#and percolate on it and keep an eye out for tools you might come across elsewhere that are the key to discovering the truth

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

tbh will never forgive radfems for appropriating 'why don't you think about why you feel that way :)' as 'do it until you're Fixed and don't feel that way anymore'--especially when often they use it for conversion therapy in particular 🙃--because as a genuine, good faith, open-ended question to guide a toolset of other questions, it has brought me not only a lot of insight but SO much peace in processing things my brain would eat itself over otherwise

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1  // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3  // Read on A03

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

tagging @today-in-fic​

CHAPTER 4

3rd District Precinct Washington, DC

The modest forensics lab was situated in the basement of the precinct building. A fitting location. It was always a strange trip downstairs, almost like walking into a spook house at an amusement park. You’d notice every creak from the antiquated filing cabinets, there were shelves of textbooks, yellowing medical journals, rows of glass jars containing shriveled specimens. The morgue was tucked away in a corner with a series of metal doors on the tiled wall and a surprisingly shiny slab resting comfortably over a drain in the floor. No more room at the inn by the look of it. Autopsy tools hung neatly on the wall like a butcher’s knife set; at least in this corner the boys kept things tidy. I walked a little deeper into the lab and saw Byers flipping through an issue of National Geographic. I cleared my throat as I approached.

“Mulder. What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Byers asked, dropping the magazine in his lap. The 3rd was fortunate enough to have three pillars of forensic science in Melvin Frohike, Richard Langley, and John Byers. They had their finger on the pulse of crime investigation techniques and were eager to share their findings with practically anyone who would listen. A good deal of the jargon went over my head but it enhanced my vocabulary to say the least. 

“Frohike called me regarding Spender’s case,” I replied, “We might have a golden ticket on our hands.” 

“He and Langley have been upstairs for a while but they should return soon. Have a seat.” He motioned to a wooden stool near a cluttered lab counter. I obliged. Byers was not much of a talker when he was by himself so his attention shifted back to busywork. I picked at the rough edge of my thumb watching Byers place a metal canister on the end of the counter. He opened it then took a sample of a dark substance, added it to the boiling water, and adjusted the flame on the Bunsen burner changing the intensity. He looked up at the wall clock and turned back to his experiment. The color change in the beaker shifted to a dark brown. Byers gave it a stir and covered the top. He sensed my curiosity.

“Coffee will be ready in a few minutes if you’d like some.”

I laughed and politely declined.

“Don’t you have a percolator?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Just then Frohike and Langley entered the lab.

“Oh good. You’re here,” said Frohike as he reached for a nearby lab coat, slipped into the sleeves and flipped it up onto his shoulders.

“We had a whale of a meeting upstairs,” Langley added, shoving a worn out briefcase across the counter making an open space, “Looks like Spender’s dirty little secret is out.”

“Krycek, my informant, pegged him as a hop head. I knew Spender could be a little on edge but I thought he was too straight-laced to use heroin.” I folded my arms. “What did Skinner have to say?” 

“The boss was none too pleased to find out that one of their top boys was on the horse.” Langley stated.

“And a thoroughbred at that. He was probably dipping into Vincenti’s supply.” Frohike remarked as he adjusted his glasses.

I sighed and shook my head. Byers poured his scientific brew into a small mug for himself and took a sip before saying, “Well there’s your motive.”

His colleagues shrugged in agreement as they each grabbed a cup of coffee.

“Makes you wonder if he was just starting out and got careless,” Langley said.

“Or he had been knee deep in the shit since making a deal, overconfidence took over, he couldn’t pay up and then blammo,” I said as I stood and leaned against the lab counter. Something about this seemed too easy. We had the gunman, we had a relatively clear motive, and we had the Captain scrambling to stuff this whole matter back under the rug. I needed to track down The Titan and put the squeeze on him for some information. Though with a newly buried partner I would need a second set of eyes on my surveillance job.

“Well boys, it’s been a treat but I have to make some telephone calls.”

“Hey Mulder,” Frohike called, “you should take some time for yourself; slow down for a day maybe.”

“That’s what whiskey is for.” I replied as I left the lab and took the stairs, not knowing what I’d walk into when I hit the bullpen.

Several officers didn’t bat an eye as I passed by their desks and I continued to avoid any eye contact as I glanced at my wristwatch. I reached my desk and pulled the phone closer as I took a seat, picking up the receiver. My index finger hovered over the rotary and just as I started to pull the number I heard the distinct baritone of Captain Skinner calling my name. It wasn’t bellowed so I knew I wasn’t being called in to serve detention for misconduct. I placed both hands on my desk and stood then met him at his office door. He blocked the threshold.

“Have you heard?” he asked.

“Yes. I was just down in forensics. I came up here to get started on what I presume is a surveillance assignment.”

Skinner thought for a moment.

“I want you to get a hold of Krycek. He’s going to accompany you on this detail.”

“Oh he’ll be thrilled.”

“Go on then,” Skinner said as he tensed his jaw, “And get me some goddamn answers.”

------

Georgetown Waterfront 1:05 p.m.

  Rain tapped angrily against the roof of the unmarked cruiser as I sat parked down the block from the Piccola Italia restaurant. It was a hole in the wall but a well known haunt for some of Vincenti’s crew. I hoped Carlo Lodi would be tempted by a lunch special of pasta arrabiata and cheap wine. My deli sandwich and soda I grabbed before the cloudburst paled in comparison, but I needed something in my stomach. I took another bite and watched a series of passersby through the streaks of rain on the window. I was early. I adjusted the radio dial and finished my lunch. With a swipe of the wiper blade I noticed a black coupe pull up in front of the restaurant. The door popped open and a hulking figure exited the passenger side, adjusted his jacket, and stepped under the awning out of the rain. He waited for his driver to join him before opening the front door. Just then there was a knock on my window. Krycek had his collar pulled up and drips of water cascaded off the brim of his hat. I rolled the window down to get a better look.

“You gonna let me in?”

“I don’t know if I can afford it.”

“Damnit Mulder...”

“It’s unlocked, Krycek.” I said as I looked at the empty passenger seat then rolled up the window, catching a splash of rain. He crossed in front of the car and waited for traffic to clear before opening the door. He sighed as he removed his hat and brushed off the rainwater. 

“Alright fill me in,” Krycek said. I turned down the radio and had the last swig of soda. 

“Recognize the car down there?” I began. He leaned forward and caught a glimpse as the wiper blade swiped the windshield.

“That looks like Carlo Lodi’s coupe.”

“He’s not alone. His lunch date is a suit that’s either a driver or a business partner, if you get my meaning. They’ve been in there for maybe ten minutes so if I move I can get what I need before his main course arrives.”

“Okay then,” Krycek said as he put his hat back on. 

“I’m just going to have a nice conversation. I need to get him talking. If I get him back to the precinct I can be more heavy-handed.” I adjusted my fedora and touched my weapon for reassurance. 

“You’re not saying “we” a whole lot. What the hell did you need me for?”

“At first I had you joining me on spoiling Lodi’s lunch but then I thought he might recognize you as a mole so you get to stay put. Keep the car running. If things take a turn I want you to head to the 3rd; with or without me. Ask for Captain Skinner.”

“Aw shucks this feels just like old times,” Krycek replied as he fished out a beat-up pack of Morleys shaking a stick loose. He pulled it out with his teeth then tipped his head down as he flipped his lighter, marrying flame to paper, blessing the squad car with a halo of smoke. Car tires splashed through wet pavement and I took that as my cue to get this show on the road. I opened the door and stepped onto the curb. The rain had slacked up as I walked. I narrowly avoided an umbrella being opened by an old man exiting a taxi. He continued on like I wasn’t even there.

Piccola Italia’s brick facade with its windows dressed in red and white gingham curtains fit the stereotype, as much as I hate to admit. But none of that mattered when I stepped inside and was hit with the aroma of bread, oil, and garlic. If I didn’t have a more pressing obligation I would have claimed a table and ordered a plate. I flashed my badge to the young woman at the cashier’s counter and she quickly nodded then went back to straightening menus. I moved past dark wood tables with diners enjoying an array of pastas and soups. My instinct led me through the dining room and I happened upon a curved booth tucked in a back corner near the kitchen. Lodi was there with his driver, luckily still just the two of them. He was reading the sports page from the newspaper and folded it in half then tapped a finger against it.

“That fuckin’ horse is gonna make me a stack of green, I’m telling ya.” He boasted with a laugh.

“Excuse me, Mr. Lodi?” I asked as I approached his table. He put down the paper and took a sip from his glass of wine and gave me a quizzical look.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah I believe you can.” I carefully reached for my badge and flipped it open. “Detective Fox Mulder. I just want to chat.”

“And what makes you think I want to listen, detective?”

“I see you got the sports section there. What’s your game? Baseball, football?”

Lodi shot a look at his driver and gestured towards my direction. 

“This guy...if you must know Mr Mulder, I like the races.”

I took a seat across from him and folded my arms. Then I truly realized how much of a mountain this man was. His square jawline met a thick neck that was being held together by a stiff shirt collar and silk tie. I was waiting for it to burst open with each swallow. Broad shoulders and a barrel chest led to limbs that were solid muscle. The ring on his left pinky finger was about the size of a doorknob and had an insignia in the center. His pin-striped suit looked custom given his proportions. I got a little too comfortable and leaned forward in my chair, threading my fingers together.

“About a week ago, did you talk to a Jeffrey Spender about a horse race. Maybe come to collect a bet?” The mention of the name caught Lodi’s attention and he picked up on my code. Before he could respond, a waiter saddled up to the table and delivered a plate of pasta with a fiery red sauce. Lodi took another sip of wine.

“If I had to come collect you know there was a good reason for it,” he said as he twisted pasta on his fork then took a bite. The other man at the table started to undo his cuffs and slowly roll up his shirt sleeves.

“Well on behalf of the 3rd District precinct, I’d like to invite you over for a little heart to heart.,” I maintained a relaxed facade even though I knew what was coming, “We’ve got evidence placing you at a bar in Adams Morgan the same night as Spender.” Lodi ate another bite and closed his eyes savoring the spice. As he took his wine glass he raised his pinky finger which was the signal. I blinked and then I swear to God I saw enough stars to grace the American flag. A meaty Italian right hook slammed into my cheek like a sledgehammer. Glad he wasn’t wearing a ring. I was knocked sideways to the floor and I tried to catch the nearby table but instead let a dining chair unceremoniously break my fall. I never could take a hit. The few patrons in the restaurant barely took notice at the commotion. Carlo dabbed at the corner of his mouth and rose from his seat.

“Thank you, Theo,” he said as he moved over to pat my assailant’s shoulder. The enforcer’s goon cracked his knuckles and stood looking very pleased with himself. I moved my tongue to the inside of my cheek tasting fresh blood. I adjusted myself to sit upright, though not ready to stand just yet. I snatched a neatly folded napkin from one of the empty place settings and tried to dam the small crimson river from my mouth. Carlo crouched down next to me.

“So, you thought you could just walk into this fine establishment, disrupt my meal, and arrest me?”

“Until now it hasn’t stopped me,” I mumbled against the napkin. 

“Unless you got a warrant in hand, I’m not going anywhere. And this business with who was it...Spender? That’s done and so are you.”

“Why don’t you just bump me off like you did him?” I asked as I tossed the bloody napkin aside. Carlo thought for a moment and leaned in closer.

“I like seeing you get knocked around every once in a while, Detective Mulder.  Puts a smile on my face.” He blessed me with two exaggerated slaps on the cheek then got to his feet. “I think we’re finished here. Theo, show this son of a bitch the way out.” Carlo returned to his meal and raised a glass in my direction. I was still on my ass. I reached for my fedora and Theo took the liberty of hoisting me to my feet. The gorilla hands that left a new beauty mark gripped my upper arms and shoved me towards the kitchen.

“Easy there junior, my dance card is full.” I said as we moved through a swinging door. I was briefly distracted by the aroma of simmering marinara, stewing beef, and an array of spices.  The sous chef and line cooks unphased by the disturbance continued prepping as I was hustled towards the back door and pushed out into the alley.  I stumbled into the brick wall across the way and before I could turn around to get the final say, the goon slammed the metal door shut.  My head tilted back and I gingerly rolled it from side to side. I adjusted the brim on my hat and shuffled down the alley towards the street.

The rain had passed and I found Krycek parked where I left him. He had a fresh cigarette in his lips and was reclined against the car seat.  I tapped on the window and he unrolled it letting the rhythm of Count Bassie and his orchestra glide onto the sidewalk. 

“Looks like negotiations went well,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah you could say that,” I replied. My cheek felt like someone was inflating a balloon under the surface. I needed a drink. A wisp of smoke swirled out of the window and Krycek flicked the butt into a puddle. 

“Take the car back to the precinct.”

“What?”

“You can leave it running with the doors open if you want.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take some advice I was given earlier today and get some rest. This case isn’t going cold anytime soon.” I watched as Krycek shifted gears and pulled away from the curb. There was a pang of mistrust thinking that the unmarked squad car would end up somewhere along the Potomac; but I also got the suspicion that Alex liked playing detective. Also long as I kept him on a short leash I could use him to my advantage. I crossed the street and walked the block until I found a phone booth. Before I slid open the door I had to spit out the stale blood that was collecting in my mouth. My cheek burned like fire. I picked up the receiver and dialed the operator.

“Yes I’m looking for a Dana Scully. Georgetown address.”

[keeponshouting]

After Infection

This is a rewrite and hopefully eventual completion of a massive multiverse mash-up of my OCs with a couple belonging to @whenromancesmoked and a few others from back in the day. I have absolutely no idea if anyone else is going to be interested in reading this (ok, I know a few people who will probably read it) but psh. I’m having fun and want to share.

Note: This is also a George Romero tribute of sorts. Like I started it for giggles because my PB for one of the characters was in the Dawn of the Dead remake and it just snowballed, which I guess means I should throw a WARNING: ZOMBIES sign up here or something. Anyway!

After Infection: Dawn of the Dead

It had seemed like a good idea at the time – or, well, more accurately, it had seemed like the right thing to do. There was a request from fellow hunters in a small town a few hours’ drive south and things had been quiet lately back home so Nate had figured that they could spare the time and energy. Besides, Dennis had been going pretty stir crazy for a while. Even if it was a hunt, it would be a good excuse to get out on the road for a while, a sort of vacation.

It had not turned out even remotely like a vacation.

They had been a little too late to the original party but apparently just in time for things to get much, much worse. Nate had brought a variety of tools just in case but he had primarily been prepared for an infestation of what locals called “hell rats,” a creature that was pretty common in the south and usually pretty easy to handle if you found their nests quickly enough. Sure they were venomous but as long as you were careful… He had not been expecting an infestation of zombies.

“The lot looks pretty clear right now.” Dennis is hunched over at the door, using the peephole to take a quick survey of the goings on outside their hotel room while Nate brews a second pot of coffee to get him through whatever the morning brings. After all, as long as decent coffee is available, he might as well take advantage of it. Lord knows he might have to go without for a while and God help his poor boyfriend’s patience if that happens.

When Dennis stands up straight again, his head is just about even with the top of the doorframe and he yawns as he leans back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “So, come up with any plans yet or are we still waiting for the caffeine to kick in?”

Nate snorts into his cup and foregoes actually taking a drink for the moment in order to respond. “You ask that like I have any idea what sort of plan to use here. I’ve met exactly zero hunters who’ve actually had to handle zombies in the past decade at least. I honestly don’t think they’ve ever been a problem this far north before.”

“Well, there sure are a lot around here for something that’s never been a problem.”

“Some forms of infection can spread at an exponential rate in populated areas.” He drains a good half of the coffee in hand. “Our best bet is probably just to find out if there are any other non-infected people anywhere around here.”

Dennis flops across the bed, face down, with a muffled grunt.

Nate just silently continues drinking as the percolator finally finishes beside him and he very seriously considers making a third pot, just in case.

---

Zombies – shambling, groaning, flesh-eating, nearly Hollywood perfect zombies. For fuck’s sake. This should have been such an easy fucking job and now there are zombies.

Viktor strings together another line of curses, voice little more than a low growl, as he chambers another cartridge. Beside him, a terrified little girl whimpers. He simply scowls, sets Glock number one aside, lights a cigarette, and pulls out number two. “Zatraceně zasraný vědci.” Leaning over toward the window, he catches sight of a proper target and empties the last bullet into the back of its skull. What a fucking cliché.

This was supposed to be simple. They had agreed on that fact the moment that the specifications of the job had crossed the table. It should have been routine, easy money. Three towns, three targets, each plan the same; get rid of the scientist, call their employer, and let the clean-up crew come in and deal with the rest. The first two hits had gone off without a hitch. So, of course, it just figures that last one would have to be so much more complicated than it should have been.

“I—I—I w-want m-m-my d-da—daddy.”

Viktor’s jaw clenches as he exhales – slow and even, two thin streams of smoke – as he reloads the gun in hand and wills himself to remain calm. His patience is wearing thin at this point, though. He had not planned for going into this as usual and coming out as a babysitter. The target’s five-year-old daughter was not supposed to be in the house at the time of the hit. She only stayed with him on the weekends. What an absolutely brilliant turn of events that this was apparently the first Monday that she had ever spent with her father.

Dropping his half-smoked cigarette on the floor, he shoves himself up to his feet. He had lost contact with Miguel some time earlier, likely as a result of the scientist’s neighbor backing into an electric pole at full speed after one of the zombies had rushed her car. The impact had cut power to the entire neighborhood and he can only assume that it must be the cause of the interference. With long-range communication down, that leaves only one alternative: he needs to get within the functional range of their radios. Unfortunately, the hit had been planned for the late evening and he had only been able to make it as far as a vacant apartment building a couple blocks away before night had started to set. From here, short-wave does him about as much good as a water pistol.

“Come on.” Viktor has already reached the door and taken quick stock of the corridor beyond by the time he bothers to look back. Unsurprisingly, his unwanted charge remains unmoved, still curled up as small as she can possibly make herself, which is pretty damned small.

“A-are you g-g-gonna take me b-back to da-daddy?”

God give him strength but that stuttering is getting real old real quick. “Ne.” He swings the door open as quietly as possible and waits for a moment, listening for any movement outside, before carefully stepping out and making his way to the stairwell. With the knowledge that their escape route is currently free of hostiles, he takes a deep, centering breath and heads back to where he began.

“Look, holčička.” He crouches down in front of the child and tries to sound as reasonable as possible. Given his current level of frustration, he thinks that he is doing a fairly decent job. Miguel, however, would likely disagree. “Either you just come with me and go wherever I go, quietly and without complaint, or I leave you here. Your choice.” Yeah, Miguel would definitely disagree.

From the way that the little girl’s eyes go so much wider than he would have ever imagined possible, he feels safe in assuming that she disagrees as well and, five minutes later, they are creeping down an alleyway with more stealth than Viktor ever would have expected of a kindergartener.

---

What was taking so long?

That is the question that had led Alex out of the band’s bus and that was the question that he now wants to keep from crossing anyone else’s minds. This is all way too fucked up, like the should not be real kind of fucked up. None of this should be happening.

On the ground, backed up against the flat tire of the car that their driver had originally gone to help, Alex kicks hard into the jaw of what may have once been a perfectly lovely young woman and sends her sprawling backward where she lands on top of the monster still gnawing on the corpse of a man who should have still been living and breathing and driving their goddamn bus. Alex’s hand gropes around behind him for anything even remotely useful as a weapon and lands on the tire-iron just in time to smash it into the face of the dead woman once more lunging in his direction. Another strike as she tries to get up and he cringes and almost loses his lunch at the feeling of her skull cracking open and her brain splattering across the pavement. Hell, he really might have lost it if not for the howl coming at him far too fast. This time, he opts not to look as the hears the wet crunch and just leaps to his feet and starts running back toward relative safety.

“Alex?”

Oh fuck. “Stay on the bus, Val!”

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do, Niccols! What the fuck is going—”

Alex fails to hear the rest as he spins around to slam the tire-iron as hard as he can into something else behind him. This time it gets yanked right out of his hand as the body drops and he scrambles back onto the bus, practically picking up a protesting Val in order to get her out of the way of the door that he immediately slams closed. He lets her go as he collapses into the driver’s seat, wide-eyed and hands shaking, and it takes him a moment to register the sound of his dog whimpering by his knee, let alone that of his own name. When the world comes back into focus, though, Val is staring at him in horror. It takes him another moment to realize why.

“Alex? What the fuck happened?” Whether she sounds more panicked or angry, Alex is far too dazed to tell. Her hands reach for his face, his shoulders, moving down to check every inch. “Are you okay?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises a hand to wipe at his face. No. No he is not okay. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Val does not look like she believes him at all. “Is that—Fuck. That—That’s blood! Why the fuck are you covered in blood?”

Breathe, Alex. Always a good plan to breathe. “Shh. Don’t…” Never mind. Telling her to keep it quiet is pointless. Everybody else will have heard it already.

He shoves himself back to his feet, legs weak and wobbly, and stumbles as he makes his way through the curtain that separates the cabin from the rest of the bus. It is instantly evident that the rest of the band did, in fact, hear all of that. All three of them are already staring at him before he even properly steps into view. He is pretty sure that Sasha is the one choke out an “on shit” and it is definitely Macy whose response comes out as barely a squeak.

“Blood?” On his feet now, Macy rushes in to cling to Alex’s shirt, bodily fluids not withstanding. “None of it’s yours, right? You’re not hurt? You’re okay?”

Again, Alex reminds himself to breathe, turning just enough so that he can see where Val still stands in the doorway, Parker lying on the floor a foot or so behind her, his ears back and expression scared. For her part, Val is gripping the doorway so tightly that Alex can only assume that she is trying very hard not move and crowd him any further.

“None of it’s mine.” He looks at the faces around him, all of them staring, all confused and various degrees of frightened. It brings everything right back into focus. “We need to—” It takes a deep breath in and a slow breath out to get his thoughts back in line. “Everybody grab a bag, pack food, necessities, just—just whatever.” Stepping a little closer to Val, just near enough to pull one of her hands down from the wall and give it a quick squeeze. “We gotta get outta here.”

---

Nate leans out of the passenger side window just far enough to level his sights on one of the creatures that already looks less human and fires. One shot, between the eyes, and it hits the ground and disappears beneath the feet of its companions. He hears a quiet gagging sound come from the driver’s seat and finds himself feeling a bit queasy in turn. They are both going to need to make some real changes to their perspective re: what constitutes a monster and they need to make those changes really quickly because as of right now, it is going to be really difficult to get out of this mess without completely rewiring their conscience.

“Um, Nate?”

With barely a glance spared toward Dennis, Nate focuses himself on reloading. “Yeah?”

“How many, uh—how many of them are back there?”

The question gives him pause but Nate squints to get a count anyway. “About a dozen in view. Why?”

“Because we need to, uh—we have to stop for a minute.”

Nate drops back into his seat so quickly that he nearly smacks his head off the door. “We what?”

Not even bothering to look at him, Dennis simply peels one shaking hand off of the steering wheel to point at something ahead. “We have to stop.”

Nate has to squint but he starts moving the moment that he sees exactly what Dennis is looking at. “I’ve got the door.”

It was rather obvious even from a single glance at a decent distance that the man up ahead, standing stock still in his torn slacks and a blood, rolled shirt-sleeves, was staring straight past the car speeding toward him and cursing the sight of the ever-growing number of zombies trailing behind. Dennis hits the gas and is slamming the breaks in what feels like no time.

Nate shoves the back door open and feels like there is really no room for argument when he shouts to the man to get in but he has been wrong before and apparently he is right now. Instead of heading straight for them, the guy curses in a language that they are now close enough for Nate to tell is definitely not English and turns away.

“Hey!” Dennis spins in his seat to look behind them, which Nate is sure that he immediately regrets. “What the hell? What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know. He’s just—” And that is when the stranger pulls his gun, takes out three approaching zombies in relatively rapid succession, and finally turns to sprint back toward the car. “—getting a little girl.”

The child is practically flung into the back seat and their new passenger wastes no time slamming the door behind himself and snapping, “Go. Now.”

Dennis really does not need to be told and floors it the second he knows the door is closed.

“Take a left onto Carver,” the man continues, his tone speaking volumes regarding how unwilling he would be to hear any question or protest. “Follow signs for the mall plaza.” He leans out the window to pick off a few more of the monsters before Nate’s slightly incredulous look catches his attention and his scowl is honestly pretty terrifying. “You’ll be out of gas before the edge of town so, under the assumption that you wish to live—”

Nate’s eyes narrow in suspicion but Dennis has absolutely no qualms against following the orders of anyone with a plan right now and practically takes the aforementioned turn on two wheels when he nearly misses it.

---

“Are you sure you can hotwire this piece of shit?”

“It’s not a piece of shit, it’s a fucking classic.”

Val rolls her eyes at that as she continues trying to calm the utterly panicked Macy currently clinging to her so tightly that he might as well just climb into her goddamn skin. “Fine. Can you really hotwire this ‘fucking classic’?”

Two seconds later, the engine revs up as Alex sits back in the driver’s seat with a trin and a waggle of his stupid eyebrows. Sasha squeals in relief and flings her arms around him from her place in the back seat, as he laughs. “My mechanical genius is wasted on this red wire green wire bullshit.”

He pops the trunk just as something begins to stir inside of the nearby diner and Val shoves Sasha aside to squeeze Macy in so that she can help Nico load their bags at record speed. By the time she flings herself into the front passenger seat, there are already zombies starting to stumble out of the woodwork. Fuck seatbelts. “Gun it!”

Alex hits the gas and they peel out of the parking lot just as the diner’s doors give way.

He had tried to explain what had happened while they packed. It had felt impossible for Val to actually wrap her mind around it at first but once she had seen the mess outside? She had practically dragged Alex and Macy off in search of the nearest source of potential transportation. They needed to find something quickly and it needed to be something fast and she needed to not think about how painfully familiar the blood and gore looked, though she had only ever seen anything like it in her nightmares. When Alex had needed to stop and vomit into the nearest garbage can, she had a feeling that she understood why and a little pocket of rage flared to life in her chest – not because he had to stop but because he never should have been the one to wind up with someone else’s blood on his hands.

“Where are we going?” Macy is the one to finally ask, almost inaudible from where he has curled up against Sasha now, and Val catches his eye in the rearview mirror before she looks toward Alex.

Alex, however, is entirely too focused on driving to really think but so much and instead catches her eye before clearing his throat. “Nick?”

In the back, Nico turns away from the horrors outside of his window. “What?”

“How do you defend yourself against a zombie invasion?”

“Wha—Zombies aren’t exactly my specialty here.”

“No,” Alex agrees, “but zombies are supposed to be a helluva lot dumber than, say, Reavers, right? You know Reavers.”

“So?”

“So how would you defend yourself against an invasion of retarded Reavers?”

The drummer just stares at him for a moment with an expression that plainly says that he may consider that to be the dumbest question that he has ever heard. Eventually, thought, there is an answer. “I’d find the most well-stocked, easily-fortifiable location I could think of and hope I could wait out the attack or find some other way to get through them.”

There is silence in the car and then Alex shrugs. “All right. So, where’s the most well-stocked and easily-fortifiable location we can think of?

Five minutes later, they find themselves screeching into the parking lot of the local mall. The location almost seems somehow normal, given the situation at hand. In fact, were it not for the shrieking horde behind them or the knowledge that Alex is currently doing seventy into a public lot, it might almost feel a little reminiscent of home. Val almost finds it funny, really. What’s funnier to her than coming to a mall for safety, however, is the fact that they were obviously not the only ones with that idea, as they are definitely not the only ones pulling into the place with a bunch of undead goons straggling along behind them.

---

“Miguel.”

There is a burst of static in his ear as Viktor leans out to empty his 22 into the crowd of creatures still chasing behind the car that had picked him up on the highway. Once within range, he takes out a couple of the ones latching on to the other car that had pulled in to the lot at about the same time, too. When his magazine clicks empty, he makes a snap decision to save his 20 for later and drops back into the seat to reload. The driver glances at him in the rearview, looking a little bit frightened, while the original passenger only eyes him for a moment before leaning out of the other side with a freshly loaded shotgun. His fellow gunner might not be terribly trusting but at least Viktor can respect that. Besides, who needs trust? The guy’s a fairly good shot.

“Zatratím tě, Miguel!” The little girl still curled up beside him whimpers. He can hear it over the gunfire, the static, all of the goddamned zombies. It is grating on his very last nerve. “Odpovídáš mě!”

He could hope for no better response than to lean back out just in time to watch as a line of four hostiles drops one by one.

“En ingles, ’mano.” Another line of undead hit the ground as the line sputters out then clears up again, leaving room for easily the most welcome voice he has ever known. “Now where the Hell have you been?”

Viktor nearly laughs. “We can trade stories later, miláčku. Right now, I need cover fire while I try to get these people into the posraný mall.”

“Going shopping?”

“Sklapni. We try the mall or they come to your shop.”

“How many?”

Viktor glances toward the other vehicle still circling around the parking lot with them. “Eight plus me.”

“Well, if they dropped you—”

“Miguel.”

“Sí, sí, the mall sounds like a plan. There’s a garage off to your right. No good angle for me to shoot the lock off but I can keep the number of uglies down while you get in.”

“Děkuji.”

“That means thank you, sí?”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “Sí.”

The line bursts back into static with a laugh.

---

As it turns out, the garage door does not, in fact, require a shot to the lock. It rolls up just enough for the two cars to through before Dennis’s little hatchback even hits the ramp. On the other side, a young woman motions for them to hurry while two men in security uniforms stand to either side of the entrance to help keep the monsters at bay, though it appears that this Miguel guy really only needs the most basic of assistance. His precision is honestly kind of terrifying and Dennis is just as glad not to see any more examples of it as he swerves off to one side so that the other car has room. Nate and their scarier passenger are both out before he even has the damned thing in park, seeing to it that nothing gets in the way of girl at the door to slam the thing shut.

“We saw you on the security cameras,” of the security guards explains as he climbs up to try and jam the gears.

The other car’s driver takes a moment to collect himself, then grabs a wrench and makes his way over to the ladder. “Here. Let me have a look at that.”

“Figured we couldn’t just leave you out there.” The guard climbs down to let the driver up. “Then Shannon said she thought you were headed this way.”

“Thanks.” Dennis finally climbs out only to stretch over the top of his car.

The woman now known as Shannon simply smiles. “No problem. Mercy for your fellow man or something like that.” She laughs and shrugs, looking slightly flustered, though that is probably to be expected, all things considered. “Anyway, come on. Let’s get you all inside. We’ve got food, clothes, relatively comfortable furniture… We’ll get you poor things all cleaned up and sorted out in no time.”

There is a general rumble of agreement as the little group follows her to the door that leads into the connected store, allowing themselves to be ushered toward where another girl is waiting somewhat impatiently. That is, they all follow along aside from one man, anyway, who simply mutters something into his headset before switching it off and making his way back over to the hatchback. Shannon looks back, confused, as does Nate, though he looks more suspicious about it.

Dennis just sighs. “The little girl.” Then he ducks through the doorway and drags Nate away after the rest.

---

“Come on, holčička.” Viktor crouches down beside the open car door with a sigh as the child remains curled up in the center of the back seat. Children. How did anyone actually deal with children, let alone have them by choice?

The little girl simply whimpers and mumbles, “There are monsters out there.”

Well, at least the stuttering has stopped and he supposes he can concede that she has a fair point. “The monsters are outside, not with us.”

Before he can receive a response or think of anything more convincing to say, there is someone else coming up behind him, bending down to look the child in the eye with a painfully sympathetic and all too sugarcoated smile. He might be able to handle the sight of it at any other time but right now, with everything that he has just been through and the way that she has the gall to place one of her hands on his shoulder as if—God, he would really like to wipe that smile off of her face.

“Hi, there,” she says, voice floating in a way that speaks plainly of a familiarity with appeasing people under the age of seven. “I’m Shannon. What’s your name?”

Caught slightly off-guard, the child squeaks. “Um. I—I’m—” The little girl shoots a quick glance toward Viktor then, almost as if asking permission to speak with this new stranger before she finally answers. “I’m Amanda.”

Shannon’s smile becomes even brighter, even sweeter, if that is even possible, and Viktor has to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself from taking out her kneecaps when she leans even further over him, hand squeezing his shoulder. “Amanda? Well, that’s a pretty name! Are you hungry, Amanda?”

The little girl nods.

“Well, we’ve got all sorts of food inside. We’ve got toys, too, and games and books and all sorts of neat stuff.”

“And—and no monsters?”

Shannon laughs. “And no monsters.”

Still curled up in the seat, Amanda chews worriedly at her lip for a moment longer, eyes flashing back and forth between the two adults still there in the door. Shannon keeps smiling, encouraging. Viktor just stays crouched there with a clenched jaw and a headache starting to build behind his eyes. When the girl finally moves, though, it does not go entirely as expected. Rather than reaching for Shannon’s offered hand, she instead launches herself forward to wrap her little arms tight around Viktor’s neck and duck her head in under his chin, completely unaware of the rather undignified look of surprise that he is entirely unable to keep off of his face. Unhelpfully, all Shannon does in response is giggle.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Down and Dirty

This is for a request made by @meaganottiz02 I hope that you like it <3

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (emphasis on noncon). You know this blog, you know what I write. Don’t be a fool.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Bucky is tired of just watching.

It was the same scene as every morning. She kissed his cheek and wished him a good day. ‘Love you’, ‘Love you too’. The exchange was more habit than true sentiment. At least, that was what it seemed to Bucky. He couldn’t remember when he had taken to observing the couple. At first, they had merely been a pillar in his daily routine but it wasn’t long before the speck in the corner of his eye became a fixation. He would stop across the street, sitting on the bench book-ended by bushes. They never noticed him there. They couldn’t really see him as he swigged from his water and watched. But he noticed them. He noticed her.

On this morning, he wasn’t in his sneakers and shorts. No, he was prepared. He watched as the man bid his farewell and climbed into his SUV. She stayed in the doorway, leaned against the frame as she watched him depart. On Mondays, she would leave at noon for groceries, Tuesdays she would meet with a friend for coffee, other chores would be spontaneously tended to throughout the week. Some days, she didn’t emerge at all. He had seen her through the window once. She was at a desk typing. After he had secreted some mail away, he found that she worked from home. And her name was Y/N. He had learned her husband’s name too. That one made him frown.

It was a Friday. Her husband would stay late at the office and she’d be inside until the afternoon. The door closed and brought him back to earth. He sat in a van and waited, counting down the hour on his watch. When enough time had passed, he’d climbed out and took the clipboard from beside him. He crossed the street and pulled the monikered cap over his dark hair; Buchanan’s Gardens. It was easy enough to walk into the mall and have the hat printed; and the shirt. He was quite convincing with his dirty jeans and worker’s van. He had ‘borrowed’ it from a local company, but they wouldn’t notice before he was done.

He strolled up to her door and squared his shoulders. He cleared his throat before he knocked. Be casual; smile. She was friendly enough. Naive, he could tell. The smile came easy as he thought about her. About what he would do to her. He exhaled as he heard her just behind the door. The handle turned and he gripped his clipboard tight. She greeted him brightly. This would be too easy.

-

You opened the door. You weren’t expecting company. That was plain enough by your yoga pants and loose tank. Your plan had been to stick yourself to your desk and write. The man before you wore a green cap and matching tee. A long brace stretched down his arm, a glove at the end. He smiled at you as you bid him good morning, confused at his presence on your doorstep. His dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail beneath his hat. His blue eyes sparkled.

“Hi, uh, I’m here to do your yard,” He said.

“I think you might have the wrong house,” You glanced past him, a white van across the street.

“No, this is the address I have here,” He looked at his clipboard, “A Mr. Daniel [last name].”

“Oh...oh,” You thought, a finger on your chin, “Shoot, sorry. He must’ve forgot to tell me.” You paused as you stared up at him. His eyes hadn’t left you once. “Well, um, I guess you can get started. Was there anything you need from me?”

“Just a signature, Mrs. [last name],” He handed you the clipboard and you took it, scribbling your name on the line.

“Y/N,” You gave him your first name. You hated being called missus.

“Alright,” He took back the board and pen, “I’ll get going. I’m James, by the way.” He stepped back off the front step, “I’ll try not to make too much noise.”

You watched him as he retreated down the walk. You tried to recall if Daniel had mentioned a gardener to you. He might have. You had been quite distracted by your deadline as of late. He had never hired one before but he had suggested one last summer. As much for his own sake as your own. Neither of you seemed to have the time for the yard anymore, barely for each other. You closed the door and shrugged to the empty house. You really needed to start listening.

You went back to your desk and drank the last of your cold coffee. At noon you’d refill your mug and take a short break. You tried to bribe yourself by setting little treats for yourself. If you kept at it, you’d have at least half your work done by then and be able to breathe easier. You could hear the gardener in the yard, tools being unpacked, followed shortly by the roar of a mower. It made you feel slightly less alone in the big house. Your work had grown tedious as you hadn’t even company to look forward to when it was done. Daniel was never home on time these days.

When noon rolled around, or rather quarter after, you finished your paragraph and stood from the leather office chair. You stretched and grabbed your mug. You walked to the kitchen, the smell of fresh cut grass wafted in. You filled the coffee machine and hit brew, looking out the broad window to the backyard. Your lips parted and you tore your eyes away guiltily as you met an unexpected sight. The gardener was shirtless, wiping away the sweat on his forehead as he gazed out over the yard. The sleeve, or rather brace, was still on his arm and the glove remained. You wondered what injury called for such an extensive cover.

You cleared your throat and listened to the chortle of the percolator as it drained into your mug. Should you offer him some water? It was rather hot out today. That was something normal housewives did, right? You weren’t really sure but you also didn’t want to be a bitch. You chewed the inside of your lip as the coffee machine hushed. You pulled the plastic pitcher you used for barbecues from the cupboard and a single glass from the cupboard. You filled the jug from the dispenser on the fridge and set off to achieve your generous task. It would at least make you feel less awkward about having the stranger working in your yard.

You ambled out the back door, almost smacking yourself with it. The screen door shut noisily behind you and you set the pitcher and glass on the patio table on the square of pavement just outside. The gardener, James, looked over and you waved. “Hey, I, uh, thought maybe you’d be thirsty.” You said nervously, “I’ll just leave this here.”

“Oh,” He began towards you, a pair of trimmers in his hand. “Thanks.” His muscled torso glistened in the sun as he came nearer, “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” You retreated, nervous at how your eyes were drawn away from his face. How his never left you at all. He had a way of looking at you which made you want to squirm. You smiled and excused yourself back inside before it could grow anymore awkward. Work. That was what you should be thinking of.

You added milk to your coffee and went back to your desk. After tapping on it a couple dozen times, you set your head straight and set to work. The words were no easier but your obstinacy had only grown as you reprimanded yourself for being so easily distracted. After a while, it was a bit smoother, the strong coffee clearing your head enough to keep your fingers working. The drone of your Spotify helped as the melodies carried your focus and it seemed like you might actually meet your deadline.

-

Bucky looked in the window just at the side of the house. From here he could see into the small office where the woman worked away. The back of her chair rocked with her intermittent movement as she swiveled here and there for a sip from her mug or leaned back to think. He smiled as he thought of the look on her face as he had approached her. Her thoughts had been written plain enough across her forehead. Despite herself, despite her husband, she had stared at his bare torso and fled as if she would soon reach out to touch him.

And the water had been much needed. He had actually been working on the yard and the sun was fucking torrid. The more he thought of her, the hotter he got. That definitely didn’t help. He stepped away from the window and walked the perimeter of the house. He took the pitcher and dumped the rest of the water in the hedges. He grabbed the glass and approached the back door she had failed to lock. If she heard him enter, he could use the excuse of returning her dishes. If she didn’t, well he’d be upon her before she knew it.

With one arm holding pitcher and glass to his chest, he used his free hand to slowly press the button of the screen door. He pulled it open carefully, the spring made a slight whoosh but not nearly loud enough to betray him. He let the screen fall against his back and turned the handle to the inside door, invading the palatial home without notice. He shut both with as little fanfare, letting out a breath of relief. He listened closely as he crossed to the counter and set down the pitcher and glass gently. Music floated on the air from another room but there were no footsteps coming to discover him. Perfect.

He followed the music down the hallway towards the small office where he had spied her. She was as she had been a moment ago. Her elbow on the desk as she stared at the screen desperately. He crept into the doorway, she didn’t move. He peeled the sleeve from his arm, bundling it up in the glove and setting it on the table just inside the door. He inhaled quietly and tiptoed nearer, still she didn’t look back or turn around. 

He froze when she sat up and leaned back heavily against the chair. He swallowed as she cursed under her breath. Still, she didn’t sense his presence. This was it. He smirked at her obliviousness. He was already growing hard as he stood just behind her chair. She was in his trap now and he wasn’t going to let her go.

-

You leaned back in your chair and swore. This wasn’t making sense anymore. You shook your head and closed your eyes. You just needed a moment to think. But it wasn’t to be. You felt something around your throat, the grip stifled your yipe. You grasped at the hand with yours, clawing at the unusual metal fingers. You were forced to stand from the chair as the hand dragged you around and you came to face the gardener.

He no longer wore the long sleeve. You stared at his arm, metal platelets engineered in the perfect mimic of a real limb. You were so confused and you hadn’t the breath to question him. Instead, your eyes widened and your fingers wrapped around his wrist in a silent plea. He smirked and brought his other hand up, a single finger over his lips. He shushed you, his grip around your throat lessening just slightly. You nodded and he let go completely.

“I’d like to see the bedroom,” He said evenly. As if it was a normal request; as if he hadn’t just tried to choked you out.

You gulped and nodded again, still struggling to find words. You motioned to the door behind him and he grabbed your upper arm, angling you out before him. You led him down the hallway and upstairs as he clung to you. You stopped before the door frame and pointed inside. Perhaps he was looking for money; maybe he thought you had a safe in there. 

“There isn’t much. A few pieces of jewelry I inherited. Maybe something in my husband’s sock drawer…”

“Go,” He pointed inside. You looked from him to the door. His expression was dangerous as he waited. You stepped inside and he followed you closely. The door shut behind him with a deafening click. “Is this where he fucks you?” He neared the bed, looking down at it as if appraising it, “Does he fuck you at all?” You were shocked by his question. Your hand went to your throat where the shadow of his fingers lingered and he turned back to you. He was grinning. “You haven’t tried to scream. Why’s that?”

You swallowed and cleared your throat. You could barely find your voice. “What do you want?”

“Not your ancient jewelry, don’t worry about that,” He glanced once more about the room. You peeked over your shoulder at the door and he chuckled. “I’ll catch you. And if you do find it in yourself to scream, I’ll just find something to gag you…” He walked to the dresser and slid open the top drawer, “Maybe these?” He held up a pair of pink panties you had been saving for a special occasion. Over a year now.

Your shoulders dropped and you sighed. His casual demeanour was unsettling. You watched as he pulled the elastic from his hair and dropped it on your dresser. He ran his fingers through his thick brown locks and turned to the window. “Do you think the neighbours would like a show? All these suburban housewives could use a little scandal.”

You looked down at your hands. They were shaking and clinging to the hem of your loose tee. “My husband will be home soon.”

“No, he won’t,” He spun back to you. “It’s Friday. He’ll be at the office till what? Eight, at least.” He crossed to the bed and sat at the foot. “Do you think he’s fucking someone else or is he really that much of a corporate schmo?”

He had asked the question you’d been refusing to ask for the last few month. You looked up at him with all the fury you had harboured towards Daniel. “What do you know?”

“I know that he’s never home. I know you kiss him goodbye every morning and he barely notices. I know you’re always here alone,” He ran his tongue over his lip, “Which is why I’m here.”

“I’d rather be alone,” You muttered.

“That’s the thing. I don’t care if you love him. I don’t care if you’d rather spend your life in this hellish suburbia,” He rubbed his thigh as he spoke, “I don’t even care if you want to fuck me, because it’s not your choice...It’s what’s good for you, even if you don’t know it yet.”

“I’ll call the cops,” You hissed.

“Go ahead, lots of women call them to cover up their affairs when their husbands find out,” He laughed darkly, “A housewife fucking the gardener isn’t uncommon. And Daniel, you think he’ll really believe you. ‘Some man came by and did the yard then he just forced himself on me...plausible, really.’” 

You stared at him silently, your eyes trailed down to his metal arm. Neither Daniel or the police would buy the whole man with the metal arm spiel, would they? 

“Come here.” He ordered suddenly, drawing you from your inner dialogue. You shakily stepped forward, your legs almost giving out. You were numb as you stopped before him and his eyes swept the length of your body. “Why don’t you go put on those panties?” He smiled, his fingers walking along your hip as he nodded to the adjoining bathroom, “You should wear them at least once.” He leaned back on his hands and stared up at you, “Just the panties.”

Your jaw squared and you slowly backed away. You crossed to the dresser and reached in the drawer to retrieve the same pink pair of panties. You bundled them up in your hand and glanced at him, hoping for some foolish reason that he would crack and call it all a joke. He didn’t. You hung your head and dragged yourself into the bathroom. You closed the door and undressed, scoffing at your own naivety. Why bother? You were just going to walk out in less than a napkin worth of clothing.

Your clothes were piled in the corner and you stared in the mirror. You pulled on the panties as you held your own gaze in the mirror. You didn’t know what made you more sad; that this was happening or the shell of your marriage as it shattered before you. In nothing but the hot pink lace, you opened the door and stepped out. An audible gasp escaped your lips as James laid across your bed naked. His arms were bent behind his head and his cock stood without shame.

“Ooh,” He tilted his head up to watch you enter, “You look nice.” He bit his lip, “Better than I imagined.”

You were tempted to cover yourself but everything felt so futile. He had you cornered. You couldn’t believe you had fallen for his whole act. Maybe something inside of you had wanted to believe he was honest. You wanted to be the housewife romanticizing her gardener but not truly acting on it. Thinking of him when Daniel touched you. Ha, when was the last time he did that?

“While I enjoy the view, I didn’t come here just to look,” James said. “Just right here.” He pointed between his spread legs. You walked over reluctantly and crawled up on the bed, on your knees as he had directed you. “Do you suck his cock?” He asked, his hand frame the base of his shaft.

You closed your eyes and answered quietly. “Yes.”

“Do you like it?” He prodded further.

You breathed out and forced your eyes open. You looked at him boldly. He had you at his every whim but he didn’t need to see you so weak. “No. But I haven’t had to worry about that lately.”

He nodded and thought, his tongue poking at his cheek from the inside. He pushed aside the pillows so that he laid entirely flat. “So, you don’t have to do that then. Panties off.” He patted his chest, “Up here, I guarantee you’ll enjoy this.”

Your heart clutched. You had only done that with Daniel a few times. He wasn’t really into that. Sure, he had gone down on you but he had lost vigour for that long ago and he hated when you were on top. You stared at this stranger in your husband’s place and the impatience flashed in his eyes. You moved as if your body was filled with sand. You tugged your panties off and he grabbed them from you, burying his nose in them as he watched you. He let the lacy underwear fall beside his head.

As you climbed over him, your knees on either side of his head, he helped you, hands on your hips as he guided you. He pulled you forward and down until you could feel his breath on your pussy. He flicked his tongue up along your folds and you gripped the headboard above him. He urged you lower until your legs were folded entirely. His mouth was snug to you as he began to lap, the sensation of his tongue made you shiver. You stared at the ring on your finger.

As the swirls began to ripple along your thighs, you moaned. The little noise marked your last nerve. The pleasure spilled over and you surrendered as you tilted your pelvis, grinding into his face as you longed for more. As you rocked your hips into his face, his hands gripped your thighs and yours slipped down to the waves of hair around his head. What were you doing? It didn’t matter; it felt so good.

Your head hung back and you chased the orgasm. You cried out as it grew closer and closer until finally it rung from you in a triumphant roar. You were panting, your pelvis slowed, and you dropped your head forward as you untangled your fingers from his hair. His blue eyes watched you and you shakily removed yourself from him. Your hand went to your forehead as the shame bloomed in your chest.

“Ah,” He sat up and caught your arm, “You don’t think that’s all, do you?” He licked his shiny lips exaggeratedly and pulled you to him. He sat against the headboard and drew you onto his lap. He gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance as you pushed on his shoulders, trying to keep yourself from him. “Fuck, girl, you’re a hell of rider. Don’t tell me you’re all tired out.”

He said the last word harshly as his hands moved to your hips and he forced you down. As he impaled you, a yelp escaped your throat. He smirked and continued to guide you, bottoming out with a growl. His metal hand trailed up your spine and his other gripped your hip, thumb pressing painfully on the bone. 

“Trust me,” His tone was low and sinister, “You don’t want me on top...Not right away..”

Your walls twitched around him and you hesitantly lifted your pelvis, sliding up and down his cock. His hand on your hip kept you moving and you let him lead you. Even so, it was your strength thrusting you up and down and a heat was building once more. He was bigger than Daniel. The thought sent a tremble through you but not one of guilt. It was pure lust. 

You looked down at his cock as you rode him; the sight made you murmur. He felt so good inside of you. You felt so full. Without thinking, you latched onto his shoulders and sped up. He groaned and his hands went to your tits, thumbs circling your nipples as he kneaded them.

“Your husband’s a fucking idiot,” He said duskily, “A fucking lucky idiot. If you were my wife, this would be us every--ugh--fucking---ugh, day,” His voice sputtered as you grinded on top of him, “All fucking day. I swear.”

You were breathing heavily as your hands slid down to his chest, palms flat to his firm pecks as you came a second time. You didn’t know if it was the rare touch of another or his words, but it had entirely undone you. This stranger wanted you more than your own husband. You didn’t have much time to ponder your confused orgasm as James’ hands were on your hips again and you were being tipped onto your back.

He never left you, instead he took the reins and thrust into you as you laid with legs bent around him. His knees came up around your ass as he fucked you relentlessly. He pushed his hands beneath your back and his fingers hooked around your shoulders as he held you down. He hammered into you as you let yourself whine. You were cumming again, tugging at your own hair as the storm swept you away.

“Fuck, I’m about to cum,” He rasped, “Fuck, fuck.” He pulled out, his warmth unraveling from around your body and you watched him sit back on his heels and cum on the duvet. Your chest rose and fell in tandem with his; deep, unnerving breaths. He smiled as he met your gaze, “I bet he won’t even notice.”

+

tags: @thepettyavenger @tuyetnhivo @thosecikinnn @glitterypinkkitty @thoughtlesstales @selinbaskaya @vitamingrant @lilithhellfire @bbyspiiice @blackpantherimagines @kweenkxtrina @heavenlyblyss @letsagomario @collette04 @secretlyactivated @xxm3xxj @roses-and-absinthe @asleep-amid-the-flowers @mrsbarneswillseeyounow @crownofrowan @sunstarskyhappiness @xxxelettaxxx @rainbowkisses31 @xdatbitch @quant-um-fizzx @peaceloveyesh @scarletlingeries @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @phoenix21love @momc95 @buckycaptspideypool @justballoonfishthings @ms-munchkin @whosmarisaaarw @thoughtlesstales @kxllyxnnx @calspixie @imdiegohargreeves @satinprincessxo @amethyst-the-thot @docharleythegeekqueen @iiqueer-vibesii @carol-damn-vers @l0rd-disick @jilldsumner @hufflebucky @lanabanana-86 @nerdypinupcrystal @notyourtypicalrose @pink1031 @agent-spidey @wassupbitchesssss @lucifersnipnips @thirstyforsomeyandere @stuckybarton @ruff-m3rc @heartbeats-wildly 

[oliviawhen]

Artist Interviews (2011) - Jon Klassen

Recently I got a request to repost the student email interviews I did with some established artists back on my blogspot in 2011. They really did help me, and I’m even more amazed now, than I was then that they took the time to reply. This is part 3/3 with illustrator Jon Klassen:

[Jon Klassen] is an illustrator who trained as an animator (and still does animation.) I'm currently thoroughly looking forward reading “I want my hat back” as his other children’s books have been so lovely.

Interview

1) What sort of medium or programs to you use for your work?

It varies on the subject and how complex the final picture might end up being. these days i try and start with a messy media, like ink or charcoal, something that will give me accidents, and i make component parts of the picture with that. i either scan or photograph those pieces, then assemble them digitally. working on them digitally afterwards can get very involved if i wasn't very sure how they were going to be used or if something interesting happened while the pieces were getting made. i like this stage very much. it's kind of like film editing.

2) What are some of your favorite websites/magazines/books/publications for inspiration?

I like to look at photographs a lot instead of other illustrations. for illustrators this is better, i find, because you're not looking at somebody else's solutions to problems. unprofessional photos are best because they usually don't care so much about composition or anything as they do getting what it is they want in the picture, which is great for you because you start to think about how you would stage things in an interesting way. i like older photos mostly, cause the colors are always a little washed out and not so sharp. a good starting place for those kinds of pictures is squareamerica.com

3) What was your favorite professional assignment that you've ever done?

I am working on kids book illustration right now, and i don't know if it's just because it's a switch from what i was doing for many years (i worked at big animation studios before this) but i'm enjoying it the most. i like the simple ones best, even though the illustrations might not be as impressive to do. i wrote my very first one and illustrated it this year, and it's called 'i want my hat back' and it comes out in the fall. i don't know if it's my best work, but i enjoyed making it more than most of the things i've worked on in the past few years.

4) Your style is really distinctive and eye catching, has it always been that way?

Thank you! i don't think i'm in a great position to judge it, really - i still see a lot of inconsistencies when i look at my work altogether, but i'm glad you think it fits together somehow. i think style has to do mainly with what you're choosing to think about and what you don't want to think about (maybe that second one more importantly) - the more i do pictures for myself, the more i start to learn what an idea actually is to me. i think thats a big step - when you're learning all this stuff, it all seems so grandly conceptual and you feel like you're just learning the tools, but once you sort of figure out how a small idea that you like can be pulled apart and extrapolated and made to be a satisfying thing for yourself, you're sort of set free and you stop worrying about technique so much and you just want to make ideas that you like and follow them where they go. the great part about that is that you don't feel like it's ending anywhere - it goes as far as you want to follow it.

5) What sort of process do you have? Do you work on many pieces at once or one at a time?

I try to only work on one thing at a time, but it never seems to work out that way. maybe that's a luxury you work up to - but i'm not sure it's a totally harmful thing to put a project down midway and go do something else. i used to think it was hokey when people said they wanted to let an idea 'percolate' or whatever, but just by the necessity of getting work done, i've found it's actually a very real thing and it can improve your work quite a bit.

6) What do you do when you can't come up with ideas? How do you manage stress?

I'm learning more and more not to hold onto things so tightly - sometimes it's hard because you want to do good work but there isn't enough time or you don't like the subject, and i've certainly done things i don't like now - that still stresses me out. but i think it's important to not see any of your work as a 'legacy' or anything like that - the more you look at it like a local problem with a solution, the more you can focus on that rather than on yourself doing it or how good you might be at it that day. also i take very long showers.

7) How do you advertise yourself/get work? What have you found to work best for you?

i'm still finding out if this is as true in book illustration as it is for animation, but the best thing that's worked for me is to collaborate as much as you can, early on. you'll find out what parts of a project you like best, and the results will always be different than something you've done on your own. more interestingly, though, is that the people you work with, if you choose them for the right reasons, always end up having other things to do that you want to do too, and it becomes this really great organic thing. it sounds luxurious to say 'only work with people you like' because of course you can't always, but when you're starting out and stakes aren't as high as they might be later, if you have the choice between working with someone you like and who excites you or something you know is just to get on the record, go with the more interesting one. an interesting project will travel around and get you more work than a hundred boring ones for big places that you get paid for.

8) Do you have a time that you prefer to work? Night? Morning?

In school i was a night worker, but since then i sort of enjoy having daytime work hours and keeping the same schedule as people with jobs. of course if something needs to get done, all that scheduling falls apart and you just go until it's done, but that gets rarer, i think, as you get better at managing your time.

9) Is your personal work particularly different from your professional work?

No, not really. the work i do for books and commercials and things will vary based on the topic and the tone that's needed, and even though i think i'm switching it up, there always seems to be some common ingredients. i never really had a huge interest in personal work past things that i could only call 'assignments to myself' - i've always liked solving work problems that are brought to me rather than express anything i'm feeling that day. Although, i will say that more i do this work, the more i find that how you're feeling that day or that week or that month comes across in your professional work whether you want it to or not. I don't mind that when i see it happening, but i have a hard time using it as a starting point for making something.

10) What's the best advice you would give a student aspiring to work as an illustrator?

Work on ideas you honestly like, that are valid to you. your responses to things, your way of receiving a problem and turning it over in your head, before you ever put anything down on paper, is the best currency you have. all your style and technique can come out of that, and should be secondary to that. that doesn't mean you can't have things that you use a lot - sometimes things last a very long time in your head before you're done exploring in there. but try always to start with something in the topic you genuinely have a crush on.

If you haven’t, consider reading all of his books! They’re thrilling. You can find him on Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr.

[eloqtions]

flower hands

sugakookie; witches petals extra

 “i think you’re sorta part of the crew now.”

yoongi doesn’t feel disappointment all that much. things come and go, and he’s never felt a need to be overly let down by something but jungkook – jungkook:

he’s a different case.

with jungkook, there’s been countless snapped wires and broken filaments from a beginning that began without a start but over time it’s happened less and soon, dare he say, jungkook’s been a little too daring. sometimes, he’d fall into a distress when jungkook wouldn’t have to change lightbulbs at the prospect of things getting a little heated. jungkook would be less flustered and yoongi – sometimes – more than him. he had only been in a handful of relationships that filtered in and out loving and liking but this time, everything shifted into head-on, blind-eyed.

sometimes, hoseok would invite himself to his apartment and nose around for every sign left of jungkook. his shoes, perfume, shirt – anything he can sniff out and he shouldn’t feel the need to explain but it’s there. that small warmth that curls around in his stomach and all yoongi can see is a smile engrained in the folds of his brain. it’s awfully difficult hiding things from the others and it just happens so that one event leads to another and eventually, time has given space to cherry blossoms and spring blooms and The Day.

jungkook bustles around weeks before, hair in a perpetual state of askew yoongi would brush away. And sometimes, he would be neglected in favour of jungkook’s babies (which has yoongi in a state of offence) but all is well and good and if it could be possible, yoongi falls even deeper into a song of flowers and witches.

like this, magic manifests in jungkook even without cauldrons and potions.

the witch keeps him on his toes, all warm and inviting after days of sitting in front of pixeled screens and paper articles. he makes yoongi instant coffee from age-old sachets from the back of the storeroom and sings overplayed pop songs from the radio he hates.

(yoongi loves it actually and jungkook has a voice (and the face) pretty enough to be one of those idols he sees on tv.) (he sees jungkook getting the looks and notes the business cards stuffed in the front pocket of his apron.)

“can you pass me the small pruner from over there?” it’s one of yoongi’s free days and he finds himself at the shop a day before hoseok’s wedding. he nods even though jungkook can’t see and shuffles over to the rack with a plethora of gardening tools he’s never seen before. well he has, but he’s never put them to good use.

yoongi scratches at his nape dumbly. “uh…” there’s an unimpressed look boring into his back, he can feel it.

“it’s the one that looks like you can cut wires with,” jungkook throws over his shoulder, the words coming out in an incoherent jumble with stems pressed to his mouth.

yoongi rifles through the rack before holding out an apparatus he can’t recognise. jungkook frowns, eyebrows scrunched cutely.

“no.”

“no?”

“nope. not at all. completely wrong,” jungkook says, setting the tools aside and removing the stems. “i’ll go and get it so stay here and look hot or something,” he says, offhand and yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up. “you’re good at that.”

“i didn’t know you thought of my looks that highly,” yoongi answers wryly, sinking into the barstool and jungkook shoots him a dry, embarrassed look.

“shush.” he balks faintly and moves to the racks before picking up the pruner with ease. the male turns and waves it in his direction. “this is what it looks like, hyung. for, y’know, future reference.”

“mhm,” yoongi hums and swirls the mug in his hand.

“ah, i have a question –” jungkook starts and fiddles with the flowers uneasily, “have you told your friends… about us? maybe?”

yoongi startles before placing the mug on the counter. “they’ve probably figured it out already,” he shrugs and jungkook purses his lips. “by ‘they’ i mean jimin and hoseok.”

“should i… i don’t know –? introduce myself properly and all before – “

“it’s fine,” yoongi cuts in, “they unnecessarily blow things out of proportion so they can find out when they do. it’s about you and me, anyways.”

“i guess,” jungkook mutters and holds the marigolds close to his nose.

 .

.

.

 there’s flowers and ribbons and an ice sculpture in a room full of people and crystal champagne flutes; hoseok and jimin are in the middle of all of it. it’s a small affair, mostly their close friends and family but this extravagance is unprecedented with the whole hall decked out in colorful petals and decorations alike. yoongi stands to the side, collar too stiff against his neck while jungkook floats around – settling and checking with a pencil tucked behind his ear and an apron stuffed messily in his blazer pocket.

“this is nice.” namjoon sidles up next to him looking anything but, hands folded and jacket pressed so stiffly it looks wrong. yoongi snorts before taking a glass to hand to the younger. “why am i here again?”

“you look like you could find someone and this is a good place to start,” yoongi sips on his wine amused while his eyes follow his boyfriend’s movements. “you can figure out the rest yourself.”

namjoon sighs, tilting his head. “yeah i’m just gonna stand here and hope someone decides i’m worthy enough for a conversation i guess – “

“hyung?” there’s a tap on his shoulder and he turns to see jungkook a little red-faced and unsettled. “who’s this?”

“ah, is this your…” namjoon laughs. punk.

“shut up.”

“– i didn’t say anything.”

jungkook’s eyes flitter back and forth, confused.

“this is namjoon – he’s hoseok’s colleague that needs help in finding someone that’s not a book,” yoongi snakes an arm around jungkook’s waist, holding him a bit closer. “this is jungkook and he’s mine so you don’t try any moves on him.”

jungkook smacks yoongi on the shoulder lightly before holding out a business card from one of his many pockets. “i’m jeon jungkook and the florist for this wedding; you can ignore him,” jungkook’s flushed, the chandeliers fading weakly and that has yoongi chuckling. “– he’s being embarrassing.”

namjoon suppresses his laughter, eyes easy as he looks at the two of them and jungkook is so red, it’s amazing. “thanks, i’ll keep that in mind but i’ll just… go. you two can – “

“you don’t have to,” jungkook blurts, glaring at The Boyfriend. “i’m just going to check up on the last of the flowers.”

“ah, they look beautiful – i suppose you take good care of all of them?”

that makes jungkook’s smile widen. “i try. and i can also introduce you to taehyung-hyung if you don’t mind! he managed a lot of the ones near the entrance and i think you might like him- them.”

yoongi hums next to him. smooth.

“that might be – would that be okay?” namjoon asks and jungkook nods viciously.

“of course! i’m sure he’d like to meet people who appreciates them,” he looks over at yoongi, “right, hyung?”

“sure,” yoongi answers, not quite sure why jungkook asked. the younger grins and moves away waving elatedly as he’s listing off that he’ll be getting taehyung soon enough.

“he’s- you and him. you two are cute together,” namjoon looks more relaxed after the conversation, happier and yoongi supposes it’s the way jungkook can make people feel more comfortable. his presence is a peacemaker of sorts.

yoongi shrugs but he can feel himself begin to smile. “yeah, he’s cute.”

“you look more settled, happier than before,” namjoon says and eats the whole square of cream cheese and cucumber sandwich in one bite. “which is a good thing, might i add. it’s nice to see you like this even though we’re not that close as friends – i mean he looks like he could make you more relaxed and by the look of you right now,” he chuckles, “he’s doing a good job.”

“worry about yourself, joon,” yoongi snickers, well meaning.

soon, jungkook comes back with taehyung; this time without a pencil behind his ear and an apron that is no longer on. jungkook goes through a round of introductions and namjoon, in just a little while, looks completely smitten with taehyung. jungkook and yoongi then leave the two of them alone next to the ice sculpture, talking animatedly with shy smiles and flushed faces.

“yoongi-hyung!” jungkook startles, jerking up from his place on yoongi’s shoulder. yoongi shoots the perpetrator a pointed look as jungkook looks around frantically.

“what.”

“who’s this?” jimin asks softly with a smile so large he can feel jungkook start to shrink beside him.

“my boyfriend,” he says casually, picking up a drink to hand to the younger on a passing tray. “is there anything else you needed? hoseok’s over there waiting for you.”

“i’m jeon jungkook – and you’ve seen me before i think but i’m here formally as his boyfriend and your florist.” jungkook bows a little and jimin follows, slightly meeker than before. “i hope you like it since i haven’t gotten the chance to ask you two. yoongi-hyung picked it out but still i just wanted to ask either of you.”

jungkook produces two small bracelets from his pocket and yoongi peeks over for a look. “i made this for you two as service but i’m not exactly sure of your favorite flowers…”

“oh,” jimin says faintly, taking it gently in his hands. he runs his fingers across the soft petals and its sweet fragrance percolates on yoongi’s fingers when jimin hands it to him. they feel like gold in his hands, heavy in beauty and weight; he’s never doubted jungkook in his abilities to produce floral ornaments but he finds himself surprised each time. “it looks beautiful, along with everything else here. just- thank you so much for all of it.”

jungkook’s grip on yoongi’s arm tightens. “it’s no problem, that’s the most important part so i’m really glad that you do, jimin-ssi.”

“call me jimin-hyung, it’s perfectly fine,” jimin grins, “i think you’re sorta part of the crew now.”

“is he now?” yoongi cuts in, amused. jungkook laughs and adjusts yoongi’s boutonniere, his breath tickling the sides of his face.

“there’s so much to tell you jungkook-ie! you probably don’t know about these awful habits he has but i believe i’ve made my job to do just that, so if you ever want to meet up over coffee or something, ask yoongi for my number and text me. there were a couple of pictures from when he had this terrible hair – “

“i think that’s enough,” yoongi steers jungkook away, “your husbands over there looking lonely – “

“of course, that’d be so great,” jungkook nods, smiling teasingly in the direction of the elder. anything to hear about yoongi’s past sounds like a good idea (and he would like to see these pictures).

“should i be worried?” yoongi mutters in disbelief.

“i mean, it’s not all bad and hoseok’s gonna be there too so twice the stories – nothing to be worried about, hyung,” he gives jimin a look, “it’s not too bad. honestly.”

yoongi sighs before waving him away.

“– also the piano’s free for the next hour,” jimin suggests before walking off, but not before giving jungkook a small bow. “i mean, if you want to.”

“you play?”

yoongi shakes his head. “only a little, i’m rusty.”

“can i hear you play?” jungkook looks at him with eyes as wide as saucers. yoongi can feel something in him stutter and fuck –

“yeah. if you sing.”

jungkook pauses, purses his lips, furrows his eyebrows. “but i’m not even that good and i sing in the shower, not in public or anything. like, in front of people. this many people.”

“you sing in front of me, don’t you?”

“you don’t count.”

“i don’t?”

“no. you’re one person and you’re my boyfriend so obviously, i’m comfortable enough to sing in front of you – “

“you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” yoongi says gently, and brushes a piece of hair from jungkook’s forehead. “it’s okay.”

“i might just - if i know the lyrics i could…”

yoongi hums.

 .

.

.

 “i don’t think you know what rusty means,” jungkook says. the carpark’s cold and the younger’s wrapped up in a thick coat and scarf, still shivering from the biting morning wind. it’s two and the lobby is crowded with people trying to say their goodbye’s; the two of them escaped first.

“i was better before. i’m out of practice nowadays,” yoongi turns the engine on and twists the knob to the highest setting before shutting the door.

he reverses out onto the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other linked loosely to the younger’s hand.

they drive with a radio turned quiet with late-night early-morning mixes of songs yoongi can barely recognise but jungkook hums along. he pulls up at jungkook’s apartment complex and neither can bring themselves to get out of the car.

“thanks for driving me home and everything,” jungkook breathes out, fidgeting with the seatbelt.

“anytime,” he turns the heat lower and he thinks about today, and jungkook, and all that he has to learn again from things he already knows. but it’s worth it, he sees all and a lot of things might be bad ideas so –

he leans over and kisses jungkook soft before saying:

“goodnight.”

(and yoongi decides to not tell jungkook about how his indicator flashed violently after he left the car)