the settling darkness of the evening.

There were numerous dressers, wardrobes, cushioned seats spread thoughtfully throughout, lamps and candles sitting atop those illuminating that which the chandelier’s light didn’t quite reach. There was a large mirror to their left, looking in Thief could see their reflection. They stood out against the pristine background the room gave, dirt smudged skin and muddy clothes. The guards had stripped them of all but their undershirt and trousers, but even with the thick jacket they had previously worn, they had not been protected much from the mud and rain.

Thief hadn’t been expecting to be noticed. Sly and calculating, they had thought it all out, drawn up an impossible plan with such careful precision they didn’t have to consider what would happen if things went awry, because they wouldn’t.

The night of a ball, hosted by the Court, inviting all the nobility and high-rankings from the town. The guards occupied, patrols around the grounds were minimal, and Thief had found a perfect opening to slip through. Satchel slung over their shoulder, filled with only some rags they planned to wrap whatever they pocketed in so it wouldn’t clink and reveal their position. It would have worked, it was going to work. They had been on their way out, retracing their steps through the empty corridors to the window they had entered from.

There had been only one thing they didn’t account for. Something so absurd they didn’t even think to plan for it. The odds were nonexistent, not just said for exaggeration. It wasn’t even a possibility, in the blandest terms possible.

Whatever fates there were, weren’t on Thief’s side.

They had—almost quite literally, as they turned around a hedge in the courtyard’s garden—ran into Whumper themself.

They hadn’t been ruling for long, only a few years had passed since they’d been crowned, but to anyone looking in, it was impossible to tell. Authority practically radiated from their presence, immaculate posture so strong they could send a room silent with a simple look.

Thief didn’t even get a chance to run.

Their satchel alone had been enough evidence to incriminate them, conjuring the rope and tying the noose the moment it was opened. Maybe they wouldn’t even get that dignity. There was no direct law stating the consequences from stealing from the palace, because no one had ever been stupid enough to try. There were a thousand manners in which they could be killed. Whipped to death on a post in the center square, every lash viewed by the collected townspeople, a warning so dark and gruesome no one would ever dare replicate Thief’s actions.

Or maybe they’d be tied to the castle gates, stomach sliced open and left for the birds until they finally died of either blood loss or organ failure. Even then, they doubted their body would be cut down for at least another week, until they were nothing but strands of muscle holding together bones.

Or maybe they’d be tied to the back of a guard’s horse by their wrists, both ankles smashed under an iron, leaving them dragging behind while people threw stones from the sidewalks, when they were finally cut loose their skin nearly completely scraped off from the cobblestone.

The thought made Thief’s stomach clench, fighting back the crawl of nausea from their throat. They tore their eyes away from the mirror and returned to pacing.

There was a large bed against the wall right of the door, easily the largest bed Thief had ever seen. The duvet looked thick and soft, pillows stacked against the headboard in a display of luxury. Thief was sure that if they were to lay on it, the blankets would dip inches under their weight and swallow them up. They stayed far away.

The other side of the room, there was a fireplace. Gorgeous stone mantle, a small sofa and chair arranged in front, the hearth was unlit but that didn’t diminish its effect. There was some sort of fur spread in front, a clean white pelt. Thief was sure that if they stepped on it, they’d leave behind footprints.

Whumper hadn’t waited for the guards. They were dressed in a fine suit, a deep scarlet cape fastened around their shoulders. They wore no crown, but they didn’t need to. Anyone who looked at them would know. They had kicked Thief to the ground without giving them a moment to comprehend, fine leather boot pushing their head down to the dirt, freshly turned to mud with the day’s light rain, calling for the nearest guards with such an unbothered casualness to their tone it nearly drove Thief mad. In the moment, they had been too frozen to do much other than maintain their breath, but when the guards had arrived they quickly turned to panicked attempts to escape. Their efforts had been insignificant, obviously, only earning them a strong kick to the ribs.

It still hurt when they took a breath too deep, but a bruised side was the least of their worries.

They had been expecting to be brought to a dungeon, some moldy damp place filled with all sorts of tortures and abuse, to be bound in shackles and stripped of everything they were.

Instead, they had been brought here.

Lavish looks aside, it was just as much a cell as the iron bars would have constructed. At first glance, it was simply a beautiful chamber, but left alone for hours to do nothing but pace and get a bearing of their surroundings, Thief could see differently. The double door entryway was locked, heavy panes of wood secured from the outside. The windows were fixed with careful golden bars embellishing a cage of sorts not an inch from the outside of the glass. Below that, a three storey drop to thorn bushes planted at the base of the wall.

All of the dressers were empty. The desk only held a few sheets of neatly stacked parchment, but no pen. The bookshelf however, was filled with novels, but each volume was coated with a thin layer of dust, suggesting they hadn’t been touched in a long time.

It had been hours. They knew that much, watching the colors of the sky change from a deep indigo to streaks of rose painting the dawn. Exhaustion tugged at their mind, a chain wrapped to an anchor threatening to drag them beneath the waves, but Thief kept walking, forcing themself to round the same circle dozens of time, if anything to keep moving and keep awake.

It was early morning when the door opened. The outside world still blanketed in darkness, but the morning light beginning to fill the sky was stretching slowly across the wooded horizon.

They had been expecting a guard to come in and drag them off to whatever agonizing death awaited them, but instead, it was a servant who slipped through the door, already dressed in their attire for the day.

“Their Majesty requested you join them at the banquet this morning.” They spoke as of overcoming a fear, voice wavering in their attempts to appear firm. Thief couldn’t help but feel a shred of pity for them. It was clear they did not want to be here, anywhere near them, which was understandable. Thief, not looking like much more than a homeless peasant, wrapped in dried mud and bruises, certainly didn’t look appealing in any sense.

Only then did Thief notice the bundle of fabric held in their arms, rich looking fabric adorned with gold laces and royal blue embroidery, which the servant took half a step forwards to set on the nearest surface.

“You are to clean yourself and dress. I will return to fetch you in an hour, their Highness doesn’t appreciate tardiness, so you’d best be ready.”

The servant was gone without another word, door shutting behind them with a soft thud and a click.

Thief glanced towards the clothes, then back at the door. Unease stung heavily in their body as they then turned to look around the expensive prison they were being kept in. None of this was sitting right with them. They’d expected torture, pain, it was what they had been planning for. This wasn’t right. Something was going g on, and they couldn’t conjure any sort of explanation, any sort of prediction. There was nothing they could do to brace themself for whatever was to happen, because they genuinely didn’t know.

They wished it had been the guards.

———————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

[gihijinks]

Marx and Magolor's First Meeting

“So… this is how it ends.”

Marx’s body felt numb as he looked out into the starry depths of space, his eyes out of focus and misaligned. The left side of his body burned, the skin stretched uncomfortably tight. Thin, frozen strands of unnaturally colored blood connected the two halves of his body. His wings were shattered, useless.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! His prank had worked flawlessly. He got Kirby to space, he summoned NOVA, he made his wish. Everything had been perfect!

And then… and then…

Kirby had to go and ruin everything.

Marx’s prank, his wish to turn the world on his head, had all gone awry because of that pest. The source of his entertainment had turned against him. The granter of his deepest wish became the source of his greatest pain.

And then… that! Whatever that was, the feeling that burned into his very soul… and threatened to turn his body to shreds. It was unlike anything that Marx had ever fathomed. A sharp split that traveled through his mind, his body, his soul.

And he would be left with this torn sensation for the last few hours of his meager life. Out here, drifting in some dark corner of the galaxy, it was as inevitable as Kirby’s victory. Be it starvation, or dehydration, or deep space hypothermia, he was going to die.

Marx never imagined death would be so boring.

“Yoohoo, sad little clown boy!”

Marx was sure he was hearing things. Who else could be out here? He did not recognize the voice. He tried to tilt his head and look in the direction of the sound. He could barely manage to move an inch. Still, he shifted just enough to spot a figure waving to him from a nearby block of land.

A boy in a comically oversized cloak and hood, the two ear extensions flopping against the back of his head. His lopsided grin grew wider as they made eye contact.

“You look like you could use a hand!” he spoke with an unfamiliar accent. “Or maybe two.”

Marx took a second to process the words, then burst out in laughter. It hurt, and every sound came out raspy. Still, he couldn’t stop.

“Really?” he managed to speak, voice cracked and dry. “You see an armless jester, and that’s the first joke you think of?”

The stranger laughed in return. It was a light, airy sound. Marx couldn’t help but laugh along, despite the pain it caused.

Maybe dying with a fellow comedian by his side would liven the mood.

“But seriously, you need help?” the stranger said as he wiped at his eyes. “I can patch you up. You seem a bit too calm for someone sliced in half.”

Marx did not answer right away. The gravity of the situation weighed on him again.

“What are you even doing out here?” he asked. “It’s not exactly a nice place for a midnight stoll.”

“I wanted to examine the wreckage of the NOVA explosion that occurred nearby.” In an instant, the stranger’s ever present grin shifted. It held a familiar sinisterness. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

“... Tell you what, you patch me up, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The stranger grinned again. He shifted his pack of supplies to the ground and began rummaging through it, eventually extracting a bundle of rope. He tossed the end out, letting it unravel and float towards Marx. He managed to twitch one of his claws and secure a hold against the noose.

“What am I supposed to call you, anyway?” Marx asked as the stranger reeled him in.

He got a hum in response. “Well, I suppose you can call me a friend.”

[kiyoomology]

hello darling it’s me again with more alphonso love >:) read your beautiful “kissing + alphonso hargreeves” and would love to request a fic where reader kissed the new scars right after the bandages come off, like you mentioned in the fic 🥺 it sounded so cute

-🌸

scars ☆ alphonso hargreeves

genre: pure fluff warnings: extremely brief canon-typical mentions of violence summary: you make sure alphonso knows how much you love him after his bandages come off. notes: FLOWER ANON!!! hi my love, welcome back!! i hope you enjoy this fic, i'd love to see u in my inbox again <3

alphonso was one of the bravest people you knew.

throughout the entire recovery process, he hadn't complained once. he had proved to be resilient, even when his body ached after a mission went awry, and he came home with injuries littering his body.

even though he hadn't complained, you knew he was hurting. you could see it in the pained expressions when he moved, or when he tried to eat and the scars that were developing on his face began to sting.

but, after a tormenting recovery, it was time to remove the bandages.

you had arrived at the academy just before grace was to finish alphonso with his recovery, excitement bubbling in your chest at the prospect of him being pain free for awhile longer.

you ventured towards the medical wing, greeting sloane and marcus, who were running on the treadmills.

you opened the door to the infirmary, seeing grace hum to herself as she prepared whatever medical supplies she would need for the removal.

“hi.” alphonso said, voice slightly muffled from the gauze on his face. you smiled gently, taking a seat next to him and lacing your hand with his.

“are you ready, alphonso?” grace asked in her usual airy voice, and alphonso nodded, squeezing your hand gently as grace began to work.

it was fairly quick- less than five minutes and she was finished.

“there. all finished.” grace announced, exiting the room and shutting the door behind her.

you made eye contact with alphonso, grinning in ecstasy that you were finally able to see his face.

“how does it look?” he asked softly, sitting up fully on the table.

“it looks great.” you replied honestly, studying alphonso’s new scars as he looked down at his lap. you moved to sit next to him, taking both of his hands in yours.

“are you okay?” you questioned, and he sighed.

“yeah. the scars just bother me.” he replied, and you frowned at the dejectedness lacing his tone.

“it shouldn’t bother you. you’re still you, scars or no scars.” he looked up at your words, and you took the opportunity to lean forward and kiss the injured area of his cheek.

“it doesn’t hurt, does it?” you questioned, and he shook his head in response.

you peppered kisses all over the scarred area, rejoicing when he began laughing heartily at your antics.

“okay, i get it.” he grinned, holding your face in his hands so he could look at you.

“i love you a lot. just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“i know.”

“do you feel loved?”

“of course i do.”

laughter bubbled out of his throat as you kissed his cheek again, laughs of your own slipping from your lips.

“good. because i’ll always make sure you know how loved you are, alphie.”

[tragedicna]

@militnt / various questions | accepting

❛ today isn’t your day, is it? ❜

a hand rubbing at his temple as if to soothe a headache, his gaze flickers upwards to meet sigrid's glance as his lips tugs into a grimace -- though, it looks more akin to a frown than it does a grimace -- as a tired sigh ekes from his lips.

the chair creaks beneath his weight as he shifts his body, "aye..." he replies, tone more airy than firm, "today jus' seem t'not be my day," he repeats her words, shaking his head.

things going awry left and right has been forcing him to exert more effort than necessary; the day's only half done and he's already exhausted. though, he supposes having an OFF DAY during a time when he's not on mission is better than having one when his life is on the line.

"and no, i don't want t' talk 'bout it," he says, "ya havin' better luck with yours, lass?" he asks.

[gaylamity]

"so theoretically—" his cousin should've known that something was awry just by the way sawyer started off his greeting; an air of nonchalance that was a bit too insouciant to be completely innocent. it was the sort of airiness that was typically followed by a proverbial bomb dropping out of the sky, and tonight was no exception to that rule. even as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, the words that slipped from his mouth could have been taken directly from a skit-comedy special. "can a store really ban you from buying fireworks if they can't prove you set a cop car on fire?" there was a brief pause, followed by some much-needed clarification. "… accidentally." | @renaissanses

[waystelandmoved]

@nearends: receiver stitches up a wound

there is a haze that drags in over acres of land, lingers within the cold bones. degeneration is seen everywhere, the once open road now split; tree trunk the new median strip of an airy graveyard, corpses still vulnerable and unable to find peace. the soft atrophy is inevitable, silent with blue lips and an unspeakable absence that no one has quite made sense of yet. the body an impressionable vehicle from birth until death, had learned before the world ended how much it truly carries, it keeps tallying the score with scars that the eye could not see, the heavy influence [or lack thereof] of paternal figures, patriarchal apologies had now crumbled into dust in the dawn of the new world, where violence was on the precipice of every action. somewhere before all of this, you were a healer, had found pride in what you did for others until a trip to iowa went awry, where the dead began to walk and claw their way out of shallow graves, laughing patients turned deadly with no weapons needed. all communications gone, fell in and out of groups, staring your old self in the reflection of dirtied water night after night, how it was easier to be cold again, to pretend like there is no life at stake but your own. before needle is placed to flesh, you worry a tremor will appear where there used to be none; years of practice obsolete when you needed it most.

“what’d you even do to get this, kid? piss off the wrong corpse?” strike with surgeon precision, burned needle and thread at home back between your fingers making light work of the wound; worried now more about infection than trembling aesthetics. whatever the walkers carried was nothing if you succumb to your own wounds first. no one ever sees the attacker until it is too late, until it splits you open skin and tissue tearing away from muscle. commonly, knees hit the muddied ground, sightless eyes turning silver before you even have the chance. chris was alive, if begrudgingly, and in this light, he reminded you too much of yourself in years gone by. offer light humour, boyish smile present, “if you're lucky, you might get to keep the scar.”

[writer59january13]

Prolonged offal bout courtesy constipation... turgid song redux,

a worse hellish fate than perdition really sucks

As of early morning today - September 8th, 2022,

I could not but barely move

mine whole body felt analogous to sluggish mollusk frequent constipation found me

doubled over in gastrointestinal agony

as if elephant stomping on tummy

or red livid with rage.

I've re: created how bull heaver in fiber figuratively thrust his tusk

into lower abdominal area dawn to dusk

ah...voila... hence subsequently blessed natural laxative,

the magic of Daily Fiber

100% natural psyllium husk also known as metamucil.

Once again sphincter muscle(s)

spasmodically malfunctioned awry

whew suppository unnecessary

despite gastrointestinal stoppage

alimentary canal thwarted

porcelain goddess battlecry

at least seventy two hour time span lapsed whereby big boy wanted to cry

explaining how yours truly

felt he would die an undertaking malaise

found me experiencing

physical duress vis a vis,

a bowel movement,

wherein waste unable to expel

from the anus of this guy,

which bout with rectal obstruction

found me doubled over

with lower abdominal distress

whereby comfort found me unable to lie

down nor sit upright

(with back padded with pillows

against the cellar brick wall),

thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh

and managed on a previous occasion

to muster the means to bare

frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase

the Acme brand Metamucil,

which akin to Drano doth ply

thru the excretory tract

supposedly loosening the stools

which optimism (product

didst earn claim to fame)

generated a sigh

if that expressed intent

to cease LivingSocial would try

humph enjoining lxiii

year old married male

to cede victory to the grim reaper,

who would vie

as winner de jure

to this common fellow invoking libretto

ohm resistant understudy

waste not want not

allowing, enabling and providing relief,

without successful defecation

despite the oppressive urge

to bolster this Uriah

heep of balled up and tuckered out

five foot and ten inches of lovely bones,

thence mouthing retraction

of former thought to cease existing

though a non-bull lever

in any power broker qua mankind

relief at long last provided posterior answered prayer

yet, this wordsmith

scrutinizes his recurring

pain in the ass jagged torture

and asks a rhetorical

one word question "WHY"?

Well now... monumental

poetic challenge recap,

I now craftily abbreviate

(think clogged toilet

synonymous with blockage)

waste matter after days did accumulate

regarding rectal blockage to alleviate

thus imagine impossible

airy mission to defecate

which debilitating scenario

(mine) frequent accursed fate

frequently recurring more often

as yours truly ages i.e. latter day saint

Matthew Scott got older rectal affliction compromised me

ordinary easy going demeanor to boot

disallowing, disenabling, and not permitting

me - effecting, emulating, and exhaling Tony the tiger's catchword grrrrrreat

if queried about my constitution

when alas... absolute ecstasy found me

expelling bowel movement with effort

weighing approximately 0.71428571 stone

though relieved, nevertheless

the toilet bowl clogged,

prompting me to correct historical records

on two accounts despite

causing potential ruckus

disaster buffs may incriminate

nsync notion huge bowel movement

(mine) took down (analogous voyage to bottom of sea) toto Lusitania

and actually additionally

caused separate incident

complex edifice (think Titanic) both sturdy ships of state

former rendered, lifted, foundered...

latter purportedly crashing

into iceberg invariably causing

rising sea levels courtesy

melting glacier (size of Florida) weight.

[eddawrites]

Mel & Jayce, a story told in colour

First of all, let me start by saying that I have a deep appreciation for just how much Jayce’s and Mel’s clothes mirror each other. The designers seem to have made some very conscious choices to make these two characters match visually. Let’s break it down.

Perhaps the most striking detail about Mel’s design are tattoos golden tattoos/armour pieces covering her back, shoulders and thighs, but have you noticed that each of these pieces is matched by a detail on Jayce’s suit?

The details on Mel’s shoulders are matched by Jayce’s epaulets:

The skin on Mel’s back framed by the golden plates forms a T shape, and so does the tailoring on Jayce’s back:

The armour on Mel’s thighs is mirrored by the embroidery on Jayce’s pants:

Even the lace details on Mel’s dress are similar-looking to the embroidery on Jayce’s sleeves (although I believe this less intentional):

The choice of giving Mel a slit dress and Jayce a tailcoat likewise appears deliberate, giving them a similar airy vibe.

Of course, their colour palettes are also very similar: both their outfits are predominantly white and black (Mel’s collar and Jayce’s shirt and pants), with some grey details (the lace on Mel’s dress and Jayce’s vest) and golden elements - in Mel’s case fused to her body, in Jayce’s the embroidery on his coat. However, Jayce’s outfit implements a colour that is conspicuously absent on Mel’s dress, which brings me to my next point...

A Fox or a Wolf?

In her style of dress and colour palette both, Mel appears to be distancing herself from Ambessa and her Noxian heritage. She prefers an airy dress with lace details to her mother’s leather and steel, she usually covers her arms with delicate sleeves while Ambessa keeps hers bare. While the primary colours of Noxus appear to be black, red and silver, Mel wears white and gold, even going as far as - quite literally - painting her family sigil gold (the window in her office, her ring, banners etc. are all wrought in gold) instead of the Noxian silver/steel that her mother uses. In so doing, Mel discards her mother’s teachings, choosing to be a fox rather than a wolf.

Interestingly, though, Jayce’s outfit does implement red. This choice appears very deliberate from a narrative standpoint. Of course, the House Talis colours are gold and red, so it’s only natural that they should appear in his design, however, Talis red is more of a maroon red - the shade used on his epaulets - whilst the Medarda red is very vibrant, perhaps to recall the colour of blood. The embroidery on Jayce’s pants and vest, as well as his tie, appear to be wrought in a similar shade of red.

Throughout the show Jayce wears a white tailcoat with golden details and a white-and-grey ves (which he keeps on even when he’s not wearing his overcoat), but under it he’s wearing a black shirt and a red tie. He’s wearing Ambessa’s colour palette under Mel’s colour palette. Now, at the risk of overthinking why the curtains are blue, I interpret this as Jayce having the potential to be both a charming diplomat like Mel and an aggressive despot like her mother - he even has a brief phase of displaying this very quality after he becomes increasingly aggravated by Jinx’s attacks. The wolf inside of him awakens.

While Mel is actively moulding him to be a fox, upon her arrival, Ambessa immediately starts pushing him to be a wolf, to “know death” like she was taught, which he does when the shimmer factory raid goes awry. Mel realises this potential and that is what triggers the (emotionally) violent confrontation with her mother. She doesn’t want Jayce to devolve into a type of person that her mother is, she’s trying to protect Jayce’s idealism (white is traditionally considered to be the colour of purity) and Ambessa is actively attempting to undo her efforts.

In the end, Jayce chooses the path of the fox, validating Mel’s anti-war stance, his figure bathed in stark white light.