#yours for the weekend

[planetpiastri]

[1] old flames

summary - when you and jake were growing up, everyone expected you to be the perfect small-town romance. but then you moved away, leaving jake heartbroken behind you. years have passed, and with a local wedding looming on the horizon, a reunion between two old lovers is inevitable. now both you and jake find yourselves confronted by feelings you thought were long buried.

warnings - small town/hometown au, farmhand!jake, gn!reader, no use of y/n, reader is nicknamed 'boots,' small town inaccuracies probably, typical ex-level angst, alcohol mention, takes place in a fake town in missouri so do with that what you will

word count - 2.5k

this blog is 18+, minors please don't interact

yours for the weekend masterlist

“Hey, Seresin! Good to see you.”

Jake grinned, setting the heavy bag of grain down on the counter. “Just like every other day, right, Mr. Cain?”

Mr. Cain shared an exasperated glance with the other old farmer standing beside him, shaking his head and tutting. “Check out the cheek on this kid.”

In reply, Mr. Metcalf held his hand over the counter and Jake shook it firmly. Mr. Metcalf gave him a nod and said with a teasing smile, “Maybe it’s good to see you every day, Jake.”

“Stop flirting, Mike,” replied Jake, quick as a whip. “You’re married.”

Both old men laughed, clapping each other on the back. Mr. Cain pulled out the cash he owed Jake for the delivery, and Jake shook both men’s hands one more time before tipping his hat and leaving the store, letting the screen door close on the old farmers’ amused chortles.

Just another day in Silver Springs, Missouri.

Jake loved his town. It was damn near impossible to find on a map unless you knew what you were looking for, and the only type of tourist they got were the ones who took the wrong highway exit on their way to St. Louis. Jake probably could name every single person who lived on Main Street, and he could definitely name everyone who lived out on the backroads. When he walked around town, folks called out his name and said ‘hello’—folks who had known him since he was a kid, and his parents before him.

Silver Springs was the definition of ‘smalltown,’ so every year it had a whole flock of folks eager to get out. But for all the reasons people were itching to leave, Jake was happy to stay.

Even on his short walk from the front door of Cain’s General Supply back to his pick-up truck parked on the curb, three different people called out to him with a friendly ‘hello,’ and he returned their greetings with a charming smile and an easy wave.

He kept his window rolled down as he drove slowly back towards the Farm’n’Feed, ready to go and spend his day making another round of deliveries. People walked up and down Main Street, taking care of chores. These were good, sturdy people. These were the people Jake loved.

He pulled into the lot next to the Farm’n’Feed and didn't bother to lock his truck door. Spinning his keys on his finger, he shouldered the front door open. It squeaked on its hinges, drowning out the jingle of the tiny bell he attached above the door nearly five years ago.

“Hey, Jake,” said his boss, Mr. Simpson, without even looking up. He was at the front counter, the ledger open in front of him, a pencil in hand. “How was Chester?”

“Friendly as always,” replied Jake, walking around the counter and into the back office to start grabbing his next delivery. “Mike Metcalf was with him.”

“Oh, really? How’s he doing?”

“Same old, same old.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Jake grabbed two bags of fertilizer, balancing them on one shoulder, and stepped right back outside. With only three trips, he’d loaded up his truck with everything he’d need to take on this delivery round. He stepped back inside to let Mr. Simpson know he was about to take off again, but at that moment an old silver Honda pulled up to the curb outside.

“Carole,” Jake and Mr. Simpson said in unison.

Sure enough, barely thirty seconds later a haggard-looking Carole Bradshaw pushed into the Farm’n’Feed, shoving a fistful of yellow curls out of her face as she did. She beamed when she saw Jake, throwing her arms out and wrapping him up in a warm, motherly hug.

“Good to see you, Jakey,” she said cheerfully. “How’s life treating you?”

“Can’t complain, Carole,” he hummed back, leaning against the counter and drumming his fingers on the wood. “What brings you in today?”

Carole puffed up her cheeks and sighed, immediately making a beeline for the bulk dog food. “Chicken’s tired of the old flavor, so Goose sent me to grab something new. Why he spoils that dog rotten, I’ll never know.” But even as she said it, her voice dripped with fondness for her husband and their old lab.

Mr. Simpson chuckled, shaking his head and marking something in the ledger. “What I don’t understand is why you still have a dog named after poultry.”

“Well, I can’t change it, can I, Beau?” cried Carole, scandalized. “Bradley’d be heartbroken! He loves that dog.”

At the mention of his old school buddy, Jake perked up. “Speaking of—heard from him lately, Carole? Bradley, I mean?”

“Oh, sure,” she sighed, scanning the dog food options. “He’s a good boy, he calls every week if he can. I’ll probably give him a ring later to let him know about the wedding. He’d love to come back for it, I’m sure, and we’d love to see him.”

Mr. Simpson exchanged a confused glance with Jake, who said, “What wedding?”

Carole spun around, her eyes wide. Her hands flew up to her face, barely covering the gasp she let out. Then she was rushing forward, grabbing Jake by the cheeks and crying out, “You haven’t heard? Oh, Jake! Pete finally did it—he asked Penny to marry him! They’re getting hitched, Jake!”

Mr. Simpson gave a low whistle. “Old Penny Benjamin is finally making an honest man out of Mav, huh? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Ain’t that something,” mumbled Jake, laughing as Carole planted a kiss on his forehead before forcefully releasing him. She strode back over to the dog food, decisively grabbed a bulk bag, and slammed it down on the counter.

“Chicken for Chicken,” she said. “If he doesn’t like it… well… if he doesn’t like it, then I guess I’ll be back here tomorrow.”

Then she was hefting the impressive bag under her arm, kissing Jake on the cheek again, and vanishing through the front door with an excited whoop: “Pete and Penny Mitchell, coming soon to a Silver Springs near you!”

Jake and Mr. Simpson chuckled, pleasantly amused by Carole’s antics. It was impossible not to love Carole Bradshaw; she was the mother, or the sister, or the aunt, or the niece, that everyone in town wished they had. She’d been there for Jake countless times growing up, and she still invited him to dinner with her and her husband almost every time she saw him in town. 

When he’d been at his lowest, the Bradshaws had been there for him. He would always be grateful for that.

“Penny Mitchell,” mused Mr. Simpson aloud, pulling Jake from his thoughts. Then he laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“More like Pete Benjamin,” said Jake.

Mr. Simpson laughed. “Go on, Jake, get outta here before Kazansky starts calling me asking where his delivery is. I’ll hold down the fort here.”

Jake nodded, swiping his keys off the counter and stepping back out into the warm, midday sunlight of Silver Springs. He inhaled the clear air and kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk, enjoying the way it clattered down the pavement. The gravel crunched under his boots as he approached his truck, yanking the door open and climbing in. He whistled along to a bluegrass song on the radio, waving ‘hello’ to everyone he passed on the road.

Just another day in Silver Springs.

Jake’s keys clattered onto the table in his foyer as he stumbled home, tired and worn-out from a hard day’s work. The sun hung low in the sky, turning his living room a beautiful orange color. He toed off his boots and kicked the front door shut behind him, stepping into the big, empty space he called home.

Years ago, when he’d bought this place, he’d dreamed of getting a dog, or some horses and sheep, if not a proper family. But it was like all the old ladies whispered when he passed them on their porches—he was married to his work. He just didn’t have the time for it.

So the three-bedroom fixer-upper on the edge of town had become the quietest bachelor pad in existence, and every time Jake came home, his footsteps echoed across the hardwood floors.

He sighed, remembering what Kazansky had said when Jake had dropped off his order of fertilizer.

“You heard about the wedding, I bet?” Kazansky mumbled, marking the delivery in his ledger before pulling out his checkbook. 

“Yes, sir,” said Jake, his eyes scanning the decor in Kazansky’s old game supply store.

Kazansky grunted, scribbling his signature on a check. He tore it out with a clean r-r-r-rip and said, “Can't believe Mav beat you to the altar, Jake. What happened to that nice girl you were seeing? The one at the bank?”

Jake swallowed. “Haven’t talked to her for a while.”

Mrs. Kazansky poked her head out of the back office, tutting disapprovingly. “A boy like you, chronically single—it doesn’t make sense, Jake!”

“You’ve got the job, the house on the hill, but nothing else,” agreed Mr. Kazansky. “About time to start settling down, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” sighed Jake, determinedly not looking either Kazansky in the eye.

“Oh, I know!” cried Mrs. Kazansky, snapping her fingers. “What about that childhood sweetheart of yours? Heard anything lately? You two had the cutest nicknames for each other—what was it again? Boots?”

Jake’s heart thudded uncomfortably and he took the check from Mr. Kazansky, pocketing it and signing off his name in the ledger. “Radio silence,” he said gruffly. “I’ll see you around, Tom. Sarah.”

Then he left as quickly as he could, his stomach queasy.

Back in his house, he crossed into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator, in desperate need of a beer after the amount of wedding chit-chat he’d had to make that day. He uncapped it with the bottle opener attached to his counter and started to drink it right there in the kitchen, leaning his lower back against the island.

His fridge was covered in photographs and cards—the most recent of which being Pete and Penny’s save the date. But buried under a stack of postcards from Bradley was one he tried to ignore. And that was precisely the one he carefully removed from its place.

Jake wasn’t supposed to have it anymore. When you’d left, he’d shoved all the memories of you into a box and thrown it in the back of his childhood closet. But when he moved here, he’d been going through some old books, and one stray photograph had fallen out, like an abandoned makeshift bookmark.

When he realized what it was, he’d tried to throw it out. But then somehow it had ended up on his fridge, half-hidden by the other cards there. And now, a decade later, it was still there—frayed and fading, but there. A memory. Proof that it was real.

It was you and him, the summer after your senior year. Both of your faces were blurry and red from the flash of the camera. His haircut was terrible, but you were beautiful. Your lips were pressed clumsily to his cheek, one hand splayed across the side of his head, and you were both laughing. The orange glow of a bonfire burned behind the two of you.

As the sun set over Jake’s lonely farmhouse, he drank his beer in silence and gently held that old photograph. And when the light finally faded, he gingerly replaced it behind Bradley’s postcards and went to bed.

Your feet ached as your elevator slowly came to a stop on your floor, settling into place with an audible clunk. The doors slid open noisily and you stepped out, relishing the click of your work shoes on the wooden floor as you made your way to your apartment.

You fumbled for your keys, shoving your mail under your armpit and fighting back a yawn. You’d had to go in to work early that morning due to a payment emergency with one of your clients. All was well now, but it did mean you’d be taking less money for this particular case. Not that you minded; you worked with civilian cases because you cared about them, not because they paid well.

The door stuck in the frame, so you shoved it open with your shoulder. It shrieked as it swung open, then shrieked again as you kicked it closed.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, immediately pulling off your shoes and leaving them in the entryway. You tossed your keys down in the bowl you kept by the door and padded quietly across the floor, not even bothering to turn a light on despite the fact that the sun had set long ago.

You tossed the small stack of mail down on your kitchen counter and opened the fridge, pulling out a beer and a box of leftover Chinese food. Still in complete darkness, you put it in the microwave and punched a few numbers. Then you grabbed your bottle opener off its hook on the wall and uncapped your beer, taking a long swig before finally flicking on a light switch.

You carded idly through the stack of mail as your microwave hummed behind you. Same old, same old—bills and ads and notices that bored you out of your mind. But as you tossed them to the side, a manila card with navy blue lettering slid free

Curious, you lifted up the piece of cardstock, angling it in the light.

Save The Date! Penny Benjamin & Pete Mitchell July 19th Silver Springs, Missouri 

Your heart leaped into your chest. “Holy shit,” you whispered, staring at the card. Your feet began to lead you down the hall towards your bedroom, ignoring the microwave beeping behind you. You flicked the light on, illuminating your unmade bed and messy floor, but you ignored it all. You set the card down gently on your desk and got down on your hands and knees, pulling the dusty old box out of its place under your bed.

You hadn’t touched it in months, and you hadn’t touched it sober in years. But now, with your beer in hand, you lifted the lid and let yourself get lost in a sharp haze of memories.

The boots were soft, brown leather. You knew they still fit; your foot size hadn’t changed since you were sixteen. But you pushed them aside and found the faded, sepia photograph that you tried to pretend didn’t exist. The only physical memory you had from those dreamy years with your first love.

You weren’t sure who had taken it; Bradley, maybe, or Natasha. It was at one of your late-summer bonfires. You and Jake were fast asleep, both curled up in the same hammock. Most of your bodies were impossible to make out. His arm was thrown over your waist, draping off the side of the hammock. Your hair covered most of his face. But the hammock was small, so both sets of your legs were hanging off the edge, intertwined and impossible to tell who started where.

And on the end of both sets of legs were matching cowboy boots.

The same boots sitting in the box in front of you now.

You sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of your nose. Throwing your head back, you drained half the beer in one long gulp. Then you flipped over Pete and Penny’s card, saw the website address there, and reached for your laptop in order to RSVP.

masterlist

@harringtonbf / @spideystevie / @almightyellie / @sunlitide / @holypowell

[lazylittledragon]

this got out of hand really fast

context:

[luthienne]

important to remember that many many countries, 120 countries, voted for a ceasefire and that the international community is not just the global north. the world stands with the palestinian people. those of us in countries who voted no to a ceasefire or abstained (and who actively send military aid to israel) must continue to pressure our representatives to end the genocide & occupation. that means protesting, calling, emailing, boycott, divestment, sanctions.

if you're in the us and you're looking for protests — look for your local jvp, samidoun, or psl chapter on instagram. they are usually organizing or co-sponsoring events.

as always with protests, remember to wear a mask for community & personal safety <3

[transmascissues]

in 2024 i want to see more songs sung in t voices, more grown-out t scruff, more hairy tits and top surgery scars, more gay sex involving t dicks and pussies, more cutting each other’s hair when the hairdressers can’t get it right, more helping each other with t shots and sharing extra bottles of t gel, more passing down binders and post-surgery pillows like family heirlooms, more crackly laughs and excited voices that don’t know how loud they are now, more proudly showing off phallo scars like we show off top surgery scars, more teaching each other how to shave and tie a tie and all the other things our dads didn’t teach us, more sheer shirts over post-op chests, more skirts and short shorts on hairy legs, more moving the fuck out instead of living with transphobic parents, more breaking up with partners that wanted girlfriends not boyfriends, more pregnant dads, more twinks turned into otters and bears by t, more scars and binders on the beach, more romanticization of t dicks and meta dicks and phallo dicks, more rage and resistance against anyone who would try to rob us of our history or our ancestors, more pride in complex manhoods and queer masculinities, more getting louder every time someone tells us to shut up about the things that are important to us, more searching for transmasculinity in every piece of media and injecting it into anything that failed to consider us, more cuntboys and boygirls and transfags and butch dudes and transsexual men, more jumping headfirst into masculinizing transitions, more delighted reactions to realizing “holy shit i think i’m actually a guy”, more trans manhood and transmasculinity as force of nature and fundamental truth and fact of life that cannot under any circumstances be ignored.

[obsob]

the accolade ( the...the cat-olade...)

[lady-raziel]

Not to talk about the watcher thing again as I’ve already kind of said my piece, but one of the most batshit insane parts of this whole unbelievable situation is that for some reason they decided that for some fucking reason the BEST time to announce this highly controversial decision was literally DAYS before they would be going on an international tour and having to face irate fans IN PERSON. Guys. What the hell. At least have the sensibility to announce a move that you HAD to have known would make people upset AFTER one of the few times you actually interact in person with your fanbase.

I hope you’re ready to investigate the Tower of London for ghosts, because I have a feeling the Londoners will be more than happy to acquaint you with the building later this week.

Insane move after insane move. Truly.

[kimtaegis]

nose scrunches & bunny teeth >ᴗ< for @jkvjimin ♡

cr. namuspromised, qdeoks

[galesdevoteewife]

Just a thought occurred to me today:

Apparently wizards can make programmed vibrators.

🫠

[podcastwizard]

not sure on account of i haven't lived too many lives but i'm fairly certain the meaning of existence is doing fun silly things with the people you love. gonna experiment a little and report back.

[ferrisbuellers]

20 YEARS OF MEAN GIRLS Released on April 30th, 2004

[benoits-neckerchieves]

Think I’ve finally figured out why Daniel Craig is trending

This image has become a meme in comparing him to a banker / accountant / antiques dealer / European MP, university professor etc etc (whilst also acknowledging the sexiness ofc)

Why does he keep accidentally creating viral memes and he doesn’t even know 😭😭

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

there's just... there is no reason to make yet another cop show in this day and age. copaganda is not only bullshit, it is a failure of imagination.

you want to watch brooding characters with dark pasts investigate crimes in an official capacity? just use private detectives (cops have a miserable solve rate anyway). want eccentric geniuses & their sidekicks solving mysteries? i present you with armchair detectives & neighborhood busybodies. oh, you're craving a workplace comedy-drama starring overworked protagonists doing their heartfelt best to resolve community conflicts? social worker office sitcom! bitch this is ACHIEVABLE

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

you'll be alright, oh, here it is @magicshop ♡ (cr. namuspromised)

[cheswirls]

short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

-

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no.  You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience. 

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!”

[hopeinthebox]

bts + reductress headlines pt.12

[hyakunana]

When you need to lie, but you're a good boy.