Sort of NaNo: Day 7

I never can seem to resist the first week of NaNoWriMo. I know I’m too busy. I know Nov/Dec are the BUSIEST baking months of the year. But I love all the writer-centric energy, and I found a lovely prompt a day list like #Inktober, but for writing, and since I’m on a prompt a day habit anyways, might as well get some writing done, right? I don’t have a story in mind, but I’m gonna unofficially track my word count, just to see what I get up to these days. A funsy NaNo, cause I can’t stand to be left out apparently. πŸ˜› So here’s my prompts, feel free to follow along/use these as jumpstarts for slow days. My Tumblr is also good for inspiration and/or reminders to go write.

Aloe Vera, Day 7: 651 words/November Total: 3184 words

β€œI’m sunburned! How the heck did I get sunburned?”

Zig lay on the couch, well, draped on the couch, sort of. More like, hand and arm and part of his belly and maybe most of one leg on the couch. Jules really needed a bigger couch. But that was the least of his concerns right now. Zig was completely and thoroughly preoccupied with with not letting anything touch his back.

β€œNo! No no no no no no!”

If he could have moved, he’d have run right the fuck away when Jules came out of the kitchen with a wet towel. The best he could manage was a sort of wincing half-flinch, but even moving that much made him nauseous.

β€œZig, witch girlfriend. Show some trust and reap the benefits.”

She took his whimper as a yes, and knelt by his side with a jar that smelled like cactus drink. Cooling relief spread through him, both from the goop on his back and Jules’ hand on his forehead. Yeah, witchy girlfriend benefits indeed. Feeling less sick, he turned his face to her, giving her a weak smile.

β€œThanks babe. I still can’t believe I got sunburned.”

Jules gave him a flat look. He was getting used to that look. That β€œoh you sweet lovable moron you have got to be kidding me” look. But just because he knew what it was didn’t mean he understood it.

β€œWhat? I never sunburn.”

β€œYou never yatch for 6 hours, either. Didn’t Remy wear sunscreen?”

Zig blinked at her. β€œWell, yeah.”

β€œAnd he offered you some, I presume.”

Zig nodded, then winced again as the still untreated back of his neck burned. Jules’ hand traveled up, bringing soothing relief. Her touch was gentle, but her eyes said she wanted to strangle him.

β€œAnd what made you think you didn’t need any?”

β€œWell. I’m Mexican.”

Jules just stared at him.

β€œWhat? I am. I’ve never needed sunscreen–”

β€œYou’ve never been on a yatch, either! You were surrounded by waterβ€”reflective, sparkly waterβ€”without any cover! Gods, Zig, you’re so, so—”

β€œLovable?”

β€œRidiculous!”

β€œThat too.” He grinned, strained his face forward for a kiss, but drew back with renewed pain. The cooling gel had gone hot, almost instantly. Crap. β€œHey, uh, could you calm down a bit? The whole angry-red sunburn and angry-red temper thing seem to be resonating.”

β€œOh! Sorry.”

Jules laid the towel over him then leaned back, disconnecting her magic from the plants. The aloe would do its job well enough without her, and her sympathies weren’t exactly feeling Zig sympathetic right now.

Once again in a state of blissful relief, Zig gave Jules apologetic eyes.

β€œI’m sorry, babe. You know how I get around beautiful men.”

She sighed, but a soft smile was touching her lips. β€œI know, dumbass. That’s your excuse for the sunburn, now how do you explain the stupid Mexican comment?”

β€œBwah?” He really didn’t follow. He knew she knew he wasn’t white, so what even? She gave him a what even look right back.

β€œZig, you can’t be serious. You know everyone has the potential to sunburn, don’t you?” His eyes widened, and hers rolled. β€œBesides, you’re hardly β€œmexican” in skin tone. Your pasty butt hasn’t seen the sun in what, how many years?”

β€œI sun….”

β€œNot enough, night owl. No more sun for you, without sunscreen, yeah?”

β€œOk love.”

She kissed his forehead, and he beamed up at her, then oozed back into the couch. β€œI’mma sleep off my sun hang-over down here, yeah?”

β€œOh yeah.” She paused on the stairs, hip cocked at what he knew she had to know was in irresistible angle. β€œYou’re too gooey for my bed.”

Zig face-planted into the couch with a groan that didn’t quite cover the sound of Jules’ laugh.

 

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