#i was gonna post this with another painting but um…. they’re so different in tone

[getosugurusbangs]

i know it’s not your fault

[sweetaesuga]

rather be | jhs

pairing: hoseok x female reader

genre: angst, fluff, established relationship au!

warnings: age gap, language, parents disapproval.

word count: 2.1k

↳a/n: decided to post this since my jk fic is taking too long. this is a drabble for my upcoming jhs fic!

"I think they're going to hate me."

"They're going to love you, I don't know what you're talking about."

You shuffled awkwardly in front of the red door, black heels grazing on the cement. "I feel like I'm gonna make myself look like a complete fool," you whined to him, puffs of air are seen leaving you mouth due to the coldness.

Hoseok chuckled. "As if you already don't already do that," his smile surfaced as he remembered the first date you both went on and how timid you were. You could barely stand on your two legs like a baby giraffe that day but now you're glaring at him with your might. "I'm joking babe. They're going to—"

The door is thrown wide open, hitting the wall. Hoseok's mother stood there in her elegant black pencil skirt with a precious diamond necklace, hanging down her neck and matching earrings. Her eyes landed on Hoseok and she embraced him. Accompanied by a kiss on the cheek, she told him how much she missed him. He whined and promised her he would visit more often. Hoseok moved out of the way to make sure she got a good glimpse of you. She scanned you up and down, watching you gulp in uneasiness. Hoseok coughed to get his mother's eyes to return to him when he realized she was staring too long. She smiled at him, cheeks scrunching up. "Um, mom this is Y/N, my girlfriend."

Taking a deep breath, you prepare to greet her. "Hello," her hand stuck out in front you, a nice red color painted onto them.

"Hi!" you shook her hand, your glittery nails are now the center of attention as she glanced at them. "It's so nice to meet you!"

Your cheeks flushed at your ear-piercing tone. Hoseok's mother seemed a little taken back but veiled it with a small smile, not the same she gave your boyfriend however. "Hoseok talks a lot about you, we're so happy to meet you."

She stepped aside, making way for the two of you. Shutting the door in front of you, she walked over to the living room. "I'm sorry but Jiwoo won't be joining us today, she's busy at work like always," she mumbled the last part. You nodded, secretly a little grateful that his sister wouldn’t be here because the information eased your nervousness.

Hoseok wrapped your hand around his, reassuring you to just be yourself. He gave you multiple talks along the way, reminding you that if his parents would approve of a beautiful amazing girl like you, his words exactly.

His father appeared from the kitchen, waving slightly at you. His attire was the same as his wife, elegant and classy. A dark suit with a simple navy tie and a white button down shirt. “You're back from Seoul! And you even brought yourself a pretty lady," Hoseok's father grinned at you and went in for a hug. Your cheeks flushed even more at his comment, taking a whiff of his dark spiced cologne.

"Dad, this is Y/N, my girlfriend," his father whistled at him, happy that his son has finally found himself a girlfriend.

"Thank god! Was beginning to think you were gay or something," you can't help but let out a snort, Hoseok's glare quickly shushed you. "Seriously, he never brings over a girl. I mean, Hoseok you're thirty-three and haven't even thought of marriage!" you laughed in agreement and your boyfriend grimaced at the thought.

His father warmed up to you fast, walking over to the dinner where everything was prepared waiting for you. His parents sat across from the both of you, his mother chose to sit in front of you. The warm dish of jajangmyeon planted in front of you.

"Wow," the air in your lungs are knocked out from the delicious plate in front of you. "This looks amazing and I bet it'll even taste amazing."

His mother scoffed. "We didn't cook it, the maids did."

Hoseok distinguished the tone his mother was using on you, remembering it from the times her and his father fought. She had an attitude towards you. His hands enclosed around you, kneading your knuckles. You blinked, surprised at the fact they had maids but still apologized for assuming.

"Is this the house where you grew up?" you voiced to Hoseok, genuinely interested if he grew up in this lovely home.

His father slurped down his noodles, prepared to answer the question for him. "No, we moved like three times. He grew up in another house that we sold. It was a great house, just didn't feel right for us."

Nodding, you gazed around the dining room. White coated on the walls with a brown marble floor that evened the colors out. Instead of a source of light hanging from above, there was two plants hanged. The dining table was a weirdly shaped wooden plank on four poles that still added touch to the design. "This is very beautiful," you complimented, fully absorbed in the modern design.

"I designed it myself," his mother smiled in pride and stared up at the plants. His father grinned at her, reminding her how much of a great job she did. "I went through a lot of designs but I definitely had a thing for modern interiors."

"Seriously, I remember when everything was dark. It looked like Dracula's house, Y/N," Hoseok recalled, receiving a frown from his mother. Your lips curved upwards but tried to hold your laugh in. "It was black and red in here, you should've seen!"

His father laughed at him. "You think that was funny?" he challenged his son with raised eyebrows. Hoseok stopped eating his noodles to stare at him along with puppy eyes. "You should of seen what Hobi used to play with as a kid that now he's ashamed of."

On cue, Hoseok's eyes widened at the sudden memory his father was going to expose. You gave him a puzzled look. "What is it?"

"No dad, stop! That was um....when I was younger. You said you weren't gonna talk about this!" Hoseok reminded him, it only gets your curiosity to leap higher.

"What is it?" you asked, leaning forward. Hoseok's father glanced over at him, staring into his sunken eyes that lost hope.

"He used to play with a barbie when he was younger—which there's nothing wrong with that but Hoseok over here gets embarrassed about it all the time, it's too damn funny!" his wife laughed along with him.

You giggled and turned. Surely enough, your boyfriend was sitting uncomfortably in his seat with red flushed cheeks. He wore a grumpy frown on his lips. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Hobi." you teased him, pinching the cheek closest to you.

"So where do you come from?" his father started again once he calmed down, bringing a piece of noodles to his lips. His wife sat besides him, peacefully eating her portion.

"I originally come from Ulsan but I came to Seoul because I'm currently attending Hanyang University right now."

The table goes quiet and you're worried that you might've said something wrong. You went over your words in your head, trying to find what could've offended them. Hoseok's father stopped chewing for a moment as if he's processing what you just said to him. Hoseok sighed and grabbed your hand from under the table, not helping your anxious state.

Maybe it was the university you were attending? You couldn’t think of anything else besides that being the reason that caused the tension in the room.

"How old are you?" his eyes fixed on you, wandering of your features to try to determine the answer himself.

"Nineteen."

Hoseok's mother laughed, earning a scowl from Hoseok himself. She shook her head and drank her wine, telling herself things under her breath. "Oh my god you stupid girl, you really thought you could date my son just for his money."

A frown settled on your face. Your palms began to become sweaty. Hoseok's eyebrows furrowed, his jaw continually clenching and unclenching. "I'm sorry? I don't know where you guys got that idea." you laughed awkwardly but shut your mouth when his father sent you a glare. It's almost like his whole personality switched into an asshole.

Hoseok doesn't move his hand even when his father glared at him. "We're not dumb sweetheart. Little girls like you that can't afford college, of course you would be looking for a sugar daddy," his mother continued. She aimed her finger at Hoseok. "And you, you're smart enough to know this. And getting a girl like this? Hoseok, I thought we raised you better than that." she turned to you, her gaze piercing through you you're sure it left a two holes in your head. "He's supposed to be getting married by now but instead he's wasting his time with someone like you."

You bit your lip, unable to blink or else a tear will rush out. There's a huge pressure on your body right now as you try to compose yourself together and not cry in front of his parents, but with the sickening look his mother is giving it's hard to follow through.

"What is your guy's problems?" Hoseok's voice cuts in. His chair scratched the floor as he stood up in front of them. His hands clutched yours tightly, even when you tried to pull away. "Sugar daddy? Are you listening to yourself right now?!" his voice boomed throughout the room.

"Hoseok—" you're ready to stop him from defending you but he's quick to silence you.

"I know Y/N, she's not like that," his eyes searched for you glossy ones. You sniffed and peered up at him. "You guys just barely met her, you can't make those assumptions of her. I know she's not with me for money, hell she won't take that necklace I bought her," you faintly smile at the memory of Hoseok begging you to take the emerald stone necklace in the middle of a restaurant. You kept refusing however not wanting to wear that expensive jewelry around since you feared that it wouldn’t look good on you.

"Hoseok please, a much younger girl wanting a rich man like you? She's like ten years younger than you! You think she's ready to get married anytime soon?" his hands kneaded your sweaty palm. "You're thirty-three and she's nineteen! You both are at different points of your life, she probably just came out of the nest. This is not going to work out," his mother stressed, standing up from her seat. His father exhaled and laid back in his seat. "How much?" she asked all of the sudden.

"What?"

"How much to get you out of his life? Name the price and you'll leave him alone."

"Mom! What the hell?!" Hoseok embraced you when you let a sob escape your mouth. Your nose nuzzled in his chest, taking in his coconut body wash. "I can't believe you guys would go this low!" you never heard Hoseok this angry. Even during all those times you messed something up like one of his papers by spilling lemonade onto it, he would never raise his voice. "Y/N makes me happy and if you guys can't accept that, well then—"

"What Hoseok? Are you going to chose her over your own family?" his father finally decided to talk, chest heaving up to present himself as more assertive. You feel backstabbed by this man, a few minutes ago he was telling your stories of Hoseok playing with barbies.

Your boyfriend doesn't say anything to them at first. He solely gazed down at you, pressing his soft lips against your forehead. "Goodbye," he decided, pushing in both of our chairs. You don’t miss the despairing features on his parents face as you exit the house.

Even when you both reach his car, you haven’t stopped crying. He opened the door for you. Your eyes followed him as he walked around to his door. “Maybe your parents are right,” you croaked out, your voice vague from all the tears you’ve poured out. Hoseok stopped to look at you, eyes urging with you to continue. “What if people just see us like that? I’m a fucking gold digger and you’re a sugar daddy. I’m just with you for the money, I don’t want people thinking of me like that,” your voice cracked halfway.

Hoseok reached over the console to wrap his arms around you, giving your forehead a quick peck. “People who think that are just people that don’t know what do with their life and like to get into others’ businesses. I know you’re not a gold digger, Y/N.”

“I feel like such a bad person,” your hair stuck into your forehead as the tears poured out. You hiccuped into Hoseok’s shoulder. “You can’t pick me over your family, we need to break up.”

He shook his head, a tear managing to slip out. “No, I don’t ever want to break up with you. Y/N, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” you sniffed and glanced up at him, noticing his eyes and how tears were dangerously close to pouring out. He opened his mouth but shut it. A tear ran down his cheek and near his mouth.

“When I am with you, there’s no place I’d rather be.”

[magniloquent-raven]

Hello! For the I Love You prompt, 96 (“I brought you an umbrella.”) and first kiss please! I love me some fluff

thanks so much for the prompt :D

i wrote some bucklway! hope that’s okay!! and a lot of steve&robin being best friends because i love that for them. (and it’s a modern au)

(posted on ao3)

—-

Robin’s phone buzzes.

Her shift is almost over. Twenty more minutes ‘til freedom and air that doesn’t smell like burnt coffee. She doesn’t need to check her phone yet. It can wait. She’s keeping her eyes fixed forward, watching the door in case customers come in. There’s nobody even on the street outside, but still, it could happen. It’s raining, people come into cafes for shelter all the time.

Stupid, traitor brain doesn’t seem to be getting the message though, because she keeps glancing down at her phone, sitting there on the counter taunting her. She’s looking often enough that Steve’s noticed. She can see him making faces at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Just check, Rob,” he groans.

“Check what,” she asks, deadpan. Steve is unmoved.

“We both know it’s Heather, and we both know you’re dying to know what it says.”

“We don’t know that. It could be…” she pauses, laments the sad state of her social life.

Steve smirks, “I will pay you if you can come up a name right now.” Asshole.

“Your mom. Thanking me for last night,” Robin replies, wiggling two fingers in front of her mouth. Steve bats her hand away, pretending to gag.

“Robin, no.”

“Robin, yes.”

They’re interrupted when her phone buzzes again.

It’s not like she even has a good reason not to check. In fact, not checking is driving her a little nuts. It’s just that she knows it probably is Heather, and her big dumb gay crush is starting to chip away at her withered little soul.

They’d been in the same creative writing class all semester and Robin hadn’t even noticed her beyond the cursory “yeah this girl looks like she’s here on daddy’s dime”. Then their professor had partnered them for some assignment three months ago and…well. Turns out Robin was right, but Heather was also so much more than that. Her father had wanted her to join the family business, be a reporter, but Heather’s heart had always been set on fiction. She had to fight to be allowed to take creative writing, to convince her parents it was even worth their money. The way she talks about writing makes Robin weak in the knees, and the fact that it was an act of rebellion doesn’t hurt either.

And on top of all that she’s got the prettiest smile Robin’s ever seen, and she always smells a little like vanilla.

Long story short, Robin fell hard.

So, letting her unread messages sit there is just easier than having to deal with Heather being all nice and friendly and unattainable, doesn’t matter that it’s making her itchy. Maybe. Probably.

She glances at her phone again.

“If you don’t check, I will.”

“Don’t you dare, Harrington.”

He raises his eyebrows, a challenge.

“Fuck,” she hisses quietly, clenching and unclenching her hands. She knows she’s gonna check but doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction yet. “Goddamnit. Fine.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

It’s her turn to raise her eyebrows. “Pot. Kettle. Yadda yadda. Also, the one about glass houses? I could go on.”

“Please don’t. Just text your girlfriend back.”

“I hate you,” she says, faux cheerful, and grabs her phone.

And freezes.

Heather sent her a selfie. A selfie. She’s standing next to a window, pointing at the rain and pouting, and it’s adorable. Her bottom lip is all shimmery with lip gloss and Robin wants to know what it tastes like. She seems like a strawberry lip gloss kind of girl. Robin’s always liked strawberries.

God, she’s so fucked. And not in the way she wants to be.

There’s also a text. “Worked so hard on my hair this morning, and for WHAT”.

Ugh. It shows. It really does. She’s got a little crown braid, half her hair cascading out of it in glossy waves, a couple stray curls framing her face. It’s a good look.

“Aw. She’s just down the street, you know, you should help her out,” Steve says, right next to her ear. She jumps, turns around and swats him away.

“Stop reading over my shoulder!”

He ignores her, “Girls love a good romantic gesture,” he says, nodding like he thinks he’s being wise. There’s a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth that ruins the whole look.

“Like you would know.”

“I’m in a committed relationship!”

“Yeah, with Hargrove. I don’t trust any of your dating advice.” Robin crosses her arms. She’s better at hiding her grin than he is.

“Oh, come on, you love Billy.”

“Sure, but I wouldn’t date him.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. He looks so genuinely flummoxed that Robin finally breaks, snickering.

She turns her attention back to her phone. The selfie. Heather is wearing her work apron, smeared with paint. Steve was right, she’s just down the street at that weird little pottery-making place Robin walks by every day but never actually pays much attention to.

And Robin did bring an umbrella to work…

“But what if—” Robin blurts, then bites her lip. She picks at her fingernails, chipping at the bits of polish she has left. It’s a stupid idea. It’s just another dumb crush on another girl who will never feel the same. She’s done this before, she can deal with just…waiting it out. No need to rush the inevitable devastating end with a gesture that would one hundred percent blow up in her face.

“Hey.” Steve startles her out of her thoughts. His voice is soft, and he’s got his Bambi face on, all big-eyed and dewy. “Heather’s different, okay?”

Of course he could see it written all over her face. Stupid Steve and his stupid empathy and kindness, making her feel all seen.

“I really think it would work out, Robin.”

“You don’t know that,” she says quietly.

“No, nobody knows, but you gotta go for it anyways if you want to be happy.”

He’s right. She knows he’s right, but her stomach is still churning, nauseated by anxiety. It’s just an umbrella. She’d just be bringing her an umbrella. It doesn’t even have to mean anything.

“Go, before she finishes her shift,” Steve urges, “I’ll cover for you.”

Robin throws her arms around his neck. “You know I love you, right?” she mumbles, muffled against his shoulder. She doesn’t say it a lot, not while sober, but she’s feeling mushy.

“Yeah, yeah, get in line,” Steve chuckles, tone impossibly fond, and hugs her back. “I love you too, now go.”

She goes. Runs down the road like a madwoman, clutching her umbrella. For some reason she doesn’t think to open it, so she’s soaked by the time she gets to the end of the street, hair sticking to her forehead and dripping in her eyes.

Which is probably why she doesn’t see Heather as she flings the door open, nearly hitting her with it in the process.

“Robin?” she exclaims, dancing out of the way just in time. She’s even more stunning in person, and Robin is suddenly very aware that she’s a mess.

“Um. Hi.”

Heather’s blinking at her. Her eyeliner’s a little smudged. Robin’s never wanted to kiss someone more.

“Are…you okay?”

“I brought you an umbrella!”

“What?”

Robin holds it up, too embarrassed to speak. She’s getting rainwater all over the floor, and she kind of feels like she’s going to faint, lightheaded and weak in the knees. The only thing grounding her is how heavy the knot of anxiety in her gut is.

“Oh!” Heather smiles, slow and careful, “You…” She’s looking at Robin more closely now, eyes scrutinizing. 

The silence is making Robin fidget, and more words come pouring out suddenly, “Your hair. It looks really nice, and I just thought. You know. It would be a shame to, um. It’s just that you’re very pretty? I mean–” she stops, and begins planning out her new life as a hermit, preferably in a different country. 

“What…would you do if I kissed you right now?” Heather asks softly, almost shy.

Robin drops the umbrella.

“I—” she stutters, giggles a little hysterically, her brain somehow both blank and working overtime, “Probably pass out, honestly.”

Heather’s a lot closer than she was before, faint traces of vanilla still discernible under the earthy smell of clay. “Please don’t,” she laughs, and takes Robin’s face in her hands.

They both lean in, closing the gap between them. Robin’s still shaky, trying to steady herself by grabbing Heather’s waist but it only makes her knees wobble more.

Heather’s lip gloss isn’t strawberry, it’s peach. The discovery makes Robin smile against her mouth. She’s never been happier being wrong.

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 15

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

THE NEXT DAY

GRIZZLIES WEST

Resting a hand on the journal’s worn pages, Dutch hesitated to turn to the next chapter as he thought back on the things he’d just read, wondering where everything went wrong.

Just this morning, he finally took the time to sit down and skim through some of Arthur’s private thoughts, only to end up discovering that they were much worse than he expected.

It was evident from the entries that Arthur lost his faith in their gang years ago. His words had no motivation behind them. No hope. No purpose.

They were all just so... bleak, and so full of finality.

It only made Dutch wonder if things were always meant to end this way. If, perhaps, Arthur was meant to turn on him from the start.

He knew the man wouldn’t be able to stick around forever. No one would. Not even Hosea. But the fact that he lost Arthur so quickly and so easily made Dutch question if there was ever a true relationship between them.

If there was, he would’ve given anything to get it back.

“Boss!” Micah’s voice suddenly barked from behind, leading Dutch to look up from the journal.

“What is it?” He asked, still somewhat preoccupied.

The other man sniffed, strolling in his direction through thick snow.

“...We got a problem, Dutch. It’s Bill.” Micah stepped next to him, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I think... he’s cut loose.”

Dutch snapped his head towards Micah in surprise, furrowing his brow.

“What? What do you mean he’s cut loose?”

Micah gestured towards the horizon, casually explaining his thought process.

“I saw some tracks leadin’ to the south from where I sent Bill to investigate last night. His horse is gone too. You ask me, I think he made a run for it. Probably decided to make his way back to New Austin. Try to survive on his own in the desert. He certainly talked about it a lot.”

“You sure it wasn’t somebody else’s tracks?”

The outlaw chuckled. “Who else could it have been? The Pinkertons? They’re mean bastards, I’ll give you that, but I reckon we’re the only ones crazy enough to actually come out here, Dutch. No... I’m pretty sure it was Bill.”

Dutch firmly shut the journal closed, storming off into the distance. “Dammit...! That goddamn coward.”

Micah gazed after him, shrugging in confusion. “You wanna try findin’ him?”

The older man coughed before waving a dismissive hand. “No. We’re here for Arthur and Isaac. No one else. If Bill wants to leave us behind and freeze to death in these mountains, then so be it.”

“Of course, of course. But you should know, Dutch... it’s gonna be trickier, now that it’s just the two of us. ‘Cause as much as I hate Arthur and his lil’ brat, I can’t deny that them boys know how to fight. I mean, look at what they did to my goddamn eye.”

Dutch glanced down at the journal, mindlessly tightening his grip on it. “...I’ll fight Arthur myself if need be. I raised him ever since he was a boy. I know how he thinks.”

The man coughed a few more times, his strength wavering with every jagged breath as the wind howled loudly around them.

“...Listen, son,” Dutch continued, his tone much softer now, “I don’t know how all this is gonna end. I don’t know if... Arthur will kill me, or if the tuberculosis will, but... whatever happens, I appreciate you stayin’ by my side this whole time. You’ve always had my back ever since you joined us, and I won’t forget it.”

Micah grinned, his eyes dark with insincerity. “Of course, Dutch. You’re practically family to me now. There ain’t much I wouldn’t do for you.”

Dutch nodded in reassurance. “I know, son. I know.” 

Slipping the journal back into his satchel, Dutch walked over to his horse and began mounting up, eager to continue his search for Arthur while the day was still young.

“C’mon, Micah.” He beckoned. “We’ve got one last score to settle.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

NEAR LAKE ISABELLA

“Here,” Isaac said, handing a warm mug to Arthur as the campfire crackled between them. “Drink this.”

The man took the cup in hand, curiously examining the dark liquid inside. “What is it?”

“It’s... medicine, I guess you could say,” Isaac answered. “I made it from some herbs I picked. I was gonna brew it when we got done fishing yesterday, but I never had the chance. It should calm your cough down a bit.”

Arthur raised the mug in appreciation, beaming at the boy. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Isaac held up a hand just before his father could consume the drink, giving him a last-minute warning.

“Oh, um, just so you know -- it’s probably gonna taste like shit.”

Arthur chuckled, bringing the mug to his lips. “Yeah, I figured as much. That tends to be the case with most medicines. Though, it can’t be worse than salted offal.”

He took a sip, immediately grimacing from the bizarre taste. “Jesus Christ, you wasn’t kidding. What kinda herbs did you make this with?”

Isaac smirked at his father’s disgusted expression. “English Mace and Alaskan Ginseng. They’re pretty hard to find in Ambarino, but they’re a common mixture when it comes to curing illnesses. I remember mom always used to make this when I got sick.”

Arthur cocked a brow in interest. “Did she?”

The boy smiled fondly at the memory. “Yeah. I’d always get nervous whenever I saw her makin’ it in the kitchen ‘cause I knew it would taste horrible. But... I can’t really complain. It did its job, after all.”

The older man nodded in a nostalgic manner. “Yep. Eliza always had a knack for takin’ care of people. I remember she’d fret over me every single time I came home, lookin’ to see if I had any stray bullets stuck in me and whatnot.” A sigh escaped Arthur. “Your mother was such a sweet woman. She didn’t deserve the stress I put her through.”

Isaac gave Arthur a gentle look, reminiscing about his times with Eliza. “...She loved you, you know.”

Arthur cupped the warm mug in his hands, setting it down for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mom always talked about you whenever you was away. She could never say much since she didn’t want me to know about your work, but I could tell she missed you. She was never angry, though. She understood why you couldn’t be around.”

Arthur felt a tinge of guilt. “...Did you?”

“Not at the time,” Isaac admitted. “But I do now. You had people to look after. A gang to protect. You couldn’t just abandon them.”

The older man glanced at the ground in remorse. “I guess that’s true. But I still wish I could’ve protected you and Eliza. You were in danger, and I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Isaac shook his head in disagreement. “It was four men against a woman and her child. Even if you had been there, you probably just would’ve gotten shot with her. And trust me, that’s not what mom woulda wanted. For either of us.”

Arthur found some peace in those words. “...Maybe you’re right.”

Falling into silence for a moment, the two of them quietly enjoyed each other’s company as snowflakes gently fluttered down from the sky, painting the ground around them with a new layer of snow.

The weather was getting colder in this region, or so it felt. It was probably due to the fact that they were further up north than before, but the sun seemed to appear less often these days, and Isaac couldn’t remember the last time he saw anything apart from dying grass and naked trees.

It just made the boy wonder how much longer they had until they’d reach Canada’s border. He had never been anywhere outside of the United States, so the idea of finding freedom in a different country was admittedly daunting for him... but he knew they had to do it.

There was nothing left for them in America. Both of their gangs had scattered to the winds, and it was more than obvious that the age of outlaws was finally dying out. 

Civilization was moving on without them, and if they didn’t catch up, they wouldn’t survive. It was a sad truth about their lives, but one they had to accept.

“Hey, Dad,” Isaac said. “I gotta ask. Did you... hear what Bill said last night? About Dutch bein’ sick with TB?”

Arthur nodded, his tone more serious now. “Yep. It would explain why we’ve both been coughin’ so much.”

The boy sighed. “...I’m sorry. I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

The older man coughed into his elbow a few times. “You’ve done more than enough, Isaac. Don’t go blamin’ yourself, now. We talked about this.”

“I know,” Isaac replied. “It’s just... hard to accept, you know?”

Arthur took another sip of his drink. “I understand.”

Finishing the rest of his medicine, Arthur put the empty mug down and stood up from his seat, stretching out his arms as he began gathering their stuff.

“Hey, Isaac, why don’t you go make sure the horses are ready? I think it’s time we get movin’ again. We’ve been stuck here long enough.”

The boy followed his father’s actions and headed over to the hitching posts, helping to pack up their camp.

“Okay. You think this weather will hold up? It got pretty bad last night. I just hope there won’t be another storm blowin’ through here before we can... we can...”

Stopping mid-sentence, Isaac’s voice suddenly trailed off into silence as the young man noticed something in the distance, leading Arthur to follow his gaze.

“Isaac?” He called out. “Everything okay?”

The man glanced at Arthur, his tone now low with caution. “Dad, I think I see Pinkertons.”

Taking hold of his gun, the older man instantly strode over to Isaac’s side and stepped protectively in front of him, looking to see who it was approaching them from the horizon.

Their uniforms certainly resembled that of the Pinkertons, but unlike before, it wasn’t just Edgar Ross and Agent Fordham. This time, it looked like they had an entire group of men riding with them, ready to take Arthur and Isaac in at a moment’s notice.

Arthur whispered quietly to the young man as the Pinkertons rode in their direction, making sure to keep his movements subtle.

“Keep your gun close, boy. And be ready to ride when I say so.”

Isaac nodded, taking position near the horses. “Got it.”

Standing his ground, Arthur readied his pistol as the Pinkertons got closer to their camp, causing a trail of snow to wildly spray behind their mounts.

So far, no one was shooting at them, so Arthur took that as a sign that the Pinkertons wanted them alive. But based on the heavy amount of security Ross had brought with him this time, he assumed that lethal force was no longer out of the question.

Arthur would have to do his best to keep things peaceful. There weren’t a lot of places for them to hide out here, and if anyone started firing, he and Isaac would be caught dead in the open.

It was unlikely that they’d be able to run away from this without a fight, but for the sake of not getting Isaac killed, Arthur was sure as hell going to try.

He just had to trust that the boy would do the same.

“Mr. Morgan.” Agent Ross greeted upon reaching the camp, remaining mounted on his horse. The rest of the Pinkertons lined up beside him, keeping their rifles at the ready.

“I’m surprised to see you all the way out here,” Edgar confessed. “I didn’t think you’d risk trying to survive out in this cold, but it seems Mr. Bell was correct.”

That caught Arthur off-guard. “You spoke with Micah?”

The Pinkerton casually adjusted his sleeves, straightening the cuffs. “Regrettably, yes. Not too long ago, actually. He was quite the informant. Said he didn’t know exactly where to find you, but that he suspected you were wandering somewhere in Grizzlies West. Looks like he knew what he was talking about. For once.”

Arthur grunted at that. “I’m sure he did.” He coughed a number of times, trying to stifle it as he spoke. “Look, what d’you want? It’s clear you ain’t just here to chat.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not. We’re done giving second chances, I’m afraid. Though, I’ve given you far more than that, haven’t I?”

The agent took a few steps forward, signaling the other Pinkertons to brace themselves.

“Look, Mr. Morgan, I know we’re both tired of having this same conversation over and over again. Lord knows I am. But I need you to listen to me. Ideally, we would like to capture you alive and have you face full justice, but I think it’s safe to assume by now that you’re not the type to cooperate with the law. Or with anyone, really.”

Ross held up a cautionary finger. “This is why I’m only giving you one last opportunity to comply. Surrender your weapons, and come with us peacefully. Do this, and you have my word that you and your son will not be harmed. Not for now, anyway. Once we return to civilization though, your lives will be in the hands of the law. You will both face a trial, and a judge will sentence you. What happens after that is up to them. If you refuse to surrender, however...”

The Pinkertons prepared their weapons, causing Isaac to grow restless in his position. Arthur threw a side-glance at him, reminding him to stay calm.

“...well,” Edgar continued, “I think you know what’ll come next.”

The outlaw scoffed at the meager offer, glaring at Ross in disbelief. “So, my only options are to either die right here, or let you drag me and my son all the way to Blackwater where you can parade us around before havin’ us swing? You really think that I’ll--” a cough interrupted him, “--that I’ll--”

Another series of coughs came bursting from Arthur’s throat, causing the man to keel over slightly as the Pinkertons watched him from their mounts, waiting for a response.

Meanwhile, Isaac stared at his father in concern and felt the need to rush over to him, but restrained himself out of fear of alarming the Pinkertons.

“...That’s quite a cough.” Edgar remarked plainly.

Arthur spat some blood onto the snow, wiping his mouth. “TB will do that to you. I got it from Dutch himself, apparently.”

“That’s a tough disease.”

“Sure. But it makes your job easier, I suppose.”

Edgar rested his arms on the saddle’s horn. “I know you see us as the bad guys, Mr. Morgan. We’re the ones threatening your livelihood, after all. But what’ll it take for you to see that you’re also threatening the livelihood of others? You people are all about violence, and living in the wild. Your code revolves entirely around one man and his gun versus another man. It’s survival of the fittest, put simply. It’s a living hell.”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re talkin’ philosophy with the wrong man, agent. I done some bad things in my time -- that, I won’t deny -- but I don’t care about any of that no more. Right now, only concern is my son. And as much as you and I may disagree, you are right about one thing. You are a threat to my son’s safety, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do that’ll convince me to let you lay your hands on him.”

The agent sighed in disappointment. “Well, unfortunately for you, there’s nothing that can stop us.”

Realizing that it was pointless trying to dissuade Arthur from the inevitable, Edgar decided to put an end to this chase and reached for his gun, swiftly pulling it out so that he could shoot the man.

Just before he could properly aim however, Arthur quickly caught wind of his intentions and hastily fired a stray bullet, shooting Edgar’s horse in the neck. The creature reared in panic and collapsed to the ground, causing the agent to be trapped under its massive body. 

Though, that didn’t stop the man from pulling the trigger. Despite the unexpected turn of events, Edgar still attempted to take a shot at the outlaw, and before Arthur even had time to react, he suddenly felt a sharp pain hitting him in the abdomen.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out what just happened.

“Father!” Isaac shouted in horror, hurrying to Arthur’s side. He fired two bullets into the line of Pinkertons, taking down an agent with each of them. 

Letting out a strained groan, the boy desperately dragged Arthur over to his horse as the agents continued to fire back at him, only to end up shooting a large tree that stood between them.

“Stay with me, Dad...!” Isaac urged, helping his father onto his horse.

Climbing onto the saddle in front of Arthur, the young man let loose another bullet in the Pinkertons’ direction before bolting off in the other, causing Agent Ross to yell after them.

“Goddammit!” He barked. “Don’t let them escape! And somebody help me out from under this horse!”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

NORTHEAST OF LAKE ISABELLA, COLTER

Galloping frantically through the snow as the Pinkertons fervently chased after him, Isaac found himself riding into what looked an abandoned settlement not too far away from Lake Isabella, leading him to come to a halt.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was give the Pinkertons a chance to catch up to him, but with the state that Arthur was currently in, he needed someone to look after his wounds. 

There was already a worrying amount of blood staining the fabric of his shirt, and judging by the roughness of the man’s breathing, Isaac assumed the horse’s sporadic movement wasn’t helping him much either.

He hopped off of Aldo’s saddle, quickly bringing Arthur into his arms.

“I got you, Dad.” Isaac whispered, letting the older man lean on him as he headed inside one of the cabins. “Just hold on.”

Arthur groaned sharply at the pain piercing through him, struggling to keep up with the boy’s pace.

“...What the hell’re you doing...?” He wheezed, pressing a hand on his stomach where the bullet had hit him. “You need... to run...! The Pinkertons--”

“--I’ll worry about the goddamn Pinkertons later!” Isaac dismissed. “I ain’t lettin’ you die. Not like this.”

Kicking the cabin’s flimsy door open, Isaac practically hurled Arthur inside before shutting the entrance again, giving the older man some time to rest on the floor. They couldn’t hear any of the Pinkertons’ voices at the moment, but Isaac knew it wouldn’t be long before they picked up their trail again.

He crouched down next to Arthur, taking a closer look at his injury.

“Shit...” Isaac muttered under his breath, unsure of what to do. He fumbled through his pockets for a minute, desperately searching for anything that could’ve helped. “I... I have some bandages left. Here.”

Stretching the bandages into one long strip, Isaac tightly wrapped them around Arthur’s waist as the man hissed in pain, trying not to make too much noise lest the Pinkertons hear them. 

Blood was already starting to seep through the thin layers of white cloth, and with every agonizing second that slipped by, the more Arthur could feel his energy escaping him.

No, Arthur thought to himself. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t give up. He just couldn’t. Not after fighting for so long. Not after finding his son after all these years.

He had to stay strong. For Isaac’s sake. The boy was counting on him to survive. He couldn’t die now. He refused to.

“...Dammit...!” Arthur cursed through clenched teeth as Isaac pulled on the bandages. “That son-of-a-bitch got me good...!” 

The outlaw’s body shook with another series of coughs, causing even more blood to gush from the open wound.

Isaac immediately placed his hands on top of the injury and pressed down, doing whatever he could to stop the bleeding. But it was no use.

The red liquid only ended up leaking through the cracks between his fingers, and by now, Arthur’s skin had transformed into an alarmingly pale color. 

His eye sockets were almost purple, and judging by how the man could barely walk right now, Isaac knew there wasn’t much of a chance of him getting out of this alive. But that didn’t mean he was willing to quit.

“Hold on, Dad...” the boy pleaded, “...please. Just hold on.”

“...Isaac...” Arthur groaned out, his voice grating against his throat. 

“You’re gonna be fine.” The boy insisted. “Don’t you give up on me now.”

The outlaw coughed weakly, struggling to get his next words out. “...Isaac, listen to me.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” He repeated, but Arthur knew what was coming. “We just... we just need to...”

“Isaac...!” He said more firmly, gripping the boy’s arm this time. “Listen to me.”

The young man fell silent, his eyes glossy with tears. He looked up at his father, fully aware of what the future held. 

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” Arthur said softly, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. I know... this ain’t how we wanted things to end, but it’s what we’ve come to. It’s what we gotta deal with. You hear me...? I need you... to be strong, Isaac.”

The boy gazed downwards, unable to hide his true emotions. 

“I...I don’t know if I can, Dad. First mom, and now you? I can’t lose both of you. Not after we just found each other again.”

Arthur placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, urging the man to keep his composure. “I know it’s difficult, Isaac, but...” a cough rattled his chest, decimating what little energy he had left, “...I know you can still survive this. You’re strong. Much stronger than you realize. You just... have to keep pushing. Just for a little longer.”

Isaac shut his eyes, shaking his head in refusal. “...I ain’t goin’ to Canada without you, Dad. You’re outta your mind if you think I’m gonna leave you behind--”

“--You have to, Isaac...!” Arthur reiterated. “I wish things was different. I do. But look at me. I’m sick, I’m dying... I ain’t much use to anyone in this state. But you... you can still make it. You can still reach the border. You’ll be a free man. You’ll have the chance to start a new life for yourself. One that isn’t full of death, and violence, and fear. It’s the life your mother and I wanted for you.”

“But you said it yourself,” Isaac recalled. “What’s the point of survivin’ if you’ve got no one to care for?”

Arthur’s hand began to slide down Isaac’s shoulder, his exhaustion finally being reflected in his movement.

“You will find other people, Isaac. And besides, life don’t end just ‘cause you’re alone. I’m sure you’ll find someone you love. Someone who... you can start a family with.” A quiet chuckle escaped Arthur. “...Heh. Who knows...? You might even have a son of your own, someday. But whatever happens... you need to get out of Ambarino alive, first. You can’t stay here. You can’t... let me hold you back. You understand?”

Interrupted by the sound of men yelling at each other from outside, Isaac glanced out of one of the windows and suddenly noticed the large presence of Pinkertons closing in on the area, causing Arthur to reach for the boy’s hand.

“Isaac...!” He whispered urgently. “Tell me you understand.”

The young man gazed down at his father, still reluctant to leave him behind. The idea of leaving Arthur alone in the middle of these mountains tore Isaac apart with guilt, but deep down, he knew it had to be done if he wanted to live.

There were far too many Pinkertons for him to fight alone, and if they managed to corner him in this cabin, they’d both be finished.

Isaac would be shipped off to Blackwater to be executed, and all of Arthur’s efforts would’ve been in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“...O-Okay.” The boy finally agreed, his voice trembling softly. “I’ll... I’ll go.”

Arthur appeared content with that and let out a relieved breath, his shoulders now slouching due to the fatigue quickly overtaking his body.

“...Thank you, Isaac.” he murmured weakly. 

Reaching for his satchel’s strap, Arthur slowly pulled the bag off and reached for his gun before handing both of them to Isaac, ensuring that the boy would have some supplies in the wilderness.

“It ain’t much...” Arthur said with a cough, “...but there’re some provisions left in here. They should keep you goin’ for a few more days. And take my pistol, too. You’ll need the extra firepower.”

Isaac cradled the last-minute gifts in his palms, staying quiet as his father lived out his final moments.

“Oh,” the older man remembered, “and there’s one last thing... I want you to take...”

Lifting a shaky hand up, Arthur gently gripped the dented crown of his hat and gave the accessory to Isaac, placing it so that it sat proudly on top of his head.

The hat looked like it was made for the young man, and for just a split second, Arthur almost felt like he was looking at a reflection of his younger self. Isaac had the same ruffled hair, the same blue eyes, and if he looked closely enough, Arthur could’ve sworn he saw some of Eliza’s features hiding behind his expression.

It was the perfect fit, just like when Arthur took the hat from his own father.

“You look just like me when I was younger,” the outlaw reminisced with a faint smile. “...Eliza would’ve been so proud of you. You’ve grown so much.”

Isaac’s sharp gaze softened a bit at the remark. “You think?”

“Well, I know I am.”

Letting his head lean back against the wall, Arthur finally decided to rest and and gazed up at the cabin’s decrepit ceiling, sighing in peace as Isaac stood up from the floor.

This wasn’t quite the death he imagined he would experience, but no matter how cold these mountains were, or how desolate their environment remained, Arthur still considered himself lucky for being able to be with his son in his final moments.

Part of him wished he could simply ignore the pain and follow Isaac out of these woods, but as the edges of his vision started to go black, the more reality began to sink in... and the more Arthur came to accept the fate that had been given to him.

His job in this world was done. His time with Dutch’s gang was over, and his responsibility as a father had been fulfilled. 

Isaac was his own man now. The boy still had much to learn about life and the people around him, but from now on, Arthur would have to trust that he would do the right thing in the future.

It was his journey to lead from this point, and Arthur could only hope that the kid had a better chance at life than he ever did.

It was the only thing he ever wanted for the boy. The only thing he and Dutch ever dreamed of.

Freedom.

“...Isaac...” Arthur whispered, his breath faltering with every syllable, “...if you see Dutch again.... tell him I never hated him. And I’m sorry I weren’t there when he needed me.”

The young man nodded in an assuring manner, trying his best not to break down in front of his father. “I will.”

“...Thank you, son...” The older man said quietly, letting his head tilt to the side. “Thank you.”

On the outside, he might’ve looked miserable to the boy, but on the inside, he was surprisingly content. Arthur found himself flipping through all his memories like an old photo album and recalled the days from when Dutch first met him, all the way to when he finally reunited with Isaac in Tall Trees.

There were so many emotions flowing through him. So many what ifs. So many things he wished he could’ve said when he still had the chance to say them.

He thought about his parents. He thought about Dutch and Hosea -- about their gang. He remembered the days they’d spend riding freely through the open deserts of New Austin, and the nights where they’d share stories around the campfire.

He thought about the years he spent falling in love with Mary. About the life he wished he could’ve had with her.

He remembered the pain of her absence when she decided to marry another man, and the happiness that quickly replaced it when he ran into Eliza a few years later.

But most importantly, Arthur remembered the day Isaac was born. He remembered the feeling of holding him for the first time, and wondering how on earth he was going to raise a family.

The boy was so innocent back then. So pure. He was completely untouched by the troubles of the world, and every time Arthur came home to visit, he’d feel at peace seeing his son’s face again... only to be forced to leave a few days later.

In the beginning, Arthur thought he’d never see Isaac again. He thought that Shay and his men had finished the kid off for good, and that he was condemned to be alone for the rest of his life.

And yet, here he was -- fifteen years later -- a full grown man, and fighting against the world entirely on his own, stronger than ever.

He carried a lifetime of sorrow and remorse with him, but Arthur knew that Isaac was still good at heart. The young man had the same compassion that Eliza held for others, and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder of the boy if he tried.

He loved him more than life itself, but now... he had to leave him behind. One last time.

Finally reaching the end of the road, Arthur welcomed the cold sensation that embraced him and calmly shut his eyes, falling still as one final breath escaped him.

His body was completely motionless now. Completely devoid of life. And the longer Isaac stared at the corpse of his father, the more he could feel warm tears welling up in his eyes. 

He was alone again. After all those years of seeking vengeance for Eliza’s death and finding the strength to move on from it, the process of mourning had reset itself.

It felt like the world around him had stopped turning, and despite the urgent threat of the Pinkertons lurking close by, Isaac couldn’t help but feel nothing except emptiness.

But he knew there was no time to grieve. Not right now. Arthur would’ve wanted him to get out of here safely, and he wouldn’t have wanted him to look back.

So, with one last farewell, Isaac said a brief goodbye to his father before heading for the cabin’s exit, and taking his leave from the abandoned town.

He felt like the same scared, little boy that watched Eliza die again, but this time, he wasn’t going to let others determine his fate for him.

He wasn’t going to allow anyone to control him like Shay or his gang did, and he wasn’t going to lose himself to vengeance.

The only thing he was going to do was reach the border, and he’d be damned if he let anyone stop him.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE COLTER

Stepping back out into the unforgiving weather of Ambarino, Isaac removed himself from the confines of the cabin and began making his way back to Aldo, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed a man waiting for him outside.

The man was clearly a Pinkerton based on his uniform, but unlike his fellow lawmen, he seemed to display no hostility towards Isaac. His gun was resting in its holster, and even though the boy was obviously alone now, the agent showed no intentions of taking advantage of the situation.

In fact, his temperament suggested quite the opposite. The man wore a sympathetic expression on his face, and when his eyes landed on the signature hat sitting on Isaac’s head, a proverbial light bulb seemed to illuminate in his mind.

Isaac tentatively walked towards the man, analyzing his face.

It was Agent Fordham.

“There you are.” The Pinkerton said as he leaned against a wall, keeping his arms crossed. 

The boy kept a hand close to his gun, admittedly suspicious of the lawman’s motives.

“Archer Fordham...? What are... what are you doin’ here? You knew I was in there?”

The man nodded. “Yes. I saw you and your father go inside earlier, but I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”

Archer sighed morosely, gazing at the snow-covered ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Morgan. Your father and I may have been on opposite sides of the law, but it sounds like he was a good man.”

Isaac replied halfheartedly, still somewhat shocked by the sudden death.

“He was.”

The Pinkerton steadily approached Isaac, careful not to alarm him.

“Listen, Mr. Morgan, I know this is a traumatic time for you, but you need to understand your current position. If Edgar finds you, you’ll be a dead man. After that little shootout he had with your father back at camp, he’s fully intent on taking you back to Blackwater as a corpse. He won’t let you walk out of here alive.”

Isaac picked up on the man’s tone. “...But you will?”

Fordham let out a conflicted breath, furrowing his brow in thought. “I believe in a world of law, Isaac, but I don’t believe that a world built on order has to be one without mercy. I’ve read your files. I know you’re only twenty-one years old. And I know that if I alert my superiors of your presence here, they’ll take away everything you’ve worked for. They’ll have you killed.”

The agent stepped closer to Isaac, looking around to make sure no one else was nearby.

“...I know Edgar disagrees with me on this, but I think you deserve a chance at life. It may be the unlawful thing to do -- letting you go -- but I believe it’s the right thing to do. After all, how much is civilization really worth if we reflect the same savagery we fight?”

Taken aback by Archer’s compassion, Isaac found himself at a loss for words and simply stared at the man incredulously, unable to believe his stroke of luck.

“You-- you’re--” Isaac stuttered, “...thank you, Fordham. I doubt your friends would’ve done the same.”

The Pinkerton maintained a stoic demeanor, but Isaac could tell he felt empathy for the young man.

“Just don’t mistake my mercy as a pardon. You’ll still be a wanted man in the United States, and the Pinkertons will take you in if they find you again -- myself included. So, if you have any plans to get out of the country, I’d use them now. This will be the only chance you get.”

Isaac nodded despondently, his mind still preoccupied with Arthur’s final words. “Of course. I understand.”

Archer turned on his heel and walked back to his horse, promptly ending the conversation there.

“Good. Then I think it’s best if you and I pretend we never had this talk.”

Mounting up, Agent Fordham took hold of the reins and clicked his tongue, urging the horse to begin trotting away.

“It’s a shame that it had to end this way, Mr. Morgan, but I wish you luck. For both our sakes, I hope we never cross paths again.”

Isaac watched the man slowly vanish into the distance, holding onto Arthur’s gun as if his father were still around. He was fully aware that the man wasn’t coming back, and yet, part of him couldn’t help but hope.

Strangely enough though, that just seemed to make it even worse.

“Yeah...” Isaac whispered solemnly, his tone burdened with loneliness. 

“...Me too.”

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part One)

Previous Chapter Here

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

Warnings: Some mild language

Notes: This is the first of a 3-part chapter. It moves the story along quite a bit (finally) and I am about 80% complete on the second and third parts, too. Shouldn’t be too long ‘til they get posted, fingers crossed. Thanks again for stopping by. Let me know if you have any comments or advice; all greatly appreciated, good and bad!

Chapter Fifteen: Part One

“So, what you’re saying is if I don’t put out a statement, they’re going to roll this all over me? And there is nothing we can do to stop this?” Chris yelled into his phone, his hand coming down hard on the white marble counter in front of him. “What do I even pay you for?!”

“Listen to me, will you?!” Matt was on the end of the line attempting to diffuse his client’s growing anger from 3,000 miles away. “There isn’t anything in this that harms you, OK? I’ve read the copy and honestly, you come across as a really sweet guy. She paints you out to be a lovely person, someone who was helping her come to terms with the end of her marriage.”

Matt was getting no response from the other end of the phone but could picture the look on Chris’ face as it he was standing in front of him. “I know it’s not ideal. It’s not great timing but it could be so much worse. You’re not being painted as a homewrecker. We can absolutely deal with this when it happens, put out a couple of cute pictures of you and your nephews or something and all will be forgotten.”

Chris sighed in exasperation. Or was it desperation? He didn’t even know. “...who the fuck ever writes this trash? None of it is remotely true.”

“I know, I know, we’ve pushed back on a lot of the smaller details, dates and things like that, but I honestly think if we put out this statement it’ll clear up a lot of the ambiguity they’ve left in theirs. They’re just trying to get some clicks, that’s all.”

“It’s not ambiguous, Matt, it’s downright bullshit. I mean, the whole thing about the hotel is not even close to being true. I booked it ‘cos I was feeling unwell and needed a break. She just turned up. I didn’t invite her.” He was losing his cool again and becoming more upset. “And what have they said about my mom?”

“Ummm...” Matt scanned the pages scattered over his desk. He quickly located the offending quotes and just as quickly sugar-coated it to avoid one of his biggest stars passing out from stress. “Just that they’d met and got along. I actually don’t think that’s a problem for us. If anything, it shows you are close to your family and they visit you on set from time to time.”

It had been a long morning and Chris was already feeling like he wad done for the day. No, the entire week. He needed a beer. He needed beers plural and he needed to get wasted for a night and forget everything arising around him again. Better yet, he needed Sarah. She’d know what to say and when she’d finished saying it, she’d help his mind feel quieter again.

Oh fuck. Sarah.

She’ll think he’s a dickhead when she reads this. It almost goes against everything he’d explained to her and his family so far.

“When is it coming out?” Chris asked after a few moments had passed.

“They’re pushing for late August and I actually think that is out best chance. September is a busy time for magazines across the board and everyone will be talking about the big ones, Vogue and Vanity Fair etcetera. There’s no competition.” Matt was talking in a calmer tone mirroring Chris’ own change of pace. “We can slip out a quiet rebuttal and end it before it’s even began.”

“Yeh, yeh, OK. I understand.” Chris took a deep breath wearily and leaned his whole body onto the counter. He ran his free hand down his face and rested it on the beard underneath his chin, tugging slightly on the hairs in a bid to feel something else that would hopefully bring him back into the room.

“You need to trust me, Chris. That’s what you pay me for.” Matt reassured him. They exchanged as polite a goodbye as possible before hanging up. Matt threw himself back onto his desk chair, swinging it around to take in the view of a bustling downtown Los Angeles outside his office window. stuff like this was child’s play for a pro like him but Chris wasn’t a typical client. He was normal for one thing, whatever “normal” meant these days. He’d been representing him for close to nine years, one of his longest relationships now he thought about it, and one that meant a great deal to him.

Professionally, the work helped pay for his mother’s retirement home and his own holiday apartment in Aspen, Colorado, but it ran deeper than that. Chris was also a very good friend. If Chris had stuck to low-budget Indie dramas like he originally planned, Matt wouldn’t have minded even though he had worked with and had experience of dealing with mega-studios like Marvel and stars who actively sought to cover themselves in PR glory any chance they got. That sort of thing was strangely easier to handle but Chris remained quiet and adamant about sticking to his guns when it came to his private life and Matt held a very high respect for that. So, when stuff like this came along, well, Matt knew exactly what to do and was all too happy to hold a light up to the hypocrisy of the Hollywood press machine.

Thousands of miles away in a small kitchen in Boston, Chris remained holding on to the edge of the countertop as he brought his breathing back under control. Lisa, had ventured in and out at times only to fall back when she felt Chris’ bristling, nervous energy. It was rare that he got angry at Matt so something was clearly going on to cause him to lose his cool but she knew now wasn’t the right time to ask him.

“Shall I make us some lunch, sweetheart?” she finally plucked up the courage to take a few steps into her kitchen. She ran her hand lightly across his broad shoulders causing Chris to look up and take stock of his surroundings again.

“Yeh, that’d be nice, thanks.” He pulled a stool out and sat down. “Sorry if you could hear me shouting. It’s just some stuff with work but it’s fine now.” it was sweet that he was trying to make her feel better as though he himself had done something wrong.

“I didn’t hear you so don’t worry. Glad it’s fine now, though. Ham and cheese OK?” she asked, a broad smile now painted across her face that only grew wider when he nodded back at her. “Also, Scott and Shanna were going to cook some dinner later on tonight so we could pop over if you like? Save us cooking here again.”

He would very much like to head over to his sister’s apartment. That way lied harmony and he could relax in calmer surroundings and spend time with the people he loved the most. This press nonsense could wait another day. If it was going to happen regardless of his intervention, why even bother stressing about it in the first place?

It wasn’t much of a surprise to find Shanna’s kitchen a total mess when they arrived later that afternoon. Despite the comforting smell of fried onions and garlic that greeted them from the hallway, the physical view of her kitchen provided an altogether different experience. A stack of unwashed pans and remnants of chopped tomatoes and leeks spread out across the counter surface and what Scott had actually meant when he said he was also going to be helping with the cooking was that he would stir the bolognese for half an hour and check the garlic bread hadn’t burned. Other than that, Shanna appeared to have built some kind of living art installation.

The four were seated around the table, a second bottle of wine down, and gabbing about sport and nothing in particular. Chris’ quietness had not gone completely unnoticed with Scott and his mother sharing a few glances as the evening wore on.

“Is Sarah staying at work for a while, then?” asked Lisa, picking at the final slice of garlic bread after her children had decimated the rest of it.

“Yeh, I think so. It’s been a bit up and down lately after the crash and I know she’s keen to muck in as much as she can now before she goes away.” offered Shanna.

Chris’s ears perked up. “Away? What do you mean?”

“Oh crap.” Shanna banged her hand on her forehead. “Um, OK, this isn’t common knowledge and I didn’t tell you guys this but she’s possibly heading back to college to train to become a doctor.”

“Really?” Scott dropped his fork on his plate causing a loud clang that reverberated around the kitchen. “Well, good for her. She’d be an ace doctor. She looks great in scrubs and I know for a fact she handles drunk people exceptionally well.”

Shanna rolled her eyes at Scott. “She actually has the exam in New York next week and if she passes that, who knows? I can’t really tell if she’s excited or not but her parents don’t know so please don’t mention anything to them...” Shanna looked across the table at her mother whose eyes widened in response to the insinuation.

“If she gets back into college, will she stay here to train or move or what?” asked Chris trying his hardest to keep a rising level of confusion at this new information to a minimum.

Shanna merely shrugged non-committedly and he felt his frustration with his sister boil close to the surface. “I can’t see her moving or if she does then it’d be more of a commute. Like, a couple of days there and here or whatever.”

“She likes living in Boston, doesn’t she? And I imagine it would be harder for her folks to visit if she lived in New York full time.” Scott offered, some logic that Chris was grateful for. “Jocelyn hates busy cities. She would hate New York for sure.”

“Lincoln is a teach hospital, right?” Chris asked, his tone more urgent than he’d intended. “I mean, she could train here? There’d be no problem with that. I’m sure they wouldn’t wanna lose her.”

“Well, selfishly I hope she doesn’t move ‘cos who’s gonna look after your sorry ass?” Scott needled his sister with his elbow and was rewarded with a slap on his shoulder. “Or if she does move full time it means we have a party base in the city again!”

“Oh yeh I’m sure she would love you rocking up at her home at all hours of the goddamn morning.” Lisa remarked. “When is her exam, honey?”

“Thursday. She’s staying at a hotel in town a few days before to swot up on some notes Greg lent her. He rocked up with a frickin’ suitcase the other night. Just books and books of the stuff.”

“What’s he getting out of this?” Chris asked. It was not the first time talk of Greg had ruined his day and now on top of that he was starting to feel distrusting of the interest he appeared to show in her future. He especially didn’t like the knowing look he caught his family give to each other either. “Oh c’mon. He’s not her type, really. She’s said as much herself.”

“Yehhh but he’s super cute and have you seen his car?” Scott asked, pouring another glass of wine for himself. “He reminds me of, fuck, what’s that actor’s name again? The guy from Sons of Anarchy but with darker hair...”

Chris threw him a puzzled look before dismissing his comments with a wave of his hand. “Sarah’s not like that. She’s not into trivial stuff.”

“No, I know, but he’s also stable. I mean, he’s ambitious to a fault, sure, but he knows exactly what he wants and where he’s going.” Scott reasoned. “That could be good for her. I think we can all agree that this stuff with Charlotte left its mark and maybe she’s wanting to try something different? Find a bit of stability? Y’know, settle down a bit or whatever.”

“Since when did you become an expert?” Shanna spoke up. Chris was glad somebody else said it but was less glad when she laughed a second later. She nodded, evidently in agreement with his rationale.

The room fell quiet again as they finished what was left of their dinner. Chris was feeling the dread borne from this morning’s conversations now manifesting itself in the very bottom of his stomach. He regretted coming now. He should have stayed at home and gotten drunk by himself. It would have felt a whole lot nicer than what he was experiencing now.

He swirled what was left of his wine around his glass before downing it and reaching for the bottle. Just as he poured, the front door went and in and walked Sarah surprisingly fresh-faced and smiling upon catching the clan sat peacefully around the kitchen table.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, happy to see them all. She walked over to the hob to smell what was left in the pan before catching sight of them staring at her. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Nothing honey. Ignore them. How was your day?” Lisa started, breaking the silence.

“The usual. I did, however, manage to separate a grown man from a Tonka truck he had glued to his hand.”

“The fuck?” Scott quizzed almost choking on his food and turning around in his chair to face her. “I swear, you have the best job I have ever heard of.”

“Hmm true story. He was making some kind of art display and held on to it for too long. Took us an hour and a tonne of olive oil from the cafeteria to free him.”

Sarah glanced between Scott and his mother laughing before clocking Chris, stony-faced and not quite making eye-contact. She left her eyes on him a little longer than she was usually comfortable with in these settings but he didn’t budge. Shanna eventually grabbed her attention by handing her a bowl of pasta that she gratefully accepted with a “yummy” and grabbed a seat at the table.

Lisa left a little over an hour later but Chris and Scott remained loitering around the kitchen and the lounge. Scott was helping to wash up alongside Sarah when she excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she emerged, she nearly ran full-on into Chris.

“Sorry.” he said, shifting to the side so she could move by him.

“It’s OK.” she moved further out of the way so he could walk in behind her. “Are you OK? You’ve barely said a word all evening.”

He glanced back to her, trying to play down his obvious discomfort. “Yeh, fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him leaving her in the hallway at a loss as to the reason for his agitation. She could hear Shanna and Scott making a mess of what was left of the washing up, the TV volume a little louder now in anticipation for Drag Race, and she retreated into her bedroom to fold away some of her clothes that Shanna had left on her bed from their washing that day.

Chris lingered in the hallway wanting to avoid the loud shrieking now coming from the kitchen before heading towards Sarah’s bedroom. She hadn’t noticed he was there so he allowed himself to watch her, smiling to himself when he heard her hum a tune under her breath. It sounded like ‘Beat It’ only slower. He never figured her as a Michael Jackson fan. Truth be told, he didn’t know all that much about her musical tastes other than making fun of the fact that she cried at a Pixies concert some years earlier.

He viewed the couple of photographs adorning the wall, one of a family gathering, one of her Shanna graduating, before resting on the Steve McCurry print she’d bought at the exhibition. That felt like a lifetime ago now. So much had happened since but he still clearly remembered the shit he had given her at the time. All she was trying to do, he now realised, was get some answers for herself. She wanted to put to bed all of the questions she had had since she was young, questions that might offer answers for who she was as a person. Isn’t that what everyone wants?

He liked Jocelyn and Noah, they all did, they were great people. but she wasn’t a part of them physically. There was something growing somewhere in the back of her mind and as she grew older and wiser, as time moved on, she increasingly felt the differences between them. She had once tried explaining it to him, that it was like a tree and an acorn; no matter what beautiful and wonderful branches and leaves grow from it, it always comes from something small at the very beginning. The acorn directs everything that follows. He couldn’t properly understand it at the time - why would he, he had had an easy life thus far - but as he watched her shuffled around in the closet, humming to herself quietly and in her own little world, he understood that what she longed for, that all anyone ever longer for, was to feel like she belonged somewhere.

He could hear Scott and Shanna joking around in the kitchen, no cares in the world, and knew he had it lucky. Despite the crap this morning still ruminating in the back of his mind, a slight unease at what might find its way into the press over the next few weeks, it was small-fry compared to the real, honest problems normal people experience in their lives. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe she just wanted some stability after all, and that realisation was stirring something uncomfortable that he couldn’t name inside him.

“Hey, you OK?” she asked and he realised she had been staring at him for god knows how long. All sorts of thoughts flew through his mind in quick succession but he didn’t immediately know how to respond to such an apparently straight-forward question.

“Yeh,” he responded, clocking how unsure he sounded. “I mean, I’m good. You?”

“Yeh, I’m OK.” She smiled at him and he instantly felt better, waves of stress just ebbing away. He wanted to reach out to her and give her a hug but he knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable with his family so close by and liable to walk in at any moment so he settled instead for smiling warmly back at her and handing over some folded towels from off her bed.

A couple of moments dragged by before she decided to break the awkward silence. “I know I said I would make it up to you but work’s been busier than usual and I’ve had to cover shifts for a couple of guys as well. Michael’s ill so Audrey’s been playing nurse at home.”

He leaned back on the side of her chest of drawers and nodded slowly. He was biting the inside of his cheek and she recognised his face from when he’d shown irritation towards Shanna. He was clearly contemplating something.

“Well, you can make it up to me now if you want?” He offered, arms folded, posing an interesting predicament. He noticed the confusion cross her face and chuckled to himself. “No, not that, not with... I just meant you could do me a favour now. If you wanted to.”

Sarah looked perplexed but Chris didn’t move. He didn’t immediately offer any answer to his question so she didn’t know what he was aiming for.  She left the closet and re-entered her bedroom, taking up a stance a couple of feet in front of him. Even leaning back against her cabinet, he remained a good couple of inches taller than her. 

“Shanna said something earlier and we promised not to bring it up with you ‘cos apparently it’s supposed to be some big secret,” he started, noting the hint of verbal aggression and thinking better of it, “but are you leaving Boston?”

“What?” She asked, stunned. She never anticipated that this was where he was going.

“She said you’re heading back to the college and that you might consider starting up your doctoral training again, and...I don’t know.” He was losing confidence with every passing word. “It just sounded like it was a done deal is all.”

She oscillated between feeling annoyed that Shanna had revealed her plan to re-take her MD exam, and concern that they all assumed she was suddenly wanting to leave town. As if it would be that easy to do so.

“No, I’m not leaving Boston. My God.” she rubbed her hand across her forehead in frustration. “I am taking the exam, yes, but I haven’t figured anything else out beyond that. Honest.”

He didn’t seem altogether convinced of her response but time was passing by and the noise had died down from the kitchen so it looked like it he would just have to accept whatever she was giving him. He had hundreds of questions, many far away from being appropriate, but the sincere look on her face did some of the work for him.

“It was only an idea. I tried it before and maybe, if it works out again, it could be something different for me to focus on.” she continued. Scott has been right about one thing at least.

“If you pass, you could always train at Lincoln, though, right?” he asked quietly. He sounded like a child asking his parents if they were still going to be friends once they divorced and he hated himself for it. 

She shrugged, not having immediate answers that might make him relax a little more. He was clearly struggled with something. “I guess. I mean, I honestly have not thought about it beyond the exam. I have a lot of studying to do as well so I might not even pass it.”

“Yeh, she said Greg gave you some magazines or something.”

“Oh, good, so you’ve got the whole story, then.” Her tone validated the sarcasm behind her words. “Look, this is all so far into the future now and really, who the fuck knows what’s going to happen? But I promise that I will tell you guys everything once I know whatever the fuck it is I am thinking about.”

Selfishly, he wasn’t thinking of his family, or her family, or even her colleagues for that matter. He just wanted to know where she was going to be one month from now. Or, hell, even a year, and whether or not she would be open to him visiting her. Visiting her new apartment in Brooklyn. Or Greenwich. He could imagine her in Greenwich. It was greener and she could go for a run in the park every morning and they could grab a coffee on their way back home. He could walk her to work and wave her off and then spend all day lounging around her apartment reading the newspapers, waiting for her to come home again. One thing he had gotten used to was enjoying his quiet time a lot more when she was around. He wasn’t quite ready to give that up.

“Guys?” shouted Scott from the lounge. “It’s starting!”

“What’s starting?” he asked Sarah.

“Drag Race, I think.” she responded biting her lower lip and knowing exactly how he was going to feel about that.

“Oh fucking hell.” He threw his head back and laughed before resting his eyes back on her. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

*

[whateverwalksthere]

Baby Witch

obligatory disclaimer that this is my own opinion drawn from my own observations of witchblr and like, related media.

My issue with the term baby witch is that it takes away a lot of personal responsibility from the person, consciously or unconsciously. Responsibility for your learning, your practice, and yourself.

It babies people new to the occult/witchblr/community (and frankly, a lot of ‘baby witch tips’ that I’ve seen come across as remarkably condescending, but that may well be my own difficulties reading tone online). I think it takes away a sense of agency and exploration - you’re put in the space of baby witch, and here are the baby witch resources, and here are the books with the pretty instagram-able covers, and here’s the same advice posted by like 30 different blogs. Instead of exploring and finding your own practice, you’re copying someone else’s without any context or getting bored with the same resources, same suggestions, same advice.

This is also where we get the incredibly annoying ‘baby witches shouldn’t do that! Leave it to the Experienced WitchesTM’ posts. In reality, if you’ve effectively researched whatever you want to do, if you’ve practiced some basic protection or whatever, you should be able to do most things. Don’t do them until you’re confident, obviously, but there’s no actual timeline for when you should be allowed to cast certain spells. To be clear I’m not saying do whatever, but if you want to do something research it before deciding ‘well I’m a baby witch so I can’t do that until I’ve-’ which is a constantly shifting goal post because there is no clear delineation between beginner/medium/advanced. Assuming some responsibility for risk/cost and reward is a good place to start figuring out your goals and what you’re willing to do to get there.

More importantly, it makes room for exploitation, because as a baby witch, you look to the adults experienced witches or practitioners to guide you.

The thing with that is you have no idea who this ‘experienced’ blogger is, what their life looks like offline, or whether they have their own motives. Not everyone who is answering asks and sharing posts is doing so out of the goodness of their own hearts.

And because beginners are looking for guidance - which is natural! - they tend to flock to people speaking with authority. And to people promising them cool secret knowledge. And because they are new to this, they don’t have the background knowledge to tell bullshit from decent stuff. There are a lot of blogs out there sharing personal gnosis and experience but if someone’s words contradict literally every other piece of information out there... Maybe they’re not the ones you want to be learning from. Also, if anyone is trying to claim that they are the only holders of like, True Magic, Ancient Knowledge, and the Krabby Patty formula, which they just happen to be posting on a tumblr blog, take that as a red flag. Another good question to ask is do they profit from your trust in them. Making money isn’t a bad thing on its own, but combined with the other stuff it paints a pretty clear picture.

I’ve seen this cycle happen a few times on and off witchblr. Blogger gets super popular for speaking in an authoritative tone and promising their followers some Real Knowledge if they just follow them and like their posts (and give them money), turns out to be either a fake or straight up a terrible person, and all the baby witches cry ‘how were we to know?’ (Or continue to follow them because they took the term baby witch way too seriously and refuse to learn literally anything). And thus the cycle begins anew.

I don’t have a clear solution to this. But I do wonder if we dropped a bit of hand-holding and had a culture that encouraged more independence and exploration from the start if we’d still have as much of an exploitation issue. If we’d still have the same correspondences posted over and over. If we’d still have weirdly toned discussions about how certain things are just Too Dangerous For You, Foolish Child.

To be quite clear, I do not hold anyone calling themselves a baby witch personally responsible for this. I do not hold anyone making posts for ‘baby witches’ personally responsible. This is a culture that has developed over years and if it’s any one person’s fault, I don’t know who that person is.

This post got way too long and maybe I’ll make another on how this impacts more experienced practitioners and the kind of information shared and popularised on witchblr but um. I think I’m gonna take a break first. If you read through the whole thing, thanks.

[kingsofneon]

ayyy its me coming in here!!! i have no requests off the bat but uhhhh ok ok hear me out. acesabo but with like. a finger kink or something? like, long pretty fingers fingering the hell out of each other or just sensually sucking on it, idk, i'll let you decide. OR, more expansion on robinkoalasabo, blease?

look okay look im just. vibing with sabo/ace rn so i gotta talk abt them but real quick i love argumentative best friend/enemy / qpp koala/sabo and both of them liking robin, LMAO !!!!! bitch!!! that shit’s hilarious. robin i think would be uhh....unused to such honest attraction? yah sabo’s a lying liar but there’s a difference in his...sarcasm vs his “I’m telling a lie so you don’t know the truth I dont want to tell you”, is what i think. so idk in what i set up i guess we have ko/ro first and Kinda girlfriends (im.....ded for fro/bin tho soz so absoLUTE we have not-yet-together-kinda-feelings-but-complicated-bc-trauma robin/franky + bc theyre not together the...flattery + enjoyment of koala’s personality and company...) friends w/ benefits didn’t-really-date but like each other a lot. and koala so sunny and happy buuut also spending Lots of time with robin - just hanging out but also sexy fun times - and sabo’s like “no I’m not sulking shut the fuck up” (but he’s totally sulking because he Liked robin too, she was someone he respected highly and she! knows! luffy! he doesn’t say anything to her about it bc he’s guilty as fuck but. boii wants those strawhat stories and he can’t sneak them out of her with koala taking up all of her attention.) 

koala picks up on his grumpy mood but just figures he’s being a dick abt smth, but robin’s like nah look, pattern, and koala’s like oh. OH? 

idk what they do but w/e we be vibing with nsfw, which is sabo’s. sabo’s fucking fingers man. the tensile strength. BUT ALSO he’s not very delicate, not very good with flexibility, so robin,,ho fuck boi. when against koala the dichotomy of the roughness vs that clever stroking, but then also bRO im thinking about sabo viewing masturbation etc. pretty clinically and also Be Careful Of Strength, ain’t gotta lot of time to jerk off when you’re running the revolution u know.

so like the first time robin tops im fucking laughing. koala’s probably just as rough/efficient as he is but robin...robin can unlace him in like a minute flat and figures out real quick that sabo likes being edged. the first time robin touches his prostrate..........boi. 

anyway omfg that was longer than i thought so hand kink + sabo/ace

FIRST 

if you haven’t read.......second chances (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15495015?view_full_work=true).........what are you doing. look at this shit:

“You want to watch me jerk it like this?” The buckle rattled with Ace's gesturing, and Sabo's eyes immediately fixated darkly on the belt. “Then I uh, I get to make a weird request too.”

“If you must,” Sabo replied, sounding the exact opposite of beleaguered as he discretely wiped the spit off his palm. Ace cleared his throat.

“Put on your gloves.”

Ace refused, refused to look away from the devious delight spreading across Sabo's stupid face.

“Oh Ace,” he purred, those damn fucking gloves appearing in his hands out of nowhere (did he have them tucked in his pockets this entire time?). With deliberate motions, Sabo smoothed the leather over every finger, and flexed, like he was about to whip out one of his ryusoken moves. “Are you sure you just want me to jerk off in these?”

“Well if you've got any lube tucked away,” Ace shot back, “now's the time to pull it out, put on a good show.”

Sabo's consequent exhale was nowhere near the flippant-and-suave chuckle he had clearly been aiming for. Smugly, Ace counted a point in his own favor before dropping onto his back and finally—finally—undoing his pants. As his own belt fell with heavy thumps to both sides, Ace brushed aside all the pesky cloth, and applied pressure in earnest with a sigh of pleasure.

and this

And boy was it a view. The gloves were incredibly well-worn, molded so tightly to Sabo that Ace could see the full articulation of his fingers' every curve, every bend. The buttery leather, lighter in color at the fingertips, glided over Sabo with the barest whisper of friction. Ace could see his grip change, pressure shifting as he held himself tighter and tighter, grunting in frustration.

“Can I take these off?” Sabo finally requested with a hint of a whine. Ace suddenly thought of Marco, and how he might smirk at that tone, if he was here. “It's not working for me.”

“It's working fine for me,” Ace did his best to leer, thoroughly enjoying his own bare hand's capacity for friction. Sabo made another sound of protest, and Ace gave in with a snort. “Fine. Just one hand.”

“It's all I need.” The right glove disappeared as fast as it came, and Sabo arched high and satisfied into his own hand, now skin-to-skin. He obligingly let the gloved hand remain in play though, skimming teasingly up and down, grinning sharply at Ace's open mouth. “Hey,” he ordered, “go faster.”

AND THIS!

“Anything you want,” was Ace's breathless answer. He didn't stop, even sped up, gripping hard and fast and chasing that finale. “You can have it from me.”

“I would chain you down,” Sabo snarled, practically a threat, only the blade was turned wholly inward toward himself. Like he was daring Ace to give him absolution. “I would bend you 'til you're ready to break, and keep you there for hours. I would make you beg for release, but deny you anyways. I would see your skin dark with my bruises, I would, I would—”

Ace's hands twisted hard against his binds, wanting genuinely to be free of them for the first time since they started this—and Sabo's reaction was instantaneous. A flex of haki into his fingers, and Sabo was slicing through the leather of his belt, letting Ace loose with an expression of terror.

And Ace dragged himself across the bed until he could cup Sabo's cheek in his clean palm and pull Sabo into a biting, filthy kiss. He was still hard as sin, and thrust forward into Sabo's hands to let him know—

“Anything,” he panted into Sabo's mouth, meaning it with every fiber of his being. He didn't mean for Sabo to cut open the belt; he had just wanted, so badly, to feel Sabo's touch. “You have me.”

bitch. bitch. 

idk just gonna write some prompts bc this looks long

sabo + jerking ace off while wearing his gloves + barely washing them (to ace’s embarrassment) bc he claims he likes having evidence of ace. they’re usually kept for when he’s at home tho, sabo’s gross but not that gross ;p (and ace would probably die LMAO)

 SORRY BUT THE POST I JUST REBLOGGED ABT HOLDING YOUR THUMB DOWN TO HAVE NO GAG REFLEX UM. Ace says he wants to try it but it feels weird so sabo’s like. ;) okay and runs his fingers over ace’s mouth, tapping and instructing him to hold his thumb down. tracing his teeth and teasingly not dipping his fingers down low enough, till ace glares at tries to argue smth like “this is not testing the trick” but that’s when sabo presses on his tongue, down his throat, and ace half-chokes on it. sabo just like ‘not like you have much of a gag reflex anyway’

was thinking abt this the other day but ace doing sabo’s nails and then being like dont ruin them! no touching until they’re dry but sabo’s like but idk when they’ll be dry???? bc he’s never used nail polish before and ace is like :) better not touch then as he teases sabo

ace ofc painted them gold and red bc theyre His Colours and the next day when they’re dry and pretty sabo spends ages running his hands against ace’s skin, fascinated and worshipping of how pretty ace is

before they started dating and when they were bad at handling alcohol, sabo kissing ace’s knuckles made that boi CATATONIC, his wrist would also make ace bolt bc Horny, he’s fucked when sabo kisses his wrist it’s just too...intimate. 

 headcanons, headcanons, they’re both pretty calloused in different ways...ace is like rope burns and shit, longer across his palm and knuckles, sabo has palm base bc of his pipe, but they’re confined, and then on his fingertips bc of dragon claw. AGAIN thinking about mr fast fuck brutality here like the STRENGTH in that boy’s hands wtf

ace’s hands have more scars, sabo has more callouses/micro-deposits bc he knows hand to hand/doesn’t start with a DF. 

idk where im going with that last one guess it’s just headcanons abt hands.  

that’s all fox, i like the number eight and i have so many other asks to do lmao

[sweetheartjeongguk]

rosy cheeks

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: fluff, a sliver of angst, parents au 

rating: pg-13 (cursing)

warning(s): mentions of sex, language, namjoon gets his feelings hurt a little bit

word count: 2.4k+

summary: a tale in which two newly-wed 24 year olds tackle parenthood. 

a/n: i just wanted to post a cute little story for namjoon’s birthday! hope you enjoy, sorry if it’s a little short! 

masterlist

If you told your 13-year-old self that you were going to marry your middle school sweetheart and get knocked up less than 2 months after the wedding, you’d probably run out screaming about some crazy lady spewing nonsense about the nerdy kid that sits at the “nerd” table during lunch and stole your cheeseburger.

Truth be told, the 13-year-old you was an asshole so maybe it would have served you right to smack you headfirst with a major glimpse of your future.

But there’s no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t have believed that you wouldn’t have married Namjoon. After all, he was your first love and after declaring his love for you (of course, after your little cheeseburger debacle) through numerous hand-written letters and personal songs sung just for you, you know that he’ll be your last.

That’s why you approach the pregnancy situation with a light yet fluttery heart. The night the two of you had sex – you knew that you didn’t have a condom with you. Since you two of you are already married, it kind of seems like a no-brainer. Namjoon used to be a major stickler for condoms (even though you had to work a little bit harder since latex isn’t Little Namjoon’s most favorite thing in the world), but he seemed to forget all about that after you finally got hitched.

One night when you come home from work just before your husband, you decide to put together a cute little box filled with little candies and chocolates that you know Namjoon adores before adding the picture of the ultrasound underneath the mass of confectionery. Namjoon stares at you warily when you hand him the box, knowing full-well that his birthday wasn’t for a couple weeks and you (despite trying your best to act nonchalant) buy his gift the day of.

“You’re kind of scaring me, babe,” Namjoon says jokily, but there’s a hint of hesitation in his tone. “don’t tell me they’re divorce papers. I told you I’d fix the toilet when I get to it.”

“Babe, no, that’s not it.” You laugh but stop abruptly at the last bit of information. “Also, I’m holding you against that last part. This is why you don’t invite your drunk friends over because all they do is break things and forget to flush their shit down the toilet.”

“Alright, alright…” Namjoon waves a passive hand before going to open the box.

You bite your lip in anticipation as he rips open the cardboard and stares into the space filled with sugary goodness. His eyes light up in happiness at the little Ryan-themed candies and the rich chocolate he came to love when the two of you went abroad to Europe and spent the whole day eating authentic chocolate at a fancy ass store that practically ate up your savings.

“Honey, this is great! Thank you so much.” He leans over to kiss you sweetly. “My tummy and I will cherish them.”

“You’re missing something!” You point at the bottom. “It’s the most important thing in there!”

“What?” Namjoon chuckles in confusion. He digs around until he feels an edge of what feels like a photograph brush against his knuckles.

Your palms sweat as Namjoon pulls the photo out and puts it up to his face. There is a long period of silence where you can’t tell his expression – mainly because the man shoved the entire picture in his face. It isn’t until you see his shoulders shaking and little droplets drip from his jaw that you know.

“Aw, Joon…”  You pull Namjoon’s arm down to take in his tear-soaked face.

“Babe, we’re gonna be parents?” He chokes out, eyes trailing down towards your seemingly unnoticeable baby bump.

“Yes, honey…” You chuckle wetly. “We’re going to be parents.”

The next thing you know, you’re being body-slammed by Namjoon’s large frame, practically drowning in his tight embrace. His crying calms down for the most part, but you can feel his body twitch from the residual hiccups. You smile to yourself – in that moment, you know that you found the right one for you.

“Oh no…”

You tilt your head up from Namjoon’s chest to stare up at his worried expression.

“How are we going to pay for a child?”

Both of your eyes widen in realization.

Well, shit.

At most, your combined salaries make up a decent amount – not something that immediately pay for a trip to the Bahamas twice a year, but enough to get by each day.

Children are a different story. No matter how money you have, you’re still going to spend a fortune on that little bundle of so-called joy – more like soul-crushing, money-smuggling tiny adults.

Diapers run out in a blink of an eye. Formula costs an arm and a leg, especially if you want that good stuff that basically claims to make your baby into Einstein by the time he’s up and walking. Doctor appointments and babysitters are going to be a pain in your ass. You could always ask your parents for some help whenever the two of you are stuck at work, but you don’t want to become one of those parents that never see their kid.

All of the stress of parenthood suddenly comes crashing down, and you can’t help but fall with it.

Your mini breakdown happens four months in your pregnancy. The two of you are painting your child’s bathroom a pretty purple color, and you get a few strokes in until your thoughts eventually catch up with you.

“I can’t be a mother.” You cry, throwing your paintbrush down. “I’m going to fail miserably, and our child is going to hate me. You’re obviously going to be Father of the Year while I’m stuck here looking like a bloated clown.”

Namjoon looks up from his own painting at the sight of you babbling on and on about your incompetence, black tears falling down your cheeks. You look a little funny, but Namjoon knows better than to mess with a pregnant lady with makeup smeared on her face.

One wrong look, and it’s sleeping on the couch for two weeks. Namjoon didn’t want to endure that (again).

“Baby, look at me.” Namjoon puts down his brush to cup your face in his hands. His warmth heals the tiny worry in the center of your chest – but just barely. “You’re going to fail.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Kim.” You grumble heatedly. “Guess whose bed you’re not sleeping in tonight?”

“What I meant to say is…” Namjoon cuts your words off before you can ramble again, “you’re going to fail from time to time. That’s normal for parents to screw up – you’re not going to be perfect, and you shouldn’t make our child think that.”

“But…I just want to be good.”

Namjoon smiles weakly. “I know, honey. But life’s not that easy. The best that we can do is to teach him or her how to be loving and how to love. That’s all you need in life, after all.”

“How corny.” You snort, but the smile slowly but surely returns. “Also, it’s a he. I can feel it.”

“Liar.” Namjoon squints accusatorily. “I can sense it, and it’s a girl.”

“How can you sense it? I’m literally the one growing this thing like a sea monkey.”

“Please don’t refer to our child as a sea monkey. At least not in front of our parents.”

The months go by fast – a little too fast in your opinion. While you’re happy that you’ll be rid of the giant baby bump, you’re now in the stage of anxiety about actually giving birth. You take advice from any book or website that looks credible, but nothing can soothe the panic zipping through your veins. Advice from your mother and mother-in-law never helps – you’re sick of watching old baby videos and cooing about your future as a mother.

Sometimes, you just want to throw it all away and just think your own thoughts for once.

“Is giving birth even worth it anymore?” You sigh with a hand propped underneath your chin.

Your best friend Chaeyoung stares at you in disbelief. “What’s this Debbie Downer attitude, Mrs. Kim?”

“I don’t know, Chae…” You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. “I’m so ready to stop being pregnant, but my whole new life begins right after that and I’m…”

“Scared?” You nod sadly. “Honey, that’s okay. You’re allowed to be nervous, it’s part of life. If nobody was nervous, don’t you think a lot of reckless shit would be happening around here more often?”

“It’s just that…Namjoon’s so happy and excited, and I feel guilty because I don’t feel like that right now…” You feel a pang in your chest at the thought of Namjoon’s cheery grin flash behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

“You’re the one pregnant, of course you’d be feeling more anxious about it. Guys just have to stick their dick in you, and their job is done.” Chaeyoung shrugs her shoulders.

“You know, sometimes, I think I’m just going to go to Jisoo for my problems.”

“Jokes on you, Jisoo and I share one braincell.”

“Push!”

Namjoon watches in full-fledged panic as you struggle to push through the pain of delivery and birth your child. Your face strains with effort, and your erratic breathing makes it sound as if you’re two seconds away from passing out.

You glare darkly at your husband when you feel his hand awkwardly pet the side of your face.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” Namjoon chuckles nervously. “You got this.”

“Thanks, coach. I won’t let you down.” You grit your teeth as another wave of pain floods your body like a violent tsunami.

“First kid?” A nurse jokes, her eyes not leaving your crotch as she helps assist – now it’s even more awkward.

“Um, yeah…” Namjoon wipes away the sweat on his palms.

“And last.” You snarl through another push.

“Ha-ha…she doesn’t mean that.” Namjoon rubs at the back of his neck.

A tiny sting tugs at his heart at your words, but you’re quick to write it off as him mediating the awkward energy in the room. Namjoon’s been pretty vocal about having two, maybe even three kids. To hear the possibility of there never being another opportunity to give life to something the two of you created together…

It kind of hurt.

“You’ve been quiet.”

Namjoon looks up from the tiny human resting in his arms to glance back at you who he thought fell asleep half an hour ago. You’re laying back in the reclined bed with your cheek pressed against the soft pillow Namjoon grabbed from home for you. It’s the one thing that helps you sleep at night, and you’re silently grateful for the thoughtfulness of your husband.

Even in the heat of the moment, Namjoon still remembers what you need most.

“Oh…I’m just admiring our little sunshine…She’s beautiful just like her mother.”

You can sense there’s something he wasn’t telling you. “No offense, but I thought you’d be jumping for joy after finding out your prediction was right.”

“Oh, yeah, that.” Namjoon tries to laugh, but it feels too hollow. He doesn’t even try again.

“Babe, what’s wron—”

“Do you really not want to have another kid with me?” Namjoon winces as his voice cuts through the silence of the hospital room.

Thankfully, your daughter doesn’t wake up from her nap. If anything, she seems to snuggle further next to her father’s warmth.

“Honey…” The corners of his mouth dips into a pout.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to…it’s your body.” Namjoon quickly adds. “I don’t want to be that guy that forces his wife to just be a baby-making machine and make her out as only being important for that because you’re so kickass in everything you do.”

You keep silent as he continues, albeit with a blossoming smile.

“It’s just that…I really enjoyed the things we did together for the baby. I liked painting the baby room with you and smearing paint all over your face. I liked going to the boring doctor appointments with you just to see your face light up when they show you our baby on the screen. I liked when you’d wear my hoodies and I can see your little bump underneath.”

Namjoon pauses with a sigh. “I guess…I just loved knowing that you’re mine and that we created this beautiful life together. It made me happy to do these things with you, and I…really want to keep doing it.”

Your heart thumps unevenly. Your eyes glisten with tears, but you don’t want to cry – not right now. Right now, you want to stare at your entire world in the form of a tall beanpole of a man and the tiniest dumpling with clear vision. You want to look into Namjoon’s eyes and see the light behind them that you fell in love with at the tender age of 12 in the lunchroom when he stole the last cheeseburger and you stomped on his foot when he laughed at you. You want to stare at your baby’s face and only see the future ahead of you – the future with you, her, and Namjoon together.

“Joon…” Namjoon still holds a dejected look. “I know what I said was harsh, and I’m really sorry about that. The pain of it was insane, and all I could think about was that I don’t want to feel like that ever again.”

You pick yourself back up in order to erase the seemingly permanent discomfort from your husband’s face. You don’t want him to think that you’re blaming him for the pain. “But looking at the two of you together…it made me remember that it’s all worth it in the end. Just as long as I can see you smile at the end of the day.”

In this moment, he reminds you of how grateful you are that your fate found itself tied up with the red string of Namjoon’s life. Anytime that you try to think of a life without him – whether it’s when the two of you are fighting or if he’s been gone on a business trip for a couple days and the days just feel a little bit too long – it feels like poison coursing through your body. It makes you sick to think of a life without Namjoon by your side. He’s been through it all – the good times and the bad. He’s selfless in that way – the perfect attribute for a father.

“Maybe another kid doesn’t sound half as bad…” Namjoon brightens up at your words. “Just not right now because my uterus may have exploded, and my tits are too sore.”

“Beautiful imagery, honey. You should be a poet.”

“You know what, I take that back. Try getting another kid out of me again, Kim Namjoon.”

Needless to say, your twin boys were born the following year.

[constant-calum]

Watercolors (Brandon Arreaga) ~ Chapter Thirteen: Magritte

Summary:   17 year old Amina Parker was far from a blank canvas, but he still managed to make a finger painting with her love.

A/N:  This is the final chapter!  After this there is only an epilogue.  And I have decided against posting the sequel on here, if I ever get to it.

Part Twelve

Amina hated being home alone in thunderstorms, especially so soon after Halloween. She was surprised that her parents would even let her stay home while they took Cheyenne on a weekend trip to their grandmother’s house in Philadelphia.

The sky was almost black, seeing as it was close to 7 o’clock. A white flash seared across her living room window, followed by a roar of thunder shaking the house. Amina just turned up the volume on the tv louder, letting Kevin Hart fill the quiet spaces in between the thunder.

She would have been bored if it weren’t for Zane, who was blowing up her phone with texts about the most recent breakup with Zion. Apparently Zane didn’t like the way her boyfriend was texting with some girl named Kekéli. To make things worse, when confronted about it, Zion claimed the girl was his sister.

The fact that he was texting another girl alone was enough to make Zane rethink her relationship; the fact that he had the guts to deny it made Zane furious.

Amina just raised her eyebrows as each text flooded her phone, filled with curses and the worst wishes for Zion and his “sister”. At some point she found it funny. Only Zane could rant about a boy for 4 hours straight. Amina just snuggled further into her blankets and watched the texts roll in.

Amina jumped when someone rang the doorbell. Anyone outside in this weather must have been delusional. She hesitated, not sure if opening the door would end like an episode of Goosebumps. Instinctually, she turned off the television, to make it seem as if no one was home. When the doorbell rang again, she decided to grab the nearest kitchen knife, and head over.

“Who is it?” She called through the thick oak door.

“Amina, I need to talk to you.”

She was confused, placing the knife down on the table beside the door, and opened the door tentatively. The rain was even louder without the door to muffle it’s sound. There stood Brandon, no jacket or coat, with a wet envelope in his hand.

“Brandon?”

He sniffled. “I got my art midterm back. You were the only person I wanted to tell when I opened it.”

Amina shushed him, waving him inside. “Come in, please. You’re gonna get sick.”

The two moved further inside, with Amina closing the front door behind them. Brandon shivered, and just then did Amina realize he was only wearing a thin, blue, button up PEPSI shirt with black jeans. He must have been freezing. Amina directed him further into her house, into the living room, where the fireplace was blazing under the tv.

“Why were you out there in the rain like that?”

“I had my dad drop me in front of Austin’s house, then I just ran here.  Why?  Are your parents home or something?  I can come back,” Brandon sniffled again.

Amina chuckled, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe how polite yet absurd this boy was. “No, no they’re not here.  You can stay all you want.  But why? You could have just called me, you know.”

As they sat facing each other on the couch, Brandon looked up to meet her eyes, and Amina felt her pulse in the bottom of her stomach. “I wanted to tell you in person. I wanted to see you.”

Amina didn’t know what to make of those words. Sure, her and Brandon were friends, and they were close! But this seemed more than just friendly. His tone dripped with something Amina couldn’t put her finger on. Desperation?

“Um,” Amina hesitated, unsure how to reply.

“I got an A on my midterm.”

Amina felt her smile being reflected on Brandon’s face. “I’m so, so proud of you, B. You deserve it.”

“Honestly, I should be thanking you.” Amina must have looked confused, so he continued. “I never showed you my final piece. And when I say that I couldn’t have done it without you, I mean it.”

Brandon reached inside the large manilla envelope, pulling out a sheet of white paper. From what Amina could see, it was blank, meaning that there was something on the other side. When Brandon looked at the sheet, he smiled. Amina felt her eyes widen and her jaw drop as he turned the paper over so she could see it.

Amina was surprised to be staring at her own face. Well, not her face exactly, but a softer, more vibrant version of her face. She could tell it was a copy of a watercolor, the one Brandon had refused to let her see weeks before. She looked up to meet Brandon’s eyes, and couldn’t help the tears starting to form. She always tried her hardest not to be emotional.

“Brandon,” She whispered.

“I titled it Uzuri, which means beauty in Swahili.”

Amina was awestruck. “My name’s in Swahili.”

Brandon smiled, taking the paper from her, and placing it on the coffee table in front of them. “How does it feel to be my muse, Amina?”

She didn’t know what to say as he placed a hand on her bare knee. Goosebumps formed under his touch. Her heart pounded in her ears, her cheeks were hot, and she felt like an emotional wreck. Part of her wanted to scream for joy and start laughing, but the intensity of Brandon’s stare glued her to her seat on the couch.

Amina didn’t know what came over her as she suddenly surged forward, cupped Brandon’s cheeks, and connected her lips with his. Just as quick as it happened, it was over. Brandon looked her dead in the eyes as she pulled away.

Amina’s eyes widened in shock. “I’m so sorry. Holy shit. I don’t know what came over-“

Brandon cut her off by placing a hand under her jaw, lifting her chin slightly. He slowly closed the gap between them until his lips were on hers. Amina felt a tingle shoot up the base of her spine. This kiss was different from the first one, slower, not as rushed, and way more intimate.

Her hands found their way around Brandon’s neck, then to his hair, slowly tangling her fingers into his almost-black locks, and deepening the kiss. Amina felt it was like her every fantasy coming true. She loved the way he kissed her.  It was soft and gentle, but also meaningful and passionate.  She couldn’t stop herself from rocking forward in an attempt to get closer to him.  Brandon responded by taking Amina’s bottom lip in between his, nibbling in a way that had Amina tugging on his hair. He moaned slightly in response, and the sound went straight to Amina’s core.

Brandon released her lips, and instead trailed kisses down her jaw and the side of her neck. Amina felt her eyes flutter closed as she struggled to keep quiet. She felt Brandon smile against her neck. As he placed his lips back on hers, she could still feel him smiling. With one hand on her waist, and the other against her back, Brandon pushed her down gently to lay on the couch. He pulled away to unbutton and pull off his shirt, the thin blue material had already wetted the front of Amina’s grey tank top.

Amina couldn’t stop herself from reaching up, and running her hands along the hard and smooth surface of his chest. Brandon bit his lip, causing that familiar tingle in Amina’s spine to return. This time laying in between her legs, Brandon leant down to kiss her again. His hands traveled everywhere, from the front of her shirt, down to her navel, to her waist, to the curve of her hips and thighs. Amina arched her chest up, desperate for more contact between the two.

Brandon reluctantly pulled away, chuckling a little when Amina’s lips tried to follow his before realizing what was happening. Her eyes shot open, and she frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

Brandon caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Nothing, nothing. Just, how far do you want take this?”

Amina didn’t hesitate. “All the way. I want to have sex with you.”

“Are you sure? Don’t feel like you have to do this. I’m happy to just take it slow.”

Amina took one of Brandon’s hands and slid it in the tight space in between them. She trailed it down further and further, until it rested right on top of Amina’s core. Brandon felt the damp material of her underwear, causing his eyes to shoot open further.

“Does it look like I want to take this slow?” Amina whispered, making Brandon gulp. “I want this. I want you.”

Brandon nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. He eventually shook himself out of it. “Have you done this before?”

Now it was Amina’s turn to be silent. She shook her head no.

“And you’re sure?”

“Brandon,” Amina whined. “Please! I want to do this, only if you do.”

“I want to. God, I want to so bad. But just,”  He stuttered

“But nothing.  I want to do this, you want to do this.  Everything’s okay, B.  I promise,” she whispered, running her left hand through his damp, curly hair.  “Now are you done with all the questions? Because I’d really, really like to have sex with you now.”

Brandon chuckled, nodding slowly. Amina placed a hand on the back of his neck, and tugged him down to her lips.

-----------------

The fireplace crackled, sending the orange flame up higher for a second before it died back down.  Amina nestled her face further into Brandon’s bare chest, revelling in the warmth the two shared.  The rain was still in full effect outside, except the thunder and lightning hand finally ended.  With the deep, even rises and falls of Brandon’s chest, Amina wondered if he was asleep.  When his fingers trailed up her bare arm, she knew the answer to that question was no.

“Amina,”  He whispered.  “Are you awake?”

Amina hummed in response, otherwise not moving.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,”  she whispered in response.  “I’m okay.”

Brandon’s fingers traced back down her arm as a moment of silence passed.  Amina shifted, which was hard, seeing that they were laying in a tangle of limbs on the couch.  Eventually she was able to look up at him.

“B?”  He tilted his chin downwards so he could look Amina in the eye.  “How long have you felt this way?”

He chuckled.  “Pretty much since the moment I saw you in the park.”

“What?  You didn’t even know me then.  That was ages ago.”

“Yeah, it was.  But I remember looking at you and thinking, I’ve seen her before.  I couldn’t forget seeing the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Amina hit his chest lightly, making them both giggle.  “You’re so fucking corny.”

“But it’s true!  That’s what I thought in the drawing room on the first day of school.  I thought you were so so beautiful.  Your little glitter fetish was cute too.”

Amina turned over, propping herself up on her arms, so she could look at Brandon directly.  She scoffed in fake annoyance.  “It is not a fetish!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.  But still, you were so beautiful, I couldn’t get over it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Brandon sighed, running his free hand over his face.  “You’re gonna hate me for this.”

“I could never hate you.  Try me.”

“Well, it fueled my art, not being able to tell you.  I kept it all boxed up and trapped inside so I could make more art, make better art, and work faster.  I couldn’t have made my final piece if you knew.”

Amina nodded, genuinely understanding.  “And now?”  She whispered.

“All I know now is that you are amazing.  It’s only been two months, and there’s nothing else I can say.  I really, really like you, and I want to spend time with you.  And I think I could love you someday.  Someday really soon.”

Amina stopped herself from cooing at the light blush that took hold on Brandon’s cheeks.  Instead, she used one hand to smooth his curly hair away from his face.  His eyes were hooded through the black frames of his glasses.  She couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward and capturing his lips in a long kiss.  When they pulled away, he smiled.

“Does this mean I get to do more of that?  And we can do more of this?”  He asked cheekily.

Amina jokingly rolled her eyes.  “Perv.”

-------

She didn’t mean to sleep in;  she truly didn’t.  When she finally opened her eyes, sunlight flooded her vision, making the world go white before everything took its normal form again.  She slowly sat up, upset that there was no warm body next to her.  Amina attempted to smooth down her puffed out hair to no avail.  She sighed and glanced at the clock.

10:45 was an hour and a half later than she usually woke up on Saturday mornings, yet she didn’t feel any more refreshed than she normally did.  Looking down at her hands, she realized the nail polish on her left forefinger was chipped.  The matte black surface had been infiltrated with a bit of bare white.

Amina jumped as her door slowly creaked open.  When a framed face peeked in, she sighed in relief.  Once Brandon realized Amina was awake, he chuckled, coming into the room fully.

“B, don’t do that!”  Amina warned.

Brandon smiled as he trekked over to Amina’s full sized bed, placing a quick kiss on her lips.  Amina’s eyes shot open in surprise.  This boyfriend thing was definitely going to take some getting used to.  Amina’s mind was spinning as Brandon settled in to sit next to her.

“How did you sleep?”  He asked as if everything was normal.

“Um, good.”  Amina still didn’t know how to feel.  “You?”

“I slept fantastic.  So, um, when do your parents get home?”

“Not until Sunday afternoon.  Are you planning to stick around until then?”

Brandon shrugged, obviously not really knowing how to handle the change in dynamic between the two.  “Do you want me to stick around?”

“Well, I mean...do you have to be home at some point?”

“Nah, I just called my mom about it.  She thinks I’m sleeping over at Porter’s.”

“So then, yeah.  I do want you to stick around.”

A smile crept its way onto Brandon’s face.  “Then I’ll stick around.”

“Great.”  Amina looked down at her lap, chuckling to herself.  “Oh god, what are we doing?”

Brandon attempted to smooth back the front of Amina’s here.  “I have no idea.  But we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah.  Of course we will.”

[artificialqueens]

I Remember You Differently (Trixya) - Chapter 2 - goth

One more high school lesbian AU for the good people of this blog. It’s the end of senior year, prom season, and Trixie thought she was finally over her crush on Katya from freshman year drama class. She was wrong. Kim is over it before it even starts.

A/N: Thank you so much guys for the support. I mapped out this entire fic, epilogue included, which should make writing it easier and faster. In this installment, Trixie is roasted by family and friends alike. In the next, we’ll get started on Trixya flirting, and I’ll be introducing some Sashea into the mix soon.

Trixie is halfway through her house’s side door, when she hears someone bitching and whining.

The high-pitch whines can only belong to her younger sister. Farrah. Trixie wishes it was because the poor girl has a fever, but if anything, being sick has toned her down.

“Hey losers. I’m home.”

Farrah, swathed in a blanket like a baby, turns around in her chair. She frowns at Trixie, who’s setting her pink backpack on the couch. “Why do you even go to school? You only go for a couple hours.”

Trixie walks into the kitchen and musses up Farrah’s hair. Their oldest sister, Milk, is preparing dinner. “Farrah,” Milk starts, not looking up from chopping lettuce, “Once you’re as smart as Trixie, then you can spend two hours doing makeup for the three hours you spend at school.”

Farrah’s busy soothing out her hair, when Trixie sits next to her, she dodges Trixie’s half-hearted attempts to muss it up more. Trixie rolls her eyes. “Milk, please. You wear as much as me.”

Farrah pulls her hands out of her hair, and touches her cheeks. “My teacher told me I wear too much highlighter.”

“Oh my God,” Trixie muffles a laugh with her hand. “Farrah, everyone wears too much highlighter freshman year. Tell her to stuff it.”

Milk stops chopping lettuce and looks over at Trixie, who freezes. She knows exactly where this is going. Milk, along with the rest of the family, has been asking the same question for a month.

“How’s the prom development going, sis?”

“It’s… Going.” Her voice is squeaky. She avoids the curious look from Milk, only to fall right into Farrah’s. Fuck.

“Did a girl finally ask you out? Did you finally ask a girl out?” The excitement pours out of her so rapidly, so overwhelmingly, Trixie can’t get a single word in. “I knew you were lying about going in groups. Nobody cool would do that.”

Trixie plants a hand over her younger sister’s mouth. Sometimes, Trixie imagines Farrah never learning how to speak. Or at least whine. “Oh my God, Farrah.”

Milk leans over the counter, her eyes matching the excitement in Farrah’s. Neither of them are adopted, that’s for sure. “Wait, is Farrah actually onto something?”

Farrah wriggles out of Trixie’s grasp and pouts. “Hey!”

“That wasn’t an insult, honey,” Milk props a fist under her chin and taps Trixie’s arm with her finger. “Who is she?”

“I have a project to work on. Bye.”

……

Trixie blows on the fresh-painted nails of her left hand, and slowly sprawls across her bed. She’s careful not to mess up the pink paint, nor the pink sheets. All the while precariously balancing her phone between shoulder and cheek. She’s multi-talented.

And multi-worried.

Trixie’s over-analyzed every second of the exchange between her and Katya, and has made Kim Chi listen to all of it. Deservedly. Bailing rather than being a wing woman is a dick move. Trixie should know, she’s guilty of doing it as often as Kim.

It’s why they bicker like sisters. One of the reasons why, anyway. There’s far too many to list.

“Trixie, you’re just repeating yourself. Can I go? I have to catch up on—”

“Nobody else knows,” She hears Kim sigh. Trixie scoffs. “Who else am I going to talk to? I’d sound crazy.”

Trixie pauses, and rolls over on the bed. She lets her face sink into her pillow. “I am crazy.”

“I can’t understand you.”

“Oh, so my Kim Chi impression is improving.”

“Fuck you, Trixie.”

“Huh. Interesting, you understood that.”

Trixie smiles into her pillow and props herself up, feeling slightly better. Back and forth deadpanning with Kim always improves her mood. The contentment starts to dwindle however, the silence on the other end becoming deafening.

“Did that actually hurt—“

“I’m not the only one who knows.”

Alarms go off in Trixie’s head. Loud, blaring ones. Her heart stops for the second time today. She has about fifty questions to ask, long and detailed, yet all she can muster is a four letter word.

“What?”

“Freshman year. After first semester ended, the girls threw a party to chill you out. You were so depressed.”

“Oh… My God. Don’t tell me I—“

“You did. So drunk. You told Trannika how bad you wanted to suck Katya’s dick. You pretty much repeated the same thing to Shea, Pearl, and anyone else who was within earshot.”

Trixie’s baby pink phone, moments ago pressed so hard against Trixie’s ear the skin turned red, lies at the foot of her bed. On speaker phone. Both hands cover her face. She groans.

“Everyone knows, Trixie.”

“Yeah, uh, I got that part!”

“I told them to never say anything.”

Trixie is unable to voice any emotion she has, all of which are bad, until what Kim last said registers. She breathes in deep. Relaxes her closed eyes.

“Thank you. You’re a good person. I love you.”

“You’re welcome. There’s plenty of other things to make fun of you for.”

“You’re a fucking bitch. I hate you.”

Kim giggles. A small smile spreads, slow, across Trixie’s face. She couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

“We’ll have to get another fucking reservation somewhere else. For the second time.” Kim pauses. “Make sure Katya matches your dress.”

Trixie cringes, and crawls closer to her phone. “Slight problem.”

“What?” It’s more of a statement than a question. Trixie cringes again.

“Um, she’s Maleficent and I’m Sleeping Beauty, for a start.”

“I don’t care, Trixie. We planned this all out a month ago. You and Shea were going to match. I expect the same with your new girlfriend.”

Already the ‘girlfriend’ shit has begun. She’s dreading talking to the other girls about this.

“She’s not—”

“Oh, right. Freshman year. Your old girlfriend, then?”

“Suck a dick. I’m hanging up.”

Kim giggles again. It’s nice, Trixie thinks. Kim sounds even more stressed than Trixie, whose world crumbled, just a little bit, today. She can hear Kim shifting around in bed, clicking on her laptop. Trixie just knows she’s going to fall asleep watching anime.

She’s seen it happen enough times.

“Tomorrow you’re helping me get a new reservation. And at some point this week, you’re taking Katya out shopping.”

“Alright. Love you. Goodnight, Kim.”

“Love you too. Goodnight, Trixie.”

……

Four years of never hearing a single word about Katya, courtesy of her sisterly bond with Kim Chi, goes down the drain in one night. Post revelation phone call, Trixie’s been harassed by each and every one of her friends.

All at once, too. The girls gathered together for the last weekend before prom week. The last weekend of stress, as Trixie and Kim managed to get an updated reservation. What was supposed to be a fun two days of drinking at Fame’s house quickly turned into a roast.

William and Trannika are the worst culprits.

“Okay, but her name is Ketchup, though.”

“Trixie wants to eat her hotdog.”

William and Trannika, respectively.

“Oh my God.” Trixie leans back against the couch, pressing the cool plastic of a pink solo cup against her forehead. She, at the least, looks fabulous while her love life is being torn to shreds.

“Katya’s hot,” Trannika starts again, leaning her cheek upon Trixie’s shoulder. “I’ve seen her drink her own blood. I’m so into that.”

“Kim, I’m blaming you for this.”

“I prevented this from happening for four years.”

“Kim blue-balled us, comedically.” William offers, “But Trixie blue-balled Katya, romantically.”

“Trixie asks me for chapstick once a week,” Trannika starts, and presses a kiss onto Trixie’s shoulder. “I just didn’t realize it was for her dry pussy.” Trixie shoves her off.

“I need another drink.” Trixie pushes herself up off the couch and wanders into Fame’s kitchen. They’ve had so many parties here, she’s not sure she’d find the fridge if she was sober. Bent over, searching for another light beer, she grumbles when someone taps her shoulder.

“You good?”

Trixie pops up, nearly banging her head on the fridge shelf. She spins around, surprised it’s Shea looking concerned, rather than William trying to grab her ass.

“Totally.”

Shea frowns. “I’m serious. I’m not gonna lie, those bitches are making me laugh so hard, but if they’re actually hurting your feelings—“

“Shea, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I mean, yeah, I’ve had a crush on her for four years,” Trixie shrugs. “So what. I’m not obsessed. I have a life. I forget Katya exists ninety-nine percent of the time.”

She can’t find the right words to say. She just says all of them.

“It’s been like, off and on. That kind of crush. Junior year, I almost completely forgot about her. I see her every now and then. Handful of times over the course of four years. Those are the times when I think about wanting to kiss her, that’s it. You know?”

“I know.”

“There’s been other girls. It’s not like, oh, she’s the one! I mean, maybe? We’ll see. I guess, but how lame is that? If I kiss her at my high school prom and she’s the love of my life. Gross.”

Trixie can’t stop talking.

“I just think she’s cute. And nice, and funny. And so on. I’m not in love. If I was, then yeah, I’d be offended, but I’d also be a crazy woman.”

Shea’s silent for a few moments. Trixie considers stepping backwards into the open fridge, shutting the door, and never coming back out.

“You need some rest.”

Trixie sighs, looking down into her empty cup, and nods. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

[imaginarybird]

Unwilling and unable to face everyone on her own when it comes time to attend Auggie and Ava’s wedding, Riley Matthews hires a solution in Lucas Friar. Loosely based on The Wedding Date.

Part One II Part Two 

Rating: Around a PG 13/14

Notes: Hey everyone, thanks for reading Part One, sending in your comments, liking, reblogging, whatever you did! It really means a lot to me that you enjoyed what I have so far, and I’m looking forward to writing more and sharing with you. 

I’m going to be on vacation from Wednesday through the end of the week, so Part Three may be a little slower in coming. I’ll try to write when/where I can, but I just might not have much of a chance for a few days. 

In this installment, Riley opens up to Lucas a bit, they arrive in Cape Cod, and Lucas meets Auggie.

“So tell me,” Lucas says, pushing his laptop shut and angling towards Riley in the confines of their airline seats, “what sort of lion’s den am I going to be walking into when we get to the Cape?”

Riley closes her magazine and looks at her companion. They’re well into the flight, somewhere over the Midwest and having already spent a fair amount of time chatting and deciding on some more relevant pieces of the story they’re going to tell people they’ve been doing their own thing. She’s been pretending to read while her mind is preoccupied with thoughts of the coming week and he’s been doing something on a laptop that she hasn’t tried to look too closely at, not wanting to be seen as nosy.

For all the ‘getting to know you’ chatting they’ve done so far, the topics have been centered around her; Riley’s not sure if it’s a matter of professionalism or just who Lucas is as a person, but he hasn’t shared much about himself, even something as minor as his favorite color. He insists that if anyone at the wedding asks about him, she can improvise and he’ll go along with it. No matter the reasoning, Riley figures he clearly values his privacy and doesn’t want to violate his trust.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you didn’t lie to your brother about having a date and hire me just for the fun of it.” Lucas clarifies. “The whole thing obviously makes you nervous. But the the thought of going to this wedding alone worries you more. And I want to help you with that, but I have to know what I’m helping with.”

“It’s...complicated.” Riley equivocates, not wanting to delve into the whole sordid tale. She knows there’s little point in keeping it secret--Lucas surely sees her as just another overwrought client that he has to put up with to earn his living--but a part of her wants to spare herself the embarrassment and maybe have him see her as one of the nicer, more enjoyable clients. She can’t even explain why she wants that when she has every intention to never see him again after this week, but she does.

“If it were simple you’d probably be on this flight alone right now.”

Riley almost scowls at Lucas’ gentle but matter-of-fact tone, but limits herself to simply sighing. It’s not his fault that things are the way they are, and he’s just trying to get the information he needs to do his job well. Maybe a few vague bits and pieces wouldn’t hurt. Just so he’ll know what to expect. “Let’s just say, I’m not what my parents were hoping for in a daughter, and they aren’t very good at pretending that I am.”

“Your parents are disappointed that their daughter is a nurse in a pediatric emergency room?”

It should be illegal for a man’s confused expression to be so attractive, Riley thinks.

“Does it also bother them that you brake for animals in the road?” Lucas continues. “And that you participate in the NPR and PBS pledge drives?”

She figures him getting offended on her behalf now is just him getting into ‘character’. There’s no other logical reason for him to be so bothered, even if he does think she’s nice or something like that. He barely knows her, and he’s never met her parents, so how could he possibly be sure enough in her assessment of the situation (and of his assessment of her for that matter) to start defending her? It has to be a part of the job.

“It’s not my work that they don’t like.” She corrects. “It’s that...they don’t know how to relate to me I think? My dad used to, but the older I got the more my interests changed and the less he seemed to want to deal with me. I don’t think it’s because he stopped loving me or anything but I think he couldn’t navigate what having a daughter post-puberty meant. And my mom...my mom is this amazing lawyer. She’s incredibly smart and strong; she’s constantly helping people and changing the world. But I’m not a carbon copy of her and I don’t think she could ever figure out how to connect with me. We shared some traits but our personalities are very different and the older I got the more obvious it was that she didn’t think our differences were a good thing.”

“That had to have been hard, not having a bond with the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally is one of the most painful feelings…”

Riley glances down at her tray table where she'd started folding the corner of her magazine cover back and forth during the conversation--just to give her hands something to do. “It’s not even that. The story of my life is people not liking me for who I am.”

“Even if that’s the case,” Lucas says, laying his hand on top of hers and stilling her fingers, “it’s different when it’s family. When it’s your parents… It can’t be easy.”

It’s the first time they’ve really touched outside of their initial meeting and a couple of moments as they walked through the airport where he guided her with his hand on the small of her back and Riley freezes. How can one hand on top of another--just his five fingers resting on hers and a small brush of his thumb--feel so intimate? Does he even feel that or is this just another rote gesture for him, like using antibacterial gel on her hands every time she enters an exam room is for her?

“You get used to it.” Riley nearly moves her hand away to break the connection (it feels like at any moment the soft warmth could turn and consume her and then she’ll be a goner) but stops herself, reasoning that she has to get comfortable with small gestures like this; this is how couples act and everyone at the wedding has to believe that they’re a couple if this week is going to work. She settles for biting the inner corner of her lip and trying to disconnect herself from the sensation instead.

This is make believe. A business transaction, nothing more. Don’t go falling for someone you can never have, Riley. It’ll only hurt you.

 “Maybe you do but…” Lucas’ thumb sweeps across the back of her hand again, “you shouldn’t have to, and I’m sorry you did.”

Her inner monologue doesn’t work. She can’t look away from his eyes--his deep, green, sorrowful, lovely eyes-- and what starts as a trickling shiver down her spine starts to feel more like a flood of hot tea. They sit, staring for one second, then two, and then Riley realizes he’s waiting for her to say something.

Completely unsure of what to do, Riley pulls her hand back. “T-thanks.” She undoes her seatbelt and stands, bending slightly to avoid hitting her head against the ceiling. “I, um, have to…” She points towards the back of the plane.

Lucas gets that smile on his face again as he rises to let her slide past him.

Riley mentally repeats her mantra a couple more times as she walks down the aisle and barricades herself in the tiny bathroom to give herself a few moments to get her head back on straight.

She is in so much trouble.

Thoughts of inappropriately falling for Lucas are out of Riley’s mind by the time they’re on the ground in Massachusetts and driving from the airport the hour or so it takes to reach Cape Cod. She attributes this to two things: 1) the plane was a confined space, whereas Lucas had suggested that they rent a sporty convertible for the week (‘If this week is about projecting a new image to your family, that car will paint one hell of a picture’) allowing most of the tension to dissipate into the air as it arises and 2) the closer they get to the bed and breakfast where the wedding party and immediate family of the bride and groom will be staying, the further her mind drifts from thoughts of anything other than what’s going to happen over the course of the week and how she’s going to make it through, even with the help of Lucas.

There’s a lot of unpredictability in play. She doesn’t see any of these people very often anymore, hasn’t outside of major holidays (and even those she sometimes skips these days) since the middle of her undergraduate degree; it was easier to move to the west coast for school and never look back.

Riley would love to think that she’ll be able to go through the week invisibly, just popping into the forefront of activity when she’s performing her wedding duties to Auggie and fading into the background the rest of the time, but she figures that her luck isn’t that good; a lot of her good fortune had to have been cashed in for her to have seemingly hit the jackpot on the escort front (she has to think that good-looking, interesting, guys that are not only respectful, but also manage to come off as genuinely caring have to be rare, even in the unfamiliar world of high end male escorts).

“What are you thinking?” Lucas’ question draws her out of her thoughts and back to reality. They’re well into one of the many beach towns on the Cape, she realizes, probably quite close to the B & B, but stuck in a substantial traffic jam, so Lucas is risking next to nothing by taking his eyes off the road to look at her.

“Just worrying about this week.” Riley answers. “Who’s gonna be here, what’s gonna go wrong…”

Traffic inches forward, and Lucas turns his gaze back. “Do you do that often?”

“Do what?” Riley frowns. She’s not doing anything.

“Borrow trouble.” He shrugs, like it’s something obvious. “I know you don’t have a great relationship with your parents but that doesn’t mean something’s gonna go wrong. And when you assume that it will...you’re setting yourself up so that even if things go well, you’ll be so tense that you won’t get to enjoy it.”

“Something will go wrong.” Riley shifts a little in her seat. When that doesn’t ease her discomfort she reaches over to adjust the vent for the air conditioner. “It always does. Someone will say the wrong thing, or take something too far, or be upset because not everyone is happy enough for them and--,” She cuts herself, realizing she hadn’t intended to say the last bit. She shakes her head and starts to correct herself. “Something will go wrong, and inevitably, I’m the one who will be blamed. So I’d rather plan for that and be tense than hope for the best and be disappointed again when nothing changes.”

Lucas doesn’t say anything for a moment, taking the moments when traffic isn’t moving to consider her carefully. When he finally speaks, it’s soft and Riley can’t assess his tone. “You didn’t even scratch the surface with what you told me on the plane, did you?”

“Like I said. It’s complicated.”

They don’t say anything else for the rest of the drive.

“Riley-Ellie!” 

“Auggie-Orrie!” Riley abandons getting her things out of the trunk of the rental car in favor of rushing her younger brother near the bed and breakfast’s porch steps. She throws her arms around him and launches him up in a spin--their longstanding tradition, her worries temporarily forgotten in the face of the reason for the trip. This part of the trip she’s more than happy to deal with. “How does it feel to be an almost-married man?” She asks, lowering Auggie back to the ground. “Is she driving you crazy yet?”

“It’s a-maz-ing.” He grins, every inch the dramatic boy he always has been. “I can’t believe we finally made it to the wedding week. And with none of the nightmares of a typical Matthews Marriage.”

“There’s still time.” He was, of course, referring to the pattern that had started with their parents. Their wedding had nearly been a disaster several times over from meddling relatives, a massive fight between the groom and his best friend, and of course Uncle Eric stealing the venue and reception out from under an unsuspecting diaper tycoon. Then Aunt Morgan’s wedding had ended up with her being left at the alter. After that, Uncle Eric had tried his hand at marriage to have the whole thing wind up under a mandatory evacuation order due to severe weather and flood risk. Uncle Josh’s nuptials hadn’t experienced any of the bad luck of his siblings but he had eloped and Riley knew her grandmother considered being left out of the big day as big of a fiasco as anything her other boys had been through (Morgan being dumped the day of was, of course, in a class all it’s own).

“I figure the curse will end with me.” Auggie says, quite confidently. “I have something that the rest of the family didn’t.”

Riley quirks her eyebrow. “Yeah, what’s that?”

“Ava Morgenstern.”

He has a point. Ava had been strong-willed at age six and had only grown more self-assured as they got older. She had standards for everything that she did, and woe be to the person who stood in the way of her exceeding them. It’s entirely possible, Riley thinks, that if Ava decided she wanted a sunny day for her wedding and a cloud appeared in the sky, that the girl would simply plant herself in place to glare up at the sky and will the cloud into retreating.

“Well, you’ve got me there.” She concedes, smirking and glancing down the wraparound porch. “Where is my future sister-in-law?”

“One of her bridesmaids stumbled at graduation so she is hosting a pre-rehearsal walk-down-the-aisle-in-your heels practice session before she has to get back here for the big family welcome dinner.”

Again, not exactly out of character for Ava. “You mean the high school graduation that happened three years ago?”

“The middle school one, actually. Ava has a long memory.” Auggie says matter-of-factly. “But enough about that.” He taps her shoulder. “How are you? How was your flight? Where is this mysterious boyfriend that you never once mentioned until all of a sudden you were bringing him here?”

Riley knows he’s only really asking the last question; he cares about the other stuff too, but they talk all the time, so the sticking point for him is definitely that she hasn’t ever talked about Lucas before. Auggie will be the hardest sell of the weekend, not only because he knows the most details of her life to poke holes in her story, but because he’s always been suspicious of her suitors and protective of her. She’ll have to be careful to be as normal as possible around him.

“I’m fine, the flight was long, and Lucas is getting our things out of the car.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder towards the parking lot. She can’t help but glancing over her shoulder as she does so. Playing it cool might be the best option to lower any suspicions but she’s never been very good at it. Her nerves always manage to take over.

Auggie follows the gesture and blinks. “The blond guy in the jeans and the smedium t-shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“The one pretending it takes more than thirty seconds to take two bags out of the trunk of a ridiculously beautiful sports car?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The one who looks like he was ripped from the cover of American Apple Pie Boy’s Next Door?”

Not exactly how she would have put it but she can’t exactly deny the resemblance is there. “That’s the one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Auggie!” Riley smacks lightly at her brother’s shoulder.

He dodges, laughing. “I’m sorry, but I watched a lot of guys flirt with you when you were pulling shifts at the bakery and whenever you were into it, it was not with the guys that looked like that.” He waves his hand up and down. “That is not the sort of guy you go for. I know I haven’t seen him without a shirt off or anything but I’m pretty sure his abs have abs.”

Riley’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond. Partially because Auggie is right--she has never dated or even seriously flirted with a guy that’s so blatantly handsome and athletic; Charlie had been her first serious relationship and after him it had taken her a long time to even want to flirt and date again. It had taken even longer to start tackling the resulting self-esteem issues, a problem that, if she’s being honest with herself, she’s still working on. She’s never really been sure that guys who look like Lucas are genuinely interested in her so it’s always been easier to treat them as if they aren’t and stick with other types of guys.

She’s also at a loss because she also has never seen Lucas without his shirt off. Which sounds incredibly stupid, she knows, but the moment Auggie mentions it, Riley realizes that the status of Lucas’ abdominal muscles is almost definitely something that she should be aware of. After all, as far as everyone else is concerned, she and Lucas have been dating for several months.

And for all the planning she and Lucas have done, discussing the details of the nature of their fake relationship like where they met and where he took her on their one month anniversary, they have not really talked about whether or not they’ve taken any kinds of steps as a fake couple where she really would be privy to the what sort of torso he is barely concealing beneath his t-shirts.

“Yeah, he is really...really muscular.” It seems like a safe enough comment; anyone with eyes can tell that the man has muscles, even when he has his shirt on.

“Who’s that?”

Riley nearly jumps out of her skin in the split second it takes for her to realize that the smiling voice near her ear and the arm snaking around her waist belong to Lucas, but when she reaches her conclusion she manages to tamp back her reaction to something that she hopes is a bit more appropriate for being joined by one’s boyfriend. She still stiffens in surprise, but manages to release most of the tension and ease back into the embrace with a nervous giggle. “You.”

Being this close to Lucas, there’s really no question: with or without his shirt, he has a very healthy form. Riley swallows.

“I don’t think I’m that--,”

“You are.” Riley and Auggie cut off Lucas’ protest in unison, then share a grin.

“Well I’m not gonna argue the point too strongly.” Lucas says. He glances between the two siblings. “Did I take enough time getting the bags out of the car for you two to catch up or do you need me to go back?”

“Nope, you’re perfect.” Riley answers and then realizes what she said. She blushes and peers briefly at the ground, even as Lucas threads the fingers of one hand with hers and squeezes gently. She supposes that’s probably meant to be reassuring and a message that they’re doing OK but it’s just another reminder of how bizarre and out-of-character this situation is; she doesn’t do this sort of close contact with people she’s known forever, and yet here she is with a practical stranger. And not hating it. Struggling to figure out what to say and how to act the part, but not hating it. “I was just about to tell Auggie about you. Auggie, this is Lucas. The guy I’ve been seeing.”

Lucas doesn’t let go of her hand, merely uses his other hand to reach over and greet Auggie and offer his congratulations on the wedding. “You know, Riley’s told me so much, it’s great to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Auggie nods. “I mean, Riley hasn’t told me very much at all. Nothing actually. But it’s always fun to meet the guys who manage wiggle their way into her life.”

Auggie is supposed to be the easiest part of the week, but at the shrewd look on her little brother’s face, Riley is starting to think that while it may be on a different front from the rest of the family, he might be just as much trouble.

[yastaghr]

Our Skeleton: Chapter 6

Our Skeleton

Characters: Asgore, Undyne, Alphys, Toriel, Papyrus, Frisk, Sans,

Pairings: Sans/Toriel/Asgore, Sansgoriel, Toriel/Asgore, Togore, Asgore/Sans, Sansgore, Sans/Toriel, Soriel, Alphyne, Alphys/Undyne

Warnings:  If you see something you want a warning for, let me know.

Story Summary: The people who love him come to realise Sans may be hiding something from them. (not the best of summaries, sorry)

<–Previous || First || Next–>

Ao3

“red one. also blue. there's a really old white one - or maybe it's tan. a green one just pulling into the lot, too.”

Asgore absently rubbed at his arm while the sound of off-key singing washed over him. He stared out the window at the cars anxiously awaiting the change of the light. The remnants of rain dried out drop by drop on the car’s windows. The mottling they left behind had an interesting effect on the muted colors coming in.

“Sans, I don’t believe that they count if they’re still at the dealership. At the very least they must have tags, if not license plates.”

“don’t remember frisk ever mentioning a rule like that.”

“I think that is because they did not expect any of us to move so close to the road of car salesmen. It is much to specialized a rule for them to remember off the top of their head.”

“you’re just jealous that i remembered the rules before you did.”

He sighed, and turned around. Sans’ grin was genuine. Clearly designed to annoy him, but genuine. At least the small skeleton was enjoying his little game enough to for his mood to have picked back up from the day before. Asgore smiled contentedly at the glint in those sockets, happily losing himself in the swirling darkness within those eyes.

The singing came to a glorious, abrupt halt. Toriel, eyes still working the road around them, didn’t see Asgore and Sans’ shared sigh. Her voice had a tint of mirth, “You could say he was green with envy, could you not?”

Sans chuckled, “yup. being outdone is absolutely driving him up the wall.”

Asgore sighed, coating over his happiness with a layer of annoyance, “Quite. I’m just a stuffy old goat who deserves to be in a museum.”

“Dreemur!” Belatedly, he remembered that their destination was supposed to be a surprised. Too late.

Sans’ sockets crinkled in mirth, “ah, so that’s it. i was beginning to wonder. we passed grillby’s like ten minutes ago, and i was sure we were heading over for the sunday special. you really threw me for a loop there.”

Toriel’s guffaw overwhelmed her annoyance as the arrow finally went green and they turned left into the Large Park’s traffic loop. Asgore smiled too, wondering how much longer his wife had expected their small skeleton to remain ignorant. After all, there were only a handful of places the three of them could go from this street, and the city zoo was closed that week while a new sewage system was put in place.

“We would not dream of keeping you uninformed for long, Sans. You were certain to learn eventually, were you not? After all, this is an institute of learning.”

“heh, yup. so, which wing is it today? not the scifi exhibit, please. going with frisk’s class two weeks ago was more than enough for me. they mixed up the names of the homeworlds of skywalker, atreides, and spock. such a crime can never be forgiven.”

The two of them chuckled, having heard this rant before. Sans had been livid that this organizers of this exhibit, which was currently traveling around the world, had not had the decency to double check their signage before sending it on its way.

“No, Sans. We would not make you suffer that again. We had thought perhaps the history wing, if you are interested, and then perhaps one of the IMAX shows later on.”

Sans’ gaze immediately went to one of the enormous banners draped across the front of the building. Galaxies, planets, and stars by the millions decorated its surface.

“really?”

“We would not tell you a fibula, Sans.”

The quiet hum of Sans’ magic brightened. It was funny. Asgore had lived over a thousand years, and in that time had met hundreds of monsters. When he had met Sans in person for the first time, he had almost not realised the skeleton was there. Sans had either the quietest or the most well-hidden magic the king had ever seen.

Over the years he had learned to tune into Sans’ power, and since they had come to the surface it had become easier and easier to do. Now, he rarely lost the thread, and hearing the subdued emotions pick up like that always made him smile.

The fact that the skeleton’s big reaction was to the idea of seeing a show about the stars, and that that reaction had just won him a little bet with Toriel, obviously did not come into it.

She and Asgore meandered their way out of their first stop of the day. As much as Asgore and Toriel had heard in their negotiations about the past 1030 odd years of human history, the picture they had received was contradictory and haphazard. The overview they had just seen, at the very least, gave them a place to start to investigate further.

“I must say, humans seem to have come quite a long way since the war. A winding, faltering way, yes, but the progress they’ve made is very impressive. No wonder they produced a child like Frisk.”

Sans ambled out of the doorway behind them with an expression of mild shock, “i know frisk told me there were parts of human history where they weren’t even nice to each other, but some of that stuff is down-right unbelievable. did they really use to prevent non-male people from even getting a degree?”

Toriel sighed, “Unfortunately, yes. It was rather a surprise to hear that had changed. At the time of the war, female humans had hardly any official rights at all. In addition, the very concept that other genders even existed was utter blasphemy.”

“which god?”

Another sigh, because as simple of a question as that would be to any monster, the politics of the answer were rather depressing, “Most of them, I fear.”

Sans drooped. Asgore eyes moved between his face and her own, then drifted off in a desperate search of the museum’s signs. His gaze lit on something. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, nudging Sans gently in the direction of the stairs.

“Look over there! Toriel, it seems they have an exhibit on the plants of the Mt. Ebott subregion. what do you say to a bit of nostalgia?”

She and her longtime partner shared a look. Eventually, she gave in, “Very well, Dreemur. We shall go look at the plants.”

The way his cheeks pulled back into a delighted grin almost made up for the unending stream of plant facts she knew was about to endure. After Asgore had turned, she saw Sans’ right hand move in a blur that any monster alive would recognize as coming from Frisk.

-patella the truth, i haven’t had a chance to root through some of my plant puns in more years than the snowdin trees have rings. what’d’ya say to a pun off? i won’t tell gori if you don’t.-

,Her face broke into a grin, and she responded in kind.

-Stem-thing tells me you have quite the garden to pull from.-

At a tug from Asgore, Sans moved on, but tossed the next set of signs at her from behind his back.

-plant puns are where i got my seed, tori. it’ll be nice to get back to my roots.- Cheeky boy. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

“Oh my, Sans. I am sorry. I assure you, I had no idea they had such things here.”

Toriel tried politely to avert her eyes. Fluffybuns appeared to be somewhat hypnotized by the things, his eyes practically bulging.

Sans, despite the posted signs, had once again pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had yet look up at the exhibit in this particular room.

“what, did we run into yet another mislabeled sign? they should put up a warning label at this rate: ‘accurate signage not guarenteed.”

The short skeleton finally looked up from his phone. His expression didn’t flicker, “oh, is that it? they’re just skeletons tori. nothing new here, unless someone lost count and rounded up.”

Gori’s mouth, working in much the same manner as a fish, managed to find words before she herself had recovered from the shock. Perhaps not the most helpful, but still.

“Aren’t you...Sans, I...isn’t this...they don’t have any clothes.”

He ended with a note in his voice she remembered from quite a long time ago.

It had been the first time they had taken young Asriel to meet his kingdom. Of course, the first thing the toddler had done was spill sea tea all over his new robes. Then, for some reason unfathomable to his parents, he had decided to strip bare and run around flailing the soggy cloth like a flag.

Gerson had been amused, and, after Asriel had been rounded up, proceeded to educate Asgore as to the ways of toddlers by sharing an almost identical story about the first time he had babysat for Asgore himself. The then-queen had reacted in much the same manner as Asgore did, and had it not been for his father, he might have had an earlier introduction to her famous sense of justice than he in fact did.

Sans, in the present, blinked, “well yeah. makes it easier to see the vertebrae.”

Finally, Toriel found her voice, “Still, Sans. This is rather...lewd, is it not?”

He tilted his skull at her, “um, no? they’re not alive, tori. anyway, they’re human. if some dead human wants to spend their time going bare bones in a dusty display case, i ain’t gonna judge.”

The two royal goatnesses wallowed in mutual confusion, “But…”

Sans sighed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. His right hand found the edge of the bandage on his left and fiddled with it as he spoke.

“look, guys. it’s...weird, yeah, but not gross or anything. you saw those paintings a few rooms back, right? if humans can put up with seeing pictures of their own, flesh-wrapped species like that in here, i can put up with a few naked pelvic regions. and, again, it’s not like they’re monster skeletons. there’s enough of a difference that it ain’t too bad.”

His sockets had swiveled slowly over and now faced the glass-encased display directly. His tone grew more thoughtful.

“they’re not that ugly, either. not like me, anyway. they’re tall. got proper, straight spinal columns. the ribs are nicely spread. good ratios of leg to torso, too. i can get admiring skeletons like these.”

As the speech tapered off, Toriel heard the note of envy and dismay enter his voice. Her mind instantly derailed from its ‘This is insensitive, I must fix this’ train of thought and switched over to another. Her eyes gleamed red, and she could not help but feel a certain amount of pride at the speed with which Asgore pulled himself up.

“That is a blatant lie, Sans.”

Their skeleton gave her a look of weary dissent, so she pressed on, “While I admit that your analysis of their place in this museum is kinder, and less biased, than mine might be, I must disagree with you about the aesthetics. Their heights are almost strained, are they not? One feels that there is not nearly enough bone to justify that amount of verticality.”

Sans’ eye lights had shrunk. Asgore, contemplating the exhibit with a more critical eye, pondered aloud, “The spines are too straight to be healthy. They would not give an inch, I think. The poor soul would be stuck at permanent attention. The ribs are too gapy, too. I would worry about something poking through, like a door handle or a spear. That spine wouldn’t let them dodge at all. They would have no option but to stand there and wait until help could arrive.”

Sans turned to the inanimate skeletons with an air of great distrust. His focus shifted around, stopping at every joint and section of cartilage.

Toriel hummed thoughtfully, “In truth, the shapes of their skulls are rather lackluster, wouldn’t you agree, Gori?”

“Why, yes. They haven’t much emotion or animation, do they? Even if they could move. And those sockets are so small, too. I wonder how they would be able to see?” Sans’ hand had moved to rub at the rounded curves of his own skull. She padded over, Asgore mirroring her movements. She pulled Sans into a hug.

Asgore knelt down and whispered against Sans’ skull, “We could very well go on for days, you adorable monster. None of those skeletons hold so much as a spark to the supernova that is you.”

She felt their skeleton start shaking in her arms and went to move away. A tight grip on her dress held her back, and she surrendered. The three of them stayed there with her and Gori forming an almost perfect shield around the trembling skeleton until the tremors abated and Sans spoke.

“i, um...guess i was being a bit of a bonehead there, huh?”

She hummed and held him tighter, “No, my dearest skeleton. You were merely being you.”

She nuzzled down on the top of his head and did not let him go until Gori pointed out to her that if they did not leave soon, they would miss their show.

“-and did you see that third shot of ngc 1952? that had to have been a hydrogen-alpha filter, but the detail on it - i can’t believe it! getting a shot like that they had to have used an observatory. no way a backyard telescope would have picked up the shading on the lower right dust clouds, least ways not that well. wonder who shot it? d’ya think they might have someone who would know?”

Asgore planted a kiss atop the skeleton’s skull as they made their way up the stairs.

“It would not hurt to ask.”

Sans stopped so suddenly asgore nearly knocked him over, “heh. you’re right. why- i can - i-”

The lack of motion ended without any warning. Sans went from worryingly still to bounding up the stairs two at a time. He hollered back at them, “i’ll be right back. meet you by the m-k-raptor skeleton, kay? bye!”

The two Boss Monsters watched his retreating form vanish around the curve of the stairs with glowing cheeks.

“Do you think he is aware that his eye lights are currently shaped into glowing blue stars?”

Asgore chuckled, “No, I don’t believe he is. I’ve never seen him this excited before in his life.”

Toriel’s smile slowly faded into a frown. His mind caught up with his mouth, and the implication of that sentence hit him like a train.

“Asgore-”

“Tori-”

Their nostrils flared, then softened. Their intentions synced beautifully, the separate fields of their magics intersecting and merging, every wave amplifying the next.

“Do you think it would be too much of a bother for you to pamper our newest partner for the next few days? I believe I have a bit of research to do.”

He saw her lips pull back in something closely resembling a smile, but without any of the warmth.

“Of course, my dear. Only as long as you promise to let me have a turn, supposing what we suspect to be true is indeed so.”

He knew his expression matched her own.

“I would not dream of doing it any other way.”