#also. fighting for my life in procreate. still trying to find brushes that feel as nice as painting with inks and watercolor feels

[of-galaxies-and-black-holes]

misc panel redraw sketches and unfinished vash sketch <3

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

I want to be pitted against a giant, slimy tentacle beast for sport.  Not my sport or entertainment, but dropped, against my will, into a some confined space that I can't escape, but viewers can safely watch what events unfold.  I'm armed only with my wits and whatever might be available to me inside that "arena".  The slimy tentacle beast is among the lowest of creatures.  It exists only to eat and procreate, which also makes it implacable.  Though the lowest of intellectual life, it has evolved to become extremely effective in its singular purpose.

I manage to evade it for awhile, staving off its attacks from multiple directions.  It brings me no closer to victory, however, it's only postponing the inevitable.  The beast finally gets a firm hold of one of my ankles and pulls me off my feet.  I hear a roar of cheers from the audience I cannot see.  Their cheers and taunts grow louder as a frantically try to escape the beast's grasp.  Strategy has been throw out; it's pure panicked flight mode.  I try to scramble away only to be pulled back, my hands clawing at the ground.  I kick at it with my free leg while conscious to avoid it, too, being grabbed.  Nothing.  I try to pry the hold off my ankle with both hands.  It's no use, and in my intense focus, my free leg is no longer free. It's grabbed my thigh.  I can see the tentacle sliding around it as it tightens its coils.  Pounding on it with both hands, with all my might, has no effect.  It's like this thing doesn't even feel pain.

There are just too many of them.  All of my effort to break free from the tentacles grabbing my legs, I didn't even notice the ones moving toward my waist until they were already around me--and they're crushing me.  Breathing has become difficult, and for the first time I feel the fight being taken from me.  My attention and struggle now one the coils around my torso.  Again I try to pry them off, knowing it's a futile effort, but there is nothing left to do but to try.  With such a lowly creature there is no chance of appeal.  A lowly creature effortlessly exerting complete dominance over me.

I can't break free.  There is almost no resistance left in me when it secures my arms painfully behind my back.   It does not know it's own strength.  It does not know my flexibility or pain threshold...nor does it care.  It seems completely unnecessary that it would need to wrap around my neck too, but it does, and quite literally there is nothing I can do about it.

The unknown onlookers hush to a murmur, one filled with anticipation.  The slimy tentacle beast has me.  It's victory over me complete, yet I have only begun to taste defeat.  I am effortlessly hoisted up and brought face to face with the repulsive creature.  My legs folded and knees pulled apart.  The tentacles around my waist allowing me only short breaths. The ones around my neck, tight and high up under my chin, pushing my head back.  My arms still trapped behind my back, painfully, forcing me to arch my back and thrust out my chest toward it, my nipples brushing against.  

I am studied and explored, no part of me left untouched.  Finally the groping stops, but my respite is short lived.  From under one of the beast's many folds a different type of tentacle is revealed.  Three of them...and they each find their way inside my body, again with no concern for my discomfort or even my ability to breathe.  I can fill it pumping something into me.  It is warm and it is thick and it is deep inside me.  When it has finished filling me, the three special tentacles retract back out of sight.  The beast's hold on me is slowly loosened and am lowered to the ground.  As soon as it has released its hold of me completely, I collect what remaining energy I have and flee.  Before I can make it even two steps away I am grabbed again, and dragged back.  Another tentacle, again, around my throat, abruptly yanking me, as if it were a leash, so I land laying against it's soft, blobby core.

There I stay.  No one comes to save me, not even now, after they’ve had their show.  A few smaller tentacles continue to grope and inspect me, but I gave up trying to escape.  I don't even bother trying to fight them off.  I know my place.

.

[vkelleyart]

Damn you’re so impressive to being a working parent on top of being an amazing artist!

You are so kind, @poprocksromance. Thanks so much for being a cheerleader, because I’ll be honest: I don’t feel impressive. 

I feel… really tired. lol 

I actually put off answering this ask because when it comes to being a working parent and artist, I have SO MANY THOUGHTS. This month’s been excessively hard because I wear too many hats in my life and my neutral state is putting out fires before I can skive off and draw, usually at the expense of sleep.

Take this past Tuesday for instance:

6 AM: Husband is already out the door to work, but both kids crawl into my bed to doze until it’s time for them to be up. There is now hot, humid air in my ear and a small, sharp knee in my back. I am not dozing. I am thinking about drawing.

7 AM: Breakfast. Kids pull the covers off of me and whinge about being hungry. Spend next hour feeding kids, breaking up fights over legos, making lunches, and getting them ready for school. Inexplicably, no one has clean pants.

8 AM: Holler at everyone that we are late and I’m about to lose my mind because instead of putting on shoes, my kids are still arguing over who gets the red lego piece. More thoughts about art trickle in: “Man, I really hope I can carve out some time for drawing today because this sh*t is bananas.”

8:30 AM: Zoom across town to drop off children. Kiss heads. Wave goodbye. Try not to rear-end other, larger vehicles being driven by people who don’t understand how the drop-off line works.

9 AM: Back home. Time for Morning Pages. This is the daily act of emptying my head into a journal at the beginning of the day for 30 minutes just so I can plow into the chaos without having a panic attack. Each entry mostly consists of me pep-talking myself into doing my day job because food, shelter, college education savings, blah, blah, blah. Then it’s planning and email checking. I promise myself that, if I can just finish this next video edit task, I can reward myself with drawing artwork.

10 AM: My Video editing software update has made all the PNG files turn pink. I assume it’s for no earthly reason than to delay my progress and piss me off. I promise myself I will figure out the glitch in the next hour so I can earn myself time to draw.

1 PM: I have updated my operating system, reinstalled my drivers, troubleshooted with Adobe and Apple. The fucking files are still pink.

2 PM: I convert all PNGs to JPGs. Videoediting software now refuses to read .MOV files recorded after I updated my operating system. I mutter all the expletives and stare longingly at my tablet. This is gonna be a while.

3 PM: Rush out the door to pick up kids. Kid is complaining of a tummy ache. Come home with kid, put on the tea kettle, and read Kevin Keller together until tea is ready. Am screaming internally about video editing conundrum the entire time.

4 PM: Hubs is home. I run back to the computer. There is no way to uninstall most recent version of video editing software. Find and install Handbrake to convert every .MOV file I am using into .MP4 as a workaround until I can figure out what the everloving hell is wrong with my project. I tell myself I will draw after dinner if I can just figure this out.

5 PM: Praise Crowley for leftovers.

6 PM: Video editing issue is still going, but I’ve identified the workaround and am slowly piecing my project back together. My sketchbook is next to my desk. I do not touch it.

7 PM: Husband is coming down with something. Asks if I can single parent while he lies down for a bit. I agree (because he did it for me last week when I was down for the count). I ask the kids if they want to draw with me. They do not. They want to run around outside like one of them didn’t just complain about a stomachache three hours ago. I tell myself I will draw after they go to sleep.

8 PM: Bedtime. Clean kids. Pick up toys. Brush teeth. Read books. Sing songs. Hold hands until the littlest goes to sleep. Snoring (hopefully) at 9.

9 PM: Take shower. Try to reset. No more video editing tonight. I will draw instead! *nods defiantly*

9:30 PM: Husband wants to share about his stressful week. He’s got freshman this semester. Problematic ones. And too many; 28 in his class alone, and he’s the department head, so he needs to do all the fixing. I sit with him and listen.

10 PM: Youngest kid is coughing. Wakes oldest kid.

10:30 PM: Kids sleeping. Husband downstairs working. I’m in bed, iPad in my lap, Procreate open. Tonight’s work in progress: Simon and Baz holding hands.

I stare at it. Make a couple of adjustments to the line art. Then I put it away and turn off the light. I have nothing left––no energy, no vision––to give to it.

11 PM: The lights are out. My eyes are open. They don’t close until sometime after midnight.

Because I am thinking about drawing.

This is not a rare day in my life. This is tame compared to some days. To get through it, I tell myself this is all temporary. That one day I’ll be able to live off my artwork and I won’t be a slave to Adobe Premiere or the government or the myriad infectious illnesses my kids bring home. I also have to actively talk myself out of feeling jealous or furious at other, younger creators who don’t have to support a family, who talk about playing video games all day when they’ve got artist block, who complain about being bored, and who have the luxury of putting off whatever it is they don’t feel like doing so they can draw. My struggle is no one’s business or fault but mine and probably also Capitalism, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting that people are out there living the dream and taking it for granted.

Anyway, this is a very long way to say, thank you for your compliments. I am trying––every single day of my life––to make something beautiful. Sometimes, that’s fanart or my comic. Most times, though, it’s the life I’m trying to give my family.

[jaybear1701]

Chapter Summary: Two days before the wedding, some secrets come to light and some ice begins to thaw.

A/N: @haughtbreaker calls this a 2 on the Angst scale. lol Enjoy!

“Somewhere deep inside You must know I miss you But what can I say? Rules must be obeyed”

"What about this one?” Waverly took a sip from her wine glass before setting it on the end table, showing her tablet screen to Nicole. They were tucked together on Nicole’s old love seat, legs tangled together as they searched through possible donors on the sperm bank’s website.

Nicole craned her head to read over the page she was shown, rolling her eyes before pressing a kiss to Waverly’s temple. “Are you sure you want this kid to have red hair?”

"Uh huh.” Waverly tipped her head up, finding Nicole’s lips easily for a kiss. “I want her… to look… just like you.” She whispered between soft kisses, finding herself easily left breathless. They’d finally decided that she was going to carry Nicole’s child, leaving Nicole still able to work while Waverly would be able to relax. As if that was a real thing.

"Her huh?” Nicole mumbled against unrelenting lips. “You’re sure it’s gonna be a girl.”

“Uh huh.” Waverly nipped at Nicole’s bottom lip. “All I want is a beautiful, tall, red-headed girl… Even if she might smell like copper.”

“What?” Nicole pulled away from the kiss, a mock horrified look on her face.

“And I mean… even if gingers do consume people’s souls and…” She didn’t get the rest out before long, tapered fingers attacked her side, easily slipping beyond her defenses and finding her most ticklish spots. “Nicole!” She squealed, trying to squirm away.

“I… do not… smell like copper…” Nicole grit out, having no mercy as she slipped a hand down Waverly’s side to get to her ticklish hip.

Apparently a master of combat and defense, Waverly slipped a hand through auburn locks, pulling Nicole forward for a deep kiss.

It was like magic, Nicole decided, how easily she could be distracted with a kiss. Ever since they’d made the decision to have children, it was like she couldn’t get enough of Waverly. Maybe it was something as simple as hormones, some natural reaction to the thought of procreation in turn increasing libido, but she had no complaints. Especially as Waverly deepened the kiss, a hot tongue teasing her lips. There was the sound of tablets being hastily moved to the end table before she pulled Waverly onto her lap, feeling the strong thighs straddling her own.

Breaking off the kiss with a gasp, Waverly caressed a flushed cheek with a hand, her thumb tracing Nicole’s beestung bottom lip.

God she’s beautiful, Nicole thought as Waverly leaned forward, tilting Nicole’s head to the side so she could brush her lips along her jaw, taking in a long and undoubtedly hedonistic breath.

“You’re right.” Waverly groaned into her ear. “You don’t smell like copper.” Waverly nipped the skin of the ear lobe before leaning back, eyes clouded with desire watching Nicole closely. “You did, however… capture my soul.”

Nicole swallowed audibly, her hands sliding up Waverly’s thighs. She could feel the way the muscles twitched just slightly under her touch. “I like to think it was a mutual exchange.” She hooked her hands behind Waverly’s knees, pulling her closer. “Maybe baby number 2 could look a little more like you?” She suggested as her hands slid up Waverly’s sides, bringing her top up and off, leaving her in her bra and cut off shorts. “Cause you’ve got pretty fantastic genes.”

“Oh... baby number 2 now?” Waverly laughed.

“That’s what you backwater rednecks do right?” She laughed at Waverly’s shocked look. “Get knocked up in high school out of wedlock... Keep the women barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” She laughed as she found her hands pinned to the loveseat.

“Backwater rednecks?” Waverly gave her a fierce look. “Look here, Miss Haught. You may have a cute tushi, but that’s not gonna save you. I mean yes at least 4 girls were pregnant my senior year but that doesn’t mean we don’t believe in traditional…”

“Then marry me.”

Waverly froze, her hands releasing Nicole’s wrists. “What?”

Nicole chuckled as she sat up a little straighter, her hands settling on Waverly’s hips. She’d expected the surprise. In truth, she’d wanted to propose since just months after they met, and quite frankly she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. “My daddy always taught me marriage comes before children, and you know it would only make legal sense…”

“Oh…” Waverly’s face fell, a look of troubled disappointment coming over her eyes. She seemed to revert into her own thoughts and Nicole rolled her eyes, using the opportunity to reach over into the end table, finding a small box she’d hidden all the way in the back.

“Waverly.” Nicole laughed, getting the attention of unfocused eyes. “I also want to marry you because… well I don’t ever want to wake up without you there beside me.” She lifted Waverly’s hand, setting the box in her palm. “Marry me, Waverly Earp, not just because it would make total sense, but because I can’t imagine a day without you.”

Accepting the box, Waverly lifted the top, finding a simple solitaire diamond sitting in white gold. There was a moment, seconds really, that felt like an eternity passed before Waverly spoke.  “You know…” She looked up as Nicole lifted the ring from its velvet pillow. As it slid onto her finger, fitting perfectly, Waverly took a deep breath. “That’s awfully traditional for someone who makes it a habit to shun tradition.”

Setting the leather box aside, Nicole settled her hands back on Waverly’s hips. It was true, she hated most traditions, and until meeting Waverly, even hated the idea of marriage, but seeing the delighted look in brown eyes watching her, how could she hate that? “Some traditions are worth keeping, I suppose.”

Waverly wrapped her arms around Nicole’s neck, pulling her forward for another kiss.

Nicole resisted, shaking her head. “Say yes first.”

“Well...It would make legal sense,” Waverly repeated, finding better things to do with her lips since she was currently being denied a kiss. She moved slowly, caressing the line of Nicole’s jaw in an agonizingly slow tease. “Tell you what…I’ll say yes,” she lowered her voice, this close to Nicole’s ear, “if we…” As she whispered softly exactly what she wanted Nicole to do, Nicole’s hands tightened around her waist.

Nicole felt a wave of heat rush through her at the seductive words, felt the need she’d become accustomed to since the day she walked into Shorty’s to find a soaking wet waitress fighting with a beer tap. It was so easy, shifting her hold as she stood, feeling legs wrap around her waist as lips found her own. Years of practice allowed her to find her room easily, laying her precious cargo on the pillow top mattress before covering the shorter frame with her own.

She didn’t doubt that Waverly was going to say yes, tasted the acceptance in a deep kiss as her fingers found the button fly of cut off jeans shorts. Some traditions were definitely worth it, her mind repeated as her hand slid between skin and cotton panties to find slick arousal. Breaking off the kiss, she watched as lips pulled into a smirk. “I love you.” She whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment, feeling hips begin to move against her hand.

“Don’t ever leave me.” Waverly responded simply, her fingers tangling in red hair.

“I won’t.” Nicole pressed into her, smiling as Waverly arched against her. “I’ll always be here.”

“LIAR!” Waverly suddenly screamed, pushing her away.

Nicole woke with a sudden jolt, her eyes scanning the room before she scrubbed her face with her palms. An uneasy rumble made itself known and she tasted acid at the back of her throat. “Fuck.” She barely made it to the bathroom before her stomach rebelled, before everything from last night came back to her, including the unknown number of shots she’d taken.

Including Waverly.

Including Wynonna.

She wanted to expel all the toxic emotions along with the alcohol, but her heart was far more stubborn than her stomach.

Rising on unsteady legs, Nicole moved to the sink, rinsing out her mouth and splashing water on her face. There was a tug in her chest, a pain that attempted to make itself known. She should have been able to ignore it. She was a professional at setting aside emotional baggage. After all, she’d had twenty years of practice.

But she couldn’t. As much practice as she’d had, she thought about Waverly and how angry she’d been and she hated her subconscious, the way it preyed on her in her sleep, reminding her of a time long past -- the past and present twisting together to torment her dreams.

She wished it could be something she could forget, to move on and just live her life, but she found herself digging through her bag, pulling out a small box she’d stuffed in there on a whim before leaving Chicago. It was still the same, a little aged, but she could remember the weight of it. She’d thought about selling it, thought about ridding her life of the reminder, but overcome with some ridiculous nostalgia and a horrible case of remember when s, she pulled back the lid. While the outside was a little worn, the sun found no trouble in reflecting off the faceted surface, Nicole wincing at the flash of light on her retinas and heart.

“Messenger dropped that off.” Becky gave her a nonchalant look.

Nicole looked at the box sitting in the middle of her desk. There was no card. No letter. Just a box and a ring, shining in the sunlight like it was a goddamn sword waiting to be pulled from the stone.

It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been in the car, hearing Waverly and Champ arguing about a pregnancy.

It was over. She wanted to scream, but definitely not in front of her sister.

“So,” Becky seemed at least a little cautious. “About that blind date… You have to say yes.” Becky leaned against the desk. “Morgan is beautiful, sweet, and a hell of a lawyer. You guys will hit it off perfectly.”

That was the last thing she wanted. Nicole sighed softly, opening the drawer beside her desk and dropping the box in it, shutting away the memories. “Becky…”

“You don’t have to marry her, Nicole.” Becky rolled her eyes. “You don’t even have to sleep with her, but seriously, you pining away for someone who obviously has moved on is not healthy.”

Nicole didn’t want to hear it. The thought of being with anyone else caused her heart to flutter, for bile to rise in her throat.

“It’s just drinks.”

She could really use a drink, Nicole thought as her eyes fell on the closed drawer. She could use… like a few bottles. “Fine,” she hissed, even if she knew it was a bad idea.

Nicole tucked the ring back into her bag. What the hell had she been thinking? She was out of her mind thinking anything even close to reconnecting was possible. Waverly had made that painfully obvious, but as she thought about the visit, something seemed off, something on the edge of her tongue, teasing her. There was something she was missing.

She wanted to add everything up, to take stock of the random information she’d been tossed yesterday. She wanted to kickstart that legal analysis part of her brain that helped her win cases, but when she tried, her brain seemed to hug itself tight, burrowing deep inside itself and sending a defensive attack out against her, leaving her stumbling around the room looking for some aspirin.  

“Fuck,” she cursed, her eyes taking in the sight of all the discarded empties from the mini bar, wishing she could blame it all on Wynonna. Another pain lanced through her head, reminding her how untrue that was and she reached for the phone, hitting 0. It took everything in her not to hang up when a cheerful voice answered, telling her what a glorious day it was outside in Purgatory today and not to miss the town square’s festival lights when evening rolled around. “This is room 407,” she grit out after the woman’s spiel was done, “I need about 4 aspirin, coffee… lots of coffee… and water.”

Her phone ringing caught her attention and she scrambled for it. She was supposed to meet Whitney at the diner in less than an hour. There was a part of her that hoped that was her asking to cancel, freeing Nicole from any other obligation.

“Hello?” She answered, instantly realising she should have checked who was calling.

“ Why the hell are you in Purgatory ?” Becky’s voice came in loud and hard.

“How the hell…” Nicole found an unopened bottle of water amongst the empty bottles scattered around the mini bar and thankfully unscrewed it. “Are you spying on me?” She asked before gulping down the water. She didn’t need an answer. It wasn’t anything new for her family.

“It’s my money.” Nicole argued, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. It was almost impossible to get any sort of privacy in the tiny apartment, but Waverly was at least pretending she wasn’t listening. That in itself was a blessing. She really wasn’t in the mood for another argument.

“You’ve gone through $40,000 in the past year, Nicky.” Her father’s voice was patronising as ever. “You’re worrying your mother.”

Nicole took a steadying breath, not wanting to say something she’d regret. “She wouldn’t have anything to worry about if you weren’t spying on my finances.”

“Nonsense. It’s not spying. I’m your father.”

“Just…” Nicole could feel the anger radiating through her. It scared her just a bit, the way she wanted to hit something… anything. “You have to let me live my life.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, afraid she might get a nosebleed from the stress of dealing with her family. “Like I told you before, Waverly and I are trying to have a baby and I don’t care if I drain my savings to do it.” Trying was the word. No matter how many rounds of expensive shots and probing, extracting and fertilizing eggs, implanting embryo…

“Don’t be silly. You know…”

“I’m not talking about this with you anymore, Dad. Tell Mom I love her and I’ll call next week.” She didn’t let him respond, just hung up the phone before setting it on the charger. With a soft sigh she turned to find an emotionless mask watching her, Waverly standing in the doorway. She had her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself close but beyond that, there was nothing else.

Nicole missed the old smile and wave. She missed...Waverly. How could she miss someone while standing less than ten feet away? “Sorry about that. Are you ready for your shot?”

Waverly didn’t say anything, just nodded before turning back towards the kitchen.  

“You need to leave Purgatory right now.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’m not a child and you are definitely not in charge of me.” She sighed. She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with her sister, even if Christmas was coming. “Tell Mom and Dad I said Merry Christmas.”

“Seriously. You don’t understand. You need to…”

Nicole hung up the phone when there was a knock at the door. Dropping it on the blankets, she moved to answer. She was thankful it wasn’t Randy again. Thankfully it wasn’t anyone she recognized or vice versa.

“Someone had a bit of a night, huh?” The old woman smiled, her cheeks plump and rosy. “We’ve got some aspirin, coffee, and a lot of water. The kitchen also threw in some muffins if you would like.”

Nicole signed the receipt, managing to conjure up a bit of a smile. “Thank you.”

Looking at the tray, Nicole took a deep breath, thinking about the day ahead of her. She really needed to get the hell out of Purgatory, but first she’d agreed to breakfast. Eyeing the muffins, she reached for one and ripped off the muffin top, preferring to eat the streusel top alone. It was sweet, delicious, and probably just what she needed to help soak up whatever alcohol was left in her stomach.

Whitney checked her reflection in the storefront window of the pawn shop, smoothing back her hair and making sure she didn’t have pink lipstick smeared on her teeth. She hardly slept at all the night before, even though she had been exhausted after staying up ‘til the wee hours of the morning with Anna and Jen assembling new centerpieces. They had managed to finish even though her Aunt Wynonna had pitched in, and all her “help” eventually had to be redone by her mother.

Her mom had seemed distracted even though she had smiled through the rest of the night. But Whitney knew better. Could always tell when her mom was trying to hide something behind false cheer. Coupled with her anxiety over inviting Nicole Haught to her wedding and meeting her for breakfast, the sight of her mother in subtle distress made Whitney’s stomach wrench. So much so that she couldn’t rest, and she had been up and out of bed before the sunrise.

“Whit,” Jesse said with exasperation a few steps ahead. “That’s the third time you’ve done that.” He walked back and kissed her cheek. “You’re gorgeous as always.”

Whitney rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hold back a flattered smile. “You have to say that, or I’ll leave your ass at the altar.”

“Even if you did,” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her back in the direction of the pancake house, “you’d still be gorgeous. Unlike me and this shiner.” He pointed to the purplish bruising around his right eye.

“My poor guy.” Whitney leaned up to gently kiss the edge of his black eye. “Does it hurt still?” Whitney leaned into Jesse’s warmth, hoping his tall frame and bulky uniform jacket might shield the brunt of the frigid winds and dusting of snow that descended upon Purgatory overnight.

“Nah, barely felt it.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they continued walking, their boots crunching in tandem through the frost on the ground. “So who exactly are we meeting that you’re suddenly so self-conscious?”

“I told you, an old friend.”

“But no one I should be worried about, right?” He played it off as a joke, but Whitney could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Don’t be silly.” Whitney nudged him with her elbow. “She’s a…a family friend.” It was the truth. But not the whole truth , her guilty conscience whispered back.

“Then how come I’ve never seen or heard of her before?”

“She moved away a long time ago and hasn’t been back since.” Whitney shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “ It happens.” She playfully jabbed at his ribs with her elbow. “What’s with the interrogation, huh? It’ll be another few years before you’re eligible for the detective’s exam.”

Jesse winced. “Ah, sorry. I think I’m just a little on edge with all the surprises lately. There seem to be a lot more than usual.”

“Yeah…” She knew she should tell Jesse about who Nicole Haught really was, but she didn’t want to deal with a potentially negative reaction before their meal. “It just seems like that because of the extra stress of the wedding,” Whitney tried to rationalize, even though she too felt like they had hit a patch of bad luck, from the broken centerpieces and Jesse’s black eye to a text from her tailor stating that the stitching for all of the tuxedo and bridesmaid dress alterations had mysteriously come undone overnight.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jesse nodded.

“Damn right, I’m right.” Whitney smirked. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Never.” Jesse sealed his promise with a quick peck on Whitney’s lips as they approached the old diner.

Through one of the foggy windows, she already could make out Nicole sitting in one of the booths and scanning the menu. Whitney’s heart skipped a beat. “She’s here.”

“Well then, let’s not make her wait.” Jesse walked forward and held open the front door. “After you, m’lady,” he said, gesturing her inside.

“Why thank you kindly, Officer James.” Whitney curtseyed before stepping into a warm blast of heated air and the mouthwatering aromas of fresh-brewed coffee, buttermilk pancakes, and sizzling bacon.

Whitney took Jesse by the hand, leading him past a partly torn “Seat Yourself” sign and toward Nicole’s table. She looked up as they approached, a smile on her face when she saw Whitney. It faltered when she noticed the sheriff’s deputy next to her.

“Hey Nicole.” Whitney smiled and waved, just like her mom had taught her to put people at ease. It seemed to work, as Nicole’s shoulders loosened.

“Morning,” Nicole said as she stood to greet them. Dressed in black corduroys and a blue cashmere sweater over a white oxford, Nicole appeared more relaxed than she had the previous night. And if she was hungover at all, she didn’t show it.

“I hope you don’t mind, I brought my fiancé Jesse along,” Whitney gestured to Jesse, “I like to make sure he eats a proper breakfast before work. Sometimes he forgets.”

Nicole shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, I’ve done that myself at times.” She stuck out a hand, an easy smile on her face. “Nicole Haught. Congratulations on your wedding.”

Whitney held her breath.

“Jesse James,” he said. They shook hands firmly, once up and down. “And thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please, just Nicole,” she said. “And the pleasure’s all mine.” She directed them toward the opposite side of the booth. “Have a seat.”

Whitney exhaled, her stomach unknotting somewhat. She took off her coat and handed it to Jesse, who hung it and his jacket onto the hook on the side of their bench. The faded green vinyl of the booth creaked and groaned as she and Jesse slid into their seats.

“Tough night?” Nicole asked Jesse once they were settled.

“Hm?”

She pointed to her right eye.

“Oh that.” Jesse gave an embarrassed chuckle and scratched the back of his neck. “Some drunkard got loose from his cell somehow. Took me by surprise. Gonna make for some interesting wedding photos, that’s for sure.”

“Thank god for concealer and photoshop,” Whitney chimed in.

Nicole winced in sympathy. “Late night shift at the drunk tank. Been there and definitely don’t miss it.”

Whitney bit her tongue as Jesse raised his eyebrows. “You’re a cop?” He asked.

Nicole’s gaze slid toward Whitney, who half shrugged helplessly, hoping that Nicole would keep her word about not revealing too much. “Not anymore,” she replied casually. “Not for a long time.”

Before Jesse could ask a follow-up, their server moseyed up to the table, a portly old woman named Betty Johnson. “What can I get you two lovebirds?” She smiled warmly at Jesse and Whitney, but then frowned at Nicole. “And uh…” Betty squinted at Nicole through her large, coke-bottle glasses. “Have we met before, miss?”

“It’s Nicole, Betty,” Nicole said, lips curving into a tentative smile. “Nicole Haught.”

“Office Haught, as I live and breathe!” Betty laughed. “My, it’s been a while! C’mere and give an old lady a hug!”

Whitney watched as Nicole reluctantly got to her feet and was swept into a bear hug. “Gosh, I haven’t seen you in, what? Twenty some years?”

“Something like that yeah,” Nicole said, surprised, awkwardly patting Betty’s back. Whitney had to hide a smile beneath a paper napkin.

Betty finally released Nicole, who sunk back onto her seat, cheeks pink. “She was my favorite deputy way back when,” she explained to a dumbfounded Jesse. “Used to help me get my cats down from the trees. You could learn a thing or two, Jesse.” She turned back toward Nicole, covered the side of her mouth, and stage-whispered, “He’s scared of ‘em.”

“Not scared!” Jesse defended. “Just, allergic.”

“Uh huh,” Betty rolled her eyes. “So I’m guessing the wedding brought you back into town?” She clicked her tongue, her gaze appraising as it bounced from Nicole to Whitney and back to Nicole again. Whitney felt her stomach sink. Did Betty know? Did everyone but her know about Nicole? “I’m glad everything worked out. I was hoping for a good long while.”

Nicole tensed, but kept a polite smile on her face. “Me too,” she said, her voice imperceptibly strained.

Oblivious to any growing tension, Betty whipped out a pencil and a small note pad. She licked the lead tip. “So what can I get y’all to drink?”

“Cappuccino, please,” Nicole and Whitney replied at the same time. Their brown eyes locked as Betty hummed and wrote down their order. It was just a drink -- a drink her mom always seemed to dislike for no apparent reason -- but the coincidence, and the thoughtful look on Nicole’s face, made Whitney’s stomach flip.

Jesse ordered a black coffee and Betty shuffled away, promising to return quickly.

“So you used to work for the sheriff’s department?” Jesse asked, and Whitney inwardly cringed. She wondered if he remembered the personnel file from yesterday.

Nicole swallowed, but nodded. “Sure did.”

“Huh.” Jesse’s brow furrowed, a contemplative look passing across his face as he regarded Nicole. He was about to ask another question when his eyes widened and he suddenly lifted up his menu, ducking his head behind it. “Ah shit.”

Nicole and Whitney’s lips turned down into near identical frowns. “What’s wrong?” Whitney asked.

“Ah, it’s just my dad,” Jesse explained. “I haven’t told him about the shiner yet and I’m not too keen to hear a lecture about he’d never let anyone lay a finger on him.”

Both women looked out the window and, sure enough, Champ Hardy was strutting across the other side of the street, no doubt on his way for a drink at Shorty’s. He paid no mind to the diner or its occupants.

“Is he gone?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, baby, he’s gone,” Whitney chuckled, lowering the menu. She glanced at Nicole, who shook her head, eyebrows knitted.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole said. “But Champ Hardy is your dad?”

“Yup,” Jesse grimaced. “I love him and all, but sometimes he can be a bit much, you know?”

Nicole stared at him for several long seconds before turning to Whitney. “But isn’t he your father too? Does that mean you two are…?”

It took a moment for Whitney to put two and together, and when she did, she burst out laughing. “Champ? My father !?” She was glad they hadn’t received their drinks yet. The thought alone of her sharing genes with Champ made her want to upchuck.

“Last night at Shorty’s, you called him dad.”

“He insisted since I was marrying Jesse,” Whitney explained. “But,” she shuddered, “God, no, he is not my dad dad. No offense, Baby,” she added, kissing Jesse on the cheek.

“None taken,” Jesse sighed.

“But you said your last name is James,” Nicole continued, still very much confused. “Not Hardy.”

“Hardy’s his first name.” Jesse nodded. “Hardy James. Champ was just his old rodeo nickname.”

Mouth dropping open, Nicole looked completely floored, as if all the air had left her body, and Whitney couldn’t figure out why unless… Holy shit… If Nicole had thought Champ was her biological father, then maybe that meant…

She doesn’t know, Whitney thought, her heart clenching. She doesn’t know I’m her daughter.

“That’s um,” Nicole was at a loss for words.

“Did you know him?” Jesse asked. “My dad?”

“I did,” Nicole cleared her throat. “Actually, I kinda knocked him out once.”

“What?” Jesse and Whitney both exclaimed.

“At the Wainright. A long time ago.” Nicole fiddled with the napkin wrapped around her utensils, tearing off bits and pieces. “So don’t believe him if he ever says no one got the jump on him.”

Jesse laughed. “I won’t.” He and Nicole both grinned warmly at each other and Whitney swore her heart grew in size.

“You’re staying at the Wainright, aren’t you?” Whitney asked Nicole.

“Sure am.”

“You should come to our rehearsal dinner,” Whitney forged ahead, paying no mind to Jesse’s curious glance. “The pavilion isn’t ready at the Homestead yet, so we’re having it at the Wainright. We’d be honored if you could make it.” She slipped her hand into Jesse’s. “Right honey?”

“Ah,” Jesse shrugged. “The more the merrier, I suppose. Anyone who managed to floor my dad is always welcome in my book.”

“I… don’t know,” Nicole looked apologetically at Whitney. They both knew just who might think otherwise about Nicole being welcome. “Mind if I take some time to think about it?”

“Fair enough,” Whitney said as Betty returned with two cappuccinos and one black coffee, sliding piping hot mugs to their respective recipients. And as Jesse asked Nicole more about the night she flattened Champ, a plan began formulating in Whitney’s mind. But first, she had to get a hold of her Aunt Wynonna. If anyone would be a likely accomplice, it would be her.

Wynonna sat in the chair facing the front door, her fingers playing with an eggshell colored envelope. She’d seen many of them before, had received one herself at the mailbox Black Badge kept for her. Well, the one she’d received had been slightly different, she pondered as she thought about the information card tucked in the invitation, the phone number and email address changed to information that was still familiar, yet not the ones they should be.

And hers definitely didn’t have Nicole Haught’s address on the outside in handwriting that was most certainly not Waverly’s.

She’d found the envelope in her pants pocket when she’d woken up that morning and had a moment to take stock of her memories. To her credit, she at least woke up in Waverly’s bed and not some random stranger’s.

There had been a lot more alcohol and tears after Whitney and her friends had called it a night and she remembered passing out cuddling with a crying Waverly, but by the time she woke up, her sister was nowhere to be seen. Whitney was nowhere to be seen.

She thought about the confrontation with Nicole. It had been somewhat of a relief, freeing herself of what she'd wished she'd said twenty years ago,  but on another level,  seeing Nicole just take it all…

Wynonna shook her head. This wasn't the Nicole she remembered. Then again,  she doubted she herself was the same person Nicole remembered.  

She couldn't help but think about what they'd all been like back then. Back when Nicole and Waverly were ridiculously happy. When Black Badge had gone from their allies, to enemies, and back to allies more than a few times.  

Back when Doc still cared enough to watch over them, helping them despite his utter hatred for Black Badge.

Back when Dolls had been the solid rock she needed.

Wynonna didn’t want to think about Dolls and how she hadn’t heard back, but she was sure the Black Badge would notify her if anything serious was happening.

Wouldn't they?

Wynonna shook her head as she took a sip from her glass of bourbon. She had bigger things to worry about,  like the envelope and the car that pulled up to the homestead.

Wynonna sat a little straighter,  waiting for the front door to open.

“Oh, hey. You’re awake.” Whitney smiled.

Waverly had been right about one thing way back when, Wynonna decided. While Earps had their share of dimples in their blood, those were 100% Haught dimples. “Hey Baby Girl Junior.”

“Getting started early?” Whitney set her bag on the table, her eyes moving from the glass and back to Wynonna.

“Hair of the dog and all that.” Wynonna shrugged. “You know what they say. The best way to avoid a hangover is to just…”

“Keep drinking.” Whitney chuckled as she snagged the invitation from her aunt. “I can’t believe I’m getting married in 2 days. It just seems so…” Her words trailed off as she flipped the envelope over to the addressed side, eyes scanning the outside before lifting to look at Wynonna.

“Take a seat, Whit.”

Whitney didn’t argue, just slid into the seat facing her. “Where did you… how did you get this?”

“From the person it’s addressed to last night.” Wynonna sipped from her glass. She’d promised Waverly years ago that she wouldn’t tell Whitney about her parentage.

“Wait. You saw Nicole? She didn’t say…”

“Wait.” Wynonna sat up a little straighter. “You talked to…”

“My mother?” Whitney’s voice was soft, uncertain almost.

Wynonna set her empty glass down. Hearing Whitney say that, it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Waverly is your mother,” she said certainly, refilling her glass with the almost empty bottle.

Whitney snorted. “Obviously.” She paused momentarily, pursing her lips before continuing. “She is always going to be my mother, just like you’re always going to be my Aunt… there’s no… DNA doesn’t change that, ya know.”

Wynonna looked her over, not seeing any anger there like she’d expected. “How did you...”

Whitney shrugged, reaching into her bag and pulling out the journal. She didn’t know why she kept carrying it around. Something about it just felt… right. Maybe it made her feel a little closer to the women in it. Not just Nicole, but to the person her mother was twenty years ago. “I found a box in the attic with a bunch of old stuff…”

“I remember this.” Wynonna smirked, reaching for the book and flipping through the pages. “Wait… you read this?” At Whitney’s blush, she chuckled. “Yeah… I read a few pages of it back in the day…” When Whitney gave her a surprised look, she laughed. “What? You were an only child so you didn’t get the joy of spying on siblings.” She cringed. “So you got to read all about Mommy and her lady lover…” She snorted. “I’ve read fanfic with less graphic details.”

“I just...” Finally Whitney’s face turned troubled. “Why didn’t Mom tell her?”

“Hmmm?” Wynonna looked up from the journal. “Tell her what?”

“About me.”

Eyes pinched in confusion, Wynonna set the journal down. “What do you mean?”

Whitney took the book back, sliding it back into her bag. “She doesn’t know I’m her daughter.”

How was that even possible? Wynonna leaned forward. “What do you mean she doesn’t know?”

“Nicole…” Whitney hesitated. “She thought Champ was my father.”

It didn’t make sense. “But your mom…” Wynonna thought about the past, thought about the many times Waverly had broken down crying, the attempted calls, the disconnected number… She remembered the threat from Nicole’s sister… Becky. “That bitch.”

“Hey!”

“Not your mom…” Wynonna took a sip, thinking about what it all meant. “Your Aunt Becky.” Just the sound of it made her anger rise.

Whitney perked up.  “I have another aunt?”

“Oh you won't anymore… once I get my hands on her…” That had to be it, Wynonna decided. Nicole's sister had done it on purpose and they'd all been so willing to blame Nicole.  “Oh shit,” she realized how bad it had to look from the outside.

Nicole, for some reason, thought Waverly had gotten knocked up by Champ. Nicole, who had been so willing to accept blame for everything. But did she know the truth now? “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. We were having breakfast. I wanted her to meet Jesse.” Whitney sighed softly, reaching for the bottle and taking a swig with a grimace. “I thought she knew.” She shook her head. “But then we saw Champ and Jesse called him dad and…” She laughed. “Man, she must have some ideas about Purgatory cause I swear she thought we were a REALLY close family…” She hesitated just a bit. “I… invited her to the rehearsal dinner.”

Wynonna paused mid-sip, swallowing what was already in her mouth hastily. “No you didn’t… of course you did.” She shook her head. She was Nicole’s by blood, but she sure did have that Earp trouble streak. Oh God , she thought as she went over the consequences. “Your mother thinks she knows.” She watched Whitney freeze, eyes doubling in size. “She thinks Nicole abandoned the both of you. That’s why she never brought it up. She didn’t want you to think that…” She paused again, feeling the empathetic heartbreak that she knew was inevitable. “All these years, she thought Nicole knew.”

“And if Nicole comes, they’re both going to be at the dinner tonight…”

“With Nicole thinking Champ got your mom pregnant and your mom thinking Nicole abandoned her….” Wynonna had to snort in laughter. “Well this is a goddamned Greek tragedy if there ever was one. They make Broadway musicals about this shit.”

“Okay but… in a musical there would be a happy ending…” Whitney smiled. “So…” She reached over and refilled Wynonna’s glass. “What say you?” She held the bottle out. “Wanna help me Parent Trap my moms?”

Wynonna picked the glass up, pursing her lips before tapping the edge of her glass to the bottle. The next few days were going to be interesting at least, she decided as she drank back the alcohol, feeling it warm her from within. It was a much better idea than focusing on her own shit show of a life. “Saddle up, Baby Girl Junior. We’re in for a wild ride.”

Twelve boxes were stacked on the store’s glass counter, separated into two mini-towers of pink. John Baker, the 16-year-old son of Bob and Edith Baker of Purgatory’s finest (read: only) bakery, proudly opened up one box for Waverly to inspect. Inside, one dozen cupcakes were arranged neatly, each one with elegant swirls of white frosting topped with one pink rose blossom.

Waverly leaned in and breathed in the sugary richness. “They look amazing,” she said, trying to hide her relief. With everything that had gone wrong with the wedding lately, she was just waiting for another shoe to drop. “You all really outdid yourselves this time.”

“Thanks, Ms. Waverly,” John blushed, nervously smoothing down the front of his flour-stained apron. “If you give me a minute to assist some customers, I can carry the boxes to your car.”

Waverly waved him off, already pulling the first stack toward her. “You’ve got the holiday rush to take care of.” She glanced at the growing line of people waiting to be served, some of them glowering at Waverly and John with thinly veiled impatience. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine.”

John nodded. “Well, enjoy the rehearsal tonight. We’ll have the cake delivered to the Homestead before the big day.”

“Thanks John.” Waverly adjusted the knit cap on her head and hitched up her tote bag higher on her shoulder, wishing she had emptied it out a bit or left it in the jeep as she lifted half a dozen boxes. They were a bit heavier than they looked, but she was sure she’d manage just fine. She approached the door and turned around to back into it. The boxes wobbled mid-push and Waverly paused to adjust her grip. Just as she was confident they weren’t going to go tumbling out of her arms, someone behind her said,

“Here, let me get that for you.”

It was simultaneously the last voice she wanted to hear and, though she would never admit it, the only voice she wanted to hear. The one that had been echoing throughout her mind all night long.

Waverly’s heart pounded as the weight of the door eased off her shoulders. She shivered as a freezing rush of air stung her skin. Bracing herself, she turned to see Nicole holding the door open for her and, goddammit, looking as gorgeous as ever in her gray peacoat, dark pants, and blue beanie. A tentative smile adorned her face and Waverly hated the way her stomach still flipped at the sight of Nicole’s stupid dimples.

“I had it under control,” Waverly grumbled out, knowing she was being rude but unable to stop herself. Clenching her jaw, she brushed past Nicole and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Nicole shrugged and let the door close. “That’s an interesting way of thanking someone.”

“I’m not thanking you,” Waverly snapped. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I know you didn’t,” Nicole said. “But I wanted to lend a hand.”

“Yeah? You’re about 20 years too late for that.” The words tumbled off Waverly’s tongue before she could stop them.

Pain flashed in Nicole’s eyes. She blinked it back in a second, but Waverly still felt a pang of guilt.

Nicole shoved her gloved hands inside her pockets, resembling a chastised puppy despite her attempt at nonchalance. “Have a good day, Waverly.”

Waverly hesitated, torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to indulge in two decades of pent-up resentment. But she knew, deep down, that lashing out at Nicole wouldn’t change the past; wouldn’t erase years of grief; wouldn’t suddenly make her feel better about what they lost. So she did the only thing she could do: nod and walk away.

Like the previous night, Waverly was proud of herself for not giving into temptation and glancing back, at least after the first few steps. But the pull to sneak one more glimpse of Nicole was harder to resist that morning. She blew out a frustrated breath that billowed out like a white stream of smoke. One peek couldn’t hurt, could it?

When Waverly reached an intersection and started to cross the street, she took the chance to look back, not noticing the frozen puddle just past the curb. The heel of her boot slid on the patch of ice. She let out a yelp as she lost her footing and stumbled backward until a strong hand steadied her from behind while an arm quickly wrapped around her to stop the boxes from tumbling to the ground.

“Careful,” Nicole’s voice puffed against Waverly’s ear. Vanilla and shea butter enveloped Waverly, whose pulse fluttered at the warm, familiar scent.

Flushing, she pulled away from Nicole, careful to step back onto the sidewalk. The boxes remained safely in her arms and she sighed in relief.

“I…” Waverly began.

“Didn’t need my help, I know,” Nicole finished for her. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to help you.”

“No?”

Nicole shrugged. “I didn’t want anything to happen to the pastries.”

Waverly would have chuckled if not for the fact that she was embarrassed, and that she couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation with Nicole. “Cupcakes, actually. I suppose even they’re a little grateful.”

And perhaps Waverly was too despite her earlier surliness. The last thing she wanted was for anything else to potentially ruin Whitney’s wedding.

Nicole ducked her head down, a half-smile appearing before she looked back up and across the street. “Signal’s back on,” she said.

Nodding, Waverly turned back toward the street and began crossing, this time keeping an eye out for icy areas. She felt, rather than heard, Nicole follow after her. Waverly glanced backward and, sure enough, Nicole was trailing behind a few feet. Any lingering gratitude that Waverly might have felt from Nicole’s safe melted back into irritation.

“Why are you following me?” Waverly asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m not,” Nicole casually replied.

“This isn’t the way to the Wainright.”

“Who says I’m going to the Wainright?”

Waverly huffed out and continued walking forward, picking up her pace. She would just have to ignore her. Nicole didn’t follow suit, just maintained the same ambling pace, as if she were strolling down the street on a warm spring day.

Just as Waverly reached her Jeep, she felt the cardboard of the bottom box start to give way. “Shit,” she cursed, trying to arrange her arms beneath it to keep it from falling apart. Perhaps she had accidentally torn it during her near fall. There was no way she could fish her keys out of her purse and unlock her doors and trunk without sacrificing the cupcakes. She considered placing the stack of boxes on the ground, but it was covered in brown slush from the ice melt the town had laid the night before.

“Looks like the cupcakes could use a bit more help,” Nicole commented as she approached.

If Waverly had any hands free, she’d be tempted to smack Nicole. But instead she thought again of Whitney and swallowed her pride. “Just get your ass over here, Haught.”

Jogging forward, Nicole took the boxes from Waverly and secured the base of the one on the bottom. Their gloved hands brushed, and even that small amount of contact sent a jolt through Waverly, who quickly stepped back and focused on getting her trunk open. She told herself she hated it. Hated that Nicole still had that effect on her.

“New car,” Nicole commented as she gently laid the boxes down in the trunk. “When’d you get it?”

“A while ago,” Waverly found herself responding even though it was really none of Nicole’s business. “Whit…” She swallowed. “Some people convinced me it was time to upgrade. Nothing lasts forever, no matter how much you want it to.”

Nicole blinked at Waverly. “Right.”

An awkward silence settled between them and Waverly shifted her weight from one foot, unsure how to proceed. “Don’t you have other work to do besides saving cupcakes?” She asked lightly as she shut the trunk.

“Nothing more important than that,” Nicole said. “I don’t really have anything planned, except maybe pay my respects to Nedley. Finally.”

Waverly held her breath, remembering how she had hoped years ago to see Nicole at the memorial service. How, despite insisting that she was over Nicole, she still was crushed when Nicole hadn’t shown up.

“I should have come then,” Nicole said softly, as if reading Waverly’s thoughts. “I should have come back a lot sooner.”

Nicole locked eyes with Waverly, a quiet conviction in her brown eyes so intense that Waverly had to look away, suddenly breathless. “You’re here now,” Waverly said. “That’s something.”

“Is it?”

Waverly nodded. “I’m sure it is to Nedley.”

Nicole swiped at her nose, red from the cold. “Then I’d best be going.”

“Did you want a ride?” Waverly blurted out, surprising them both. “It’s freezing and, well, it’s the least the cupcakes could do to thank you.”

A slow smile spread across Nicole’s face, making Waverly’s traitorous heart thud warmly against her chest. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to respectfully decline. It’s not that much farther and I could use the exercise.”

“Okay,” Waverly said, annoyed at herself for the disappointment sinking in her stomach. “I guess I’ll… see you around.” She didn’t know why she said it. Nicole would be long gone again before she knew it.

Nicole only nodded, eyes following Waverly as she hopped in her Jeep and turned on the ignition. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Waverly pulled away from the curb and made her way back to the bakery to pick up the last of the boxes. She would be damned if she carried the rest of them that far again. She turned on her hazards and got out of her car. When she was back on the sidewalk, she couldn’t stop herself from looking back down the street one more time.

It looked as if Nicole was typing out a text before she tucked her phone back in her coat pocket. She glanced up and, even from a distance, even as much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, Waverly could still feel a connection between them, an invisible string tying them together after all this time. Nicole gave her a small wave and then turned back in the direction of the cemetery while Waverly, ignoring the pull to go after Nicole, swung open the bakery’s door and walked inside.