#arlo weather

[blackuigryphonvr]

Battling Arlo in The Snow ❄️ [UNCUT]

[its-in-the-woods]

Knife's Edge - Part 1 Johnny's Bar

~* @dichromaniac co-writer/editor *~

Chapter is 8.9k long!

Minors exit/block. Neither of us are responsible for you being here/reading this.

Pairing: Boyd Crowder/Raylan Givens, Ava Crowder/Boyd Crowder

Warnings?: Dinking/alcohol, knife kink, Blood/injury, hand job, blow job, alternative universe, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Canon Divergence, Closeted,

Summary: Boyd punctuates his statement with the gun, bruising Raylan's torso with the thrusts of the weapon. “You're the same angry young man who left, only difference is you ain't so young anymore.”

Please note... Tag will not spoil anything.. so you've been pre-warned. Canon typical violence/alcohol/swearing/sex etc. Also Canon divergence as this AU.

There will be multiple different ships not mentioned in tags, canon and not canon. As well as various characters from the seasons. Much love <3

The wheels of Raylan's black Lincoln screech to a stop, digging divots into the parking lot, shrouded by plumes of dust. He doesn't waste the time to take the keys out of the ignition, slamming the car door and striding to the weather-beaten porch of Johnny's Place. Raylan throws open the door and the bar is momentarily illuminated around Raylan's stretched shadow before plunging back into a timeless, weary yellow. 

“Boyd,” his shout half covered by the slam of the door back into its shaky jamb. “I know you're in here. You and I are due for a conversation.”

From out of a recessed hallway, Boyd appears, hands raised by his ears, and a well practiced mask of polite pleasantness gracing his face. “Well Raylan Givens, normally I'd suppose you're here to accuse me of involvement in some malfeasance, but seeing how you've recently seen all my sins laid bare, one does wonder to what purpose you darken my doorstep.”

Raylan rolls his eyes at the thesaurus of bullshit coming out of Boyd’s mouth. ‘You know, if you used that mouth for something other than horse shit. You might actually make something out of yourself.”

Boyd lets out a small huff of laughter, as he slides onto one of the bar stools. One hand on his thigh and the other resting against the polished bar. “May I interest you in some of our finest brew?” 

Raylan snorts but he moves his hand off his gun, walking over to stand closer to Boyd. The spiky haired man looked much too relaxed for his liking. “I know what you did Boyd.” 

“Oh? And what may I ask, are you accusing me of now, Raylan?” Boyd puts particular emphasis on his name, his fingers swirling along the bar. 

Raylan groans, finally giving in and leaning against the bar. Briefly pondering the thought of having something to drink, but no, this was a business call after all and he didn’t want to get caught up in whatever yarn Boyd was spinning. “Boyd, you know full well that Arlo didn’t do half the things he said he did.” 

The anger bubbles up now, he can feel it pulling on the collar of his button up. Why he doesn’t just shoot Boyd right where that smug asshole sits is beyond him. 

The corners of Boyd's eyes and mouth twitch before falling slack. The rest of his body follows suit, his rigid posture giving way to a slumped exhaustion. Raylan's eyes follow the disappearing tension in Boyd's neck until it disappears under the collar of his white shirt. Raylan wonders what it would look like to see that wave of motion unobscured. He's struck with the image of a snake shedding its skin. 

“Raylan,” Boyd's voice is barely above a whisper and Raylan tilts his head as Boyd stalks closer, “my opinions on the matter don't hold a candle to Uncle Sam's facts.” Shifting mercurially, Boyd claps his hands, loudly and deliberately next to Raylan's ear. In a flash, he jumps up on the bartop, swings his legs towards the tap wall and leaps down, narrowly missing the well, landing with more agility than Raylan would have given him credit for. 

Raylan feels his right eyebrow betraying him, cocking upwards in interested appreciation. “This ain't between you and the Marshals, the Feds, the locals, the goddamn Dixie Mafia nor Wayne Duffy neither.” Raylan turns and slams both hands onto the bartop, framing Boyd's distant figure.”This is between you and me.” Raylan moves one hand off the polished, warping wood and brings it to his belt.

Boyd’s eyes widen and he reaches for the small of his back. The shiny flash of metal in Raylan's hand hits the counter before Boyd can get a grip on the handle of his .45. Raylan's a quick draw, but Boyd's eyes are faster and when he sees the hateful familiar shape of a Marshal’s star, he turns towards his right, as if the attempt to pull his weapon was only a twist of his body to reach a fresh bottle of bourbon. 

“Seriously Boyd?” Raylan's anger shifts to exasperation and he rolls his eyes. “You thought you were gonna fool me with that little dance move? You're better than that.”  Raylan's voice drops, weighted by the anger he brought in with him, the anger he carries always. “Put it on the bar, son. I'm not in a mood to ask you twice.”

Boyd scoffs, neck tilted back so far the tips of his hair brush his spine. He reaches for two glasses with his free hand and sets them along with the bottle next to Raylan. “I do still believe we have a second amendment right here in Kentucky, and seeing as how you're here officially as a private citizen, one who has aggressively and persistently threatened not only my body, but the well being of those whom I deem near-and-dear, you'll understand my apprehension at being unarmed in your presence.”

“You're infuriating, you know that, right?” Raylan sighs. There's a bottle of Jim at his left elbow, a Colt on his right hip and Boyd Crowder standing between the two. Raylan is paralyzed between the paths that lay before him, a literal fork in the road he can no longer delay. “Have you ever, even once, considered living a life that means you don't have to conceal a weapon on you at all times?”

“I don't know Raylan, have you?” Boyd quips, sharp and quick. He takes advantage of Raylan's surge of anger to walk the short distance through the back bar door back to the stools where Raylan is perched. He takes in the stretched skin around Raylan's eyes where they're threatening to bulge out of his skull, his body weight dropping off the left side of the stool, ready to stand at a moment's notice. Raylan may be able to fool everyone else, but Boyd recognizes the anxiety in his form, unchanged over the long years since he first recognized the signs.

“A show of good faith then.” Boyd reaches for his gun a second time, slowly. Raylan's eyes track every movement, Raylan's eyes grow impossibly wider the closer Boyd's hand get to his belt. Boyd draws the gun out of his waistband and immediately empties the mag and the chamber in fluid, practiced movements before setting it on the counter between them.

Raylan shifts slightly in his seat as he watches the man unload his weapon. The twinge in his stomach making him sit up a little straighter, “If you’re asking me to do the same-”

“I am not asking for anything Raylan,” Boyd cuts him off pouring them both three fingers of Jim. “I am showing you I am not looking for a fight. At least not one where we end up with holes in us, not that you've ever shown any withhold in regards to shooting me.”

Raylan’s tongue pushes at the inside of his mouth, jaw clenching at being cut off. He takes a sip of the drink, the burn warming him as much as his boiling anger. His eyes fixate on the man standing beside him, unloaded gun between them. The silence hangs in the room like coal dust, both fine and thick.

“I was fully prepared to go back into the cell that you love to see me in,” Boyd speaks, looking at the neon sign behind the bar. “I would never have asked Arlo to take the fall for anything that had been done by my hand. But, as you know full well, Arlo isn’t one to be argued with. Your father has treated me better than anyone has right too.”

Raylan takes another sip of the drink, the thought of decking Boyd over his words flickering over his mind. He remembers seeing the man with blood dripping down his nose, him spitting on the ground. Raylan swallows at the twitch in his stomach, his hands itching to grab something, anything that will stop the spiral from creeping over him, dragging him down. 

“Raylan, I know you don’t have many kind words for me. But I am hoping we can converse over this problem without guns,” Boyd says, turning to look at Raylan holding the glass loosely in his hand. He sets it down, moving slightly closer to Raylan, his eyes watching the other man intensely. 

Raylan isn't focused, maybe it’s the alcohol dulling his senses, or the fact Boyd was close enough he can smell stale cigarette smoke and fresh bourbon on the man. He's distracted by the way Boyd’s ever shifting eyes locked on his, his tongue wetting his lips. Then the knife is on his throat, a blade that Boyd keeps tucked under the bar for ease of use, now up against Raylan's neck. 

Each galloping thrum of Raylan's pulse in his carotid threatens to pull the sharp steel deeper into the soft flesh and muscle of his neck. Subconsciously, Raylan twitches into the blade, daring Boyd to finish this never ending waltz between them. It would be fitting to die here, under Boyd's steady hands, throat slit open like the first hog of the season. 

Boyd tsks, eyes spinning under the spell of Raylan's exposed underbelly. Boyd drags his eyes up from the blade to meet Raylan's, his gaze dark with anger, the first warm notes of alcoholic intoxication and familiar challenge. “I told you I was loathe to be unarmed in your presence, Raylan Givens.” His mouth wraps around the name like melting chocolate. “If I was a betting man, I'd say you were slipping.” Boyd drags the knife up, microscopic flakes of dead skin and prickly tips of five o’clock shadow falling like snowflakes onto the shoulder of Raylan's suit jacket.

“Are you happy now? Feel like you've won something?” Raylan’s tongue stumbles over the words as Boyd’s knife wedges into the hollow under his jaw. “You have it all, don't you? Your daddy's little drug empire, your brother's wife, your… My… Arlo’s approval.” Raylan moves, quick-draw reflexes crackling to wrap long fingers around Boyd's wrist, pressing the knife in deeper. “There ain't a damn thing in this world you have, Boyd, that didn't belong to someone else first.”

Raylan pulls the blade away, a single thread of crimson gilding the edge. Raylan twists his grip, Boyd's wrist bending almost to the breaking point and he catches the falling knife with his other hand before it can clatter to the floor. He spins the handle between his fingers, not as familiar as the weight of a gun, but an old habit, easy to fall back into. He presses the steel against Boyd's face, tip of the blade centimeters below the outside of Boyd's eye, resting against the prominence of his cheekbone. Raylan reaches for his bourbon, takes another heavy pull from the glass. 

Boyd’s eyes whirl, always assessing. “There was one thing, once,” he whispers. “And if everything else I came across is a hand-me-down, well that seems fitting for a place like Harlan. She never lets anything go, after all.” He leans forward into the edge, his skin splitting, threads of blood binding together, a mockery of a sacred pact. “Just like you.”

Raylan's face sets in a hard line, the pop of his jaw visible as he sets his glass down. The small drop of blood slides down Boyd’s face, and Raylan wonders what it tastes like. His eyes follow it down along Boyd’s cheek. Raylan’s free hand pulls his gun out quick enough that Boyd tenses, eyes fluttering closed for a second as he places it down on the counter. 

“You think I haven’t let you go?” Raylan spits out at him, trying his damndest not to let his voice crack. “You, Boyd Crowder, the thorn in my side, I can’t let you go ‘cause you keep crawling back.”

He leans the blade in, dragging slightly down around Boyd’s cheek along the five o’clock shadow, coarse hairs pushing out of tanned skin. Raylan's eyes track the small drop of blood running down the indent the steel made. The two of them a breath away, a sharp edge kissing Boyd’s face and a gun thrust against Raylan’s side. 

“You are getting sloppy, Lawman,” Boyd grins, his tongue running over his teeth, the click of the gun echoing against Raylan’s ears. Raylan moves back a hair to see his own gun pressing into his guts. “Are you getting sloppy Raylan, or did you want to be here? Wanted to see if I would put a gun against you and pull the trigger. Give you an actual reason to shoot me, that’s what you want Raylan? This isn’t about your Daddy. This is about you, you and me. It always was Raylan, ever since we dug coal together. You saying I crawled back? You left Raylan Givens. You left all of this. And you could leave any time, go back to Florida. But now you’re standing in my bar, on my turf, trying to threaten me.”

Raylan grinds his teeth looking right at the man who was holding the gun, the knife seeming impotent. He could be fast, take a swipe at Boyd's face, maybe he would drop the gun, but chances are Raylan would end up with the hole in his side. Instead he steps forward leaning his body in against Boyd’s.   

Raylan’s breath echoes across Boyd's skin, reverberating back into his lungs, bourbon and guilt with the added flavors of fresh copper and stale coal dust that lives in the hollow spaces of Boyd's bones that Raylan has never been able to shake the flavor of from his memory. “You’re the one with a gun diggin’ into my guts, after you demanded a civilized conversation. You're a liar, Boyd, always have been, and I'm done expecting you to change.” 

Raylan moves closer, the knife opening the wound another fraction of depth, digging in deeper. “You promised me you'd changed, but here we are, filling this god forsaken bar with more bloodshed.”

Boyd moves his gun hand with Raylan's step, the barrel notched tight into the space between his ribs. “What would you have me be, Raylan? Another one of your pretty damsels, waiting for a knight in shining Stetson and boots that have never kicked shit?” Boyd turns his face, the knife sliding to the edge of his ear. “It's not in my nature to wait to be rescued. I'm going to get what's mine and you and I both know that'll never be found in the bottom of a mine shaft.” He matches Raylan's step, moving forward, their chests pressing together, Boyd’s knee slides between Raylan's thighs, their waltz morphing into a dangerous tango. 

“I could've helped you.” Raylan shifts uncomfortably at Boyd's intrusion into his space. Heat that has nothing to do with bourbon or rage flushes his face. “We could've left together, all those years ago. You could've been free of this mess. Be someone…”

Raylan trails off. For all the words they exchange, there's some that stick in Raylan's heart, never able to escape out into his throat. He wonders if the shape of them died the day the mine collapsed around them, buried under tonnes of grief and fear. 

“Be what, Raylan?” Boyd digs the gun in deeper. “College boy like you should use your words,” Boyd’s volume rises steadily until he's shouting, pressing his thigh in deeper, their hip bones clanging together like shell and clapper of a shift change bell. “We weren't ever going to be anything or anyone but what we are. I thought for a time I could change, but I've wisened up to the notion that no one ever changes, and that includes you.”

Boyd punctuates his statement with the gun, bruising Raylan's torso with the thrusts of the weapon. “You're the same angry young man who left, only difference is you ain't so young anymore.”

The pressure behind Raylan's eyes breaks, he's unable to hold back the thunderstorm that's been building for years. “Fuck you, Boyd,” Raylan hisses and brings the knife to the edge of his tightly buttoned collar, sliding the edge against the thread holding the top button fast to the white starched fabric. “You don't know everything about me.”

Raylan hears Boyd’s jaw click as the button clatters to the floor. His eyes flash down at the sound of it giving Raylan a moment to use his free hand to twist the gun out from his ribs, and move his body, pinning Boyd to the counter. The gun hits the floor with a clatter and Boyd’s breath knocks out of him with a whoosh. Raylan moves the knife with practiced ease, popping another button. Boyd shifts his weight so that they are pressed together, the thin edge of the knife the only distance between them. 

“I don’t know you?” Boyd smiles, the same smile that caught Raylan’s attention when they were both just kids. Boyd’s hands wrap around Raylan’s wrist holding the knife. “If I don’t know you, why are you here, desecrating the floor of my bar with my shirt buttons?

Raylan tips his head down trying not to meet the man’s eyes as the knife flicks another button off the starched stiff white shirt. 

“Don’t you fuckin dare hide behind your oversized hat.” Boyd tsks, his free hand pushes the hat up so he can look right at Raylan. They're frozen, looking at each other. Their faces may now have lines, gray hair popping out here and there, but underneath the accumulated years, they are still those two teenagers stuck down a mine shaft, alone in the dark with only each other's company against the warm call of death. 

Boyd is taken aback when Raylan moves first, their lips cracking together as the knife clatters to the floor. Boyd’s frozen in place as he feels the other man’s body push hard against his. How many times has he thought about this exact moment? How many times has he wanted to cross this line since Raylan's ignominious return? A line they’d only crossed once when they thought they were dead and buried under their mother soil. Something neither of them had spoken of since, a sin left unspoken in her bosom.

Then Boyd moves, hand coming up to rub against the scruffy stubble that made his stomach twitch. Heat building as he kisses Raylan, tongue pushing against lips and teeth. It's a rough scramble, they are both trying to take the upper hand and unrelenting to let the other in. Raylan has a slight advantage having pinned Boyd to the counter, but Boyd shifts, pulling at the bottom of Raylan’s shirt. 

There's little difference, Boyd understands from his position under Raylan, between the clatter of teeth and straining muscle of tongues from their usual violent confrontations. At least now they're being honest with each other. Boyd tugs at Raylan's shirt hem, desperately grasping at the layers Raylan wears like a mask, he should know. If anyone knows how to wear clothes like armor and expectation, it's Boyd.

Raylan pulls away first, resting his forehead against Boyd's, the sides of their noses pressed together, breath and blood surging together. Boyd's fingers dance along the skin he's exposed above Raylan's belt. He forgives his hands their walk, a path he's never forgotten, over the tight muscle and soft indents of Raylan's torso and wonders if Raylan's skin still tastes the same, like gun oil, adrenaline and rage. Boyd moves his hands up to Raylan's shoulders, pushing his jacket up and off, letting it drift down to the dusty bar floor. 

Raylan's hands are on the surviving buttons of Boyd's shirt, working each one open, his mouth licking the stripe of blood from Boyd's cheek before trailing down, following the path of exposed skin, inch by inch. He wants to take Boyd apart, peel him open and raw. He needs to prove to Boyd that he isn't just a criminal, or his father's son, that the expectations the world settled onto his shoulders are not the man he is, not the only version of himself he could only become. Raylan burns with the desire for Boyd to see the man Raylan knows he could've been if both of them had been brave enough years ago.

Boyd tilts his head forward and growls when all he can see is the top of Raylan's hat. “Goddamn it Raylan,” he snarks, “I told you not to hide.” His fingers twist into the soft material of the Stetson and grins sharper than the knife on the floor when Raylan meets his eyes to see Boyd set the item on top of his own head.

“Well now, I think this just might fit,” Boyd smirks, darkly. “But I can't rightfully say it's my color.”

Raylan growls back, a mix of anger at Boyd's audacity, frustration with the damn waistcoat keeping Boyd armored, and unexpected lust at the vision of him wearing his hat. Raylan drops to his knees, and when Boyd hisses at the sight, his face mirrors Boyd's same wicked grin. Raylan presses his face back into Boyd's neck, the knife sliding up against the dark fabric of his woolen waistcoat, pressing into the flesh of his stomach.

Boyd lets out a small huff, “In any other situation I would consider this teasing the height of rudeness.” 

Raylan slips the knife through the fabric, the soft pop of woven fibers tearing making Boyd's mouth fall open. That same wicked grin falls across Raylan's lips as the knife’s work finally reveals the flesh of Boyd's torso. His mouth follows the small red trail from Boyd’s collarbone down to just above his belt. Boyd’s hands slip into Raylan’s hair as his mouth burns with the taste of copper and coal. Raylan muses that it’s the quietest the other man has been the whole evening, maybe his entire existence, save a few precious exceptions.

Raylan bites the skin right above Boyd’s belt buckle, and he stifles a moan, which pisses off Raylan. He takes the blade and runs it across one side of the V of the man’s hips. small red lines raise, like the mountain borders of a holler, and Boyd’s hips twitch. Raylan has him on edge so easily. 

“If I’d known this would shut you up I’d have done it sooner,” Raylan growls, moving back up to push the remnants of Boyd’s clothes off his shoulders.

Boyd’s hands are under Raylan’s shirt pulling it up and over the man’s head, eyes blown wide as he takes him in.

The door bangs open and both men are frozen in place. Boyd pressed against the bar top, Raylan’s hands on Boyd’s stomach. Johnny’s framed in the sunlight of the doorway. His eyes would be comically wide if it weren’t for the situation he's found himself witnessing.

“The fuck is going on Boyd?” Johnny stutters, rolling into the bar, closing the door behind him. 

Raylan has already grabbed Boyd’s pistol and loaded it, leveling it at Johnny’s head. Boyd glares at Johnny from under the hat, and grabs Raylan's gun off the ground. 

“You walked in at the wrong time, Cousin Johnny,” Boyd spits out, twirling the gun in his hand. 

“Oh, whoa, hold on now,” Johnny stammers, his hands going up, his mouth doing him no favors, as he takes in Boyd’s current state of dress. “Look, I didn’t see anything.”

Raylan’s jaw clicks, as loud as the click of the gun's safety, his shirtless body a tense line. Boyd couldn’t help the flicker of a grin as he watched the man level the pistol at his cousin.

“Like, whatever man.” He shrugs his shoulders against the back of his wheelchair, “Not like we didn’t know in high school.” Johnny stutters out, eyes rolling to focus anywhere but them. Unable to avoid the situation, he glances back at Boyd, eyes shadowed by the wide brim of Raylan's hat, then back to Raylan’s unobscured face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Raylan spits, mirrorring Boyd, he moves in front of the main in the chair, gun hand steady.

Johnny swallows, looking at Boyd almost pleading, then back to Raylan, shaking where he sits. Raylan reaches down and pulls him to standing by the scruff of his dingy tee shirt.

“L-l-look just pretend I didn’t say anything,” Johnny stumbles over his words.

Boyd wanders over, Raylan's service weapon  in hand. “Think it’s a little late, Johnny. But, and this is big but for you now, why don’t we back up a little, take a second to rethink what’s going on here.” He’s talking to Raylan as much as he's addressing his cousin, attempting to diffuse the violence crackling in the air.

Raylan shoves Johnny back into his chair, turning to look at Boyd, brows raised, “You trust this man, Boyd?”

He shifts one eye away from his cousin, up to Raylan. Boyd lowers his borrowed weapon as he goes through infinite calculations, scenarios of “what then,” in a fraction of second before he loosens his grip and holds his hands up, gun balancing on his pointer finger. He sighs, deeply, turning his full attention to Raylan, ignoring the man whose fate they're discussing.

Boyd considers the weapons at his disposal now that he's talked Raylan down from shooting yet another man: Threats, guilt, ultimatums, bribery, guarantees of power, all resting ready at his fingertips. “Well of course I trust my dear cousin Johnny to be the pinnacle of discretion as he always has been when it comes to my affairs,” he turns to Johnny, the unspoken threat clear from his intonation, "he is family after all.”

Johnny almost loses it as he watches the hat nearly slide off his cousin’s head, but chokes his laughter back under a scoff.  He studies Raylan's hard set face, more interested in the man he doesn't know, than the cousin he understands. “Yeah Boyd.” Johnny hocks a loogie into the floor, eyes never leaving Raylan’s, the chamber of Boyd's gun in his hand an abyss in his periphery. “I see you have your priorities. Hat and all. And they don't seem to include family.” Johnny injects venom into the word cousin. He holds his gaze with Raylan for as long as his neck will allow, and wheels himself out of the bar that bears his name, business unheard.

Dewey's at the car waiting for him, and without instruction, wheels Johnny to the passenger side. “That was quick, what happened? What's he gonna do?” Dewey’s mouth runs a mile a minute, never waiting for an answer before asking the next question. He lets Johnny make the transfer between chair and car, puts the chair away and flips into the driver's seat. Johnny has yet to speak. 

“Well hell, Johnny,” Dewey drawls, turning the ignition. “What happened in there? Is Boyd dead or something and you're trying to be all noble and not tell me? Or is he like doing something really bad and you want to protect me from knowing about it?” 

Dewey jumps at Johnny's reaction, a loud raucous laugh that shakes the paneling on the late 80s sedan. Tears stream from Johnny's face, and he grabs the lapels of Dewey's jacket. Instinctively, Dewey turns the steering wheel, the car fishtailing and sputtering across the dirt and gravel. 

“Yeah, Dewey, you absolutely do not want to know what our asshole boss has deemed more important than taking my meeting. “ Johnny lights a cigarette, cranking down the window. “But he's definitely going to regret it. Turn, right, here,” Johnny points to the upcoming unmarked intersection, the first turn on the path towards Ava Crowder's.

Boyd clicks the lock at the front door, Raylan’s gone to take care of the back. Boyd can't stop the wide grin from splitting his face when Raylan returns. His hard lines and smooth movements strike Boyd as something predatory and feline, as Raylan walks back over to the bar to grab his shirt off the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Boyd slithers between Raylan and the bar, eyes tinged with worry.

“Getting dressed and leaving before you go and do whatever you're planning on doing to Johnny. What does it look like?” Raylan huffs, pulling an arm through a sleeve.

Boyd isn’t having any of it, pushes the man back against the bar and pulls the shirt back off, long fingers dragging against Raylan's exposed arm. He looks at Boyd with confusion crossing his face. “We ain't doing this.” 

In a flash, Boyd has the gun up off the bar and in his hand. “We aren’t? You were on your knees in front of me just moments before and I fail to see how the situation has changed, other than you threatening yet another member of my family as is your nature.” 

Raylan’s tongue comes out and licks at his lips, “You know you're still wearing my hat.” 

Boyd’s eyebrows furrow, the realization crossing his face, his mouth opens and closes a couple of times. He grits his teeth, “No, Raylan Givens.” His mouth splits from tight denial to seductive opportunity. “Though I think the saying goes, ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy.’ And if my memory serves me right, that means I'm owed a debt.”

Raylan laughs, truly and deeply with no hint of sarcasm or exasperation. “Now who's getting sloppy, Boyd? I figured you'd come up with something more original than that.”

Boyd’s manic grin falters into a look of mock wounded pride, wide hazel eyes looking up to Raylan. “Explain to me, Deputy US Marshal, why,” Boyd wraps his hand around Raylan's right hip and presses the barrel of the gun into his left, “you went and locked the back door if your intention was not to finish what you started?” 

Boyd surges up, lips and tongue bristling against the stubble under Raylan's jaw as he licks open the fine knife wound. He hums with satisfaction against Raylan's skin; he was right, Raylan still tastes like he remembered, adrenaline and gun oil, but less like Mag's moonshine and more like bourbon. The gun presses deeper into Raylan's jeans, and Boyd moves his hand to the back of Raylan's neck. 

Boyd’s tongue lazily flows up to the edge of Raylan's ear, gathering salt and skin. He wants to burn the taste into his memory, store it in the part of his brain next to where he keeps the images of Raylan at nineteen. “I can keep the hat and the gun if that makes it easier for you.”

Raylan, always fast, disarms Boyd, places the gun on the counter. Both of them weaponless, the tension in the bar shifts from violence to anticipation. Raylan’s hands slip along Boyd’s belt, looking at him with blown out eyes, like if he stares hard enough he can parse through Boyd’s bullshit and read his mind. 

“You can keep the hat, for now. I want it back after,” Raylan teases, his fingers finding the belt buckle and pooping it open with a click. Boyd licks his lips and looks down at Raylan's deft fingers, releasing a small breath. Raylan takes the moment to snatch the pocket watch out of the tatters of Boyd’s waist coat. In one smooth motion, Raylan flips him around so his chest is against the bar, the chain of the watch wrapping around one hand before slipping it over the other. Boyd grunts trying to push back, but Raylan has him pinned.

“Am I being arrested, Deputy Marshal? Or is this some unusually kinky foreplay?” Boyd chuckles as he strains against the chain, deliberately wriggling against Raylan's jeans. He could easily break the chain. Years down a mine shaft left him strong, but he was uncharacteristically attached to the watch. So he allows Raylan the illusion of dominance, for now.

Raylan flips him back around, eyes watching Boyd, dark with a peeking wickedness as if he was getting to unwrap a Christmas present early without permission. “Something like that,” not one to give up the game easily.

Raylan finds the knife again, twirls it around in his fingers. A crooked grin gracing his face as he runs along the seams of the man's vest. Boyd grumbles, “I would have divested myself of my clearly criminal sartorial choices  if you had bothered to ask politely. But something tells me you much prefer watching me bleed a little, Raylan.” Boyd wriggles again lasciviously, pressing his cock into Raylan's through their jeans.

Raylan avoids Boyd's eyes and manic teeth, focusing on each thread snapping against the inevitable bite of honed steel as he drags the blade, ruining what's left of Boyd's precious waistcoat. “And you would know so much about that, being an outlaw and all.” Raylan tugs the metal chain around Boyd's wrists above his head, stretching him out like an animal on a rack, pressing himself into Boyd's deliberant movements. “But I'm supposed to be the lawman, remember?” He ducks his face under the brim of Boyd’s hat, <i>his</i> hat and licks across the shallow cut along Boyd's cheek. 

Boyd squirms, intentionally dragging himself against Raylan, enjoying the way Raylan's breath hitches and his eyelashes flutter. “Oh, you the lawman now? Is that really who you want to be? Right now? Because your badge is on the bar, your gun is on the floor and your hat is on my head.” 

“I don't think you've wanted to be a lawman since you walked into this bar.” Boyd tugs his hands against Raylan's grip on the metal chain around his wrist. He whispers, “I don't think you've wanted to be a lawman since you stepped off the flight from Miami.”

Boyd kisses him then, fierce and explosive, like a thousand pounds of emulex all set off at once. One of Raylan’s hands keeps the chain twisted around Boyd’s wrist, the other finds the side of his face. Boyd’s tongue delves into Raylan's mouth, hot against his palate, soft against the sharp edges of his teeth. Boyd moans, and Raylan takes the opportunity to lay his own claim into Boyd's mouth, pressing himself against every surface his own tongue can find. The two men were tasting each other more than kissing. A long stifled fire now burns in the bar between them as they move against each other. Boyd can’t help himself, he wants to be inside this man’s skin, wants to consume Raylan so he can remember every bit of this, in case he never gets to again.

Raylan pulls away, cheeks flushed red, as he rests his forehead against Boyd’s, breath speeding up as he looks for air. “You never shut up do you?” He states,  before he pushes the vest off to the floor. The shirt follows next, sleeves catching on Boyd's wrists, but exposing his chest and shoulders. He purposefully lets the knife dip into the skin along Boyd’s bicep, blood welling up against the black ink of Boyd’s previous poor decisions, chasing after it with his tongue, the iron making him groan. Something about Boyd’s squirming against him, blood dripping down his shoulder, makes Raylan examine his own past choices, following Boyd’s accusations. Had he truly ever wanted to be a lawman? Had he done it to spite Arlo? To spite Boyd?

He tugs the shirt off Boyd’s wrists, and someone he had once considered a friend stands before him shirtless. Mouth open, eyes shadowed by the hat but always on Raylan. Raylan moves back his tongue, licking up more of the blood, going back up and biting at his neck. A strangled hiss escapes Boyd, hips moving slowly against the press of Raylan's body. Raylan groans, grinding back just as hard, <i>Fuck</i>. The room feels hazy, like it's filled with smoke, and the only clear point in his vision is Boyd. 

Raylan picks up the chain and wraps it around Boyd's wrists again. Boyd struggles against the gold metal, trying to get more friction against his own aching need. “Should have known you’d be a tease. Been back for almost three years and it took you this long to be here -” Boyd gasps as Raylan bites into Boyd’s chest. “Keep on like that, you're gonna leave marks that require explanation, not like I am going to be able to direct the accusations at you, Raylan. I have a feeling this could be considered prisoner abuse.”

Raylan lifts his face up from Boyd’s chest, the indents of his teeth blooming red across Boyd’s skin. His jaw clenches and he looks at the unstoppable force that is Boyd. Did he even hear half the stuff that came out of his mouth? Raylan tugs on the chain pulling him from the counter, his other hand applying pressure to Boyd’s shoulder, drawing out a fresh stream of blood.

“And so what?” Raylan pulls again, relishing the small noises he elicits from Boyd in response to the makeshift bondage. “I’m sure you can find a perfectly reasonable explanation for these marks on your chest. Or are those harder to justify than this?” Raylan twists his hand, bringing the edge of the knife against the hateful ink on Boyd’s bicep, etching a second cut into his arm. Unable to resist the thick welling of Boyd’s life seeping out between the layers of flesh, Raylan laps at the split skin. He flicks his eyes back up to Boyd's, “Besides, this wouldn't be the first time you've made excuses for my presence in your life.”

Boyd growls and shivers, unable to resist the effect Raylan has over his physical body, but unwilling to concede any ground in the war they've been waging since birth. “Your marks have always been deeper and less superficial, except for one notable occasion. And while I must admit I don't hate…,” Raylan bites into the dark ink, stuttering Boyd's monologue, “your inventiveness, I do have my current promises and obligations to consider.”

Raylan stops cold, removes the knife, but keeps his grip on the chain. “You mean Ava.” His eyes drill like diamond tipped bits into Boyd's gaze. “You think Johnny is gonna tell? Blow up every lie you've told to that poor woman?” 

Boyd glares at him, his mouth thin lipped, “I never lied to her, unlike you.” The words are short and to the point. “At least I wasn’t sleeping with my ex-wife while stringing her along.”

Raylan slaps Boyd across the face with an open hand. Boyd snaps the chain and is pushing Raylan backwards onto a table. He topples backwards, boots slipping, legs akimbo. Boyd slides into the gap between Raylan's legs, fist clenched at his side, and he glares down at the dazed man. 

“You’re a real piece of work Raylan, carved out of stone like some golem figurehead. Would fuck anyone with two legs, but can’t admit when you’re wrong.” Boyd chides at him, fingers pulling the belt out of Raylan’s pants with a thwack. He loops it around Raylan’s neck and pulls the leather through the buckle, dragging the man up, metal digging into his skin. Then he's crashing into Raylan. He bites at Raylan’s lips tasting a small amount of blood coming out of them and tightens the belt around his throat. 

“All I wanted was you,” Boyd whispers in between frenzied kisses, “Even with all that rage you carry in your heart, even after you shot me, after you left. I hated that you came back, acting like you’d never left, like you didn’t leave me here.”

Words are tumbling out of him, the dam which he keeps secret truths behind finally broken. Raylan grabs at Boyd’s back, pulling their bodies together, even as he gasps for air around his own belt. His right arm is covered in Boyd’s blood from where he worked at the tattoo. The words burn like cuts from a blade, but he doesn’t care anymore. Heat from Boyd’s skin is making the ever pressing arousal more noticeable between them. 

“Please shut up,” Raylan groans, his hands trying to find Boyd’s pants. “Just shut up,” he begs. He doesn't want to think about the ways he's hurt Boyd under his skin. Not now when they're pressed together, Boyd holding his air hostage.

Boyd stands back and releases the belt from Raylan's neck to undo the buttons on his jeans. His fingers hesitate at the cool metal of the zipper and the insistent heat he can feel even through the heavy denim. Raylan sits up on his elbows, forehead wrinkled as he takes in Boyd’s mercifully silent figure.

Then, Raylan Givens smiles with all the brightness of the sun, branding another secret into the dingy wood paneling of the bar. Boyd laughs, weightlessly, in a way he hasn't since he was twenty years younger and pulls away to shimmy out of his black jeans and boxers. Boyd thinks Raylan's laugh as he stumbles out of his boots would best be described as a giggle. At that sound, Boyd doesn't miss the weaponry between them, so remains silent, only reflecting Raylan's smile back towards him, like the moon.

Naked and free of his shoes, Boyd crashes on top of Raylan, hands scrambling back for his button and zipper. Raylan wraps an arm around Boyd's waist and twists, switching their positions, Raylan standing and Boyd flat on his back. It's Raylan's turn to embarrass himself, ankles and knees uncooperative in his haste to match Boyd's state of undress.

Raylan and Boyd stare at each other, their eyes taking in the lifetime of changes since the last time they saw each other laid bare. Boyd’s eyes memorize the scars across Raylan's chest, some from knives, at least one a clear gunshot wound. An interesting constellation over one shoulder that Boyd knows from experience could only come from shotgun scatter shot. He stands, arm outstretched, and begins tracing across each silverskin mark on Raylan's torso. 

Raylan is certain he's having an asthma attack. The air is thick and heavy with nothing but Boyd. And he can't breathe in Boyd, he's not oxygen, he's suffocating. And without oxygen a fire can't burn and Raylan doesn't know who will be left in the shadows once the fire burns out. 

“Can I?” Boyd’s voice ripples across what's left of the air and shakes his head, “Would you turn your back to me, Raylan Givens?”

Raylan can feel the hesitation in Boyd's voice, the request for vulnerability more dangerous than blades or guns or sex. His better judgment balks at the request, but better judgment wouldn’t have him standing stark naked in this bar. Swallowing, he turns around, and kicks the piles of clothes away from them.

Boyd's warm palm and calloused fingers follow along the map of pain etched into Raylan's skin. He couldn't remember the last time someone he took to bed had paid them any attention. Of course Boyd would, Boyd thrives on details, needs them to breathe.

Boyd's hand trails down, stopping at a particularly raised scar on Raylan’s lower left side. He traces over it several times, trying to imprint the feeling into his memory, before moving to press his chest into the muscle of Raylan's back. Boyd lets his hands rest on Raylan's hips, gripping at the hard flesh there. It’s easy to push his body against Raylan's, hold him close enough he can feel Raylan's heartbeat quicken against his own. He tries to stifle a groan as his cock slides, dripping, between Raylan's ass cheeks. 

Raylan lets out his own strangled noise and wraps his fist around himself, unable to ignore his own need. Before Raylan can move against himself, Boyd’s hand is there, gripping at his cock as he thrusts slowly between Raylan's legs, the tip nudging against Raylan's balls. Curses fall from both of their lips at the sensations. Raylan bends under the pleasure, hands trying and failing to find purchase against the smooth surface of the table as his partner continues to rut against him.

It's slow at first, Boyd taking his time to feel the weight of the man’s penis in his hand, how his body bends under Boyd’s. Words stick in his throat, coherent thoughts lost, as Boyd holds onto him, unrelenting. How many times has he thought about Raylan over the years, and wondered what he looks like in this moment. His long held fantasies about it would feel like to draw pleasure and pull need out of him finally realized.

Boyd replaces his fingers with his tongue, mapping the shallow paths of scars along Raylan's back. He never stops moving his hand along Raylan's cock, swiping precum from the tip to ease the way. “I've never forgotten,” Boyd confesses into a constellation of scar tissue between Raylan's ribs and hip, the twin of the starburst scar on the front, “what you sound like when I last had you like this.”

Raylan moans again and Boyd almost wishes Johnny would burst in, guns blazing, through the back door and put a bullet in his head, so that the last sound he ever hears is Raylan making that noise for him. Boyd shifts, moving his hand off of Raylan’s back and between his legs to collect his own wetness before returning to grip Raylan tightly, all the easier with the additional lubrication.

Raylan's hips buck into Boyd's hand, the fire within him burns low, more smoke than flame. He wants to lose himself here, become nothing but the honed edge of a knife, valued and maintained, but only for a specific purpose, useful, for <i>him</i>.  “Boyd…” Raylan warns, the heat in his gut, the pressure behind his eyes threatening to break.

Boyd speeds up slightly, his own pleasure put on the back burner as he uses his other hand to cup Raylan’s balls. Rolling in his fingers as he focuses the twist of wrist at the head of the man’s cock. Boyd can feel every flex of Raylan's muscles, the pounding of his heart through his chest as he climbs closer to release. Boyd wants to swallow the grunts Raylan makes as his hips fuck into Boyd’s slick and heavy hand. Boyd’s in his own haze, trying to tattoo those sounds into the folds of his brain matter, wanting to hold onto every sensation so he might draw on them for the rest of his life. 

Raylan’s body is tense, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. He had thought about this for so long, on many lonely nights after Winnoa left, when nothing else managed to release his frustrations. Sitting there with one hand on his cell, and one hand on his cock. Wanting to hear Boyd’s voice but never actually calling. He’s unable to hold back the litany of whimpers, so close to the edge, but resisting the desire to tumble off, never wanting this sensation to end. 

“Boyd,” He grunts out again, the one time he wants the insufferable prick to speak and he’s silent, “Fuck,”

“Let it go Raylan,” Boyd’s voice is wrecked, begging, his hips pressing into the giving flesh of Raylan’s ass. “Want to - need to hear how you sound cumming under me.”

Raylan’s fingers grip into the edge of the table hard enough to splinter the plastic coating, howling as he releases into Boyd's hand, coating him in his thick spend. It’s too much, his eyes squeezing shut as Boyd keeps working him until he’s shivering, knees buckling. Boyd works him slowly until Raylan bucks, trying to pull away, oversensitive but trapped under Boyd’s body. He reluctantly removes his sticky hand as Raylan struggles to stay upright, stars dancing in front of his eyes. 

Boyd lets go of him, watching the usually always uptight man shudder as he leans heavily on the chair. Boyd strokes his own cock as he takes him in, remembering the sound Raylan made the heat in his stomach twisting in knots. Raylan slides to the floor turning towards him, eyes glazed from post orgasmic haze, mouth slightly open as he looks up at Boyd. Boyd smiles as he raises the hand covered in cum to his mouth and licks at it. 

Raylan turns to look at Boyd and can’t believe his eyes. Boyd stands there naked, tongue laving against the webbing of his fingers, sucking Raylan’s cum off his hand, stroking himself with his other. His eyes are half lidded under the hat as he stares down at Raylan's face. Raylan once again ignores his better judgment and gives into his impulses, shuffling over on his knees to settle between Boyd’s legs. Raylan drags Boyd’s hand away, replacing it with his own. His tongue darts out to lap at the free-flowing dribble at the head.  Boyd tastes expectedly salty and interestingly like moonshine. He doesn’t think about it much, choosing to focus on opening his mouth and taking him deeper. Boyd’s face is red, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration as he grips Raylans hair. 

“Fuck,” Boyd whispers as he moves himself in and out of the Raylan’s mouth, testing how much Raylan is willing to give. His eyes unfocus as he swallows Boyd down. Boyd thinks he may be dreaming, his brain challenging the vision of Raylan Fucking Givens on his knees, mouth wrapped like velvet around his dick. 

“Oh, Raylan,” Boyd whispers, as if he's praying, like he's found God again against Raylan's tongue, between his teeth. Boyd’s fingers tighten in Raylan's hair, knuckles turning white. “I would truly be the liar you believe me to be if I didn't admit I've imagined this more times than I can rightfully give number to.” 

Raylan hums and swallows, sucking Boyd in deeper as confessions fall from Boyd’s lips. His teeth scrape lightly against sensitive flesh and Boyd's hips thrust against his cheekbones. Raylan bites back the grin threatening to split his face wide and swirls his tongue, a silent demand for Boyd to repeat the motion. 

He loosens his grip, slides his hand down Raylan's skull to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing against the shorter hairs at the edges, before pressing bruises into the scar on Raylan's shoulder. Boyd’s toes curl against the wooden floor, splinters cracking into his feet, but his entire world narrows to the heat of Raylan's throat, the motion of his tongue, the graze of his teeth. Boyd answers Raylan's plea and repeats the motion of his hips, steadying Raylan by the shoulder and forces himself deeper down Raylan's willing throat. 

“You taste the same as I remembered, Raylan, did you know that? Some things never change.” Boyd strokes Raylan's cheek with his free hand, swiping away a single tear from Raylan's watering eyes and bringing it up to his lips. 

Raylan doesn't stop moving, the words wash over him, spurring him onwards, quickening his motions. He would say the same, the taste,the feel, the way he spoke, it all felt so familiar. It's as if he had never left, like the twenty years of lost time between them has also burned away. He pushes himself up, pressing his face into the flesh under Boyd’s belly button, nose brushing against the hair sprinkling his abdomen. Boyd’s mouth falls open and his eyes roll back as his hips stutter. Raylan pulls backwards, needing air and one hand works at the base, the other reaching to press teasingly against Boyd's hole. He can feel Boyd’s release splash against the back of his throat and takes down every drop. Boyd moans his name and Raylan gags slightly, hating that his eyes flutter, obscuring Boyd from his vision as he swallows. Boyd pulls himself out,  his thumb swiping over Raylan’s abused lips, the last of his cum dripping across his cheek. 

“Could you be any prettier,” Boyd said, tongue going over his lips. “Fuck, Raylan. Why did we wait so long?”

Raylan grins, feeling dizzy, the world fuzzy around the edges, and leans his head into Boyd’s hand. He knows the afterglow will fade momentarily and he will leave. Part of him wants to stay, kneeling at Boyd’s feet, forehead pressed into his thigh. But the weight of the world returns to Raylan's shoulders and the smoke in Raylan's chest turns back into flame.

Boyd frees his hands from Raylan's face and shoulder, and moves over to the pile of their ruined clothing. He sorts through the pieces, placing Raylan’s clothes beside him. Finally, he removes the hat, turning it in his hands with an unreadable expression on his face before setting it down beside Raylan. He cups Raylan's face with warm hands, tipping his chin up. 

“I’m gonna go find a shirt that isn't cut to shreds and open the doors before any more business associates start asking too many questions about why your car is outside and the door is locked,” Boyd says, hiding his thoughts behind his hundred watt smile. “Don’t go anywhere now Marshal, we aren't finished here yet.”

Raylan watches him leave, and is up on his feet. A twisted knot has crawled into this chest cavity and it’s trying to break out of his throat. He dresses like the place is on fire, grabbing his gun and badge before rushing to the door. He looks behind him at the pieces of Boyd’s clothes, , the two half empty glasses on the bar, the droplets of blood splattered on the bartop and floor. He grits his teeth, memorizes the scene and walks out into the daylight. 

Part two

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Please let us both know if you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Much more is coming😈 Each chapter will be spaced out as we write!

[idontplaytrack]

Shotgun

Jos Cleary-Lopez x fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, fluff, smoking/weed

In which reader catches Jos smoking for the first time since they’ve started dating.

Fall was approaching— your favourite time of the year. The weather was starting to get chilly, you loved it. Lesser hot weather, lesser sweating. It was all around a better time. Anyway, Jos had been dealing with a cold for the last couple days so while the rest of her family were all out doing some shopping, she obviously stayed home. You decided it was a good time to go visit her. Once you got to her house, you let yourself in since Margot had given you a spare key— you and Jos had been together for over six months at this point.

With a plastic bag filled with her favourite snacks and drink in hand, you gave her bedroom door a knock. “Jos? It’s me.”

There was a few seconds of silence before the reply came, “Come on in.”

She looked a little flustered, you laughed lightly, “Hey, babe. You okay? Feeling any better?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, brows raised for a moment.

“What were you doing?” You narrowed your eyes at her, curious.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, so you mean to tell me you’ve been sitting here all day, doing absolutely nothing.” You sat down, “Brought you your favourite brownie and smoothie.”

“That’s sweet of you, thank you.” She smiled.

“Don’t mention it, it’s nothing.” You told her, “Okay, you do know I can smell that, right?”

Jos’ eyes widened, “Sorry.” Smiling sheepishly, she continued, “I kind of smoke sometimes when I’m stressed out or just having a bad day.”

“That’s okay.” You assured.

“Do you smoke?” She asked directly.

“No.” You answered.

“Weed?” She chuckles.

“No, but I’ve tried it.” You shrug, snuggling up against her. “I’ve missed you.”

She leaned her head on yours, hand reaching over to cup your cheek, “It’s been two days, babe.”

“I know, still missed you though.”

“This— isn’t such a good idea. You might get sick.”

“I don’t care.” You muttered. Despite her mouth disagreeing with you snuggling with her, she ultimately still couldn’t say no to you when you wanted to snuggle.

“Do you mind if I smoke it right now?” She asks, glancing at you.

“No.” You laid your head on her lap, she runs her hand through your hair.

“Okay.” She grins, leaning over to grab it from her nightstand. While she smoked it, you just laid there and enjoyed her company.

“You wanna try it again?” She asks suggestively.

You squinted at her, “Sure.” Reaching out to grab it from her hand.

“Ah, no. Had something else in mind.” She chuckles.

“What?” You ask, a smile tugging at your lips.

“You sure you don’t mind trying it again?” Jos asked.

You nodded, “Yep.”

Jos leaned in, exhaling the smoke into your mouth that was left slightly agape. Then, she kisses you, smiling into it.

Though a little taken aback, you kissed her back before she could pull away that quickly. “And you were the one who said you didn’t want me to get too close.” You gasped, feigning shock.

She giggled, “Well, I missed you too.”

“You’re forgiven.” You joked, “But you’re taking care of me if I get your cold.”

“Gladly.” She squished your cheeks, pecking you on the lips again making you giggle. “You need a break.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Just that you’ve been really stressed for the past few weeks with your part-time job, maybe a day of or two will do you some good, you know, babe?”

“Ugh.” You groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Exactly. You need a bit of time off.” She tells you while you played with the rings on her fingers.

“I don’t have the time.”

“If you gotta get a cold for you to finally rest, then that’s what it’s gonna take.” She teased.

“Hey! That’s not funny.” You pouted.

“I didn’t say it was.” Jos squints, “But you need to chill on the number of shifts you’re taking on in a week. Please?”

You exhaled harshly, “Fine. I’ll try.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

💭A/N:

2 fics in a day? Who am I😗

[positivexcellence]

genpadalecki: A slice of life lately….

1. Sunset strolls ❤️ 2. O and I enjoying last bits of summer weather 3. When @jaredpadalecki is away this is how we roll 😆 4. Arlo catching morning light 5. Starting day w @drinkag1 and added some @hostdefense@paulstamets mush powder for an extra immune boost 6. a goody summer leftover from our time at Boise zoo 7. Soccer dad and his dudes 8. Farmers market finds @sfclocal 9. A lovely owl that came for a visit 10. When there’s a 🐸, the kiddos gotta catch it 🫣

[solarisstyles]

MS.HONEY: MS.HONEY'S BIRTHDAY

Pairing: Harry Styles x F!Reader Word Count: 2.3k+ Warnings: tooth rotting fluff!, kissing, relationship developments Summary: It takes a village to raise a special needs child. Gemma's son is growing up and starting kindergarten in the fall. Uncle Harry is struggling with not being able to spend all day, everyday, with his nephew who he's grown quite attached to. When he accompanies Gemma and Arlo on his first day of school, he meets Ms.Honey. Harry decides Kindergarten might not be so bad after all. A/N: For the sake of the story, Gemma and Harry live in the states. I know more about the school system in America than the UK so it just made sense! This story is not meant to be a 100% depiction of what a family of this dynamic is like. Harry and Gemma Styles are very real people and are only being used for fictional purposes!

*please like and reblog to help your local fic writers*

The weather was truly in your favor today. A soft breeze, bright blue sky, the birds were happily chirping and flying back and forth between the trees and your bird feeders. It was what you would describe as your idea of a perfect day. Laid out in your hammock, you had your eyes closed as you listened to the songs the birds would sing for you, and enjoyed the cool breeze against your face. The sun was starting to set and the air had that summer-like chill to it when you decided to head inside. 

Grabbing a microwavable dinner from your freezer, you popped it into the microwave to cook. While the microwave worked its magic, you grabbed your phone to see what calls or texts you’ve missed while outside today. You weren’t shocked to see a missed call from Harry along with several texts.

Harry: When were you going to tell me your birthday was next week?

Harry: If you think we aren’t doing anything to celebrate you’re crazy!

Harry: Woman, call me back so I can make birthday plans for you!!!!

You could imagine how flustered he must have been right now waiting for you to reply to him. The teasing part of you wanted to make him wait a little longer but the soft side of you that Harry occupied had you calling him back without a second thought. As if he was looking at his phone, just waiting for it to ring, he answered on the second ring.

“About damn time!” He greeted you.

It made you laugh, shaking your head fondly, “Sorry, I was laying in my hammock all afternoon and I didn’t have my phone with me.”

Harry took a moment to envision you laid out and enjoying the beautiful weather today. He wished more than anything he was there to enjoy it with you. “Fine, you’re forgiven. But next time I won’t be so nice!” he threatened.

You knew he wasn’t being serious though. You could tell by the goofy voice he put on when he said it. “So who snitched about my birthday?” you asked, curious.

“We, technically the school, but Gemma called me and told me. So let’s blame Gemma.”

“That darn Gemma.” you decided to play along.

“Right? An absolute menace to our society. She must be stopped!”

“Well you’re her brother…so wouldn't that make you just as much of a menace?”

“Do you think I’m a menace?”

“Yes.”

“WELL I NEVER.” He exclaimed, making you laugh once more. He always knew how to tickle your funny bone.

“I’m only half joking.” you promised, grabbing your food out of the microwave and stirring it up.

“Well Ms.Jokester, what do you want to do for your birthday?” He asked, making himself comfortable on his own couch while he talked to you.

“Well considering I’ll be working, nothing really.” sitting down at your dining room table, and putting him on speaker phone so she could sit comfortably and eat.

“You’re working on your birthday? That’s lame! What about next weekend then? We could do something.”

It was endearing how much he wanted to spend your birthday together, but you couldn’t ignore the knot of guilt in your stomach thinking about it. “Harry, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“I know you want to wait till after Arlo’s graduation to date and I respect that. We can hang out as friends though, right? Is that allowed?”

Thinking over his words, you felt the knot loosen in your stomach. “I guess you’re right.” you said, pushing your food around the plastic container. “I just don’t want either of us to get in trouble.”

“I know Honey. I’m sorry that it has to be like this right now. I still want to show you how special you are and celebrate your birthday. Even if that means we have to sit on opposite sides of the room to do it.”

Smiling at your food, you couldn’t help but blush, “well that’s really sweet of you.” taking a deep breath, you breathed out, “Fine, I’ll bite and let you celebrate my birthday with me.”

“A splendid choice!” Harry exclaimed. “What would the birthday girl like to do?”

You pondered the idea for a moment. What you really wanted to do might be too boring for his taste. You couldn’t think of anything else though. “Honestly, I want to stay in. How about we get sushi, stay at mine and spend the evening watching a movie?”

Harry hummed, “If that’s what the birthday girl wants, it’s what the birthday girl gets.”

“Really? You don’t think that’s too boring?” you asked, feeling uncertain.

“Honey…” Harry softly said, “Listen, if it’s with you then I’m going to have a great time. If that’s what you want to do then I’ll do it. And if you must know, that’s my ideal type of evening. So, I’d be more than thrilled to do it with you. I promise.”

You smiled at the phone, “Thanks Harryy. You’re the best.”

“You only deserve the best. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Enjoy the rest of your relaxing evening.”

“You too.”

- - - - - - - - -

The day of your birthday was a total blurr. Even though you were working, the day flew by with flying colors. Your students brought in small hand made gifts for you that just melted your heart. You promised all of them that their work would be proudly displayed at your home to always remember them by. 

While the kids were at lunch, you had a special delivery again from Nancy. She came to your classroom with an arm full of flowers and a box of chocolate covered strawberries. “Mr.Honey has done it again.” Nancy said in a teasing tone. 

You giggled, taking the gifts from her, “He’s too good to me.” you told her.

“You’re dating right?” Nancy asked.

Setting the case down on your desk along with the box of strawberries, you sighed softly, admiring the flowers. “No, I told him we couldn’t date till Arlo graduated.”

“What?! Why?!” Nancy exclaimed, looking at you with a dumbfounded expression.

You returned the look with a confused one, “I’m not allowed to date the family of the students in my class.”

Nancy brought her palm to her face and shook her head, “Oh, Honey that’s only for parents. You won’t get in trouble if you date him.” laughing at the shocked look on your face.

“Well then, he’ll be very happy to know that.” you said, giving a shocked giggled back to her.

“Happy birthday to you.” she teasingly sang to you with a wink, walking out of the room.

You couldn’t wait to surprise Harry on Saturday with this new found information.

- - - - - - - - -

When Saturday arrived, you were up early and stress cleaning, even the parts of your home that you knew Harry wouldn’t see or care about. It had to be perfect. Nothing could go wrong. By the time midafternoon rolled around, you were collapsed on the couch, sweaty from all the cleaning you’d done. Your phone vibrated on the coffee table next to you, making you groan as you reached for it and swiped to answer the call. “Hello?” you breathed out.

Harry chuckled through the phone, “You sound like you ran a marathon.”

“I basically did. I’ve been cleaning all day.”

“Perfect, I’m gonna mess it all up now.” he teased.

“I’ll have to hurt you.” you laughed softly.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time babe.” making your heart skip a beat. “I’m getting the sushi now and going to grab a few more snacks from the store. I should be heading your way soon.”

“Good, I’m starving.” you groaned. “I’ll see you in a little bit. Drive safe.”

“Will do Honey.”

After you hung up, you had to force yourself to get off the couch and go shower. As much as you hated it at first, the hot water was welcoming to your aching back. You were super glad at this point that you decided to spend the night in. When you got out of the shower, the cool air made you feel more awake and refreshed. 

Picking out your cutest pair of pajamas, you figured you might as well stay comfy if you were gonna spend the evening watching movies. Throwing your hair into a messy bun, you gathered all the fluffy pillows off your bed and brought them to the living room.

You arranged them on the floor so the two of you could comfortably sit together. Moving the coffee table to the side, you even grabbed a few fluffy blankets to lay out and use if you wanted to.

“Ooo wine!” you hummed to yourself as the idea popped in your head. Going to the fridge to get the bottle out, you were interrupted by a knock on your door. Setting the bottle on the counter, you jogged over to the door and opened it to see Harry’s bright smile and sparkling eyes. “Happy birthday!” he cheered, walking in as you made room for him through the doorway.

A soft giggle could be heard from you as you watched him trapease his way to the living room, dumping the bags on the makeshift blanket pallet you made just moments ago. Turning to see you’d followed him, he wrapped you in a hug, picking you up and spinning you around. You couldn’t help but squeal with laughter, tucking your face into his neck as you held onto him tightly.

Gently setting you down, he leaned his forehead to your own, looking into your eyes. “I’ve missed you.” he whispered.

“I’ve missed you too.” you told him, playing with his curls gently at the nape of his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, which he eagerly returned.

“How about we eat and start a movie? I’m starving.” rubbing his hands along your sides gently, rubbing just low enough to drive you crazy.

You nodded, “I like that idea.” you breathlessly said, “Let me go grab the wine from the kitchen.”

Letting you go reluctantly, you were quick to retrieve the bottle along with two wine glasses. “I hope you like red.”

“I love it.” he assured, setting out your sushi in front of you while you poured both of you a glass.

“What movie did you pick to watch first?” he asked, accepting the glass when you handed it to him. 

“Rose Red.” you proudly said, taking a sip of your wine.

Harry hummed in approval, “Stephen King. Excellent choice.”

It was indeed an excellent choice. By half way through the movie, Harry and you were cuddled together, bellies full of good food and beginning to feel a little tipsy from the wine. 

You quickly discovered with Harry that he loved to talk during films. Which was perfect since you enjoyed it as well. While he would critique the film’s small details, you would make off handed comments about the characters and how stupid some of them were. Harry was amused when you would go on a random tirade about a stupid decision one of the character’s made. “For somebody who likes this movie you sure are yelling at it a lot.” Harry noted, giggling.

“I do like it! It’s just fun to yell at it too.”

“It’s cute.” Harry mumbled, pulling you closer into him.

Looking up at him, and him looking down at you, made you not want to wait any longer. “Harry…I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” he asked, feeling a little nervous.

“Nancy brought me the flowers and strawberries as you know. Well she asked if we were dating. I said no and she asked me why like I was crazy.” You giggled, thinking back to her facial expression. “I told her I wasn’t allowed to date my students' family and she told me that was only for parents. I wouldn’t get in trouble if I dated you.”

A giant smile creeped onto Harry’s face as he processed what you just told him. “Seriously?” he asked.

“Seriously.” you repeated, rubbing your nose against his own.

Pressing his lips against your own, the kiss quickly turned heated. He laid you back gently onto the pillows, positioning his body to hover above your own. This kiss showed you both the feelings you were holding back. Desperate to express through a simple gesture. “Be my girlfriend.” Harry mumbled against your lips.

“What?” you couldn’t help but giggle and smile, making him smile too.

“Be my girlfriend,” he repeated “Please.”

Looking up into his eyes, you could see the immense amount of adoration they held for you. “Yes.” you whispered. It felt right. It had to be right. They always say when you know, you know. And you were so sure in this moment that you knew. Harry couldn’t help but feel the same way.

With goofy smiles on your faces, the both of you started to giggle, feeling giddy and high from life and the happiness you brought each other. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“And we haven’t even had dessert yet.” Harry said, suddenly sitting up and reaching for a bag.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watched as he pulled out a tray of cupcakes, holding one up and putting a candle in it, lighting it with his lighter. He turned to you and began to sing Happy Birthday. You watched with a smile on your face, sitting up fully to be closer to him. Once he finished, he held the cupcake closer to you.

Closing your eyes, you made a wish then blew out the candle. “Thank you Harry. For everything.” you said, taking the cupcake. Pulling the candle out and sucking the icing off of it, you hummed happily. 

He chuckled, grabbing his own cupcake to eat. “I’d do anything to see that sweet smile.”

If only he knew your wish was for him to make you smile for the rest of your life.

TAG LIST: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @justlemmeadoreyou @squirreljoe @end-of-the-earth @behindmygreyeyes @buckybarnessimpp

[riptide-if]

Arlo Song [he/him, 23] has always been a steady presence in the background. Despite knowing each other for a decade, there always seems to be a wall up when you try to approach him. Cordial and nice is all you ever seem to get from him, but how he behaves around his family is a different story. Barely stifled laughs at his sister's antics. Tight hugs given to his father. Soft smiles shared with his mother. A usually kind and patient man Arlo is fiercely protective of anything he cares about. Whether you're included in that is up in the air.

Arlo stands at 6'2 with a buff and heavyset build. He has honey skin, which fades to a warm beige in colder weather. His face is heart-shaped with beauty marks under his left eye, point of his nose, and underneath the right side of his lip. His eyes are dark brown, nearly black. He has short, straight, black hair. The front of his hair just about reaches his eyebrows and the back reaches the end of his nape. The sides reach the middle of his ears. His usual clothing style resembles that of a slightly subdued kindergarten teacher; soft colors, overalls, crewnecks, jeans, sweater vests, sneakers. He is almost always wearing a painting apron. His jewelry varies though he consistently wears small gold hoop earrings and several leather band bracelets. A minimalist sun tattoo is on the inside of his left arm; his sister has a matching one.

[themuse-if]

Silas Walker

The RA

Silas Walker | 20 yrs old | he/him:

Meet your Resident Advisor, Silas – a friendly and helpful figure on your campus. As a sophomore majoring in Songwriting, he's not just your go-to for questions about study spots, navigating the subway, or dealing with challenging professors; he's a wellspring of knowledge and guidance.

Silas maintains a careful distance from his advisees, adhering to the rule that RAs shouldn't canoodle with their advisees. Despite his amicable nature, there's a mysterious aura about him that leaves you curious and intrigued. Silas seems to have a knack for being evasive, keeping certain aspects of his life hidden behind a friendly smile.

As you seek advice and information from him, you can't help but wonder what lies beneath the surface of his amiable exterior. Silas is a puzzle waiting to be solved, and the enigma surrounding him only adds to the allure of this approachable yet enigmatic Resident Advisor.

Scroll all the way down for a mini Q&A with Silas!

Top row left to right: Everyday, formal, activewear, sleepwear

Bottom row left to right: Party, swimwear, hot weather, cold weather

Silas Q&A

Q: What’s your sign?

A: I’m a Scorpio.

Q: How tall are you?

A: I’m 5'11.

Q: Name your top 5 artists your listening to?

A: Lately I've been listening to a lot of Cleo Sol, Arlo Parks, Q, Emily King, and Thee Sacred Souls.

Q: What’s your favorite food?

A: There's a certain comfort in a classic beef stew. The slow-cooked savory meat, hearty vegetables, and flavorful broth creates a dish that warms both the body and the soul.

Q: What’s your ideal date?

A: You know those spaces that have a ton of art supplies and projects for you to choose from, well we would go there and get creative while just talking about life. And then after I would introduce them to my favorite Indian restaurant.

[laf-outloud]

@genpadalecki

1 sunset strolls ❤️ 2 O and I enjoying last bits of summer weather 3 when dads away this is how we roll 😆 4 arlo catching morning light 5 starting day w AG1 and add some stamets mush powder for immune boost 6 a goody leftover from our time at Boise zoo 7 Soccer dad and his dudes 8 farmers market finds 9 lovely owl that came for a visit 10 when there’s a 🐸 gotta catch it

It's the last of the lazy days of summer for the Padaleckis! (Also... Tom is getting so tall!)

[wylde-lore]

Doctor Wylde's character sheet

Name: Cedric Arlo Wylde

Alias/titles: Aldia Entrati (deadname), big guy, old fart, Doc, Doctor, The Good Doctor, General, Master, Enlightened One, Midnight Sun, Slayer of Lord Demogorgon

Race: Orokin

Sex: Male

Age: 10,948 years old

Height: 7 feet (2.1336 meters) while disguised as a mortal, 2,000+ feet (610+ meters) in his true form

Weight: 350 pounds (158.757 kilograms) while disguised as a mortal, ( 2.6 * 10^11 (260,000,000,000) tons in his true form

Physical appearance:

Additional characteristics: Despite his extreme age, he looks like he's merely in his late 60s to early 70s. His body is completely covered in countless scars, ranging from claw marks to lightning burns. He has the physique of an Olympic strongman and calloused hands that never so much as quiver under even the most stressful of situations and possess a vice-like grip that's almost impossible to escape from. His sharp nails are actually retracted claws, and are capable of rending flesh and metal alike when fully extended. His eyes are a rich golden color with red accents, and sport slitted, reptilian pupils. His ears are elongated and elf-like. His teeth are razor sharp and the canines are elongated into vicious fangs. His face is weathered and rarely shows emotion, but if you look closely there are clear smile lines. He has both crow's feet and dark circles under his eyes. Most of his hair has turned grey, but some still possess the coppery red of his youth. Though almost never seen as he's extremely good at hiding them -though the reason why is unknown - he has a pair of draconic wings with black and gold scales sprouting from his back, a draconic tail of similar coloration, the tip of which is bladed and impossibly sharp, and a line of bone spikes that protrude from his back and run along his spine. Much like most of his family, he has an Irish accent.

Profession(s): arcanologist, biomechanical engineer, licensed arms dealer, CEO of Wylde Labs, religious leader

Allied factions: the Orokin Empire, the ASF, the Drone colonies of Copper 9, Humanity

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Demiromantic omnisexual

Relationships: @theblackcubeofdarkness Cube, @emily-and-friends Clown - spouse (polyamorous relationship) Evelyn, Emma, Oswald, Ruby, Lucy, Lily, @theblackcubeofdarkness Oliver - biological father Cyn, Delilah, @emily-and-friends Emily, @solvar-the-drone, @nate-doorman-elliot, @thad-the-jock, @p3nny-bakes-cookies - adoptive father Agent Arrow - master and mentor Slyvan - pet owner Natah - son Janus - host Margret, Tessa, Abby, Odin, Belnar, Alice, Sarah, Cephalon Eda, Elizabeth, Asmodeus, @emily-and-friends Mikan, @sea-slug-in-a-sweater, @r4m-has-horns - employer Andy - Champion Serial Designation J, Yeva, @emily-and-friends Serial Designation O, Adele, Valentine, Vivien, Koki, Mimi, @asknoridoorman, @roseamongrobots - close friend and associate @asf-director-turner - contracted employer Ko, @emily-and-friends Serial Designation V, Korrina, @serial-designation-mj, @worker-drone-alex - (potential) future father-in-law

Personality: He is extremely adept at hiding his true emotions, creating an illusion of perpetual calm. Though he never reveals this information to anyone but those closest to him, in truth he is haunted by his past and suffers from PTSD so severe that he's developed an irrational fear of falling asleep, for he knows the only things waiting for him on the other side are vivid and horrific nightmares. He has a bit of a smoking problem, though he usually only smokes when he's particularly stressed. He loves his family dearly, though can be a bit overprotective of his children - especially Ruby, his firstborn. He is known for harboring extreme hatred and prejudice - bordering on flat out speciesism - against demonic entities, with exactly one known exception. Contrary to popular belief, he does have a sense of humor. Though rarely seen, he is known for having a sadistic streak and is not above torture if the situation demands it. Though he loves the thrill of combat and is very much driven by honor, he is not above "cheating" or "playing dirty;" he can and will exploit your weaknesses at every chance he gets, and he never fights fair. He has a bad habit of consuming the souls of those he kills in order to steal their knowledge and power. He is deeply religious and has an unwavering sense of duty to keep his culture alive, as his home world is gone and he is among the last of his species. He's very slow to trust, and is extremely secretive. Not even his two spouses know all his secrets. He's a complete workaholic and loves his job.

Important lore tidbits: Like many of his kin, the Doctor's true form is incompatible with the comprehension of mortals, and so he devised a plan to hide it. He tracked down a human scientist named Cedric Wylde, killed him, and stole his name, flesh, voice, and even his very soul. The new Doctor Wylde now wears the old one's skin like a costume, though how he fits inside is unknown. He has worn this skin for just over 50 years, and once it finally gives out on him, he'll have to shed it and repeat the process. In order to keep himself from sinking into the ground as its crushed under his immense weight, the doctor is constantly using gravity magic to make himself lighter. At this current point in time it's become second nature to him, as effortless and automatic as breathing, and sometimes he forgets he's even doing it. He is a veteran of a great war known as the Fell War, and it is the cause of not only his PTSD, but also his prejudice against demons. Over the millennia he's developed a split personality; a twisted version of himself named Janus. Pray you never meet him, and that if you do the meeting is brief and nonviolent. Janus only emerges to "play" when Doctor Wylde nears his breaking point mentally. He is capable of allowing parts of his true self to temporarily break through the skin suit as "mutations" if needs be. He can also contort his body at inhuman angles at will.

Additional lore trivia: In his youth, he had a bit of a superiority complex and this obnoxious "holier than thou" attitude that only got more infuriating when you realize that he's right. Such things were snuffed out of him during the Fell War. Though fully ambidextrous as an adult, he was born left handed. Do NOT challenge him to a drinking contest, as not only does he already have a drinking problem and by doing so you're encouraging him, but the alcohol content needed to get him even slightly tipsy is enough to kill several people from alcohol poisoning. He absolutely despises the word "moist." His favorite color seems to change every few days. This is because his favorite color is actually outside the wavelengths of visible light for humans, and he's trying to find one that's the most similar.

Drip:

His theme song:

[fanfic-inator795]

To the 3 or so people currently still in the Arlo the Alligator Boy/I Heart Arlo fandom: all the cold weather that we were dealing with up here in the Midwest a couple weeks back got me thinking about Arlo again.

Being both part-reptile and from the swamp, I imagine Arlo’s first winter in Seaside/NYC is quite the shock for him once he experiences his first heavy snow/below zero temps. Having similar feelings, being part-bird and all, I imagine Ansel offering to simply take Arlo down south with him for the winter - but for as icky and grumpy as the cold can make him feel at its worst, I feel like Arlo would politely refuse since he wouldn't want to miss out on his first winter in his new home/with his new friends.

So he, Ansel, Bertie and the others brainstorm a bunch of different ways to cope with winter - and on the REALLY cold nights, everyone just stays at Ansel's penthouse with the heat cranked up. (maybe Arlo and Marcellus end up getting a heat lamp/heated pool as their respective holiday gifts too, heh)

I also just imagine this specific scenario where- after a week of things being super cold and VERY cloudy and it starting to seriously effect Arlo’s mood despite how much he tries to not let it - Ansel is able to help him feel a bit better by flying him up above the clouds, allowing him to see/feel the sun, at least for a bit.

[melissamasakari]

Confessions you didn`t notice

Chapter five. Solstice thingies.

The next week was quite routine. A bunch of small tasks, replenishing the warehouse, hunting for all sorts of monsters outside. Nothing special. And then on Sunday fireside Gale announced the grandiose construction of the century. According to him, the neighboring government had finally agreed with Portia to build a road to Sandrock. For this purpose, a huge bridge and transport network were designed. That sounded like tons of interesting orders and it was promised that orders will be posted tomorrow. For now, I can check materials and prepare.

So on Monday morning I already got the first specific task. Wow, that's a big deal. Fortunately, the deadlines are not as tight as is it customary with external investments. I made a plan, ran around abandoned ruins, and returned home. In the evening I heard a familiar stomp at the gate. Wow, who got here! And I already missed him a lot by now.

“Melissa, are you home?” Arlo kicked the gate a couple of times. Red-block-head, I'll just kill you! I just fixed the fence!

“What, smoking furnaces in the yard are not enough evidence for the great detective?”

“Well, knowing you, they are not. You can easily fire up the grill and go somewhere. I have to look after your stuff from time to time.”

“Come in, stop yelling over the fence. You'll scare away the neighbors' chickens.”

“You asked to knock. So I knock. But usually it doesn't help.”

“OK. What do you need now? Some great feats or something simpler?”

“Personal,” oh, that’s a smile. Okay, red-block-head, you’re off the hook.

“Did you broke new dummy within a week, or is something rotten in the warehouse?” I inquired, while trying not to show embarrassment and excessive interest.

“No! Are you going to the fest tomorrow? I got busy and completely forgot that there was also a snowball battle there.”

“Fest? Tomorrow?”

“Well, yes, Winter Solstice. We celebrate the end of the year, make wishes, and share plans for the next year. This kind of stuff.”

“We just didn’t celebrate this. There was something similar, but it was in the fall. Tell me about what will happen there.”

Redhead told in detail how they celebrate here in Portia the date that I usually call the New Year. The part with the big pot of shared soup is a little unclear to me, but overall it sounds very interesting. It's probably worth going. Wait. He just invited me to a public event. It doesn’t seem like a date; I don’t even dare to consider it so. But it turns out that we will be together in front of a crowd of people all day long, won’t we? Well, if I will not blush too much and stutter, no one will really notice anything. At the same time, I’ll piss off Nora. Moreover, I still don’t know what he decided about her, maybe he has a harem of little sisters formed through my efforts.

“How does it sound? Will you go?

“With you? Yes, with you I'll even go through the jaws of Death. And back.”

“I hope it's unnecessary. So, meet me at Alice's store in the morning.”

“Fine. Why there?”

“Approximately equal distance.”

“Fair point. I don’t need to run to the guild in the morning,” I nodded at the traditional chaos around the assembly site. “I have full bunch of orders until the end of the spring.”

On Tuesday morning I dresses up, grabbed gifts for friends and headed to the meeting place. Holy Mr. Peach, just how nervous I am! This is definitely NOT A DATE, why am I so worked up? Oh, there he is, waving his hand. Somehow I got there too quickly.

“Hey!” Arlo offered me his hand, inviting me to grab his forearm.

“Glad to see you so cheerful. That’s your favorite event, I guess?”

“Sure thing. A city hotpot is a big deal, especially when it's so cold and snowy. That’s nothing better than a hefty pot of hot, spicy soup in such a weather!”

“Is it so very spicy?”

“It depends on how much pepper and ginger the townspeople throw in there. And what?”

“Do they usually throw a lot? I don't really like spiced food while I can still stomach ginger or mustard. But I was sick tired of hot pepper even in Barnarock. For some reason everyone there was obsessed with it. What a nonsense, there is a wild heat all around, and they are still have to put it inside themselves also. Brr.”

“Then it’s better not to. Or grab a portion at the very beginning. Well, it's a pity. I thought you liked it somewhat spicy too. You've been cooking spicy food recently.”

“There was almost no pepper there.”

“And it still turned out very tasty. Maybe you can share the recipe?”

“No way! Then you will stop dropping by.”

“You don’t think I have no reasons to visit you other than dinner, do you?”

“Well... I don’t disturb public order. I don't eat kids for lunch. I don’t slander my neighbors. What else is within your responsibility?”

“Fires, for example. A disgusting thing. In summer, the meadows often burn. Come, help yourself before they fill it up. And I'll wait.”

I poured myself a portion, threw in a communal pot a couple of peppers myself, and together with Arlo we walked away from the cauldron to the bench so as not to disturb anyone. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed church attire in the crowd. I wonder if Nora was staring at me or ogling the redhead now? She was probably not pleased that she wasn’t invited by him. And Arlo didn't seem to notice anything yet. Great.

“Well, is it okay? Not too spicy for you?”

“It'll do. But after my intervention, it probably became much more scalding.”

“What did you add there? I'm not familiar with this type.”

“Duvos pepper. Two full pods. Remy once asked for a spicy crepe with duvos powder. Well, I still had some spare pods lying around.”

“Then I’ll run to try it before it was diluted. Be right back.”

While he was pushing towards the cauldron and fiddling with the plates, Nora suddenly approached me. Surprise. And what for?

“Are you enjoying the holiday?”

“Yes, we don’t celebrate that one where I am from. A curious event. Did you want something?”

“I wanted to challenge you!”

“To challenge me? Such an honor! Aren't you afraid of denting your robe?”

“I mean snowballs,” she hesitated. “After the hot pot. On the field.”

“Don’t you think that you and I are in very unequal conditions?”

“Elaborate.”

“As far as I know, you are from a region where snow is common. But this year, I think, is the first time I’ve seen snow myself.”

Very flushed Arlo loomed behind Nora. I wonder how much did he manage to hear? And how will he react.

“That didn’t stop you from running with everyone else at the last festival.”

“It didn’t hurt to run. But it was inconvenient for you to hide.”

“And I wasn’t hiding at all! Everything according to the common rules by the way! Well, do you accept the challenge? Or are you afraid of embarrassing yourself?”

“Ha. No way I'll refuse! If you want a battle, you'll get it. Just don't cry too much.”

“Are you chatting, girls? Great. I hope you two will become good friends.”

“We'll see, honey.”

Nora shuddered. She chuckled and, looking like an insulted princess, headed towards the gate. What a spirit! I hope Arlo won't be too upset when I’ll make her spit snow. Again.

“What were you talking about?”

“Didn't you hear?”

“In outline. It's quite noisy here.”

“Nora wants a snowball fight with me. Is it time for me to run scared?”

“Just drop it. She's a nice girl. Try to get to know her better and you'll see.

“I will try. But I don't promise anything. Cause I think we have nothing in common, you know.” Well, except for the same crush I guess.“Do tell me what do you think of my secret ingredient? I remember Remy even cried. I didn’t get if it was from nostalgia, happiness or l from mucosal burn.”

“It’s a fine brew. You should at least have given a warning, you hooligan. Otherwise you will have to be detained for sabotage. The children, over there, are just spitting from it.”

“You understand that your flimsy cage won’t hold me, right?”

“It shouldn't. But the fine to the workshop’s rating and the ban on taking government commissions will do better.”

“Oh, so you’re a sly one! You’re looking too pleased for such serious threats,” feigning offense I lightly hit him on the shoulder with my fist.

“Let's go, people have already gathered on the field.”

Now it dawned on me why no one cleaned the scenery from the last feast. The decorations were the same, except that the children had built more snow fortifications around. Today's snowball battle had half the time allocated compared with the last feast. I need to use it wisely.

“Well, are you ready?” Nora inquired capriciously. “I can give you a ten-point head start.”

“I reject. Make sure you don't need an advantage yourself.”

“Redhead, do calm down. You'll scare away all the townspeople.”

“Fine point from a redhead yourself. Are you on offense or defense?”

“I hope to have time to play both parts. Besides, I promised you.”

This sly blockhead first went to the side of defense and throughout the battle looked after and protected Nora from my tried. So, are they dating or not? If they are dating, then why did he invite me? Lost in thought, I missed the hard hit. Ugh! Well, now you BOTH will hear from me.

“Keep your eyes open!” Arlo shouted, made a funny face and rolled into another shelter.

I took the opportunity and landed a fine projectile into his “little sister”. Hey, he didn’t have enough time to cover her this time. And she asked for it herself! I'll make her cry later. I dodged her retaliatory projectile without any problems, as well as the Arlo's attempts to provoke me into a rash attack. Changing my position, I took careful aim, pretending to be aiming at him. As I had planned, he deftly dodged, exposing my real target for my attack. Nora was left without a hat. And then that sly redhead got hit in the face. Victory is mine!

“Kid, is it just me, or are you too aggressive today?” Sam slapped me on the shoulder from behind.

“Blame the hot pepper. Don't worry, I'm cooling down quickly.”

“Ugh, I'm not playing against you anymore.” Shaking out the snow from under his jacket, Arlo said, coming closer. Nora was not with him, so I can hope that she will not dare to take revenge soon.

“You signed up for this yourself. There is sparring. There is the Land Run. There are snow-fights now too. What's left there?”

“Fishing.”

“Ugh, disgusting! Any other options?”

“Ghost hunt. And the harvest festival.”

“You don’t participate in that two. I have a hard time imagining your attempts to grow a champion pumpkin.”

“I can eat up a champion pumpkin. But I do not want to. It's too sweet so I'll have a terrible headache.”

“Guys, the second round is starting, we’re dividing into teams again,” reminded Sam, who had observed our skirmish from sidelines earlier.

I didn’t want to go to the defense of the “castle”. Arlo kept his promise and didn’t play against me either. Somehow, completely imperceptibly, the game turned into “escape from the redheads.” Almost our entire team dropped out early, and the two of us really gave our opponents a cold one by the collar. Take that! Quite suddenly, evening came and it was time for the annual group photo. The townspeople flocked back, gathering under the Wishing tree. Wait, why did Nora decide to stand next to me? Is she trying to befriend me now? Was it HE who advised her to stick up to me? Hey, my opinion is not taken into account? Okay, girl, just smile. Hmmm, well, my face got somewhat too ghastly. I just hope Arlo won’t lay this photo on his dresser.

“Sam, don't go away yet.”

“I wasn’t going to; I’ll just gather our team.”

“Okay, I'll wait by the swing. Let the crowd disperse a little.”

Taking advantage of the respite, I rummaged through my bag. Luckily, all the packages are in place, so I can hand them all over.

“Remy, this one for you. I think it will come in handy,” I handed my friend the package, through the packaging of which the fabric was visible.

“New jacket. Cool, thank you, this is exactly what I wanted. And this is for you, open it quickly.”

Inside the small box I found brand new blue boxing gloves. Unable to contain my joy, I hugged my friend tightly.

“My turn! Here you go, little fella. It's your size, I checked twice. I know that your old one is completely worn out.”

“Wow! It's good that I didn't have time to order it myself. I'll be back in my favorite uniform jacket when it gets warmer. Now it’s your turn. It wasn't easy to get.” Sam pulled out a warm blanket with a picture of a horse from the bundle, beamed and hugged me.

“Thanks, kid! Remy, let's go. I'll help you with your knee, you’ve put a lot of strain on it today.”

“Arlo. This is for you. I thought you could use a replacement. This one should be sturdier and fit for a slightly heavier load,” I handed him a brand new arm stretcher with reinforced springs.

“You noticed then? I was just about to order a new one from you. Thank you! Now wait a minute.”

He began to rummage through the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Come closer. Here. Freeze,” he took a bright blue piece of fabric from the package.

Is this... Bandanna? Is it the same as his? While I looked at his gift in surprise and delight, Arlo carefully folded the bandanna in half and began tying it around my neck. He fiddled with it a little, straightened it, smoothed it out, and walked back a couple of steps to admire it. I'm sure I'm blushing A LOT right now. He carried it with him all day after all.

“What, Am I supposed to get hugs? Or did I guess wrong?”

“Why not? You guessed just right” I looked around, but no one seemed to be trampling around. So...OK.

“Then I’m waiting,” he spread his arms invitingly.

Gathering all of my courage, I rushed to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, reached out and quickly kissed him on the cheek, quietly saying “thank you.” Wow, his beard was so soft. And his herbal scent made me melt. Oh. Stunned by my determination, I just as quickly let him go, walked away to a decent distance and started running away, hiding my completely blushed face in my hood.

[ashecampos]

list 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox of the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you 💖💛

Firstly thankyou for the ask (this is for both @cheesysoup-arlo and @bookaddict05 who both asked me this)

1. my dog

2. My best friend @bookaddict05

3. My (not so) little brother

4. My Gf (we don’t have any photos yet/ im meeting her tomorrow tho💁‍♀️)

5. Quite literally anything revolving around art weather it be fashion, painting, music or movies I love it (i don’t have any photos to add for this one but have some cosplay photos i have of me from last year)

[allamericansbitch]

Hi everyone! Here’s the newest addition to my Creator Shoutout Series (march 26  - april 2)! For info about the series, I explained it in the first post here, but generally, it’s to show appreciate to editors and their creations that i love from the past week. To track this series or look at previous shoutouts, please check out the tag on my blog *creatorshoutouts. Have a great week everyone!

you netflix: love quinn gifset by @stephsu

succession: shiv roy in 4x01 gifset by @riley-keoughs

yellowjackets: 2x01 gifset by @carsonsshaw

taylor swift: speak now (taylor’s version) edit by @wylanvannecks

daisy jones & the six: aurora tour edit by @deadwivesclub

succession: kendall and roman gifset by @panevanbuckley

taylor swift: anti-hero edit by @cellphonehippie

abbott elementary: season two gifset by @cobbbvanth

the last of us: ellie williams gifset by @mickbetsch

succession: 4x01 gifset by @h-f-k

taylor swift: midnights as tarot cards edit by @erastours

daisy jones & the six: camila dunne + looks gifset by @joellellie

the last of us: joel miller gifset by @dadjoelmiller

succession: 4x01 + text posts gifset by @arthurpendragonns

stranger things gifset by @anya-chalotra

the last of us: ellie and joel gifset by @finnhudsons

taylor swift: labyrinth edit by @andtosaturn

assorted musicians + tropes gifset by @antoniosvivaldi​

succession: season one vs season 4 gifset by @kazs-inej

criminal minds: spencer reid gifset by @klinejack

taylor swift: cruel summer edit by @sadbeautifutragic

yellowjackets: shauna gifset by @misty-quigley

paramore: hayley williams + outfits from south american tour gifset by @userparamore

taylor swift: eras tour poster edit by @cruellesummer

boygenius: the film gifset by @ethelcainn

yellowjackets: 2x02 gifset by @thesoldiersminute

scream 4 gifset by @gales-weathers

stranger things: 3x01 gifset by @userspree

to all the boys i’ve loved before gifset by @madscline

taylor swift: ivy edit by @regular-another

boygenius: the film gifset by @arlo-parks

yellowjackets: 2x02 gifset by @theedorksinlove

taylor swift: willow edit by @aslowmotionlovepotion

pedro pascal: birthday gifset by @a7estrellas

yellowjackets: shauna and jackie gifset by @genyazafin

boygenius: the film gifset by @phoebesbridgers

taylor swift: eras tour in arlington texas gifset by @experienceandobservation​​

halsey: the lighthouse edit by @aaronapollo

parks and recreation: april ludgate gifset by @comfortblr @candicepatton

succession: roman roy gifset by @kitherondale

pedro pascal: birthday gifset by @barnesdjarin

boygenius: the film gifset by @julicnbaker

the last of us: joel and ellie gifset by @user-kestis

lucy dacus: historian gifset by @comeinwiththerain

pedro pascal: birthday gifset by @trashcora

[louisupdates]

Louis is mentioned in Beat Magazine Australia as well as in part of the interview with The Snuts. [📸 @lwtism]

When we check in with vocalist/guitarist Jack Cochrane, he estimates The Snuts are “somewhere deep in Florida” since they’re wrapping up some Stateside dates supporting former One Direction star Louis Tomlinson. “We’ve been driving from Texas to Florida for our last three shows with Louis,” he shares. “The [amount of] miles we’ve covered in the States is insane!”

During this US leg of Tomlinson’s tour, the show at Red Rocks Amphitheatre was cancelled after a “freak hailstorm” ripped through the site. “It was a really extreme weather event and must’ve been terrifying for the audience,” Cochrane observes, before acknowledging, “All of the staff and stage crew did an incredible job of trying to keep everyone safe.”

With an increasing number of bands cancelling or cutting their tours short these days – eg. Arlo Parks, Sam Fender, Lewis Capaldi (who also grew up in The Snuts’ hometown of Whitburn), 100 gecs – we ask Cochrane what kind of measures The Snuts put in place to protect their mental health, and beat burnout, while touring relentlessly. “Burnout is something we are super-aware of and try really hard to avoid,” he admits. “We are lucky to have a team around us who are very caring and conscious of our wellbeing. It’s something we forward-plan for and try to make sure that we afford time for rest, recuperation and [spending time with] family.”

[userkatekane]

OOOH ALSO!!! all the hearts for arlo :) you can only do some of them if u don't want to do all questions hehe!! <3

DETAILS ABOUT OCS

❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc’s positive traits?

man i had to sit and think about this one LMAO so arlo is VERY devoted. obsessively so? which is one of his more positive traits because it makes him loyal af to whomever happens to get under his skin like that. like beau is set for life and whether he likes it or not, so is benedikt. he's a loyal hound and he knows it. another positive trait is that arlo is disgustingly intelligent but would you know it? no, because he plays dumb. and lastly arlo can be very gentle when he chooses to be. very tender and careful. is he most of the time though? no, no he's not

🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc’s neutral/questionable traits?

probably how he's not bothered by much. he's so chill. a little too chill, actually. but not in the nonchalent way but in the concerning WHY ARENT U REACTING way. the other two are the way he just does as he likes and doesnt care for much else in terms of like, consequences and then how he loves i guess LMAO

💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc’s negative traits?

fuckin everything else LMAO his apathy towards almost everything, his violent side, how nothing matters outside of what he obsesses over, how he's HAPPY to live in the dark like that

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

beau. it's always gonna be beau. he isn't sure when she swept him up like that but it's her. he'll always choose her. he has some loyaly to elena but he also doesnt have a choice there but. if it was between saving the world and putting everything right and beau, he'd pick her every time, even if at the end they perished too. at least they'd be together

🧡 ORANGE HEART — does your oc tend to prioritize family or friends?

arlo prioritises beau, benedikt and elena. that's it. everyone else? eh, depends on his mood

💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any?

he's of italian heritage, so he speaks fluent italian. he can also speak latin, the eldred mother tongue and a bunch of other languages because he's old af and has had to learn in his service to elena to be able go to places on her behalf. he's happiest speaking italian though

💚 GREEN HEART — does your oc prefer being inside or outside?

inside. outside means bad weather and the sun and more people to annoy him

💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world?

god this might end up long winded if i spend too much time answering it so i'll summarise and say yes, he does. he's a cursed dead thing himself. it's mostly because of elena's magic running through him 24/7 but has his tricks. better to be on his side than not because hoo boy

💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your oc’s ancestry/genetic background?

i havent figured out the specifics yet because of dropping out of my oc stuff for so long but arlo is of italian heritage as mentioned before and i am thinking he comes from something royal or at least close to that before he fell into elena's little world. probably why he's so high and mighty and a dickhead 99.9% of the time LOL

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone’s heart and/or broken someone’s trust?

killed? oh ya, plenty, all the time. and he seriously wounds people to eat LOL but yeah. thankfully it's under elena's rules rn though?? which is only men who are deserving. no women unless she decides ya that one deserves it and NO CHILDREN. NEVER THE CHILDREN. which he's fine with because kids are too tiny and he breaks beau's heart all the time, and breaks benedikt's trust more often than not. not because he means to, but because of who he is and what he chooses to do

[viva-la-whump]

Whumpmas in July - Day 1

Thank goodness I saw someone's WIJ post on my dash or else I totally would have forgotten about this!

Day 1 - Introduce Yourself

Hi everyone! I'm Arlothia (or Arlo for short) and welcome to my whump blog!

I'm not super active on here and mostly just post my contributions for whump challenges like this, but my main blog is HERE where I'm more active reblogging random stuff.

A little about me is that I love whump (obviously) and have for most of my life, even before I knew that there was a word for it, and even before I knew that hurt/comfort existed! Whenever I do get around to writing something, 9 times out of 10 it will involve (and usually focus on) some form of whump.

I've worked for my library system for over a decade now and am actively working towards becoming a voice actor! It's slow going, but I'm trying to keep the momentum going so I can start auditioning for things.

Uuuum, let's see, what else can I say about myself....

I love cool and rainy weather and I hate the sun and heat.

I have a horrible sweet tooth and I love chocolate.

I love watching Chinese and Korean dramas (there's some absolutely amazing whump in these shows, guys!! You gotta check them out!!)

I'm really, REALLY bad at responding to messages (especially on tumblr) so as I'm looking at the *cough* 48 messages sitting in my inbox that have been there for *coughs again* years most likely, I'M SO SORRY!!! 😭😭😭😭

I'm a total geek and love lots of different shows, movies, books, fandoms, etc... so most likely we have at least something in common that we enjoy!

And yeah, I think that about does it for me! 👋