#it lasted like 6 hours straight but i had to leave at 3 am because i was on the verge of passing out :[

[uty-confessions]

i like playing the undertale rp roblox game and then walking in fromt of people as sans and clicking the dust button to interrupt their storytelling -cranon

☆

[dreamingonclds]

My Girl | Hozier

Summary: Andrew ruins the surprise date that y/n had planned for him.

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Word Count: 2055

Warning(s): Very slight sexual activity, angst if you squint, fluff

Note: I did not edit this so, sorry if the grammar or writing is off. Also, this is my very first one shot. It ended in a different way than I expected and I don't know how to feel about it anymore. Enjoy!

As it was your last day with Andrew before leaving to go back home. You decided to surprise him with a romantic dinner once he got back from the studio. You slaved away all day in the kitchen making his favorite foods. As a testament of gratitude for everything he’s done for you this past month, spent with him in Wicklow. You decorated the dinner table and area all cute, with fairy lights, artificial vines, and scattered petals. You even put on a dress, his favorite, on you, and the lipstick he said made you look like you were touched by Aphrodite.

The time came when he was supposed to arrive and he didn’t. You didn’t want to even consider the possibility of ruining the surprise. So you didn’t call him right away, concluding that he was probably running a bit late like he sometimes does. A couple more hours went by and now the concern in your belly was getting hard to ignore. It was almost 12 am, he said he would be home by 8 pm. So you decided to shoot him a quick text.

Hey baby, everything okay?

He calls you back almost immediately.

“Hey darling, I’m sorry I got carried away and forgot to call you earlier. Me and the team decided to just order some food and eat here. I’ll be home in a bit, do you want me to pick you something up to take back?” He says rushing to get the words out, you hear the shuffling of feet getting away from the sound of banter and laughs.

You smile sadly at his sincerity.

“It’s okay, I get it. But umm…,” You interrupt your own speech as you look towards the beautifully set table and food you kept in the oven to keep warm. “I’m okay, I made dinner earlier, thanks for offering anyway. But you enjoy your dinner!” you continue.

“I am, you enjoy your dinner too-”

“I’ll try. Be safe, yeah?” You quickly respond cutting him off.

“Are you-”

You cut him off again, starting to feel a lump develop in your throat, and that shameful tickle in your chest.

“Hey I gotta go Andrew, don’t want the food to get cold.” you say and hang up before he can say anything else.

Your flight out of Ireland was at 6 am. You weren’t even packed, thinking that after dinner, Andrew could help you, because you knew he’d do most of it for you; as he did with other things. But also because you wanted to spend as much time with him before you left. But with your time of departure nearing, you decided to get a move on it.

By the time Andrew got home it was nearing 3 am. And you were nearly done packing, because you had stayed with him for a little over a month, your things were scattered throughout his house so it took a while. In the midst of you focused, trying to remember everything you had brought, you didn’t hear the front door open.

Andrew walks in quietly, believing that he would find you asleep. He quickly notices a light shining from inside the oven, he hurries over and opens it, thinking you accidentally left it on. But his eyebrows scrunch together when he sees it’s only the light on and his favorite meal in there, untouched.

He stands up straight from his crouching position and walks out to the dining area. He quickly notices the dining table, set with empty plates, wine glasses and the vase with flowers you guys picked together. The almost completely melted taper candles were an indication that you had been waiting for him for a while. 

Once the realization hits him, he mutters a single word.

“Fuck.” he brings his hand to his face, rubbing it over. He turns himself and begins to walk towards the bedroom. But, his guilty conscience makes him look back to the table. His imagination quickly fills of you, wondering just what you must have been feeling. He thinks to blow out the candles but turns his back to them, they’re on their last breath anyway; he thinks.

He carefully opens the bedroom door, still believing you are asleep. But he pauses when he sees you standing there, lost in thought. But beautiful, all dolled up in his favorite dress of yours.

Your eyes shoot to the opening door, and the first thing you notice is his sorry face. Before you can mutter a word, a letter even. He rushes over to you

“Darling, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I didn’t know. One of the guys mentioned getting pizza and everybody was on board with it so I agreed and,” he rambles on, both his hands rubbing your arms.

“Why are you leaving me…over that darling, it’s not worth it. I know I fucked up, I know that, I know. But I can fix it, I promise you I will fix it. It was so stupid of me, but it won’t ever happen again.” he continues, one of his hands had made its way to your face, gently cupping your jaw and caressing your cheek.

And then it hits you, he walked in and saw you packing. He must think that you are actually leaving him, he must’ve forgotten your flight back.

Before he can continue, you ease his worry.

“Baby, I’m not breaking up with you. I’m okay, I promise” you say as you look up to him and look into his eyes,you take his torso in your arms and rub him soothingly. His eyebrows furrow together, he’s still confused, he really doesn’t remember.

You take his hand and lead him over to the empty side of the bed free of your luggage. You push his chest lightly, encouraging him to sit down. And he does, pulling you down to sit in his lap. 

“Then…what are you doing?” He asks, one hand sitting on your bum and the other toying with the fabric of your dress.

“I’m leaving, remember, back home.” You say, one arm around his shoulders playing with the loose strands of hair coming out of his bun. 

“Ohh” he lets out a sigh and puts his head into your neck, peppering your collarbone with kisses, mumbling sorrys in between each of them.

“Baby. Baby. Baby” he says, each one spaced out.

“I am so sorry. That I truly forgot about. I am so so sorry. I can’t believe I just let that pass my mind. Oh my god what is wrong with me.” he rambles guiltily.

You remove your hands from his hair and try to coax them into his face, softly lifting him out of the crook of your neck. You give him a gentle smile and give him a soft kiss.

“It’s okay.” you say genuinely, nodding your head.

“No it’s not.” he responds matter of factly.

“You forgot baby, it happens-” you try to reassure him but he cuts you off with a kiss.

“Be honest love, how’d it make you feel?” he asks, lips brushing against yours. Your head naturally hangs down, the feeling of humiliation overtaking you once again. But the feeling of his large hand rubbing over your thigh offers comfort for you to tell him the truth, but not enough.

“Ugh” you groan in embarrassment, quickly hugging him so as to not meet his gaze, your cheeks warming with the feeling.

“Oh darling.” he returns the act and rubs your exposed back. “How do I make it up to you baby?” he asks you, and you can tell he means it.

“It’s okay, I mean it.” you state, pulling away and meeting his eyes. He gives you an understanding smile, and brings his hand to your face. Moving your hair from your face and lightly touching your lips, you give his thumb a soft peck.

“You are too good for me.” he admits. You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. You shake your head in disagreement and give his jaw a peck. Your phone buzzes from the bed and he turns and reaches for it, handing it to you. 

“Shit.” you say, getting up and off of him, realizing the time.

“Babe, we have to hurry!” you hurry back to your luggage.

“We have to leave soon or I'll miss my flight.” you throw the last few things in your suitcase.

“Oh yeah” he says, coming over to you. “Let me do that.” he tells you when he sees you trying to close it.

“I’m gonna go get my clothes.” you say and run out to the laundry room, picking up the outfit you planned to wear for your long flight. Walking back into the bedroom, you see Andrew moving your luggage to the floor. You reach to try and unhook the back of your dress when he comes up and hugs you from behind. He then turns you to face him and shamelessly checks you out, his eyes fixed on your cleavage before he speaks.

“ I love this dress.” he says meeting your eyes.

“I know, I can tell.” you giggle.

He leans down, bringing his lips to yours, you tiptoe, trying to make up for the height difference. A passionate makeout ensues, his hands give your bum gentle squeezes. His mouth finds your neck and you release soft moans, almost giving in as he backs you into the bed.

“As much as I would like to babe, I can’t. I have to leave, like now or I’ll miss my flight.” you say breathlessly, your body almost betraying you as his lips make their way from your jaw to your chest. Your hands go to his hair instinctively as he continues to go lower and lower.

“Babe, seriously, we don’t have time” trying to catch your breath, you sit up, forcing him up as well. He gives you a cheeky smile, offering his hand to help you to your feet.

“It’s like you’re trying to keep me from leaving.” you run your hands through your hair in an effort to put yourself together.

“That's exactly what i'm trying to do” he stands with his hands on his hips, just endearingly looking at you, taking you in. You look up to him, and a laugh leaves your mouth when you see your lipstick transferred to his face.

“This would be so much worse if it wasn’t for your beard” you say in between small laughs, circling your mouth, in reference to his. He turns his head towards the mirror and laughs when he catches sight of the damage.

“Yours isn’t any better.” he turns back to you and wipes the tip of your nose that somehow managed to catch the rosy tint. You return the favor, wiping his lips with the best of your ability. Then you rest your hand on his cheek, he turns his head towards it and gives your palm a kiss. You give him a pouty smile, and your chest aches, realizing just how much you don’t want to leave him.

“My girl.” he says, mouth still in your hand. He holds your wrist there for a few more seconds before he gives it one last kiss and gently lets go.

“You’re making this really hard.” you admit. You turn your back to him and step away, not being able to look at him any longer. Your hands go back to small hooks of your dress, when you hear a sigh from behind you.

“At least let me take the dress off of you, one way or another.” he offers, referring to your prior denial of both your unholy desires. You chuckle and let him help, shivering whenever his fingertips meet your skin.

With no time left to spare due to the hour drive to the airport, you slipped on your comfy clothes and grabbed your belongings. The drive there was full of avoidance from the both of you, not wanting to talk about being away from each other. So instead, the conversation was full of the best memories you had in the emerald isle. And once you arrived at the airport, you sat in the car for as long as you could, not wanting a single second to go to waste where you couldn’t be together.

[thebirdsareafterme]

maxiel, galex, scaniel, brocedes!

OOOH OK I am ready.

Maxiel: makes sense, compels the FUCK out of me

I genuinely don’t think there’s been a ship that has compelled me like Maxiel. They make me so insane and I’ve spent the last 8 months of my life going up and down all 200ish AO3 pages in the tag like some kind of deranged possum, searching for more Maxiel content. They just make so much sense in my mind. You have Max, who has been taught his entire life that his only purpose in life is to win races, who is this angry, strung up little kid when he first joins F1…and then he meets Daniel, who is so kind and charismatic and has always been taught to enjoy the moment and the process of it all and just treats him with so much love even when he’s not winning or when he’s getting criticized by the media…and Max finally learns how to enjoy life outside of racing for the first time. Even outside of the general RPF scene of it all, the absolute pivotal Maxiel moments are so important and have so much significance in the grand scheme of the sport. Daniel leaving Red Bull because of Max (to an extent) which then caused a ripple effect on a whole bunch of people’s careers and ultimately led to the Horrors that we are currently living through, but at the end of the day, it’s about “If it can’t be me, I’m glad it’s him” and that fastest lap into “Thank you, Daniel.” Yeah, I could talk about them for DAYS if given the chance.

Galex: makes sense, compels me

They’re everythingggg to me. I love the childhood friends to lovers thing they have going on. The Galex lore is so interesting, like the throat infection incident, the collarbone biking accident, the whole thing about George being Alex’s hype man/personal photographer as a kid… underrated ship fr. They have the best chemistry and their sense of humour actually work so well together, and I NEED more content from them. I also CANNOT ship either of them with anyone else because it just does! Not! Work! In my head. They are each other’s ride or die and I love that for them.

Scaniel: makes sense, does not compel me

I love their friendship a lot and I think they have so much weird gay energy between them, but unfortunately my day one Daniel ship is still Maxiel. I think Scaniel has potential for growth, but unfortunately they do kinda give off besties to me. I will admit they have had some good, shippable moments, but Scotty just feels like a straight man in my mind. I think it’s just the DR effect (every man within a 5 mile radius falls in love with him) that drives this ship forward tbh.

Brocedes: makes sense, compels me A LOT

THIS is THE SHIP of all ships. The lore goes so hard and it’s so devastating to me. I’m a sucker for a good childhood friends to lovers to enemies storyline, so they are right up my alley. It’s just the most insane story that when I tried explaining it to my casual F1 fan friend, they asked me if it was from a movie and I was like NO! This is irl!!! The way that they have a 6 hour, 3 part YouTube docuseries about their relationship is crazy. No other ship has as much angst as them, and no one will ever come close to being them. It’s the way that they fundamentally are a part of each other’s careers and that you cannot mention one without the other, it’s the way that Nico talks about that era of his life and how he could only stomach their childhood favourite cereal on the weekend before cinching the championship, how he ruined his body and soul to beat Lewis and how his retirement changed Lewis’ whole outlook on the sport!!! And through it all, there is an awkward third-wheel in the form of either Daniel Ricciardo or Sebastian Vettel just smiling through the most disgusting vibes a room could ever have, which, in my opinion, adds to the whole drama of the ship. This ship has so much narrative and character and it is so so devastating to think about, I need to see or make a Brocedes movie before I die.

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 10

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* In-laws (nice ones though!), passing mention of federal agents possessing guns, family dynamics, that one family member that married someone awful, the mystery of Agent Bailey begins to unravel, discussion of life in the public eye, planning for the future, discussion of collaring. Summary: After a rather dramatic birthday, heading to Texas to meet Marcus's family seems like a walk in the park. Notes: I am 100% certain that I have missed errors this week, loves. But alas, ya girl is back to working five days a week and she is SO tired. ✌ Please enjoy the chaos that is the Pike extended family!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

The flight from Washington DC to Dallas is just over three hours long and you had agreed that it would be better to leave early in the morning on Saturday to arrive at his family's compound before lunchtime. The last two weeks have been a dream as you and Marcus spend basically all of your extra time together, sharing dinners after work and alternating beds for overnight stays. He's even come to his first Friday Night Dinner with your family, which makes it all the more appropriate that you're now flying with him to meet his.

Airline points used, Marcus was well aware that on a commercial flight, Agent Bailey would be much more comfortable with First Class and boarding the plane last. Allowing for the rest of the plane to embark so they were not filing past her and you. Now that the flight is closed and you are settled into your seat, he looks over at you with a smile. "Ready for chaos?" He asks playfully, picking up your hand. "My family is....energetic."

“I’m excited,” you assure him. You’re also nervous, but that’s natural. His big family is having their annual springtime get together for the start of baseball season and — according to Marcus — this is the biggest Pike family get together of the year. It’s a week of pickup games with his cousins, big family meals, revisiting old favorite haunts, and catching up on life. It used to be a way to help distract Marcus and his Mom as his Dad started out the new season every year and started traveling, but now it’s just their favorite reason to get together.

“Don’t feel like you have to do anything you don’t feel like.” Marcus insists. “Plenty of times half the cousins or wives and husbands end up in the stands watching and shit talking.”

“Baby if you think I’m not playing at least one game, you’re nuts.” Marcus has been so sweet about reassuring you and making sure you know nothing is expected of you on this trip, but frankly it just sounds like fun. Like the kind of happy chaos that is a complete break from your normal life.

He flashes you a grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He admits shamelessly. “After the games, we grill out or eat whatever we threw on the smoker that morning.” He shrugs. “It’s a party the entire time.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” You have been, and you are, and seeing him get excited would make the whole thing worth it even if you weren’t.

“Everyone is excited to meet you.” He promises. “Oh and mom asked if you had any allergies? Food or otherwise?” He shoots you a sheepish grin. “Forgot to ask.”

“Nothing at all. I’ll eat anything you put in front of me and sniff whatever weird Texas plants you guys have got.” A teasing grin counters his embarrassed one. “My brother and I did a campaign stop in Texas; I don’t think there was anything too sniffly in Austin. But I know the state is big.”

“Huge.” He snorts, smirking slightly. “You know what they say. ‘Everything’s bigger in Texas’.” He jokes.

"Oh yeah?" The smirk that forms on your face is immediate and you lean over to nudge his shoulder. "Is that how you grew up so big?"

“Not that big.” He chuckles. “My cousins – the males – are bigger.”

Snorting slightly, you can't help but laugh as you nudge Marcus again. "That sounds painful."

“Shit.” Marcus chokes and shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that.”

"Well good," you're still laughing, juvenile sense of humor on full display even if you're quiet. "Otherwise I'd feel bad for their spouses."

He snorts and leans into press his lips to yours. “I’m the biggest.” He boasts, completely lying and he winks to acknowledge that. Not like him and his cousins have compared…since before puberty.

"Naughty." It's chastising, but you giggle as you steal another kiss as you both settle back in your seats for a short but comfortable flight.

Marcus hums as the flight attendant comes by. “Do you want a mimosa?” He asks softly. “Start our vacation off right?”

"Why not? Let's have a fancy flight." First class is already a bit of an extravagance, and you smile at the flight attendant gratefully. They are well aware of who is on board – Agent Bailey had background checks run on the flight crew as a precaution – and discreetly point out your agent to the gentleman. "And a cup of coffee for the woman in the suit right over there? She'll say she doesn't want anything but I know she'd love a cup right about now."

“Yes madam.” He nods and smiles back at you, finding it refreshing that you aren’t over demanding like some political figures. One asshole really set his teeth on edge last month.

"Thank you so much." The last thing you want to do is make a fuss for the flight crew, and you sit back with Marcus's hand in yours. As nervous as you might be, this is going to be a good week.

“Anywhere you want to see in particular?” Marcus asks, stretching his legs in the extra space the first row gives you. “We don’t have to rent a car. Although I know Agent Bailey will want one of the Secret Service vehicles to follow.

"I want to see whatever you want to show me. Any place you used to hang out when you were growing up, or favorite local places, or even places you've never been that you've always wanted to go." It's his hometown, after all, even if he wasn't born there. Texas is where he became the Marcus that you know and love.

“There’s a band that’s playing Friday night.” Marcus tells you. “At the bar where I used to play.” He chuckles. “It’s my old bandmates.”

"One hundred percent." Your agreement is absolutely instant and there is a giant smile on your face. "No contest. It will be the perfect way to spend our last night in Dallas. Well...last night for now. I know we'll come back plenty of times."

“Awesome.” His grin is wide, happy that you would want to listen to some music and hang out. Potentially meeting old friends. “Then that’s what we’ll do. You’ll like the place.”

"I'll love it." Just like everything else this week, you're looking forward to it because it's something that you'll share with him. It's the early memories of your relationship, as you share the things with each other that made you who you are.

The family compound is exactly that. A compound. Built during the first contract with the Yankees, Pike’s Place as it was fondly referred to, had started out as a way for Marcus’s dad to build the retirement home of his parents’ dreams and ended up being the multi-generational property it is today.

There are more than a half dozen buildings in the property, a large pool and a garden, and even their own personal baseball diamond. It’s like having a resort built specifically for his family. Stuck smack in the middle between a ranch to the south and another large family property to the north, no one would even have any idea that neighbors existed around here if they weren’t told about it.

The main house is a beautiful American Craftsman-style building with a deep front porch and a swing out front, painted bold blue and white against the yellow Texas sun. Matthew and Donna Pike’s house is well-appointed but far bigger than it looks on the outside, and all around it is a stunning garden that they keep together as a shared hobby. The backyard sprawls on endlessly, but for right now you can see more cars than people. It looks like everyone is congregating with Uncle Matt and Aunt Donna.

Marcus’s smile gets visibly wider the closer you get and when the car stops, he’s almost vibrating with joy. He’s not nervous at all, knowing that his entire family will adore you. “Are you ready?” He asks again, not even waiting to the reply before he is shooting out of the car to open the door for you.

“You didn’t tell me you grew up in the cutest place on Earth,” you tease happily, practically giggling at how picturesque it is as you get out of the rental car.

“It’s home.” He looks around the property proudly. “Even when we were living somewhere else because of dad’s job, this was always home.”

“It’s beautiful.” You squeeze into his side and grin back at Agent Bailey as she gets out of the second rental car. “I hope you get to relax a little while we’re down here, too. It’s got to be a hell of a nice change of pace from looking at the inn every day.”

Agent Bailey notes the fence that seems to stretch around the property with approval. “We might be more secure here.”

“Glad to hear it.” Anything that makes her more comfortable is more than okay with you. With as hard as she works, she deserves to be able relax whenever she can.

“Dad installed a fence when he had some fans come up to the house when he was on an away trip.” Marcus explains. They had done one of those ‘where the star athletes live’ things in the Sports Illustrated magazine and someone figured out where it was.” He shakes his head. “Dad was furious, and the compound got an upgrade.”

“Sounds like a solid response to me,” the Secret Service agent agrees as she looks around the property.

“Although, he does open the compound up for youth programs. Training, spending the day with baseball players.” Marcus smiles proudly.

“I love how proud of him you are.” You slip your hand into Marcus’s again and give him a beaming smile. “Time for the chaos, baby. Let’s do it.”

Marcus laughs as the two of you hear the playful shouts from the backyard. The little welcoming barbecue that your father had insisted on was already in full swing. He can’t wait to see how you take all of his cousins and nieces and nephews wearing name tags.

It only takes about a second before someone notices you, letting out a boisterous shout across the yard and garden. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in!”

“Charlie.” Marcus leans in to tell you as every head turns your way. “First cousin from my mom’s side. Can’t believe he’s the first one.”

“Is Charlie not usually this friendly?” You ask under your breath, smiling and waving as more and more heads turn your way.

“Just…unobservant.” Marcus hums, smiling wider when his mother drops her platter of finger foods on a table and rushes forward. “You made it!”

Dr. Donna Pike is a tall woman with a wide smile and honey brown eyes, but right now her most noticeable feature is her long arms which reach out to fold out her only son like a protective mama bird. "Flight was okay?" She asks, smiling at Marcus's nod before she shifts over to hug you in turn.

When she had been told that Marcus had found his soulmate, she had been thrilled. Not because he had to be with his soulmate, she wasn’t narrow minded like that, but because he’s always had so much love to give. She can only hope that you will do well receiving it and return a fraction of it back to him. The others hadn’t seen how pure his heart is. She says your name and squeezes you tight. “How are you? It’s such a delight to meet you.”

"Thank you for having me." Her hands are on your shoulder and it's instantly obvious where Marcus's beaming smile comes from. "I've heard so many wonderful things from Marcus about his family, I'm really excited to meet everyone."

“Well if anyone is too much, or we all are, you just tell us to go away.” She snorts, shooting you a grin. “We are a bit much as a collective.”

"I promise my threshold for much is very high." It has to be, with the kind of people that are always around political figures, but this week is not about you. You do smile again, though, and urge Agent Bailey to come closer than her usual three steps away. "And thank you for understanding that things are not very conventional for me right now. This is Agent Bailey. She's my duty agent and an absolutely superb human."

Donna smiles at the agent, although she doesn’t attempt to hug her. Aware that it might be deemed as threatening. “She is also extremely welcomed.” She nods and offers her hand. “I hope you can relax and have some fun as well, Agent Bailey. We have a comfortable room set up for you at the top of the stairs, just down the hall from them.”

"Thank you, Dr. Pike." Agent Bailey accepts the handshake gratefully. Some people perceive her presence as threatening and that just isn't the case. Especially not here.

“Please, call me Donna.” She insists. “Now, we’ve told the children they are not to ask about your gun, but I do hope that you will change out of your suit into more weather appropriate clothes?” She asks. “Texas is too hot for bespoke all day.”

Agent Bailey actually laughs at that, and you smile when she nods. "I'll be dressed down while I'm here, don't worry about that. Being conspicuous doesn't do much good in protection most of the time."

“Good.” Marcus’s mother smiles. “I’ve also taken the liberty of moving Marcus’s gun safe into your room. For when you are needing to secure it.” She frowns and looks towards Marcus. “Did you bring your own, sweetheart? I didn’t think to ask.”

"Very kind of you, ma'am, but not necessary." Agent Bailey assures her. "I have a portal safe in my luggage. Agent Pike also has his firearm so we'll both be secure and safe that way."

“Told you.” Matthew Pike snakes his arm around his wife and kisses her cheek. “Always overthinking. But I love it.”

"Precautions are good, sweetheart," Donna reminds him, but she smiles.

Marcus and his father could be twins, except for the older man has more pronounced wrinkles from a career spent in the sun. “So this is the gorgeous creature the universe paired you with?” He unwinds his arm from around his own soulmate to pull his son into a bear hug. “Aren’t you a lucky man?”

"I swore I was only going to do this once while we were here." Standing beside Marcus and practically vibrating, you know you probably look silly but you don't care. "Mr. Pike, I am a huge fan and I promise there will be no more fangirling from this point on, but I just wanted to say that once."

There’s a grin that matches his son’s, currently on both of the Pike men’s faces. “Marcus….she has taste.” He teases, winking at you and pulling you in for a hug. “You can fangirl all you like, sweetheart.”

“I’m just very excited to be here,” you admit, laughing as you hug your soulmate’s father in turn. “Marcus…he’s absolutely amazing. I hope you’re as proud of him as he is of both of you.”

“More-so.” Matthew promises, already liking you. “Although, let’s get you settled and a first drink in your hand before we introduce you to everyone else, hm?”

You and Marcus follow his parents through the house and Agent Bailey notes the features of the house with interest but doesn’t interfere. So far, everything is straight forward. She just hopes it stays that way. For your sake.

The tour of the house is easy. A large, open concept main living area is perfect for entertaining, and lines of sight. “Our bedroom is downstairs.” Donna explains. “So you kids will have the top floor to yourselves. Everyone else is staying in the bunkhouse this trip.”

The bunkhouse, as it has been explained to you, is the largest building on the compound which basically amounts to a Pike family motel. Plenty of parking and plenty of rooms to stay in makes it the place that is customarily occupied by Marcus's enormous brood of cousins. "And I'm sure Marcus told you," Matthew glances back at you as the five of you walk together. "But the basement is a game room. Foosball table, game systems, all that kind of thing."

“I was going to show her.” Marcus admits with a shrug. “But she’s bowled in the White House, I doubt our game room would impress her.”

"You are seriously underestimating my love of foosball," you assure Marcus. "I'm terrible at it, but I love it."

“Don’t worry.” Matthew chuckles. “My son excels at pool but cannot figure out a foosball table.”

"Then we can be terrible together," you decide, thankfully garnering a laugh from both Marcus and his parents.

“Which will be a lot of fun.” Marcus chuckles. “When bad weather rolls through, we enjoy the game room and there are people everywhere.” He warns. “One time, we had a checkers tournament, so all the little kids could be involved too.”

The group of you stop in the kitchen for large glasses of sweet tea, and Agent Bailey excuses herself to bring her things upstairs and change into some more civilian-oriented clothes. There are pictures of the family all around the house, but none as prevalent as the pictures of Marcus. His graduations, his triumphs, and some absolutely adorable childhood photos adorn the walls of the house, and you smile at every single one. At one time his wedding picture must have hung on these walls too, or other pictures of him and Lara, and for a moment your heart clenches with regret that he was ever hurt but swells with the knowledge that he’ll never be hurt like that again. The next wedding pictures on these walls will be of you with him, and those will never be coming down.

“Home sweet home.” Marcus hums, watching you take in the space that he had mostly grown up in.

“Ready kids?” Matthew Pike chuckles, opening the sliding kitchen doors to the backyard with great ceremony.

“Don’t worry.” Marcus quickly assures you. “Everyone has had their rabies shots. So they aren’t as feral as they seem.”

For all the teasing, the hugs from his cousins are immediate. They descend on you like a swarm of eager birds, flapping their wings and chattering away as they all introduce themselves and say how happy they are to see Marcus and to meet you.

Marcus smiles at every one of them. Greets them like long lost friends, which they are. They are the friends of his entire childhood and he's happy to introduce you.

A man wearing a name tag that marks him as Uncle Rob holds up two more name tags proudly — one emblazoned Marcus and the other Birdie. “Marcus told us you prefer your nickname,” his father explains with a grin.

“It’s perfect,” you assure them, taking the name tag with a bursting heart. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Uncle Rob is a treasure.” Marcus tells you as he is pulled into a hug and slaps his uncle’s back.

"Uncle Rob is his mother's younger brother," the man clarifies with a happy grin. "Four of the cousins are ours, but I won't quiz you on the family tree just yet."

"I appreciate that." Your laugh of acknowledgement comes easily. "But I've been studying, I promise."

Marcus laughs, knowing how worried you had been over this visit, and it seems as if you are blending in well. He reaches out and squeezes your hip affectionately. “She’s a quick study.”

"Probably mandatory." One of his cousins – her nametag says Selena – teases as she offers you a hug. "Can't imagine the way family debates go when your Mom is the President."

"They're....active." You admit with another laugh. The hug is readily accepted, too. Pikes are apparently very huggy people. "I'm just glad we don't have to come up with opening and closing arguments."

She laughs and nods. “No, but here you might be asked the ERA or RBI stats of anyone you are a ‘fan’ of.” She advises. “So beware.”

"I can absolutely handle stats." For some reason Selena's energy is a lot more calm and reassuring than some of the other cousins, and you feel a little more at ease with her at the moment. "Most of the time I've got those on lock even when nobody's asked."

“How do you take your hotdog?” She asks, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Get it right and we can be friends.”

"It's not gonna be what you want it to be," you laugh, though you do appreciate the way Selena measures her new acquaintances. "I'm from Philly, so pepper hash and spicy mustard."

Her frown is replaced by a smirk and she nods. “You didn’t say ketchup, so you’re good in my book.” She smirks, eyeing Marcus who is huffing and rolling his eyes. “I don’t claim her.” He snorts.

"Too bad," you tease back, looping your arm through his cousin's. "She's delightful and I'm adopting her immediately."

“She’s not housebroken.” He warns, ducking the playful swat she aims towards him.

"Neither is my brother, and we let him into the White House," you snort, laughing even harder when Selena snickers.

Matthew chuckles and he pats his son on the shoulder. “Too late now, son, Selena has charmed her.” He advises.

"I steal hearts," the woman beside you jokes, throwing you an exaggerated wink. "My parents named me after Selena Kyle. It's not my fault."

“Last year you said you were named after Selena Quintanilla-Pérez.” He reminds her with a grin, slapping away her hand again and tapping her chin fondly. “You were lying?” Of course she was, considering she was nine when Selena rose to fame.

"You should keep the Catwoman reference," you advise her with a grin. "Mysterious and nerdy. Very sexy choices."

“See?” Selena smugly grins at Marcus. “Your soulmate has taste.”

Marcus can’t help but grin at that. “So I keep hearing.”

“I have the very best taste.” You agree with that assessment wholeheartedly, leaning back over to Marcus to kiss his cheek.

That makes him laugh quietly and he leans in to hug Selena. “You do. Especially in soulmates.” He teases.

“Oh no.” Pretending to be grossed out, Selena rolls her eyes dramatically but is smiling fully at seeing her cousin happy. “Did you finally find someone as gross as you are when you’re in love?”

“Grosser.” Marcus hums, grinning at you lovingly. “My perfect match.”

“Stop hogging them!” A voice calls out from halfway down the yard, and yet another of Marcus’s smiling cousins can be seen lounging on a picnic table. “We all need to get our annual harassment in, ya know!”

“Oh god.” Marcus hangs his head, even as he laughs. He knows everything is in good fun and he will be harassing them right back.

Thank god for the nametags. You'd be utterly lost without them, even after the flashcards you made for yourself with permission from Marcus to scout his Facebook page for photos of his family. There are just too many of them. The conversations swirl and so do the introductions, but Marcus sticks with you. By the time everyone starts eating the conversation dies down a little and you find yourself at a table with Marcus, his parents, Selena, and her twin sister Harper. Plates of barbecue and cold salads come with fresh glasses of cold sweet tea or cans of soda, and the most relaxed atmosphere of chaos you've been in the middle of in a long time. In your book, this is vastly preferable to a State dinner.

“So what do you think?” Even Agent Bailey has a plate and a drink in her hand, talking to Rodger, one of his dad’s oldest friends. He always comes to these weeks. “She’s gonna relax some?”

"Seems like it." The sight of Agent Bailey socializing is like a miracle to you. A unicorn in real life if ever you saw one. "Any chance your Dad's friend is a beer guy? I found out last week that Agent Bailey brews her own as a hobby and I am endlessly fascinated by all the niche hobbies I keep finding out she has."

Marcus chuckles. “Rodger owns the brewery that supplies the Rangers with the Pike’s Pints.” He explains. “So he’s kind of a renaissance man when it comes to beer.”

"So she has a new best friend?" You laugh, leaning into his side as you eat. "That's fantastic. I hope she has some new ideas to be excited about by the time the week is out."

“My question is this…when does she have time?” He asks, shaking his head. “She’s always with you.”

"I don't think she sleeps." It's a question you've asked yourself plenty of times, but have yet to find an answer. "Apparently she has a dog and a husband and everything? A whole damn life. I'm so glad that doing the job she does hasn't kept her from it."

“Holy shit.” He snorts and looks back at the woman in question with more than slight admiration. “She’s a superhero.”

"She really is." There's no denying that whatsoever.

The meal progresses and his mother smiles at you. “So please, tell me about your inn.” She insists. “Marcus said that you have created a beautiful oasis.”

"It's my happy place." The question – and the description – make you beam. "And...sort of my first child, as well. I bought it from the previous owners a few years ago and my best friend runs the restaurant. It's a beautiful historical property in Alexandria, just outside of DC."

“It sounds like it’s your baby.” She smiles happily and nods. “He has had nothing but praise for it, and you, since his first phone call.”

"He's been wonderfully supportive. I couldn't ask for a more understanding or helpful partner." You do flash him a grin, though, and decide to rat him out to his mother just a tiny bit. "I do think the restaurant is at least half the reason he spends so much time there, though. It's amazing."

“He has always led with his stomach.” Donna snorts, shooting you a conspiratorial grin. “When he was a teen, he was always starving.” She intones dramatically.

"Isn't that how all teenage boys are made?" The laugh you share isn't at his expense, just shared amusement, and you pick up your sandwich again. "At least, my brother was always that way. I swear he ate six meals a day from ages twelve to twenty."

Marcus laughs and Donna rolls her eyes. “Marcus still sometimes eats six meals a day.” She snorts. “At least that’s the way it sounds when he calls. Always snacking.”

“That’s probably my fault these days,” you admit with a guilty grin. “I’m a snacker. Maybe that’s just another fun little quirk in the broad scheme of things.”

“I just have to run more.” Marcus chuckles, picking up a pickle spear and biting it in half. “So I can still beat everyone here stealing second.”

“We’ll see.” Selena narrows her eyes at him in challenge. “I’ve been training.”

“Oh you have, have you?” Marcus snorts and winks at his cousin. “Twenty bucks says I steal more bases than you.”

“Fine,” Selena shrugs, smirking as she leans back in her seat. “I’ll be out there stealing more hearts, anyway.”

“I’ve already got the heart I want.” Marcus informs her, picking up your hand and kissing the back of it dramatically.

“I love you, too.” Over the weeks, the promise has become stronger between the two of you and little daydreams about the future don’t seem so far off anymore — though you haven’t really planned anything beyond agreeing that you want to be together.

"See?" He smirks towards Selena with a fluttering of his lashes. "She loves me, so I am complete."

“You’re completely gross and I’m very happy for you,” Selena teases back. “You’ll have the picturesque wedding you always dreamed of, and a million kids, and make an east coast version of Pike Place.”

"Ohhhhh." He tilts his head curiously as he looks back at you. "Modern day Kennedy Compound?" He suggests. "Our version of Hyannis Port at the inn?"

“That’s a lot bigger than a little colonial cottage at the back of the grounds,” you remind him, but the idea makes your chest swell with absolute love. “But I think if we build at the back of the property we could do a bigger house and get away with it. People wouldn’t even be able to tell the two are connected.”

He smiles at the idea. "We will have to find out who owns the property adjoining yours." He hums. "Expand."

“So you’re already talking about a family, then?” His father, obviously enamored of the thought, smiles broadly. His son has always been a family man, even when that definition just meant his best friends were his cousins.

"We are planning out a lot of things." Marcus admits with a grin, unable to contain the happiness at the idea. "Not sure when that's going to happen, but we are on the same page."

“Maybe sometime before we’re too old and gray to travel all the way to DC?” Matthew jokes, although he’s only half joking.

You groan quietly and Marcus smirks as he looks at you expectantly. "Told you." He laughs. "You said your parents would be first, but I knew it was going to be mine."

“I’m still shocked my Dad didn’t bring it up at dinner last night,” you admit. You had been absolutely certain that your folks would use Friday night dinner as a chance to interview you about your intentions as a couple.

"I'm sure he wanted to." He laughs. "But we've classified that as Need To Know." He jokes.

“That may be the only way to survive with them.” Still, you can’t help but let the smile grow on your face. “By their standards, we’re taking positively forever.”

"I guess that means we should just run off to Vegas and get married." Marcus teases with a wink. "Really mess with their expectations."

“We would have four parents very upset with us,” you remind him. Every time you joke about getting married or have a little daydream it just sounds better and better, but you would never push him to elope. His family means to much to him, just like yours does to you.

"Yes they would." Donna points her fork at him playfully. "I don't care how you get married, I just want to be there."

“Yes ma’am.” That gets an instant agreement from you — not at all ready to set the precedence of going against your future mother-in-law about something like this.

"Good." She smiles in approval and smirks at her husband. "We will clear our schedules whenever they decide on a date."

"Well," you laugh, leaning into Marcus's side. "I guess you were right about not needing to worry over their approval."

“The fact that I love you is all my parents ever need to know.” He smiles and Matthew nods. “Marcus has a good head on his shoulders and a heart of gold. With you being his soulmate, you have to be the same.”

For dinner on your second night in Texas, Marcus promises to take care of everything and disappears with a grin on his face while his mother and Selena take you on a long walk around the large gardens of the compound. Anticipating a little girl talk and some bonding with his family, you had readily agreed.

“So how are you liking Texas, Birdie?” Donna asks curiously as the three of you stroll in the warm morning. You have been a dream to have visit and it’s obvious that you adore Marcus, so she has loved you being here. She just wants to make sure the feeling is mutual.

“It’s beautiful.” It’s not too hot yet, being the beginning of April, and walking around the compound is a nice way to settle in and work off the big breakfast everyone had this morning. “I’ve only been here once before and this is far less stressful.”

“I am sure the campaign trail was never relaxing.” She sympathizes softly. “Although, if you have to take up the trail again, we can offer you a respite from the questions and prying wherever we can.” With being her baby’s soulmate, she will be just as protective over you.

“I’m sure when re-election comes, I’ll be volunteering to come to Texas again just to be able to see my in-laws.” The thought is actually relaxing, to be able to take respite with such kind people, but the in-laws part excites you a bit.

“In-laws.” She beams when you say that. “Now I promise I won’t insist that you call me ‘mother’ or anything, but I hope that we can be friends.”

“Let’s start with Donna and Birdie and go from there,” you suggest, smiling just as broadly as she is. “I absolutely want us to be friends. Marcus loves you all so much and I know it means the world to him.”

“He is our only child, and we want him to be happy.” She promises. “But that doesn’t mean smothering him or not letting him live his life.” She laughs. “Matthew almost had a heart attack when he came home one break to find Marcus with shoulder length hair and an earring. But he never said a word.”

“Oh, please tell me you have pictures of that.” Marcus had told you about his long hair phase, but claimed no photos remained. You’ve been hoping that his parents have one tucked away somewhere.

Donna grins. “I have them all.” She promises. “Snuck them up to the attic before he could burn them.”

“He looks like the nerdiest member of Nirvana,” Selena snorts, giggling with the jovial malice only family can truly master.

“He was…too polite to really pull off the grunge look.” Donna admits, smiling at Selena’s almost evil outlook.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” There are hearts in your eyes when you say it and you don’t care to hide them one bit. “It’s—he’s better than I could have dreamed of for myself. Truly.”

“I have to confess….” Donna looks out over the gardens and sighs. “I have been so very worried about Marcus. He’s is such a loving man. He always has been, from the time he was a baby. But when he called me to say he had discovered his soulmate…” she looks back at you. “I was so very afraid that you wouldn’t understand his heart.”

“How do you mean?” She obvious cares for her son very deeply, and you do want to make sure that the relationship you have with her is honest. No misunderstandings if you can help it — which means asking for clarification. “Because he’s so giving and quick to jump in headfirst?”

“Yes….and no.” She admits. “Marcus is….well, he’s a caretaker. A fixer. You have a problem, he comes up with a solution. You feel tired and down, he will take some of your burden and try to cheer you up.” She sighs softly. “Oftentimes, so many women have been conditioned to be strong, independent, so they view that as misogyny or finding them helpless. It’s insulting to them and they resent him for it.”

“They don’t understand that offering care is his way of being supportive. It’s not that he doesn’t think they can do it themselves, it’s that he views being helpful as a romantic gesture as much as anything else.” You nod, understanding that entirely. “I think the hardest part for Marcus and me right now is that we’re both like that a lot of the time. Which means we’re constantly doing little fixes or giving little gifts or making little gestures. We’re still finding the balance.”

“That makes me feel better.” She admits with a smile. “You understand his need in doing it.”

“He wants me to know I don’t have to do it alone,” you acknowledge, offering her a smile as you walk. “And I want to make sure he knows the same.”

“You two truly are soulmates.” She chuckles. “And I have never been more happy to say those words.”

“Just as happy as I am to hear them, I promise you.” Stopping in your steady tracks, you touch her arm gently and offer her a slightly more serious look. “A lot of people interpreted the things I said on the campaign trail to mean that I’m against soulmates, but I’m absolutely not. I just don’t think anyone should be discriminated against for who they love. Anyone, and unfortunately a lot of people still believe only soulmates should be able to get married.”

“Those people…in my most professional opinion…” Donna snorts. “Are assholes.”

“Agreed.” You nod your head but Selena snorts at her aunts phrasing as the three of you start walking again.

“Do you have any specific plans while you are here?” Donna asks, curious if you had wanted to spend the entire time at the compound.

“I want to see whatever Marcus wants to show me.” It seems like an easy answer, but honestly you’re just here to meet his family and spent time with your soulmate. Anything more is a bonus. “Or anything you guys have in mind. I just…” you shrug in admission. “I never take vacations. So I’m reminding myself not to worry about work and trying to relax.”

“A workaholic.” She smirks slightly. “Something I’m very well-versed in.” She teases.

"Can't exactly stop yourself from taking work home with you when you live at work," you admit with a grin.

“As long as it’s work you love, I don’t see a problem with it.” Donna tells you.

"I really do." They already know that, of course, from how much and how proudly you talk about the inn. But still, you're beaming. "Marcus suggested we look at building our house on the property since I already own it, and I think it's only going to be a little while before we start in on that plan."

Building something together is something that Donna highly approves of. She nods. “Word of advice?” She offers with a smirk. “Have a general contractor negotiate any and all disagreements.”

"Noted," you agree instantly, knowing that Marcus's parents have a whole lifetime of experience in this particular area.

“It will solve a lot of arguments.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Over tile size!”

When Selena snorts out a laugh you have to suppose it's a family joke or at least and a family story, and you laugh too. "It's always something small, isn't it?"

“Yep.” She shakes her head and laughs. “One fight was about if the dishwasher should be on the left or right side of the sink.” She huffs. “Matthew rarely loaded the dishwasher, but thought that it continuously unfair to live in a right handed world as a leftie.” She rolls her eyes again, although it’s more amusement than annoyance.

Small things always seem large when they're under the microscope, and you can see how those things could get out of hand. But fortunately, from what you and Marcus have talked about so far, you're mostly on the same page right from the start. "I can see us tussling over little things pretty easily, but I think it will all turn out pretty well in the end. It's definitely a solid way to work through our skills in compromise and communication, though."

“Marcus knows how to communicate.” She promises. “He’s good at it, and if he’s not, I’ll give you free sessions.” She jokes, knowing the last thing any couple would want is to have an in-law involved.

"You'll be glad to hear that I have an excellent therapist to help me handle stressors and any manner of other unexpected event in my life that I need extra help in processing." The importance of simply having an impartial third party is not lost on you, but having a professionally trained and educated one is all the more important when possible stressors could include death threats sent to your family members.

“Very glad.” She nods and reaches out to pat your hand gently. “You are under a lot of pressure. That is obvious.”

"When we get back I have a meeting at the White House." Though you shudder for dramatic emphasis, it is unnerving. Those meetings about social outreach and the image of the First Family had gone well for Junie and Alex but since you're fairly certain what your mother will ask of you, you're dreading it.

“If you ever want to talk, just to vent, you can call me.” Donna offers softly. “Not in a professional capacity, although anything you say would be kept between us.”

"I really appreciate that." It's not something she has to offer. Not at all. But you're so grateful that your soulmate's parents have so far turned out to be wonderful people.

“Of course.” You might not take her up on the offer, but she wanted to extend it.

"And I hope you know you're always welcome in DC. Anytime, no hesitations." You swing back to grin at Selena on your other side. "You too. We could use another partner in crime."

“I am absolutely going to come visit.” Donna promised, and Selena nods eagerly. “Me too! I want to see this inn.”

"If you want to come and stay there, I'll have a word with the owner," you joke, and throw in a wink.

“And the food.” Donna insists. “Marcus has raved about your best friend, Sydney.”

"She's an absolute goddess." You promise them both. Building up your friends and loved ones is always easy for you. "Just the most talented chef you could possibly imagine. And an amazing person, to boot."

“She has to be.” Selena isn’t joking this time. “Marcus doesn’t waste time on people who aren’t amazing.” Now she gives a small, preening grin. “Which is why he loves me so much.” She jokes.

“I know what it is.” After about one full day of hanging out with Selena, you’ve narrowed down why it is that you are so comfortable with her, and it makes you laugh endlessly. “You’re exactly halfway between my best friend and my brother. Who are two of my top three favourite people in the world, despite the crap I give my little brother on a daily basis.”

“That sounds like a high compliment if I’ve ever heard one.” She laughs. “I’m the little sister Marcus never wished he had.”

“He loves all of you like siblings.” Even if he hadn’t said so explicitly, it’s easy to tell.

“We grew up together.” She agrees. “Even if we lived apart, summers together were important. Holidays spent driving each other and our parents crazy.” There’s a fond smile on her face. “Hopefully our kids will experience the same things.”

“I hope so, too.” The idea head settled into your bones and made you sunny with daydreams. “My siblings’ kids, too. The biggest family we can possibly make for them, since we never had any cousins growing up.”

“Pikes tend to assimilate the families that join them.” Donna shoots you a grin. “They are like the Borg.”

“That’s how we collected friends when I was a kid,” you laugh. The Pikes are definitely not like the Borg — they all feel far too much for that and you adore it. “Make friends with one of the three of us and suddenly you were just another family member.”

“That sounds familiar.” Selena snorts. “We love having people around. The more the merrier.”

“Absolutely.” The morning sun has hit the top of the sky but it’s not too hot, just making you stop warding off the crisp breeze as it disappears into a mellow midday.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” Selena hesitates. “There was some talk about you dating a Congressman?”

There it is. You were wondering how long it would take someone to ask the very fair question. At least it’s Selena and not Cousin Terry’s wife Hannah who seems to distrust you purely for being the daughter of a politician. Which…is also fair…just not a stereotype that applies to you personally. “I was. For almost a year. I was still seeing him when Marcus and I met, but…” you shrug your shoulders a little, with honesty in the sheepishness. “I fell in love with Marcus so fast, and so deeply. Even if he hadn’t turned out to be my soulmate, I still would have ended things with my ex.”

“I didn’t want to pry, I just hadn’t seen anything about a break up and wanted to know if you were ‘public’ yet.” Selena reassures you. “There’s already been a message in the family chat about not posting while we are here on social media. So we don’t potentially ‘out’ your relationship.”

“It will be out by Easter.” Breathing a sigh of relief isn’t subtle, so you swallow it down and simply tighten your smile into an affirmative. “He’s coming to the Easter Egg Roll at the White House with me. After that, just…try to be conscious of people asking about family photos? If you’ve got ones with Marcus and me in them, we’ll just ask everyone to keep them private. You know, friends only.”

“We are used to that.” She nods and sends you a smile. “We’ve got your back. Don’t worry. No one here is going to judge you. Besides Hannah.” She snorts. “And let’s be honest, she’s a bitch.” Donna chokes out a laugh, quickly smothered, and swats at Selena’s butt from behind you. “Selena!” She scolds, obviously still trying not to laugh.

“Oh.” This time the relief whooshes out of you, but you end up laughing. “So it’s not just me?”

“Hannah is…the least comfortable with the easy, familial closeness of our family.” Donna snorts. “When she first started coming, there was an…accusation.” She hums delicately.

“What could poss—” As soon as your mind spins on it for long enough to actually ask the question, your mouth falls open in horror. “Oh my god! That’s—obviously, obviously I don’t think that. Please know that I have never ever thought that.”

“You don’t think I’m sleeping with Terry?” Selena snorts. “Thank God!”

“No, I definitely do not think you’re sleeping with your first cousin,” you laugh but still shudder.

“Apparently, Hannah doesn’t believe men and women can be friends. Not even relatives.” Selena shrugs. “So if it seems like all the female cousins keep their distance from Terry, it’s not because he’s a pervert. He’s actually amazing. His soulmate is just fucking nuts.”

“Got it.” Even though you flash a thumbs up in acknowledgment, all you can think of is how glad you are that Marcus didn’t stay with Vanessa. She would have hated this for the exact same reason. Probably been Hannah’s only ally.

“Hannah isn’t all bad.” Donna adds, trying to soften it some. “Just….a little…set in her ways. But honestly, this is the only time of year they come. They rarely join other holidays.” She looks over at you. “And pleased don’t think that we expect you to come for every holiday, but we will invite you.”

“We’ll come as often as we can.” You can promise that easily, though you know sometimes he’ll have to work and you’ll have to be at official events with your family. “It…will be easier once my mother is out of office.”

“I understand.” Donna is well aware of the demands of public figures. She had to be seen at a certain number of games and it was her own personal mission to attend the post seasons games any time Matthews’s teams made it. “Just know that we want what is best for you.”

“And that is so much more appreciated than you could know.” Maybe she does. Maybe she understands every bit of it. But because you appreciate the honesty of the words from your soulmate’s mother so much more than you expected to, you leave the phrasing as it is. No stumbling or correcting.

Donna winks at you and links her arm through yours. “You and I are going to be good friends.” She predicts with a happy smile. Marcus is over the moon in love with you and from what she could see, you are much the same. There is nothing more than Donna could ever wish for her baby, to find a smart, loving, good person – and you fit that bill perfectly.

Most of the day is spent in the massive pool down by the bunkhouse, with a little day drinking and a whole lot of horsing around and even a little heckling when some of the cousins got into a competition over best diving form — which quickly degraded into silliest dive. Now it’s sunset, and you’ve thrown a shirt and shorts over your dried out swimsuit for Marcus’s surprise.

“Hey babe.” Marcus finds you again, smiling at the relaxed smile on your face and he hands you a new drink. “You look like you’ve had a good time.”

"Well howdy stranger!" A slight affectation in your voice is just to make him laugh, and you grin when it succeeds. "Where have you been all day? Did you have fun with your Dad?" Matthew Pike had disappeared after breakfast along with his son, and when you had remarked on it to Donna during your walk, she had just said not to worry.

“Of course.” He grins, unable to stop himself as he moves over to caress your neck. “I was taking care of a few things for tonight. Why? Did you miss me?”

"Every second." And you don't care who knows it either. You sit up in your chair and stretch a little more to kiss him, catching the fresh scent of the bodywash he favors as it mixes with his bergamot and musk cologne. He's fresh and clean and it makes you wonder what he's been up to as much as it makes you want to drag him up to his bedroom.

“Good.” He smirks against your lips and offers you his hand as he steps out of your sphere. “Come on.”

"Ooo, is it surprise time?" The look of delight on your face is undisguised as you readily take his hand to pop up from your seat. "I'm all yours."

“Yes you are.” He beams about that fact as he pulls you closer. “Say goodnight to everyone, Birdie.” He hums quietly. “We probably won’t see them again tonight.”

"Good night everybody!" You wave immediately, wrapping your arm around Marcus's waist and barely sparing a backward glance in favor of grinning up at him.

“Damn.” He whistles as he guides you away from the pool and over to the truck. He’s already talked to agent Bailey and cleared things with her, so he just nods as the two of you pass by.

“Damn what?” You pose, laughing a little as you wonder if he’s amused at how quickly you’re ready to leave just about anyone behind to spend time with him.

“I could be a kidnapper and you would just go willingly.” He teases, reaching out and tugging on your ear gently.

“You’d be the best looking kidnapper around and Agent Bailey would have a hell of a time bringing me home,” you tease, hopping into the pickup when he opens the passenger door for you.

“Yep, you have Stockholm Syndrome.” He teases, leaning in to steal one more kiss before he closes the door and hurries around the hood.

Once he’s back in the cab beside you, you flash him a grin. “Belle got a library, I got the softest dom in the whole world and awesome in-laws. I’m okay with it.”

“Softest dom?” He snorts, tilting his head while he tries, and fails to look offended. “I’m a hard dom.” He protests.

"How hard you fuck me when we get going is not what I mean," you clarify, settling into the corner of the seat as he starts to drive the two of you across the compound. "You have the softest heart in the world and I feel very lucky to be the one you've decided to give it to."

“I know.” He promises. “I was teasing. I want you to be happy, healthy and loved. That’s all I want.”

"I am. All three, absolutely." Leaning against his shoulder on the drive, you hum slightly and end up sounding a little sheepish as you look out the window. "I missed you today. Even though we weren't apart too long."

He chuckles slightly and lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles and scrapes his teeth over the delicate skin. “I’ll show you how hard of a dom I am.” He teases. “I’ll put a collar on you.”

Not expected that reaction from him, you make a remarkably incoherent noise of interest and surprise before turning your head to look at him. "Don't tempt me with a good time, Pike."

He had been joking, but the way you react has him pausing. “Is that something you’re interested in?” He keeps the question casual, not wanting to seem like he’s pushing or judging, he’s doing neither.

"I always thought it sounded kind of sexy," you admit, wondering if he was just joking and not serious at all. "I mean it's not like...like something mandatory for me to be happy in a relationship, obviously. If--if you're not into that and at all and you were just joking—"

“Baby.” Marcus squeezes your hand. “Anything you are interested in is something we can talk about. If it’s an absolute no, then I’ll explain why. But I think it sounds kind of sexy too. Collars don’t have to be spiked dog collars where I pull you around on a leash and make you bark.” He snorts.

"A lot of day collars just look like cute little necklaces." Alright, you may or may not have done a little looking into it a few years ago with the guy you were seeing at the time. He was long gone now, but the idea had remained in your head. It was not something Sam would have gone for so it had never been brought up to him.

His brow ticks up, noting your interests and he hums. “They do.” He agrees. “Something sexy about being claimed, isn’t there?”

"Absolutely." He turns left at a pair of apple trees on the western part of the compound and keeps going, while you continue to snuggle next to him like a contented house cat. "I mean...I'm wearing a Pike family nametag. That's about as claimed as it gets."

“Not quite.” Marcus chuckles. “There’s definitely more claiming that can be done.”

"Is that a promise?" You tease, grin growing a little wider when he turns toward a tree line up ahead.

“Absolutely.” He follows the less worn paths through the trees, although it’s obvious from the tire marks through the grass road that someone has been there recently.

"So can I have a hint about where we're going?" This isn't a part of the property that you've been to yet and it's beautifully woodsy in a distinctly Southwestern way that you're finding fantastic.

“You’ll see.” The tree line gives way to clearing and Marcus smiles as the pond comes into view. “Right now.”

The little clearing in the trees is picture perfect. It looks more like a movie set than real life, the tree-lined pond ringed with fairy lights sitting side-by-side with a red and white checked gingham blanket and large picnic basket, and a small cooler to boot. "Baby," you sigh out the endearment excitedly. He knows you love surprises -- your family told him so -- but you weren't expecting anything. That, of course, it was makes surprises so wonderful.

“Now you know what I’ve been doing all day.” He tells you as the truck pulls to a stop close to the picnic sight. “Wanted to make this perfect.”

"It's gorgeous!" You breathe, practically squeaking with excitement as you turn to snuggle into his side as soon as he parks the truck. "Is this your old make out spot? Because if it is? It's an awesome choice."

“Maybe a few times?” Marcus shrugs his shoulders and gives you a boyish grin. “Not too many times.”

"Could make it one more." The exaggerated wink you aim at him makes both of you laugh. "If you wanted to, I mean."

“That was my evil plan.” Marcus admits without any remorse. “Bring you out here, woo you, make out with you.”

"Pretty good plan." Right about now he could undo your seatbelt and haul you into his lap in the truck and you wouldn't protest even for a second. "It's absolutely gorgeous, baby."

“Wanted to give you a special night.” He’s explains, unlatching his seatbelt so he can open the door and walk around to help you out.

“Every night with you is special.” As soon as you’re out of the truck you press in to kiss him, enjoying the lingering warmth of the early evening.

“So you’d rather go have dinner with everyone else than have a romantic picnic by the pond?” Marcus asks, reaching for the door handle. “We can go back…”

“Ohhhhh no.” You shake your head immediately. “We’re staying right here. In our perfect little oasis.”

“I thought you would say that.” Marcus chuckles as he takes your hand to guide you over to the blanket. “I brought wine, but we don’t have to drink anything stronger than lemonade.”

“Wine sounds nice.” You’ve been moderate in your drinking today, having two cups of water for every alcoholic beverage and making sure to eat, so you’re not worried about being too inebriated. “And very romantic, but I don’t ever doubt that from you.”

“Well. I know that it might not be the fanciest, but I wanted to make an effort.” He grins at your praise and both of you sit down on the checkered spread.

“You’re perfect level of fancy for me.” Once you sit down here starts to unpack things, and you fidget slightly on the blanket. “But…Speaking of…of that? I wondered if I could talk to you about an idea that I had.” The actual thought has been rolling around in your head for a while for uncomfortable reasons, but now that it’s Marcus it’s actually a nice thing you don’t mind dreaming about a little.

“Speaking of fancy….” He chuckles. “Alright. I’ll pour out the wine. You pitch me your idea and we will strategize.” He jokes as he opens the top to the wicker basket and produces two, picnic friendly wine glasses and sets them down to retrieve the wine from the cooler.

“Unless you had something else you wanted to talk about?” Maybe that’s what this beautiful picnic is and you’ve usurped the purpose of the night by jumping the gun, you can’t be sure.

“I’m wanting to talk about whatever you want, my love.” He promises as he uses the corkscrew to open the bottle.

“Very accommodating of you.” But that’s Marcus and you know it. Instead you focus on opening up the containers he’s packed away that are holding your dinner. “Do you remember I told you that my mother wants the three of us kids to all do…sort of…family publicity type stuff? Like Junie getting a dog and being willing to be public about it?”

“Yes.” He nods and pours out the wine into each glass. “You didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about it, although you tried to put on a good front.”

“I’m not terribly enthusiastic about it.” You can admit that, especially to him. “Which is why I’m not sure if this idea is selfish or not.”

“Honey….” Marcus hands you the wine and takes the container with the cheese from you to open. “You are not a politician, you don’t seek the spotlight. Sharing yourself with the public in a way you need isn’t selfish.” He’s pretty much guessed that it has to be some idea about your relationship, and he’s okay with that.

“It’s selfish because it’s something I’m asking you to do with me.” The wine glass is cold in your hand, a soothing and grounding change from the warm day. Although now that the sun’s down it will be cool sooner rather than later. “Because I’m more comfortable and more confident with you beside me in that spotlight.”

“Whatever you need.” Marcus promises. “Undercover work was never exactly fun for me, and I’m out as a UA now that the picture of us dancing was posted in the papers.”

“I feel like I ought to apologize.” The wine he chose is fruity and dry, much more complex than you would but for yourself despite his claim that it’s not fancy.

“No, sweetheart, please don’t.” Marcus shakes his head. “I was aware pictures would be taken. It was my own choice. And I don’t regret it for a second.”

“I didn’t know art crimes required undercover work. Though I suppose it makes perfect sense now that I think about it.” And you’re definitely stalling, but you push it further by assembling a charcuterie bite from the containers around you.

“It’s rare, but I only took the last assignment where I went undercover was because I needed to get away after things ended with Teresa.” He explains.

"Well, you'll have nothing like that reason ever again." The idea of Marcus with a broken heart is too much to stomach, and the coping mechanism of assembling the perfect charcuterie bite for him now pushing the thought out of your mind.

“I know.” It’s freeing to know that you two are very much in the same pages. Despite the fact that being soulmates does guarantee happiness, you and him will do everything to make sure that your story is a good one.

"So...the thing I wanted to talk to you about..." Enough stalling. Time to be an adult. "Is not because I want to push you, or rush you, or anything like that. But...because I keep thinking about it and thinking that getting ahead of the curve is the only way to really control it, and controlling it will be so much less stressful and make half as much work in the long run."

You’re cute when you’re flustered, Marcus leans back on the blanket, completely relaxed as he takes a sip of his wine. “So are we talking televised wedding? Or just pictures?” He asks.

"We are not broadcasting the wedding." That's the point at which you draw the line, you already know that. It's too much. Too invasive even for a family in the public eye. "I was thinking more like...letting photos be released along the way. Like sharing engagement photos, or photos of dresses that I don't pick. Things like that?"

“I’m perfectly fine with that.” It’s an easy agreement, one that has him lifting a brow. “That was all?”

"Even if that includes sharing photos of your bachelor party or sitting down with a reporter yourself?" The fact that he's willing to agree to it so easily is utterly shocking to you, and you feel like you have to do your due diligence and double check. "Or even share part of the proposal?"

“Whatever you feel comfortable with.” Marcus agrees. “It’s like the family days at the parks or when mom and dad would have interviews.”

Sometimes you really do forget that he already has a frame of reference for all of this. That he understands being a family in the spotlight. You take a sip of your wine and build him another bite from the charcuterie containers, offering it to him with a grateful smile. "I love you. Completely. I really hope you know how grateful I am for you."

“Why don’t we plan to have photos released from our engagement, you and I can sit down with a reporter about the expectations of soulmates and politics. There can be a website for all this with links to charities or causes that you want to champion or bring to light?”

"I don't understand how you get even more perfect." When he takes the cracker from your hand you run a finger under his jaw and end up feeling heat in your cheeks all over again. "When we get back I'll talk to Mom and whoever from her team is supposed to be coordinating my media stuff. And..." That same hand of yours squeezes his knee gently. "This is not me trying to rush you into anything. I'm sure we'll get enthusiastic and rush all on our own."

“Us?” He feigns surprise and smirks slightly. “Maybe we will, maybe we will surprise ourselves.” He turns and kisses the palm of your hand. “But I doubt it.”

"I doubt it, too." It's a kiss from his lips that you want most, and lean forward to steal it without shame. "But I love that we're on the same page so easily."

“So after that birthday….um, debacle…” he makes a face. “Are you totally opposed to the idea of a surprise proposal or what?”

"As long as it's you proposing, a surprise is fine." Debacle is the right word, and you roll your eyes slightly. "I actually do love surprises. Mom told you that."

“You might have changed your mind.” The sun is setting and right on cue, the fairy lights that he had spent the majority of the day stringing around the pond come on.

The way you coo at the change in lighting is full of delight, and you lean into his side on the blanket with nothing short of delight on your face. "See this is why I love surprises. For things like this."

“I was hoping you would like it.” Marcus grins as you stare in loving awe of the lights as they play off the water and the sunset.

"You know...the back of the property at the inn has a little pond like this." You lean back against him and enjoy the view around you. "There's nothing around it really, so I haven't thought about putting a garden there or anything. But...it could be in the backyard of our house if we wanted it to."

“I think we could do that.” Marcus smirks and reaches out to touch the rim of his glass against yours. “Our own little escape.”

"And it's far enough back from the inn to soothe your very sweet concern over historically matching buildings." Which you love, but you don't want him to get so hung up on it that he ends up sacrificing another aspect of the house he might truly love.

“You have something else in mind?” He asks, wondering if you want something different for how you raise your children and where you live.

"I don't really know a hell of a lot about architectural styles," you admit. "I just don't want us to miss out on our dream house because we got stuck on making the buildings match. We can set our house back enough that it will have its own space."

“Any house that has you and our family in it is my dream house.” He promises, smiling at you happily.

"I love you, too." In a way that makes you feel like your heart is going to swell right out of your chest, but in the absolute best possible way.

“I know you do.” Marcus murmurs softly, wondering how he got so lucky with you. “I am a lucky man.”

Leaning back lets you kiss him, just a soft thing but tender and full of desire and promise before you pull back and smile at him softly. "I guess we're both lucky, then."

“Oh!” Marcus pulls out his phone, forgetting that he had programmed it and opens it up to the music app to start playing music. “Forgot that part.” He huffs. “Too eager to pour wine.”

You know even on the first song that it's a playlist of love songs. There is nothing more supremely on point for Marcus than a night like this, with all of the magic that he's infused into this beautiful little dinner. "I don't know how, but you keep making it better every second."

“That’s high praise.” He hums, putting together a bite for you and holding it out for you to eat. “I’ve enjoyed having you to spoil.”

“And you’re about the only person in the world I’ll ever let do it.” The admission comes with a laugh, and you place another soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for suggesting this trip, love.”

“I’m glad you got to come.” He admits with a smile as you take the offered bite and groan at the taste. “I know it was hard to take off last minute and I appreciate it. Next time we will have it planned better.”

“It’s less that it’s hard and more that I get very determined about being hands on,” you admit. “Malachi can run that place in his sleep during the day, and my managers are great. I just…always worry.”

“It’s your baby.” Marcus acknowledges easily. “It’s like a case for me. My team is incredibly proficient at their jobs, but if there is a stake out or some kind of op to be run, I like being there.”

“I’m grateful you understand.” Others hadn’t, and so the fact that Marcus is supportive of your need for work as well as your need for a family is very much appreciated. “And Sydney was joking about sending care packages to your stake outs if you wanted them, so I think your team is about to be very happy, too.”

“If she did, she would become an unofficial member of the team.” Marcus snorts. “They wouldn’t be happy with pizza anymore.”

“I’d have even more FBI agents on my doorstep,” you giggle at the image. “There’s already three of you, we’ll need to designate a dining room or something.”

“The Fed Room.” Marcus snorts, grinning at the idea. “It would never be empty.”

“Syd may have thrown a tiny bit of a fit when I told her I don’t want her to cater any of our wedding stuff,” you admit, cringing slightly as Marcus starts to open another round of containers from the picnic basket. “But she’s my best friend and will be my maid of honor. I want her there by my side, not stuck in the kitchen.”

“How about she can cater the engagement party?” Marcus suggests. “That way she’s involved but it’s not taking over her enjoying your wedding day.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about an engagement party.” The compromise makes you turn up your chin to look at him with wide, starry eyes. “It’s perfect. Just like you, love.”

“We have to have a party.” Marcus teases, kissing your nose. “The press can have the story of my proposal and the engagement party. That’s also a good way to keep our actual engagement to ourselves.”

“I’m so fucking glad you’re with me on this.” The honest laugh is stifled but full of relief as you lounge with him in the blanket. “I would never think of any of this and I’d just end up stressed out or going along with whatever anybody else planned to avoid having to think about it.”

“I will fix anything you ever ask me to.” Marcus promises. “But if you ever don’t like something, you never have to worry about me being upset by that.”

“And the same goes for you,” you promise him, with the same measure of seriousness in your eyes and honesty in your voice. “I hope you know that.”

“I know.” He picks up a grape to pop into his mouth. “You and I are very communicative.”

“I feel like I should apologize.” Your voice lowers slightly, the unsureness seeping through it.

“Why?” Marcus frowns slightly, not liking that comment at all. You have nothing to apologize for. He loves that the two of you are talking and planning your lives together.

“Past relationships…have not been as okay with my tendency to talk everything out at length.” It’s not something that you really ever planned on bringing up, since Marcus likes to dream and plan and plot like you do. But maybe it’s good that he knows, since it has slipped out without you meaning to. “I always felt like I was bothering them with it. And ended up apologizing a lot.”

He frowns even more, reaching out after he sets down to his wine glass and pulls you close. “Sweetheart, I want to talk things out. Even if it’s as mundane as brunch locations or if the entryway table should be moved.” He promises. “Please never feel like you should apologize. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

“You might regret saying that when I get going about the logistics of booking rooms for large parties.” It’s a decent attempt at a joke, even if it’s wry, and you lean into Marcus’s comforting warmth with a sigh. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you are as straight forward and wholeheartedly enthusiastic about this entire relationship as I am. It seems surreal but it’s too wonderful to be a dream, so I’m just doing my best to process the whole thing.”

“You process however you need to.” He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be right here to reassure you again. You’re my partner, my lover, and my friend.” He murmurs. “The most important person in the universe to me.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

[sunflower-author]

I Win (Yandere Todoroki)

Basically yandere Todoroki after the fact that he had kidnapped you, and one day you guys have a fight, and then the aftermath...

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"Listen, Y/N, I am getting sick, of you always being so ungrateful, towards me," Todoroki almost yelled out. Stepping back a little, this was the first time he had ever come this close to yelling at me, feeling all the panic and anxiety rise up in me.

I am really starting to regret almost hitting him, I mean I had my hand up until I realized what I was about to do I stopped, but Todoroki was more mainly focused on what I was about to do rather than what I really did. So right now he is mad at me because I almost hit him.

"Do you know how lucky you are for me to care about you so-......" Todoroki said almost yelling again, but this time stopping in the middle of his sentence, it was weird, it was like he was about to say something but got distracted by something.

Pausing a second for myself, I wonder what is Todoroki thinking right now, all I know is that it can't be good. Seeing him and the paused expression on his face, he starts to smirk a little. I already don't like where this is going.

"Let's play a game actually, a game where if you win then you are free to leave, and call the police on me, I bet you would love that wouldn't you," Todoroki says walking closer to me, with that smirk of his starting to fade. Stepping back, listening carefully to what he is saying.

"What will you get if you win?" I ask him, getting backed up by the wall. "Does that really matter, I mean you'll get what you've always wanted," He said, pinning me against the wall. Only inches are separating us, and even with all the tension between us I still, manage to do some kind of glare at him.

"But if you'd really like to know, if I win, then you'd have to do what I want you to do for a whole day without any of your complaining, but if you do complain... well, I guess, you'll have to say goodbye to one of your dear friends," he said, with a small smile on him now, grabbing the top of my shoulder...weird.

"What even is the 'little game' you want me to play?" I ask him, with a little irritation in my voice. "Well since you really want to escape so bad, I'll let you," He says stepping back. "What do you mean? What is this game?" I ask, puzzled.

"If you can escape from me, and not get caught, in the time span of 6 hours, I let you free, but however, if I am able to catch you within that time, I win, it's as simple as that," He says, plainly.

"If you do accept, I'll give you a 15 min head start," He says. "How will I know if the 6 hours pass, and you say you win," I say. "Here," He says, holding up a yellow watch. "This watch has a timer on it, so you'll know just how much time you have left," He says, putting it on my wrist.

"So is that yes, to this game?" He asks me. "...Yes," I respond, hesitantly. "Once I start this timer run, okay," He says, finishing up putting the watch on my wrist.

"3....... 2......... 1, "He says, starting the timer. Just like that, I start running to the nearest exit outside. Fortunately, for the last time, I tried to escape, I know exactly know where to go from here.

Seeing the door, I look at the watch, it has already been 9 minutes, and I need to hurry up. Opening the door, it is cold, I see snow on the ground, and the sun is up, Winter must have just passed. Todoroki definitely has the upper hand now.

I just start running off in any direction that is away from this house. I just need to stay away from him for 6 hours, which is going to be hard, considering that whenever I tried to escape, he always found me within 5 hours.

5 hours Later:

I have been running away from Todorki for a straight 5 hours, I just feel so exhausted, considering I never really ran in like forever, being kept up in that house for so long, it feels nice, but draining at the same time. Plus it is not really helping, that it is freezing cold and I am only wearing long sleeves and sweatpants.

Right now I am currently in some kind of forest, the ground is mostly made out of small rocks, and dirt, some big rocks around everywhere. The pine trees are small with some cut-down weird. Suddenly I make a stop, as I see there are 2 different paths in front of me.

The first is like the one, I am walking right now, but with more dirt than rocks, with a little bit more trees, that are bigger than the one behind me. The second one goes uphill, I think, and from what I can tell has a little snow...

If I go the first way I will be able to run faster and get away, but Todoroki will expect me to go this way. But if I go the other way then Todoroki won't be expecting it, so will hopefully go the other way.

Plus the snow is in patches right now, so I can take some time to avoid it, by running on the rocks and dirt, but it is safer going the first way because he does follow me to the second path he will definitely have the upper hand...

Fuck it, I turn to run the way with the patches of snow, running far enough from the two-way path, I step on one of the patches, it is icey, like shaved ice. Continuing my path, I see that now it is all filled with 'snow' and ice.

Todoroki Pov:

Following Y/N's path is really easy, I mean, when they left the house they left the door open, and judging by their sense of character it's pretty obvious that they would go straight. But following the path, I am stuck, there are 2 different paths.

Knowing Y/N, they'll probably play it safe, and take the path with no ice, but before I make my move, I check the tracking device, to see if they actually went the other way... strange, normally they would have more self-doubt, and take the safe path. They must really be desperate.

Anyway walking in a straight path, now knowing I will probably catch up to them now that they will be avoiding all the snow, taking up time, even though I have less than an hour, I know for a fact I will catch up to them. Plus I just can't let my little snowflake go that easily.

Y/N Pov:

Only 10 mins left, I think that I might actually be able to escape from him, even though I am still slowly going up this hill of ice and snow, I am still making progress.

"Snowflake~" Shit, I don't even need to turn back to know who it is. Trying to rush as much as possible, is hard, without slipping.

"Did you really think that you'd be able to escape me?" Looking back at my watch, only 1 minute left. He might not make it.

Suddenly, I feel the ice starting to move... Shit. It's starting to become a slope, trying to stay up for as long as possible, but it doesn't last long. Slipping and sliding down, seeing Todoroki at the bottom, I already know I lost.

Closing my eyes, preparing myself for whatever impact might come to me. Surprisingly it wasn't too bad but still had an impact. Opening my eyes, seeing that I landed in a pile of snow, with Todoroki right in front of me.

Feeling him grab my arm. "I win," He says, pulling me out of the pile of snow, and right on cue, I hear the timer go off.....

.

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[footnoteinhistory]

Time for my big NYC Marathon 2024 recap post!! This post is very long, roughly organized borough by borough, and mostly for my own personal record since I don't feel like putting pen to paper rn

And because so many of you have supported me through all of this (like... all of everything in my life for a long time), I thought maybe some of y'all would be interested. Here is my detailed experience (+ some photos!) <3

Got up Sunday morning at 4:30 am, on the Midtown bus to the start by 6 am. My start wasn't until almost 11 am but I was so anxious about logistics I was happy to get to the start village earlier and sit around bored rather than later and panicked. Fortunately my charity team had a heated tent where I killed three-ish hours by people watching, forcing myself to eat bagels w/ peanut butter and bananas and graham crackers until I couldn't stomach any more, and meeting Meb Keflezighi (!!!). I've read Meb's book twice this year and was too starstruck to say anything to him other than thank you but! What a neat surprise to start the day. A grizzled volunteer held out two water bottles and I took one, then he gave me this look and shook the other bottle at me until I took that one, too. He knew. Trust the volunteers.

I was battling serious nerves leading up to the start line, which I'll skip for brevity's sake bc this is going to be a long post anyway. But by the time we lined up on the Verrazzano Bridge (I was on the lower level), I felt good. Excited. The anthem, the helicopters, the cannon, Frank Sinatra, crossing the start.

As you might know bc I've agonized over it extensively on this blog, my training did not go according to plan this year. I hurt my left leg in April, possibly a fracture, and struggled throughout the summer. I wrestled with the idea of deferring. Finally I decided that I would finish the race, even if I had to walk the entire thing. After a few weeks of speed-walking and rebuilding my strength, I felt okay enough to put a little more pressure on my leg and jog occasionally. I hadn't *run* more than 2-3 consecutive miles since the spring. Literally took a photo of my leg in the starting village with the thought it might be the last time it ever looks normal in case my shin snapped in half in some horrific freak stress injury mid-race. Peak anxiety brain.

So starting slow on the Verrazzano's uphill, I was so anxious I would feel that familiar twinge in my leg. I've felt it for months. Sometimes I'm not sure it isn't a phantom pain now. But I didn't feel it that first mile. Or the second, leaving the Verrazzano and thinking "oh, this could be fun." Or the next mile, entering the first neighborhood. So I ran for the next 10 miles straight.

Brooklyn: The first half of the marathon goes through Brooklyn. It was such a fucking party the whole way. Our wave ran through some quieter streets and neighborhoods before hitting 4th Ave, but it was the perfect warm up. Everyone in the world and their mother tells you not to go out too fast in a marathon but it is IMPOSSIBLE not to—not only was I overjoyed to be running without pain for the first time in weeks, I was zooming around giving as many high-fives to the kids as I could.

I had my name pinned to my shorts and it was 100% the right decision. I've heard from runners who say it was too overstimulating or they had trouble locating friends and family when everyone was screaming their name, but I needed it. I'll get into that later, but even at the start it was such a boost. A woman on a highway overpass shouted "Hi Emily, welcome to Brooklyn!" The first kid I high-fived smacked my hand and said "LET'S GO EMILY"

The entirety of 4th Ave was incredible. I loved running through Brooklyn during the half in 2023 and I loved it this time. So many kids, funny signs, people offering tissues, live music, flags and banners. There were many Israeli and Palestinian flags throughout the course, which wasn't a surprise but still stirred up feelings. There was an older man standing alone with a Palestinian flag and we connected (I don't know how else to describe those fleeting interactions between runners and spectators but I had many; it's not quite a wave, sort of a nod, mostly eye contact, you just both know you're focused on each other for a moment). He yelled "stay strong, run for peace!"

Around Mile 8 at the Barclays Center I felt a cramp in my right calf. I assume this was a consequence of not having run more than eight miles for months before (better to go in undertrained than overtrained, they say, but perfect-amount-trained would've been great). That cramp stuck with me for quite while until every muscle was so cramped they were indistinguishable. But we will cross that unfortunately literal bridge when we come to it.

I managed to stretch it out, walk it off, and power on through until I met my family for the first time just before Mile 11. I liberally applied some Biofreeze to my calf and accidentally dropped my bag of SaltStick chews—a crucial error. Goodbye proper sodium intake for the second half of the race 😰

But I was still blissfully unaware of that mistake, running through the Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods and the rest of Brooklyn. Until I realized it on the Pulaski Bridge headed into...

Queens: If Brooklyn was a party, the two miles I spent in Queens were a brutal reality check. My calf cramp was not getting better, I was mad about losing my saltsticks, passing the halfway point was more intimidating than heartening. My half time was around 2:50, which is MUCH faster than I was expecting, but I knew I couldn't keep it up. I really do not remember Queens. There is a 25-minute gap in my camera roll from the Pulaski to the Queensboro. I recall it being loud, and I was a little overstimulated. I hadn't used headphones yet but put them in to check on the Bills game. We were losing, which did not help my mood.

Queensboro Bridge: I train in a hilly area, so I wasn't too scared when people spoke in hushed whispers about how difficult NYC's course elevation is. But the mood swings I experienced on this fucking bridge. First of all, it's never-ending. It goes up and up and up and up. I thought of Jareth, because they loved Simon & Garfunkel and The 59th Street Bridge Song is on the playlist they made that I listen to when I miss them. My calf was cramping in such a way that stretching could not reach, let alone fix. I started settling with myself—10 miles left, okay, I don't think I will be able to run again, I can walk the whole thing.

But then—we're going downhill again. I'm walking a little faster. We're taking the ramp off the bridge into Manhattan. I'm jogging. We're passing the 16-mile marker—from here on out, every step is the farthest I've ever run in my life. I'm running again. We turn onto roaring 1st Avenue!

Manhattan: 1st Avenue is very long. Everyone warns you about 5th Avenue, when you're close enough to the end you might fool yourself into thinking it's the home stretch—but no one (except Meb) warned me about 1st Ave, which feels uphill! Is it uphill?? It is also a 3.5-mile optical illusion. You look as far ahead as you can and that mass you see cannot be runners, that can't be where you're going, that is so far, the bridge to the Bronx must be closer than that. And yet.

My family also did not see me on 1st Ave as planned, which was kinda disappointing. They just didn't make it to the post we'd picked out ahead of time. I didn't want to be grumpy or ungrateful because they did travel all the way to New York for me, and I'm glad they were enjoying shopping and stuff on the UES, it's their vacation too! but like... you travelled all the way to New York for me. Maybe you could prioritize seeing me 🥺 BUT I was perhaps entering the mouth of the pain cave at this time. I'd been running for over 4 hours, the longest I'd ever done, I didn't have enough sodium.

The spectators were awesome. All along the whole course they were great—if it ever felt like too much, I just walked in the middle of the course and tuned them out fine. There's no way I would've finished without not just their vocal support but material support as well—a bag of pretzels was like manna from heaven. Spray-on Biofreeze. Drinks between the official hydration stations. Alcoholic drinks, too (I did not partake, but boy if there's ever a time to break your sobriety...). Tissues. Bananas and orange slices, cookies, Halloween candy, an angel who had my fave kind of Honey Stinger chews. I'd been eating my own gels every 30 minutes on the dot but I was starting to get sick of them. I took everything that anyone shoved in my hands, Gd bless the people of New York City and their generosity, foresight, and kindness.

The Bronx: Going up the Willis Ave Bridge I didn't know if I would be able to finish. I hadn't run in a couple miles. I looked over to my left and saw runners crossing the Last Damn Bridge and it looked unfathomably far away. I had over 6 miles to go, there was just no way. I wanted to lie down in the middle of the street, find a way to tell my family to pick me up here. But there was a woman on the bridge, the first spectator in the final borough, rocking a well-swaddled baby that couldn't have been older than just a few weeks in her arms, welcoming us to the Bronx. I had to keep going after that. I kept telling myself to just keep walking, step by step, and eventually I would finish.

I hoped crossing the 20 Mile marker would be a boost but it made me feel like crying, if I had been hydrated enough to cry. The Boogie Down Bronx was popping but I could not match their energy. My legs were not going to run another mile. I was literally staring at the road taking one step at a time, my head down.

Then out of nowhere I felt someone next to me. Another runner, a middle-aged guy I'd never seen or spoken to before, came up beside me and patted me on the back and mumbled something I didn't hear before jogging off, something short like "keep going," "you got this," etc it could've been anything we runners say to each other on the course from time to time. It doesn't really matter what he said because just that pat on the back gave me fresh legs. Literally it was like I was on the start line again. I cannot explain it at all, I am tearing up just remembering it right now, the most powerful moment of my race. I immediately picked my head up and started running again and ran the rest of the Bronx. Everything hurt, but I could run through it.

I thought about getting his bib # and looking him up but I decided not to ruin the magic. My literal savior. We bobbed around each other a few more times but I lost him when I stopped on...

The Last Damn Bridge: There's an annual hype squad on the 3rd Avenue Bridge, the final bridge of the marathon that takes you back into Manhattan, and I've connected with some of them on FB. Their project this year was putting the names of runners' late loved ones on posters to give us an extra boost at Mile 21. I'd completely forgotten about it until I started passing the boards, then backtracked to find Phil's name ❤️ The organizer saw my name bib and said "Your name is Emily? My name is Emily, too! We have to take a photo!" so we did :) That interaction gave me a boost out of the Bronx and onto…

5th Avenue: You hear many warnings about the subtle but brutal elevation on 5th Avenue, which takes you from Harlem down almost 50 blocks to Central Park. I did not notice the elevation at all, or at least did not register it as elevation. I was mostly focused on trying to stay conscious. I wasn't ever urgently concerned that I was going to pass out, but if someone had bumped into me I probably wouldn't have gotten up. I was fighting back dizziness—but having fun again? Fun might not be the word but I have pretty positive feelings looking back on 5th Ave. The Bills won—I listened to part of the fourth quarter bc I needed to mentally be anywhere else for a few minutes. My walking speed was about equal to my "running" speed at this point so I mostly settled for walking.

Fun crowds, lots of people saying my name. Saw my family for the second and final time! I only stopped for a moment—my cousin said "How do you feel?" and I kind of fake smiled/laughed (?), my eyes not really focused on any fixed point, and said "I just need to keep going" and stumbled away into a jog. AND THEN I SAW MY FAVE TIKTOKER? I am not big into tiktok but if any of you know Dutch (dutchdeccc) I ran past him, did a double-take, TURNED AROUND and went up to him?? I spit out something incoherent like ohmygdiloveyourvideos, he was so sweet he grabbed my hand and said oh my gd thank you so much you are doing so great you are amazing! and I ran off into Central Park 😭

Central Park: There were making the miles longer here. I need to see the numbers and cold hard facts about the course measurements because these miles were longer than the other miles. I hated every second of miles 24 and 25 in the park. THAT was the pain cave. That was, of course I am going to finish because I came this far, but I have never felt this bad in my life. Running would get this over with sooner but my legs are no longer functioning and I might end up eating asphalt so we are walking 16-minute miles until we're out.

I knew certain ways my body would react to the distance because I've done long runs, but I didn't know most of the ways. Like, of course I have a calf cramp, that's what happens. But your legs spasming like in those videos you see of shaky runners who collapse right before the finish line—suddenly oh shit, I understand how that happens. It's not just one foot in front of the other, if I can't run I'll walk—at some point you cannot walk, but you have to figure out how to keep walking.

Central Park was fucking The Long Walk by Stephen King. I keep trying to remember specifics but I think my brain is blocking them out on purpose.

Central Park South: I'm crying again just recalling this. The final mile. You leave the park and run from Sherman's statue and the Plaza Hotel to Columbus Circle before reentering the park for the .2 finish. The hugeness of the marathon and achieving this goal finally hit me and I started crying, like actual tears—but my chest was so tight and achy that crying made it very hard to breathe, instantly, which was actually scary, so I stopped crying QUICK. Gathered myself. Most people were sticking to the right-hand side of the course, along Central Park, mostly empty of spectators. But I fucking needed people.

I can't overstate the power of the crowds at the NYC Marathon. Of course hype spectators are fun at any race, the cheering really is uplifting, the signs are funny. But at 25.7 miles you need more (at least I did) and New York City fucking delivered. I started walking along the barricade on the left, lined with people, and stared as many of them as I could dead in the eye. Literally forcing eye contact with these strangers lmao. It happened throughout the race—you catch a spectator's eye and connect with them, they say something right to your soul and you believe them. But I swear that entire barricade came through for me. It was sunset but still light enough they could read my name on my bib. I started jogging, high-fiving the kids, just looking from one face to the next begging them to talk to me, kept running just to see the next person. And they were smiling and cheering and it worked. I felt like the only person on the fucking course. I kept running even when I had to go right back into the park, uphill .2 miles to the finish.

I kept thinking "this is so fucking hard this is the hardest thing I've ever done if you just keep running to the finish you never have to run ever again." I truly felt like I sprinted across the finish line fast as Usain Bolt, but looking back at the video I was hobbling slightly faster than my 92-year-old grandmother.

The finishers area kinda makes you feel like a toddler, which is fitting because at that point, mentally, you can't think clearly. Like, your brain doesn't have any fuel left to process what's going on after running for 6 hours so the volunteers shepherd you through like a preschooler. Here is your medal, great job!, let me get you a warm poncho and wrap it up tight for you, do you see those big green signs over there, just follow them, yep!, is this bag too heavy for you, are you sure, okay, you did so good today. We must look like stunned baby deer.

Walked to Lincoln Center to meet my family. Nightmare bc once you're on the streets you directly encounter non-runners for the first time all day and most of them do not give a fuck. And as I said, you are physically and mentally struggling already.

But getting that medal is really fucking cool. And worth it

I won't bore you with the rest of the night (mostly ouch ouch stairs ow big step ough lying down hurts standing up hurts shower hurts eating makes me nauseated sleep is impossible) but over 24 hours out, I've never been sore like this. Just uncrossing my ankles hurts. I've always enjoyed the ache of a tough workout but this is something else. Proud of it though. However, unfortunately, I will be losing a toenail. Some may say that is a rite of passage for a distance runner but unpleasant and painful and kinda makes me dizzy nonetheless.

I've still barely had time to emotionally process any of this. I've wanted this for so long. Even as I was doing it, and trying to live in the moment, I could not believe I was actually running the New York City Marathon. And in 2024—this year I've dreaded for so long, the 10th anniversary of Phil's death, a year that's been unexpectedly brutal on me in so many other ways, too. But Phil was with me every step of the way, literally.

I've been wearing the medal all day even though it rubs against the sunburn on the back of my neck, trading little smiles and nods with my fellow runners. We fucking did it. I had no idea what that meant two days ago, what it took. If I did, I'm not sure I would've even tried. But we fucking ran the marathon babyyyyy

This is kind of the only thing I want to talk about so if you want to talk about it or have any questions or anything just let me know 🥺

[margowritesthings]

Fate: A Word Meaning Destiny

PART I

PART II BY @cowboydisaster COMING SOON

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!readersummary: you're a ranch-hand, when your home is attacked by bandits. a mysterious stranger comes to save your life, but who is he? word count: 11.9k words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, murder, attempted sexual assault, sexual relations, fingering (r receiving), penetration, loss of virginity, mentions of virginity, talk of trauma a/n: here it is!! finally!! this is the longest piece I've ever written, and I'm so fuckin proud of it!! It is a collaboration with the incredible @cowboydisaster, who will be releasing part 2 when it's ready!! I worked so hard on this, so I hope you love it!! <3

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire@punctillous @missvanderlinde @twola @pine4pple-b0i @alice-vanderlinde @photo1030

The day started and progressed like any other, with absolutely no indication that your life would be changed forever until it did. Free time slipped through the cracks in your packed schedule of chores while the sun rose and fell again, casting brilliant orange and pink hues across the sky you now sit in awe of on the porch of your lodgings. Your muscles ache from a full day's work, but it’s a satisfying sensation, one begat from happy horses, milked cows, and a fence fixed by your own hand. Sure, your work earned a mere grumble from Mr. Varner, but throughout the 6 months you’ve worked on the ranch, he has never once had a conversation not directed at your breasts, so you’re not too upset to not have received praise tonight. 

Honestly, you’re just glad to be able to relax. The ranch hands rarely speak to one another outside of work, and there isn’t a damn thing to do around here, but it’s better than shovelling shit in the sweltering heat. You’ve even got a glass of fresh apple juice, a rare delicacy to celebrate the end of the week.

Every so often, when the breeze dies down and each animal agrees to quiet, there is an almost absolute silence surrounding you, and you close your eyes to bask in it. This moment would be the perfect time for a feeling or an intuition that everything is about to change, but it doesn’t come. You feel nothing but peace. Years from now, when you look back to this night, you’ll be grateful that the sense of foreboding didn’t hit you until it was too late, knowing these are the very last moments of the life you once knew. 

The first sense that something is wrong doesn’t come until the gunshots dart through the darkening coral sky and scatter the birds out into it. Your brows pull together, eyes squinting to search for the origin of the disruption to your peace. They’re distant, for now, but the silhouette against the horizon is unmistakably coming closer to the ranch, rifles and pistols pointed to the heavens by a group of men whooping and cheering as they ride straight towards you. 

Everything seems to slow but your racing heart, and it feels like hours between your drink leaving your grasp and the glass shattering all over the porch. Shards disperse over the wood, along with the golden liquid pooled at your feet. In the mere seconds you spend glancing at the floor, the group has advanced and the time you have to figure out what the hell you’re going to do has quickly declined. You’ve heard of gangs hitting up ranches for supplies, heard stories of outlaws on benders pillaging and hunting people simply because they can, but it never crossed your mind to be worried about it. Whenever your momma told you all about the criminals hiding just past the horizon, you’d roll your eyes, chalking it up to a cautionary tale to get you to stay close to the house. Now, your heart hammers against your chest as you realise that if you don’t act now, you’ll become one of those stories, passed down to worry children into obedience. I knew a girl once, shot by bandits for taking too long to hide… 

Not today.

The fear of becoming folklore finally overtakes the fear that has paralysed you for what feels like hours and hours, letting you stand and rush into your cabin, shutting the door behind you. Shaking hands reach for the wooden chair by the tiny kitchen, sliding it across the floorboards and hooking it underneath the handle to barricade the door. It won’t keep anybody out for long, but will at least warn you if someone is trying to get in. 

Your cabin is small, made up of only one room, and while you’ve always thought it was cozy, right now it feels claustrophobic. The gunshots and laughter are getting louder and you’re scared. Your Momma spent so long teaching you how to stay away from outlaws, but she never told you what to do when they found you. You have nothing but a kitchen knife, which you clutch close to your chest as your eyes frantically dart around your room, searching for anything else you can use to protect yourself. There is nothing, thanks to a minimalism forced upon you by a barely livable wage. You can afford to feed yourself, just about, but life saving luxuries like weaponry or a heavy bookshelf are out of the question, so here you are, back against the log wall, a measly blade normally used for bread gripped close to your body. 

Hooves pound against the dirt outside and you swear the ground shakes beneath you. You can hear everything so clearly: spurs clicking against stirrups, heavy boots on the earth, sneering men reloading their guns and thankfully walking towards the main house instead of the smaller cabins you and the other ranch hands reside in. Back pressed against the wall, you wait until the voices dwindle, before you peer out of the little window to get a better view. Some of the fences are already smashed in, including the one you’d just fixed, and somebody has opened all the gates, letting cows and chickens and horses run free amongst the chaos. They’ve reached Mr. Varner’s door, kicking it down with a thud that echoes around the whole ranch. Two of the outlaws go inside, emerging after only a few seconds with Varner’s collar firmly in their grasp. They throw him to the floor and he falls to his knees, and even though you’re at the other side of the ranch, you can see the absolute terror in his eyes. He’s vibrating with fear and you’re not much better, especially when the supposed leader of the group begins to reload his pistol.

You can’t hear his pleas, and even the people who can hear them aren’t listening. The leader lifts his arm, finger resting on the trigger. You’ve heard gunshots before, but none that shake the Earth quite so much as this one. 

You don’t hear Mr Varner’s last words, and the aftermath of his murder couldn’t possibly outmatch the ringing in your ears as your chest heaves with pure panic. They killed him. They killed him, and there is absolutely nothing stopping them from coming for you next. 

“No… no no no no- fuck!” you whisper to yourself, to any deity out there who might be listening, hoping that they don’t mind the colourful language. You have to get out of here, lest this ranch become your grave. Tears prick at your eyes while your brain works ten thousand miles a second. You’ve retreated back to the floor, not wanting to be spotted by wandering eyes while the outlaws start to ransack Varner’s house. 

Your eyes wander desperately around the room, finding only the small window above your bed. It leads out back, so they wouldn’t be able to see you escape, and if you’re stealthy enough you might just be able to make it to the barn. If you’re not, they will find you and surely kill you, but at least the choice of where you’ll die would be in your hands. A small dignity, but a dignity nonetheless that you grasp to with all your might. Most of the horses have fled after the shock of the gunshot that killed your employer, but if you’ve counted correctly there should still be a couple in the barn that you could escape on.

It takes exactly six deep breaths to quell the shaking of your joints enough to stand, stash your knife in your boot and make your way over to your former bed. From the corner of the room, you take a second to look upon your home, knowing it’ll be the last time you see it whether you live or die here. There really isn’t much, but a sad fondness lingers. Everything looks rosier through the lens of somebody being forced out of their home for fear of death.

The window sticks to its frame like it’s covered in treacle, and for one awful second you fear that it won’t budge open, but a desperate push manages to force it just enough to fit you through. Your boots hit the ground with a soft thud and you peer around the corner to find the gang still pulling any valuables they can find from the main house. It’s enough distraction for you to run as swiftly and quietly as you can, tunnel vision stopping anything but your destination from infiltrating your thoughts. With the way the ranch is laid out, you can’t get in through the door without being seen, but you can get to the back of the wooden structure and in through another window, where you will hopefully have more options for getting out of this alive. 

When you reach your destination, you don’t even think twice about using your elbow to smash the window in on itself when you realise there’s no hinge. The crack of glass is loud, but nowhere near loud enough to beat the hollering and whooping of the gang. Shards slice through your shirt and skin, crimson quickly pouring from fresh cuts but you hardly notice. It’s pure adrenaline that drags you through the freshly made entrance, and you land on a pile of hay that is quickly decorated with splatters of your own blood. 

You’re in.

And you’re alone. 

It feels like your fate becomes sealed, shut up with a lock and key you can no longer reach. There are no horses here. There’s no way in hell you can outrun a bullet, nor any man with a horse of their own, so you’re faced with the only option left: hoping they don’t notice you. There’s a chance they’ll go for the cabins over the barn, going after the other ranch hands and their measly belongings instead of piles upon piles of hay. It’s not a chance you’d like to bet your life on, but you no longer seem to have the luxury choice. Your frame fits into a gap in the hay, hidden by a ladder and some crates. For the first time in your life, you’re grateful for your messy colleagues not cleaning up properly. You curl into as small a ball as you can, wrapping your limbs around each other as if it will protect you. You won’t let yourself cry, even after more gunshots start to shatter the air around you. It sounds like they’re getting louder, and you can almost picture a great big flashing percentage chance you’ll survive this decline by the second right above your head. 

Your chest tightens to the point that breath can no longer move around in it when the large barn doors creak open, the streak of light cast on the dusty floor almost bright red in hue now. The skies are on fire, your equilibrium in flames as two of the bandits saunter into your makeshift sanctuary. 

“See, I told you. Just a buncha’ hay, ain’t even no horses.”

“Just shut up and search over there, bastard could’a kept his stash anywhere.”

You’d snort if you weren’t so debilitatingly terrified, if it wouldn’t be the very act that had you murdered. Varner could barely scrape enough money together to pay you on time and still have his nightly whiskey, there was no way in hell he’d leave a stash of cash lying around in here. But they weren’t to know that, how could they? Who knows what he told them to try and save his own skin. 

Spurs scrape across the floor, creating a noise that makes your skin crawl, getting louder and louder as one of the men approaches. You hold your breath until your vision blurs in the corner and you can feel your struggling pulse in your temple, but it is futile. You see his boots first, and somehow force yourself to drag your eyes up his body, finding poorly patched up jeans, an empty holster hanging by his hip, a deep green waistcoat clasped close with a silver chain, long, greasy, graying hair, and an expression you’re sure will burned into your darkest nightmares for the rest of your life. His grin feels as though somebody is pouring acid over your back. Neither shivers nor chills truly justify whatever happens to your skin when the stranger lifts his ivory pistol to you. 

Because you refuse to let the tears pooled in your eyes fall, they tremble in droplets along your waterline, your sight flicking between straight down the barrel and back to its wielder. 

“Ain’t no stash, but I sure caught me a pretty treasure…” 

Logically, it could only have been a second of silence, but time hasn’t worked right for you since you were on that porch, far away from danger. To you, there’s hours. Hours of watching a monster reach for you in slow motion, claws digging into the flesh of your arm with a bruising force. It feels like he tears your skin apart, and if you didn’t know your wounds had come from the shattered window you’d believe the deep gashes were his doing. You scream loudly, half from the sheer panic, half in agony as your blood coats his hands and he drags you across the floor by your injured arm. It doesn’t phase him, at least it doesn’t seem to. Your scream is a droplet in an ocean of pain and terror inflicted by him, it simply joins the chorus of victims you hope haunts him when he’s alone at night.

You kick and claw, but it serves little but to amuse the bastard, who chuckles lowly at your writhing, waving his equally greasy companion over with his pistol.

“Hey, Timmy! Look here what I got!” 

It doesn’t take Timmy long to walk over, sneering at you while you try your hardest to do nothing but glare. Your knife feels all too present tucked in your boot, but you know if you tried to grab it now they’d shoot you dead. 

“Ain’t she a purty thing, Ace?”

“W-What do you want from me?” You ask, swallowing the rock forming in your throat down, “I ain’t got no money- I-I ain’t got nothin’, just let me go.” 

“Oh, you’ve got somethin’, pretty little thing you are…” 

No…

The smirk Timmy and Ace share tells you everything you need to know. It feels like your chest is about to crack open from the way your heart pounds against it, longing for release from your body just as much as you are right now. There is nobody to scream for help, no way out, and even if you did escape the barn there’s at least ten more outlaws waiting outside with just as much intention on you as the ones looking at you like a meal in here. 

You will never forget your own scream when Ace lunges for you. The taste of cigarette ash and gunpowder on your lips when he clamps his hand over your mouth will be ingrained in your senses forever. The tears finally fall down your cheeks, mixing in with your own blood from your arm as you try and claw at Ace’s arm. It’s fruitless, as even if you could match his strength, Timmy is right there behind him to grasp your arm and pull it painfully behind your head. 

“Who’s goin’ first then? I reckon she’s a wriggler, one of us’ll have to hold her.”

“Quit squealin’, I can’t hear myself think!” Ace demands, landing a swift punch to your gut that really doesn’t help the nausea. You can barely feel the pain of anything, so consumed in your panic that you could probably have been shot and wouldn’t notice. Hell, you’d prefer getting shot to having these men’s hands on your body for a second longer. His hand isn’t enough of a barrier to stop the ear splitting noises completely, only dull them a little, but they still don’t deter either man. 

“You don’t ever think, what’s the difference?” “Shut up, dumbass, and hold her down proper!”

Their teasing would have floored you, if you weren’t already pinned there. They speak as if mocking each other in the saloon, as if it’s another day, while they hold your life in their hands. If you live to see the end of today, you’ll never forget it. This trauma is one to be carried until the end of your days, and they act like it is merely just another Thursday. 

Vehement screams intensify when one set of hands, you don’t know which, begin to pull at your shirt, exposing your shoulders more with each seam that rips. Your eyes are screwed shut, wanting to close off as many senses as you can as the tears freely fall down your cheeks. Their touch feels like acid, bubbling and burning on your skin. You try to bite down, but Ace’s grip is too tight. You try to kick at him, but from his vantage point it is easy to swerve. It seems your fate is sealed, and your heart breaks in a way that can never be truly fixed, a way that changes the course of the remainder of your life. You’ll think back, eventually, and wonder if it would have been different had he arrived just minutes earlier, but he didn’t. He doesn’t. He arrives now, emerging from the fiery sunset like an angel disguised as a demon.

You don’t spot him until Ace falls to the floor, clubbed over the head with the handle of the peacemaker held by the mysterious stranger. You don’t know what to do, who to be scared of and who to be grateful for, he could well just want you all to himself. But when he spots you, covered in blood, sweat and tears, that petrified look in your eyes, the surprise is evident in his features. There’s only a split second for the two of you to exchange confused glances, before Timmy lets go of your arms to grab his own pistol and point it at your saviour. You’re not the only one this man’s intense presence is affecting, it seems, with the way Timmy’s sweaty hands start to shake. 

“H-Hey! She’s ours, mister. Get your own!” 

That seems to piss him off, a low growl emitting from deep in his chest.

“She ain’t nobody’s. Let her go. Can’t get your own ladies without forcin’ yourself on one, huh? Makes sense I guess, lookin’ at you two…” 

There isn’t anything holding you down anymore, but you’re frozen to the spot, pinned down to the floor by the sheer energy of this stranger with the chiselled jaw and the most striking ocean coloured eyes you’ve ever seen in your life peering out from under his gambler’s hat. His face is cast in shadows from the brim, but you can tell he’s handsome, right down to the rugged scar on his chin. You have no idea who he is, but something tells you to trust him. 

You’re so lost in him that you don’t notice Ace waking up from his brief stint of unconsciousness, grasping at a handful of your hair to pull your body flush against his on the floor, craning your neck to fit his pistol under your chin. All you can do is claw at his wrist, leaving rosy scratches on his skin that don’t appear to bother him in the least. There’s a sharp pain shooting from your neck down your spine thanks to the strain he is forcing on your vertebrae, which forces a whimper from you. You’re truly stuck in the crossfires, with Timmy’s gun pointing at the stranger, who is pointing his barrel at Ace, who has his pistol right up against your chin, leaving indents of the metalwork in your skin from the pressure of it. 

“You drop that gun, or I’ll blow her pretty little head off, ya hear? Drop it!” Ace demands, shoving the weapon even further into your flesh to prove his point. You can’t help the tear that escapes when he does so, this awful reminder of your mortality prodding oh so painfully into your jaw. The stranger only thinks about it for a fraction of a second, holding one hand out in a surrender, while the other leans down to place his peacemaker on the floor slowly. 

“Alright, easy.” His tone is much calmer than before, his eyes never leaving yours despite everything going on around the two of you. You’re terrified, and he knows it, but even though you’ve never met before this moment, the way he looks at you soothes you, almost like you’re conversing with no words spoken at all, “We can all put our weapons down and talk, huh?”

Ace seems to relax at the sight of the stranger disarming himself, which you can tell by the way his grip on your hair slackens a little. It’s still mighty uncomfortable, and having his clammy hands all over you makes you want to cut your skin off with a- 

Kitchen knife. 

The metal of the weapon you’re just remembering burns into the skin of your ankle, glowing like the bright white light to freedom. If you play this right, it could be. There’s always the chance you could mess up and get blown to pieces, but if the choice is that or more of having to breathe the same air as these scum bandits, you’re willing to take your chances. 

The good lord seems to smile down on you for the first time today when He wills both Ace and Timmy to reach for the discarded peacemaker at the same time, leaving them distracted enough for you to throw your weight into elbowing Ace in the gut and grab the knife from its makeshift holster. 

Time slows again, the next few seconds playing out like confusing hours, the four of you a mess of limbs as everyone attempts their separate feats. Timmy goes for the gun, while Ace recovers his breath enough to try and wrestle the blade out of your hand. The mystery man boots Timmy in the face, knocking him out cold and out of the way, and he manages to kick the peacemaker out of anybody's reach too. You don’t see what happens next, as Ace pins you to the ground, slapping you hard across the face. The shock causes you to drop the knife, which he swiftly recovers, raising it high above your head with a maniac, unhinged grin on his face. For a moment, you’re almost glad of the fate you see sealing before you, as you’re sure that image would have haunted you for the rest of your days anyway. 

They say that life is supposed to flash before your eyes in your final moments, a speedrun of your best and worst moments laid out before you while you take your final breaths, but it isn’t your past you see when you realise that this is how your story is going to end, your own damn kitchen knife about to be plunged into your chest. No, you don’t see what has happened, you see everything that could no longer be. You see the ranch you’ll never own for yourself one day, the children you’ll never get the chance to bear, the wedding you’ll never attend… You let your dreams go in that moment, watching them fly further than you ever will again. 

You shut your eyes tight, determined to block out the horrendous last view you think you’ll ever have, so you don’t actually see your knight in dusty leather throw his body into your attacker. His weight is no match for scrawny Ace, who hits the floor with a thud. The stranger grapples at Ace’s throat while he splutters helplessly. When you see him lift the knife, after managing to sit yourself up and slide out of the way, you shout out, but it is too late. Ace impales the man in the shoulder and he cries out, though it comes out as more of a growl. You wince at the sight of it as the stranger pulls together all the adrenaline from being stabbed to punch Ace in the nose. The crack seems to echo in the chaos, followed by a quiet just not possible when the two bandits were conscious. 

The fire in your lungs burns hot, your chest struggling to contain the breaths you’d resigned yourself to never take again as your mind starts to attempt to catch up. It is just you and this man now, both wounded and covered in blood, neither knowing what exactly to say next. You pray your intuition to trust this man is right, though with the way he looks at you, you’re sure he couldn’t mean harm to you even at gunpoint. 

You look like a deer caught by a rifle, wide eyed and unable to move save for the frantic shaking you can’t seem to stop. The man winces as he removes the knife from out of his shoulder, but you’re so desensitised to everything right now that the sight of blood running down his arm and pooling through his shirt doesn’t bother you. 

“It’s alright now, Miss. They won’t wake up for a while yet, you’re safe.” He speaks while reaching for his gun, worried, tired eyes never leaving you, “They hurt you?” 

The shock has paralysed your tongue and slammed your jaw shut, your molars grinding together near painfully, but you manage to shake your head. They did manage to get a few hits in, but besides a slightly winded feeling in your gut and a slinging where you were slapped, the wounds they left are far more intangible. Spiritual.

He watches the trauma immobilize you, and you see his heart break for you, right in the crease between his eyebrows and the way his features soften, “Hey, sweetheart, it’s alright. It’s gonna be alright, I promise.” He approaches you, slowly, holding his empty hands out in an act of surrender to you. When you don’t flinch or move away after his first step towards you, he continues his journey to you, good arm gently wrapping around your frame, careful not to bleed on you or harm your own wounds, “Shh, you’re safe. I’ve got you’.”

The comedown comes hard, the sobs erupting from your lips nearly the second you feel his touch on you. It all becomes real, hitting you, body and soul, like a freight train, crushing your bones and spirit like they’re nothing.

“They-they-” “I know, I know… it’s okay. I’ll get you outta here, I promise. You got someplace else to go?”

You shake your head, sniffling to attempt to gain control over the sobs wracking your body. Using the circles this man is rubbing into your back and his soothing words as a compass, you find your way back to him. 

“It’s alright, miss. I’ll get us outta here. You okay to ride on my horse for a while?”

You nod, starting to feel the true sting that smashing a window with your bare hand should incite without adrenaline numbing your senses. The tears wet your cheeks, mixing in with god knows whose blood splattered across your features like crimson freckles. You feel a warm, calloused thumb pad rub a tear track away, before the stranger stands and extends his hand out to you. Both of you have injured your left side, so interlink your right hand fingers so he can help you to your feet. Standing is hard when it feels like your bones igniting and shattering through your flesh, but you manage with the help of this man’s strength.

“I took care of those guys outside, but the law could be here any minute. Boadicea’s just outside- don’t let her size fool you, she’s friendly enough. We’ll get you somewhere safe, alright? Figure out what to do next…” He guides you outside with an arm around your shoulder, whistling a stunning chestnut Hungarian half-bred over to you. He mounts the mare, patting her on the neck and murmuring “Good girl,” into her ear.

On a better day, you’re more than capable enough to mount a horse by yourself, but you just can’t bring yourself to deny the man when holds an arm out to you. You fit perfectly behind him, your chest moulding against his hard back, wrapping one arm around his waist. Despite the whirring in your mind of everything that just transpired, you manage to pick out that he smells like a wonderful mix of whiskey and tobacco. Normally, you can’t stand either of them, far too strong and smoky for your tastes, but somehow it suits this man. You cling to him while he kicks Boadicea into a gallop, inhaling in his scent and letting it soothe you. The wind whips your skin and you shiver, glancing back only once at your former life, watching the flames lick at Varner’s house as it crumbles to the ground. It’s spreading fast, and you can’t imagine Timmy and Ace will wake in time to escape before the barn is taken. Ironic, that their demise will come from their own destruction.

It’s a near silent ride, where all your energies have to be put into not breaking down all over again. You know that if you start to cry, you just won’t stop. Everyone you know is dead, you’ve lost your job, your home, and almost had a part of yourself stolen that you’ve never freely given to anybody before. It’s too much, but you force yourself to focus on anything but. You think about the feel of this man’s shirt on your cheek, the way the muscles of his back ripple beneath your supple chest each time he moves to ride Boadicea. You hear the occasional wince, especially until he senses you’re far enough away from the ranch to slow down a little. He’s hurt, clearly an outlaw in his own right, and you struggle to understand why exactly he’s helping you instead of protecting his own back and leaving you there in the flames. But you’re too tired to be skeptical, running completely on empty. 

Boadicea carries the two of you into the woods. It’s getting dark, and you’re surprised at how well she navigates the trees and branches, following the winding path until you reach a clearing. 

“Here alright?” Your saviour asks, glancing over his good shoulder at you. You nod wordlessly, still clutching right onto his waist despite the fact you’re now stationary. 

He dismounts first, holding both arms out to you despite the clear pain written across his face. You dismount Boadicea, the front of your body sliding down the mystery man’s thanks to how close he’s standing. Your legs still feel like jelly, but you somehow manage to stay standing. 

“I’ll set up a tent. You know how to make a fire, sweetheart?” He asks, starting to rifle through a satchel he wears across his body. You nod again and take the flint and steel he’s offering out to you. Your hands brush, sending a shiver down your arm.

While he uses just one hand to hammer some tall branches into the ground to hang the canvas from, you set up the fire, finding enough dry wood around to not have to wander far at all. It isn’t long before you’re both sitting beside the fire, a makeshift roof over your head while the stranger plucks some items from his satchel. 

Your wounds appear to have stopped bleeding, leaving dark pools of a near maroon hue seeping through your shirt around gashes that wind around your flesh like ivy. You didn’t get the chance to properly look before, too engulfed in panic to notice how deep they are. 

In the glow of the firelight, the lines etched into your saviour's face seem harsher, telling the tales of the pain he’s in and betraying the heroic facade he’s so clearly trying to put on for you. You know it all too well right now as your arm throbs, a stinging, aching mess of sensation that scrunches your nose up as you try to flex your fingers.

“You’re hurt.” He states, watching you intently as your hand shakes from the strain,

“I’m okay.” You manage, the very first words you’ve spoken since being back at the ranch, “I had to smash a window in to get to the barn. Figured there’d be something in there to help me, but…” you trail off as he nods knowingly. 

“Can I help you with your arm? I ain’t no doctor, but I’ve had enough scrapes through the years to know what to do.” He offers and you nod, trusting him more than you have the sense to. You don’t even know his name.

The man moves slowly over to sit beside you, the heat of the flames and the closeness between you setting your cheeks alight. You don’t really understand it, you just got assaulted by bandits, and yet all you want to do is shuffle closer and bury yourself into this one, letting everything melt away while he tells you it’s gonna be alright. 

His hands are upturned to the stars, awaiting your arm which you give him without question. There’s a tugging need to trust him deep down in your gut that allows you to do whatever he asks of you.

When he looks over the torn, stained fabric of your shirt, his brows pull together. The mud and paint from the ranch is barely noticeable for all the blood, but neither of you can really see the cuts to your skin. 

“Shall I take it off?” you offer, not particularly eager to undress but smart enough to know he can’t help you without.

“‘Fraid you might have to, miss. You can trust me, I ain’t nothin’ like them men, I promise.” 

“I trust you.” 

Your words are spoken so quickly, barely audible, but they still echo around the tiny space the pair of you occupy. You start at the bottom button, knowing that it will start to hurt when you reach the halfway mark because you need to bend your arm. He notices your discomfort, probably in the way your bottom lip slips between your teeth and your jaw flutters when you grind your teeth together to have another sensation to focus on.

“Let me.” he mumbles, a hint of a growl catching his low voice. You let your hand drop back to a comfortable position to do as he says. It feels as though your breath gets stuck in your chest when the hardened skin of his hand brushes over your belly and the contact burns through your chemise. The tension in the air is palpable, both suffocating you and keeping you breathing just so you can experience whatever is to come. 

You’re both silent as he works the buttons through their tiny holes, looking like a giant manoeuvring something so delicate. You can easily get the shirt off one shoulder, but he has to help with the other, his hand sliding down your arm with the pooling fabric before he can carefully peel the shirt away from you and discard it to the floor. 

The air chills your skin, leaving goose pimples scattered all over you. You feel exposed, but somehow not uncomfortable. Your chemise is a simple one, with a bodice that clings to each curve unseen by another. And yet here you sit, in front of a nameless man who swallows thickly as he tries to keep his eyes trained on your injuries.

“You got a name, mister?” You manage, watching him rip up a bandana he found in his satchel and dousing it in water from a flask. He seems to hesitate, before eventually answering without meeting your eye.

“Call me Callahan, for now.”

For now?

“That a first name or a last name?”

It looks as though he hesitates for a moment, before he starts to clean your wounds and the blood begins to flake off your skin. 

“S’just a name.”

Strange answer. Evasive answer, but if he truly is an outlaw going round town rescuing strangers from bandits, it makes sense to not go around advertising who you are.

You wince at a particularly deep cut and Callahan apologises, renewing his efforts to clean your arm as if restoring an antique painting that could tear apart at any moment. It stings, but you handle it. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve already experienced today.

“How ‘bout you, miss?”

You pause, for the first time in your life not quite knowing how to answer such a simple question. Of course you have a name, but it feels wrong to twist your tongue to say it. It no longer fits you, like a jacket worn long before you truly grew into yourself. Your name belongs to a woman who lives on a ranch and loves nothing more than a fresh painted fence and a glass of ice cold apple juice… but she doesn’t exist anymore. She died in the barn, along with that fierce naïveté you’ve held so close to your chest for your whole life, the one that believes in the world and the kindness in it, the one that thinks you work hard in life to earn your place and that goodness will be rewarded. It’s all gone, replaced with the images of Varner’s skull shattered across his own land, his life's work up in flames at the hands of men who refuse to follow the right path. 

In the end, you give him your name, knowing deep down that it will be the last time you ever use it. Every single person who knew it, your family, employer, friends… they’re all dead anyway. And now so are you. To the world, the young girl they knew perished in the barn fire.

“S’a pretty name.” he mumbles, seemingly pulled into the focus needed to not hurt you again. He’s good, really good at patching up wounds, you notice, despite his calloused hands being so huge. With the concentration etched across his face, and him sitting so close to you, you can finally get a proper look at him. Those ocean eyes you noticed back in the barn are just as stunning without being the last thing you think you’ll ever see, framed with little crows feet at the corners of his lids. His face is tanned, scattered with light freckles you don’t think you would have noticed if not for the privilege of being so close to him. He has sandy hair and stubble that covers his whole jawline, save for that little scar on his chin. He is without doubt the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, body and soul, and you feel your heart fluttering against your ribcage and your skin tingling at his contact. 

He expertly ties strips of the bandanna around your arm, and while the pressure stings, it also feels a lot less like your flesh is being pulled apart. 

“I think you’re gonna be alright, miss. Might scar, they’re mighty deep, but they’ll heal well enough with time.”

“T-Thank you.” You stutter, holding your arm out to survey his handiwork.

“Don’t mention it.” He dismisses, though you notice he doesn’t move any further away from you. You’re glad for it.

“No, not just this… everything. Thank you. I didn’t get the chance to say it back there, but… I think you saved my life. And saved me from a far worse fate than death, I… I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” You mean every word spilling from your lips, and suddenly, with your hand still placed in his, fitting more perfectly than anything personally made for you ever could, you watch your fate seal. You know what you want, and after the most prominent life lesson you’ll ever receive that life can be cut short at any moment, you know you have to get it. 

“It’s what any man would do, sweetheart… I ain’t a good man, believe me… but I couldn’t stand by while those bastards took advantage of ya’.”

The reminder (not that you needed it, with Ace’s unhinged grin permanently burnt into your eyelids) pulls your brows together as sadness etches across your face. Callahan notices, giving your hand the gentlest of squeezes you might have missed if your body weren’t in hyperdrive around him, every slight brush setting you alight. Your fingers entangle together, and you don’t quite know who initiated it, but it feels right. Comforting. Everything. 

When your gaze roams from your entwined hands to his face, you stop at his shoulder, suddenly feeling foolish for letting him patch you up while he has an open stab wound.

“I can help with your shoulder, if you like.” You nod towards his injury, trying not to think about what it was like watching the blade be plunged into his flesh. He doesn’t hesitate to nod, managing to undo his buttons and take off his shirt without aid. At first, your eyes fly to the stars, before realising there’s no escaping looking when you’ll have to clean him up.

When you look back, it takes everything to not audibly gasp. What is clearly a lifetime's worth of hard and manual labour has sculpted him into something beautiful, with thick arms, wide shoulders, and a defined chest adorned with a trail of hair leading right down to…

You clear your throat to drag yourself out of that train of thought, a somewhat strangled sound that leaves a flush of pink on your cheeks. You can hardly be to blame: for the first time seeing a semi-naked man, you pretty much hit the jackpot.

The glow of the fire is just enough for you to see what you need to, though you shuffle just that bit closer to Callahan until your knees brush against his and it feels like embers scatter over your skin. Years of being the careful one means you’re no stranger to cleaning up injuries, but they pale in comparison to being stabbed with a kitchen knife. Luckily, it doesn’t look too deep, but you’ll still need to clean it and it’ll hurt. 

You use a fresh piece of fabric to wash off the blood. Callahan sucks in a pained breath, but the curses you expect to fly from him don’t come. From the way his cheek hollows, it looks as though he’s biting into it to keep restrained. 

“Sorry. This might hurt a little.” You admit, feeling his muscles twitch and flex under your touch. 

“S’alright, I’ve survived worse.” 

Another elusive answer, one that has you fighting a strange urge to ask him all about all the times he’s been hurt, all the adventures he’s been on. Up close, you can see hints of a life well lived, from each scar to the battered black hat he’s wearing that looks older than you. Everything about him seems to tell a different tale, each more intriguing than the last. 

A comfortable silence settles around you, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pained hiss from Callahan. The wound doesn’t seem as bad without the copious amounts of blood framing it, but it still looks rather painful.

Attempting to clean a particularly deep section of the cut has you leaning up close, so much so you’re all but sitting on Callahan’s lap. You’re so engrossed in trying to help him that you almost miss the way his heart pounds when your breath tickles his skin, how he tenses at your touch, feeling a fire of his very own burning through him. 

With the angle you’re leaning into Callahan’s body, it is all too easy for a stray piece of hair to escape from behind your ear, the end of it brushing against his chest. You go to push it back, but he beats you to it, hand remaining by your cheek firmly as your gazes lock into each other's. The air changes. You don’t understand it, but it does. It gets thicker and thinner all at once, the world melting away around the two of you. The cogs in your mind begin to whir frantically.

You’ve never lain with anyone before. Not for some religious reason or personal rule, you just never found anyone who felt special enough to share the intimacy with. Honestly, it felt like too big of a moment to share with any of the boys you knew back home or on the ranch. But in those moments in the barn, with Ace and Timmy’s hands all over your body, you regretted it. You wanted to make the choice of who and when, not some low lives with just about enough IQ points to reload a gun. You felt powerless in that moment, when you thought they’d take whatever they wanted from you, and the second survival became a possibility you swore to yourself you’d take that power back for yourself. You grasp it, hold it close to your chest. You’re never going to relinquish it again.

Callahan watches you intently, watches you process everything with his hand on your cheek, his skin on yours, and you suddenly know exactly what you want to do with your power of choice. 

“Will you kiss me?” 

The words fall out of you before you can even really consider them. You’re tired of considering, tired of being the good little girl who spent her life hiding from danger only for it to find her anyway. What is this fight for safety and survival, if you’re not going to live anyway?

Callahan’s surprise is evident in the creases in his forehead and the way his crows' feet disappear as his eyes widen. His lips part, stutters spilling from them. Your heart falls for what feels like forever when he takes his hand from your cheek to take off his hat and run a hand through his dirty blonde hair. 

“Christ, sweetheart, I-I… I dunno if that’s the best idea.” 

A heat unrelated to the fire before you bursts across your face as the rejection stabs you hard in the chest. You thought you’d figured it out. The way his eyes lingered on your every move, the way his hand stayed on your hip just that second too long when he helped you dismount Boadicea, the spark… you couldn’t be the only one who felt it. It was unspoken, ethereal, but just as real as the cuts on your skin or the boots on his feet. You were sure of it, even if there was nothing else in your history to compare it to. 

“You don’t want to?” You don’t mean for it to sound desperate, or desperately sad, but it might just have come out that way. He notices the way your fingers anxiously pick at one another and grasps your hand again, electricity shooting out from the point of contact all over your body. 

“No, no it ain’t that- I-I do. Very much so, but… you just went through somethin’ real traumatic, darlin’. I don’t wanna take advantage of you.” 

You understand, thinking about how pathetic you must look right now. He rescued you, patched you up while all you could do was try not to cry. In the exceptionally short time he’s known you, he’s done nothing but save you. How could he see you as anything but the damsel in distress you so feel like right now?

“You wouldn’t be. You couldn’t- I…” You take a breath, knowing just how crazy you must sound to this man, this stranger, “I ain’t ever slept with anyone before. And when those men came… I thought my first time was going to be stolen from me. It terrified me, Callahan. I never want to feel that way again, that powerless... I want to choose. I want to choose you. And I ain’t gonna go all crazy on you and cling to you and make ya’ marry me, this doesn’t have to mean anything, I swear it. I just… I want my power back. I don’t want that choice ever made for me, any choice ever made for me again. I want to do this.”

Your words process across the cowboy’s features, your heart quickening with each inch he leans in towards you. His hand feels cool against your burning cheek when he cups your face, the ocean from his eyes washing over you as he studies each and every minuscule detail of your beautiful face.

“Are ya’ sure, sweetheart? Cause if I kiss you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself…”

“I’m sure. I’ve never been so damn sure. This is what I want. Please.” You plead, shuffling forwards so your legs are tangled together by the fireside.

“Well, who am I to deny a lady so beautiful as you?”

When you were young, before caution sunk his possessive claws into your mind and made you too sensible for your own good, you got stuck in a rope swing, suspended over a pond by your ankle. You only spent a few minutes in the air, mere inches from being plunged into the cool water on that sticky, hot summer's day, but it felt like hours until the twine snapped and you fell in. Those few seconds come right back to you in those moments between Callahan moving towards you and the pair of you falling into the cool water together. His lips connect with yours, and the relief of no longer hanging on the precipice of the unknown washes over you, with it the euphoria of your choices. 

Your lips fit together like long lost puzzle pieces, drawn together by a thread weaved in fate itself. It tugs you closer, until your chests are flush against each other and your uninjured arm is reaching to tangle your digits in Callahan’s hair. You feel his muscles stiffen for a moment, thanks to the stab wound in his shoulder, but he still manages to wind his hand around your waist, resting on the small of your back. When your lips part, his tongue delves into your mouth, eliciting a soft moan from you. He tastes like everything you’ve always been too sensible to do, just how you imagined when his smoke and whiskey infiltrated your senses back when you were riding with him. 

Of course you’ve been kissed before, but never like this, and you’re surprised at how quickly you pick it up from him, teasing your own tongue into his mouth. He growls, God help you, a hint of a not-so-honourable outlaw hiding under the caring cowboy shell he’s treated you with since you met. You feel something coiling tighter deep in your core that hints at what is to come, a seed of desperation fed and watered with each movement, sound or touch Callahan makes. 

When his lips retreat, the loss is so prominent you have to hold back a whimper. 

“Christ, darlin’… I-“ 

But you don’t let him finish, grasping onto his neck with both hands and dragging him back into you. A hunger burns in you, shown in the way you nip at Callahan’s bottom lip with your teeth, pulling out another growl from him. It’s a silent plea to not treat you like you’re breakable, one that he responds to by pressing his lips more firmly against yours until you have no choice but to lean into his hold and let him carry some of your weight. He wraps both arms around you, his skin so warm against yours it fans the flames of whatever is burning inside you. He feels so safe, despite every piece of common sense telling you he’s a stranger, who really shouldn't feel safe.

You don’t speak, neither one of you wanting to stop kissing the other for even a second, but you can follow his wordless instruction as he pulls you onto his lap. You straddle him, winding your legs around his waist. An ineffable wave of something you’ve never experienced before ripples through you, starting between your legs, where you feel Callahan’s hard bulge prodding against your core. You can’t help but arch your back, dragging your hips over Callahan in the process. The pleasure shoots through you and you can’t stop the gasp that parts your lips from his, your eyes flying open. 

The sight you look upon is one you’ll never forget. Callahan’s eyes are tight shut, his features twisted in a look of bliss. His jaw is so tense you see the muscle fluttering. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. His finger’s clutch onto the flesh just above your hips, and you can feel the tension of the restraint he’s forced to employ to not hurt you or push you too fast. This huge, muscular man, who saved your life tonight, is falling apart beneath you. 

You can’t help but reach to his mouth, running your thumb so faintly over his bottom lip, still wet from your kisses. He looks to you, eyes locking onto yours as you drown in his seas. 

He speaks so softly, “If you wanna stop, or we’re goin’ too fast, you just say the word and we’ll-”

“I don’t want to stop. I want you, please.” 

He growls again, and you squeak as he scoops you up with him when he stands. Your legs are wrapped around his waist tight, your core brushing his member every time he makes a step towards the makeshift tent he put up earlier. He carries you with such an ease, kneeling down to lay you on the bedroll laid out on the floor. Even with his injury, he puts all his weight into his arms so as to not crush you, pressing more kisses to your lips as you writhe beneath him. 

“God, you’re so beautiful…” He whispers, his kisses reaching the corner of your lip and travelling down to your neck, “From the second I saw you, I thought you were so beautiful…” 

Your heart aches with his words, and you’re sure at this moment it beats only for him, your saviour, your knight in shining denim. The hours you’ve known him stretch into a lifetime, tears welling in your eyes from the purest of emotions. 

You mean to reply, but when his lips latch onto the pulse point in the crook of your neck, you melt into the earth. It feels nothing short of heavenly, and you can’t imagine what is to come if this man makes you feel these things from simple kisses. You’re purring for him, the heat pooling between your legs becoming near torturous, coiling every one of your nerves into a messy bundle inside you. 

There’s a moment where Callahan looks to you, a silent question of permission as his hand hovers over the strap to your chemise. You nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth so hard you’re scared it might break skin. The tingles from Callahan’s touch ripple from your shoulder as he pushes the fabric down, exposing both breasts to the cool night air. He wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling oh so lightly and pulling a moan from your lips. He laps you up, your back arching against the wool of the bedroll to give as much of yourself to him as you can. His hands work your pants, impressively considering his attention is elsewhere on your body, unbuttoning them with ease and sliding them down your legs as far as he can reach without leaving your contact. You manage to kick your boots off and slide the jeans off completely, leaving just a layer of cotton covering you. 

Your fingers entangle in Callahan’s locks, scratching at his scalp as he licks and nips at you. 

“God, please,” you moan, feeling that coil inside you tightening to impossible levels,

He’s quick to look up, a lust burning in those irises, “What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me, and it’s yours.” 

“Everything.”

Your patience is hanging on by a thread, your need for him growing and your heart pounding faster with every passing second. When he takes his hands to the fastenings on your undergarments, you could sob from the relief. With one slow pull at a ribbon, the chemise falls from your body, and Callahan opens it up like a present at Christmas. His eyes roam over you, and while you always thought you’d feel exposed when you were first bare to a man, nothing could feel more natural than being naked underneath him, to have his skin on yours as he rubs his thumbs over your nipples, before dragging a hand gently over your stomach, hovering just above your weeping cunt. 

“Can I touch you, darlin’?” His voice is gruff, threatening to crack from the restraint he’s deploying by not taking you with the urgency tearing him apart right now. 

“Yes. Yes, please, I… I feel so…”

“I know, I know… Let me take care of you, alright beautiful?” 

Your back flies off the bedroll when you feel two fingers plunge into your cunt, curling upwards slightly. It feels incredible, in spite of a strange stretching sensation that quickly ebbs away. He starts slow, sliding his fingers out and back in, dragging against your walls deliciously. You cry out, eyes shut tight and face contorted in pleasure. You don’t see how he watches you, smile tugging on his features as he remarks to himself how beautiful you look like this, but know that it happens. 

Sweet moans fall from your lips in time to the thrusts of Callahan’s fingers, your body singing for him. You’re climbing, higher and higher to a destination you don’t even truly understand. It is then that Callahan presses a thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves and a gasp is ripped from deep inside you, your eyes flying open.

“Oh, God, I-”

“I know, baby, easy… I got you, let go, angel.”

And you do. 

Without even knowing where exactly he’s leading you, you follow, falling over an uncharted precipice into ecstasy. It ripples throughout your entire being, doubling your vision. Callahan leans back down to you, heat and want radiating from his bare skin like a burning flame.

“That’s it, sweetheart, good girl.”

He closes the gap between you, catching wanton moans in his mouth and swallowing them gratefully, needily. It feels like forever lasts in just that moment, waves upon waves of a pleasure unlike anything you’ve experienced crashing over your body and curling your toes.

The waves turn to ripples, which dissipate into a pleasant tingle that buzzes more intensely wherever Callahan’s skin is on yours. Your legs are entwined together, and you’re not sure when he removed his pants, but you can feel his warm skin against yours everywhere. It’s dizzying, the heat of him and the size of him stretching over your body. Your eyelashes flutter up at him and you reach to run a hand over his cheek. 

“Wow…” You breathe, “That was…”

“Was? Oh, I’m not done with you yet, darlin’...”

Your cheeks flush, a melodic giggle escaping you. This whole experience is so much more comfortable than you could have ever imagined your first time would be, with laughter and looks of such adoration you forget you’ve only known this man a few hours. 

“I wanna show you more…” He whispers into your skin, pressing soft kisses wherever he can,

“There’s more?” You joke, knowing full well what happens next but wanting so badly to make him chuckle again. You’re addicted to the sound, and he supplies it, shaking his head ever so slightly, 

“Are you ready, beautiful?” “Please, I need you, Callahan. Take me.” 

He doesn’t make you wait long. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Nerves take over, but only for a second, numbed quickly by more kisses pressed on your forehead and nose. You haven’t actually seen his member, almost too shy to look, but God can you feel it when he slowly slides in. It’s a stretch, and you hold your breath until the pinching feeling falters. Callahan waits there, deep inside you, until you nod your head to wordlessly reassure him you’re okay. 

“Good girl…” another kiss, “you beautiful,” and another, “good girl.”

His praises wash over you, relaxing your muscles to the point where there is no pain, only the intense pleasure of you gripping and rippling around his cock.

“O-Oh… Feels… So good.” You manage, scratching your nails into his back and pushing at him to move. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, slowly retreating and pushing back into you. Your eyes roll back into your head as you get filled so wonderfully it’s hard to breathe.

Callahan’s arms shake around you and you watch him grasp on his composure. It’s taking him everything he has in him to not slam into you and fuck you senseless, but he clearly wants to make sure you feel safe. It swells your heart and piques your curiosity all at once, wondering what would happen if he let go in a way you know he won’t right now. 

“Y-Yeah? You feel alright, sweetheart?” He stutters, hips spluttering slowly as he thrusts gently in and out. You’re already coiling, reaching that blissful state, but you want him to feel the same. He’s growling and groaning and it’s music to your ears, but you want more, you need all of him, every last unrestrained molecule of this man. 

“I feel wonderful… Please don’t hold back. I’m not breakable, I need you, please.” 

How could he refuse? Hearing such sweet pleas and begs, he’s putty in your hands.

“Baby girl, a-are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you, and you feel so damn good, I-I don’t know if I can hold back…”

“Please, Callahan.”

It doesn’t escape your notice, how he winces whenever you say his name, but you can’t think straight about it right now, not when you feel his cock reaching every last inch of you and prodding that sweet spot he seems to have a map to. You’re delirious with pleasure, even when he’s holding back.

When he lets go, you scream, tears of pure intensity forming in the corners of your eyes. Callahan pulls back, completely out of you, before diving back in. The tears fall down quick tracks on your skin, and he kisses them away, growling deep in his chest. His pace picks up, and now you’re used to it it doesn’t hurt a bit. It’s heavenly, it’s ecstasy.

“F-Fuck, angel, what am I gonna do with you?” he asks, his lips pressed against your collarbone to muffle the words. His teeth scrape against your skin, leaving white hot trails that will be burned into you forever, you’re sure. 

“T-Touch me, p-please- oh!” Your pleas are interrupted by a particularly wonderful movement and Callahan grins at you, loving watching you fall apart like this for him. 

He can’t say no to you, would never want to when you ask him oh so nicely. He snakes a hand down between your two bodies, tickling your clit with the pad of one finger in slow, delirious circles. In response, you involuntarily squeeze around his shaft and he moans loudly in your ear.  It might have just become your favourite sound in the whole world. 

“Christ, darlin’, I-I’m so fuckin’ close I can’t last much longer, baby.”

You respond with a kiss, a passionate, almost loving kiss, where your tongue licks up the roof of Callahan’s mouth to chase his taste. You catch his desperate groans, feeling how the rhythm of his hips falters the closer to losing it he gets. His fingers get sloppy, rubbing in an indescribable pattern and bringing you right where he is, whimpering and writing beneath his body.

You cum together, your cunt constricting around Callahan’s cock, feeling every vein pump and twitch as he too comes apart. He parts his lips from yours, only to breathlessly moan your name into your ear, his hot breath tickling your lobe and scattering an inexpressible feeling over your skin. He’s pounding into you and it hurts a little, but you feel far too good right now to care. Your pulse hammers for him, over every inch of you, blood rushing around your body carrying something magical with it. Callahan groans loudly, almost fully retreating his length before thrusting a final time, deep inside you. His lips connect with yours again, the tear tracks on your cheeks wetting his own skin from how close you are. You feel his cock pulsing as he releases the last of his spend into you, with no care in your mind for the consequences. 

When you open your eyes, still coming back to earth, he’s there for you, looking down with an expression you could only describe as blissful. 

“You are… somethin’ else…” He whispers, reaching to push a stray piece of hair from your face. 

═══════☆═══════

In all your years, there has never been such a comfortable silence as the one you and Callahan are existing in now, disturbed only by the gentle thrumming of his heart against your ear. There’s no awkwardness, wasn’t when he slid out of you and helped you get cleaned up either. The moment is peace, especially when you feel your own heart beating to the exact same rhythm. If it weren’t for this man, it might not have been, and now you’re synchronised to him. 

A clean shirt from his saddle bag is wrapped around your shoulders, while Callahan’s fingers gently run over your hair. You want to thank him again, but the silence hanging around you both seems too precious for you to break. 

Your anxious mind is kind to you, allowing you a few more minutes of complete peace in this heavenly sanctuary, before everything comes crashing back down to Earth, dragging you with it. 

“... God, what am I gonna do now?”

Callahan doesn’t hesitate. 

“You could stay with me.”

You freeze, leaning up on your good arm to look him in the eye, hair cascading over your face once more. As always, he pushes it back, though there’s something in his expression that tells you he’s surprised those words left his mouth so freely.

“Stay with you? Where?” 

“Well… I run with some others, folk like you who have nowhere to go. We keep a camp together, keep eachother safe and fed. I… I’m sure they’d welcome you.”

“You’re outlaws, right?”

The great unspoken question. It lingers between you for a moment, and Callahan swallows hard. 

“Yeah, outlaws. But we ain’t as bad as those others, we… we try n’ help people, where we can. I could talk to Dutch, get you somewhere to sleep ‘till you get back up on your feet.” 

Your mind races, setting itself off faster than a spooked horse spotting a snake. Outlaws killed Varner, outlaws tried to rape you, and would have surely killed you had they had the chance… Outlaws were bad news, everything you’ve ever been warned about in your life… 

And you slept with one, and now had a standing invitation to join them??

He must sense the turmoil twisting your previously calm features, and quickly goes back to that soothing motion across your hair.

“Hey, just think on it, alright? You’ve had a pretty damn rough day, ain’t no use doin’ anything but restin’ now. We can stay here tonight, talk about it in the morning.” “A-Alright…” 

For now, you let his words wash over you, his gruff voice trying to pull you back to that tranquil state. It works, and you rest your head back on his chest, careful to avoid the makeshift bandages you tied around his shoulder. 

You shut your eyes, intertwined with your saviour while the moon watches over you both. 

“Thank you, Callahan…” you mumble, sleep already grasping you with its tempting claws.

You’re the first to drift, while Callahan stays awake as long as he can to make sure you’re alright. He watches you sleep, watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter every so often. 

“It’s Arthur, by the way…”

═══════☆═══════

You’re pulled out of the realms of sleep when an owl hoots nearby. For a second, you panic, expecting all the comforts of your own bed and finding the open air. It comes crashing back all too soon, the bandits, Varner, Callahan…

He’s right where you left him, arm wrapped around your frame to keep you safe from the elements and otherwise. His handsome features are illuminated by a moon glowing high in the sky, fast asleep, and you know it’s now or never.

You’re not sure when you make your decision, whether it was when he first asked you, or some wider wisdom from a dream you can’t remember influenced you. You’ll regret it a hundred times over and thensome, but you know that even when you’re doing it. 

You allow yourself a kiss, just one soft kiss on his sleeping lips, before somehow managing to slide out of his embrace without disturbing him. He stirs, and you freeze, but a tiny snore later and he returns to complete slumber. 

There are tears welling in your eyes when you approach Boadicea. She looks at you solemnly, as if she knows exactly what you’re doing, but she lets you do it anyway. Every movement pains you in a way you’ve never experienced before, your heart aching more violently than any mortal flesh wound ever could. 

Boadicea stays still while you look through her saddle bag, picking out a couple of tins of food and one of the opened tonics, though you leave most of the provisions. It feels wrong, stealing from him, but you know you have to to survive. You’re on your own now.

Just when you’re about to wrap everything up to go, you spot a book in the back pocket of the bag, a stick of charcoal poking through the pages. Glancing at Callahan’s sleeping body, even for the fraction of a second you do so, hurts so much you can barely breathe. 

You pick the book out, flicking over stunning sketches of landscapes, animals, and a few portraits. You’re careful not to read the words, fearful that knowing any more of his soul could change your mind in an instant. The charcoal scratches at the paper as you write, more grateful than ever that you learnt how to in your free time on the ranch. 

I can’t. I’m sorry. 

Each step out of the woods pulls at that tether, the one you noticed before when you first kissed him that resides deep in your heart, the one that feels like fate. But you’ve met her before, and she scares you. Fate means destiny, yes, but she also brings doom. And that is no longer a risk you can afford to take.

[oscurascout]

Y/N As A Doorman

From That's Not My Neighbor game

Part 2 (Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10)

A few hours had passed since the twins left again, and to be honest, being a doorman was more boring than I had thought. "Well, maybe it's because they are still at work," I thought as I lay in the chair. Surprisingly, the chair was very comfortable. I lay there with my headphones on, listening to music and scrolling through social media. That's when I saw that someone had arrived. I looked up and saw a woman with a stitched face—her mouth and eyes were stitched. "Okay, let's do this as professionally as possible," I thought as I got closer to the desk. I then noticed that she didn't give me any documents.

"Um, ma'am, I need your entry permit and ID," I said, looking at her. I tried hard not to show any emotion, but who could blame me when faced with something straight out of a horror movie? "That's why I was watching some doppelganger on Instagram, to prepare myself, but I guess nothing prepares you for the real thing," I thought as I waited for a response, but she remained silent and still.

*Sighs* "Okay, let's do this, ma'am. Since I see the, um, condition you are in, and well, I actually like you. Wait, not like romantically or anything, but like a friend. So, if you could please leave. I seriously don't want to do this, but if you don't, then I'll have to call the D.D.D.," I said, starting to sweat. I didn't say all of this just to be kind, but because I don't want this doppelganger after me once I leave work. I "fought" with the twins, but because they won't do anything. Those two are cowards, but these doppelgangers. Nope, they will probably do something to me. So basically, right now, I am the coward, but I don't care if it saves my skin.

I waited for her to do something, ready to push the red button, yet she only nodded and then left. I let out a sigh of relief. "I can't believe that worked!" I thought, smiling as I looked through the window and saw her leaving through the front door. I lay back in the chair and released another sigh of relief. "Okay, back to watching these weird videos," I thought, continuing to watch.

After a few hours of work, it was already 9, and honestly, I feel like I did an amazing job. I encountered approximately six doppelgangers, and three out of six people had come in. I only needed to wait for Francis and the two twins. "Two more hours, come on Y/N, you can do it," I thought, encouraging myself. Yet again, I saw a figure at the window. Not exactly a person, more like a doppelganger. This one had a white uniform and a hat with the words 'Milkman,' but his face immediately told me he was not human. Instead of normal eyes, there were two black holes with two little white dots as pupils and a black void as a smile.

*Sighs* "Here we go again," I thought as I scooted closer to the desk. He handed me all his documents, and I checked them over. I noticed the ID number was wrong, so I looked at the doppelganger. "Hey buddy, um, your ID number is wrong, but hey, you got everything else right," I said. I don't know if it was my imagination, but I think I saw him become happier. I returned his ID and threw the entry permit in the trash. "Well, buddy, since I have discovered the error, you could either leave on your own, or I can call the D.D.D.," I said, waiting for his decision. For the first time, he spoke.

'Francis' - “Hoon”

I blinked a few times. "Huh?" I said as I looked at him.

'Francis' - *happy* Hoon!“

I slowly nodded, and he took his ID and left. "Huh?" I said one last time before getting on my phone, trying to find a way to understand what the doppelganger said.

The clock struck 10, and I was dying of boredom. My phone died, and I was hungry, since the only things in the fridge were water and a bowl of fruit. I could feel my soul leaving when I saw the possibly real Frank or Fernando or whatever his name is!

He got close to the window, handed me his documents, and greeted me. I got up and started to read his documents.

Francis - “Mmm, long day?“

*looking at the ID* “..6, mm? Oh yeah, more than a long day. This lady didn't have any food when she said she did!" I said angrily. He gave me a small smile.

Francis - “Yeah, she's like that. Actually, it's probably better if you bring your own food after all. She only comes here to collect rent or pay the doorman.”

I stopped and looked at him with an 'Are you serious' face. He only chuckled, and I let out a sigh. I then slammed the green button. “This is why none of her doormen last. Actually, I don't care anymore. If those two brats don't arrive right now, then I'm leaving!” I said angrily. He only chuckled while grabbing his papers and entering. I locked the door and was about to start gathering my things when those two pretty models came in. The one in the yellow dress approached me first.

“Agh, just get over here, you two. I don't care anymore,” I said as I saw Selenne smirk at me, which made me angry. “You know, I had 6 or 7 doppelgangers today. I think the D.D.D could probably deal with the two that I have right now,” I said angrily. Selenne only bit her bottom lip, clearly understanding what I meant and what would happen if she said anything.

I pressed the green button and let them go in. After that, I grabbed my things and left. “I swear I'm going to eat a very big meal once I get back home,” I thought as I got into my car and drove away.

[louisisalarrie]

https://www.tumblr.com/awesomefringey/753370197897969664/httpsxcomshalarryystatus1801861513407246519

OMG…I mean WTF is this?! I don’t believe it for a second. Such a private guy would no way be pulling 10 women up to his room so publicly. I mean he was only in Mexico 5 minutes…when did he possible have the time to f*ck all their women?!!

No wonder Lou likes to disappear when he’s not touring. He’s clearly had enough of trolls like this…

I am interested to know though about the comment about him getting into trouble for smoking pot in a hotel room (have we heard anything about this elsewhere?) and what video they claim to have passed on to the media. Have you heard anything about this? What horrible people they seem!

So I saw this last night, and I feel like they meant to post it to wattpad instead??? how silly of them!!

but also… I have so many questions for these losers

1. So it was her, and her friend, but how do they know about 10 other people? Did he put them all in a group chat, say “thnks fr th mmrs” and leave?

2. If you’re seen and he wants you, security will ask you if you wanna go to Louis’ room and “hang out”… ok so are we like 15 yr olds using that language?

3. Where tf is he seeing you anyway? Are you front row and louis points you out mid show and stops singing, tells security IMMEDIATELY, and then after the show finishes they find you and make you wait an hour to go to the hotel?

4. If you’re outside the hotel… again, where tf is he seeing you? From the top floor while smoking a cigarette he’s like “oh yeah bro I want that one” and points at you even though he can barely see you

5. How is he amazing in bed if he’s selfish and doesn’t get you off too? Like… that doesn’t sound enjoyable to me whatsoever, bit confused about that one tbh, which leads me to believe these folks may be too young to have even ever had an orgasm/sex. How does that make you touch the sky? Maybe touch some grass instead besties

6. I have no idea what the weed report incident thing is, and so that part is confusing too

7. Everyone who smokes loves a cigarette after sex, it’s an excellent feeling hahahaha so that’s not unbelievable

8. Then he just… fell asleep. And you and your bestie took videos of louis naked in bed… and his security was nowhere to be found? To check your phone when you leave his hotel room? To make sure you didn’t steal anything? To escort you out? okay that makes sense yeah sweet his security sound really professional

9. So they’ve claimed they’ve sold the video to a media outlet. What do you think is gonna happen when it doesn’t get released? “Oh louis’ team must have paid them off but we still have the video but we’ll never show it” yeah ok sure

10. May I kindly remind everyone, once again, about Raven-Symoné’s chat re NDAs and sexy time. There are occasional, slip ups, sure, but he’s not this fucking stupid I don’t care how stoned or drunk he is

anyway, obviously they’re lost, and they’ve missed out so much detail in their little fanfic that it doesn’t even make sense in the slightest. He was seen going straight to the airport after shows, im positive he isn’t having afternoon delights due to how busy and tight his schedule is (I’ve seen it) and that he isn’t an idiotic teenage boy. it’s just so damn laughable. And I think we should all probably just remember the receipts we’ve gotten (like the Chilean UA acct one about Harry in louis’ hotel) and the difference between that, and this. because it’s strikingly obvious

oh and also he is in a long term relationship with a man. so. that kind of discredits this all anyway.

[captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship]

Men pay a lot of money to get their name into Gwyn's exclusive black book - enough that, with careful planning, she's putting herself through law school debt-free. Once she's graduated, she can retire the high heels and little black dresses and get to work in the pursuit of justice that she and her sister never received.

Azriel Singer's profile intrigues her, with a smile that never shines in his eyes and a delectable body. But will his attitude get in the way of any future potential?

I am so fortunate to be chosen to write Ch.2 of this fic for the ACOTAR Writing Circle 3 that has been coordinated by the amazing @azrielshadowssing

Part 1 was written by the incredible @hlizr50 and I hope I did this work justice!

Here is the link to Part 2, or read below!

TW: mentions of SA

ONE MONTH LATER

This had been a month from Hell. Gwyn was all but dying as she turned in her final assignment of the semester, thankful that she had somehow found the time to study and work a few extra nights of the week. 

Gwyn had met with Tarquin the day after the disastrous meeting with Azriel. He was sweet and her saving grace over the last month. He didn’t want anything more than what she was used to offering - just a few weekends of fun. She made her rent with some cash to spare just from him alone.

 It was all fine, but Gwyn couldn’t stop herself from venturing to Azriel’s profile, perplexed at what kind of bullshit someone had to go through in order to be such a massive asshole. He was hot, sure, and the kind of rich that would make paying off her college tuition look like a drop in the bucket. Had he been even a little less of dick, she might have milked him for all he was worth. 

So fuck him. 

But still… she couldn’t delete his profile off of her contact list. Couldn’t break that single connection to the man who equally perplexed and infuriated her. 

Gwyn’s phone pinged, bringing her out of her stupor and back to reality. Her group chat with Nesta and Emerie consisted of funny memes, gossip, and the only source of true fun Gwyn had had in ages.

Nesta:

Let's go out tonight to celebrate! 

Gwyn:

I am exhausted, Nesta. Maybe next time?

Gwyn entered her apartment and collapsed on the couch, ready to pass out and allow herself the bliss of sleep. Her phone went off again, and she silently cursed as she read the next message.

Emerie:

Take a nap and then join us! It isn’t everyday that you finish your second year of Law School, let alone in the top five of your class. You are a shoe in for any internship in the country. Take the evening off and just live a little! 

Gwyn thought about it. When was the last time she really spent time with her best friends? Her weekends were filled with being whisked away on private jets to sunny beaches with Tarquin and her week days were jammed with studying and writing paper after paper. She had some money left over, and with this break coming up she could take on more clients than usual to get ahead of her bills. 

Gwyn:

Fine, you win. Now you guys leave me be for the next 6 hours and then we can meet at Rita’s at 9pm? 

Nesta:

YES! Finally!!!! First shot’s on me ;)

Emerie:

WOOOOOOO! 

Emerie:

Ok, love. Get some sleep, because tonight we PARTY!

Gwyn chuckled at their enthusiasm, and it wasn’t long before she set her alarm and passed out- content and excited for the night to come. 

----

Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie strode into the club and headed straight for the bar opposite the dancefloor. 

“Three tequila shots and lime, thanks.” Nesta said, gesturing to the male bartender, Balthazar. She had taken a martial arts class with him when they all attended Velaris University and he always hooked the girls up when they came in. He just smiled and brought them right over, ignoring the guys who seemed to be attempting to flag him down to bring them some beers. Nesta just gave them one of her cold smiles and they shut right up.

“Here you go ladies.” Balthazar crooned as he dropped 4 shots of tequila and a small bowl of limes down in front of them. He smiled at Gwyn kindly and she was alway happy to see a friendly, male face whenever she was here. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Gwyn. Finally crawling out of your den to join us in the land of the drunk and living?”

“If only you knew the half of it. I’m literally bending over backwards to finish this degree. You try finding the time to make the dean’s honors list in Law School, work your ass off, and still look this good in heels after a final’s week from hell.” Gwyn retorted back. 

His gaze dropped to said heels appreciatively. Perhaps it took a moment longer than necessary for his eyes to crawl back up her legs to her smirking features, but Gwyn wasn’t complaining. He just put his hands up in silent surrender and passed out the shots to all of us. 

Nesta held her glass out in a toast. “To the shit we have seen, and the shit to come. At least the booze and company are worth it all.” They all grabbed a lime slice, clinked their shots together, and knocked them back. Gwyn savored the heat of the tequila running down her throat. 

As she slammed her glass down on the bar victoriously, Gwyn could feel someone watching her. Her neck tingled as a gaze- hard and determined- bore into her back. Turning towards the dancefloor, she scanned the room until her eyes landed on a pair of familiar hazel ones. Ones that she had ogled in fascination all month behind the comfort of her phone screen.

Azriel was standing there and staring directly at her. No trepidation. No hint of shyness about him all. 

She couldn’t read his expression from so far away, but she could feel his eyes raking down her body - noticing her tight cobalt outfit. The skirt barely covered her most intimate areas and her crop top wrapped around the curve of her body as though it were tailored just for her. The fabric shimmered under the club lights, giving the illusion of moonlight on an ocean wave.  

His gaze sent electricity sparking up Gwyn’s spine. For the first time in a long time, she felt exposed under his attention. Once Azriel’s eyes met hers again, she remembered the reason they were in this predicament and turned her back to him - deciding to ignore the source of her current vexation for the rest of the night. 

Despite her best efforts to ignore him, Gwyn couldn’t help but feel Azriel’s piercing gaze on her back the entire time. 

She just ordered another round of shots from Balthazar, whose doting attention was not unnoticed. When the shot glasses of vodka arrived, she turned around to see Azriel sitting in a booth on the other side of the club with two people she hadn’t taken notice of before. The man was as large as a tank. His long hair was tied up in a messy bun and Gwyn could spot some black swirling tattoos peeking out from the open buttons of his black dress shirt. 

The woman, sitting on the other side of the long-haired man, was one of the most stunning women Gwyn had ever seen. Surely a model, her golden blonde hair fell in waves around her face and down her back. She was wearing a deep gold top that just barely covered her chest, with chains at the neck and back leaving her tanned skin utterly exposed. Her matching skirt had her shining like a gilded sunset.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer, Gwyn.” Nesta teased from beside her. 

Gwyn scowled in reply, content to follow out her plans to have fun and not think about work for a night. Or for that matter, a pair of hazel eyes that saw entirely too much and a broad muscular form that appeared as though it were carved by a Renaissance artist. Why did he have to be such an asshole? Gwyn hated him for it.

“His friends aren’t so bad to look at, either,” Emerie said. I turned to look at her and found her eying Azriel’s blonde friend with predatory intent. She smiled a little to herself. Although Gwyn was determined not to get any tonight, she wouldn’t stop her friends if they wished to partake in a one-night stand. 

Perhaps it was reckless, but Gwyn couldn’t help but stare Azriel in the eye as she took her shot, not bothering with a chaser. He leaned forward in his seat - his eyes tracking the small drop that seemed to escape Gwyn’s lips and ran down the side of her mouth. She wiped it with her thumb and sucked it off- refusing to let her gaze fall from his. Gwyn just winked at him and turned back to her friends. 

She hoped he felt the same lick of fire creep up her depths and ricochet through her spine. She wondered if the air had gone thick with heat and tension for him as well. But Gwyn didn’t chance another glance over to him. 

This was war, and she was determined to win. 

“Let's go dance.” Was all she said, and her friends followed in tow.

----- 

The dance floor was packed tonight. Rita’s was only a few blocks away from the university, so everyone was trying to make the most of their end of semester celebrations. The girls found their way to the middle of the dance floor and started jumping and swaying with the music. For a while, Gwyn forgot about the pair of hazel eyes that had been watching her all night. 

At some point, Nesta had spotted the man who had come with Azriel, and she left without a further glance at them. 

He was exactly her type: bold, dominant, and from the way he laughed, he was definitely a teddy bear at heart. Gwyn and Emerie started laughing to themselves at how the man’s jaw seemed to drop when he saw Nesta approaching him. When they approached each other, drifting as though attached to some magnetic force, the gaze they shared was so intimate, Gwyn almost looked away - but the liquor in her system had robbed her of that courtesy. 

“How much do you want to bet that Nesta will be waking up in his bed in the morning?” Emerie joked, yelling slightly over the loud music. 

“They are either going to hate each other or be inseparable. Time to start writing the wedding invitations now.” Gwyn yelled back. Both girls fell into a fit of giggles as they casually watched Nesta and man start dancing with each other at the edge of the dancefloor.

A few more songs passed by, and Gwyn was fully entranced by the music and tequila. She hadn’t had enough to be drunk, but she did have just enough to loosen her inhibitions. Maybe that was why she had teased Azriel relentlessly at the bar. Gwyn looked over to Emerie who seemed to be distracted, continuously staring at the blonde woman who had come with Azriel. It seemed the woman was staring at her right back. 

“Go shoot your shot, Em. I will be fine. I was hoping to leave in a few songs anyways.” Gwyn said with teasing encouragement. 

Emerie looked nervous, chewing on her lip as her eyes scanned Gwyn. “Are you sure? What if she isn’t into girls?”

Gwyn just squeezed her arm in gentle encouragement, “You will never know unless you go up to her and ask.” 

Emerie stayed until the end of the song, trying to dance away her nerves. When one song flowed into another, she said, “Ok. I’m going. Are you sure you are gonna get home safe?” Gwyn knew Emerie was just trying to stall the inevitable, so she just laughed in return. “I’ll be fine, Em. Go. I will text you and Nesta when I get home.” It was always their unspoken rule. Every time they went out, they would text the group where they were headed after the club. It also helped that the girls shared their phone locations with each other - just in case. 

Emerie took a deep breath and turned towards the booth where the blonde was sitting, only to find it empty now. Looking around confused, Gwyn couldn’t help but feel bad for Emerie when all of a sudden her friend turned behind her to find the blonde tapping her shoulder. 

“Want to dance?” The blonde said, a warm smile washing over her face as she held out her hand. 

Emerie took it without hesitation, “I would like that.” 

Gwyn waved them off as she continued to dance by herself, just enjoying the flow of the music through her veins. 

She told herself she would stay for two more songs, make sure her friends were ok, and then head home to change into sweats, eat ice cream, and stream Grey’s on Netflix thanks to Nesta sharing her account with Gwyn. 

Midway through the penultimate song, a pair of hands gripped onto Gwyn’s waist. They were rough and felt wrong. The man pulled himself close, trying to dance with Gwyn but she was not in the mood to be manhandled today. 

She tried to turn out of the man’s grip, to shuffle away with a swift turn to the beat, but the guy just squeezed her waist tighter and tighter until she was being pulled against her will. 

Memories flashed through Gwyn’s mind. 

Dancing at a freshman year frat party. Another man’s hands on her waist. Her saying no as he brought her into a spare bedroom and took what he wanted from her. 

Gwyn stood frozen in fear, unable to say anything. She knew self-defense, of course. She had met Nesta and Emerie at a self defense course for women who had been through trauma. But there were too many people around her and she didn’t want to risk hurting anyone else. 

She tried to pry the dude’s fingers off of her waist, but he just leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Want to go home with me tonight, princess? That pretty outfit would look even better on the floor of my bedroom.” 

Gwyn shuddered in absolute disgust. What kind of douche just asks if you want to sleep with him without even introducing himself?

“I’m good, thanks. I was actually just heading out. Have a good night.” Gwyn tried to escape his grasp again, but he just held tighter and started roaming his hands down her sides. 

“Come on, Princess. It will be fun. What do you say?” he said in her other ear. His beer breath bombarded her nose and all but made her gag. Gwyn just about had it with him and was about to damn the consequences, but suddenly those hands were jerked off of her. 

In a startled haze, Gwyn turned only to find Azriel pulling the man off of her by the collar of his shirt. “The lady said she isn’t interested.” Azriel all but growled at the guy. 

The guy stared up at Azriel and balked. Azriel stood a whole head taller than him, and the look on his face would send most people running in the opposite direction. 

Gwyn couldn’t help but think that that look was kinda hot. Couldn’t help but bite her lip as heat swam through her depths, replacing the icy nausea that had made a home there just moments ago. 

The guy just stared between Azriel and Gwyn in shock. He didn’t wait around, sparing her a scoff and leaving. Azriel turned to Gwyn, his dark gaze roaming over her. Looking to see if she was hurt, she realized. 

“Are you ok?” He asked, taking a step towards her. 

That set Gwyn into motion. She took a step back, flicked her hair over her shoulder in fake bravado, and said cooly, “I’m fine. Thanks for the help.” 

She turned over her shoulder and walked right out of the club and into the cool summer breeze. 

----

She was in the middle of texting the girls and calling an uber when the club doors swung open beside her. Azriel walked out the doors in a frantic huff. He turned frantically in place until he noticed her leaning against the brick storefront, then all but ran towards her in a frenzy. 

“What the hell!?” He said in a panicked voice. “Why did you leave? I was looking everywhere for you.” 

Something tickled Gwyn’s nerves. On the one hand, it was sweet that he was looking for her. So at odds with the asshole she had interviewed with last month. On the other hand… “Why? Just cause I am an escort doesn’t mean that you are entitled to my time.”

“I know, but-”

She cut him off before he could give some bullshit excuse. “You made it perfectly clear the last time we met that you wanted nothing to do with me. So what the fuck was all that inside?” She crossed her arms over her chest in frustration. 

Azriel cringed at her comment. He loosed a sigh and looked down. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took in a shaky breath before he opened them to meet hers. “I’m sorry for how I treated you that day. I’ve been going through a rough time. My friends set me up and although their intentions are good, I wasn’t in the right headspace. Would you let me take you somewhere so I can explain?” His eyes were pleading. He actually looked sincere. 

This emotional rollercoaster was taking Gwyn for a loop. She shook her head and scoffed. “I was just groped by a random dude in the club. What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you right now?” 

Azriel’s eyes darkened with rage. He kept it bottled in as he said, “At least let me take you home. Maybe grab some food on the way? I just want to explain. Start over.” 

Gwyn didn’t want to deal with this right now. She was at her wits end and just wanted to go home. “Why do you even care, Azriel? We met once, you were an ass, and life moved on. Just leave me be.”

Gwyn was done. 

She was done with men who thought they were entitled to her because she sold her time and body. But there were still hers. 

Hers to choose who to spend her time with.

Hers to choose when to give it. 

But always her choice. 

Gwyn started to turn to walk down the street and put some distance between her and Azriel, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. His grip was light and she could easily shake him off if she wanted to but something inside her was telling her to stay. To listen. 

“Please, Gwyn. Just give me a chance to explain. If I can’t convince you to give me a second chance by the time I drop you off at home, you will never hear from me again. You can have anything you want, just- please.” 

Gwyn stared at his eyes, and whatever she saw there made her sigh in resignation. She could ask for anything. A lot of her problems could be fixed with that kind of offer. She pulled out her phone and texted Nesta and Emerie.

Gwyn:

Taking a detour on my way home. Be safe!

She clicked off her phone and looked Azriel in the eyes, “Lead the way then, Singer.”

[leviathiane]

tagged by @murderkitten666! thank you 🎉❤️

*will be answering this with both my nsfw and sfw account in mind!

20 Questions for Fic Writers

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

105!! damn, didnt realize i crossed over 100. 43 on nsfw, 62 on sfw

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

427,882 on sfw, 147,849 on nsfw! A nice total of 575,731 words across accounts :3 someday when I hit a million, I'll go get a cake or something

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I've written for many fandoms at this point,, I tend to hop around, I get bored easily 😅 To shorten the answer, I am known best for my works in LOZ, one piece, qsmp, and pokemon-- though currently I am writing for solely HXH

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

sfw only* Hunted (LOZ), Warm (LOZ), Within Risk of Reason (OP), Something Shifting (LOZ), and Calling Out (LOZ). Wror was dethroned soundly by my LU LOZ series lmao, that fandom is big on engagement 🥺

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my best to!! My response time varies pretty wildly, though. Could be anywhere from within the hour of posting to.... 5 months later. but i do my best to respond regardless. There's several reasons why: It's a courtesy thing, to me, to reply to people who have taken the time to comment, its fun to discuss things, I want to thank people for particularly kind or analytic comments, and because readers tend to remember a reply and comment more frequently. In the end, it just makes both writer and reader happy to reply.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably Romantic at Heart? (OP) I like hurt no comfort/bad end hanahaki fics, and that's the only one I currently have up. Personally, my saddest fic is An exercise in grief (LOZ), even though its bittersweet in nature rather than straight angsty.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's pretty hard to quantify, a lot of them have happy endings kjsdahbdsa,, maybe Both Haunted and Holy? (OP) There's nothing angsty about it, just a selkie relearning safety and love among his found family in his skin.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

on my nsfw sometimes! Not often, and its usually just a one-off comment a single sentence long. Very easy to ignore, especially on porn. lots of weird purity people who open dark fiction just to call you gross. Brother, you clicked on the fic!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

sajkdsanj ABSOLUTELY lmfaooo. It ranges, there's some vanilla stuff, but I by-large tend to write darker and often niche content.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I don't write crossovers! I read them every so often, but they're not really for me and I definitely don't want to write one.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of! Had art stolen before, though.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Had offers! But nothing posted

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Of a sort?? I've done round-robin with the boggers, and I've done a BigBang event, and I've co-hosted a collection, and I'm currently cowriting an original piece with a friend irl, but no ao3 fic of mine has another's name on it.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

impossible question, I'm a multishipper fandom-hopper. There Is no all-time ship, just many many many favorite ships that revolve and orbit in my head as I go. Currently into killugon, though!

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oof. There's a lot of wips i have, both posted and not posted. I'm of the philosophy that no story is ever unfinished, though. At least not for me! It's only due to the nature of my attention span that i leave things unfinished-- eventually, I will return to the fandom that I left things unfinished, and my interest hopefully last long enough to finish them. it means a long wait, but I believe they'll get done.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Characterization, maybe? Specifically, characterization built through little actions, like how the character fidgets, walks, talks, dresses themselves. Hints that build a person into something real. I'm pretty decent with action scenes, as well.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue.... and also romance. I despise writing kissing. Romantic intimacy in general makes me kind of cringe to write. Dialogue CAN come easy to me, but only if the character is similar to myself? When I wrote for qsmp, foolish was the easiest I had ever written a character speaking, because he just kind of speaks the way I think. Otherwise, I really struggle. I also have trouble ending things. It always comes off kind of rushed and awkward sounding no matter what I do.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done it before! Felt cheesy and awkward, though. Though I think that's more because I was writing from the POV of a character adjusting their language over time than anything. This also depends on the language, of course, I could write something in Spanish pretty easily but if I tried to write in a language I'm not familiar in or at least have a friend who knows it, I'm fucked

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Warrior cats! When I was like 10, on FFN. On AO3, my first posted fic was for Moomins in like 2018?

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

sfw only* An exercise in grief. I reread that fic, and maybe only that fic of my own posted sfw writing. It was all my feelings and grief about AOC and mipha and hopeless, angry, bittersweet, guilty grief combined in a dense like 4.4k of words and it bothered me for a bit how slow it was for people to pick it up. That fic means a lot to me! It was raw in a way few of my fics do.

Tagging @touchmycoat, @midnightluck, @ruthlesslistener, @tciddaemina, @hergan416, @timeskip , @authenticaussie , and @ashyronfire ! Any mutual untagged, feel free to do as well :3

[lawyerkin]

story time of how i got a dog under the cut :3

so as i mentioned. i was in a big city, biggest one in my state actually, for an important appointment. and i left with some pretty bad news that left me feeling really hopeless and depressed and kind of done with everything. this was last thursday in the morning.

from the hospital i went straight to the beach with my gf and her brother, who drove us there in his car. i felt pretty bad all day and i was on grindr to distract myself because big city grindr is very different from what im used to back in my town and i like exploring it.

the next day we went back to the actual city and we were at the mall from around 11 am to 6 pm, then i left with a guy i met up with there. i got to the guy's house and he had two dogs, a small shitzu and this puppy that was almost bigger than his grown dog, and he told me he was giving the other dog away because he bought the dog thinking it was a yorkshire (he fell for a pretty obvious scam 😭) and the dog just wouldn't stop growing and the apartment was REALLY, REALLY TINY and absolutely NOT AT ALL fit for a dog any bigger than a york.

so i was telling him i live far away from the big city and my backyard is pretty big and tbh almost all houses in my town have really big backyards and he asked if i could take the dog bcs he said i seemed like i would be able to care for it and im ngl, i never wanted a dog

after my two elderly poodles passed in 2022 i thought i'd never have a dog again because it really is a chore and i wasnt really willing to take on a 10+ year long responsibility again. but when i saw that puppy. they called him urso. i just instantly knew i HAD to take him. i just knew i NEEDED him. and yeah, i did

i was at several other places after going to that guy's house, all in the meantime i was talking to a lot of people to see if it would work out. i talked to my sister ofc, even with my dad who didn't even know i wasn't home, with bubble and her brother because we'd be taking him home in their car and with my friend wolfe who lives in a farm as a sort of backup plan. the next day at around 3 pm i decided i was taking him. so bubble's brother drove us to pick him up. he got in the car and not even an hour later he was sleeping on the floor of the car, and bubble also fell asleep and i was just looking at the dog and thinking about my life and about those very negative thoughts i was having and i started thinking about this dog and the future we'll have and all the things i'll have to do to keep him safe and take care of him and i was suddenly filled with these waves of motivation and i scrapped my idea of quitting going to the gym because i'll need to be strong to control my dog and have energy to take him for walks and i want to knit him sweaters when it gets cold and train myself to jog/run so we can go together and teach him tricks and give him toys and we can have matching collars and i'll make a instagram stories highlight just for him and im gonna have a baby to care for. and i'll have an actual reason to leave my room. and go out. and eat and go to the gym and do my best everyday. for my puppy. he needs me i need him and i am SO glad i met up with that random guy on grindr

also here are some pictures :3

tony hawk pro skater demo (aka urso 🐻) in his original home, and being carried by his original owner in a bag (cutest thing in the whole entire world!!!!!)

tony hawk pro skater demo (aka urso 🐻) in our car, getting ready for a 6 hour long drive home <3

on our way: stopping to stretch our legs, posing with a 3 meter tall capybara, tony inspecting the driver's seat, going back to sleep and, finally, TONY HAWK PRO SKATER DEMO HOME WITH MY FAVOURITE CHEW TOY I GAVE HIM AS A SPECIAL WELCOME GIFT <33

[rothjuje]

Loved all your comments on my solo travel inquiry. A couple people said FOMO is real, and you were right. I told Justin I was going to plan trips with or without him and then the following week he started planning one for us hahaha.

Summer. Every time there is a break from school, every time, I think ooh this is going to be so nice, get to sleep in, not worry about the crazy of different schedules etc. No. No Jess. The kids will wake up even earlier with instant whines of “I’m borrred!”

Tuesday we did a farm, a park, and then the lake for $1 ice cream. Wednesday we played/swam at the lake for most of the day. Thursday we went to a touch a truck event, the library, a park, and then swimming at a friend’s pool. And this morning the kids played happily for an hour before the “I’m borrred” and constant bickering started. Whyyy. I’m so tired. George and I have been going to bed early/sleeping late to recover. I’m also old so I’m sore and had to take Motrin to walk straight after 3 nonstop days, oy.

One of my best friends up here has a pool. We hang together several times a week because she also has a 6 year old and a 3 year old. Anyway, was super excited to use her pool this summer but turns out my pool fantasy is really more of a nightmare. George simply will not get in after several days of coaxing. But he does love to throw things into the pool. Dirt. Towels. Shoes. Clothes. Phones. It hasn’t been fun. My friend is convinced that pools are relaxing for adults and fun for kids. But she also ingests a lot of weed. I ingest no weed and I find George at the pool to be very, very stressful. He won’t wear a swim diaper or a floaty (not that he gets in but I am very fearful of him falling in while he bends over the edge trying to retrieve stuff he’s chucked in).

Anyway. My friend says I’m letting anxiety control my life. The pool dilemma is causing us to butt heads. But. Why should I take my neurodivergent child who is unaware of drowning or consequences in general to a pool where I have to constantly control his behavior? I mean anything sounds more fun than that. If he was my only kid then okay, but I have to constantly leave him in the pool area to take the girls to the bathroom or get them a snack etc and maybe it is anxiety. Maybe it is secondary trauma from our first placement who had brain damage from a near drowning incident. Or maybe it’s normal to not feel relaxed while at the pool with 3 kids that don’t know how to swim, one being neurodivergent.

I can understand her feelings being hurt that I no longer want to bring the kids over, but I am honestly so sick of having to explain to people that trying to keep George safe in certain situations is mentally taxing eg by bodies of water or in busy downtown areas (he likes to be near the street so he can watch trucks go by).

Sigh.

I’m just tired of being the uptight friend. I’m so chill at home or at fenced in parks or at the beach or lake (George and Genna love sand/playing at the shore). I hate being the one to constantly veto plans or control where they take place. Honestly, I rather my friends just hang out without us and let me escape to the low-stress lake that no one else wants to go to. But they feel guilty and then I feel bad and ugh.

Is there a solution I’m missing?

Anyway. So so excited for a normal weekend without recitals or holidays, it’s been almost a month since our last normal/chill weekend. I’m looking forward to catching up on chores which probably sounds boring but the state of our house and lack of clean laundry is starting to super stress me out. I’m also so behind on gardening stuff, some of my plant babies desperately need to be replanted or pruned.

I probably sound like the least fun person after this post 😂

[remyfire]

Fic ask meme!! A, L, and/or Q <3

Fanfic Ask Meme A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

Ahh, Rosie, you didn't give me a specific fic title, so I'll go general!! —54% are song lyrics —6% are prompt-based —40% are completely random, just what came to mind when I considered the content of the fic

I go for song lyrics more frequently nowadays but I also do not have as modern or expansive of a music library as much, so I do a lot of repeats of the same songs!! I'd love to start using poetry as well, but I still am having trouble digesting poetry with my focus disorder. Work in progress.

L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?

I still think traphawkahy seminary incubus AU—with or without the optional addition of B-girl content—is probably the silliest possible title at this point. Notably I am not responsible for all of it—shout out to @hesgomorrah—but I'm very fond of it so I am putting at least a wee bit of claim on it.

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

I have the very very very bad habit of entirely deleting scenes that I edit out rather than saving them in another doc for possible later use, but I still have a few moments from Scratching The Itch kicking around. Multiple ones, so they're unedited under the cut for anyone curious.

When I was brainstorming how to get to the massage/sex scene in chapters 4 and 5, originally I had Hawkeye playing a little bolder and BJ meeting him competitively in the middle and overruling him. It ended up not working for my purposes, and I appreciate getting to go the more tender route with BJ especially. iirc correctly, this snippet was going to take place directly after Freddie's departure, with Hawk teasing BJ about how hard he is and how he's refusing to go take care of it. But you can see the thread that I carried over into the actual shower chapter itself.

"I've done without for this long," BJ drawls, lips quirked in that hint of a smile that teases what California sunshine must look like. "I can last a little more."

"But why bother?" Hawkeye tucks one finger in BJ's belt loop, just barely fitting between the smooth leather and the rough fabric, and gives him a tug. "We don't want a Sunday pot roast, Beej. The longer you let that sit and stew, the more tender it's gonna get, and how's that fun for anyone?"

BJ puts his hand square in the middle of Hawkeye's bare chest and gives the gentlest nudge, and Hawkeye is so taken aback that he lets him, lets BJ walk him backward one step at a time. Those lips turn upward just a hint more as blue eyes sparkle down at him like the sea and the sky have swapped. "Because the first time that you make me come," BJ murmurs, "is going to be when I'm fucking you."

Hawk's eyes widen so far they feel like they might bulge out of his head. It's not the first time he's felt BJ's hand on his skin, but there's intentionality here beyond just pulling him to sit beside Beej on a bench when they're 8 straight hours into surgery, beyond the way BJ's fingers would find the slim gap between Hawkeye's shirt and pants while they stumbled laughing back from Rosie's.

Those beautiful fingers are a weight on him—but a grounding one.

The back of his knees hit the bed and he tips into sheets that still smell like sex and sweat, and suddenly he's desperate to know how BJ's pheromones are going to mix.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" BJ's voice is barely over a murmur. "You want to know what it feels like to be as full as you've made all those pretty girls your whole life." BJ lifts his eyebrows, wrinkles spreading across his forehead. "You want. To be. Fucked."

Finally the words creep in fully through the post-orgasmic haze, slithering around his brain, squeezing, ready to make a meal of him. His blood goes cold and leaves goosebumps along his entire body.

BJ is a prankster. He's as mercurial as the god that word is named for. He takes delight in teasing, needling, but never in a cruel way. Right? Has BJ ever been cruel to him—intentionally, sadistically, curving his wrist to make a bleeding gash in Hawkeye's heart? Suddenly he can't recall, can't be perfectly sure. Those glimmering eyes are waves crashing down to drown him.

"I-I..." Hawk fights to find the light he had in his chest only moments ago.

And these are assorted bits of dialogue that ended up not being used, originally used regarding Freddie and in the shower scene respectively.

"I think the war's aged me fucking fifty years. Jesus. You're gonna laugh, but I'm so tight, I think I almost pulled something just from fucking her."

~~

"You're telling me this because if I ever said a word about you and Peg being open, you'd be able to take me down with you."

"I'd never take you down over anything, Hawk. But if that's what you need to believe, then go ahead."

This is the original ending of the R&R scene in chapter 6, right before the pivot back to camp. I wrote this before doing anything else with chapter 6, and then when I started from the beginning, I realized BJ had a lot more rage and grief regarding how his attempt to be domestic with Hawk (has BJ done this before with men? Has it worked? Is Hawkeye special?), so I couldn't use it, and again, I prefer how it ended up moving, even though it left a lot up in the air for me to play with when I circle back. (notably I had also forgotten I gave them three days of R&R, so I couldn't send them back that easily anyway when they still had a full day left to go hfdkd)

BJ clicks his tongue against his teeth. "You've been touching me this casually since I puked my guts up in front of you and nobody's said a word." When he glances over his shoulder, the flatness is gone. "Yeah. Of course it'd be casual. What else would it be?"

Hawkeye opens his mouth, shuts it again, and forces himself to think before he speaks. "I'm, uh, glad we're on the same page."

BJ chuckles and pats Hawk on the cheek just a little too firmly. "Can we head out before they leave without us?"

"Oh, sure, sure," Hawkeyes drawls. He goes to grab his own bag in turn. "I'm in such a hurry to get back. I wonder if they're serving liver or liver tonight in the mess tent."

"At this point, probably sewage soup."

Hawk laughs. "Perfect meal for denizens of a swamp."

[enby-hawke]

Alright settle in for a story ya'll cause it's a long one.

At the beginning of the week I was dancing, singing, being helpful, just smiling. But you see I just needed to recover after my family kind of took my medicine in a forced detox and almost killed me. (previous legal post if you're curious) Now today I'm screaming at everyone and wanting to end my life over a lost tablet pen.

I got into a fight with my bf and it just was the last straw. I was like I don't want to go but take me to the mental hospital. If I get into one more fight something bad will happen.

I checked myself into the hospital and agreed to do a 5150 on the agreement they wouldn't send me to Merced California's Mary Greens. The head nurse bitch there told me if I ever came back there she would never let me leave. (My wife had to fight to get me out for 3 months).

They sent me to Santa Rose Behavioral Health Clinic. At first, the place seemed nice. I even got a pamphlet of my rights. Like the nerd I am I read it.

And realized that they were breaking the law left and right.

At the beginning, I asked for a space to worship and they led me around until they straight up told me they wouldn't. I asked every nurse I could and no one would work with me. I am a filipino pagan, and my religion was destroyed by Catholics so there are no clergy or Bibles I am just trying to recreate what I can by my research of the Gods of Visaya.

I even asked legal, a woman named Dory, and she straight up told me the facility couldn't provide it and with a straight face tried to convince me that was okay. I realized she was in the pockets of the company and ended my interview with her.

I didn't get to worship until the day I was released because my pagan case manager bought the supplies herself.

I wasn't trying to find dirt. I swear. I was just trying to get through my stay. I was supposed to be there 3 days but it turned into 5? 6? I don't know. The drugs they gave me made me so foggy and I am having a lot of pain and trouble since I went there.

I explained to them I wanted as little drugs as possible. I kept a journal that was supposed to be my medical journal too (I know nerd) and I started on 600mg of gabapentin but by the end of my stay without my consent I was upped to 1200mg of gabapentin. My wife gets seizures and the most they ever put her on was 900mg. A nurse there who eavesdropped on my conversation with my wife (also illegal) tried to convince me that it was okay for me to be on as much as 1800mg of gabapentin and they put the kids on more than me. I told him that didn't sound safe.

And worst of all nurse Allon. I thought he was cool. We were having a great conversation and his wife was a gender studies major and I was excited to know more. But then the first night with him I was able to write in the hallway. The next night I wasn't even allowed to write with a crayon in my room.

You see I have bipolar which gives me an energy bunny in my soul. I usually only need 4-6 hours of sleep. They kept trying to give me trazodone which I kept telling them would interact with my latuda and give me a manic episode but they didn't even switch it to another sleeping med.

I also told them I didn't want sleeping meds. As an Asian I would prefer preventative measures such as exercise, diet, herbs, and coping skills rather than just shoving medications down my throat. Well, guess what they did.

It is illegal for the staff to medicate a patient for their own convenience.

Nurse Allon 2 nights ago decided it wasn't okay for me to write in the hallway for whatever reason. I was upset as it was 3:30 and they expected me to do nothing but read study books (with no highlighter or anything to take notes with) for 4 hours or just sit and 'think'. I demanded my usual coping mechanism because it wasn't an unreasonable request. They refused. I asked for something to go back to sleep with. They refused. They sent me to my room.

So I cried. And then that turned into praying. And then that's when things got super shitty.

Nurse Allon called my episode a tantrum. I tried to call the patients advocate line or 988 but the phones were off. They coerced me into taking a drug to go to sleep. They claim it was seroquel. But that's not what I remember. They didn't release my information in a printed sheet they gave it to me on a sticky note. But I don't remember it sounding anything like seroquel.

I did my own research and tracked it down to two possible drugs. Clonazepen or clorazepate. I'm leaning towards clorazepate because I remember a 'cl' and 'r'.

Other things in my journal from my interviews.

They do not attend to the elderly. I had to harass them into doing their jobs. They were so understaffed and overworked that they just couldn't get their breaks in or do the basics. A woman I interviewed said she came from unit 500 and an elderly woman wasn't bathed and basically sat in her shit for 3 days and no one cared.

A homeless woman who wants to remain anonymous and is my friend is trapped there. She has been held there for 2 weeks without justifiable cause. A nurse named Nikki agreed and told us both that. This facility gets $2000 every day we stay there and more money for each drug.

That woman's drug chart is a fucking mess. She's on 1200mg of lithium. They're going to kill her or break her brain.

My dudes what do I do? What steps do I take?

My current plan is to gather more evidence. I want to go to each of the individuals that left bad reviews and explain to them I want to do a class action lawsuit not for money for myself (though I need to cover the cost of my lawyer) but that I want to sue that corporation into properly investing its funds so that we don't have paper thin blankets and the cheapest art supplies that never get updated.

I'm suing the hospital not for personal money, but to make sure the funds go back into the facility so it is properly run. the staff is properly paid and that there is enough of them for the patients care, that they do not use the cheapest materials, are not retaliatory to mentally ill episodes and are properly trained, and that everyone has the right to worship as they please. I want the rules to reflect fairness and kindness. I don't want this hierarchy of 'good patients' versus 'bad patients' and so much more. For the Gods sakes. We didn't even have windows to look outside. Why is sunshine a priviliege?

I don't really know...how to make this happen???? Any advice tumblr?

[coccyodynia]

things:

four years and a few days ago, i entered treatment for dual diagnosis care to treat my mental health and drug use

for about 4 straight years before that, i’m not sure i was sober for more than an hour at a time

i was really heavily using benzos and always mixing them with an extreme amount of alcohol

frequently confused as to who i was then, how people perceived me, and how i’m still alive

i’m extremely grateful i went to treatment, because if i hadn’t had some kind of intervention, i dont think i would have survived another year like that

i still really really struggle with relapses

and in the last two years i’m not sure i’ve managed to have a clean streak longer than 3 months

but i am trying

my drug abuse ended up being the last straw for some important people in my life, who would eventually leave my life bc of it

anyway moving on to other topics

i finally saw justin this week, for the first time in three months

it’s been a pretty weird 3 month period of not really knowing where we stood bc i couldn’t keep my feelings to myself, and he needed a break from that i guess

i understand it will never again be like it was when we first started talking

and tbh that really kills me, but i’m very grateful he’s a part of my life still, in some way

the connection was immediately really strong from the start and i really credit him with helping me a lot

he was probably the first person to verbalize “i’m here for you”, and actually follow through with that sentiment

meeting him almost exactly one year after reid left my life is probably worth mentioning here but whatever

ive finally been able to start seeing my therapist again, and i meet with her monday

right now she can only schedule me every other week, which is a really hard adjustment for me to make tbh

since october of 2019 i probably have had therapy at least once a week

im really struggling with staying sane bc my job has become an incredibly stressful place for me, which didn’t used to be the case

like work has always had some level of stress, sure, but this last month or so, i have been getting physically sick from the stress, crying at my desk every day, etc

but on the other hand, i’m also having these really meaningful yet overwhelming moments of gratitude for being where i’m at

like yeah nothing is perfect or even close, but i have created a life for myself that works most of the time

im finally experiencing a level of safety and security that i have honest to god never felt before, and i did not even know that it could improve this much

growing up i didnt have any sense of safety or security at all, which i didn’t realize until very recently

in the last year or so working with nicole (my therapist), i have finally learned that the things i was subjected to as a child were not normal, and that it was traumatic

about 6 months or so ago (possibly less), i learned i have complex post traumatic stress disorder

i had pretty much known for over a decade that i was borderline, before i was officially diagnosed

but i didn’t even have an inkling of an idea that i could be experiencing CPTSD, so when my therapist gently told me i was, my world view realllyyyyy started to shatter and shift

it has been very very difficult to come to terms with tbh

anyways i really miss writing and photographing and making art so i hope to return to that soon

i’m at work rn and i should probably start doing my job before the bosses get here so ta-ta for now thanks for reading this insane post