#One thing about Matthew! He’s gonna talk about growing the game

[fannyyann]

NHL Star Matthew Tkachuk Doesn’t Care If You Don’t Like Him: ‘Why Not Be Myself?’ (Exclusive)

Florida Panthers star Matthew Tkachukknows hockey culture is steeped in tradition, but he’s not particularly concerned about ruffling some feathers. 

Tkachuk, 27, who won a Stanley Cup with the Panthers last season, has enjoyed pushing boundaries both on the ice with his hard-nosed style of play and off the ice with his colorful disposition.

As the American-born player explains it, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I have the ability to be able to reach different pockets of people in the U.S. with hockey and with my personality, playing in south Florida, being born in Arizona and being from St. Louis,” Tkachuk exclusively told Us Weekly ahead of the NHL’s inaugural 4 Nations Face-Off, which begins February 12. “I’m very lucky in that sense. I just think, why not be myself? Why waste all this time having the time of my life and not act like myself? Why would I not show off my personality?”

He added, “That’s how I approach it. I guess some people like it, some people don’t like it. But I’ll never change being myself.”

Tkachuk, the son of 18-year NHL veteran Keith Tkachuk, said this generation’s players are feeling the freedom to step outside of the box more than ever.  I think the mindset of guys has changed a little bit,” Matthew explained. “They’re able to express themselves more than they were 10, 15, 20 years ago. And I think that’s great. I think it’s great for personalities. I think it’s great for fans to relate to players more, being able to see more of them. I think that’s very important for growing the game.”

Matthew will help expand hockey’s reach even further when he represents the United States in the first-ever 4 Nations Face-Off, which pits the league’s best players from the U.S., Canada, Sweden and Finland in a best-on-best tournament. Joining Matthew on Team USA will be his younger brother, Ottawa Senators star Brady Tkachuk. 

Competition aside, Matthew is looking forward to showcasing the beauty of the sport’s international appeal.  One thing I really like about hockey is you have so many different guys from so many different places in the world,” Matthew said. “Hockey is the one thing that brings them all together. It doesn’t matter if you’re from Russia or Finland or Sweden, in a weird scheme of everything, you are pretty much the same the way you’ve been brought up in the game. It’s pretty cool.”

He added, “I love getting to know teammates from different backgrounds and different parts of the world. Some of my great friends in hockey are from places that are so different than where I am from.”

Along the way, Matthew will be looking fresh thanks to role as an off-ice ambassador for fashion and lifestyle brand Perry Ellis.

“I just love their stuff,” Matthew gushed. “I’m super excited to wear it not only to 4 Nations, but to wear it on just a normal day for myself. I think it looks awesome and for them to be with us at USA Hockey, I think everybody is going to really like it.”

[jackhues]

karma - auston matthews

notes: this is based off of @matthewshisch's idea (karma is the guy on the leafs)! so s/o to her <3 also, reader is a singer :)) AND gif not mine !

likes are good, reblogs are better!

being a celebrity meant that no matter what, one thing would always be a fixed thing in your life. and that was the rumours.

one week you were dating a new guy. the next, you were engaged to some kid from your hometown. the next week, you were back with your ex.

no matter what, the dating rumours always flew around you. maybe the fact that you never made it public with anyone fuelled those even more. whatever the case, it was funny reading them.

especially when you thought about what you had planned for tonight.

a knock sounded on your door, followed by a familiar voice, "did someone order some flowers?"

you couldn't help the smile growing on your face as you made eye contact with auston in the mirror.

you were in your dressing room at the stadium, getting ready for the opening night of your multi-month tour. you'd worked hard to get to where you were now -- one of the most successful female artists in the world.

and right there by your side, supporting you for the past year, was none other than auston matthews, your boyfriend. you'd met at a leafs game years ago, but he'd only reached out to you just over a year before. ever since then, the two of you kept your relationship under wraps for the most part, doing your best to just enjoy your time together without the media's comments.

you'd talked about going public before, but for the most part, decided to let life take it's course. of course... tonight would be a pretty big surprise.

"hi, you made it," you got up from your chair, sinking into his arms for a hug.

"i wouldn't miss this for the world," he responded, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "it's my girl's big day. first tour in almost three years. nothing's gonna stop me from being here."

you grinned stupidly to yourself, finding auston's words so comforting and sweet. even after a whole year, he managed to make you feel giddy.

"i'm really happy you're here," you whispered, pulling away. "oh! i've got a surprise for you, but i can't give it to you right now. i'll give it after, okay?"

"a surprise for me?" auston repeated. "it's your day."

"hush, i wanted to do it," you said.

another knock sounded on your door, and your assistant, jenny, poked her head in. "y/n, we've got to start in ten. let's go. auston, mark's got your seat saved. head over quick, or someone'll spot you."

"that's not a big deal," auston waved it off. "if someone spots me, they spot me. it's not the end of the world."

"well, fact remains, we need y/n right now," she said. "c'mon, you can have her back when she's done her show."

"i'll see you soon," you kissed auston, before following jenny out to your position.

you adjusted your earpiece, waiting for the lights to dim. as soon as they did, the platform you were standing on moved higher, allowing you to enter directly on stage.

the lights turned back on, and the crowd went wild.

"let the show begin," you whispered to yourself.

---

"'cause karma is the thunder," you sang, "rattling your ground. karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter. karma's gonna track you down."

the crowd waved their flashlights in the air, following you as you continued dancing to the beat of the song, singing along. getting closer and closer to the surprise you planned for auston.

"step by step from town to town," you continued. "sweet like justice, karma is a queen. karma takes all my friends to the summit..."

you paused for half a second, allowing production to ready themselves and for the crowd to pay attention to the small change.

"karma is the guy on the leafs, coming straight home to me!"

you stomped on the mark, blue sparklers going off on either side of the stage -- matching with the colour of your dress and the leafs' colours.

the crowd screamed as you continued your performance, losing their minds at the confirmation that you and auston were dating.

"cause karma is my boyfriend," you locked eyes with auston in the crowd, noticing him smiling widely to himself as people nearby recorded the interaction. winking at him, you continued your song, "karma is a god."

the crowd continued chanting throughout the song, no one truly getting over the lyric change you'd done.

you had a feeling there were gonna be rumours about this for a while.

---

tags : @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme ,  @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots ,  @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy  ,  @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily  , @panarin10 ,  @equallyshaw ,   @power2myheart  ,  @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya ,  @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 ,  @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj

join my main taglist!

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

friday, kim taerae— select choir

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. game day (group) chapter here. all 7 endings here.

⋆˙⟡ wc: 2.7k

⋆˙⟡ reader: just one gn!reader version for this (no pronouns are used at all to describe reader; reader is describe as having a "pretty" mouth but no gendered or femme language)

⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated.

⋆˙⟡ friday summary: it's the end of the most bizarre week of your life. last year, you would've been overjoyed to spend time in select choir with your friend kim taerae. but that all went down the drain after hanbin recruited him into his group of incessant jerks... and he's desperate to officially be one of the guys.

⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific smut warnings under the cut! swearing. angst. slight dub-con. bullying. the lore for taerae is so SAD. i'll make sure his ending is happy, i promise. also we've got a ft. hanbin chapter but just in digital form.

⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★★★ (5.0)

(idk the bully scale is subjective but like imagine your best friend saying this shit about you WHY IS HE DOING THAT OMG jk i know why and soon you will too)

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: oral, (taerae receiving), throat fucking (reader receiving), brief handjob and heavy petting (taerae receiving), cumming without warning in mouth, filming of sexual act, voyeur!hanbin, slight dubcon but like for both of them kind of idk you'll see but it's slight, bullying, the usual.

friday.

you should be elated that this week is nearly over. and you are. mostly, anyway. 

but there was an indescribable thrill to all this that you couldn’t seem to shake. all that talk of ravens yesterday had got you thinking...

 why did you dislike ravens in the first place?

thinking. crying. haphazardly finishing all of your assignments due friday that you’d procrastinated the whole week. urgent texts to and from mina after her ✨jiwoong oppa✨ stood her up for their date.

one thing was for certain: you desperately need sleep.

that’s why you’re currently falling asleep sitting up, hard-back music folder open in your hands as professor yoo works with the bass section. the lowest notes of “requiem” are soft and soothing and, for you at this sleep-deprived moment, very dangerous. 

luckily a sharp elbow to the shoulder jolts the drowsiness right out of you.

you look to your left to find kim taerae giving you one of the most judgmental glares you’ve ever earned in your life.

you would expect nothing less from him.

at one time a judgmental glare from taerae was the equivalent of a hug. you returned the gesture happily. and also threw in some hugs whenever he’d let you. he squirmed a bit, but the big smile that would grow on his face made it all worth it.

but there’s no warmth behind his eyes now. just a sharp elbow pointed at you, threatening to strike again if you didn’t shape up quick enough.

“you’re gonna get yourself in trouble,” he warns with a frown.

you roll your eyes. “why do you care?”

“because, unfortunately, some people still think we’re friends,” he says, making thin lines with his pencil on a page of his sheet music. “and i don’t want to suffer the social consequences of your embarrassing actions.”

“mm,” you agree wordlessly. “guess i should’ve thought of that myself.”

he doesn’t respond for a few moments, eyes focused on his sheet music until an audible sigh comes from his direction. “why are you so tired anyway? s’not like you.”

“for all you know, it could be,” you retort with a huff. “maybe i’m a real night owl now. maybe i’m out partying or smoking or... something.”

taerae snorts. “jiwoong hyung was not lying about those tragic acting skills.”

“oh, fuck off,” you reply.

his eyes widen. and then promptly squint with suspicion. “since when did you swear like that?”

you frown, trying to discern what he could mean. hadn’t you always been this uninhibited with your tongue? 

the answer was no. you hadn’t. and this new speech pattern of yours had a very specific origin: monday afternoon. you exhale a chuckle. maybe you had yet to realize the full extent of how this week has changed you.

and how your desire to change back continues to dwindle.

you just shrug, returning your focus to your music. you feel taerae’s eyes on you as you track your vocal section’s part in “requiem”.

you and taerae had purposefully chosen seats next to each other in choir last year so that you could goof off together during every possible free moment. it was also convenient for your parents, who always wanted to get pictures of you two together during concerts ever since high school.

now you wish you went to different universities altogether.

ironically, you might’ve had a better chance of remaining friends if you’d had distance. but you and taerae disagreed quite adamantly at the time.

halfway through your two-hour rehearsal, you’re allowed a fifteen minute break to grab water and stretch your legs. you always wander off down the empty storage hallway, where your favorite vending machine is hidden in plain sight— the one with the oreos and cheez-its and bugles in it. 

pulling out your debit card, you insert the chip into the machine and punch in the number for the snack of your choosing. you watch happily as it falls down from it’s spiral prison into the dispenser below. you start to bend down when a hand reaches in before you and grabs your snack.

“hey, what the—…” you trail off as you come face to face with a cavernous dimple. “give it back. now.”

“you’re so touchy today,” taerae condemns with a click of his tongue. he holds your snack high above his head, dangling it in a challenge. “seriously, what’s gotten into you this week?”

“oh, you know exactly what,” you huff, reaching for the snack in vain.

taerae laughs. “i guess a better question would be: what hasn’t gotten into you this week?”

“you’re so fucking funny,” you snap, fingers finally closing around the wrapper as you yank it down. 

taerae’s brow is raised in surprise, not really caring about the repossession of the snack. “seriously, i’m not used to you swearing like that. i’m not sure if i like it.”

“i assumed there was nothing you liked about me anymore,” you retort, tearing open your snack and shoveling the processed glory down your throat.

“that’s not true,” he replies, hand suddenly reaching to your face. he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, a crumb transferring from you to him. he brings his thumb to his own lips and tastes it. “i still like your pretty mouth.”

when you finally manage to pick your jaw up off the ground, you shake your head. “i know you don’t think of me like that.”

“uh...” taerae mumbles awkwardly, glancing at the row of shelves behind you. “sure, i do.”

“oh yeah? how about mina’s pool party two years ago? when we—.”

“OH, actually you—,” he interjects urgently, glaring at you to shut up. normally you would. but after this week, you no longer feel bound to quiet compliance. “you don’t need to—.”

“—were playing spin the bottle and it landed on me and you threw up in the pool because you were so disgusted by the mere thought of kissing me—”

his lips crash onto yours, hand cupping your cheek. it’s a demanding, yet tentative kiss and you’re even more confused when it ends.

you take a step backward, folding your arms across your chest. 

“can you just—...” taerae grabs your arm and pulls you closer to him, glancing again at the row of shelves behind you. “yes, that’s perfect.”

“what’s perfect?” you ask with a frown, starting to grow immune to strange behavior after the week you’ve had.

“oh, um.... you,” taerae answers after a moment with a smirk. “you were always so perfect, (y/n). perfect grades. perfect manners. perfect body. i used to jump at the chance to sleep over when your mom would let me. you used to beg her until she finally said yes, because she knew you'd never misbehave. remember, honey?"

eyes wide at the dark shift in his tone, you nod slowly.

“you were so innocent... you slept shirtless, for fuck's sake. peacefully dreaming, while i pretended to be asleep on the floor,” he continues, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “hoping i wouldn't wake you up if i just lifted the covers to get a peek."

when you thought the worst of your pain this week was over…

“tae,” you breathe, eyes watering— pleading for this not to be true. it couldn’t be. at least... not in the vulgar way he was describing it. "you don't mean that."

at the sound of your despair, there's a momentary flash in his eyes. regret. you still know him like the back of your hand.

“why are you doing this?” you ask, hands flying to cup either side of his face. he flinches, trying his best not to look you in the eye again. trying not to let you see. “you don’t have to be my friend anymore if you really don’t want to. but i don’t know why you want to be like them when you’re miles better than they’ll ever—.”

“alright, that’s enough.”

the muffled, tinny voice comes out of nowhere. you look around your immediate surroundings, trying to discern where it came from.

“c’mon, you were doing so well,” the voice rings again. “you said you had this under control, bud. was i wrong to put my trust in you?”

“no, hyung,” taerae answers, shaking his head. “i—… i can do it.”

“hanbinnie?” you ask and then cough awkwardly to cover up the fact you just called your arch nemesis so affectionately. yesterday must’ve gotten to you more than you know. “i mean, hanbin-ah! what the actual hell is going on?”

“no need to worry about it, sweetheart,” hanbin’s voice dismisses again. taerae’s eyes dart towards the shelves behind you once more. you follow his gaze— jaw dropping when you see two camera lenses staring back at you. 

“what—...” you fumble, shaking your head in disbelief as you look at the back of taerae’s phone— propped up with a black music folder. “you’re recording this!?”

“afraid so,” hanbin answers for taerae. “i didn’t really think he could follow through without some supervision. don’t mind me though. unless you just can’t help yourself...”

while at the beginning of this week a situation as perverted and bizarre as this would’ve had your whole nervous system shutting down, you’re still standing tall. present in this strange moment. you smirk.

“aw, tae,” you coo mockingly, turning to your former friend. “how sentimental of you...”

a brow arches in confusion back at you. “what are you––?”

“of course you’d wanna capture such a special moment on camera,” you continue with a patronizing nod. “it’s not every day that you lose your virginity.”

“HEY THAT’S—…” taerae starts to yell at you for sharing this embarrassing personal detail that you’re sure he never disclosed to hanbin. “that’s… that’s not true.”

“oh come on, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you twist the metaphorical knife as hanbin stifles a laugh. “i’d be happy to help you out with that, since i was the one who had to listen to you whine for four years about how you were still. a. fucking—”

two fingers are down your throat in an instant. you gag, trying to step backwards, but taerae’s hand finds the back of your head— holding you in place. he removes his fingers slowly, pupils dilating when you whimper in fear.

“i’ve decided i don’t like the swearing,” he says, a sickening hint of sweetness in his tone. any upperhand you had is now gone as he traces your lips with his thumb. “such a pretty mouth. those filthy words shouldn’t be coming out of it.”

“y-you don’t get to decide that,” you stammer unconvincingly.

“so that’s what you really want, then?” he asks, sticking his thumb further into your mouth. you suck obediently. “you wanna have a filthy mouth?”

you nod, his thumb still pressed against your tongue— cheeks hollowed out as taerae bites his lip hungrily.

“then you can have it,” he says before removing his thumb from your mouth and pressing down on your neck and shoulder— forcing you to your knees in front of him. you guess joining the soccer team had really improved his strength. “just remember it’s what you said you wanted.”

taerae unbuttons his jeans, pulling the zipper down. he freezes, clearly unsure of what to do next. maybe this is your opportunity to wiggle your way out of this. if only your curiosity wasn’t equally as strong.

“we––... i have to audition after this,” you protest weakly. “when break’s over, i have to audition for the solo i’ve been prepping for so i want to keep my voice warm right now and—.”

“ah, that’s right. i did forget about that,” he affirms, looking up at the ceiling in thought before smirking back down at you. “but i think i can help keep it pretty warm, actually.”

your attempt to level with taerae only seems to encourage him as he pulls down his jeans and boxer-briefs. you inhale sharply as his hard cock comes to eye-level, so close you can really examine it. though it’s slightly smaller than hanbin’s, it’s thicker and you need to know immediately how it feels in your hand.

“whoah, you—,” taerae stumbles, eyes wide as you take him eagerly in your hand. he stares at you, lips parted as you start to pump him. “holy shit.”

“you’re sure you wanna do this?” you ask, pausing your motion to make eye contact with him. you can tell he doesn’t want you to stop, but there’s conflict lingering there that he just can’t seem to hide.

taerae clears his throat, shaking his head as he resumes his tough guy act. eyes cold once more, he shrugs. “a hole’s a hole.”

after a year of judgmental berating from your former best friend, it was almost comforting to know that he was capable of being even meaner than he already was. it meant that, for whatever reason, he usually didn’t want to be any meaner to you.

he takes both of your hands in one of his, keeping you from using them as his other hand finds the back of your neck again— guiding your face towards his cock. taerae doesn’t need to give much guidance though. you’re aching to get a taste and the way your lips sink down around him nearly knocks the wind out of him.

back pressed against the side of the vending machine, his thumb presses into your cheek— feeling himself inside of your pretty mouth. you swirl your tongue around his tip, causing him to moan softly.

there’s a little bit of rustling coming from where taerae’s phone is propped up on the shelf. you wonder if hanbin’s enjoying this. if he’s touching himself— wishing he was throat deep in you instead.

“c’mon, bud. is (y/n) running this show or are you?” hanbin asks, tone laden with frustration.

“i—... i am,” taerae asserts, grip tightening across the back of your neck. 

he starts to thrust gently into your mouth, an action that you’re not so familiar with. it rattles you a bit— loss of control after feeling like you were gaining it back.

“this is what you asked for, baby,” he reminds you, shallow thrusts starting to venture a bit deeper. “remember? you said you wanted a filthy mouth. so i’m gonna make a mess of it.”

you find the right rhythm to breathe through the thrusts. the tip of his cock is dangerously close to entering your throat, sending another wave of anxiety through you. but it’s not for long. 

your eyes meet taerae’s and, though he’s the one putting you in that danger, you suddenly feel very safe. you let out a sigh, the vibration causing him to mewl. he scratches at your neck affectionately, putting pressure against it to feel himself inside you as he fucks your throat.

“see, keeping that throat nice and warm,” taerae coos as his breathing gets heavier— and his moaning gets louder. “take me so well, i—.”

“shut the fuck up, dude,” hanbin scolds, his own breath growing labored. “do you wanna get caught before you can win the—?”

before hanbin can finish his thought, you feel a warm, sticky liquid begin to pour down your throat. you pull off of taerae, sputtering and coughing as you try to swallow it down. wiping your mouth, you look up at taerae who is looking at you like he wants to dive straight into the han river and never return.

“for fucks sake, are you actually a virgin or something?” hanbin asks angrily. “is that really all you can last for? and, jesus, you’ve gotta warn someone before you do that.”

your throat is starting to burn and you’d love to be able to say something, anything, but the rasp that comes out isn’t pleasant-feeling. you rub at your throat with your now-free hands as taerae’s expression just turns more horrified.

“did i... did i hurt you? fuck, i didn’t mean to—,” taerae starts to babble uselessly until hanbin claps loudly.

“good work, team!” he says as he finishes his round of applause. “mvp definitely goes to me, for coming up with this idea in the first place. i’ll see the campus activities secretary at the big game tomorrow, right?”

“mm,” is all you can croak out. you wish it sounded angrier.

“and i’ll see you at practice tonight, man. i—,” hanbin cuts himself off with a confused look. “wait, where did he go?”

you face forward, expecting to see taerae standing next to the vending machine but... hanbin’s right. he’s vanished.

“that kid’s a piece of work,” hanbin says, shaking his head. “you think he’d be more grateful after i took him under my wing and made him popular. i even got him a spot on the soccer team after a lot of private coaching. i mean, he’s benched for life, but still!”

you’re a saint among men, is what you wish you could say. instead, you just roll your eyes.

“just take his phone and give it back to him in class, will you?” hanbin asks as you stand up and make your way toward the shelves. “and drink some hot tea for that throat, okay? throw some honey in it and you’ll be good as new for tomorrow, i promise.”

you sigh. and you nod. and you pick up taerae’s phone and end the video call. 

and you go back to choir and sit in your black music chair and wait for taerae to come back, but he doesn’t. and when it’s time to audition for the solo you’ve been preparing for, you stay seated and quiet. 

seated and quiet.

like you’ve been for so long.

and when practice ends and the choir room is empty and you remain seated and quiet in your black music chair and tears begin to well up in your eyes, you don’t cry.

you smile.

you stand up.

you shout (briefly, so as not to disturb anyone in neighboring classrooms).

at some point or another, you forgot how to do these things. or you were made to feel like you couldn’t or shouldn’t. 

but that’s who you really are.

who you were always meant to be.

not a juliet. not a violin. not a goalie. not a bird. not a pretty mouth.

you.

you pick up your bag off the floor (and taerae’s) and throw them both over your shoulder, making a beeline toward the door.

absolutely, hanbinnie, you think. you’ll see me at the big game.

[voidvannie]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆꒰𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄꒱ ᯓ★

✦. ── 🎶they say to get out with the old, you get in with the new and i haven't been on a date since i was 22 my friend has a friend, and they say they're my type. 🎶how do i do this, kelsea ballerini

✦. ── pairing: auston matthews x kinsley baker

✦. ── in which: mitch comes home from an away game, only to have his fiancé tell him that her best friend has shown up out of the blue, and that leads kinsley to telling them she's getting a divorce.

✦. ── feel free to send in any request for things you want to see in this series, or in any of the other series on my page. Or if you just want to share some thoughts about what you read, or if you want to talk about oc's!

❪ 𝙹𝚄𝙻𝚈 𝟷𝟼, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸 .ᐟ ── .✦ ❫

𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒 out a sigh of relief as he sits his hockey bag by the front door of his shared home with his fiancé, Steph. But he's both confused and concerned when Zeus doesn't run up and greet him like he usually does.

And he's equally as confused and concerned when Steph comes around the corner, hugging herself with a sad expression painted on her face.

"What's wrong?" Are the first words that leave his lips as he wraps his arms around the blonde's waist.

"Kinsley."

"Is she okay? Why didn't you call me?" Mitch asks almost a million questions, worried for his best friend's little sister, who had become like his little sister, "Where's Zeus?"

"He's on the couch with Kins. She showed up out of the blue with her suitcase and in tears." Steph mumbles against his chest, "It's bad this time."

"C'mon." He wraps his arm around her waist, moving them both towards the living room where he could see his dog lying next to the blonde country singer, who was wrapped up in a blanket that usually was thrown over the back of the couch.

Mitch frowns at the tear stains on her tanned cheeks. He knew that her marriage had been on the rocks, but he never thought that it would get as bad as it was to where she just showed up out of the blue without calling.

"She hasn't moved from that spot since she got here, and she hasn't eaten either." Steph tells him softly, running her hand through Kinsley's hair, "I'm gonna go make her something quick."

"Okay." Mitch nods, crouching in front of the couch as Steph heads towards the kitchen. He runs a hand through her hair, softly calling her name, "Kins. Kinny."

Kinsley's eyes flutter open, locking with Mitch's and her bottom lips instantly begins to tremble as she sits up and hugs him.

"It's okay." Mitch mumbles, hugging her tightly as she cries into his shoulder, kissing the side of her head. "It's okay. I got you."

The two stay hugging for a brief moment, Zeus between them before Kinsley pulls away from him, wiping away her tears.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to just show up out of the blue." She tells him as she changes her position so that she was hugging her knees to her chest.

"No, hey, it's okay." Mitch shakes his head with a gentle smile. "I'm happy you came here instead of staying like last time."

He moved so that he was sitting next to her. Zeus laid his head on his owner's lap while Kinsley laid her head on Mitch's shoulder.

"You wanna talk about it?"

A sigh leaves her lips, "Same as usual. We fought about the same stuff. He said some pretty harsh shit. I told him that I was the only one trying to make this marriage work. Got called a bitch, then told that I was giving up easy just like my parents."

Mitch listens to her, feeling himself grow angry at the Australian that she was married to, but her next words shock him.

"So, I told him that I wanted a divorce, and I flew here."

He turns his head, kissing the top of her head and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "I'm proud of you, Kins."

"At least someone is. My dad was pretty angry at me when I told him." She mumbled bitterly, "Seems he loves him more than his own kid."

"Your dad always seemed like a dick to me."

"Mitch!" She throws her head back laughing.

"It got you to laugh!"

"Thank God for Mitch." Steph smiled, coming back with a plate and a wine glass in hand, "I made you a grilled cheese, and poured you some adult juice!"

"Ugh, I love both of you so much." Kinsley smiled, taking both dishes from her best friends hands.

Zeus barks, causing the three adults to laugh.

"But I love you the most, buddy!" She pets the top of his head.

"Would now be a bad time to ask if I could talk you up to some of the single guys on the team?"

"Mitch!"

"What?! Her and Auston would be perfect for each other!"

[naanima]

Oh, dear Ratboy. I really like it when he does long podcasts. It helps that he can communicate. Interview starts around the 1h.11sec mark. Dot points things of interest:

He has finished moving from Calgary completely, doesn't even have winter clothes anymore. LOLs.

When he first arrived in Florida he was happy to take a backseat, but the team wanted him to get involved in the leadership group.

He really loves living in Florida.

VGK was the best team they played. Boston & Vegas were very similar. Talks about how Boston slapped them during two of the regular season games, but they played really well against them for the other two games. And that's why he had the belief they could win. OMFG. He fucked up by jumping on the ice and got the penalty LOLs. It was all his fault.

He thinks players who come through in OT etc are the ones who want the puck on their stick. Good or bad they will need to be able to live it.

His dad always preached live in front of the net. Take some physical abuse in the games, earn it to score. Can't get your stick tied up. He learns a lot from Brady when it comes to spinning it off and getting it into the net. Watches every one of Brady's games.

When he switched to the Right Wing he watched a lot of vids of good right wing players.

Evolved as a player year to year. Same mindset as when he was a kid, "screw you I'm getting that puck." Paul gets on him when he gets into a bit of a shoving match on ice with guys he shouldn't. LOLS.

Offseason - earlier was PT, playing catch-up in strength, conditioning wise more cardio in the hopes to play more mins and faster. He feels he is better prepared this season. He is back to 100%.

Microphones on ice - good for the game. NHL gotta do a better job. It is evolving more via the players and teams. Players don't like it too much bcos they would feel like walking on eggshells. If it is used properly it can grow the game.

Wedding vids - makes athletes look crazier than they are.

Media/SocMed blowing things up. Keith talking about his team being "soft' - he was pissed bcos of how it got blown up. They had a chance to be in the playoffs and then they lost four games in a row. Ouch.

His current health - "Everything feels great." He didn't realise he broke his sternum, he thought maybe a collarbone, it wasn't how hard the hit was, it was the spot. He had to leave the game bcos he had to do concussion protocol. Game 3 didn't really hit him how bad he was. After the game he was not feeling great. Drove home that night with a sling, probably shouldn't have done that. The next morning he couldn't get out of bed. The day after he had to call Brady to help him get up, he couldn't even remember if he had a shower. LOLs. During one of the scrums he couldn't even really grab people's jerseys.

Getting into fights etc. Not that they want to get into a fight, it is more that they just hate losing. LOLs.

Sticking Jonathan Quick - doesn't know what happened, he has no excuses. He is not a fan of goalies that play out of their creases.

Buddies with Auston Matthews & other hockey players. It is the game. He would run almost everybody... except Brady for a lot of reasons, one of them being Brady would take him down. Lols.

Olympics & World's etc - a shame that they can't play together. It is sad. His first dream is to win a Stanley Cup, and then to win for the US with his brother.

Right now - being down in Florida outside; jetskis etc. Not going to buy a boat. Love hanging out with his family and friends. He used to not like the beach at all, but now he is there all the time. He is not into nice cars. Only into golf and stuff on the waters. No gators close to his house, they are close to the rink (wtf).

Him changing team - talked to Calgary that he wasn't gonna sign a long-term contract, worked together with the team, and with permission he had one week to talk to a handful of teams. Came down to Carolina, St Louis' and Florida. He just wanted to learn everything he could before he made the decision.

Going back to Florida in a few days.

Taryn is doing great, was injured last year/season and when she came back she was great.

Invited to 6 weddings, attended 4.

Jack Eichel - his hit. Haven't seen the video.

Fav goal in the playoffs - when Cousins scores. The Carolina one.

Barky is so chill, he thinks Barky is the best player he ever played with/seen. Loves watching Barky playing, during training he learns from him.

Scoring between his legs, his dad was pissed. LOLs. He used to do a lot of trick stuff, flipping his picks etc. He remembers watching Kane and Crosby doing it when he was growing up.

He will chat with his dad after games, and nowadays his dad trusts him.

He thinks Brady is great, a great scorer. Brady's goal is to get the team into the playoffs. Ottawa loves Brady, he is a god there. They treat him and his family well bcos of Brady.

His parents come to Taryn, Brady and his games etc.

It is fascinating to me that Matthew is so very much, "I did this", 'it is my fault", "we didn't play well enough", "the other team is better" etc.

I typed this as I was listening to this so there will be mistakes. LOLs.

[sseanettles]

For the WIP ask game, oh you know I'm going to ask for more on Ruin. 😁 This series is my Dreamling life blood at the moment.

ohhhhh @windsweptinred yes, yes indeed, I did know you were going to ask for more on Ruin, but what to give you, what to give you, what to giveeeee youuuuuu....

you know what. you have been my biggest champion of nothing grows in corpses and this AU-verse as well as my buddy in "actually Hob and Dream are incredibly cruel and destructive and selfish people and we shouldn't whitewash that, it's a feature not a bug." So I think I'm gonna quickly do some typing and give you That One Fucking Scene where everything falls apart and we hit rock bottom as a reward. (this is a first pass draft below the cut so apologies for any errors or slight OOC-ness)

Gwen has been planning to leave Hob for a couple months now, as it has become clear that this is a dysfunctional dynamic that Morpheus and Hob can’t help but be bound to. She got a job offer at a university back in the States anyway, and he needs to stay here. What she’s planning to tell him (and what she’s practiced with Matthew) is a variation of “Morpheus needs you, and you need him. I need someone who can be present for my lifetime. Because I only get the one.” But then, Destruction comes for dinner. She never gets the chance to use it.

BIG spoilers and long excerpt ahead for ruin (of bitten lips and broken hands). The chapter song will be 2WEI's cover of Crazy for those who like to play along. and...tag warning for gore, violence, and discussions of assault. Talking about Nada's canon gets harder after all the NG fuckery but in light of that especially, I do not shy away from it.

+++++++

Hurt him, the voice, that voice, seethed within him—gnashing its teeth with black eyes and paper-white skin and hair as black as the pitch that filled the throats of animals and men mired alike in its fields until there was nothing left to do but gasp for air and die. Simpering, sickening, make him SEE—

Make him see that which he proclaims he loves in the blackest of mirrors.

“I killed my son, yes,” Murphy agreed, proclaiming the words with something that could almost be called pride, and he saw the flinch in Hob’s eyes as he spoke. Saw the confusion, the uncertainty at his delivery in response to what the man had intended to be context to behavior, not proof of Morpheus' malice. Oh, how blisteringly wrong the low-born idiot was, and when he continued, there was no more Murphy. There was only the truth.

Only Morpheus.

“But I disowned him first.” He stepped closer. Gadling’s balance tipped further, unsteadied. Morpheus’ lips curled, baring teeth like fangs, and he let that light into his eyes that he had kept smothered for so long in this suffocating home: that light of Endless righteousness. “Left him dismembered and begging for the mercy of death and refused him it when I was one of the few who could grant it.” He guided his advance by the backs of the stools at the kitchen island, by the chair Destruction had left pulled out at the table when he had bid his farewell, both too early and too late in his departure. He closed in on Gadling like a predator, like a spider upon a web the humans were only now seeing had been spun about every inch of their home far, far too late. “And when I did grant it?” Was he smiling? Grimacing? Laughing with the tears of the unhinged and anguished in his eyes, with the heat of a manic king? Morpheus could not tell, but his face was doing something, his blood boiling in his veins with the same wild, untethered thing that twisted within him in the way that Destruction laughed and laughed and laughed and— “I did not do so until it served my purposes.”

Gadling looked distinctly ill. Gwen was not far behind him, her normally warm cheeks taking on a decidedly more ashen tone as she stood there with one hand still braced on the counter, near the cutting board and the barely touched bird sliced open upon it.

Perfect. Ill was what Morpheus wanted, disgusted was what he wanted. Enough of this charade, of this pretending. Gadling wanted to preach of his missteps, of betraying his evolution? Gadling wanted to scold him? In the same breath that he championed themselves?  Their journey?

Then, let the charlatan face that which he upholds.

“I damned a woman to hell for no greater crime than refusing to love me,” Morpheus spat, drawing closer still, his hands clawed and shaking. Gadling stood tall, unmoved not with conviction but with the paralysis of the doomed deer in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. But there was no truck, there was only his Stranger before him, stooped and unfurling like a kettle about to explode. Morpheus’ words came faster, unraveled, more impassioned. “Condemned her for thousands of years—starving, alone, tortured, in agony for millennia.” Hatefully. “For exercising her right to consent!”

None of this was news to the immortal; he had seen it himself in the prison of Fawney Rig. And yet, Gadling’s face had grown as flat as stone. He scarcely seemed to breathe, and somehow the dispassionate response only fueled the molten rage burning away the fallen Endless’ insides. The heat fissured through to the surface, turning his skin brittle and fractured until it was tearing him apart. Morpheus laughed, his eyes creasing, and something as searing as acid cut its way down his cheeks as he did. He dragged himself forward another step by the guideposts of the furniture. His hands shook. His legs trembled in kind, and he forced them to steel.

“I let a universe burn into madness because I could not kill a single child, my pride and my principles were to great a treasure to me,” he intoned, slowly drawing his stooped height up to its full towering form. “I rotted in a glass and iron sphere for a century rather than succumb to my pride and plagued the world with my absence! Robbed millions of their lives, robbed the Kincaid family of normalcy and joy!”

He was so close to Gadling now. Close enough to strike him, and he threw a hand toward the man—a damning, condemning jab, as the furnace blew.

“AND YET YOU FAWN OVER ME, EVEN NOW!” Morpheus bellowed, and Gwen screamed at his sudden, uncharacteristic roar, something clattering across the counter behind Gadling’s back. The mercenary seemed to grow taller and broader at the sound, interposing himself squarely between them.

Between the halves of his heart, Morpheus sneered, and went for the kill, grabbing the man by fistfuls of his shirt front.

“YOU!” Gadling grunted, startled, and took a half-step back only to come up short beneath Morpheus’ stunning strength—an evolution he had kept a carefully guarded secret in this prison of a home. Gadling’s eyes flashed, taking him in head-to-toe in the manner of a soldier, a killer, and not a friend, and Morpheus’ eyes burned brighter at the returning grip that seized his wrists on fighter’s instinct. He laughed again, mocking, scything, aching. “My only friend,” he sneered, almost sing-songy, fracturing, and once again the acid cut its way down his sharpening face, “a human who profiteered over the slavery of other humans, the chattel of Africa—”

He felt the shift in the man beneath him. Felt the grip go from steadying to defensive, from stilling to get the fuck away from me, and he struggled to hold fast as Gadling tried to push him away.

“—who acquired a wife and son as if they were naught but more trinkets to collect—” Gadling tore his hands free and slammed him back a few steps with open palms to the chest—his face, god his face, it had gone pale, his eyes wide, red, stop, stop, too far—

Morpheus caught his balance easily; his stance braced, battle ready, to Gadling’s own, and he glared blindly into his friend’s setting face.

Destroy him.

“A GLUTTON!” he finished in a roar. “And yet!” Morpheus spread his arms, laughing, laughing, laughing—crying, you are crying, stop, breathe— “He preaches to me!”

Gadling was trembling. Head to toe, the man was trembling, his face going from pale to now dark with abject rage, his hands curling into fists, his arms tensing to iron in turn, his back heel grinding as his knees began to bend, and Morpheus’ chest heaved. His mind had gone fuzzy and beyond the bounds of control or sanity. He knew where to go next. He knew, precisely, where to go next, where he had to go next, to destroy this man at his very core, to take a sledgehammer to the last, threadbare beam holding his illusion together like glue and tape—

Destroy him.

He took the breath…

Destroy me.

And the plunge to follow.

“And your latest conquest?” Morpheus prompted with a mocking, taunting saunter back into the man’s reach, a chin jerked toward Gwen where she was still ducked behind him. “Is she merely a method by which you can alleviate your guilt or—”

Pain split across Morpheus’ mouth, his lip scything open on his teeth that knifed with white-hot pain all the way through his skull as something cracked, his nose shattering into a spray of hot blood and crunching agony—

His head snapped back, and he hit the ground just as hard, the air and his words knocked from his chest in kind. And as the stars and the tears cleared from his eyes, Morpheus worked himself up onto his elbows. Gadling loomed above him. His right hand was splattered with their blood, split where the knuckles had struck teeth, and his chest heaved, setting his whole body trembling with the depth of his fury.

“YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” Gadling’s rage shook the very rafters, echoed clear out onto the street even through the closed windows, left their ears ringing, and Morpheus lay beneath it in silence, slowly touching a hand to his wounded face. “YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ELEANOR! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT ROBYN! YOU DO NOT SAY THAT ABOUT LIZZIE!” He paused, his breath stuttering, his body shaking so terribly that for a moment words failed him until his teeth bared in a clench. His eyes glittered. “BUT YOU ‘SPECIALLY DON’T SAY THAT ABOUT HER!” His hand swung around to point toward the last place he had seen Gwen, the rest of him remaining fixed upon his Stranger, and he glared down at the man beneath him as if he could not fathom his very existence, as if he were a wholly alien species, unknown and unknowable to him, disgusting. Incomprehensible. “AFTER EVERYTHING SHE’S DONE?!”

What an impressive display for such a hypocrite, Morpheus glowered back at him. He lowered his hand from his nose and lips as he forced himself back up into a reclined seat, balanced on a single arm with his weight tipped onto his healed hip. His fingers were coated in rapidly darkening red, and he felt the blood coursing down his face, soaking into the black of his shirt, never to be seen again, and spattering the wooden floors. He spat out a mouthful of blood, licked his lips with a reddened tongue, and looked up.

When he did, it was not at Gadling.

“Has he told you?” he panted, his eyes dark, his voice a sickening combination of goading and truly wondering. “Has he told you all he did on those ships of his? To your ancestors?”

Gwen gulped and stepped back from him on shaking legs, jumping near out of her skin as she hit the cabinets, and immediately swung the carving knife to point down at him, gripped in two trembling, pale-knuckled hands.  

Murphy just laughed, fragile and mad and mocking.

“Do you know, truly, the man with whom you share your bed?” he pressed and saw in his periphery the way Gadling’s expression changed. “Or has he got you fooled with his stories of woe and regret?”

His final words grew wicked and sharp, deriding, and his matching gaze slid from the shaken Gwen to Gadling as the man let out some kind of twisted, whimpering exhale.

His face…his face was a most exquisite betrayal, as if Morpheus had just plunged a knife into his very heart down to the hilt and twisted. His hands had gone limp at his sides, the fingers still trembling but slowly unfurling from their fists. His shoulders still heaved with battle breaths, those gulping, grounding things that filled your head with oxygen and your limbs with energy, yet every bone in him seemed to be fracturing. Every muscle seemed to be losing its strength, and his eyes….

His eyes were so very filled with heartbreak.

“…How could you say that of me—”

“Were you on the ships?”

Gadling froze at the sharp, wavering demand, his own achingly genuine question to the man he had laid out on the floor dying on his lips. And he followed Morpheus’ unblinking, dark eyes to slowly, oh so very slowly, turn on his heel.

Guinevere stood where she had been stood before, backed against the cabinets with the knife held before her in both hands. But where once she had been terrified, defensive, holding the room at bay with shaking hands, her stance had firmed. She was no longer recoiled against the wood but braced against it. Her eyes had recovered some clarity, some strength, and both sharpened the longer the silence dragged on. Her grip on the blade adjusted, eased from throttling to sure.

“What?” Hob asked.

Her eyes never wavered from his, and she took a step forward, gesturing between him and Morpheus with the blade. The silver gleamed in the warm glow of the island lights, and Hob watched it move with a prowling of disquiet deep in his gut.

“You told me that you profited off the slave trade,” she accused. “That you owned the ships that stole my people across the Atlantic, took cotton one way and my ancestors the other. And I thought…” Hob watched her, held her glittering gaze with quiet somberness. Her chin trembled on her next words, the shine in her eyes brightening. “I let myself think….”

“But the shit you’ve described,” she gritted out and swiped at her eyes with her free hand, “the things you knew they did…” She pointed to him with the knife again. Took another step forward until she was standing alone on her own strength, with no wall to hold her.

Gadling did not move so much as a finger; his breaths grew careful, damp. On the floor, Morpheus grew extraordinarily still, shrunken back toward the floor, as if rendered to stone, and watched all that was unfolding with unreadable eyes.

Guinevere no longer held the room at bay.

She just held the room.

She took another step forward. And she repeated her question, the wobble in her voice worsening even as she tried to embolden her stance, tried to square her shoulders and stand tall.

“Were you on the ships?”

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he loved, with her microbraids and her beautiful, dark skin that smelled of coconut oil and her earth-after-rain eyes and the stray bits of paint around her cuticles that she hadn’t quite managed to clean away. He beheld her height, her strength, her soul, her gorgeous face that had the most beautiful smile and laugh now caught in a horrible moment of realization and denial. Her artist’s hands that were now clenched around an implement of cooking turned lethal weapon….

He slowly raised his hands to his shoulder. Her chin shook and then clenched shut, and she shook her head in a vicious denial.

“Gwen,” he started, quiet, apologetic, placating, and she took a final step forward, bringing him to a standstill with the point of her carving knife.

“WERE YOU ON THE SHIPS, YES OR NO, GADLING?” she screamed.

Silence rang in her wake. Morpheus’ heart was in his throat, his words all dried up inside him as if they had never been there to start with, and he watched Gadling’s back as the man took a deep breath and slowly released it. He could see Gwen’s control spiraling, her mind buckling under the realization of what was coming, the inevitable truth, the truth Morpheus had forced to the surface. Her second hand came up to support her wrist, to steady the blade, and the tears in her eyes neared the tipping point. But still Gadling did not speak. He only stared at Guinevere, held her anguished eyes, held his hands where they were at his shoulders, and breathed.

What was he thinking? What was he doing, what was he—

Robert Gadling beheld the woman he was partly responsible for creating, seeing through her to her mother, her grandmother, her great-grandmother, her great-great-grandmother—to whoever it was that his industry had kidnapped from her home, whisked away to be little more than an animal bound in servitude and cruelty until death. The true answer to her question was a complex one. It was a simple one. And there was a way to say it that would shatter her heart but end with the knife clattering from her hands to the floor as she sobbed and wailed and screamed at him to get away from her as he moved on well-meaning but ill-timed intent to comfort her. There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But the corner of his mouth itched to smile, to crack open wide like the pavement artist and laugh and laugh until he cried, until he sounded manic and battle-mad and hollow…so very hollow.

There was a way to handle this that did not end in brutality.

But that was not how Robert Gadling wanted this to end. And so, with his last full, painless breath, he answered Guinevere’s desperate cry with the bluntest, simplest truth he could. He gave her a small, sad, I’m so sorry, love, I’m so, so sorry smile—a tragic acceptance, an I forgive you for what you’re about to do, an it’s okay.

He shook his head. Let out that breath in a heavy, sepulchral sigh.

Where you on the ships, Gadling, yes or no?

“I started it all.”

The pause as Gwen processed his words, as she struggled to parse the reply to a yes or no question, as she realized what he had just admitted to, the implications of it, seemed to last an eon. The way her face frowned, first in bafflement, in dismay, in refusal, in rage, in anguish—all the stages of grief switching between each other like a flip book repeating endlessly, mis-bound in the wrong order—it filled Hob’s heart with a sickening lead. But in truth, it took no more than a breath, for he had not completed his next inhale before her tortured countenance made its choice.

And on the floor, Morpheus’ heart stopped beating as Gwen loosed an anguished, desperate scream. It echoed from her very soul, raked its nails up her throat as it tore from the fibers of her heart. It spilled the tears from her eyes, left her eye-teeth bared like fangs, and the grief of generations turned to pure anger as, in a single, life-changing moment, their beloved lady of Camelot moved.

Gadling let out a strangled, animalistic wail of pain as a single line of slicing agony split open his abdomen, and he stumbled back, crashing into the island counter and the stools, as his hands clutched for the source of the pain and immediately found themselves full of something writhing and hot and thick like sailing rope. Something that could not seem to stop expanding, that just poured and spilled, meters of it, endless—

The scream came again, and he forced himself to meet Gwen’s hate-blinded eyes, forced his arms to remain at his eviscerated gut, cradling his spilled intestines rather than defending himself, as she followed him down and stabbed the blade down again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again—

They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, a wet splat of blood and viscera and flesh and bone, and Guinevere was left straddling a mess of blood and gore where once there had been the man she had loved. His gut had been split from nearly hip to hip, leaving his innards to spill out, to entangle his hands and bind them in his own sinew and flesh. Even now, she could see the intestines moving, the peristalsis causing the organs to shift and squirm in his twitching hands like snakes. His eyes were still open, still blinking through the blood spray that had flecked into his lashes. They looked agonized, terrified, yet somehow accepting all the same. His mouth, filled with blood, continued to try to swallow, to push the pulsing crimson from his airway with his tongue to no avail, and when he coughed, weakly and growing weaker, the blood sprayed and bubbled. His ribcage, riddled with holes, sputtered and quaked as he tried, even now, to breathe through lungs that could not expand, could not deflate—that could only drown and drown and drown. His legs beneath her twitched and kicked, desperate for air, for the fear to be gone.

Drowning, he had once told her. Always hated drownin’ the most.

And as she stared down at him, she saw not the individual pieces of horror detached from context, not the murder of a man who had had it coming for centuries, not the murder of one of the founding fathers of chattel slavery, not justice. Not peace.

She saw the crimson-soaked blade clenched in her shaking hand yet held aloft for another strike. She saw her other hand fisted in the ribbons of his shirt, a shirt they had picked out together last summer break. She saw the blood drenching her clothes, her thighs, could taste it in her mouth.

She saw Robert.

She saw Robbie.

And Morpheus watched the scene in silenced, terrified horror from his paralysis on the floor as Gwen’s mask of rage faltered to a mirror of his own, and she began to wail. Her hands clapped over her mouth, smearing her face with Robbie’s blood, the killing blade still clenched tightly in her fist. She pushed herself off of him, slipping on and crashing to the blood-soaked floors in the process as her sneakers transformed to ice skates in the viscera.

“Uh-uh,” she begged, whimpering, shaking her head desperately, “nuh-uh, wh-what did I—wh-what did I—no! No, mm-mm, no—” The word drew out in a choked-back wail, and she scrambled to her feet, fleeing, as she saw the tears falling from Gadling’s eyes that watched her even now. “No! Nononono—”

And, the knife still clenched in her hand, Guinevere bolted.

[thosesillylittlegayghosts]

Tlh characters/relationships as speak now (Taylor’s version songs)

Mine:

It pains me to say this but jordelia. Hear me out! ‘Careless man’s careful daughter’ and Cordelia doing everything she can to get Elias off the hook in cog. ‘Do you remember we were sitting there by the water…’ and Cordelia reading to James when he was ill.

Sparks fly

Ghostwriter. ‘Kind of reckless that should send me running’ when he’s literally a ghost?? ‘Captivated by you baby like a fireworks show’ when Lucie so clearly remembers their first meeting? Also the song just gives off major like writer with an idealistic view of love so it’s perfect for Lucie

Back to December

Alastair to Thomas. Mainly like after coi/early chot Thomastair. ‘I’m so glad you made time to see me’ as Thomas going to see Alastair when he wrote despite their ‘break up.’ ‘You gave me all you love and all I gave you was goodbye’ I mean really it’s their whole convo after the sanctuary scenes guys

Speak now

Matthew. Do I even need to explain??? His whole monologue about if they really loved each other then he’d leave but it’s a sham and she shouldn’t be marrying James as a sham but hes still gonna let it happen because he’s in love with her and he’s his parabati. Also him actually shooting his shot at the end of chain of iron (rip his chances after the gracelet came off though)

Dear John

Alastair carstairs and also to some degree grace? I mean the opening line just screams Alastair. Also the whole don’t you think I was too young to be messed with HE WAS LITERALLY A CHILD. ‘Don’t you think nineteens too young to be played by your dark twisted games’ and Charles engagements and lies ‘but I took your matches before fire could catch me’ he made it out! He dumped Charles before he lost himself completely and I will never not love him for that

But also Grace like to her mum? ‘Never impressed by me acing your tests’ I mean come on

Mean

Once again, Alastair carstairs. And not just because I love the man. It’s giving him at the academy and then him growing up and loving himself and stopping being the bully to avoid being the victims. It’s giving him spending his childhood under his dads abuse to grow up and be free of him and be able to live his life how he wants. It’s giving him dumping Charles and dyeing his hair back to its natural colour in the same day. It’s giving him growing up and learning to be happy.

The story of us

Ari to Anna. ‘So many walls up I can’t break through’ with Anna being on the defensive but not telling her why. Them being so happy the first night they met to them not talking in cog to them almost being back together to them fighting to them actually communicating and getting back together? ‘Is it killing you like it’s killing me’ Ari knowing how she feels but believing that Anna is entirely unaffected by their ‘relationship’

Never grow up

Any of the tid adults to the Tlh gang but also Alastair to Cordelia (and now Zachary)? Like the man gives up his childhood to ensure Cordelia has one then suddenly she’s grown up and has her own opinions and he can’t keep protecting her because now she knows things he never wanted her to and then she’s married and he really can’t protect her anymore.

Enchanted

Thomas to Alastair. I don’t really need to explain but it’s the way Thomas has loved him from the start. Maybe not truly been in love with him given they barely knew each other but there’s always been those feelings. ‘Please don’t be in love with someone else’ and Thomas watching Alastair and ch*rles interact over the years and just know that Alastair doesn’t feel the same way but still desperately dreaming that maybe one day he will and then one day he does?!

Better than revenge

The one and only Miss Cordelia Carstairs. Pre chot obviously. Like the majority chain of iron being her and James married and content and having their deal and her not really worrying about Grace all that much because nothings gonna happen between them for another year and James is acting a bit different know so maybe there’s hope?? And then suddenly seeing them two kiss.

Innocent

Both Alastair and Grace. The whole song is about not defining someone by their mistakes (although fuck Kanye) and both Alastair and Grace repent for their pasts (I would personally argue neither are actually responsible for what they did but that’s another post) this song is also Thomas and Christopher respectively, constantly standing up for the other after they get to know them. It’s giving Thomas defending Alastair to the merry thieves for YEARS and kit defending Grace to the whole crew after the gracelet thing comes out

Okay this is extremely long imma do a part 2

[krs-kross]

Art in the Digital Wilderness...

Im just gonna be brutally honest with how I feel at the moment. And this may come off really weird & cringey, but it is what it is. maybe you can relate to this in some way, who knows.

maybe you'll just hate on it... because, that does seem to be the current state of content nowadays: hate watch it. hate read it. hate lurk it. hate hate it. we're in a ✨ Hate Era ✨ that aside...yet slightly in mind... trying to grow as an artist in this day and age seems like a ridiculous struggle that I cannot even wrap my head around, daily.

any and all tips for artists to grow, seems to be extremely outdated and honestly just a guessing game. 

I don't think anyone is out here actually cracking the algorithms; I think it just comes down to...

being at the right place, at the right time, with the right people watching or stumbling across your content... and it all adds up together to...

✨ Sheer luck! ✨

Yes, hard work and determination is also involved. I don't mean to discredit anyone's success; but just... "pOsTiNg CoNtEnT dAiLy!" & "EnGaGiNg WiTh YoUr AuDiEnCe!" or... "cOlLaBoRaTiNg!" only gets you so far, if anywhere.  Honestly, a lot of that art advice just seems designed to maintain the popularity of the already popular artist, at the moment.

We are being sold, a pyramid scheme, people!

At least it seems that way... How many art groups have you joined, just to end up being another number at the end of the day?

How many “ArT rElAtEd” questions have you put out there, in a caption, before pressing 'Send', just to be left answerless. How many group art trades have you joined, for it to just zap any and all creativity out of you, at the end?

How many tags have you used...

Or don’t use!

What are your thoughts on tags?

Do you use "keywords" nowadays?

How many "viral trends" have you tried to follow, or successfully followed, just to be left with the same results in the end. 

Absolutely Nothin'.

Another silent struggle that no one really talks about is, gaining a large following and it not reflecting towards your art content or the actual thing that you're working towards, at all.

Sure, it's great that a lot of people are following you, but... don't you...also... want those people... following you...for... Your Content...too?

I don't just want to be ✨ TuMbLr FaMoUs ✨ ...okay, calm down could I be any more dramatic?!

...I want my work to actually be seen and appreciated at the end of the day, too. WOW! How original. This is what most people want, as artists. . . ..Is what you must be thinking, right about now. As Chandler Bing (the late Matthew Perry) would say...

Thanks! Im just being honest about my current thoughts at the moment, pertaining to art, if that's ok with you! I bet Van Gogh felt a similar way, when he was alive.

Did you know? Even though considered a master now, Van Gogh only managed to sell one painting during his lifetime - ‘The Red Vineyard'.

Yes, I just compared myself to The Great, Vincent Van Gogh.

What?

Im still trying to achieve the art audience that I've been not just waiting for, but trying to attract since like 2016...only with a bunch of people following me now lol

And it's crazy to think about the state of social media noways. There was once a time on Instagram, where nudes were not allowed, At All.

I received a suspension for posting what I believed to be a tasteful nude Drawing, a while back...

Now, open up Instagram, I guarantee, you're gonna see a pair of fake tits in your face, with nothing but a thin sheer fabric not even trying to hide a nipple. It's wild.  Like, don't get me wrong, Im not hating...but if I post slightly nude art now on instagram, is it gonna get yeeted, meanwhile the actual nipples get to stay up...

I also realize that lately I have a love/hate relationship with digital art. Don't get me wrong, digital art is great for it's conveniences purposes...but Im more of a traditional art girly. That's the art medium I started with and I miss getting messy with paints and all that. These are things that can be improved in the future, but I feel kind of defeated every now and then. And I don't think Im alone in this. I watched a YouTube video from someone the other day, RawBeautyKristi, and she kind of shared a similar feeling towards social media at the moment or the state of it. Just everything is very much hate fuelled, vapid. Empty. It just kind of feels like...what's the point? you know? and I guess what Im trying to say is that...Im supposed to find the point, we're supposed to find the point; but I haven't found it yet. And maybe you haven't found it yet, either. I feel kind of discouraged to create things and that this is a whole different level, of something that just...Im turning into a competition, when there really is no way to compete with this. especially when it comes to digital art, or art in general. Social media, even. But I can't help but think about the first time I put my work out there and how well it was received. I guess I've been trying to capture that same reaction or outcome with art again, but it really was just luck.

I don't think what I shared is really that original, I think a lot of people artists or not, could relate to some degree: a desire for recognition of some sort…and I want to be a Van Gogh; as cliché as that may sound it's the truth.

but maybe it's just not meant for me. and I guess Im just trying to find a way to be ok with that and also acknowledge other factors like:

I've moved, changed art mediums and changed my social media handles a bit here and there; which, all of that combined, also makes it difficult to follow or keep up with someone. Put digital art aside and turn to traditional art...we have...Child Art Prodigy’s out here. Like how do you compete with that?! The answer is you don't! lol There's really no need for this kind of pressure that Im putting on myself.

Which is why questions like this are laughable:

because there's really nothing I can do, and Im not going to drive myself into a mental state, all in the name of trying to stay relevant. you know what Im saying? I don't know... Perhaps it's about, exploring platforms beyond the mainstream; supporting each other, and finding joy in the process, not just the numbers. Our art deserves to be seen, appreciated, and celebrated; but it's also ok if it takes a little longer than others, or doesn't happen at all... maybe it'll happen. maybe it won't.

So, let's redefine success beyond follower counts and algorithms. Let's create a space where every artist's journey is acknowledged and celebrated. Share your stories, your struggles, and your victories. Let's navigate this together. And remember: "We don't make mistakes - we just have happy accidents." - Bob Ross

[bropunzeling]

if you are still accepting submissions for the writing meme i would love a timestamp a few years after collide the spaces that divide us

-- secret anonymous maggie

of course, please have a time theft snippet, the best and most valuable of snippets:

"So," Matthew says, feet slung over Leon's thighs on the half-decent couch of the lake house they rented for a week. "Your contract's up next summer."

Leon grimaces at the TV, picture on the fritz. The place Matthew picked isn't on a popular lake -- good -- but that means the options for where to stay haven't exactly been updated for the 21st century.

It also means he can't avoid answering the question. "Yeah," he allows.

Matthew nods. One of his heels digs into Leon's thigh. "Do you know what you're gonna do?"

It feels like a cop-out to say he doesn't, but if he's honest, Leon's tried not to think that much about it, especially this last season. They'd had a decent run, a solid second half of the season. Thinking about what he wanted to do in a year or two would've been distracting from the present, from what they could do now.

Not that it mattered, since they crashed out in the second round when Seattle swept them. But.

"Why are you asking?" he settles for.

Matthew digs his heel in again, harder. "Because I have some calls scheduled with Craig next week, and I need to know what I'm telling him about what options I'm considering for next year."

That's -- fair enough. It's not like they had really talked about it, a few summers ago. Matthew's contract was up, but Leon's wasn't, so Matthew had ended up signing something short-term with a decent AAV. Even with everything settled between them, it didn't seem worth trying to risk more distance than they had to. The drive to Red Deer hasn't been so bad, all things considered.

But Leon's not stupid. He's noticed, the last year or so, the way Matthew's talked about the team, the system, the coach, the city. Even if Matthew won't say it in so many words, Leon has heard the itch to get out in every call.

"If it weren't for this," Leon says, resting one hand on Matthew's ankle, warmth shooting up his wrist, "where would you go?"

"But we have this," Matthew says, glancing at him.

Leon rolls his eyes. "It's a hypothetical."

Matthew rolls his eyes back. "I don't know." He pauses, closing his eyes. Flexes his legs slightly in Leon's hold. "East, I think. Closer to family." He laughs. "Somewhere warm."

Warm would be nice.

Maybe it should take longer for Leon to come to a conclusion. Maybe he should be more thoughtful about it. This would mean leaving Edmonton, after all. The team that's been a part of him for a decade. He doesn't know what it's like to play anywhere else, with anyone else. There's a part of him -- growing smaller by the year, but still there -- that wants to win in blue and orange.

But that window is closing, may already be shut. He's had a few years to try; it would be unfair to ask Matthew for more time to try.

And, when push comes to shove, Leon's tired of three hundred kilometers of distance. He's tired of a few games against, a few drives to Red Deer, squeezing every second out of the offseason. He wants, deeply and selfishly, to have Matthew's passes to his tape; Matthew's legs in his lap; Matthew's skin under his palms; Matthew's presence warm at the edges of his mind.

"You should pick some options," Leon says. "Ones with enough cap space for both of us."

Matthew's eyes crack open. "That might be tricky," he says slowly. "You're going to be expensive."

"So are you," Leon points out. "But -- I'd take a discount. If I had to."

"Yeah?" Matthew's tone is unreadable, but the warmth seeping through Leon's body isn't. "You wanna play with me?"

Leon thinks about making a joke, but can't manage it. "Yeah," he says. "I'd like that."

Matthew's smile is small, and pleased, and utterly sincere. "I'll tell Craig," he says. "I'm sure we can figure it out."

[purplebass]

okay. the ideas are rolling like a tidal wave, but i am going to need to know some things about you in order to proceed. anything that might be relevant, the order you tell it in will be (to the best of my ability) the order at which it is revealed in the fic. and of course, grounding ourselves in purpose here: you can know the ending. you go home at the end. and also? if there is anything you want to tell the characters desperately, i will eat that up and then poop it out like a seed whole into my fic and ready to grow into flowers. so feed it to me pls. cause otherwise i feel like i'm going to make a bunch of inaccurate guesses and it's not gonna feel like it's supposed to. and as always, you can back out of this at any time, and i will destroy all evidence (honours thesis veteran here, ethics approval survivor). hope ur doing okay <3

Oh, this means you're planning the story!! I'm excited <3

I'm doing mmmh because of real life happenings but overall I'm okay.

What can I say, the first thing that comes to my mind is that I am a loner and I tend to keep to myself most of the time. I think a lot and psychoanalyze different things/people and come to creative conclusions when it comes to solving problems. I am more rational than emotional (I haven't cried for years after my mom died) and I mostly show my feelings through my actions (one time I wanted to give my bff a special gift for her bday, so I made a painting of her beloved cat). I crave the company of people who make me feel like I can be myself with them, and with whom I can joke (I am a clown but only few people see this side of me), but that will also listen to me and won't mock my interests (like this bff I mentioned above. Too bad she moved to Germany a few years ago so we can only meet once a year). For this reason, I don't have many friends. I don't trust people easily, I don't share my feelings easily, I tend to accomodate others a lot -that's why I mostly like to be by myself (I loved being with my bff and she helped me be more social because I am a homebody. When she left, it felt like a limb was cut from my body, even tho I know she just went to another country to have a better life). I'm not super self-confident but I know I should believe in myself more because there is a world in my brain that begs to come out in a creative form. I'm creative and I use my hands to create stuff. Not only writing. I used to draw (mostly fictional characters and clothes and spaceships! lol) and I created board games too.

I don't know if there is more to say about me but these are the first things that came to my mind.

Something I want to say to the characters... I would definitely want to tell Alastair and Matthew that I'm proud of them. They had difficult journeys and I'm glad they found new stability in their lives even though the road to healing is still long. I would tell Jesse that he can talk to Lucie or even to James (I think he would understand him) about issues he still hasn't faced yet and that are heavy on his heart (like killing while possessed or not being able to stop Tati from hurting Grace). I would also tell Grace that she can still count on her brother who never stopped loving her. And that he and Kit believe she can pursue her dreams and she can become someone great in their world. That it will take years to heal but she can do it, I believe in her.

I hope this is enough! <3

[babymetaldoll]

"From daddy to dad" (Matthew Gray Gubler/ Reader)

Summary: Matthew Gray has to stop acting like a kid around his son, and start being a dad. Or at least that's how reader feels.

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler / Reader

Category: A little Angst, but at the end this is undercover fluff

Warnings: Zero, I think

A/N: I have no idea how a three years old talks, so let's all pretend this is accurate, ok? :D

Word count: 2,1K

Masterlist

-

Being seven months pregnant isn't comfortable at all. Especially when you can't move at a normal pace. Lucky for (Y/N), her husband Matthew was home to help her whenever she needed him. He was glad to take some time off and spend more time with her, considering he worked most of the time during her last pregnancy.

Their little three years old son was very excited to become an older brother. He was the sunshine of the house... except when he made a mess, and her mother would call him by his full name.

- "Vincent Gray Gubler!!"- (Y/N) yelled, watching her son covered in purple paint, running around the living room, making a mess.

- "What are you doing?!"- she wanted to cry. Everything had paint on it. Everything. And her son wouldn't stop running.

- "I'm painting the room, mommy!"

Under normal circumstances, (Y/N) would have laughed. Really. But she was too tired that day. She had just bathed the boy after he had played with mud and made a mess in the backyard. And now, he was a mess again!

- "Matthew! can you help me?"

- "What is it, Bunny..."- he yelled from the second floor

- "I need a hand here"

- "I'm coming!"- he shouted in a funny voice, and their son giggled as he heard him- "Hey!! There you are! I was wondering where my little helper had gotten!!"

Matthew Gray Gubler walked to his wife, covered in paint, making a mess the whole way over. Like father, like son.

- "What are you doing?"- (Y/N) wanted to cry. She knew she was going to be the one cleaning that mess.

- "We were going to paint the baby's room, but we thought it would be a good idea to add a personal touch, so we started marking our hands on the wall. And then we did our feet... and tummies"- Matthew smiled, proud. But his wife wasn't as excited as he was.

- "I had just bathed him."

- "I can do it! don't worry, Bunny!"- he walked to (Y/N) and kissed her forehead- "I'll clean baby Peanut, and then I'll take care of this whole mess, you just go to rest for a while, ok"

- "Can you handle bath time?"- (Y/N) raised an eyebrow staring into her husband's eyes. She could look at him forever and never get tired. Gubler smiled and pecked her lips.

- "I'm gonna be fine. You go out to the backyard, enjoy some "alone time," because I'm gonna take care of everything."

(Y/N) wanted to believe him so bad. But there was a little voice inside her head (called experience) that kept telling her that was a bad idea.

- "Call me if you need me, ok?"- she said and looked at her son still running around the living room, dripping purple paint everywhere- "Did you give him sugar?"

Gubler was busted.

- "We shared a tiny chocolate bar..."- he whispered and smiled at his wife- "But don't worry! I've got it!"- she sighed, defeated, and shook her head.

- "Daddy! Daddy! daddy!"- Vincent yelled and hugged his father's- "Can we watch tv?"

- "Sure, Peanut, but first we have to take a bath"- Gubler held his son in his arms and started walking upstairs.

- "I don't wanna!"- he argued immediately. (Y/N) sighed and walked to their backyard. Matthew said he was going to take care of everything.

And to be fair, Matthew really tried to take care of everything. But the problem was simple: Sometimes, he wasn't really a dad; he acted like a kid. He loved his son so much, he could spoil him rotten, and (Y/N) would end up mad at the two of them.

For example, instead of bathing Vincent, the kid convinced him to play for a while. So, they had sat in his little playroom to play with his trains, leaving paint everywhere. And then, they snacked, 'cos the little boy got hungry and wanted a peanut butter sandwich.

- "Ok boo, it's time now"- he said when he noticed almost an hour had passed- "Let's take that bath"

- "No, dad. I want a movie"

- "Your mom is going to get mad if she finds out you haven't taken your bath"- but Vincent frowned and pouted.

- "Please daddy"- Matthew looked at him and sighed

- "Just five minutes of tv, then it's bath time"

That kid had him wrapped around his finger.

He had always wanted to have kids. And the day (Y/N) told him she was pregnant, he couldn't believe it. He kissed her with tears in his eyes and rubbed her belly, giggling.

- "I don't have a baby bump yet"- she whispered, feeling her lips against his as she spoke.

- "I know, but now that I know baby Gubler is in there, I am going to rub that belly forever"

And he really did. During the forty weeks, he talked every day to the belly. Sometimes he would read children's books or simply tell his son about his day and all the games he was going to play with him as soon as he was born. Matthew Gray Gubler was tailor-made to be a father. He just needed to start being one.

-

- "Of course"- (Y/N) whispered and widened her eyes as soon as she set foot inside the house after an hour. The living room was still a mess, and the paint was now dry on the floor and furniture. The kitchen was a battlefield, bread, peanut butter, and jelly everywhere.

- "Matthew?"

- "In the bathroom"

(Y/N) opened the door and found her husband and son taking a bath together. It was adorable, except for the fact it was all a mess. The floor was all wet, water mixed with paint everywhere.

- "Mommy! Dad made bubbles!"- Tommy was thrilled and kept splashing water all over.

- "That's great, boo!"- she smiled at her son, and he clapped, excited.

- "I'm gonna clean this up"- Matthew said right away, reading his wife's face- "I swear, bunny, it just took me a little longer to convince him to take a bath, but I'm cleaning everything as soon as we get out of here"

(Y/N) nodded, closed the door behind her back, and walked to the master bedroom. She needed a nap, 'cos she knew what was coming.

This wasn't the first time Matthew had promised he would take care of everything, to then simply spend all his time spoiling his son. (Y/N) knew that would happen from the first minute he said he was going to clean. And she wouldn't usually make a big deal out of it, but she was starting to feel tired of always being the bad cop. Gubler was the fun parent, and she was the one who just made the rules.

And it made her sad and mad. But mostly sad.

Of course, the three of them had fun together. They would make magic shows and play with puppets. They invented stories, did picnics in the backyard, baked and decorated many cakes and cookies, watched movies, and napped together. They really enjoyed their time as parents with their little son.

But each time they had to clean up, Matthew acted like another kid, who ended up making a bigger mess. Their son would follow and mimic everything his father did. And so, (Y/N) was the bad one, who killed the fun and forced them to do chores.

She hated that.

Matthew had no idea his wife felt that way. If he had known, he would have cleaned the living room earlier. And wouldn't have made such a big mess in the kitchen. The bathroom would be spotless. And not just that day, he would have stopped being a kid months ago. But he hadn't realized what was going on.

When Matthew finally took his son out of the bathtub and dress him, he was exhausted. Taking care of a kid was a lot of work. And he couldn't imagine how it would be with their little girl there too.

He managed to put his son to bed for a nap and tiptoed to the master bedroom to put an eye on his wife.

- "Hey Bunny, I thought you were sleeping"- he laid next to her and kissed her cheek softly. Her eyes were puffy from crying- "What is it? Are you ok? Why are you sad, baby?"- Matthew's voice was soft and caring. Soothing. (Y/N) closed her eyes for a second and waited for a few seconds before answering, 'cos she didn't want to start crying.

- "Bunny, are you ok? you are worrying me, should I call the doctor or..."

- "I just don't want our kid to hate me"- she murmured and broke into tears.

- "No, babe, why would he? he loves you so much"- Gubler hugged her and kissed her forehead sweetly- "He could never hate you"

- "I am always the bad one, and you are the fun dad!"- Matthew was honestly confused

- "What are you talking about? you are not the bad one"

- "I bet when boo doesn't want to do something, you threat him saying, "mommy is going to get mad", don't you?"

- "Of course not!"- Matthew denied it right away, but (Y/N) frowned, still sobbing- "Ok, I don't threaten him like that. I tell him what he is doing will make the two of us mad"

- "I'm the bad cop, Gubler, and I don't want him to grow up afraid I'm always going to be upset"

- "Why are you thinking all this?"

- "Because I'm upset!"- she finally said and sat down on the bed- "Every time you have to step up and be a father, you act like you are Vincent playdate, not a grown-up!"

- "What?"- Matthew sat next to (Y/N) and held her hand. He could see she was angry, but somehow, it looked more like sadness and frustration.

- "Gub, I love you. When I married you, I told you every flaw you think you have is my favorite thing about you, 'cos you are perfect for me."

She made a pause, feeling how her husband's thumb wiped off the tears from her cheeks, carefully.

- "But?"- he whispered

- "But I don't wanna be the only one telling boo he has to brush his teeth or take a bath, or being mad when he makes a mess..."- (Y/N) pouted again, and Matthew sighed. He never really thought she felt that way.

- "I know you love him more than anything in the whole world, but another way to love him is making ground rules for him"- she continued- "I just don't wanna be bad guy, you are so awesome and fun, and I'm who always ruins the party" (Y/N)'s chin quivered, and Gubler hugged her immediately- "Maybe it's the hormones, but..."

- "No, Bunny, you are right. I'm a softy dad with him..."

- "I don't want you to turn into a drill sergeant. I just want you on my side when he doesn't clean his room."- Gubler looked at his wife, and his heart ached- "And please, don't leave me cleaning every mess on my own to keep on playing with him"

Matthew was about to argue, but he couldn't. There were too many examples around the house to prove it. The living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the playroom she still hadn't seen, but that he knew was a disaster.

- "I'm on your side, Bunny, I swear. And to prove it to you I'm gonna make you a cup of herbal tea, I'll bring you your book, and then I'll leave you here to rest while I clean the house and make dinner"- he kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her lips and the tip of her nose- "I just don't want you to be sad"

- "I don't wanna make you feel like a crappy dad, 'cos you are the best. Boo is so lucky to have you. And this little Bean is going to be so happy with you"- (Y/N) rubbed her belly and felt Matthew kissing her again.

- "Our kids are lucky to have you as their mom, and I am lucky to have you in my life every day."- (Y/N) smiled, finally, and held his face with both hands.

- "Let's call it even, though I have the feeling I am more lucky 'cos you are bringing me tea and cookies... and maybe a little chocolate."- Matthew chuckled and nodded.

- "Whatever my wife needs."

- "I love you Gubs"

- "I love you too, bunny"

- "I'm glad I'm gonna see you go from daddy to dad"- he stared in silence and ran his tongue through his lips- "What?"- but Matthew didn't answer. He smiled for a second and then slowly leaned in and whispered.

- "In this room, there's no dad. Here I am always your daddy".    

[beauvibaby]

two buns – m.tkachuk

a/n: part 2 of my baby girl fic for Matty 🥰

“Peyton.” You huffed softly, the 2 year old looking back at you with wide eyes much like her fathers when he got upset. “Daddy.” She cried, hugging the stuffed animal tighter– the one Matthew had gotten her on a road trip before he even knew she was going to be a girl, claiming he just knew. “Daddy’s working, he’ll be here in the morning to get you up, I promise.” You assured her as she refused to lay down in her crib, she had just turned 2 and you were prolonging her time in the crib as much as you could, not ready to deal with a toddler bed quite yet. She had a death grip on the railing as she began to cry, her eyes trained on yours as her lip quivered. “Daddy!” She cried harder, you gave in, putting your arms out for your daughter so you could lift her up and out of the crib. “Come on, baby.” You whispered as she curled into your neck, holding on to you tightly, “we’re going to watch daddy on the tv, ok?” You offered to her, grabbing the remote and stretching out in the corner of the couch with a blanket. You turned the tv on, already having the channel for the game up as you’d been watching the first period while you got her ready for bed.

She calmed down as she rested against you, one arm hooked around the stuffed animal, the other she was twirling her hair with, a habit she got from you that Matty just thought was the most adorable thing. “Daddy.” She smiled sleepily as they showed his headshot, talking about his stats for the season, you giggled at her, “yeah, that’s daddy.” You murmured. She tried to make some commentary with her still relatively small vocabulary, most of it just being about Matty, or she would get a little excited as you told her that her ‘uncles’ were playing too. Eventually though, she fell fast asleep, fingers lightly tangled in her hair as you carefully worked them out. She whined in her sleep, nuzzling closer to you, you found yourself falling asleep there too, the game fading out to silence as you let yourself drift off.

Matthew was shocked, and quite frankly a little concerned when he walked in the house and the lights were still on, knowing you were normally half asleep in bed waiting for him by now, and that Peyton had already been asleep for hours. He rounded the corner to the living room after kicking off his dress shoes, hearing the tv playing softly, the beginning of an old game playing as he spotted his two girls asleep together on the couch. He paused, taking in the sight, smiling at the way Peyton was gripping the animal tightly, he chuckled, turning the tv off before carefully removing Peyton from your grip. Your eyes shot open as you thought she was falling but you quickly calmed down when you saw your husband now with her asleep against him. You didn’t say anything as he started walking down the hall with her, not wanting to wake her.

You forced yourself up off the couch, groaning at the pain in your back from laying like that for so long. Matty softly closed her door and followed behind you to your shared room just down the hall. “Hi, baby.” He gathered you up in his arms, kissing your pouted lips, you smiled against him, “hi.” You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “We won, in case you didn’t see.” He laughed at your wide smile, “congratulations.” You kissed him again, hugging him afterwards as it just felt good to be held by him. “You ok?” He asked softly, smiling against the top of your head as he squeezed you tighter. “Yeah, just tired.” You assured him, finally pulling away, not wanting to cave and ruin the surprise you had set up for tomorrow.

***

Peyton squealed excitedly as Matty walked in to get her in the morning when she’d woken up. “Hi princess.” He grinned, never growing tired of how excited she was to always see him. “Daddy!” She clapped, jumping in the crib as he approached, arms extended for her. He easily lifted her up and above his head as he met her excitement, her laughter could be heard throughout the house as he tickled her stomach against his face. You couldn’t hide the grin on your face as you flipped over the pancakes in the pan, the first sign that Matty should pick up on, you didn’t make pancakes often, unless it was a special occasion– or if you were craving them… and the only time that had every happened was when you were pregnant with Peyton.

You two had decided almost immediately after Peyton was born that you wanted to have another baby close in age to her, and you’d been trying for a few months now, and negative test after negative test led you to not telling him when you started to feel off, wanting to confirm it before you got his hopes up again. This time though, you were going to raise his hopes and then some.

“Good morning, sweet girl.” You smiled down at your daughter who was hugging your legs sweetly, Matty leaning against the fridge watching her. You had your phone set up on the counter, surrounded by things that had been sitting out, so you knew he wouldn’t spot it right away. When Peyton let go of your legs and rushed off to play with some of her toys while she waited for breakfast, you walked over to your husband, greeting him with a quick kiss. “Morning.” He mumbled as he pulled away, suppressing a yawn as he did so. “Morning.” You repeated, smiling up at him, he raised an eyebrow at you, “can you get the pans out of the oven for me?” You asked casually as you lightly moved him aside to open the fridge, he didn’t think anything of it, figuring you were going to be cooking in it later. He opened the oven door and furrowed his brows as the pans weren’t in there. “They’re not in there.” He shrugged, closing it and turning to you. “Oh? What’s in there then?” You cocked your head to the side, crossing your arms as you watched him open the door back up, he leaned down further, spotting the two items sitting in there. He grabbed them and pulled them out, looking at them curiously. “Why are there two rolls sitting in there?” He asked you, confused as he set them down on the counter. “What are they?” You asked him again, trying to stifle your laughter. “Rolls?” He spoke slowly, beyond confused as he stared at you.

You threw your head back in laughter, “I call them buns.” You shrugged, the pieces still not falling together for him, he stared blankly at you, “Matty,” you got his attention, stepping directly in front of him, you grabbed both his hands. “They are buns, and where did you find them?” You spoke slowly, he glanced at the oven. “The oven.” He spoke slowly, you could see it falling together as you slowly placed his hands on your stomach, “bun in the oven.” He whispered, eyes going wide. “You’re pregnant!?” He shouted, attacking you in a hug. You laughed against his chest, nodding as you fought back some tears, he leaned back to look at you, “wait,” he spun around, looking at the two buns sitting on the counter. He looked back at you and you nodded, “twins?!” He whisper shouted, luckily you had pushed the pan off the hot burner when you started all this, otherwise you’d have a flaming pancake right now. Peyton came trotting in as Matty kneeled in front of you, pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Daddy ok?” She asked, seeing the way his eyes were watery, he nodded, opening his arms for her. “You’re gonna be a big sister.” He tickled her sides, she giggled not knowing what that meant quite yet, but the both of you shared a look knowing that she would love these babies as much as you both already do.

taglist: @heybarzy @kiedhara @literarycharleton @mrs-ana-wayne (going to redo my taglist soon bc it’s old)

[ewritesthangs]

Ba-ding. Ba-ding. Your phone alerts you that someone was calling. That someone, being your boyfriend of 4 months. Corpse.

"Hey babe."

"Hey princess."

"Whats up? Everything alright?"

"I just wanted to hear your voice before we start gaming and I can barely hear you."

You blush and sit down at your desk. "You're so charming, you know that?"

"One of my many quirks."

"I love all your quirks."

"I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I'll be able to sleep again."

"Did you not sleep well babe?"

"Not really. My insomnia got the better of me."

"You should have called i would have read to you."

"You're so sweet. I didn't want to wake you."

"You do know I don't care. If you need me call. No matter what."

"Alright. Alright. I will if it gets bad tonight."

"Good boy."

"Woof woof."

"Hey, its almost 1. Time to get the game ready. I shall talk to you later."

"I adore you."

"Feelings are mutual." You blush and hang up. You do what you need to do and join the Among Us game created by none other than Pewdiepie.

"Whats up guys?"

"Hey, Y/N! You're here!" Sean tells excitedly.

"Hey Sean." You shyly say. Thankful they can't see you. You were happy to be able to game. In the semi dark. By yourself. You were confident with Corpse. But with more people? You became an innocent shy noodle. The game starts. Crewmate. You sigh in relief.

"I'll be a good task girl and do my tasks."

Corpse went up to you, and you assume he gave you a small smooch before going to card swipe.

"Don't fail it now babe." You were thankful you didn't live stream yet. You wanted to get a few rounds down and warm up before doing so.

Corpse POV

"I'm going to give Y/N a kiss before card swipe. Muah." My character runs over to her, runs into her looking like mine was giving a kiss. "Love you babe." It slipped out, on livestream. Shit. Oops. I shoot Y/N a quick text.

Accidentally may have said i loved you on livestream.

Oh..... you want to let everyone know, now?

Why not?

Sure babe.

You sure?

Yesh.

"Yeah um ehe I am dating Y/N guys. Surprise." I say to my viewers. "I hope you don't like leave me because of it." My chat was blowing up by now. Saying mostly positive things. I smile at the comments and thank them as much as I can before I get killed by Sean. "What. The fuck man."

2nd Person POV

You report the body and unmute yourself. "Oh no not my baby!" You say softly.

"Wait. What?" Sean chuckles, confused.

"Corpse is my boyfriend." You whisper nonchalantly. "I saw you vent Sean!"

"You killed said boyfriend and self reported. I saw you."

"Where is the body?" Felix asks.

"Inside admin."

"Jack i sense liar voice."

"You always sus me felix." Sean sounded like he was pouting.

"I'm voting sean." Rae says. Everyone votes. Sean votes you. Most of them vote Sean. Sean is ejected.

"Bye bye muthafucka." You say softly, to which everyone gasps.

"Little Y/N just swore."

"I can't believe it. Pause the game."

"What? No guys shhhhh I didn't say anything." You quickly grumble and slap your forehead. "Fuck me. Shit."

"And she keeps swearing! My god." Sean chuckled as he was unmuted still, like everybody.

"I'm muting myself now. Bye." You mute yourself and cover your now red face. "Fuck me in the eyeball with a candlestick."

Nice mouth babe.

Shut it.

Corpse was laughing so hard he was gonna piss himself soon if he didn't stop. You are so cute in his eyes. So innocent.

You got a call a few hours later. The familiar ring of your boyfriends ring tone rushing to fill the void. You had fallen asleep so when you answered you sounded gravelly. Groggy.

"Hello?"

"Sup swearing sailor?"

"Are we allerterating now?"

"Yessssssss."

"I was just having a nice dream about Matthew Gray Gubler and you went and woke me up."

"New found confidence?"

"You bring out the best in me."

"My princess."

"Ya ya."

"Come over. I need to see and kiss your beautiful swearing face."

"Will you let that go? For fucks sake."

"Probably not for awhile."

"Bitch."

"Well are you coming?"

"Not if you keep being mean."

"I loooooovvvveeeee you." He sings.

"I love me too."

"Well now I don't want you here."

"...... I'll bring your favorite."

"See you in about an hour!"

"Spoiled rotten little brat!"

"Love you!"

You went over to his apartment. When you arrived at his door, he engulfed you into a big hug. You feeling so safe and warm in his embrace.

"My princess."

"My prince."

You guys kiss, a sweet and simple kiss. Without letting you go, he walks backwards into the apartment. You guys spend the whole night watching things and eating as much as you can handle. Once it hits 1am, your eyes grow heavy. But you don't want to tell him you're tired. Not yet. Corpse comes back from the bathroom to you falling asleep on the couch.

"Baby, do you want to go to bed?" The sudden sound of his voice startled you awake. With a small nod, you stand up a little uneasy on your legs. Corpse takes you into his arms. Picks you up bridal style. You being too tired, just let it happen. You snuggled into him, before realizing you were in your normal clothes.

"I need to change." Your voice had an  obvious tired tone to it.

"You can wear my hoodie babe."

"I dont want you getting cold."

"I'm a human furnace babe."

You just simply nod and lay back onto the bed you were placed upon. He slips his sweatshirt off and hands it to you. You take it and stumble into his bathroom.

"Baby you can change in front of me. I won't look!"

You yawn and get dressed into some sweats and his hoodie. You walk out, swimming in his sweater. You felt safe and cozy. He smiles and holds his arms out for you to come sit on his lap. You waddle over and do as you are motioned to. He holds you as you fall asleep. He watches you before he himself falls asleep. A beautiful way to end an eventful day.

[matthewbeilschmidts]

It’s been a long while since I’ve posted but I’m so glad that I am :’)

This is for Day 1: of @prucanweek - Ordinary

Apologies for spelling errors, it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy 😭💞

-

Matthew doesn’t mind that he’s living an ordinary life. Really.

He grows up near the coast, two parents, a fraternal twin brother, and their gangly hairless cat, Tony (picked curtesy of Alfred). Their parents take them everywhere they can during their childhood, the beach, museums, sports game. They focus on their interests, figuring out what the two like and dislike, as they encourage them both to be themselves and do what they love no matter what. Alfred debates between whether he likes wrestling or football more, while Matthew settles into hockey. In between family get togethers, community festivals, and endless sports training, they somehow have time for homework. (The two share answers a lot.)

He and Alfred each have their own rooms when they enter their teen years, a space to decorate and fill with their own mementos and awards. The sports continue, but later their parents find themselves a little bit busier than before. They do though, give them as much time as they can during the school year, never wanting them to go without someone by their side.

Matthew fades into the background a little bit as they get older, while Alfred puts himself front and center. Matthew watches once with a hand over his eyes as Alfred auditions for the school musical, and surprisingly he read and sings the lines well. “It’s always the rowdy ones!” their theater teachers says after he’s finished performing, a mix of anticipation from planning on putting Alfred on stage and dread at the thought of having to manage him.

Matthew silently supports him, after all he has his own things to do.

He’s the co-caption of the hockey team, the coach giving him the position to give him a little more of a voice, and his teammates verbally agree, considering on the ice Matthew has a lot more to show than he does in person. He accepts, albeit hesitantly.

By the time graduation comes by, Matthew can barely believe how the time has passed. His team even wins a championship under his watch. Some of his fellow classmates look so ready to go out and experience the world, and it’s scary to him because weren’t they all going at the same pace?

His parents talk him through picking his college of choice, and he decides to go. He needs to do what everyone does and experience the world.

And if he decides he wants to come home, that’s okay because at least he tries.

-

He’s in his first art class during his third year at university. The time has been going well, he’s got pretty decent grades and has managed to join a few clubs. But he’s not done yet. Extra curriculars, can’t finish without them. He prioritizes his general education first, and even slips himself into a few major classes early on, but humanities is on record now and has to be completed no matter what one’s studying.

He can get through one semester, he hopes.

Next to him, a student is snickering and the professor doesn’t look amused.

“Gilbert.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you’re done, I can introduce myself now.”

The professor goes in with complete, in-depth introductory slides with her name and credentials, and a briefing of all they will overcome this semester.

He’s never been an artist, at least not one that picks up a pencil and creates a realistic masterpiece with nothing but that and a pad of paper. Maybe some poetry contests in high school, if that counts. The written word has its own impact, its own set of colors to breathe out for the world to see.

There’s another snicker, interrupting his internal monologue.

He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know the student, and it’s not his place to control others. But, if it starts to hinder the class, maybe he’ll tell him something. He’s paying to be there, too.

The man catches him staring.

“Yes?” he asks Matthew without being spoken to in the first place.

“Oh,” Matthew flushes at being caught, not that he was trying to hide it anyway. “Well, she didn’t say anything funny?”

The guys waves a hand, making a “psssh” noise as he does.

“I’m just laughing because of how formal this all is. She won’t be this dignified later in the semester that’s for sure. She’ll be ripping her hair out.”

Matthew glances back, he doesn’t want to say anyone looks mean but, he would believe it if she was.

“You look scared,” the guy laughs, which is rude because isn’t he the one that just put the thought in Matthew’s mind? “She’s not too mean just a sticker to the rules. Will get real pissy if something doesn’t go right.”

“And you still set her off knowing that?”

The man laughs again, but this time around he’s actually trying to contain it behind the thin art easel. He’s not very hidden.

“She’s my cousin’s wife.”

Ah, that makes sense then? Messing with family is normal, but also he shouldn’t be bothering her at work.

“It’s no wonder you seemed casual.”

“She taught both of the lower division figure drawing classes, too. This is my third semester in her class. She’s the only one teaching this specific class I didn’t have too much of a choice.”

“Art major?”

“Yep! And you?”

“Psychology major. I have to get in some cultural classes.”

“Ever taken art?”

“Actually no, not even in high school. I got through that stuff by working backstage in the theater department.”

“Well not to worry my friend, because you picked the best one.”

“Is it easy to pass?”

“Nope. Well, maybe if she likes your work,” Matthew deflates at the blunt response, “but don’t worry because I’m here to be your guide.”

Matthew perks up, but it takes him a moment. This guy’s gonna help him?

“Are you any good?”

“Am I good?” He looks perplexed Matthew would even ask. Matthew has to cover his own amusement. “I may not look it but charcoal and I go way back. I’ll show you my work later as proof.”

“Deal.”

“Gilbert, since you’re adamant on talking, you can be the first to introduce yourself.”

Even if his name wasn’t said, Matthew feels just as guilty. Caught, for talking on the first day of all things.

“Gilbert Beilshcmidt. Fourth year. I’m an art major and my favorite breakfast food is pancakes.”

Matthew looks surprised that he was paying attention, even to the last addition of their introduction. Matthew’s not sure he would have known considering he was distracted.

-

And so their friendship starts.

-

Gilbert sits next to him again. And again.

Where ever Matthew sits in the art room, Gilbert follows not too long after.

Some days they take the sitting desks, some they stand and lean against the stools.

And despite not even talking much, Gilbert treats him like a friend.

-

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Nope, this was my last class.”

“Do you want to get some coffee and work on our sketch books.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Matthew finds himself meeting Gilbert in his downtime. Every Thursday after drawing for three hours becomes the day they meet. At first, all they do is draw, little more.

Gilbert is animated in all moments, but he has short spurts where he focuses exceptionally on his work. Matthew is no art critic, but he thinks Gilbert expresses himself quite well on paper. Graphite, charcoal, and pastels, all the utensils glide easily without a single stroke missing its mark.

Watercolor though, could use some work, which actually happens to be Matthew’s favorite. Even if the intention is to guide the colors with a brush, it’s okay for them to take a life of their own spreading across the thick paper.

They share snacks, art supplies, and their time.

Gilbert proves himself very useful as he promised. Matthew though never planning to be the next Van Gogh, has to pass this class. And it would be nice to pass it with flying colors, but some concepts are harder to grasp than others.

It’s obvious to tell he’s a beginner, while Gilbert excels. Matthew finds out he only now needs the intro class since it’s the first semester it became a requirement.

Gilbert helps him find the shapes he’s comfortable with, explains the processing for hatching and how it relates to shading. And while he’s no expert, he sees a subtle improvement over the next few weeks that makes some pride swell within himself.

-

“Do you want to come with me and my friends to this cool bar for dinner on Friday?” Gilbert asks about a month into the semester.

It’s the first time Gilbert and him will have spent time off campus.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

-

Gilbert’s friends are just as animated as he, it’s almost hard to keep up. Overwhelming as they are, they’re extremely welcoming. Matthew eases into the atmosphere, joining in when he can but mostly pleased to be out and doing something different.

He’s made friends during his time, but like him they’re a little more reserved and pick quieter places on the town.

It’s fun. And he wants to go out again.

Matthew invites Gilbert and his friends to watch his next hockey game.

After their shock in finding out he plays such a violent sport, they’re all agreeing and planning to find the best seats in the arena.

-

“Are you serious. Are you hiding muscles under that red sweater?”

Gilbert pokes at him, it tickles when he gets closer to his biceps, but he knows he’s only teasing.

“You think I’m playing but I’m serious! You should have been there, well you were there. On the stands, I mean. We all screamed after you sent that player flying against the wall.”

Gilbert recreates the motions, but only slams himself into the wall and whines after he bounces back. He then plays it off like it doesn’t hurt. Gilbert’s not a very good actor.

People tell him it’s so much different watching him on the ice, but it’s still him. He’s always wondered how much different, he feels like himself. He just knows he goes into the zone when he’s in his gear. He just wants to win. And he will.

“It’s like night day,” Gilbert continues. “You were ready to kill a man down there.”

“You’re not the first to say that. I guess maybe, I could be a little more out there in real life, huh?”

Gilbert stops walking.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“You’re perfectly fine the way you are. I like the way you are, so don’t go change. I don’t want to be at risk of dying during art class.”

And as silly as it sounds, he’s pleased. He likes Gilbert a whole lot, too. Just the way he is.

-

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Matthew takes the initiative.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just you and me. I want to take you out.”

“Like you did to that guy on the court,” Gilbert laughs nervously.

“On a date. Gilbert, would you like go out with me?”

He says yes.

Later that evening when he’s heading home, Gilbert starts running through the courtyard cheering that “I have a date with the cutest guy I’ve ever met!”

Matthew’s window is open, he’s face is bright red and he slams head first into his pillow. He needs to plan the best first date ever.

-

Three months into dating, he’s finally heading home again for a school break. He wants to take Gilbert with him, who is waiting for the next major holiday to go back home. But isn’t it too soon? They haven’t been dating that long, after all.

But Gilbert surprises him, and jokingly says he wants to go with him because he’ll miss him too much while he’s gone. And then, Matthew asks if he seriously wants to go.

“I do.”

So they ride the 3 hours train down to Matthew’s childhood home. He’s a little bit nervous, because he’s had dates to school dances, and brought friends over, but this is entirely different. This is someone he wants to take a serious step with, even if the time hasn’t been that long. They’ll never get anywhere if they don’t, so they’ll both take the leap and pray it works out.

“Mom, dad, Alfred, this is Gilbert.”

It’s the most timid Matthew’s ever seen him.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Matthew’s boyfriend.”

After he shakes all their hands, he takes his hand back to link pinkies with Matthew.

There’s not an once of regret in his mind as the long weekend passes.

-

Gilbert graduates the next year, and the year after it’s his turn. They’re going to move in with each other. Gilbert really has no irresistible urge to go back to his home town, satisfied with just visiting a few times a year. And Matthew thinks he would like to go back closer, just to figure out his next move. So, they go together.

It’s only a one bedroom, but is more than enough space for them both. Gilbert finds work as a docent while Matthew works for a second degree in education.

He still plays hockey for a local league, Gilbert becoming their number one fan. They find their own rhythm, a pace that works for them both, where they can settle down or speed up when they agree with each other. Dewey mornings, warm summers, chilly evenings they spend them altogether.

They decide move up North closer to Gilbert’s hometown. Matthew’s more nervous meeting his grandparents than he was introducing Gilbert to his own family, but Gilbert assures him again and again they’re just a stuffy old family who actually really care about each other a lot more than they let off.

Gilbert’s grandfather towers over him, despite being a hair above 6 feet. He’s silent, eyes boring into Matthew as he introduces himself. And to end all of Matthew’s worries, the elder man pulls Matthew into a hug and tells him he’s glad him and Gilbert are home. Gilbert, just as perplexed as he, stares, but he melts into a pleased laugh.

Yeah, this is his and Gilbert’s home now.

-

They stay, for a long while, contemplate moving a few times, but they’re satisfied for now.

Gilbert and him always make time for each other, continue their own respective interests with complete support of the other. They’re never afraid to complain, because they always work through it rather then let it simmer.

Gilbert’s vivacious spirit keep them going, and Matthew’s heart keeps them grounded.

His life at first seem a little bit ordinary, but how can he complain when the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves in and stayed locked in tight.

[masterkief]

request: honestly we need more ryan stuff! literally anything- my favorite stories are ones where the reader & the boy are friends (with benefits maybe idk) and everyone is basically taking bets on whether or not they'll end up together ya know? But I'll take literally anything haha

hiii @cornye-west here’s your request, I really hope you enjoy it. I tried to keep it as close to what you wanted as I could! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻💕

- -

My body was hot. I could feel the sun beating down on my tightly shut eyes and I was trying to ignore the sweat dripping down the nape of my neck. Squeezing my eyes shut tighter I searched for more sleep but couldn’t find it. A headache was beginning to creep its way into my temples giving me no choice but to force open my eyes. Taking in my surroundings I noticed an arm draped over my waist, the hand attached to it gripping my hip. Moving my head to the side, my gaze met a peaceful looking Ryan; his face buried in his pillow. A small smile pulled at my lips, but not very long before an emptiness filled my gut.

I told myself to stop letting this happen...but I always ended up in the same position.

- -

We met through mutual Twitch friends and out of them all Ryan and I clicked the most. Our relationship was the type where we bullied each other to no end. Fake fighting, telling one another we hated the other when clearly we didn’t, etc. But then...things changed. There was a particular night where everyone else had fallen asleep, leaving Ryan and I alone. Not wanting to “disturb them”, Ryan suggested we finish movie night in his room with a sly expression I’ll never be able to forget. Drunk and secretly pining over him, I agreed. One thing lead to another and before I knew it Ryan was behind me telling me how good it felt to “finally” be inside me. Now here we were a year later still randomly waking up together.

Shaking the thought from my already aching head, I slowly removed Ryan’s arm so that I wouldn’t wake him up; tiptoeing from the room for Tylenol. Closing the door quietly, I made my way to the kitchen, looking around at the destruction from last nights “wine and video game” night. Jackson was knocked out half naked on the couch cowboy hat still on, but none of the other boys were where we left them last night.

“Hi Lego.” I whispered to the pup, creeping past him. One of his eyes was open and watching me but he quickly dozed back off into sleep. Lucky him.

Making it to the kitchen without disruption, I searched for the pills; my head pounding.

“Too much wine?”

The sudden voice caught me off guard and I jumped, dropping the pill bottle on the floor.

“Damnit Matt.” I groaned rubbing my head and quickly trying to clean up the scattered pills.

When I stood back up he was leaning against the island, grinning like a fool. My eyebrows pulled together with confusion.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I questioned, throwing a couple pills in my mouth. “You gotta problem Twatson?”

Matt snickered, pushing himself away from the island to go towards the fridge.

“How could I have a problem with someone who won me $10 last night!?”

My insides clenched and I was frozen in time trying to remember what happened.

“What?” I said blankly, not able to find any memory from last night.

Again Matt snickered as he started to walk past me, leaning in towards my ear.

“You and Ryan.” He whispered. “You guys are in loOoVeEe.”

Almost spitting out my water, I watched as he walked into the living room where Jackson was just now waking up. They high-fived each other and full of confusion I rushed towards them.

“Hold it right there Matthew.” I scolded. “Jackson hold him down.”

Eyes and head still foggy with sleep, all Jackson did was take Matt’s arm in his hand.

“You’re not gonna say the shit you just did in there then leave me hanging.” I growled sitting in Matt’s lap so he couldn’t leave, “Now spill.”

If Matt’s smile got any bigger his face would explode.

“Awh come on Y/N!” Matt moaned, “You really don’t remember?!”

Again I racked my brain, but couldn’t figure out what the hell he was talking about. I stared at him with an open mouth, shaking my head a silent ‘no’. Matt sighed and shoved me off of him so that I was now planted between him and Jackson.

“Jackson help this dang dip out.” Matt ordered stomping towards the kitchen.

“What Matthew’s trying to say,” he exhaled and took his hat off. “Is that we heard you and Ryan last night.”

My stomach dropped and my cheeks burned. Jackson’s eyes widened realizing what I was thinking.

“Oh no no no Y/N.” He chuckled, “Not that!”

I relaxed into the couch, sweat dripping down my neck once again.

“We heard you and Ryan tell each other ‘I love you’!” Matt called from the other room.

My cheeks turned a deeper crimson and I felt like I might puke.

“You’re...you’re joking right?” I choked on my words.

How could I forget telling Ryan I was in love with him?

“Nope.” Matt interrupted my thoughts as he plopped down next to me again, “In fact, we’ve been waiting for it to happen. Hence how I won $10, we took bets!”

Were Ryan and I really that obvious? I mean yeah the guys knew we were close, and randomly hooking up...but we never really made it seem like we were in love? Sure I had feelings for Ryan, how could I not? But for him to feel the same seemed assanine.

“Y/N the guy has it bad for you.” Jackson chimed in as if reading my thoughts.

“No one believed me.” Matt said, “But I know my buddy Ryan. That mope’s been in love with you since he first heard your voice over the mic.”

If my eyes got any wider they’d pop out of my skull.

“‘I wonder if Y/N likes this?’” Matt said trying to imitate Ryan’s voice, “‘I wonder if Y/N has seen this movie, I bet she’d love it.’”

I cleared my throat and resisted the urge to pass out.

“He talks about you the way he talks about the Iron Giant dude, fuckin crazzzy.” Matt continued. “On and on and on.”

Not able to stand it anymore, I let my legs push me up off the couch and towards Ryan’s room; ignoring the cat calls and whistling coming from Matt and Jackson. Slowing down as I approached the door, I stuck a shaky hand out, apprehensive to open it. Slowly turning the knob, I crept back into his room. Ryan inhaled sharply, I obviously woke him up. A sleepy smile formed on his lips and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Morning weeb.” He greeted groggily, pulling himself up into a sitting position on the bed.

I watched him intently, taking everything in. He was trying his hardest to stay awake, the sun coming through the window making him squint in order to see. His nose was scrunched to hold his one eye closed, his perfect teeth glistening in the light. My stomach was fluttering...could I really be in love with him? All this time we spent together and I didn’t even notice. I always had a thing for Ryan but the part of me that wanted to avoid heartbreak blocked out any...deeper feelings. Staying quiet I made my way to the bed. Instead of going to the side where I usually slept though I went to Ryan’s. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but they followed me...unsure of what I was doing. Climbing onto him, I straddled his hips and let my eyes meet his. Instinctively his hands gripped my hips, his eyes now beginning to wonder down my body. I playfully slapped his cheek and forced him to look back up to my eyes.

“Listen perv.” I leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

As my chest rested against his I could feel his heart pounding. I pulled away and sat back into his lap, my hands resting on his shoulders.

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

Ryan’s eyebrows furrowed and for a second I thought maybe Matt and Jackson had been fucking with me the whole time. I know he could feel my hands getting clammy, my nerves kicking in big time. Swiftly, Ryan lifted me up and backwards off of him, my back meeting the mattress while his body now hovered over me. Tucking stray hair behind my ear, he then ran his thumb across my jawline; tracing. After a moment I propped myself up on my elbows.

“Ryan?”

He stayed silent.

“Ryan, please...” I whimpered, growing impatient.

This was the most awkwardly intimate moment Ryan and I had ever shared. The sex was always rough and fueled by alcohol and pot. I began struggling beneath him, subconsciously readying myself to run when he rejected me. Ryan snickered and squeezed my hips tighter with his knees.

“I love when you struggle Y/N.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair again. “But you know what I love more?”

My head was swirling and I was sure I died and went to heaven. I shook my head “no” and searched his face for an answer. The sly grin he once was showing slowly relaxed into a soft smile. He brushed his thumb over my lips.

“You.” He said, his voice barely audible.

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes and for a second the wave of nausea from before returned. Putting his weight on his knees, Ryan leaned down towards me..his lips ready to meet mine.

“WOOHOOHOO! OWH OWH!” Screaming, followed by loud banging on the other side of the bedroom door ripped us both from our bubble.

“Oh my god they were listening this whole time?” I groaned, covering my face with my hand. “Again?”

Lego’s barking now echoed through the house as Jackson and Matt continued to cheer. I looked back at a very confused looking Ryan, trying to ignore more embarrassment. Just looking at him brought me to an ease, setting all the feelings I had for him in stone.

“I love you Ry.” I cooed, pushing up more so I could meet his lips with mine. “But man I hate your friends.”

[meowdymista]

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”