#i just love this game i used to watch the great berate's like 2 hour long defusing videos as stress relief

[elytrafemme]

i forgot how dan and phil are so fucking good at keep talking and nobody explodes and for like zero reason whatsoever

[joelsmochi]

honeypie - joel miller

summary: part 2 to honey (can be read as a standalone, doesn’t have much to do with the original plot!) warnings: not proofread, 18+, slight angst?, age gap (everyone is legal!!!!!), bickering/arguing, double date trope womp womp, degradation, dubcon, creampie, joel is a smidge misogynistic insecure and possessive wc: 2.6k a/n: this is mainly just some self indulgent yet rushed storytelling (so sorry, i wrote it in an hour because i was bored at work lol)! i wanna write a part 3 and actually include the beekeeping a little more but i have nooo idea how i’m gonna do it but we WILL get there one day babes!!! until then, enjoy this fluffy angsty sex 😽!!!💓

series masterlist | main masterlist

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“If you guys are gonna bang when I’m in the house the least you could do is be quiet!” You heard Sarah shout from the other side of Joel’s bedroom door after banging on it.

Joel grimaced, his body tensing beneath you but you were almost oblivious to the complaints of your best friend. Almost.

You didn’t let up on your movements or noises whatsoever and as much as Joel loved those sweet little moans spewing from you as you humped against him, he loved his privacy much more especially when it came to his daughter.

You shook your head profusely when he attempted to get you to stop, insisting on how you were almost there.

“Soclosesoclosesoclose—just w-wait, I’m cu—fuck. Ahh, fuck, I’m cumming. Oh yes! Yesyesyesyesyes! Ohh—oh, my God—“

Joel covered your mouth with a clammy hand, feeling torn from his mixed feelings of lust and embarrassment.

Going downstairs didn’t help him feel any better either, especially when Sarah began berating you both, not that he blamed her for it.

“Call it payback for all the times I let you and your boyfriend have sex in my bed,” you retorted.

“In your bed?!” Joel mumbled to himself.

“Yeah yeah, could have at least waited until I was gone,” Sarah muttered.

“Sorry, Sar,” you hummed, “your dad is just really hot.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Come on, man.”

“I didn’t even know you were home,” Joel complained. “You’ve been with Jared or whatever his name is all week.”

Sarah’s squinted her eyes, annoyed by the lack of care from her father. “Alex. His name is Alex dad—see, I hate this!”

“Oh, by the way, Sarah,” you said, pattering behind the kitchen counter, “wouldn’t use the open jar of honey if I were you.”

“UGH! EW! Fucking ew!”

♡

“Other than the obvious,” Sarah mumbled, “how’s my dad taking care of you?”

You wore a bright smile and looked away from your reflection momentarily. Joel was… Joel. Rough around the edges but he was a genuine person, confident in the external reality but a little insecure. Not unbearably insecure though, just enough to make you know he was trying his best.

He wasn’t the most romantic but you figured it was just from him being out of the game for so long and you knew you could train him to be more romantic if it was needed.

He didn’t push you aside or make attempts to subtly suggest you needed to leave after sex either; he’d pout real big and give you those gorgeous puppy dog eyes until you held him. He loved making you laugh.

But it definitely still felt like just sex rather than a relationship. You weren’t particularly complaining, but you weren’t bragging about it either.

“Good,” you answered.

Sarah could tell from your tone how honest it was. Good meant great, happy, damn near perfect.

“Good. I’m glad,” she said. “I was worried he’d be like one of those incels that get real creepy and pervy after thirty-five.”

“No, no, he’s great,” you reiterated. “He’s very funny. Smart. He asks me to tan in my bikini while he’s working on the hive or the yard.”

You watched from the corner of your makeup coated eye how tightly she grimaced.

“Images. In head. Don’t want them there,” she dramatized.

“I have to hear every last detail about you and Al up to where he’s shoving your cervix into your stomach. You can deal with a little sexiness from us,” you said.

“It’s just so weird,” she whined.

“Do you want me to stop seeing him?” You asked.

You had slowly began to worry about how this would affect your best friend over time, you knew it was a weird situation. You had no issue cutting Joel off if it meant Sarah got to be happy. There were other men in the world, there weren’t other Sarah’s.

“No, God! No. It’s just not as simple as I was expecting. You know?” She explained kindly.

“Totally! I’d be weirded out if you were hooking up with my dad while I was across the hall. I’m not blaming you there, or anywhere for that matter. Just know you come first.”

“Well, yeah, who else is going to wax your back hair and not judge you for it?” She teased.

You rolled your eyes at her.

“Lots of men with weird fetishes.”

♡

“Can’t believe I agreed to this,” Joel huffed.

He adjusted the waistband of his jeans making his shoulder briefly flare. You let your mind wander while Joel complained about the double date you had arranged with Sarah and Alex. You were currently waiting in the parking lot for them to arrive.

“It’ll be fun. You’ll get to meet Alex and see he is a respectable man and you and I get to pretend we’re a couple for a few hours.”

“Pretend?” Joel questioned. “W-what do you mean pretend? Are we not together?”

“Uh, no?” You said.

Joel didn’t appreciate your amused reaction and questioned you a little more.

“You never asked me to be your girlfriend— you haven’t even taken me on a date,” you explained. “Did you really think that conversation wasn’t necessary?”

“So if we’re not together then what is this?”

You sucked your teeth before simply saying, “Sex.”

Once the four of you were inside Sarah and her boyfriend felt the tension between the two of you.

You watched Joel punch in all of your names into the keypad before pressing ‘start game’.

“So Alex, what do you do for work?” Joel asked.

“Oh, well right now I’m working at a café downtown, but I’m majoring in political science to become a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” Joel sounded impressed.

“Lawyers are great at communicating,” you antagonized. “They know what questions are… Important to ask.”

Joel rolled his eyes and motioned between you and the bowling balls. “Just go. Good God.”

“Dad, what did you do?” Sarah asked.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” He defended.

“Girl, what did he do?” She asked you.

Shrugging, you said, “I don’t know. Since Joel thinks he’s so great at communicating, maybe he should answer. I’m gonna go bowl.”

“Hope you gutter!” Joel shouted after you walked away. “She told me I needed to ask her to be my girlfriend.”

“You thought she was your girlfriend?!” Sarah said with wide eyes.

“Well… Yeah? Do I really need to verbally ask her that?”

“That’s why I got a strike, bitch,” you said while slapping the back of Joel’s head.

Sarah and Alex awkwardly stood up so that he could pretend to teach Sarah how to bowl properly. But the bickering between you and Joel didn’t end there.

“I thought it was obvious,” Joel told you. “I have you over all the time. We fuck. We laugh. Did I really need to ask?”

“So what would have happened if I pissed you off and you were to say ‘it’s not like you’re my girlfriend’?”

“I do not sound like that!” Joel scoffed. “And I would never do that to you, you know that. I just kinda figured you were mine, you know?”

You squinted at his unearned possession over you, feigning offense and scoffing obnoxiously.

“Yours? I’m not your property, Joel. You don’t get to claim me.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you goin’ to do about it? Fuck some other loser?”

You grinned, and immediately he regretted his words.

“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” you whispered.

Alex and Sarah sat back down and you asked if they wanted anything to eat or drink before walking away to go to the bar.

“Hi, what can I get for ya?” The boy at the counter asked.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, why?”

“You see the older man on lane twelve?”

He looked and then nodded.

“Well, I wanna make jealous so if you could just smile and pretend to flirt with me I’ll give you ten bucks,” you explained with a sly smirk.

“Fifteen,” he negotiated.

“Ugh, fine. Can I get two lemonades, a beer, and a water please?”

“That’s not coming out of my tip, is it?” He questioned whilst punching the order into his screen.

“It will if you don’t start looking at my boobs,” you said through your faux smile.

You leaned onto the counter and gave the employee a clear view of your cleavage, which he seemed to appreciate very much.

But Joel wasn’t only focused on the teenage boy behind the counter, he noticed the numerous men gawking at your short shorts that showed off too much of your ass with you bent over the counter the way you were.

“Dad,” Sarah’s voice brought him back to reality. “Your turn.”

By the time Joel managed to spare you had returned with everyone’s drinks and Joel didn’t give you the satisfying reaction of jealousy like you’d hoped.

Wondering if you went too far, you drank a bit of Joel’s beer to imprint a lip gloss stain for Joel to taste in between sips. Something you noticed he loved to do over the past few weeks whenever he made you coffee or tea. You never finished your drinks and Joel always lined his mouth up with your lip print to taste you every chance he got.

And as you gave him the cheap plastic cup that held his beer, you watched as he habitually sipped right where your lips had been. Occasionally licking the rim of the cup before taking his next swig.

A couple of games later, you and Sarah managed to team up against the boys and kick their asses each and every frame. They sulked while you two gloated from the ending of the final game all the way back to the cars.

“Okay, okay. We get it, girls rule, boys lose,” Alex said.

“It’s boys drool,” Sarah corrected before turning to hug her father who placed a kiss on her forehead. “Night, dad. I’m gonna stay at Alex’s.”

“Okay, babygirl. Call me tomorrow.”

“Oh, and word of advice,” Sarah whispered after you got into Joel’s car. “Girls like what boys consider pointless communication. Take her out a few times, make her feel special, and ask her to be your girlfriend. She really likes you, she’s just making you earn it.”

Joel softly smiled and nodded. “Mmkay. Thanks.”

Once he got in the car he didn’t acknowledge you in the least bit, finally free to punish you for letting those men get a free show.

“Not a word?” You nudged his arm as he drove. “You could ask me now.”

He snickered, the most noise he’s made in the last ten minutes.

“You don’t get to just fucking claim me, Joel!”

Joel sped up before pulling into a rest area.

“Come’ere,” he hoarsely demanded.

He unclipped his seatbelt and began undoing his belt and jeans.

“Don’t get all fuckin’ shy on me now, girl. Come on.”

You hesitated but unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed into his lap; he moved his seat all the way back and pushed his jeans low enough for his cock to spring up and slap his belly.

Instinctively you reached for it, but he removed your hand from his hardening length and held your wrists tightly behind your back with one hand. Using his other hand to grab your face by your cheeks he forced you to look into his cold eyes.

“Do you not want to be with me?” His voice strained as he asked that, a hint of hurt glaring in his dark eyes.

“Of course I want to be with you,” you answered.

“I don’t play games,” he said, gripping your wrists even tighter. “Don’t fucking—“ A soft smack landed upon your cheek. “Don’t fucking do what you did tonight ever again. Get on your knees.”

He slightly shoved you back as he loosened his grip on your hands and face; you submissively sank to the rough carpeted floor of the car and he wasted no time pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and shoving his fat dick into your wet mouth.

He tasted so fucking good, the mix of his clean flesh and salty precum like honey dripping onto your tongue. Your eyes rolled back and you moaned along his shaft as you eagerly bobbed your already hazy head up and down.

Joel’s hips rolled up in pleasure, gurgling out helpless moans as your nose rubbed the wiry hairs along the base of his shaft. Despite the aching and soreness, you loved having your throat full of Joel.

You took initiative and pushed against his hand, nonverbally telling him to make you suffer, and he shamelessly did so.

He couldn’t tell if the slick that was coating his balls was your spit or tears and he didn’t give a fuck. If you were going to show some loser teenager your tits and some loser bachelors your ass the least you could give him was some fucking remorse, right?

Joel felt powerful, in charge in ways he never experienced before. Your flooded eyes looked into his and saw how contorted his face was, so even if he was the one telling you what to do you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“Give me that fuckin’ throat, baby,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck! That throat is so fucking tight—mnh. God…damn baby. Feels so fucking good.”

He smacked your wet cheeks as encouragement before slowly pulling you off of his dick; you coughed at the gust of oxygen that flooded your lungs, giggling as he smacked his fat tip against your puffy mouth.

“Look at you, baby,” he whispered. “So pretty when my cock shuts that smart fuckin’ mouth a’yours up.”

“You love my fucking mouth,” you smugly said as you climbed into his lap.

“I do, but I think you forget what it’s supposed to be used for,” he whispered.

“You can stuff my mouth all you want, I’m still gonna give you a reason to use it.”

An eyebrow of his cocked up and a grin spread across his face at your confidence.

“Take your pants off,” he instructed seductively. His rough hands ran up your arms and back while you did what he said. “There you go,” he moaned when you slid down on his wet cock. “You’re such a good fucking slut for me, honey.”

“Just—just ask me, and I’ll s-say yes!” You shakily moaned as you relentlessly bounced on his dick.

Joel gripped your neck and began fucking into you from below, pushing deeper than he needed to, definitely bruising your cervix.

“You know you belong to me. All that fucking shit about claiming you and how I don’t own you, fuck was that?”

“Joe—elll, ugh!” You screamed into his chest, not sure if you were cumming or if your cunt was just overwhelmed with sensitivity. “Just ask, just ask baby I promise I’ll be good I’ll never misbehave again.”

He popped your ass and chuckled cruelly when you flinched and moaned. “Be my girlfriend, babydoll. Hmm? I want you to be my girl. You’re already my slut. Will you be my girl, babydoll?”

Your eyes gawked up at him and you couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged against your lips.

“Yes! Yes, yes, baby! Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

“Say it,” he begged. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours Joel! Fuckfuckyes I’m yours! I belong to you! I fucking belong to you!”

Joel felt the familiar deep stretch in the peak of his belly at your cries. He listened to you submit to him, let him claim you as his, ultimately marking his territory as he began to cum inside of your warm cunt.

“Thaaaat’s my good girl,” Joel growled as he fucked the last of his spend into you.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, climbing off of him. “You’re such an ass.”

He chuckled at this, the softness in his laughter coaxing a giggle from you.

“You love me,” he mumbled.

“Mmm, not quite,” you said as confidently as your tired body would allow.

“Oh, honeypie… You’ll get there soon enough.”

[littlefreya]

The Kitten & the Bear - Part 1

Intro: This story is a collab and was written by both @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ and I. It was born out of a fun role play we have going on. We ended up having so much a fun with this particular idea that we thought we should post it as a 3 part story and share it with the rest!

| Read Part 2  | Read Part 3 |

Summary: After a night of drinking in town get Walter’s bratty wife ends up with pure chaos and the overprotective grumpy husband is having none of her shenanigans. 

Pairing: Detective Walter Marshall x OFC (first person pov) 

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Bratty behaviour, vandalism, dominant overprotectiveness, BDE, husband stalking his wife, sexual innuendo, dirty inappropriate talks, mentions of sex and oral, weed and alcohol usage. Sex in the next parts :D Walter is a Boomer. 

A/N: We didn’t beta it and did transform it from 2nd to 1st person POV, really hoping you guys will enjoy it as we did. Feel free to share your thoughts. 

Title: The Kitten & the Bear

Nothing chilled my heart more than waking up in an empty bed. Walter was already gone, leaving his side of the mattress cold and abandoned. A heavy sigh broke from my lips, I stroked the ghost of the kiss that still tingled on my cheek, knowing he planted it there before heading to work. 

Sadness seeped into my heart as I realised I won't see him today. Our work scheduled conflicted and I have scheduled a "date night" with my girls in the evening. Picking up my phone, I texted him a pouty emoji and then headed to get my day started.

Walter left me on read, which just fuelled the brat in me. When he called during his lunch break, he was taciturn as usual, and most of the call was about his disapproval of us girls going out without at least one male friend or a boyfriend to chaperone.

"Oh my god, Walter, this is not the 50s! Women can leave their house without a husband tagging along!" I grunted and berated him, "stop acting like someone is going to kidnap me!!! I'm an adult woman!" I snapped at him while sitting at the cafe. People sitting around stared quietly as I hung up the phone, and stormed out.

~~~

Walter looked at his mobile phone, shocked. He couldn't even remember the last time someone hung up on him, let along his wife.

"Fucking brat," he muttered as he pocketed it. 

After lunch, he went into the precinct. Since it was flu season and they were having a shortage of uniformed officers, he volunteered to patrol tonight. Assuming he might even be able to check up on me wherever I get to town. Just to keep me safe. That's right. Not from jealousy. Not because I'll be all dolled up and tipsy and every man in the vicinity will ogle me.

~~~

As the evening loomed, I was in dire need of letting loose. Walter had left me incredibly frustrated, acting like a police officer from hell rather than my husband. Going through my closet, I stumbled upon the most outrageous piece of wardrobe: a black strappy thing with corset details at the front. The same one I've worn for our first date which of course ended up with Walter and I dry humping like two horny teenagers at the back of his truck and him eating me out until I came all over his beard 4 times. 

I slapped a dark red lipstick and put on a pair of red "fuck me" pumps before leaving to meet the gals in a new night club that had just opened. I might or might not have a rolled-up joint in my purse.

~~~

Walter was sitting in a patrol vehicle on the opposite side of the street from the new fancy club with translucent walls. We were all sitting beside the window at a small table full of cocktail glasses, but the girls were gesturing toward the dance floor. Walter chose a dark spot on the street to park the car and was wearing a beanie. 

But he didn't need it. He knew I was oblivious to him and also to the men staring at me from 3 different tables. He ground his teeth frustrated when he first noticed that I was wearing that dress. His blood boiled as I was slowly sipping a cocktail with a sexy little pout around the long straw.

"Let's dance!!! I wanna dance!!!" I whined at my friend Keylah, grabbing her wrist and dragging her with me. My posture was slightly unstable after two cocktails and probably not enough food to pad my belly. She followed me to the dance floor while Stephanie remained in her seat, talking to some guy just for the sake of trolling. He'd been hitting on each one of us unsuccessfully. 

After an hour of dancing with Keylah, swaying my ass in ways that didn't leave any imagination to the men lurking, I remembered the little treat I had in my purse and decided we should take a small break to breathe some fresh air. 

I grabbed the girls, and we walked outside.

"Okay, don't you dare mention this to Walter," I warned them as I took the joint out from my purse.

"Daddy Magnum gonna punish you?" Steph teased while I lit the weed. 

"Oh, you have no idea, he gave me shit about seeing you tonight without a male chaperone, like this is Mad Man or something." 

"Woah! Walter is a boomer!!!" Keylah teased, and we all laughed hysterically. 

~~~

Unbeknownst to me, Walter was watching us dance from his patrol car, getting more and more frustrated by the hour. He observed as I gathered both girls and came out on the street, walking a couple of meters away from the entrance. A frown fell on his face as he saw me taking a lighter out from my purse.

"She doesn't even smoke, what the hell?" he fumed. 

His eyes widened when he saw the telltale shape of a joint between my fingers. His mouth was agape as I lit it up and started smoking and passing it around. "What the fuck? Where did she get that?" he muttered incredulously.

'It's fucking illegal in Minnesota, what the fuck? A cop's wife at that!' He thought, rage simmering in his gut.  

The police radio suddenly began buzzing, the sergeant calling on the line. 

"Hey Marshall, Toby came in for the night shift after all. Do you want him to keep you company?" 

'And see Walter's wife going to town on a spliff? No fucking way.' 

"No, Sarge, thanks. It's uh... calm tonight." He frowned from afar. "Nothing but law-abiding citizens," he replied, hoping his sarcasm didn't go through while he was watching the wife of a respected detective drunk and smoking weed in the great outdoors.

"All right" the sarge concluded and cut the line, and Walter put back the radio.

‘Un-fucking-believable.'

~~~

The girls and I fell into a fit of wild giggles, thoroughly buzzed and high at the same time. My skirt rode up my thighs, and I didn't even bother fixing it as the combination of drugs and alcohol made me frivolous and careless. 

"Is Walter such a nerd in bed too? Is he one of those guys who won't even make a sound because they are ashamed of it?" Stephanie asked to which I immediately snorted.

"Walter fucks like a beast from hell," I answered and put off the remains of the joint against the heel of my shoe. 

"I had to go to the gyno at least four times in the past because he was too violent, and trust me, the noise he makes, luckily no one called the police yet…" 

"Jennifer, your husband is the police!" Keylah answered, and we burst into another fit of giggles which then gradually died down. 

The same man who bugged us from before followed us outside, giving us some stares and making a suckling voice with his lips. I snorted at him and told him to fuck off before putting my arms around my girls. 

"This place sucks, let's go grab something to eat from the store, if Walter sees me like this I will NEVER hear the end of it".

~~~

Walter was watching us walk away, still furious about my illicit behaviour. He promised himself that he'd have a serious conversation with me about this tomorrow. He gave us two blocks of a head start and then ignited the engine of the car and made a U-turn, slowly he rolled towards the store and saw us enter. He made another U-turn in front of the store to park across the street. He just hoped that we'll buy some nachos and a coke and then call it a night, and call a cab to go home.

~~~

It was close to 1am. We barged into the store, marching through as if we owned the place. Keylah stopped by the condoms section and threw a bottle of lube in my direction. "Here you go, Jennifer, you gonna need it".

I laughed and threw it back at her, grabbing a bag of chips and a bottle of water. 

"Better fuck his brains before he starts asking where you've been tonight," Stephanie added. 

"Can you girls please behave?" The clerk-lady requested politely, giving us a prudent look. I rolled my eyes at her and then stopped short as I saw a large stuffed grizzly bear that reminded me of Walter. I grabbed it and hugged it tightly just as I got the sudden urge to misbehave.

"Girls…" I whispered, making them come closer, "bet you a 20 I can sneak this out without paying!"

~~~

Walter's shoulders slumped, and he let out an irritated groan when he saw one of the girls throwing things inside the store. Though, he sighed in relief when I paused this stupid game, and a small smile tugged the edge of his mouth when I hugged a huge stuffed bear that reached down to my thighs and was high above the top of my head as I squeezed it to my torso. 

The way I looked at the bear reminded him of the loving looks I always gave him. But a sense of foreboding assaulted him as we started whispering and pointed at the door.

~~~

"Okay, okay… shush!" I whispered way too obvious and held the stuffed animal behind my back.

"Hey Keylah, can you pay for my chips?" I asked and backed away toward the door, nearly stumbling on my heels and holding the laughter in my gut. 

Noticing my attempt, the old woman cleared her throat, giving me a glare, "You are going to have to pay for that or I will call the police…"

"Her husb…"

"Shut up, Stephanie!" Keylah shouted and threw a bottle of lube in her direction, accidently hitting my shoulder, which made me drop the bear on the floor. 

"Key, you fucking bitch!!!" I answered and picked up the bottle, throwing it back at her. 

"Hey stop that!!!!" The clerk demanded and walked back behind the counter, picking up her phone. 

We ignored her, laughing like schoolgirls and throwing the bottle back and forth between us. Boxes of tampons and condoms fell to the floor as we moved through the hygiene section shouting playfully. 

As Keylah threw the bottle at me for the 12th time, I lifted it and threw it so hard it hit the window and broke it, causing the store's alarm to go off immediately.

"Oh… fu……..ck" I uttered.

~~~

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no," Walter panicked as he saw us vandalising the store. He was immediately ready to jump out of the car, but then it would be obvious he'd been keeping an eye on me. He had to wait for the call. 

He wasn't even hoping that the clerk would not involve the police in the matter. She has to. ‘Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck.’ 

When he saw the lady picking up the phone, he buried his face in his palms and rubbed it tiredly.

"Stupid, fucking bitches" he sighed, not believing his wife being so reckless. 

He picked up the buzzing radio and said, "Marshall. I'm here. On it." 

Without delay, he took the beanie off and got out of the car with his badge and gun ready.

~~~

Fingers dug into my hair, I stared wide-eyed at the broken window, immediately regretting all my decisions in the last couple of hours. 

'Walter was going to fucking kill me'. 

"I am soooooooo……." I began to say, turning to the clerk slowly while Keylah and Steph held their hands over their mouths. "So sorry." I stretched out while the alarm continued ringing in my ears. 

Then just like out of a nightmare, stepping through shards of broken glass with his big black boots, I saw Walter walking in, his brows knit together, his badge and his gun held out but kept low. He was enormous and menacing, yet the sight of him comforted me.

"Oh thank god, it's you!" I call out relieved.

~~~

The glass cracked beneath his steps as he walked in. He looked around and checked the store for cameras. 'Fuck, there were CCTVs'. 

He hoped to snatch me away and take care of the situation without involving... well himself but now that there was evidence it wasn't possible anymore. I was looking at him like a frightened little girl, but he couldn't help me, and frankly, he didn't feel like it either.

He looked at the clerk, showed her his badge and said in a neutral tone "MPD. What seems to be the problem?" 

~~~

My breath hitched at his "cop voice" and the way he asked the clerk. 

Stepping back and standing in the middle of the group, the three of us gaped at him with utter dumbfoundedness. Both my heart and gut dropped to the messy floor out of fear, and the way he carried himself, looking so menacing and authoritative made my panties drenched with arousal. 

"Officer, thank god you arrived! These three tried to steal a stuffed animal and started wreaking havoc in the store, throwing stuff around like children and speaking offensively!" The old woman explained and stood in the middle of the mess, looking helpless. 

My eyes rounded with false innocence, and I nibbled my bottom lip, giving Walter a vulnerable look. 

Walter was patiently listening to the clerk. Not a muscle flinched on his face as if he'd known everything. He took his notebook and a report form out and took care of the paperwork. 

The old lady eyed the three of us nervously while Walter was scribbling, and she hesitantly asked, "I'm sorry, Officer, but shouldn't you handcuff them? They might run."

Walter's curly head lifted, and he flashed the lady a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry, ma'am. They won't run."

"Is he serious?" Steph whispered, and I elbowed her, giving Walter a rather pissed off smile as he pretended not to know us at all and treated me like any other criminal.

Was it that just for show? Probably. We were going to have a serious talk about boundaries once we'd get home.

Walter finished writing his report and made the lady sign it before turning to look at the three of us, clenching his jaw. 

After a long, stern silence, I finally spoke, "Can I still get the teddy bear?"

Walter's nostrils flared as he dug into his pocket, pulled out a 20-dollar bill, slammed it on the counter and said to the clerk "For the bear."

At first, the lady was dumbfounded, then she blurted out outraged "Why are you buying a gift for a criminal?"

Walter didn't even spare her a look. He picked up the bear and looked at me with unflinching, stern eyes that made all three of us take a step backwards.

"Because she's my fucking wife."

The tone of his voice made the three of us startle, and I released a small gasp, seeing the look on his face. Walter made a gesture with his hand singling us to walk out of the store in order, and we did as he commanded. At the same time, my eyes gave him a mischievous smirk, mistaking this behaviour for a show.

Walter left the store last and immediately commanded, "To the car".

When we got there on the opposite side of the street, he opened the car and shoved the teddy bear on the passenger seat, then turned back, crossed his hands on his chest, and looked at all three of us. 

"Here's how it's gonna happen. We go in the precinct, fill out the forms, you stay the night, and most likely will be charged with a misdemeanour. Although the weed might be more problematic." He glared at me pointedly. 

The girls and I collectively gasped. 

"Now get in the back seat, all of you."

With shuddering legs, Keylah and Steph obediently entered the patrol car. I stared at Walter as he stood there towering over me, his massive arms crossed around his broad chest.

Still intoxicated, I looked at him with disbelief, realising two things: he arrived at the scene in less than two minutes after the lady called the police, which is impossible. And two, he couldn't possibly know I had weed on me unless… 

"Were you stalking me?!" I called out, ignoring the police officer and speaking to my husband. My hands went to my hips, my face sulking. 

"Oh my god, Walter! You were! Weren't you?" I frowned and shook my head, grunting with disgust.

"You are in no position to reproach me for anything right now", Walter said, seemingly calm. "But if you wanna know, I was patrolling in the neighbourhood and decided to check up on you. I saw the way you were shaking your ass for strangers" he spat, but he let his eyes roam the tight dress, and the way he subtly licked his lips made me sure he remembered exactly which dress it was.

"Do as you're fucking told and get in the car or you're gonna find yourself in even bigger trouble." 

"Oh my god, Walter!!! Are you fucking kidding me?!" I yelled at him and stepped back, throwing my hands in the air furiously.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!!! MY OWN HUSBAND STALKING ME?! What's next Walter? You gonna put an ankle bracelet thingy on me, so I don't get to leave the house without your fucking permission?!"

I got so angry, my hands pushed at his chest, to which he didn't even budge, and only his jaw tightened.

"I am NOT getting into that car, and you are going to let Keylah and Steph go before you are going to be in trouble!"

Keylah and Steph were both watching with utter fascination as they saw the growing tension in Walter's posture.

Once Keylah and Steph were inside the car, they felt like the immediate danger was over. Their drunkenness and high made them reckless again and they started cheering me in the verbal fight with my husband.

Walter was on the verge of bursting, it was evident from his face. He took a menacing step towards me and despite my anger, a pang of arousal shot in my core.

"Get. in the. fucking. car" he growled in a barely audible voice. He gave me one last chance to voluntarily obey him.

I moved closer toward him, my head tilting up to meet his menacing gaze, my breasts ghostly brushing against his hard torso.

"I am not going anywhere with you," I answered unflinchingly. "Keep this attitude up, and the whole town will get to enjoy me swaying this ass long before you do." I teasingly slapped my own ass and then smirked arrogantly as I heard the girls cheering at the backseat

"That's it."

Quick as lightning, Walter's hands uncrossed and shot out. He grabbed my arms, turned me around with dizzying speed and slammed my torso down on the hood of the police car.

"Jennifer Marshall, you are under arrest for destruction of property, public intoxication and obstruction of a law enforcement officer."

I gasped incredulously as I felt the metal handcuffs closing on my wrists while Walter was performing his duty automatically and methodically. I'd never seen him make an arrest, let alone manhandle me like this.

With my cheek pressed against the cold metal, I could see both Keylah and Steph gape at us, eyes and mouth wide with daze. 

Still intoxicated, I hissed as a shiver of fear and sexual arousal shot through my spine, creeping all the way down to my throbbing core. 

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I cried out in protest. "I am your wife!"

My attempt to stand up brought my ass to collide with his crotch, where I felt the unmistakable throb of his blood circulating down to his groin. 

"Are you also getting the feeling that they're gonna fuck?" Steph whispered to Keylah, loud enough for us to hear.

"Shush!" she answered and stared, licking her lips. 

"Let me go, you fucking pig!" I screamed and squirmed on the hood helplessly. 

"Anything you say will be held against you in the court of law" Walter continued in his deep cop voice as if I hadn't even spoken.

"Say his dick, girl!" Keylah shouted, and Steph wooed, but they quickly shut up and resorted to concealed giggling as Walter shot angry eyes at them. He stepped closer to secure his hold on the handcuffs, and I felt the warm coarse material of his jeans at the back of my thighs.

"If you don't want to add resisting arrest and possession of narcotics to your offences, shut the fuck up and stop squirming."

"Fuck” I hissed, which didn't go unnoticed by Walter. My ass naturally shifted against his hardening bulge, and I moaned gently, not loud enough for the girls to hear but definitely heard by Walter, who had his hand around my cuffed wrists.

"You're enjoying this, big guy?" I spit out sardonically, "controlling your wife like you always want to, hmm?"

With the alcohol flushing through my veins, mingled with the sheer exhilaration of anger, I became more daring than ever.

"I think you are just scared because we both know you are never going to tame me."

[slashingdisneypasta]

Sylvester the Cat x Toon!Reader || Drabble

Plot: I'm just experimenting with the Looney Tune idea so possibly enjoy some cute Sylvester Jr wanting you to be his new other parent.

Warnings: Toon violence?

You're just tying up the ends of Wile E's bandages into a tight little knot, prompting a wince from the coyote and a little board sign saying 'Ouch!'. Immediately you wince, stepping back. "Ohh... sorry, Wile E... I'm not exactly certified... " Daffy made you do this job, seeing as you're worse at sports then any of them- and that's saying something.

His head falls forward slightly and his ears wilt as you step back.

"Okay! Who's nex- " Turning around - picking up some more bandages and band aids in one fist, and an industrial sized tube of Acme branded antiseptic cream tucked under your other arm, - you look about for your next patient.

- And droop as soon as you see what kind if work load is waiting for you. It looks like every toon you know is lined up for medical attention!

The bandages and band aids slip out of your hands and scatter across the floor. "Oh boy." Quickly taking a deep breath to refresh yourself, you perk right up in order to get to it. Okay! "Sly! You're first, what's wro- Uh, hah. Nevermind."

Looking at him... maybe you don't have to ask...

Tweety flies through the giant gaping hole in Sylvester's tummy and the cat gives great sigh, slumping forward. "Why are the only times he's in there are when he can get out!!"

"I know, I know, woe is you. Sit down." You have no time for sympathies right now, you can allocate Sly only 2 minutes- and that's because you like him. The other patients coming get only one. "Okay, Sly!... um... " Oh brother you're stuck. Why do you do with an ailment like this?? Sylvester patiently sits, waiting for you to finish as you set your paws on your hips with a huff... wondering where exactly to go from here. Hm. "Do you maybe... know where your insides... are? Like, presently?"

"Uhh, they were... disintegrated... "

You two share a concerned look. "Maybe... spackle?- "

Just as Sylvester is gulping down his fear at your crazy suggestion, a certain black and white kitten comes speeding out of the crowd at the two of you. "FATHER!" Sylvester Junior stops at his fathers side, eyes wide with worry. "Father! Is he okay, Y/N??"

As you start rifling through your medical kit for something actually useful, you waive a dismissive paw at the kitten. "Oh, don't worry SJ. Your dad has recovered from worse- you know that."

Oh- that gives you an idea! It may not be strictly medical... or orthodox in the least, but its worth a try! Come on- you guys are toons. Straightening up, you look to the court; Searching for the little yellow speck you know is flying around somewhere.

Sylvester Jr nods slowly, pouting. His eyes are big, and round, and adorably full of worry. "Do you think I can sit on his lap safely, Y/N?"

Oh he's just the cutest. You turn back to your patient and raise your brows at him. "Can he?"

Sly perks up at the chance to get some much needed affection - rather then shameful berating, - from his rugrat. "Of course he can- come on, son- oww... " Unfortunately Sylvester Junior throws caution to the wind, and launches his little body at his father- almost going all the way through and causing you to seriously wince, but luckily Sylvester has a good grip on him and sets him in his lap rather then inside the cavern that was his belly. "Aghhh... thanks, son... I feel a lot better now... oof!- "

Sylvester Junior has thrown his arms around his father, and your heart leaps at the adorable scene...

Except- you wouldn't have, if you had heard what was really going on in that hug.

Sylvester's eyes widen and he deadpans at his son, hearing the words that come out in a rushed, hoarse whisper as soon as the hug he thought was genuine closes around his neck. Of course... this is his son, after all...

"How am I doing, Father?? Is Y/N looking?? I've been told that other cats become more inclined to date a cat who's good with children!, and since you're hopeless at that, I've elected myself, your darling baby son, to help you! So, are they looking father??"

"Junior!"

"Yes father???"

"I do not need your help to woo anyone, and I'm working on Y/N... " Sly tries to assure Jr, not sounding totally sure as his eyes fall downcast. "Its, uh, just a slow process, is all... " After a moment, he proudly lifts his chin, and he would puff out his chest, if... you know.. it was there... "I got your mother on my own, didn't I??"

Sylvester's proud moment is cut off quickly as his son pulls away from him to give a very deadpanned, sassy expression at the mention of his absentee mother cat. "And where is she, may I ask, father??"

A loud 'Aha!' comes from you a few feet away as you jump up, and grab something right out of the air.

Deeply rolling his eyes, irritation flickering inside him at the antics of his son, Sylvester Sr plonks him down on the bench beside him, angrily crossing his arms. Jr follows suit, looking like an exact replica of his father... except, smaller.

Blinking blankly around to see the two, with Tweety now wriggling around in your paws, you giggle at the sight. "What happened to you two? You were having such a heart warming father-son moment a second ago!"

"I'm full of shame, Y/N. Oh woe... "Sylvester Jr sighs, shaking his head as Sr turns his head slowly to look at him. "How am I to face my friends at the playground... My father- a loser!"

Sylvester pointedly looks away, angry eyes pointing towards the court. "My son... a spoiled brat. How am I ever to show my face in society, again?" An even heavier sigh comes out of Sylvester Jr at that remark, and Sylvester Sr immediately jumps up from the bench, pointing a stern finger at his son. "Oh no ya don't- Don't you dare get out that bag!!"

"But Father! I'm full of shame!" Sylvester Jr whines, holding the paper bag in his lap as you watch the two in wonderment. How they can bicker like this, and still have such an adorable, open relationship you have no clue - some kids are too scared to talk back to their fathers, - but the state of these two's relationship is truly, really endearing to you.

Oh how you love Sly... You catch yourself swooning at the thought of him, and immediately stop yourself. Stop it, Y/N! This is not the time for that. Taking a deep breath, you shake yourself. Okay, back to the task at hand.

Meanwhile, Sylvester snatches the paper bag away from Jr. "Oh, cut that out, wouldja?!"

While there's a pause in the argument, you jump and take your chance to hold up Tweety in front of Sylvester's face- his pupils shrinking at the sight and his teeth growing sharper, somehow.

"Oh no oh no- You mean old puddy tads- using me like this!" Tweety exclaims, wings pressed firmly to your paws and pushing, struggling to wiggle up and out of your tight grip. Yeah yeah, you think. Tell it to the choir.

Hopefully when I let Tweety go, Sly will give chase... and be all better!

Heh... isn't that how it works? It is, right? He'll 'perk right up'! you could say.

"Alright... here goes nothing!" You squeak, closing your eyes and letting Tweety go, hoping to god that Sylvester doesn't trample you in his endeavour to snatch his favourite little yellow bird.

Feeling a wind blow against you side and ruffling your fur as Sylvester springs to action, you slowly crack your eyes open again- first seeing Sylvester Jr as he still sits on the bench in front of you swinging his legs over the side of the bench, before peaking over your shoulder, and... "Yes!" You cry out as soon as your keen feline eyes catch sight of Sylvester looking good as new again on the court, chasing Tweety through the still-roaring basketball game. Clasping your hands together, your tail wiggles excitedly behind your back. "It worked!"

"What?" Sylvester hears your cheering and immediately halts in his tracks, looking at you then down at himself- a big, toothy smile spreading across his face when he see's he's all better. "Y/N! You did it! Thanks!"

"Of course!" You call back, then point at the scoreboard and wink. "Now kick those Monstar's butts for me!"

The green Monstar turns a squinty looking evil eye on you at hearing your words but you don't care- you're far too busy burning the image of Sly giving you a thumbs up into your mind.

"Heheh, no problem... " That trademark evil grin slips across Sly's face again as he rubs his paws together, turning his attention back to the game as you sigh, paws on your hips; Happy with your job well done.

"Uh, hello??" Someone speaks up from behind you, and you jump, suddenly remembering the mile long line of toons that still need medical attention.

Ohhh... great. You slowly turn around, seeing Elmer giving you angry eyes and quickly look extremely apologetic, paws awkwardly behind your back and spine as straight as a plank. Oops!

You might seem help... you think you tilting your head to see the rest of the long... long, l o n g line. "Uhh... SJ? You wanna help me play nurse, maybe?"

"Oh, yes Y/N!" He exclaims enthusiastically, hopping off the bench and taking up your medical kit in his short little arms- which is way too big for him. You giggle and take it from the kitten, patting his head. "I'll be happy to be your assistant!"

Fist bumping each other, you wink. "That's the kinda attitude I like to see! Lets go."

~

A couple hours and countless injuries later and the game is coming to a nail chewing close. Truly, this is a new level of anxiety you're feeling as you leave Sylvester Junior, now exhausted and up past his bedtime, curled in Granny's lap with a blanket strewn over him. Then you sit back down to watch the game beside a very injured Sly, as Witch Hazel defibrillates Taz.

If Michael doesn't make this shot - with but seven seconds to go, - he has to move to Moron Mountain in your place. You all dragged him here for help and now h's the one with everything on the line.

You cant help but feel a massive load of guilt.

"Oh I cant watch!" You squeak suddenly amongst the thunderous sounds of the audience at 4 seconds, and cover your eyes. "Tell me when its over!"

.

.

.

3 seconds later, the buzzer screeches and you hear the toons around you cheering, and peak out nervously from beyond your paws. ... What happened?

Your gaze flickers to the score board.

Oh my god. A deep, relieved breath comes out of you. "We won!?"

"We won!" Sylvester concurs, jumping up from the bench and throwing a fist into the air. Then he puts his paws on your arms and beams down at you. "We're not gonna be slaves!!"

You wonder what you could say in response, but the one thing your body is telling to you to do is throw your arms around him- so you do. And he doesn't think twice before squeezing you back, picking you up and swinging you around.

Then the world comes crashing down around Sly, as his son opens his eyes to see the scene- and gasps. The kitten sits up quickly in Granny's lap and points. "Oh, father! You did it! I knew you could do it!"

Immediately Sylvester puts you down, his paws retreating from you and a definite sense of nervousness - and maybe embarrassment? - settles over him. You raise your brows, confused, but still swimming in the joy of the game being won and just tilt your head as you confusedly smile. "What did he do??"

Sly Jr doesn't even think a second before gleefully elaborating- despite his father very nearly shaking his soul free waving his hands at him in a doomed endeavour to shut his son up. "No- stop, Junior!- "

"Asked you out! Didn't he?" As the wide eyed bewilderment on your face and the utter horror on Sylvester's dawns on Jr, his shoulders drop and he turns disappointedly at his dad. "Didn't you?"

"No!"

"Oh, father!- "

Sylvester Sr's tail, shoulders, and head slump forward as he turns his kitten around so he faces away from the two of you, embarrassment replaced by exasperation. "You're tired, son. Go to sleep. Night night, sleep tight, sweet dreams, don't let the bed bugs bite and we'll talk in the morning." Then he slowly, meekly turns back to you.

And you're practically glowing. "Sly... what's he talking about?"

"Father likes you!- " Sylvester Jr tries to speak up again, turning his head but Sr twists his head carefully back, a reprimanding tone in his voice.

"Sleep! Hah hah... " Sylvester (Sr) turns back to you, arms held carefully behind his back as he chuckles nervously. "My son is... troubled... a little- "He point at his head and swirls his finger; A gesture reading 'Loopy'. As soon as the meaning behind that word and his gesture occurs to you, you visibly droop. Oh. Okay... I guess SJ was just messing with us... Sly watches this reaction, and his ears perk up quickly; Sensing some dissappintment. "I mean, uh... unless you liked the i-idea?"

You peak up at him again from the floor, seeing his face slowly going red. "... D-do you?"

"Wha- I asked first! You answer the question."

"Hey." Setting your fists to your hips, you look stubbornly at him. "You were just taking it all back! So you tell the truth. Which is it??"

"Yeah- but I asked the question first!"

"Sylvester James Pussycat Senior!"

"Pfft... if you think pulling full name on me is going to change anything... " He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "You've got another thing comin'!"

Your eyes narrow, and so do his, before suddenly Taz jumps up from the bench he was resting on and ZOOMS past Sly so fast and so hazardously, that he's caught off guard and jumps forward with a yelp- accidentally knocking you.

"Oh!-"

"H-hold on, I got ya!!" Sylvester's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and he grabs you just before gravity manages to drag you down to the ground; Pulling you back up to your feet- which just so happens to bring you two extremely close together.

Two sets of eyes widen and faces go red.

Everything seems to go a little quieter around you, the deafening sounds of the auditorium seeming to get plunged under water as the crazy all just slows down for just a moment. Enough for you to enjoy the few seconds you foreseeably get before he jumps back like someone sprayed him.

But to your surprise, he doesn't move. Just stands there and looks shocked... but does not move even an inch away from you. Doesn't even let go of you.

Finally, after a few good moments, you sigh and give in. "... Sly, would you like to go out sometime with me?"

"Ah... " His ears flatten against his head as he looks bashful, with a cute little smile that makes your stomach do backflips as he curls his tail around yours. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

You lean up and give him a feather light kiss on the cheeks- and he goes even redder.

[willykappymarnsmatts]

Angels Like You (Can't Fly Down Here With Me)(A. Matthews/M. Marner)(Chapter 2)

As soon as Mitch closes and locks the door to his apartment, he slumps against it, dropping his bag to the floor in the process. His cheeks are scratchy and dry from the tears that had been falling for like half an hour, but at least he’s finally stopped crying. He pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket and glances at the notifications. There’s only a snapchat from Dylan Strome and an Instagram message from Kasperi, probably from before his practice started. Nothing from Monica, which hurts more than he thought it would. He clicks his phone off, and puts it on the tile floor next to him. He leans his head back but misjudges how far he’s sitting from the door and ends up banging the back of his head against it. “Fuck,” he mutters, shutting his eyes closed. He isn’t about to start crying again, and definitely not about bumping his goddamn head.

His stomach rumbles, but he doesn’t want to get up from the cool tile floor. His entire body aches like somebody just cross-checked him onto his face. Not even Zeus, his dog, is there to cheer him up, since he’s visiting with Mitch’s brother for the week. Usually Mitch would call Monica after practice, but after her surprise showing up in the locker room, he doubts that will ever happen again. Maybe he could call Auston, but after the whole teary-hug-thing, he doesn’t know if that’s the best idea ever. Auston would just not stop asking if he’s okay, rather than pretending like nothing happened, which is honestly all that Mitch needs right now. It hurts too much to even think about it.

He has to go get wasted.

Even though it's not even six p.m.

So he scrolls through his phone to find Willy’s number and sends a quick text.

Drinks?

The ‘typing’ dots show up almost right away, and a second later a message pops up.

Mitch it’s 4:30

And?

Yeah ur right

I’ll be at ur place in 15

Mitch nods at his phone and slowly gets up from the floor. He thinks about texting Fred and Mo and maybe Zach, but he’s not really in the mood for a big party thing. He just wants to get drunk with one of his best friends.

So he goes into his room and pulls off his shirt to change into something a bit nicer when his phone dings with another text from Will.

Auston coming?

No and don’t ask him

I just wanna hang u and me

He does feel kind of bad about not asking him, because when do they ever go out without each other, but Mitch knows Auston well enough to know that he won’t let Mitch breathe if he were to come. Instead of overthinking it, Mitch grabs his keys and goes to wait outside his apartment building for Will’s car.

He’s outside for a couple of minutes before Will gets there, and when he pulls up Mitch jumps up and runs the couple of meters to his black car. “William,” Mitch states when he opens the passenger-side door.

“Mitchell. Where are we heading?” He taps the steering wheel lightly and runs his hand through his blonde hair. He is really pretty, Mitch has to admit but he’s definitely not his type, the whole ‘I’m beautiful and I know it’ thing a bit too obvious.

If he were gay, that is. He’s not. Definitely not.

“The usual place.” Mitch replies, and Will nods and puts the car in gear. It’s silent for the first few minutes, Will focusing on getting through the Toronto traffic, Mitch staring blankly at his phone. He opens Instagram, but the first picture on his feed is from Monica’s account, so he quickly unfollows her and shuts off his phone, dropping it onto his lap when he’s done.

“So,” Will starts, unsure of how Mitch will take the question he’s about to ask.

“If you’re going to start with ‘how are you doing with the breakup, Mitch?’ don’t even bother. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.” Mitch puts on a deep voice and waves his hands in the air in an attempt to mock Will, and it’s obvious he’s only half-joking. Will doesnt take it personally, though, telling himself that his friend is going through a lot.

“Um, first of all, that is not how I sound, and second of all, I was going to ask what’s going on with you and Auston? Usually the three of us go out, and after this afternoon…” he trails off.

“Nothings going on with me and Auston,” Mitch says slowly, unsure of what exactly Will is getting at. “What are you even talking about? I didn’t ask him to come because I knew he’d be weird about it and not let me live.” Will just nods, looking straight ahead. He turns his blinker on and Mitch starts again. “What are you talking about?” “Nothing. I just assumed something might have happened, that’s all.” Mitch gives him a look and Will lets out a breathy laugh. “Seriously! That’s all.” Mitch nods at him cautiously and the conversation kind of trails off. They talk hockey for a couple minutes, but it’s painfully obvious that the two are waiting to get at least one drink down to talk about their relationship, or, in Mitch’s case, ex-relationship, problems.

Will makes another turn into the parking lot of a small bar you wouldn't notice if you didn’t know exactly where it was. The two walk into the bar and realize it’s busier than they would have thought it would be at 5 in the afternoon, but what difference does it make at this point. They’re already there, so Mitch finds a booth while Will goes to the bar to order them beers. Mitch pulls out his phone and sees a text from Auston that reads it was sent five minutes ago.

how r u mitch? everything ok? :(

Mitch has a weird sinking feeling in his stomach when he reads the text, but he tells himself he shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s not like he did anything wrong. He ignores the text and forces a smile he knows looks fake when Will comes back to the table, a beer in each hand. He sets one down in front of Mitch and the two sit in silence for a second. “Spill. Everything.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck happened, Willy. I knew something was coming, because she always gets kind of distant and stops responding to my texts and calls before she pulls some drastic bullshit like this, but I didn’t think she’d make me choose between my two favourite people on the planet.” He looks up suddenly, as if the words are falling out of his mouth faster than he can process them. “No offence, you’re obviously also my favorite person, it’s just...” Will just shakes his head, smiles a bit and waves him off, taking a sip of his drink. Mitch does the same, and Will takes it as a chance for him to talk.

“Did you ever actually love her, Mitch? Like, I know you always said she’s so great and makes you so happy, but when you really think about it, was there ever even one full day where you were completely and utterly happy with her?”

He pauses and racks his brain for something, anything, literally one fucking memory of the two of them together when Mitch wasn’t berated for something he did wrong, or when she wasn’t on her phone the entire time they were together, or that time she ditched him for her friends on their six month anniversary where Mitch had planned a dinner at a fancy restaurant and they would walk through downtown Toronto in the evening and watch the sunrise on the beach. He was devastated that day, and suddenly the sadness he was feeling turns to anger and guilt. Anger at her, for everything she put him through while somehow convincing him it was love, and guilt, for all the times he ignored his friends while they told him how bad she was for her. He feels like he’s about to start crying again, and he knows he will if he looks up at his friend, so staring at the table, he says, “I can’t.”

Will nods, cocking his head to the side. “It’s okay, Marns. And it’s okay that you’re still hurting over her, because trust me, even though now you realize it was never real, it’s gonna hurt like hell. You have to let it, otherwise it’ll never get better.” “I’ve been through a breakup before, William,” Mitch snaps, but he’s smiling.

“I know, I just want you to know that I’m here for you. And so is Auston.” He doesn’t realize what he’s implying until it’s out of his mouth, but he’s almost 100% sure Mitch missed it too. Just to be safe, he adds, “And the rest of the team, too, obviously.”

Mitch nods and downs half his beer, then looks at Will. “Honestly it doesn’t even hurt now that I realize that. I’m just really fucking angry.”

“So you know what you should do?”

“Hm?” Mitch tips the glass of beer back to finish it off and sets it back on the table, never breaking eye-contact with Willy.

“When you get home, you pack a box of her shit together and fucking set fire to it. Burn everything. Pictures, souvenirs, ticket stubs, everything. It’s what I did when I broke up with my high school girlfriend, and it’s honestly really freeing.”

Mitch nods, kind of unsure about the idea of setting their relationship up in flames. Will reads him easily though, so he laughs and continues. “Or, you could put her shit in a box and tell her to come pick it up, otherwise it's going in the trash.” The two of them smile and Mitch nods.

“That sounds like a much better option. And still freeing.” There’s a lull in conversation, and honestly Mitch doesn’t have much more to say about his predicament other than long, angry rants, so he decides to prompt Willy. “So, you and Kas…”

“Oh my God my turn! Okay so he called me last night, right,” he leans forward and props his elbows up on the table, and Mitch smiles and leans his head in his hands.

The two of them spend the next few hours in their booth, Mitch downing beer after beer, Will stopping after one because he’s going to be the one to have to drive them both home. Close to eight pm, Will realizes how long the two of them have been sitting there, as well as just how drunk Mitch is. He’s slurring his words and isn’t really focusing on Will, looking around the room unfocused while he attempts to keep up with the conversation. He smiles to himself and tells Mitch it’s time to get home.

“No,” he states like a five year old. “I don’t wanna go home.”

“Yes, you do, bud. We have a game tomorrow night, and you don’t wanna be too tired and hungover to play, do you?”

Mitch shakes his head while Will stands, stuffs his phone into his pocket, and pulls out his keys. He waits for Mitch to stand, then wraps his arm around his waist to help him to the door. He could probably walk on his own, but he doesn’t want to take that chance in a crowded bar with a guy who is heavier as dead weight than he looks like he’d be.

The drive home is silent until Mitch picks up his phone and quickly realizes he can’t read what’s on the screen. “I’m drunk,” he announces, and Will laughs. “Can you read it?” he attempts to hand his phone to Will, then realizes shit, he’s driving, and pulls it back to himself.

“After, Mitch,” and he nods exaggeratedly in response. They pull up to Mitch’s apartment, and getting him up to his floor is slightly easier than Will imagined it would be. He does have to help him into bed, though, and doesn’t bother undressing him. He pulls the covers back for Mitch and sits him down on the mattress. He takes the phone from him while he lies down and glances at the screen. There's five text messages from Auston, all spaced out over the three hours they’d been out.

if u need to talk, u know im here

mitch?

ur probably busy or smtg… text when u get a chance

did i make things weird tdy? im sry if i did

call me mitch plz

“Jesus,” Will mutters under his breath and unlocks Mitch’s phone to respond. Mitch gave him his passcode a long time ago, so he knows he won’t care.

Hey its Will

Everything is fine, Mitch is super drunk, that's all

Dw about him

oh

u guys went out?

Will knows how bad it looks that the two of them went without Auston, but he should be able to understand.

He needed some one-on-one w someone not as close to him I think

It def wasn't a party, we drowned in our emotions, man

alright i get it

shit, can u plz delete the messages from before?

including these actually

Ofc np

“Night, Mitch,” Will whispers, although he already realizes Mitch is passed out. He sets his phone on the night table next to him and makes sure to lock the apartment door behind him. Mitch honestly cannot be more blind about his literal soulmate being madly in love with him, but he thinks he has a plan to help him figure it out now.

U should pick him up tmrw for the game. He's gonna be hungover af and moody

ofc, was planning on it anyways :)

[the-salty-asian]

Chapter One | The Weaver

A/n: Hey look a series I’m going to finish this time! I’m super super excited to share this with you guys and I’ve worked really hard to perfect it! I hope you enjoy it! :))

Summary: A new girl moves in across from Peter and infiltrates his life.

Warnings: none that I can think of 

Word Count: 2.1K

Y/n had never loved the city, it was too busy, too loud, and a drastic contrast from what her true home was. She missed the stars at night, the sweet smell of grass, and most of all the quiet. An ache wrapped around her heart and squeezed, she missed it already. The feeling quickly moved to her stomach, turning to boiling rage at having to leave her home because of the carelessness of a few superhumans. She swiped at the tears that prickled her eyes, the sooner this was over the sooner she could go back home.

Through the glass she spied the curly headed boy rushing with his head down towards the door. A devilish grin tugged at her lips, he was right on time. She positioned herself in front of the building’s door and braced herself for its impact. It swung open, the metal collided with her shoulder causing her hands to release the boxes she had been carrying. They fell onto the sidewalk as y/n staggered from the force.

“ohmygodimsosorry!”

A pair of strong arms steadied her and she was met with the warmest brown eyes she had ever seen. He stepped back from her, concern written all over his face.

“Are you ok?”

“Yea, I’m fine,”she let out a breathy laugh. “I just hope whatever’s in these didn’t break.”

Y/n crouched to pick up the boxes and a few random items that had fallen out of them.

The boy kneeled beside her, “Here, let me help you with those.”

“Oh no, you don’t really have to-”she began to protest.

“No no, I gotcha! I’m your friendly neighborhood-”he stopped as if the next few words were to reveal a secret. “well neighbor.”

Y/n stopped them halfway down the hallway at her door. When his eyes fell upon the door, they lit up and he turned to her with a goofy smile.

“Hey you’re right across from my place! If you need anything just knock! ”

“Thank you-”

“Peter,” the boy extended his arm out to her.

She took it with the warmest smile she could conjure, “Y/n.”

“I guess I’ll see you around then?”

“Yea, see you around.”

A smirk played on her lips while her eyes lingered on the wood across the hall from her. Peter didn’t have a single clue about the web he had flown into.

The next morning, y/n was thankful to not cross Peter Parker’s path on the way to school. While the life of the city bustled around her, she went over the plans she had created. For the past few weeks, all that had occupied her mind was how to claw her way into his life. It had been so easy to meet and the plan was a small snowball rolling down a hill. But she still needed to be cautious not to leave out the one factor that could be her end, Elizabeth Allan, the daughter of the Vulture. Y/n would bet on her life that Liz would be out for her the moment she set foot on campus. Likewise, she could do the same to Liz and risk having herself dragged down too.

As Midtown High School came into view, a sense of dread dragged at her feet. This was her weight to pull, to be the daughter her father needed.

Y/n soon came to find that lunch time was the worst high school experience, especially for the new kid. Her eyes roamed the tides of students buzzing around the cafeteria, all of their conversations turning into one jumbled frequency that made her head hurt. Across the room, Liz glared at her with the rest of her sharks, just waiting for a drop of y/n’s blood to send them into a frenzy. The only thing that was keeping her afloat was, their fathers’ truce, that was until Peter was dead. Once one of them squashed the spider, Liz was free to tear out her throat with her perfectly manicured nails. Y/n’s lip curled up slightly as she wiggled her fingers at her enemy. In return her eyes hardened as if she had the power to turn y/n to stone. If she was going to die, she might as well give Liz a run for her money. 

Y/n’s eyes scanned the cafeteria once more until they found the one person who landed her in Midtown in the first place. The hatred made her stomach churn and turn her saliva to acid at laying eyes on him. Beside him sat a chubby boy with floppy black hair. They mirrored each other perfectly. One hand propped up their heads and their gazed held by the one and only Elizabeth Allan. She had to give it to the girl, Liz barely interacted with Peter and yet she could ask him to drop a bus on himself and he would do it. If she could do that, y/n could barely imagine what Peter would do once she had him in her web. 

“Hey Pete!”

He remained unfazed by her greeting that sparked the annoyance in her stomach. She glanced back at Liz who flashed her a taunting smile. For a moment, y/n imagined what it’d be like to knock out her perfect teeth. 

She cleared her throat, breaking Peter from Liz’s spell. When he looked up to meet her, his eyes widened to the size of the personal pizzas the lunch ladies were serving, “Y/n, h-hey what’s up?”

Under the table he stomped hard on his friend’s foot causing the chubby boy to wince in pain. He opened his mouth to berate Peter before his eyes fell on y/n standing before the two. She forced the sweetest smile she could muster onto her lips. 

“Is this seat taken?”

The curly headed boy stared at her in disbelief, his mouth moved to speak but no words passed his lips. 

“Take it,” his friend cut in. He shoved his hand in front of Peter’s face towards her. “I’m Ned.”

Y/n inwardly rolled her eyes as she took it, “Y/n.”

Across the table, the girl rolled her eyes over the top of her book, “Wow a female is talking to you boys, congratulations.”

Y/n turned towards the girl awaiting an introduction that never came. The mysterious bookworm continued on as if she had never said anything. A feeling in her stomach told her that this girl would add onto the ever growing amount of obstacles. Nonetheless, y/n tucked away the thought for later and took the empty spot next to Peter, who had turned his attention back to Liz. 

 “So I need a favor,”

“Hm? Yea,”Ned nudged his friend's arm causing his chin to fall out of his hand. “Sorry! What do you need?”

“Could you show me where AP Bio is?”she laughed nervously. “This school is ten times bigger than my last one.”

That much was true, y/n’s schooling had been confined to wherever her father would drag them. She couldn’t remember the last time she had stepped foot into one. 

“Yes of course!”

“But Peter our class is on the-”

The look on Peter’s face cut him off, “It’ll be no problem at all Ned!”

Ned’s cast a wary glance at his best friend before returning to his meal. 

“Great thank you!”

An awkward silence blanketed the table that seemed unnatural to the buzzing atmosphere around them. 

“Hey, did you know Peter has an internship with Stark industries?”

“Ned!”

So that was his cover. She turned to look  at a now blushing Peter stumbling over an explanation. If he weren’t the enemy she’d find it almost endearing. Almost.

“Is that true, Parker?”

“U-um yea it’s a bit complicated.”

“Have you met Mr.Stark?”

“Yea briefly, he’s a busy man- I can um show you to the science wing now. That’s if you want.”

“That’d be perfect!”

Peter stood abruptly almost knocking the contents of his lunch tray into his lap. Y/n followed in suit, saying a quick goodbye to Ned before weaving through the lunch tables to keep up with Peter. Over the sea of student heads she found Liz’s eyes boring into her skin. A venomous smile spread onto her face as she slipped her a wink. Their little game of chess had just begun. 

Y/n spent the next two hours watching the clock tick at a pain-stakingly slow pace. Thoughts of skipping teased at her mind until the bell rang at 2:45. She pushed through the wall of students desperate to leave the hell hole. It was foreign for every little thing she did to be ruled by a bell. Come to think of it, Midtown High School wasn’t too far off from a prison. A voice in her head nagged at her, that would become her life if she were to slip up. But she wouldn’t, there was no way she could-

“Y/n wait!”

She stopped in her tracks and quickly hid her annoyance before turning to greet him. Peter was running down the sidewalk trying desperately to keep all of his textbooks cradled to his chest. He didn’t stop until he reached her and even then he was barely out of breath. 

“Yes?”

“D-Do you mind if I walk home with you? I mean not to your home but to my house, apartment. I-”

He was cut off by her placing a hand on his shoulder. Y/n bit back her laughter watching the effect her contact had on him already. Peter had gone silent automatically and his eyes were wide in shock. A small grin played on her face, she was already making strides larger than Liz. 

“Don’t kill yourself Pete.” she let out a fake laugh. “It’d kinda look weird if we didn’t, ya know? One of us trailing the other like a stalker?”

“Y-yea I guess.”

Peter fell into stride with her as an uncomfortable silence lingered about them. As they waited for the subway, y/n went to work digging into the life of Peter Parker. 

“So the girl who was at your table, is she your girlfriend?”

“MJ? No, no way! We’re just friends.”

The slight change in Peter’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by her ears and the light pink on his cheeks betrayed him. For having a secret lifestyle, Peter was very bad at lying. 

“You know,”he stole a glance at her. “you’re asking all of these questions and I don’t know anything about you. For all I know you could be plotting a murder.”

The corner of her lip turned up, oh if only he knew. 

“Shoot.”

“Where are you from?”

“We move around a lot, never in one spot for too long.” 

Peter continued to fire questions at her and every single one she dismissed with a lie or bent truth. For every three questions, she was allowed to ask him one. In no time at all, their apartment building loomed over them. A cloud of frustration weighed on her chest, she had barely scratched the surface. They climbed the stairs together, y/n didn’t remember when she had offered to help carry his textbooks, but the added weight made her struggle. 

He turned to her at the door,“Well here we are.”

She dumped the textbooks into his arms,“Thank you, Pete!.”

“Don’t mention it.”he grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Yea, tomorrow.”

Y/n let the door slip behind her and slumped against it’s wood. She massaged her cheeks with her knuckles, loosening the sore muscles from smiling all day. 

“Good first day?”

Y/n’s body tensed at the calm, steely voice that reached out to her. She turned to face it’s owner. Donovan Sinclair sat in his armchair, his attention occupied with the latest issue of The Daily Bugle. He didn’t look a day over thirty and surely not anything like his daughter. The only thing y/n inherited from him was his cold (y/e/c) stare that could silence a room.  She gave him one now, wishing that it would make him spontaneously combust but she had never been that lucky. 

“Oh come on it couldn’t have been that bad!”

When she didn’t reply, he folded up his paper and stood with a sigh. Within three strides he was towering over her, making y/n squirm under the weight of his stare. 

“All I need you to do is get him to trust you, ok? It can’t be that hard, bat your eyelashes, sweet talk him, he’s a boy he’ll come through. Just remember you’re the spider-”

“And he’s the fly, I’m pretty sure I got it by now.”

She flinched as his hand landed in her hair, “That’s my good girl.”

Taglist: @rebekamckenzie @blossomreed @theamazingtomholland @moistpotatobear @pluckypete

[itsclydebitches]

How do you manage to write so much? I have this fic I'm working on and I know exactly what I want to happen in the scenes, but I struggle with actually writing the prose for it and describing the events. Even getting 500 words out is hard, so seeing you churning out content is pretty amazing to me (especially because it's all so good). If you have any tips to share it would be really appriciated!

First - thank you so much, anon! I was literally just thinking tonight about how I haven’t written enough lately and then you come in with “How do you manage to write so much?” So I think that’s a good thing for every writer to keep in mind: how we might perceive our accomplishments doesn’t necessarily reflect what we’ve actually accomplished. Those feelings are something I’d like to address here. As is abundantly obvious, the advice I’m about to offer is stuff I often struggle to follow too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But let’s see... yes, I’ve got 10 tips (nice round number) for producing writing, approaching your writing, and dealing with that pesky “How do I describe events?” issue. These are in no good order:  

1. Reject the “Write ___ amount of words every day” advice. It doesn’t work. Or if it does work it’s because we’re prioritizing writing over literally everything else, which I personally don’t think is healthy. The days I haven’t written recently include things like “Battling a bad cold” and “Spent the day with Dad in the ER” (he’s fine!). If I had forced myself to write on those days it would have been in lieu of taking time to rest/recuperate, so I didn’t. If I were still demanding of myself, “You can’t lose your writing streak 😡” then I would have felt intensely guilty about taking that time to rest. That’s just training yourself to associate writing with negative emotions. Instead, I’ve started tracking my progress with Word Keeper.

As you can see, it’s all over the place, but over the last month I’ve found that it has given me a much better sense of what I’m accomplishing overall. Rather than getting upset about days where I only wrote a tiny amount, or didn’t write at all, I can now also easily remind myself of the days when I wrote a whole lot, or the days where I managed to be fairly consistent. Let your writing fluctuate. There’s something to be said for not being dependent on motivation (there are plenty of times where I encourage myself to write even if I don’t want to), but don’t hold yourself to overly rigid standards either. 

2. Consider rejecting the “Write for an hour every morning/carve out a specific time to do nothing but writing” advice. If that works for you, great. Me? I’ll never manage it. Beyond the fact that I would murder mornings if I could and, as established, don’t do well with a rigid schedule, my brain is way too hyperactive to focus on one task for long. And by “long” I mean... more than 10-15 minutes. So what I personally do is alternate tiny bits of writing with something else I want to accomplish, usually another task I’m having trouble focusing on. Let’s say I need to read an article and I want to write those 500 words. Both tasks are rather daunting. 500 words? 35 pages?? No thank you. I can, however, manage 100 words and 5 pages... so I just alternate. Read 5 pages. Write 100 words. Read 5 more pages. Another 100 words. Back and forth, with amounts that work for you. Whatever is doable, even if that means something like 10 words and half a page. And if you find yourself going, “Wait, wait just 100 more words so I can finish this scene,” all the better. Do that for an afternoon and you’ve made significant headway on both projects. You can also alternate with something you want to do. I finished the latest Before the Dawn recap by doing that with The Clone Wars. One 20 minute episode, then 250 words, essentially using my show as a reward system: write that little bit so you can find out what stupidity Anakin does next. 

Speaking of rewards...

3. Try using 4 The Words. I absolutely love this website because it turns writing into a game and I am an absolute sucker for validation of any sort. Essentially, you get to choose how much writing you want to get done in a single sitting - either timed or by word count - and that goal corresponds with a monster to defeat. Write the required amount in the allotted time period and you receive rewards for your avatar, experience, etc. If you’re like me and enjoy games at all, that’s a huge motivator. Maybe you’d never consider trying to write 750 words in a single sitting, but the 750 words monster drops the specific loot you need to finish a quest... so why not give it a try? I find that the time limits are quite generous and the system counts any words you’ve written, not what you decide to keep. Remember that writing is writing, so even if you churn out those 750 words and then decide you hate the whole scene, that time wasn’t wasted. It’s helping you figure out what you do want instead. 

4. Don’t set those rigid standards, but try to hold yourself accountable in some manner too. That’s why when I changed my blog theme I decided to put what project I was working on in the bio and what I planned to work on next. Whether anyone actually cares about that doesn’t matter, I perceive that as, “Damn I told everyone I’d have a Witcher drabble done next. Better work on that!” That veneer of accountability helps keep me on track. 

5. It sounds like you’ve already got an outline - which is great! Once you know what you want to happen, keep in mind that you don’t have to write it in that order. This is something I still really struggle with because I often post chaptered fics as I go. I can’t be writing Chapter 20 when Chapter 15 isn’t even out yet! But sometimes that’s the best way to get past your road block. If you’ve got a scene in your head that’s a little more clear, even if it’s just a tiny description or dialogue exchange, go write that instead of beating your head against the part where you’re stuck. 

6. Regarding the specific issue of prose and describing events: daydream about it. Be the most cliche, cringy author who falls headfirst into their own worlds. A lot of times when I’m stuck I try to stop thinking about this as me writing a scene. Rather, it’s a scene for me to escape into when I’m bored in the car, or falling asleep, or tuning out an awkward conversation. Presumably you want to spend time in the world you’ve created, so let yourself do that, either as an outside observer or taking the place of one of the characters. Fantasize about this moment and then afterwards think back to what your brain conjured up. Going, “I need to write this fight scene now” is kind of daunting and maybe you just sit there, having no idea how “fight scene” translates into actual pages of action. If, however, you daydream about an epic battle you might later go, “Oh yeah! I/they did that cool flip move to disarm the opponent. Let’s see if I can describe that...” 

7. If the problem is more “I know there’s going to be a cool flip move but how do I describe that without just saying ‘The hero did a cool flip move’???” Let yourself just write “The hero flipped the sword out of his enemy’s hands.” Probably the most annoying part about writing (besides, you know, all of it) is remembering that you can, should, and must revise. Write a shitty description and move on. Come back to it later. Composing the rest of the scene will help you make the description less shitty the second time around. And want to know a secret? It’s probably not nearly as shitty as you first thought it was. A lot of times I churn out what feels like truly horrific descriptions, let it sit for a while, and when I come back to the work as a “new” reader I think, “You know what? There are definitely things I want to change, but this isn’t nearly as bad as I remember it being...” Again, writers often can’t be trusted to judge their own accomplishments. 

8. Research things. Watch stuff. Read stuff - and pay attention to the fact that you’re currently reading to learn. No one is born knowing how to write compelling scenes. That comes of not just practice, but engaging with a ton of other stories and consciously/unconsciously pulling from them. Not sure how to write a cool fight scene? Go read some cool fight scenes. Watch your favorites on Youtube. Pull a detail from here, there, then weave them into something new. Some authors claim they won’t engage with any stories similar to their own because they don’t want to taint their own ideas, but that’s just trying to write without providing yourself with any fuel. If you want to know how to describe a farm, go read others’ descriptions of farms, look at pictures of farms, watch TV shows with farms in them, etc. Same with anything else you might be stuck on. 

9. Remind yourself that some kinds of writing are going to come more easily to you than others. That’s not just in regards to things like dialogue vs. prose, but also big categories like fiction vs. nonfiction. Me? I can (quite obviously...) write a ton when it comes to asks and recaps. Explaining my own thought process comes very easily to me, and I’m long-winded, which means that when the project is something like, “Tell readers what you thought about this book” I can churn out 4,000 words easy peasy. Fiction though? That’s a slog. That’s where I’m writing in 100 words chunks, sometimes pulling each word out with all the joy of enduring a root canal. I will never - EVER - be a Stephen King writing 2,000 words of fiction a day. And that’s okay! Every writer is different and it does no good to compare ourselves to others who are writing more (hard as that is) because there will always be someone doing it “better.” That’s a competition we can’t win. Getting writing done is as much a mindset as it is a skill. Teaching yourself to go, “Yeah! 50 words today!! :D” is going to help more than berating yourself with, “Oh. Only 50 words today :(” But a part of that is also recognizing that you probably wrote a whole lot more than just 50 words. Do you write for your job? Answer emails? Keep a journal? Answer asks? Text whole conversations with your friends? Writing of all sorts takes energy and it all “counts.” If you spent the day catching up on your messages, it’s no wonder you might struggle to write more during your free time. Saying you “haven’t written” today because you didn’t write fiction as well as all the writing we naturally do on a daily basis is absurd. Sometimes you’ve just got to recognize that and let yourself watch some TV instead. 

10. Finally, WRITE “BAD” THINGS. This is something I’m still really, really struggling with. It’s very much connected to #7, but try to let yourself accept what you’ve produced at a certain point. Doing that will, in time, help you produce more things in the first place. The author who obsesses over writing the perfect paragraph is unlikely to get to the second... and writing the second paragraph is what’s going to help them develop the skills to make the first paragraph better. Put aside the perfectionism. I’m currently trying to do that with my original work. I have lots of ideas for flash fiction and, like you, I know precisely what will happen in them... but I struggle to actually write the stupid things. I’ve recognized that a lot of that difficulty stems from how bad I perceive them to be. When a story doesn’t sound like that flash fiction with the national award attached to it my brain goes, “Well, looks like we’re trash! Time to stop writing forever and ever 🙃” At some point you’ve just got to take a mental broom and beat that bastard voice into the back of your mind, far enough to start writing again. Try to accept that no, our prose probably won’t win any awards. Also try to accept that hey, someday maybe it will. But neither can be reality until we actually write the story. So one of these days I’ll set a goal for a flash fiction, finish it, post it here for you masses to judge, and try to shrug off all the scary feelings that come with that. Every good writer has to write a LOT of bad stuff in order to start producing something decent, let alone good... so let yourself do that. The more we can concentrate on why we want to write, rather than those “Ugh this description isn’t good enough” or “I can’t even get 500 words done” feelings, the more we create a situation where, in time, we will write astounding descriptions and far more than 500 words. 

All of which is much MUCH easier said than done. But I hope this helps at least a little, anon! 💜

[the-lack-of-errors-in-star-trek]

MIDNIGHT FLIGHTS - 0.2

Chapter 2

It had been a few weeks since the strange night had occurred at the bar, and Anna seemed to move on from sleeping with Derek as she had with other partners in recent years.

"He was just too cocky and sure of himself." Anna complained to Nastya over a coffee last week, noting that his lack of being around often, plentiful attitude, and unwillingness to settle in any measure became a turn off for her, "Note to self, don't sleep with Feds." Anna laughs.

Still despite this, every once and a while Nastya would receive a shopping invite from Penelope, her excuse that with the blonde's line of work, some people outside of a federal building would do her some good. They had actually become decent friends, not seeing much of the others, but it was definitely enough to be invited to a friendly brunch. So this is exactly why she had met up with Emily and Penelope five hours after they got back from a cross country flight, a healthy 10am brunch to cut loose and hang around civilians for once.

Nastya was the first there, the reservations under Penelope for four people, leaving the young teacher to wonder who the fourth person would be. Emily is the next to arrive, spotting the table by Nastya's brown hair in a twisted updo exposing her gold necklace over a white sweater, jeans, and heeled boots like usual.

"Privyet," Emily greets her, the two standing to kiss on the cheek, a nice welcome to Nastya who could read that Emily tried wholeheartedly to respect and not insult Nastya's background. "How are you doing?"

"Privyet, I'm doing well," Nastya answers sitting down at the same time as Emily, "How was the great state of California?"

"You know we barely see anything except the crime scene." Emily laughs.

"Yeah that's fair, maybe you ought to go there on an actual vacation, lord knows you all need it." Nastya suggests, while keeping an eye on the door for Penelope to come through with the mystery person. She turns back to the agent in front of her, "Seriously, I don't know how you all do it, that long in a career like this? Anna finds Derek insufferable. It has to take its toll on all of you?"

Emily nods along, readjusting in her seat, "I think Derek coming across as a hot-shot is more to do with his personality than his job, but I do see what you mean." The last part leaves her lips as a laugh.

The conversation between Nastya and Emily picks up the longer they wait, most of it by sharing details of the previous case, save for all of the gore, focused mainly on Emily's gripes with the local Californian PD units butt-hurt that they couldn't handle a serial killer by themselves.

It was during Emily's rant about the police that Penelope walked in with the tall man who drove her home just a few weeks ago, Penelope eager to hug Nastya and sit down, Spencer more awkward just by waving and selecting the seat across from her.

"Is that really true, Pen?" Nastya asks her as Penelope settles into her seat and starts looking at the menu, "Do these people really give you hell just because you're not physically there?"

Penelope nods in response, "Yeah, they don't like how big government can just swoop in and learn everything needed, but it's whatever, I get what I need every time."

Nastya nods along and turns to Spencer, "Nice of you to join us, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing alright, how about yourself?" The answer from him is short and feels scripted, and suddenly Nastya understands Anna, all of these FBI men are very curt and guarded in basic conversation.

"I've been doing good, glad everyone is pretty good given the circumstances." She answers, while understanding that he could have been barely listening. Much of the brunch consists of Natasha interacting with the other women present, and Spencer not really adding much to the conversation. The drinks come and go, as does the food, and for the most part everyone is enjoying themselves.

Spencer can't help but run through an internal monologue, questioning why Natasha puts him off, and why he can't seem to be engaged in the conversation like he would have been at work, or at least without Natasha there. Spencer settled on the possibility that she was just too new to the dynamic, and didn't appear to be a stable fixture, considering it took many months for him to open up to Prentiss, let alone Rossi. Was he really expecting himself to open up to her after a few weeks? It seemed impossible, and yet when she looked at him, and honestly looked him in the eyes, he couldn't help but to feel like he should. Hell, she had all of their numbers, even Morgan's who had stopped seeing Natasha's friend only 6 days and 15 hours ago.

Natasha's voice rang clear, "What's everyone's plans for the rest of this fine Sunday?" She smiles, glancing at everyone in the room, taking notice that Spencer was staring at her passively.

Penelope was the first to answer, "More than likely go home, play some online games, and relax before we get that inevitable phone call from Hotch." To the last part Emily and Spencer chuckle. Emily is the next to speak up.

"Mainly spend some quality time with Sergio and watch chick-flicks." She smiles at the end.

"Your boyfriend?" Natasha asks, causing Emily to laugh.

"No, my cat. But if any man could be as great as him? That'd be a miracle." The response is warm and filled with humour, keeping the topics light. "What about you, Reid?" Emily attempts to rope him into the conversation.

"Library." It's a short answer again, like he just wants to leave the table now. In reality, he'd rather be with his work friends than alone, but can't bring himself to stay interested in much.

Emily raises her eyebrows slightly as a reaction and turns to Natasha reposing the question to her. "And what about you?"

"I'll probably just go home, keep the fort held down while my Mama runs the store." She answers. "Maybe have Anna over to make sure she doesn't get the idea to call your co-worker again." Penelope and Emily can't help but to laugh at the idea. Natasha then looks at her watch. "Speaking of, I should probably foot my bill and take leave, I didn't realize it was already noon."

The table says their goodbyes as Natasha packs up and leaves her payment on the table for Emily to close up, and walks out of the restaurant glad she was able to spend good time with her new friends doing something other than shopping.

As usual, the trip back to the home and store was uneventful. She greeted her mother who was working, by waving to the window as she walked up into the apartment. As she entered the home, she took a moment to really soak in her life, how insane it was to be casual friends with federal agents, as one would just be casually friends with military members in Russia. Sure she knew if any of them came around to this area of D.C. it would spur odd looks by an untrusting immigrant populus, but for the most part all of the people she had met were kind and non judgemental. It would be a lie to say she was unaffected by mob activity on the East Coast, it's mob activity that killed her father, yet somehow even just knowing that her and her mother kept to themselves, their work, and their church created an air of enough safety to at least make those types of friends.

It's on this train of thought she remembers to call Anna. She picks up on the third ring of course.

"Privyet, what's going on?" Anna answers the phone, sounding slightly rushed.

"Privyet Anna, do you have plans today? You could come over, or I could go to your apartment." Natasha keeps the request short but it takes Anna a moment to respond.

"Ummmm, I'm not exactly sure if now is a good time, Nastya. I'm a little caught up in something at the moment." She finally answers Nastya, her voice quieter than usual.

"You're busy? At 2 in the afternoon on a Sunday?" Nastya questions her, already knowing the outcome.

"Look, don't be mad, but he's in the shower, and I need to go before he comes out." Anna rushes the answer, knowing Nastya would berate her for this later.

"Anna! We agreed!" Nastya switches into Russian. "You dumb bitch, kick him out!"

"Love you, bye!" Anna laughs at Nastya's temper, blowing a kiss before hanging up the phone.

The blunt hanging up makes Nastya shake her head, settling down onto the couch to pass her time watching the TV. She knew her mother would be closing up the shop in a few hours, and decided against going back out.

Later that night, as Nastya and her mother sat down to eat dinner, the obvious questions about the day are expressed over the meal.

"How was work?" Nastya asks, savouring the meal in front of her, it was basic, just pan cooked chicken and potatoes, but it was good food with the weather only starting to warm up.

"It was good, thank you Lisichka." Her mother answers after swallowing her mouthful. "You know how that shop is, busy until it's quiet, and quiet until it gets busy." More chewing fills the living area until her mother asks a question. "How was your time out?"

"It was good, the man who drove me home went along with Emily and Penelope. The girls are very welcoming, the men not so much." Nastya answers, fiddling her piece of chicken around on her fork. "I think Anna saw Derek again today, I called and she said she was busy with 'him' but I didn't get a name."

"That Derek boy isn't good for her, too flashy." Natasha's mother laughs. "But she'll do what she wants, I only hope her parents don't throw a fit."

"You never throw a fit when I sleep with someone."

"Because you have good taste, Anna needs a good Russian boy in her life, none of these so-called agents. It'll only make life more difficult for the Lebedev's. They already lost one son, no use worrying over a son-in-law who could also die." Her mother's commentary on Anna's life makes Nastya laugh at first, but then settle due to the nature of the rest of the comment. That was the one aspect of conversation that always made Natasha irritated, of course mothers always loved their daughters, but sons were just revered more, and a son with dangerous work? Anna better plan on having children fast if she were to ever settle with someone like Derek.

"It'll never go that far, Mama, Anna loves fun too much." Natasha covers for her practical sister. "She won't nest a home until she's in her 30's."

"A waste of her youth if you ask me. And what of you? When will you settle down on your fun? Teaching is nice, but I want to see our family name continue as well." The conversation had usually always gone this direction, causing Natasha to lay her fork down.

"Mama, I love you, but please. This isn't Russia, I can marry and have kids whenever I please. Anna too." Natasha leaves the answer stinging in the air, talking about tradition and culture was always a point of contention with her mother, and just as she went to open her mouth, the home phone rang. Natasha went to answer.

"Privyet, Semyonov house." She answers. Thankfully it's Anna on the other end.

"Nastya! Listen, I got the apartment cleaned up, come over?"

"I can't, I have work tomorrow, Anna." Nastya eyes her mother knowing staying here is the only option mentally.

"Jesus, I do too, but you're all caught up no?"

"Nyet Anna, I can't go. We can talk after work tomorrow but it's best if we just stay in, yeah? It's dark out and not the safest. If you need anyone just call Derek again."

"I would but I can't, these fucking agents and being called at any hour of the day, any day of the week. You were right."

"I know I was," Natasha chuckles at her friend's antics. "Stay in, we'll get dinner sometime this week."

"Okay, bye."

"Love you, bye." Natasha hangs up the phone and goes back to the table to discover that in the brief conversation, her mother had finished her plate and started on dishes.

It would be that later in the night, she found herself hovering over the contacts in her phone as she laid in bed trying to go to sleep. Spencer was saved as "Dr. Reid," a note to their acquaintanceship having more merit than a friendship, and she wondered what would have to be done in order to even have a shot at being friends. Sure she had her own, from work, from the church, the people she grew up around, but there was something about Dr. Spencer Reid that made her want to at least try to get to know him.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

A Family of Five- Part 2: Like Sugar, With Salt

Calum and Harlowe’s marriage hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been filled with love. This is a collaborative experience with In Sorrow and In Joy. Dad!Calum. Black OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, therapy, and postpartum depression. There is also 18+ Content (Smut)

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No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well. 

__________________________

Harlowe is still laying in bed. The alarm went off hours ago. She managed to get up, change her clothes. Calum made her eat with him and the kids. But the second she could escape, shower, and change again, she crawled right back into bed. The TV plays. Normally she would be watching it, but it’s more like the TV is watching her. The afternoon has settled in nicely, a bright clear day. She knows she ought to get up. There’s laundry to do. There’s lunch to fix. The very least is laundry. The absolute minimum. Calum can’t do it all himself. Laundry, she can do laundry. Throwing her feet to the floor, she pushes up. Just do laundry. Just do laundry. 

She walks into Te Koha’s room first. His toy trains lining the molding of his floor. He likes to think this is cleaning, since it’s not in the middle of the floor. He’s stubborn that way. Her and Calum have both collectively just let this happen. It doesn’t interfere too much and she’s glad at the very least that it’s not cluttered in the middle. There’s a path--and it works. Pulling his tiny hamper, she drags it behind her in, leaving it near the door before checking Esha’s room. Even though she’s still barely a toddler, she has her own hamper. Harlowe thought it would be frivolous but Esha wants everything Te Koha has, his tiny shadow. 

Grasping both hampers, she carries them down stairs. There’s no one inside. There’s not a giggle or chuckle or the twinkle of Pepper’s tag. It’s unusual for sure. But it’s not crazy. Just noteworthy, the silence settles thickly. Just the barely audible hum of fridge. She walks over to the kitchen window and sees Calum bouncing Esha as Te Koha runs around with his airplanes, Pepper runs behind him. Koha spies her from the window and smiles. His chubby cheeks lift as he waves. “Momma!” he shouts.  

She leans over the counter, pushing open the open the window. “Hi baby!”

“Will you come outside today?”

The question hurts. Things have gotten so bad again. Harlowe knows that. She just never thought her children would notice. Just go out for him. Go out for him, Harlowe chants to herself. She nods.. “I gotta put some clothes in the washer, but yeah, I’ll come out.”

The smile on his face radiates. He cheers. “Need help? I can help?”

“No, baby. Mommy’s got it. Keep an eye on Papa Bear for me. Make sure he doesn’t step on my rose bushes,” she adds. 

“I can hear you, you know,” Calum gripes. Koha laughs, but resumes his running with the toy plane. Calum steps closer to the open window. “If you don’t feel like coming out, don’t push yourself. Take it one step at a time.”

She exhales. It’s good for her. Just for a little bit. “I should go out.”

Esha whines in Calum’s arm, reaching for something below. He sets her down. “Okay, baby girl, I know. Down, I know.” She trots toward Koha. Calum turns back to Harlowe. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Please?”

“I will.” He eyes her, head tilting forward. “I promise.” He knows she’ll suffer in silence. They both will. To a fault. Even if it’s bad, but that’s just who they are. A cry starts up; Esha. Doesn’t sound particularly bad, it’s more like a startled cry. 

Calum jogs over. “What happened, baby girl? You’re okay.”

“She just tripped,” Koha says. 

She leaves the window open. The small chirps and sounds of life help, make her feel less isolated. She sorts their clothes by colors and tosses them into the machine. The kids have a special detergent and she grabs it, always a little shocked by how heavy it is. The washing machine begins to rumble. She rests her hands onto it, feeling the vibrations shake up her hands and arms. She is still alive. Right? 

The back door is unlocked from when Calum took the kids and dogs out. She wonders if Calum knew that she needed a moment’s silence. Or maybe he was worried. If the kids watched her fall apart for too long, would they become hyper concerned? Would they want to do nothing because she was doing nothing? What was she teaching her kids? Her forehead falls into the glass of the door. She can’t teach them that. She can just water the flowers, right? 

There’s still lunch to fix. The kids will be getting hungry soon. She can get to that right? Calum’s here. They’ll get that that. She twists the doorknob, stepping onto the warm wood of the deck.  Koha rushes up the porch steps, wrapping his arms around her legs. Brushing her palm over his back, she sucks back tears. Koha’s only ever wanted good for her. He deserves his old mother back. Not her now, covered under a thick blanket of tired, of doubt, of shame. “We didn’t water the flowers yet, Momma. Do you want to do that? Can I help?”

He starts to pull back from her. Harlowe’s quick to wipe her tears from her face. “Yeah, let’s go water the flowers.” The walk to the garage door. It cranks after she types in the code before they walk inside, Te Koha takes hold of her hand. Harlowe gives it a squeeze, smiling, however briefly down at her son. A spitting image of her. With Calum’s soul. 

Things were better when he was first born. Harlowe had gotten pregnant with Te Koha well before she and Calum had ever considered getting married. But it didn’t matter. Besides, Harlowe will never forget the day Calum did propose, down on one knee in the middle of her empty apartment. He was sweaty for sure, having helped move her out so she could stay with him. She was swollen, stomach, ankles, feet. Everyone that looked at her was afraid she’d pop at any second. But it was Calum who popped instead, on his knee, to take her hand. 

He was going to do right by her. After nearly fucking things up. He couldn’t loose Harlowe a second time. Her pregnancy with Te Koha was fine. There were aches and pain for sure. But she felt fine. She was fine. Te Koha was a fairly easy baby. And now there is just a fog. Esha wasn’t a worrisome baby. She was stubborn and a opinonated, even at two. But she wasn’t difficult. It was just Harlowe’s brain. Her brain was making things hard. 

“Momma?” Te Koha asks, taking his water can from her hands. He can see the frown pulling down his mother’s face. 

“Yes, baby?”

“I’m sorry you’re sad,” he whispers. “I promise to be good.”

She gasps, a short explosion of air before her chest squeezes. She kneels in front of her little boy. His brown eyes are teary up like mine. Cupping his face between her palm, she brings his attention to her. “What’s happening to me is not your fault. It’s not Papa Bear’s fault; it’s not even Esha’s fault.”

“Then what happened?” He sniffs, wiping underneath his nose. “You were so different before.”

“Momma’s had some serious health issues. It’s…. been hard on me. But it’s not your fault. Please, please, please don’t think it. I wish I wasn’t like this. Mommy wishes she could be her old self. I am so sorry.”

“Is there is anything I can do to help?”

“Just keep being you baby boy. Just keep being you.”  She wipes the tears that have fallen from his skin. “Do you still want to help me water the flowers?”

He nods. “Yes. I always do.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Let me grab my can.” They walk to the hose, Harlowe filling Koha’s up first. Then filling hers. He trails behind, waiting for the every other plant that Harlowl leaves to him.  He sticks his tongue out a little, watching as the water slips over and splashes onto the ground. Harlowe pauses occasionally to pluck the dead leaves and weeds around certain plants. Te Koha follows suit, under the careful eye of his mother. This is the mom he remembers. A soft smile on her lips when he pulls hard at a weed and successfully uproots it. A small cheer of pride echoes from his chest. 

“Need any help?” a voice says behind me.

Harlowe looks over her shoulder. Koha shoots up from his seated position. “Uncle Mikey!” 

Michael laughs, collecting Koha into his arms before picking him up. “Oh, you’re getting big. No wonder Cal’s got arms like fu--freaking Superman. Lifting kids all day is a great work out.”

“Michael, what are you doing here?” Harlowe’s not sure of her own voice. It’s strange for sure. But there’s a glimmer of something light, something like happiness. It is happiness. He’s still the same. With the basketball hat, the fringed hair, the leather bracelets, and the rings. 

He opens his free side to her and Harlowe folds into his embrace. “Cal called me over. Said you were having a decent day. Wanted to check in.”

Harlowe and Michael have, over the years, gotten close. They bonded originally over video games. Harlowe has her degree in psychology and through her willingness to always listen to him they grew closer. Michael isn’t necessarily reserved but he’s not always forthcoming about things. He’s vocal when it’s necessary. Harlowe never judged--she pushed occasionally for him to open up. But she never sneered at him, never berated him over his feelings. She just listened. 

Michael returned the favor. He’s always become a great pillar of support since this funk after Esha’s birth. She had shockingly cried to Michael a couple times about her inability to conceive a third child. She wanted to give Calum that picture perfect family. Her body and mind weren’t ready for that--they were telling her to slow down. She always had trouble listening. 

“It’s been okay,” she says softly, pulling back from his hug. 

“Okay is good. Okay is great.”

“Are you going to help us?” Koha asks. 

Michael laughs. “Sure, why the--why not?” Michael’s still working at censoring him around the kids. Almost five years should’ve been enough practiced but Michael was only the uncle currently with no kids. He didn’t have the filter on all the time.

The three of them settle back down in the front garden. Harlowe pulls out the gardening seat for Michael to sit. He complained about potentially ruining his jeans. “Look!” Koha puts out a bug, nestled into the mulch. Harlowe pulls back his hands a little. Even though he’s wearing gloves, she fears that it could be a snake or spider. It’s not though upon closer inspection. 

By the time they move to the side of the house where the kitchen window is, Calum gazing out of it. “Lunch’s up soon, bud. Come inside and wash your hands,” he says softly to Koha. 

Koha and Harlowe look up at each other. The window is opened just enough. “Can I Momma?”

She grins and looks over to Calum. Hhe sighs, hopping onto the counter and holding out his hands. “Fine, you two are definitely fucking Aries.”

“Swear jar, Papa Bear,” she laughs, sliding off the gloves and hoisting Koha up. He grabs Calum’s forearms and he slides in through the window. Calum sets him down. “Wash your hands now. I don’t want to find actual ants on your ants on a log.”

She just barely catches Koha’s laugh as he walks away from the window. “He loves going in through the window. Why not let him live a little?”

“Because then he’ll think it’s normal to climb in through the windows,” Calum laughs. 

“You saying it’s not?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, missy.” They share a laugh. Including Michael. He’s used to their shenanigans. “You coming in for lunch?” Cal asks. 

“Once I finish up out here. Shit, the laundry.”

Calum shakes his head. “One load is already done. Second load is in the dryer.”

“I’m so sorry I forgot.”

“Baby, it’s okay.”

She sighs. “I’m just so off. I hate this.”

“Just consider the meds, think about it, okay? I’m not asking you to makeup your minds just yet. But don’t count it out.”

Michael rests a hand on her back, not quite on her shoulder but not quite off it either. “They honestly could help, Harlowe. Don’t eliminate the possibility. I know you don’t want to take meds. I know you can do this without. But you don’t have to.”

“The ACT is helping, I think. I just don’t want to add more to our medical expenses. I’m already running it up as it,” Harlowe counters. 

Calum wishes he could shake his wife sometimes. Snap her out of whatever haze she was in. Or just get her to see that he cares not what dime amount it costs. “You know money is not a problem here.” Harlowe opens her mouth. Calum continues before she can interject it. “Finish up in your beds and then come in and eat. Relax the rest of the day. Think you can finish the beds?”

She nods. It’s been weeks since she’s been out here. Calum tries to do it for her. Harlowe’s picky, picking it up from her mother and her grandmother the particular meticulousness when it comes to her yard. He does what he knows she likes and knows how to keep the basics up  but doesn’t push it too much further. 

He slides off the counter. “Ready to eat little man?” Koha nods. 

Harlowe goes back to her yard. Michael calls into the window for something before handing a bottle of water to Harlowe. “Maybe you should get out of LA,” he says holding the bag for weeds open.

“You sound like Calum now. You guys have been working here for years now.”

“It doesn’t mean that we can’t move, you know? We’ve been discussing going back to Sydney, anyway. Going back to our roots, settling down. Cal and Luke already have kids. LA’s no place to raise kids.”

She rips the weed from the dirty. Some mulch flies up through the hair. It lands and Harlowe stares down at it. “ I don’t want to be lectured at about moving.Then I have to look for a new university to work out. I’ve got three years where I’m at.”

“You’re not tenured. You said they’re already discussing making changes to the Creative Writing department.”

“I love the kids I work with. They’re brilliant. I have great reviews from them. They’d be crazy to get rid of me.” She yanks at out another weed.  

Michael sighs. “They’ve done crazier things before, you know that better than anyone.”

“Even if the band moves back, it will still take me awhile to find work. I can’t force Calum to take care of the bills alone.”

“Harlowe, you’re making fucking bank. Calum’s smart and has been for years now. He could handle everything and more by his income alone.”

He’s right. Calum’s invested some money. Most of those profits go towards savings for the kids future education plans. Advancements from albums and merch sales have also been sitting in savings for them. Her income is chump change comparatively. Calum’s always treated it equally. The sales from her books helps too for kids savings. Her salary covers half the bills.  My income is chump change compared to him.

She could move. Maybe she should. Calum’s been dropping the possibility more and more since everything went downhill. “My family,’” she says softly. 

“They’re going to cause you to go gray.”

A sob chokes her. Her chest squeezes. When did she start crying? When did the tears burn her eyes? I’m so used to being able to handle things. I don’t know what to do.”

Michael rubs at her back, shushing her softly. “You’re allowed to be weak. Being strong doesn’t mean being able to handle everything. It’s about knowing your limits, knowing when you need help.”

It takes a few minutes before the tears subside. The water soothes the ache in her throat. The passing moments are filled with silence. Michael points to some small green leaves, making sure it’s okay to pull before he gets a grip on it. He can’t tell if it’s a new plant or not and would rather not cause her another crying fit. Harlowe nods before clipping off some browning leaves. 

“You are not alone in this, okay? Remember that.”

“Thanks, Michael.” 

She watches, to make sure he gets safely to his car. It’s all the years of drinking as a young woman and knowing that any moment could be someone’s last. It’s the years of being a mother and freaking out whenever Te Koha decides to hide behind a rack or mannequin. She has to see with her own eyes to everyone’s safely. 

When she gets inside, after double checking the lock on the door, she notices  Esha’s standing with her little horse. Her smile is bright. Harlowe does her best to return it as she goes to wash her hands. Esha clambers right behind her, the clacking of the plastic striking the floors. Harlowe steps to get a paper towel. More clacks are heard. 

Harlowe runs in a circle, the clicking following her ‘round and ‘round. She scopes up her little girl, lifting Esha above her head. “You’re getting so big, girlie. I love you.”

She giggles at Harlowe. “You’re not tired?” Harlowe asks. “You should be tired by now. You ran behind Koha today. He’s a fast one. My little zoomer.”

When she looks over to him, sitting at the table, tracing over the alphabet with Calum, he grins. “Nyoom,” he laughs. 

“Down,” Esha pleads. It’s softly at first. Then she repeats herself, more firmly, when the request is not immediately fulfilled. “Down.” 

“So demanding, you’re my child. Lord help you.” Harlowe sets her down and she runs back to her horse. 

Calum chuckles. “Alright, c’mon, Koha. You’re half way done.”

“I’m being Momma’s little zoomer,” he huffs but goes back to tracing. 

Calum turns his attention back to Harlowe. “Make sure to eat.” 

She nods. She’s not very hungry though. She knows she should be. But she’s just not. Her appetite goes most days. “Want to shower first.”

He points to the fridge. He means right now. “Please, baby. Just something. A turkey sandwich and apple. It doesn’t have to be a lot. I even bought pink ladies, your favorite.”

“I smell.”

“Harlowe.”

She knows that tone. She marches to the fridge to find the plate all ready for her. She knows, during the first couple of bites that she won’t get it all down. Something is better than nothing under Calum’s watchful stare. She pretends not to notice his constant glances and gazes out of the same window that Te Koha was lifted through. They both know the other is watching. 

More than half the sandwich is gone and the whole apple is finished. Harlowe tips the plate in Calum’s direction before dumping the core and sandwich remnants. He gives a slight nod. His acknowledgement of what she’s eaten. He worries. Maybe more so than he should. But who can fault the concern? Who can find any issue in the pure love that he carries for her? He wants her to be okay. 

Harlowe walks over to the penmanship study and tugs at Calum’s elbows. “You stink, you know?” he teases. 

She lifts an arm, turning the armpit to his face. “Wanna try something else smart to say?” 

Calum rears back. “God, I can’t breathe. Te Koha, help me. I’m going to suffocate from the stink.”

Koha laughs in his seat. “Sorry Daddy, I have to finish tracing.”

“My own son betrays me,” he gasps, pretending to pass out. No one reacts. “So you all were just going to let me die? Even you Esha,” Calum sits up, pulling her into his chest. He smiles over Harlowe’s shoulder to her. She coos, smacking her toys together in excitement. “Yeah, even you were just going to leave your old man high and dry. No love.”

She stands and walks over. Harlowe end down to pick her up. She reaches for Calum though. “She’s such a daddy’s girl,” Harlowe laughs. 

“I love you,” he breathes into her skin, lips brushing over from the forehead kiss.. “I love you so much. Mommy loves you too. You too, Koha,” he says turning his attention to his son, brushing his fingers through the tight coils. “We love you too.”

“I know,” he says softly. A grin taking over his face. “I know.”

Harlowe decides on a soak. But after her shower. The shower will let her cry if she needs too. Though, after her tears in the garden, she thinks today will be decent. The rose scent of the bubbles starts to invade her nostrils. Her eyes close and Koha’s face fills her dark vision. His tears. His plea for her to get better. Her own children take the blame for her brain’s reaction. 

The sting starts up behind her closed lids. God, she’s so unfit. With lips pressed together, Harlowe tries to quiet the sobs. It’s just about nap time; she doesn’t want to wake them. But God, how unfit. Unable to remember the laundry she had started. Hardly able to keep the yard together and in good shape. Can’t even a fucking sandwich. 

Every second she can sit in bed, she does. Calum must think she’s disgusted with him. Harlowe hasn’t touched him sexually in months. She wants too, just lacks the motivation to go through with it. All her energy is spent before her feet ever hit the floor. Covering her mouth, she lets one nasty sob rip through her. The floor thuds with footsteps; Calum’s heard. Fuck. She sniffles. Pull it together. He can’t see her crying again. He doesn’t even bother knocking, not that he needed to anyway. If he heard the wail, she knows he would’ve broken down the door if necessary. 

“Babe,” he rushes out, settling onto the edge of the tub. “Talk to me, please.”

Her hands tremble; her throat hurts. The words are stuck in the dryness that coats her mouth. Grabbing her towel from the counter, he sets it on his lap before pulling her out of the water. Calum wraps the extra fabric, then holds her to his chest. The rocking motion helps. All she has to do is focus on the back and forth motion. She doesn’t have to think about anything else. 

“Te Koha thought it was his fault,” she breathes. The words are sour. She feels like there is bile on them as she speaks. “He thought he had done something wrong. I forgot about the laundry. I’m barely eating. I’m falling apart. I don’t want to fall apart. I’m not taking the fertility meds like I should. I want to give up; I don’t want to keep doing this.”

Calum finally speaks, voice thick. “Do you want to get better?”

“Sometimes I do; sometimes I don’t.”

“Right now, do you want to get better?”

“I’m just tired, Calum. I’m so fucking tired.”

“You know I’m here for you. You know I care, right?” She nods against his chest. “Do you trust me?” She nods again, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt. He releases a breathe. “Then we can’t stay here. You can’t keep dodging therapy appointments. You can’t skip your meds.”

“I know; I’m sorry.”

Calum kisses the top of her head, or what he can reach of it behind the pineappled afro. “I need some extra hands. We need some extra hands; I know a nanny scares you. But we’re getting out of LA, as quick as possible. I’m calling your parents, see if they can help for a little bit. But we’ve gotta get out of here. I know you’re worried about insurance costs and such. But maybe it’s time to leave the States. My parents could help us; I’m sure they’d be happy to.”

She is small, in that moment she is that eleven year old girl that cried in a bathroom because she heard her parents arguing. She is that eleven year old girl that needed her father’s comforting touch. She is small again, in Calum’s lap, still damp from the shower and bath. She needs someone to help her. Maybe she can stop torturing herself, her husband, and her kids. 

“Okay,” she whispers. “I need the help.” A tiny drop of relief hits her stomach. She needs help. She needs help. She just needs the help. There’s no shame in that, right? There’s nothing wrong in admitting that sometimes the burden is just too heavy to carry all by herself.

[michael-radi-the-glamorous-life]

Why Does He Endure?

Last Sunday evening was the 90th Birthday Celebration Concert for Stephen Sondheim - put together and produced by Raul Esparza, and starring a jaw-dropping list of Broadway celebrities and personalities.

Despite the technical glitches - which had Twitter abuzz with some excellent Sondheim-related humor - the evening was beautiful.

The performers had recorded their songs ahead of time from their quarantined homes and still, somehow, the music and performances were just as emotional, raw, delightful, and revealing as they might have been with more theatrical conditions.

Why?

The music, the lyrics, and the marriage of the two.

Stephen Sondheim has to be one of the most polarizing musical theatre writers, having been lauded as the most important to live and also berated for being too high-brow and difficult to perform or understand. And yet, he is known as “the master.” Not a master - and we do have many - but the master.

Why? What is this legacy? Why does Stephen Sondheim endure?

Content Dictates Form

Now, I could write an entire life-long dissertation on Stephen Sondheim and the brilliance of his work (and some of my friends and family would probably say I’ve been doing it verbally for years), but I want to boil this argument down to its basics.

In his lyric anthology Finishing The Hat, Sondheim writes of the three writing principle truisms:

"In no particular order, and to be written in stone: Content Dictates Form Less Is More God Is in the Details all in the service of Clarity without which nothing else matters."  -- Stephen Sondheim in "Finishing The Hat"

Let’s begin with “Content Dictates Form.”

What does that mean?

One of the reasons that Sondheim’s music endures - and specifically within the context of the shows for which it was written - is because of this first principle.

You cannot easily remove one of his songs to be performed outside of its show for an audience that is unaware of its context. Sure, they may enjoy the music or find the piece entertaining, but the song would not have its full impact outside of the show. And this is something that used to be common with theatre music, but (with the exception of “Send In The Clowns”) not with Sondheim’s music.

Why is this?

The content of Sondheim’s writing - the time, the setting, the plot, the storyline placement, the characters and their individual personalities, the opinions, and the messages of the piece - define the formation of the songs. Every piece of music he writes is entirely wrapped up within the world of the play, and taking it out of its context can therefore be quite difficult.

You can absolutely, out of context, have:

A group perform “Sunday” from Sunday In The Park With George

Two people duet on “A Little Priest” from Sweeney Todd

A devastating rendition of “Send In The Clowns” from A Little Night Music

You can do these things out of context and have them be appreciated for their craft and beauty. But something will be missed.

There are layers of enrichment that come from knowing:

“Sunday” is a musical representation of the pure beauty and tranquility that George Seurat finally feels in blocking out the chaos to finish his masterpiece painting.

“A Little Priest” is the unadulterated and insane giddiness of two brilliant, yet disturbed, people figuring out how to bring their goals into alignment - aka murder barber customers for practice and bake them into pies for money.

“Send In The Clowns” is a moment of stillness and deep self-reflection for a character who has never faced what she has always known, which is after we’ve watched her flail around her desires for two hours.

Sondheim takes these moments in the stories and crafts them into music perfectly appropriate for the situations and characters:

“Sunday” is a brief group vocal number based mostly upon quiet unison, which blossoms briefly into exuberant dissonance before returning to a quieted and major harmony in the end.

“A Little Priest” is a seven minute comedy number based in grotesque wit and delightful one-up-man-ship.

“Send In The Clowns” is a conversational, lilting, and dynamic solo ballad, which purposefully does not develop in either melody or harmonic structure.

Extraordinarily different pieces. All very Sondheim, but all utterly specific to their content.

Less Is More

I already hear some of you at home saying:

“But Michael, he’s known for his complexity and wordiness! How can Sondheim believe in Less Is More?”

Well, believing in and succeeding at are two entirely different things. And Sondheim acknowledges all over the place that he strives for these principles, knowing that he often falls short (as do we all).

But if you were to look at the songs of his that most endure - the ones that really cut to our emotional and intellectual centers - these are often the ones that follow this mantra the most.

Every Sondheim show is filled to the brim (if not overflowing) with music and lyrics, and many of these are immediately forgotten upon leaving the theater or skipped when listening to the albums. But the ones that cut through universally for performers and audiences alike tend to be wrapped up in the simplest of ideas:

Finishing The Hat

No One Is Alone

A Weekend In The Country

By The Sea

Anyone Can Whistle

Being Alive

Everybody’s Got The Right

I’m Still Here

And this is but a tiny fraction.

If you know any of these songs, their titles alone will evoke a sense of time, character, emotional state, and a wonderfully tuneful hook. And everything else about each of these songs is built specifically around these simple and effective ideas.

Do the lyrics often spin off into ambitious wordplay, complexity, and depth? Yes. But all of it centered around these simplistic and easy-to-follow ideas - he never strays.

God Is in the Details

Details come in all shapes and sizes, so it would be difficult to discuss the full breadth of the kinds of details Sondheim has mastered. There are too many.

So I will leave you with a few.

1. Correct Stress

One of the reasons performers love to sing Sondheim music - and audiences are able to take in as much information from his wordiness as they can - is because Sondheim takes great care to place words on his melodies so they are stressed precisely as we would say them.

There are many songs out there in the world that people say are difficult to sing - “it’s almost like it’s impossible to sing it well!” Usually, this is because of mis-stressed words. They’re tricky to spit out.

But when they stress is correct, you can speed through an insanely wordy line and still be entirely understandable (see “Getting Married Today” from Company).

2. Musical Development

I wrote a 10 page paper in college about the first half of one song in Sweeney Todd, dissecting the musical development and how it related to the characters and tone of the piece. And I had much more to say.

Sondheim takes great care to build a musical world, build a tune off a singular idea, and then to break his own rules only when the story calls for further movement or development. And every time he does it, it’s wildly effective.

For just a minuscule example, in Into The Woods, Little Red sings a song called “I Know Things Now,” which is the story of her encounter with the Wolf. The main melody is almost garishly major, since Red is both a kid and dreadfully annoying.

But when she gets to the part of the story where she starts feeling fear, Sondheim alters two notes in her now-familiar melody to make them minor. Just two. And then we understand her state of mind clearly.

Details.

3. Wit

A lot of people are witty. But few people are as appropriately witty as Sondheim.

It’s one thing to write your face off and be clever at any and all times - this is a great showcase of the writer and their talents. But it’s an entirely different thing to be witty in a way that’s 100% appropriate to the character, their language, and their situation.

My favorite example of this is in Sweeney Todd during “A Little Priest.”

Mrs. Lovett is a cooky delight of a character who is clever, insane, and good at wordplay and word association. However, all of this gets kicked up a huge notch during “A Little Priest” when Sweeney starts playing the word games as well. Suddenly, she has to up her game.

Prior to “A Little Priest,” in which they wittily discuss how they could cook different people into pies to sell, Mrs. Lovett would likely not have gotten to the point of being able to put together:

“Or we’ve got some Shepherd’s Pie peppered with actual shepherd on top”

A brilliantly witty line, but also perfect to Lovett in this one moment in the show.

Clarity

So why does Sondheim endure?

Whether you love him or hate him, or are somewhere in between, Sondheim’s mastery of the craft of musical theatre writing is both capturing and stirring.

His craftsmanship is the rock on which his talent sits, and it has made for some of the most exciting and interesting musical storytelling for performers and audiences alike.

Sondheim is who inspired me to do what I do. His principles guide me in everything I write. And all I can hope is that, at the end of the day, I have achieved a level of excitement and clarity that Mr. Sondheim could be proud of.

Stay safe, stay healthy, stay home. Cheers everyone!

[rose-sunlight]

Parings: Jake x Amy, Holt x Kevin

Summary: The story begins. The group doesn’t exist, they are separated over different parts of New York. They all end up in the same place: The Bullpen Summer Camp.

WARNINGS: Minor Character Death, Abuse

A/N:  This is for the @b99fandomevents​​ Summer 2020 Fic Exchange written for @impossiblyizzy​​! Hope you enjoy!

Jake slammed the leaflet down on the table. His mother had slipped it through the door of his bedroom when his father slept in the living room. He wanted to be angry at her for this, to scream, and beg, and cry, but no words or insults could come to mind. This was pure shock.

He was looking forward to this summer; 11 weeks of no homework and mindless cartoons on the TV? Count Jake in. Maybe he’d try something different, though—he remembers his friend Adrian telling him about his new skateboard, maybe he could ask him to teach him how to skateboard properly, and not just blindly jumping and hoping for the best.

But no, now his parents were going to ship him off to some wishy washy summer camp for nine whole weeks. Now, he’d miss out on everything cool a sixteen-year-old should be doing on their summer break; like brooding in angst and staying in their rooms until the sun goes down. Now, he would have to participate in ‘team sports’ and ‘community activities’ and have a ‘life-changing experience with new friends’.

“You’re shipping me off to a hell hole?!” He glowered, watching as his mother barely looked up from her cross stitch. She finished one and glanced towards him, placing the needle and thread on the kitchen table.

She sighed “Oh, sweetie,” She consoled “I thought you’d be more happy, your father decided that this would be a nice learning experience for you.” Jake took a step back. Of course this was his dad’s doing, of course he’d want him gone for the entire summer for his own personal gain, so he could do whatever he did when he wasn’t there to witness it (Jake didn’t really know what it was that he did, but he assumed it was on the same level as sacrificing baby animals, like the demon he was).

“This is his idea?!” His voice raised a pitch so he sounded more like some of the girls in his class. He didn’t want his dad to wake up in a drunken rage, but he was increasingly wanting something to hit. If it was his dad, so be it.

“He’s your father Jake, not Satan”

“Here I thought they were one and the same. That’s not the point though, the point is that I’m not going to some wishy washy summer camp!” He retorted, before hearing the angry footsteps of his father coming from around the couch. His dad wasn’t a conventionally scary person, but it was the way he moved and spoke that managed to strike fear into his heart. He was like a giant in an average-sized person’s body, and right now, Jake felt 2 feet tall in his presence, and cowered. He didn’t like getting on the wrong side of his dad.

He looked down at Jake, arms crossed and face in a perpetual frown. Every day he saw this scowl, and every day he got his ass handed to him because of their disagreements.

His father had a booming voice when drunk “You’re so ungrateful!” He spat, “Look at the way you’re making your mother feel!” He looked back to his mom, who was frowning. Jake began to feel more guilty by the second “We want you to go, so you will be going!”

Jake puffed his chest out and scowled, fists bawled by his side “but-!”

“-You’re such a lazy little shit! This is why we want you out the goddamn house-” He physically shoved Jake, like a bully on the playground, and Jake’s eyes widened. He had been taken aback by the sudden escalation, even when it happened every day, practically. The stream of name-calling and hitting never really ended.

Jake stepped forward once more; he stood by the fact that he never learns his lesson, so his retaliation wasn’t unexpected by his parents “I don’t want to-”

He never did get his words in when he was arguing with his dad. Instead, he felt the harsh punch against his face, and sensed his body falling to the floor and crawling away until his back hit the cold wall. There was fear plainly shown in his eyes, as there always was, as the red splodge on his face ripened. “If I hear one more whiny ‘I don’t want’ out of your mouth…” He growled “you’re always whining about something, always playing the victim. That’s why nobody likes you, Jake. That’s why you’re getting shipped off to The Bullpen camp. Pack your bags.”

Jake stood up quickly, filing out the room. He knew when he was beaten, and that was one of those times. He angrily, but silently, stomped towards his room, trying his best not to punch his small twin bed in a sheer moment of fury.

He flopped down, knowing that he was going to go to this dumb summer camp even if he was dragged kicking and screaming, which he definitely would. He hit his pillow before flopping onto his bed, letting his rage take over before inevitably packing for this 9-week-hell.

~ Charles never did anything on instinct. That was something his mother always berated him for, in her own loving way. He didn’t take action, like how all Boyles never take action, and this seemed to cost him everything.

His everything, even if he had only known his everything for six months. Charles knew he was in love with her, and she knew that she wasn’t. She didn’t look him in the eyes as she sat him down by the high school bleachers on the last day of term before summer. Charles had planned out their agenda for the summer, for all nine weeks, so that they could spend as much time together as possible. She patted his hand and smiled, but she never really looked at him directly.

Eleanor wore her hair perfectly, with bleached blonde summer hair and dazzling sea green eyes. He could write a whole novella about how her sparkling eyes made him feel, and how, if he took more action, he will ask her if she’d like to travel the world with him so he could try and find a sight prettier than her eyes.

“You’re a really good…person, Charles-”

Charles cut her off immediately, eyes full of adoration “It’s because you make me good, I mean, you’re the two halves of my hole!”

“And that’s great, but-,” Eleanor paused, taking not of the gesture Charles had made “wait, do you mean ‘whole’ or ‘hole’? N-no, it doesn’t matter, what I’m trying to say is that-”

Charles once again cut in, placing a caring hand on the small of her back, which she flinched away from almost immediately, only spurring on his concerns “My sunflower, is something wrong?”

Eleanor stammered “Yes…uh, um, no—well…okay, I’m just gonna say it.” She sucked in a large breath before continuing “I’m breaking up with you.”

Charles froze, he didn’t know what to do. One part of him wanted to break down and cry, and another wanted to fall to her feet and beg her to reconsider. He didn’t do either, instead, he stiffened up, listening to her reasoning but still not completely hearing her. The one overarching concepts she had brought up was that he wasn’t impulsive enough for her.

“I just think I need someone who takes risks.” Her voice echoed in Charles’ brain, playing like a broken record as he trudged the five mile walk home. She wanted someone the opposite of him, someone who could decide between two restaurants in under an hour. His norm was to wait until one of them was closed and go to the only one left open. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want him, either.

Through his blurry vision and tears, he made his way to his computer. His parents were out, not returning from their sensual food tasting for couples retreat until much later in the night. Charles punched in the first thing he thought of—‘how to take more risks’. When the results seemed to extreme or adult (no, he wasn’t going to have a one-night stand, Wikihow), he changed it up, editing the search bar to tailor more to him. One of the results that came up was to go on impulse trips. He thought he might be able to do that if they gave him some time. He then researched ‘how to take impulse trips for sixteen year olds’

Google disregarded the first few words, instead focusing on adventures that were specifically for teenagers. He factored in how far away most were, and how uncomfortable he’d be in hot areas like Thailand, and found the perfect website. Without even consulting his doting parents, he had booked a place, and spent almost all his summer money on this trip. Old habits didn’t die that hard, though, and he was already packing when he had a week to spare.

This would show Eleanor how brave and risk-taking he was. After he had taken place in the activities scheduled, she’d take him back in a heartbeat.

~ Terry had secretly prayed a day like this would come. He had hoped that it would come later, but it had still answered his prayers in a dark way. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had hoped for something less permanent for him.

Because as much as his dad used to hit on him, he never wanted to put on a jet black suit and see the day his father was put to rest. He didn’t want to listen to his family cry, and talk about how his dad was such a good man with a good heart. He didn’t want to stand up and deliver a speech about how, despite their non-existent bond, he loved his father and was devastated when he didn’t come home from the bar that night.

But he was devastated. He didn’t know why, but he was in mourning over his father’s death, but not in the way he was expecting. He didn’t mourn the same way he did when his Grandma Ophelia died. That was the feeling of incompleteness, like the memories of her were too little, and he wished he had spent more time with her. With his father, he was feeling as if he had lost hope.

He had always thought that if he gave his dad time there would be a day where he’d snap out of it, and he’d beg to be forgiven, go to his basketball games, and finally see him graduate with a proud smile slapped across his face. Terry now had concrete evidence that this would never happen, and the hope of playing happy-families was gone. He was left with painful memories and mental scars of his torturous behaviour.

The worst part of the funeral was black-suited nobodies to him coming up and telling him how to grieve, how they were sorry that he had lost such a prevalent role-model in his life. All Terry could do was grit his teeth and smile through it. There was one man, though, who he hadn’t even heard mentioned once by his father. One person that was grieving differently to everyone else; he was crying like he actually meant it, but also like he had already made peace with the loss. Terry found him intriguing.

When the man, dressed in a black tux with a bright green tie, different to everyone in the room, with a full head of bushy blond hair and a small frame, came barrelling towards Terry, he braced himself. He was ready for this man to defeat his expectations.

“You the son?” This abnormal man asked him. His accent was inherently English, dulled down by being in America for so long, or so Terry suspected. He wanted to say no, that Laurence was just over by the corner, drowning himself in alcohol even though he wasn’t the legal age. Instead, he just nodded. “Terry or Laurence?” he asked again.

Terry grit his teeth “Terry”.

The man snorted, not offering any condolences at all “A right dipshit, is what your dad turned into.”

“You mean he wasn’t always?” He didn’t want to laugh at his dead father’s funeral, but this man was doing it for him, letting out a massive guffaw at this stereotypical catholic wake.

“Your old man was good fun, at another point. All went to shit when his mom died,” He told him, and Terry perked up at the possibility of his dad ever being fun “I guess he never did speak about me. I’m Nelson.” Nelson extended a hand for Terry to shake. He obliged.

“How did you know my dad?”

Nelson chuckled. He pulled out his wallet, reaching for a picture. “The Bullpen Summer Camp in the late seventies,” when he saw how clueless Terry was, he lightly shoved him in a well meaning manner. Terry flinched. “Suppose you don’t know about that either, ey? Nah, your dad was voted ‘Camp King’. He was amazing at all the activities, I mean, he was the feller you wanted to share a kayak with—he made you laugh, and was a damn good rower. That’s the version of him I want to remember.”

The picture depicted a group of friends, six of them, three girls and three guys. The girls were dressed modestly, in skirts down to their ankles, which seemed so impractical for the activities. They stood with their arms at the waists of three other male friends. The boys were the same age as Terry, and his father was in the centre. His dad wasn’t what he was expecting. He wasn’t a bald, tall angry man with a pot-belly. This version of his dad was too much like him. He was muscle-bound, but didn’t look as tall with his peers, he had a full head of hair styled like Terry’s in a bulky afro, and he was smiling as wide as he had ever seen his dad smile.

Terry raised an eyebrow at Nelson, not knowing how to deal with the information he had told him, “You sure that was my father?”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Nelson sighed, and took a moment to look around at the people ‘celebrating’ his old friend’s life. He took in for the first time how everyone else spoke—he was portrayed a complex, fascinating man instead of the good one he had known. He supposed a lot had changed since the seventies. “Yeah, I suppose it seems too good to be true.” Nelson pierced his lips before patting Terry softly on the shoulder. Terry flinched again. “I’m heading out. You need a ride home?”

Terry had only just met Nelson, and yet he seemed so socially unaware as to offer a teenage boy a ride home. “No, my mom’s probably gonna take us back.”

And she did, once she’d settled a few things with the funeral planners. Terry couldn’t stop thinking about his father. He couldn’t stop thinking about the similarities down to the very hairstyle. That’s when he made the choice. He had to go to this camp, and see what changed his dad. He had to see for himself that his dad was actually fun.

That picture still rattled him, which is how he ended up in the bathroom, sitting down on the bathtub staring into the mirror, a razor poised at his afro.

He carved a chunk out of it, and kept going until all he had a mass of curly hair at his feet. He looked back in the mirror to see what could only be described as a baby afro, short at the sides and on the top. When he looked in the mirror, he could only see himself, not the vision of his father haunting him. Sure, his mom freaked out when he showed him, but he felt as if he was distancing himself from that younger dad he never knew.

Especially since he was returning to see what his dad might’ve been like.

~ Rosa knew this was coming before they even said the word. This was the norm; her fourth and final trip to The Bullpen. She was sixteen now, which meant that this was her final time attending as a camper before going back as a camp councillor. She wasn’t the most liked; she kept to herself, and all the younger kids knew she carried a whittling knife everywhere she went, but she liked being in nature compared to the stuffy New York apartment her parents and sisters lived in.

It wasn’t a shock when her parents dropped the leaflet under her door and wordlessly gave her a suitcase—black with a purple skull over it.

They weren’t talking to her at the moment, and she was fine by it. She couldn’t care less (is what she told herself when she put her face into her pillow and screamed until she began to cry). It didn’t matter if they weren’t on speaking terms, anyway, because soon, she’d be gone for the holidays.

The Bullpen was the one place she got to be authentically herself, where no one cared if she went off into the woods without sunblock, where she wasn’t bothered by her sisters storming into her room to ask if she had melted down one of their possessions to make jewellery to sell in the schoolyard. The Bullpen, under the watchful eyes of the camp counsellors, was her second home, and sometimes, she liked it more than her first.

So as she looked down at the sheen of her black suitcase in the low light of her shared room, she gave a curt nod to no one in particular, and began to pack her bag, sniffing lightly as she folded her second-best jacket down into a tiny ball. She had gone through a change in style in the past couple years, from ballerina pumps and pink strappy tops to the polar opposite of black leather jackets and DIY ripped jeans. Her hair had just grown long enough for her pink streaks to be cut out, so her hair was a natural curly brunette shade. She packed everything she knew she’d need for her nine weeks away, and it only took a couple hours to pack.

None of her friends were going back this year; the others had left and gone onto bigger things, most of them were going on some massive party-filled holiday—Rosa had declined the offer, and decided to go back to camp.

Her parents still remained silent, they didn’t speak to her at all, not even when the bus came to pick her up, as it did every year.

~ Gina was talking to her friends on her phone while a video on her iPad played softly in the background. Her legs swung freely in the air as the lay flat on her stomach, her freshly painted toes sticking pointily out. She didn’t have anything planned for the summer, she just wanted to spend some time doing some serious soul-searching. By that, she meant going out just to take photos for her Instagram following with spiritual captions.

Her parents had constantly been threatening her to get off her phone, but she hadn’t taken any notice. Every month, they’d tell her the same thing, with a different punishment (no more phone, we’ll block YouTube on your iPad, we’ll send your clothes off to charity), and every month, she kept on her phone and nothing happened.

Her friends weren’t planning anything, but there was a party planned for a months’ time. It was supposed to be the best event since Gina’s party where she convinced everyone that Jay-Z would be there. She slithered her way out of that one by getting the people there drunk enough so that they wouldn’t even remember. She had her dress picked out before anything else, even now it stared at her through the crack into her walk-in closet. It was short and sequinned, sparkly, and low-cut. Her mother had reprimanded her on the choice, calling her every name under the sun purely based on the length and the fact it showed off a little bit of boob. Gina had called her pathetic, and then yelled that she was jealous.

Granted, Gina should’ve realised that she had gone too far, but she never apologised for her words, and she wasn’t going to break that oath to herself.

Her mom walked into her room, followed by her dad, whose hand was on the small of her mom’s back. She didn’t acknowledge them moving around in her room until they opened her closet.

“What are you doing?” She asked, sitting back up and pausing the video on her iPad. She didn’t like it when they went through her stuff, she’d made it clear through putting up CCTV in her own bedroom when she wasn’t there. “Get out of my closet!” She yelled, but her parents still ignored her, packing a bag of stuff.

Her father turned to face her with a soft smile, “We thought that this summer you could go somewhere fun.”

She sat back in her seat, suddenly thinking about how her parents were going to send her on some expensive lavish trip with her friends “Oooh, where? Paris, Greece…Italy?”

Gina slammed the car door at her arrived destination, dressed in a fancy tracksuit with a travel pillow slung over her neck, ready for a first class flight to wherever, and looked around at the sights before her. It smelt like pine needles and damp river air. As the car she had arrived in drew away, her hope of being rescued was gone. Her parents had taken her phone before kicking her out, leaving her stranded in this grassy, humid spot.

To her right, there was a big yellow house, looking like something out of a Victorian utopian novel, with a large red roof and grand double oak doors. There was no road, instead there was a dusty mud path towards the main house, with grassy meadow verges all the way to the brick steps towards the opening of the house. They had roses and daisies along the open windowpanes, ivy also climbing up around towards the top of the house.

The road stemmed off like the branches of a leaf, to different areas and houses, swooping tall trees towering above the beaten track. Gina took notice of all the kids, mostly younger than her, some around the same age, who were wearing different coloured t-shirts: duller reds, bright oranges, grassy coloured greens, and duller royal navy blues. They all had different names in block letters, and Gina shuddered inwardly. Great, she thought, they’d shipped her off to a knock-off American Hogwarts.

~ Amy was sat on the bus, having been collected half an hour ago, and the first thing she’d realised was how unconventional this maths camp was. She had taken the only free seat in between a girl dressed in a jet black leather jacket who was carving something onto the side of the bus, and another girl, quieter, who seemed more like someone who would take this type of camp trip. She had big rounded spectacles and had woven her hair in plaits, chewing on the right one as if it were an instinct.

Amy nudged the girl excitedly “So, what do you think it’s gonna be like?”

The girl looked back at Amy with a raised eyebrow, as if she had just said something preposterous. She was only asking because this was the first annual maths camp, and she wasn’t entirely sure what the curriculum was going to be. “I’ve been there before, it’s fun, as long as you can swim”

“What?” Amy shook her head as the girl gazed out of the window, ending the conversation, “you’ve been here before?” She asked. The girl exhaustedly tilted her head back to face Amy.

“The camp has been open since the seventies, how have you not?”

Amy started to sweat “Seventies...this is the first camp opening!” She began to dig through her stuff, producing her leaflet that she had given to her dad for him to book. It showed crystal white buildings with a modern square between the buildings, the words ‘Bulletin Maths Camp’ written with a fancy cursive font. The leather jacket girl let out a loud guffaw, making Amy swivel around “What?”

“Dude, you’re on the wrong bus. This goes to The Bullpen Summer Camp.” She unzipped her jacket further so that Amy could see her dull orange shirt with a small logo that confirmed the name of the camp she’d been sent to. Amy began to hyperventilate, clutching the bus seat she was sitting on in pure fear. “Hey, you’re, uh, you’re kinda freaking out right now. It’s not that bad, your folks probably just got the name wrong. This camp normally comes up on any search first, just chill. You’ll have a good time, only a few of us carry knives.” Amy’s eyes widened, and she almost unbuckled herself so she could jump out the window. The leather-jacket-knife-wielding-maniac laughed again, before thumping Amy on the shoulder. “I’m joking. Again. It’s only me who does that, everyone else here are wimps.”

“I have to go back home. I can’t be here.”

“You signed up to the camp, you’re staying. Unless you want to break some rules and get sent home in Kevin’s tiny car.”

Amy’s heart stopped at the mere thought of breaking rules “Who’s Kevin?”

“He’s one of the camp counsellors.”

“Okay,” Amy sighed, hoping that this Kevin may understand and recognise that a mistake had been made and allow her to make her way home. She hadn’t brought her phone so that she could focus purely on the maths, but now, she wanted her phone more than ever. “Do you think I could stay with you for a bit just before I go home?”

The girl, whose curly hair Amy recognised as being almost exactly like the kind she wanted when she was little, smirked again, going back to carving her name into the side of the bus “Don’t worry, I got your back. Until you get housed, and then you’ll be your houses problem.”

Amy raised her eyebrow “Houses?”

“Yeah. There are a few.” That was the end of her sentence, and Amy didn’t want to push her. She did want to know her name, though.

“Amy. My name is Amy.” She said, extending a shaky hand for the girl to shake. Leather jacket girl glanced at her hand, not making any effort to shake it as she flicked her pocketknife up, twirling it and sticking it back in her pocket. She only nodded, so Amy put her hand back down “Rosa.”

Amy knew their conversation was coming to an end, so instead of probing Rosa for more information on their mysterious destination, she stayed silent, overhearing a conversation from a few bus seats away. There were two other boys, one by the window staring out, and another with curly brown hair that was poking up from the seats.

The window seat boy sighed, and Amy decided to look out the same window as Rosa.

Jake was about to lose his mind. This whimpering kid next to him had started in conversation with him as soon as he sat down. He luckily didn’t linger long on the yellowish bruise Jake had over his eye, instead comparing it to some girl named Eleanor, which had begun his large rant about her soft hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He knew more about this girl than he did his father.

“Oh, and she always did this adorable thing when she ate, she used to make this tiny smack with her lips…did I tell you how they’re-”

“-Soft and warm like kissing the sun, yeah, I remember that disturbing detail. Look, you’re gonna have to stop before I jump outta here myself.” Charles looked offended by that, before quickly forgiving the stranger before resuming his original upset persona, staring out the window in a sulk. A larger boy stood up from behind him with a stern gaze. He was taller than Jake and wore a grey hoodie with the hood up. He looked as if he had been sleeping, and Jake sunk back into his seat. He looked like how his dad did once he was woken up.

“Hey, he’s going through something. Try some compassion.”

Jake tried his best to back down, but he never learnt his lesson. Instead, he stood up, facing the taller boy “You try sitting next to him for an hour listening to his ex-girlfriends lips.”

The other boy went to place a hand on his shoulder, but Jake flinched away, immediately going into fight-or-flight mode, hitting his hand away. The taller boy scowled “Hey, don’t hit me, man, I’ll hit back”. To prove his point, he shoved Jake lightly. Jake slapped his hand more, going to swing at the boy. Luckily, he was flung back in his seat, tumbling over so he was facing the back of the bus. The bus had stopped, and they had arrived at their destination.

Jake was still staring at the back of the bus. He had made eye contact with a girl, around his age, who looked just as unhappy to be there as he was. She was staring at him, of course, she was, he had just began to start a fight on his first hour of being at this dumb camp. She had long black hair that waved at the bottom, with brown eyes and tan skin. He stared straight at her, and she stared back. He broke eye contact and sat back down, watching the beginning of the bus get off and look around the site.

He collected his bag, spotting the girl he’d seen taking her suitcase from near his. Jake shuffled towards her, smiling in his half-quirk smile. She spotted him before looking back down to her suitcase, looking around for someone. “Hey, I’m Jake.” He said, and the girl was about to respond before the other girl came and found her.

“and she doesn’t care. Bye.” She said, so Jake walked away. His best bet was to find the crying kid (Charles, his name was. He’d remember that and be kind to him) and stick by his side to avoid being totally alone through this stupid camp experience.

He found the kid, still moping around the place, and patted him on the shoulder “Hey. I’m sorry for snapping at you, I just really don’t wanna be here.” He admitted, and the boy looked up to him, and then to where his hand rested on his shoulder.

“That’s okay. I’m here because Eleanor broke up with me because I don’t take impulse risks. I think this will make her take me back and make me look more masculine than I actually am.” Charles unloaded onto Jake, whose mouth suddenly dropped, speechless. He’d never met someone so open before.

“Oh…well, I’m Jake, by the way.”

“Charles.” He raised his hand up in a short wave, and Jake was about to continue his conversation when a man walked up to the bus, looking around at everyone, new and old. He was average height, with a bald head and a neutral face.

“Attention Campers!” His voice boomed, and everyone shushed. Jake rolled his eyes, sighing, “Welcome to The Bullpen! I am Raymond, you can call me Ray. I am the head counsellor here; I overlook everything you do. I decide who is sent home for bad behaviour, and who gets extra privileges. At the Bullpen, we have different houses, you don’t get to choose your roommates, that’s down to us.”

Jake whispered to Charles “He sounds like a drill Sargent.”

Ray continued “Every house has a separate counsellor, there are 6 kids to a bunk and 49 of you with us this year. This means one group of you will be sleeping in the bigger room we have here. We normally house 50 kids here, and we have 8 houses. I will now pass over to Kevin who will explain.”

Kevin stepped forward; he had a beard and wore the same kind of outfits as Ray; everyday wear suits which didn’t seem to fit the vibe of this camp at all, but nevertheless, Kevin seemed a bit easier to read than Ray was. “Afternoon,” He greeted “As Ray was saying, there are 8 houses, these people will be your team for any activities, they will be your family. The houses all have different shirt colours, they have already been picked out for you and paid for by your parents or guardians. People who have been here before will stay in the same team, the teams are sorted by age.”

Charles’ hand had made his way to Jakes shoulder, and Jake found himself trying not to flinch or tell him to stop. Charles had already admitted on the bus that he found touch comforting, and if this was what it took to make friends here, he would have to allow him. “Looks like we’ll probably be put together, then.”

“Here’s hoping.”

“The team names are up to you to decide, they have to be appropriate, of course, but the colours are what you will go by for now until you have decided. The colours are as follows: Red, Pink, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple and White. I’ll pass you over to Norm, who will call out your names. When you hear your name, step forward and find your group.” He instructed, as another man, slightly larger with a Frankenstein haircut.

Norm smiled and waved as he read names from a clipboard “King, Warren, Reid, Flowers, Bright and Prentiss, you’re Red Team. Take your shirts, and your counsellor Jason will take you to Rose House. Okay, Orange Team, Peralta, Santiago, Boyle, Diaz, Jeffords and Linetti, take your shirts and your counsellor Ray will take you to Sandy House.”

The list continued as Jake stared at the people who were standing out from the crowd—the wide-eyed girl, her friend in the leather jacket, the boy who he’d tried to fight on the bus, Charles the emotional risk-taking non-risk-taker, and a new girl, who hadn’t been on the bus with them, dressed in fancy clothes and looking more miserable than he did.

These were the people he was supposed to be getting along with and spending most of his time with for the next nine weeks? Oh boy, was he in for it.

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[lovemesomesurveys]

What Rhymes With “ATE”?

1. What’s the last thing you ate? Ramen.

2. Do you have a gate to your backyard? Yeah.

3. Who’s your best mate? My mom.

4. How often do you mate? Have sex? Never have.

5. What would you use as bait on a fishing hook? I wouldn’t even go fishing let’s be real, but fine if I did I’d use worms or whatever I guess alkjfklfjklf. I wouldn’t be the one to put it on, though!

6. What do you bate your breath with? Any anxious situation. 

7. What’s the last thing you got in a crate? I don’t get things in crates.

8. When’s the last time you went on a date? Where did you go? Almost 5 years ago. It was a cute coffee and bookstore date with Ty. That was our favorite thing to do.

9. Do you believe in fate? No.

10. Have you ever seen a freight train in person before? Yeah.

11. Do you like grated cheese? Yesss.

12. Do you have an awkward gait? As a paraplegic, no I do not. Everything else about me is awkward, though.

13. When’s the last time you truly felt great? When I was a kid.

14. Who do you hate? Besides myself, no one.

15. Do you know of anyone named Kate or Nate? No.

16. When’s the last time you were late for something? I don’t recall. I’m big on being punctual.

17. Do you know how to plait hair? I haven’t heard it called that, but yes.

18. Do you have a favorite plate? Paper plates, ha.

19. Would rather ice skate or roller skate? I can’t do either one.

20. How would you rate this survey so far? I’ve enjoyed all your surveys!

21. Do you ever just wish for a clean slate? Yesssss.

22. What state do you live in? (if you’re American) California.

23. What is your current state of mind? Blah.

24. Are you straight? Yes.

25. Are you straight-laced? Straight-edged? No, because apparently you can’t have caffeine or narcotics to be considered straightedge, both of which I have.

26. Have you ever visited a strait? No.

27. What’s your best personality trait? Sense of humor.

28. How long will you wait for someone/something? I don’t know? 

29. What is your weight? I’m not exactly sure, but I think mid to low 70lbs. 

30. Are you awaiting anything special? No.

31. Do you berate anyone? Nooo.

32. Is there anyone you���d like to castrate? Uh, no!

33. Are you a cheapskate? Lol I have my moments, but I also can overspend. Just depends, really.

34. When was the last time you collated papers? I don’t recall.

35. Last thing you created? Uhhh.

36. What was your last debate about? I really try and avoid those.

37. Last time you inflated something? Or deflated? I don’t recall.

38. Do you dictate what other people can do? No.

39. Have your pupils ever dilated before? When I go to the eye doctor. 

40. When’s the last time you donated something? A few months ago when I got rid of some clothes.

41. The last time you felt elated? My Disneyland trip earlier this year.

42. Have you ever been to an estate sale? No.

43. What are you fixated on? Health related stuff.

44. How often do your floodgates open? I cry often.

45. Last thing you equated? Hmm.

46. Last time you felt frustrated? The last few days. I feel that way quite often.

47. Do you remember to stay hydrated? Yeah.

48. Do you live upstate? No.

49. How often do you post status updates? I very rarely post status updates on Facebook anymore, I just share things now and then. I tweet a lot, though.

50. How often do you use Google Translate? Not often, but sometimes. I actually did a couple days ago.

51. Who is a classmate that you are still friends with?

52. Have you ever had a teammate before? No.

53. Have you ever tailgated? No.

54. Have you ever reached a stalemate? That’s how I’ve felt the past few years.

55. Have you ever been sedated? Yeah, several times.

56. Do you rotate your mattress? No.

57. Last time you got a rebate? It’s been awhile, but I used to use Ebates (called Rakuten now). I keep forgetting to use it for some reason, which is dumb.

58. Have you ever felt like you could relate to someone? Yeah, many times.

59. Favorite primate? I don’t have one.

60. Do you have something ornate? Uhh. I don’t really have anything fancy.

61. Has an action ever negated the effect of your efforts? Yes.

62. Could you be described as a lightweight? Ha, yeah. For sure.

63. Would you like to visit Kuwait? I haven’t thought about it.

64. Last person that gyrated near you? No one.

65. Do you know someone who is irate or innate? Hmm.

66. Do you know of any inmates? Yes.

67. How long does it take you to acclimate? I struggle with change.

68. Last time you activated something? Not too long ago.

69. What do you advocate for? Stuff.

70. Last time you felt agitated or aggravated? Recently.

71. Last time you had to annotate something? Recently during my Bible study.

72. Have you ever felt alienated before? Yes.

73. What was the last caffeinated beverage you consumed? Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink.

74. Do you like carbonated drinks? Yeah.

75. What captivates you? Staring out at the ocean and listening to the waves crash in and out.

76. What do you allocate a lot of your hours towards? Watching YouTube videos and checking my social medias.

77. Last event you celebrated? 4th of July. Well, we just went out and watched fireworks from the driveway.

78. Last time you were compensated for something? I don’t recall.

79. Do you tend to make things complicated? Yepppp. :/  “Why you gotta go and make things so complicated?”

80. Do you find it hard to concentrate at times? Yes.

81. Have you ever had anything confiscated? No.

82. Last place you congregated at? I haven’t been around a large crowd of people since my Disneyland trip earlier this year. I won’t be again for a very long time given the current state of things.

83. How long are you with someone before you consummate the relationship? I’m a virgin.

84. Last time you had to conjugate a verb? I did that recently when I was helping my mom with her Duolingo Spanish lesson. It amazes me how much I still remember considering I haven’t taken a Spanish class or even really practiced it in almost 10 years. :O I mean, I’ll occasionally try and speak it or if I hear or see it somewhere I’ll try to translate it, but it’s not very often, so I’m surprised I’m still able to at all.

85. Last time you were constipated? I don’t recall.

86. How often do you contemplate life? Often.

87. Are you hard to cooperate with? No, I don’t think so.

88. Do you know anyone who cultivates land? No.

89. Would you want to be cremated? Yes.

90. Do you have any issues with your prostate? I don’t have a prostate. 

91. Have you ever decimated someone’s character before? No.

92. Do you decorate your home for the holidays? Yesss. Well, for Christmas. I used to for Halloween, but I haven’t the past few years. I should do that this year.

93. Who would you dedicate a book you wrote to? My mom.

94. Are you good at delegating group projects? I felt like I always had to take lead in group projects and make sure everything was getting done. I hated doing them, they stressed me out even more.

95. Do you know how to demonstrate things in order to show someone how to do something? I do feel like I suck at trying to explain things to others for the most part, but I guess it depends on the thing. 

96. In what ways do you deviate from “the norm”? I’m soon to be 31 years old and I still live at home with my parents, with no plans to move out anytime soon. I don’t have a job. I don’t have much, basically none, relationship experience. I’m a virgin. I’m just not a functioning adult.

97. How long after you take a painkiller does the pain start to dissipate? It typically takes about 30 minutes, but on really bad pain/flare up days it can take an hour or so and sometimes not until I have the next dose.

98. Do you feel the need to dominate in conversations? Nooo. I’m much more of a listener and I’ll throw the convo back to the other person.

99. Would you ever domesticate a wild animal? Why or why not? No.

100. Who is the last person you congratulated? For what? I don’t remember.

101. Would you like to decapitate anyone? Who, and why? Uh, no!

102. Do you ever think that you could duplicate something you’ve tried before?   Uhh, like what?

103. What do you feel you could educate others about? I don’t know. Remember before how I said I suck at explaining things to others?

104. What elevates your stress level? My heath, my life (including things related to my loved ones in my life, such as their health issues and things they’re dealing with/going through), and just...life in general, man. There’s a lot going on this year alone.

105. Do you have a tendency to make situations escalate? In my mind cause I jump to the worst conclusions. My natural reaction is to freak out.

106.  How good are you at estimating? Uhh, depends what I’m estimating.

107. Do you fabricate your stories? No. 

108. What is something that fascinates you? Psychology.

109. How long does it take you to formulate a game plan? Hmm. Depends.

110. What tends to make your blood pressure fluctuate? Stress and anxiety.

111. How do you generate enough energy to get through your day? What energy? I’m seriously lacking.

112. When did you graduate? I graduated UC back in 2015.

113. When you’re in a department store, which section do you gravitate towards most often? The clothes.

114. How often do you hesitate before doing or saying something? Often.

115. Do you ever wish that you could just hibernate? Yes.

116. Does anyone try to imitate you? Does it get on your nerves? No, but that would most definitely get on my nerves.

117. Do you like to instigate others? Nooo. I’m not an instigator.

118. Could you illustrate a children’s book? I couldn’t illustrate anything, I’m an artist at all.

119. Do you marinate your meats? I don’t cook.

120. Do you masturbate? No. What a way to end, ha.

[a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

[jordm]

Heartland 13x09 - Fight or Flight review

So, the episode starts with a wholesome scene of Amy, Ty, Luke & Lyndy playing in the blow up pool with water guns. It’s so wholesome and looks so ideal, yet I know it’s setting up whatever is to come for Luke in this episode.

Oh and hey, we hear that Ty is still helping out with Scott at the clinic, but do we know if he’s still partner since he cut down his hours? Or did he perhaps pass the torch to Cassandra whose there full time?

Also fun fact, I wrote the word major instead of mayor a billion times in this review. But a mayor of a town is kind of like major of a band or army or something? So, apologies if you see the word major a few times haha.

Amy & Spartan

Spartan is still recovering and showing signs of Arthritis. Georgie wants to play horse matchmaker with Amy since Spartan is getting younger, and i’m just glad that it isn’t human matchmaker. Georgie, with Lisa’s permission wants to bring Atlas to Heartland for Amy, but Lisa wisely remembers how Jack reacted with Paint and cautions Georgie to tread lightly. I think it’d be nice to see Jack help/talk to Amy about how she’s feeling seeing as he went through it himself, or even her father Tim since he may have gone through the same thing with his own horse as well.

Amy eventually gives in and tells Georgie she’s not ready but wants her to continue pushing her to get a new horse, which is partly due to her needing a distracting and partly due to her wanting to help. That is, until she notices the wild animal coming up and bonding with Spartan and decides she doesn’t want the perfect horse - just a horse she has a connection or the feeling with like she did with Spartan. It does not go unnoticed that she might’ve been getting flashbacks of taming Spartan when she saw the wild horse approach her. Amy likes a challenge with her horses as opposed to having the perfect horse. 

If the seasons ends with Amy taming this new horse with Spartan watching, ‘passing of the torch’ why don’t you - I won’t be mad.

Oh and hey, we also learn that their house has WALLS and a first photo courtesy of Luke for the wall!! Progress y’all and they still have 2 months to winter!

Georgie

Oh and hey Georgie is surprisingly still not over Quinn and she’s off to BC to meet him! From the promo I saw, it shows her telling Quinn that she loves him so... that’s gonna happen. I’m glad that Lou let her go and trusted her to go on her own, plus if there ever is an emergency, her father, Peter is in Vancouver and seemingly a short drive away if she needs a place to stay. Had Georgie asked to go anywhere else, perhaps she might’ve been more hesitant but knowing that she’s going to a province where her father lives might’ve provided a little comfort. Or perhaps she just has so much on her mind she’s didn’t want to fight her on this and knows she needs to trust her since she’s going away to University next year.

Plus... Western Canada isn’t Ontario. You can drive 10 hours and still be in Ontario, but you can drive 10 hours and drive two provinces in the west. I drove 3 provinces in less than 10 hours on East Coast Canada and did a road trip in the West and there is a lot less driving required to go province to province in those areas since you don’t need go to around Lake Ontario :) And there’s your unasked for geography lesson.

Luke

Amy and Ty have a meeting with Clint, having to do with Andrea being on the mend and making tremendous progress, to the point where she can go back to parenting full time. This is great news for Luke - and great news for Andrea, and even for Katie I suppose who might get her own room back even if she’s finally warming up to him.

Speaking of Clint, he’s one of the few non-main character who has been guest-ing since season 1 eh?! Ever since he brought Ty to Heartland in the early days of the show. He did right with Ty and he always has the best intentions (he has too) when it comes to foster kids.

“I’m totally moving up to the loft when you leave, but i’m going to miss you” - Katie for the win

Gifting him the chess set and everyone telling Luke the kind words (ie. you’ll always have a home, come visit anytime, you’ll always have us in our heart) and they complete the chess set showed how much Luke became apart of the family. I have no doubt that everyone was sad to see Luke go - Amy and Ty especially but it was nice to see everyone in the family support him as he goes back home to his mother full time. I was glad that nobody tried to stop him or delay him going back to his family but rather supported him - this is the storyline I wanted to see.

Did the scene of Amy Ty and Lyndy waving goodbye to Luke as he drove away (how cute was Lyndy patting Luke’s hair?) remind you of when it was just Amy standing there when Ty drove away to Mongolia?

THE ELECTION

JD Worth running for election seems to have an impact on everyone in the Heartland family.

Lisa

Oh ayeee, these “cash flow issues” come back up again. Apparently, Lisa tried to solve the issue from last season by having investors bridge the gap... and one of them is... Worth Investments (or something like that), by the one and only JD Worth, Lou’s opponent and now they want Lisa to repay the entire loan immediately. Yikes. This has nothing to do with the election and that her grand daughter is running against him... right? Yeah, likely false. Lisa manages to pay him out and i’m just glad this doesn’t end badly.

Bob/Ty

Bob (via Ty) has a theory about why there has been so much wildlife in the area. Mountain View resorts, who, oh yeah JD IS BEHIND. Due to development, wildlife have fled which is why residents have had cougars/wolves in their backyards and an increase in animal attacks the last couple of days. Yikes, this is a big no and honestly likely the issue to get everyone riled up since everyone loves their animals. 

Lou

First of all, it’s kind of hilarious that Tim is seemingly Lou’s new campaign manager, handling her schedule.

Now, I never liked JD but I also didn’t blame him for wanting to modernize and keep Hudson up with the upcoming changes, but him telling Lou what she probably already knows - being mayor requires sacrifice is running thin and that nothings worse than “children with no mother” and berating him for her divorce and that her children have no mother doesn’t look well. I know some of us were on his side of this debate last week but it’s hard to still be on his side after this week.

It also appears that JD is lightly treading the line of threatening, which hey, its probably the reason why all his opponents dropped out. Coincidence that JD happens to threaten to “recommend” to Garland some new pea feed beef (or something), he “pulled out” of a bad investment (Fairfield) and sent a notice to Tim that he couldn’t live in an RV for more than 6 months even on private property (since when is this a law?!). Something tells me that there is a reason why all his opponents dropped out...

Lou initially coups and drops out but after hearing about the wildlife theory below, Lisa, Tim and the “private residence” was caused a health inspection, with Mitch’s encouragement, encourages her to get back into the race. And with one cleverly timed article about how JD Worth’s mountain development has caused the wildlife (MVP FOR BOB!!) seems to tip the scale in Lou’s direction. 

And thank god because JD is seen BRIBING some guy to deal with the wild life problem (by killing Wildlife? because that solves everything) so he’s definitely done it for every other thing that miraculously “got solved.” Lou may not be the ideal mayor but also, she is definitely better than him. With him as mayor, nothing is safe.

Does anyone else have the feeling that bribe guy might tell all to the press based on the look on his face when he saw JD didn’t pay him the full amount? Maybe he’s secretly a wildlife lover and doesn’t want to kill them? I mean, there’s no way the season ends with JD winning (think: poacher) so the question is how they make him lose/reveal the bribing.

Oh and...

Mitch

Mitch is mad that Lou didn’t tell him about running for mayor but Mitch didn’t also run turning their vacation property into a business (and seemingly moving away full time). And hey Mitch? Lou literally didn’t tell anyone she was thinking of running for mayor. Literally no one. She just stood up in the stands and announced it so it’s not just you. Don’t feel left out. No one was part of her decision really, except her.

PLUS, where the heck are Lou’s face all over these posters because so far all I’ve seen are JD’s! Lou, you need to step up your poster game. How is she allowing JD’s face to be across the diner & no posters of her?!

Songs in this Episode @heartlandians​

The One I Need - Amy Stroup

Another Lie - Jacob John

[vastly-fixated-devotee-667]

come to me

i’ve never actually posted any of my writing on tumblr because i’ve never been into it enough to want to share it but i did this for fun and though it’d be fun to share. it's based off come to me by the goo goo dolls, and was technically written to be ben x my mc, but i made it mc-neutral (aside from the fact that it’s a female slytherin, but) for fun. i hope this is well-received, ahahah

(for clarification, anything in green is in mc’s pov, and anything in red is in ben’s. this is a slight au where it kind of takes place later than actual hphm does, and mc isnt the actual mc from the game.)

i’ll be kind if you’ll be faithful; you be sweet and i’ll be grateful. cover me with kisses, dear; lighten up the atmosphere. keep me warm inside our bed; i got dreams of you all through my head. fortune teller said i’d be free, and that’s the day you came to me.

i laid back in my chair, contemplating my life choices and why i ever thought taking this class was a good idea. divination was a bullshit concept and professor trelawney was a complete phony. at least it was an easy o, as you could basically make up any „prophecy” and trelawney would accept it.

i swirled the tea in my cup, wanting so badly to drink it. but trelawney drained it so she could help me „read the tea leaves” — whatever that means. i assumed it would mean someone was going to die, whether it was me, one of my friends, or just some random person i’d never met. whatever she was in the mood for, i guessed.

„ah, miss [l/n], how fortunate you are,” she said. “the shape — it is a bird. meaning, you will soon find freedom. be on the lookout for any good omen that might free you.”

free me from what? boredom? i guessed the future that was predicted was to be in — i checked my watch — approximately ten minutes. lucky me.

when the aforementioned ten minutes passed, i eagerly threw my books into my bag and left the stuffy, perfume-filled tower. my next class was history of magic, and that was the one class where i was always able to slip into the background and stay unnoticed. a rare instance of happiness for me.

as i stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder and turned around, i immediately ran into someone, dropping my bag and causing its contents to strew across the corridor. the both of us hastily apologized and dropped to the floor to gather my books and quills. he handed me my charms and potions textbooks, and after the commotion, it was the first time i truly looked at him. gryffindor in my year, blond, brown eyes, pale. the one who was known through gossip as the „cowardly gryffindor”. ben copper. an oxymoron personified.

„thanks,” i said. „and sorry, again. i should’ve been watching where i was going.”

„no, i’m sorry; i’m the one who wasn’t paying attention,” he said, his face flushed pink. he scratched the back of his neck. „er, i’m ben, by the way.”

„yeah, i know,” i said. „i’m [m/c], but i’m guessing you already knew that.”

„er... i probably should have known that, considering we’re in the same year. i guess i just try not to interact with slytherins much.”

i snorted. “well, yeah, we’re in the same year, but i meant you probably just recognize me because of my dad.”

he tilted his head. „your dad?”

i raised an eyebrow. „[dad’s name]? retired seeker for the pride of portree?”

he scrunched his eyebrows, then a look of realization washed over his face. „oh, that’s quidditch; isn’t it? i don’t really know anything about quidditch. muggle-born.” he flinched, obviously hesitant to reveal that information as if i were going to berate him for such a fact.

„oh. that makes a lot of sense. but you’ve not even, like, heard of me through gossip? i’m sure your friends know who i am.”

he shrugged coyly. „i don’t really have any friends.”

my eyebrows shot up. „oh. well, uh, i’d be your friend, if you’d like.”

„really? a star quidditch player’s slytherin daughter friends with the cowardly gryffindor mudblood?”

„hey, don’t call yourself that! you seem really wonderful, despite what people say. you don’t appear to be half as fearful as people seem to think. i mean, you’ve been talking to me for this long, so that’s something. besides, it’d be refreshing to be friends with someone who doesn’t want to get acquainted with me because of my dad.”

his face lit up. „then, i’d love to be your friend.”

i gave him what i hoped was a warm smile. „great! see you later, then, new friend.”

i got to history of magic class before i could be accounted for being late. maybe, just maybe, trelawney’s prophecy was right this time around.

the months flew by, and ben and i grew closer and closer each passing week within. he was the first friendship i’d made in my three years at hogwarts that didn’t end in wanting to meet my dad or anything of the like. in fact, it was steering toward ending in a whole new, completely pleasant manner.

as days passed, we seemed to get more comfortable with being not just emotionally closer, but physically closer as well. time was often spent in the tranquility of the library or the solitude of the artifact room, huddled up close to each other, sharing warmth. on numerous occasions, we’d even fall asleep in either room, slipping into nonsensical twists on our pleasant reality. while i had no way of telling the contents of his, my own dreams were filled with notions of the two of us being something more than simple friends. while at the time i never would’ve said it aloud, they weren’t exactly the kind of dreams i’d consider nightmares. far from it, actually. they could’ve even been considered prayers. prayers to the metaphorical god that was my own bravery, asking me to work up the courage to make any sort of move. yet, all i could muster was a few stolen kisses on his cheeks, nose, forehead. nothing serious. nothing that could’ve been mistaken for anything more than an exchange between close friends.

come to me, my sweetest friend. can you feel my heart again? i’ll take you back where you belong, and this’ll be our favorite song. come to me with secrets bare. i love you more, so don’t be scared. and when we’re old and near the end, we’ll go home and start again.

„lumos.” the tip of my wand lit up the face of the watch on my wrist. „nox.” 11:37. no hope in falling asleep any time soon.

i sat up and tore off a piece of parchment from the scroll nearest me. „lumos.” by the dim wandlight, i found my pen and wrote the one word „awake” in the center of the parchment, followed by a question mark. at the bottom right, i wrote a dash and a capital „[first initial]”. i strapped the note to the leg of my dad’s old owl, millie, and gave her directions to send it to ben. she complied and flew out of my dormitory.

no longer than five minutes later, she returned with another piece of parchment on her leg — a different one from the one i gave her. i unstrapped it from her and read it.

i never sleep; don’t you know? —b

i chuckled and shook my head. i tore off a new piece of parchment and scribbled down another note.

come to me. —[first initial]

millie obediently delivered the note again and returned shortly with another.

to your common room? you know i can’t get in. and i’d rather not try. not with felix rosier on duty. —b

i rolled my eyes and composed another note.

i’ll wait for you outside to let you in. please? i’m a lonely insomniac. —[first initial]

millie delivered and returned one last time.

fine. heading down now. —b

„nox.” my wandlight went out and i crept into my common room and quietly pushed open the door. hardly a minute later, ben arrived, moving swiftly so as to avoid getting caught. i impulsively hugged him to thank him for coming. we sat on the couch in the lounge, snuggled up close to each other. it was a comfortable silence, but i still felt glad when he broke it.

„why can’t you sleep?” he asked.

i shrugged. „got a lot on my mind, i guess. hard to shut my mind down when there’s so much running through it.”

„like what?”

„i dunno. things. unimportant things that still manage to worm their way into my brain. what about you? what fuels your insomnia?”

„fear, mostly. when you’re afraid of everything, it’s hard to not think of something that scares you.”

„i never really wondered until now, but why are you afraid of everything? i mean, sorry if that sounds rude, but— yeah. you know what i mean.”

„it’s mostly the entire aspect of magic. my whole life, i grew up pretty sheltered and all, but when i heard magic exists, it basically... turned my life upside down. i was already a generally anxious kid, but then this whole new, dangerous concept was introduced to me as real even though i went my whole life believing it was a fictional thing...” he cleared his throat. „sorry. i know it’s stupid.”

„no, no, it’s not stupid. i know what it’s like to be afraid.” i hesitated. „the reason my dad doesn’t play quidditch anymore is — well, for one, he’s too old, but — because he had a really bad injury during his last game. he got hit by a bludger and knocked to the ground from fifty meters in the air. he was in st. mungo’s for a few days. but it was just the amount of pain he was in... it made me extremely cautious. i avoided any situation that could potentially end in any sort of physical pain. it was bad. i’m still sort of that way, but i always felt like a coward for being so fearful. i never really realized cowardice wasn’t define by a person’s fears... but i know that now. and it might do you some good to be aware of it, too.”

it was dark and hard to see, but i could hear the smile on his lips as he spoke. „thanks, [m/c].”

i burrowed my head into his chest. „no problem, ben.”

an hour passed, and my eyelids threatened to fall like boulders on the edge of a cliff, but i willed myself to stay awake. if i fell asleep, that would almost guarantee ben getting caught being in another house’s common room.

as the time neared 2:00 ᴀ.ᴍ., i shook ben to make sure he wasn’t asleep. „hey. you probably should get back to your own common room.”

he rubbed his eyes. „what time is it?”

„1:57.”

we reluctantly stood and i walked him to the door. after saying goodnight, we wound up in a hug that lasted nearly two minutes before we came to our senses.

„ben?” i stopped him before he walked out of sight.

he turned back to me. „yeah?”

i took a shaky breath. „i love you.”

there was a pause, and my heart pounded loudly into the silence.

„i love you, too,” he said finally, and i’d never heard any sweeter poetry.

i caught you burning photographs, like that could save you from your past. history is like gravity: it holds you down away from me. you and me, we’ve both got sins; i don’t care about where you’ve been. don’t be sad and don’t explain; this is where we start again.

i tore out of the potions classroom as soon as professor snape dismissed the class. i couldn’t believe how klutzy i was, spilling my entire potion and all right onto snape’s robes. i was to have detention for two weeks, and i’d never hear the end of it from my dorm mates.

i sought out the artifact room for an escape, only to find it already in use. the crumpled figure of [m/c] sat on the floor, surrounded by photographs, some scorched around the edges. she picked up another with a shaky hand, oblivious to my presence. „incendio.” the photograph caught fire and she watched it be swallowed by the flames, flames that combated the streaks of watery tears that ran down her cheeks.

„[m/c]?” i said, causing her to jump. „what’s going on?”

she quickly wiped her cheeks on her sleeve and kicked the photographs behind her. „nothing; it’s— it’s nothing. just some old photographs i wanted to get rid of.”

i knelt down and picked up a photograph, myself. it pictured what seemed to be a young trista and an older boy who looked quite similar to her. „who is this?”

she swallowed, realizing there was probably no way out of this. „my brother.”

i sifted through the other images. they all showed the same two faces throughout the years. she never even told me she had a brother. „why are you burning pictures of you and your brother?”

„because.”

i looked her in the eye, attempting to show how dead serious i was. she’d always do this for me when something was bothering me, so it was about time i returned the favor. „because why?”

„i just... don’t want to look at them anymore.”

„why?”

„because it... it hurts to be reminded of him in such a way.”

„why?”

the tears she was holding back began to fall. „because he’s dead, ben. this was what it was like back when we were kids, and... i just don’t want to think about that. not knowing that we’ll never be able to relive the memories.”

„and you really think this is the best way to cope? you’re going to regret doing this in the future. besides, your brother would want you to remember him like this; wouldn’t he? i’m so sorry for your loss, [m/c], but, please, be rational.”

she let out a soft sob and dropped the photograph in her hand. she hid her face in her hands and i put an arm around her shoulders. it was a little bit before she spoke again. „i just wanted to be like him. but i’ve already blown it. i’ve made friends with people i shouldn’t have, and that led to saying and doing things i shouldn’t have, and—”

„[m/c],” i stopped her. „anything you’ve done in the past is irrelevant now. i’ve known you for a while now, and you’re one of — no, the nicest person i’ve met at this school. and that’s what matters right now.”

she looked me in the eye for the first time since i found her in there and whispered a small „thanks.” her eyes fell back onto the photographs that laid on the floor.

i took a breath, hoping talking about her brother might make here feel better. „what was his name?”

„jacob.”

i nodded and paused, thinking of the best way to continue. „what did he do? for a job? or was he still in school?”

„he was an auror. that’s... that’s how he died. this summer. he was dueling a powerful dark wizard when he... struck a nerve, i guess. wizard fired the killing curse, and... that was that.”

„i’m sorry.”

she shrugged with a small shake of her head. „i want to be an auror like him, though. he helped put a lot of bad people away. i want to do that, too.”

i smiled in what i wanted to come off as a supportive way. „i’m sure you will. you’ll make your brother proud.”

a smile washed across her forlorn face. „thanks.”

come to me, my sweetest friend. can you feel my heart again? i’ll take you back where you belong, and this’ll be our favorite song. come to me with secrets bare. i love you more, so don’t be scared. and when we’re old and near the end, we’ll go home and start again.

„[m/c]?” i said. „could you come here?”

„what’s up?” she stood.

„just, uh... just come with me.”

i led her out of the great hall where she was eating lunch and to the artifact room. i pointed out the big, black spider that rested on the chalkboard.

she looked at me, amused. „that’s what you needed me for?”

i flushed. „you don’t have any problem getting rid of them, and, well...”

she rolled her eyes. „is that why i’m your girlfriend? because i can get rid of spiders for you?”

i rubbed the back of my neck. „it’s one of the many benefits.”

she chuckled and planted a kiss on my cheek. then, she turned to the spider. „all right, you; it’s time to stop tormenting ben. wingardium leviosa.” the spider hovered to the will of her wand and she led it out to the courtyard, dropping it onto the grass. „there. you’re free to relax in your hopefully-spider-free-for-now hideout.”

„thanks.” i grinned shyly. how did i get so lucky to earn her love? „i love you.”

„i love you, too.”

today’s the day i make you mine, so get me to the church on time. take my hand in this empty room. you’re my girl and i’m your groom. come to me, my sweetest friend; this is where we start again.

i gazed at myself in the mirror, adjusting my tie for the umpteenth time. i was determined to make sure everything was perfect for such a perfect day. it was hard to believe i was actually to be marrying the one i had loved since my third year.

a knock on the door drew me out of my trance. „ben? can i come in?” it was [m/c].

i walked to the door and laid my hand on the handle, but i hesitated. „isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

i heard her laugh. „muggles have such ridiculous superstitions. come on; just let me in.”

i drew in a breath and opened the door. the breath i took was knocked out of me when i saw how she was dressed. a flower crown composed of our collective favorite flowers rested on her head. her pastel green dress fell to her knees and she wore her usual black ankle boots. she insisted on not having too fancy nor traditional of a wedding, and i was set on doing whatever made her happy.

„what’s up?” i said.

her face fell as she remembered the reason she had come. „i miss him. i wish he were here.”

i tilted my head, wondering who she meant. then, i realized. her brother. „oh. i’m sorry.”

she stayed silent a moment, her eyes on the floor. „he was engaged before his death. the wedding never happened. and now... he’s not here for mine.” her eyes finally met mine. „this is all everything i’d imagined it to be, except for that one aspect.”

„i’m sorry, [m/c]; i really wish i could—”

she took me by surprise when she flung her arms around me. „don’t apologize. i’m thanking you.”

„thanking me?”

„my brother was never going to be able to attend. that was inevitable. i realize that. but everything else... everything else is just as i wanted. and i owe that all to you.”

i smiled modestly. „well, we had some help from penny...”

„but it’s you who’ll be standing opposite me at the alter. and that’s all i could ask for.” she released me from her grasp and took my hand. „now, what do you say we get out there and seal the deal?”

come to me, my sweetest friend. can you feel my heart again? i’ll take you back where you belong, and this’ll be our favorite song. come to me with secrets bare. i love you more, so don’t be scared. and when we’re old and near the end, we’ll go home and start again.

the music that played was a perfect mix of wizard and muggle music, shaped to fit ben’s and my taste. we danced amongst the other partners to come to me by the muggle band the goo goo dolls. as the rest of the world fell away and it was just him and me on the dance floor, it easily became my favorite song — our favorite song. another chapter in our history had come to a close that day, but the whole of our book wouldn’t end for a long time.

[queerhargreeves]

Beyond Capable

Diego is struggling with this damn pepper. He gets the best tutors around.

AKA Diego has ADHD and struggles w/ executive dysfunction and his brothers are Good Boys who love their sibling and just want him to be happy.

——————————————

Diego tightened his grip on his pencil, the puny piece of wood snapping in half in his hand. That was the ninth one in a span of thirty minutes, so you can obviously see how productive this study session was going. The Hargreeves siblings had their History book report due in a few days. If the intense berating he endured from Sir Hargreeves due to his his last grade told him anything, its that he had to do better. Be better. He didn’t want to be manhandled and locked up again.

But he just couldn’t get his brain to zero in and focus. It’s the most simple thing: You sit down. You open the book. You read it. Easy as that - one, two, three and you’re done. Ta da! But that wasn’t the case for Diego. It never has been. Five and Ben can go through books like nothing; it’s as easy and mindless as breathing for those boys. Vanya wasn’t as avid of a reader, but she certainly excelled in her studies. Allison was a solid B student, not too much of an overachiever when it came to academics. However she could easily be an A student if she wanted. Luther was, of course, the perfect golden boy. Perfect scores, perfect performances, the oh so perfect soldier. Even Klaus, the boy is seemingly nowhere and everywhere at once, was able to pull A’s out of his ass with little to no effort. The lanky kid was able to soak up knowledge like a sponge.

Diego, on the other hand, could read an entire page of a textbook and not process a single thing that he read. He would reread it again and again, but to no avail. He physically could not retain the information in front of him, especially when it’s a topic he has little to no interest in. But if you put Muhammad Ali’s biography in front of him? He could get through that sucker in thirty minutes flat. The American Revolution, unfortunately, did not have the same effect.

He took a deep breath and blew a raspberry, leaning so far back in his chair that the two front legs were in the air. Diego ran his hand down is face, trying to muster up the energy to attempt to read the textbook yet again. You see, he’s played this game far too many times. At this point he’s not sure why he’s even still trying. It’s always the same result. It doesn’t matter how much he tries, how much he “applies himself” like Sir Reginald always tells him he needs to do. It doesn’t matter how many times he recites the same passage over and over, it never sticks. Things never process like they should.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring blankly at the wall, lost in his thoughts before he heard a three soft knocks on the door. Ben.

“Uh, it’s unlocked.” Diego called, swishing his body forward so all four legs of his chair were planted on the floor.

Ben slowly opened the door, a sly smile on his face and gave a small wave with Klaus in tow right behind him. This wasn’t an unfamiliar scenario, the two of them sneaking off into his room. But it was designated study hours? Something they, well Ben, took seriously.

“What’s up?” Diego stood briefly and spun the chair around before sitting back down and crossing his arms on the backrest.

The two brothers plopped themselves on the bed, shoulder to shoulder.

“How’s the book report comin?” Klaus pointed at the book behind Diego, his eyes eventually falling on the pile of broken pencils on his desk. Ah, yep. He could clearly see how productive the last hour has been.

Diego cleared his throat, adverting his gaze to the floor. “It’s going.”

“I know you didn’t do hot on the last one...” Klaus trailed, glancing over to Ben. He mouthed “help me”, his eyes frantic. The shorter boy rolled his eyes, but he knew he was better at this sort of thing. Support and all.

Diego immediately stiffened at the statement, his face getting hot. He knew it was no secret he wasn’t the smartest one, far from it. Diego knew the six siblings all watched as Reggie dragged the hit out the room and down the stairs. They all heard the desperate, inconsolable promises he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep, the pure panic in his voice.

“What Klaus means is,” Ben started, his voice gentle, “We want to help. I already finished the project last week and per usual, Klaus here won’t start it until probably the night before. We have a few days until it’s due and you’d be surprised at how much you can do in 72 hours!” Ben gave a small chuckle in attempt to light the mood. Didn’t work as well as he planned.

“But we just uh,” he swallowed, “we don’t want to see you get in trouble again.”

Diego finally looked up, his eyes flicking between his two brothers seated in front of him. They had matching smiles on their face, both looking a little too eager as they awaited his response.

“Are you sure?” Diego’s voice was unusually quiet, “I’m uh. Not good at this stuff. It may take a while.”

“Dear brother, we came prepared!” Klaus whipped around and yanked the big duffle bag from behind him and onto their laps.

“This,” Klaus unzipped the top, grabbing at the contents inside, “will keep us busy.”

He pulled out an assortment of flash cards, notebooks, sticky notes, page dividers, and the biggest pencil case full of every color of pen, sharpie, and highlighter your heart could ever desire. Ben stood and threw the remaining contents on the floor: many blankets, pillows, and enough snacks and water to feed them for the rest of winter.

“So what do ya say, bro?” Klaus placed a hand in his hip, clearly proud of their extensive haul.

“Study night?” Ben inquired, grinning.

Diego’s mouth gaped open, staring at the array of stuff that littered his floor. He was half expecting his siblings to start making fun of him and his study habits. Or to treat him like he’s inferior to them, something the brothers who weren’t in the room were famous for. Or he was waiting for them to give a similar “you could do so much better if you applied yourself more” speech. But this? This was not what he was expecting.

“S-study night.” Diego echoed, the corner of his lips twitching up ever so slightly.

“Great!”

Klaus clapped his hands, whisper shouting, “I’ll set up the nest!”

Klaus was quick at work, laying all nine blankets and quilts down atop of one another. He brought all the pillows onto the blankets, leaving a few against the bed for the boys to lean on. He threw the assortment of crackers, granola bars, Oreos (how did he get those???), and fruit snacks into a pile at the edge of the blanket nest, water on the opposing side. Once satisfied with his work, he took a step back.

“Our new humble abode awaits.”

Ben helped Diego gather his source materials, gently placing them in the middle of the blankets. He grabbed the pencil case and notebooks over with him and plopped himself down.

“Why don’t you get in the middle, Diego.” He smiled kindly up at his brother, leaning his head and motioning to his right. Diego quickly complied, Klaus stumbling to his seat at his left.

“So what I was thinking is, we make an outline.” Ben grabbed one of the notebooks and placed it in Diego’s hands.

“It’s an informative essay, right? We just have to talk about one of the significant events of the American Revolution. Which one did you choose?”

Diego started to actively tap the textbook that was in his lap in a violent staccato, “Uh. The Boston Massacre I think.”

“Okay good! That’s a good choice - there’s lots of information about it.” Ben nodded, his tone light and encouraging. Not patronizing like how Five was when he asked for his help with the quadratic formula the other day.

“The report needs to be five paragraphs. So we need an introduction,” Ben grabbed a pencil and wrote INTRO at the top of the page, a lone a few inches below giving him enough room to write one.

“Then we need three body paragraphs. So we need to find three separate or significant events that happened during the Boston massacre.” He wrote BODY 1, BODY 2, BODY 3 on the page right below the INTRO.

“And we finish off with a conclusion. It has to wrap up everything we talked about, but it can’t be the same as the intro. This is always the trickiest paragraph for me to write, but we have loads of time.”

Diego’s eyes closely followed Ben’s pencil with every swipe. The way Ben was explaining it, breaking it down as it it was a breeze, made the project seem a whole lot less daunting.

“How about we start reading and find the three things we’re gonna write about?” Klaus added, putting his hand on top of Diego’s violently tapping ones and gave a light squeeze. “You got this, I promise.”

“Sure, okay.” Diego croaked out, nodding. He opened the book right where he left off, page one of the Boston Massacre chapter.

Ben and Klaus watched as Diego nosedived himself into the book. They both noticed the way his brows would scrunch as he read, blinking violently. They saw the way he locked his jaw so tight it almost looked painful. His knees were bouncing, his whole body involved in the reading process. This obviously wasn’t working. After a few more beats of silence, Ben spoke up.

“Diego,” Said boy whipped his head up, soft brown eyes meeting with his very own.

“Let’s try something a bit different. Give me the book and I’ll give you this notebook,” He swiftly took the textbook from Diego and placed it in his lap, handing him the notebook with the outline, “and I’ll read it out loud and you follow along with me. When we find something we think we can work with, we’ll jot down some notes and fill out the outline. How does that sound?”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” Diego agreed, picking up the pencil and tapping it against his thigh.

“Alright, where are we... ah yes.” Ben was off, reading the text in front of him aloud. As he continued on in the section, Diego’s body slowly started to release itself from the tension he didn’t even know he was holding. His shoulders were relaxed, his jaw unclenched and the pencil was longer tapping against his thigh, but held in a loose grip. He leaned closer to Ben, finding himself actually involved with what he was reading. He was understanding, he was even intrigued.

“There! Right there!” Diego exclaimed, pointing at the paragraph they stopped at. “That could work.”

Ben quickly scanned the paragraph before lifting his head and nodding. He smiled, “Yep, that could absolutely work. Good job, Di.”

“Here’s your notebook back!” Klaus handed Diego his outline and lightly gasped at what was no longer his original outline anymore.

Klaus had carefully made a real outline on the paper. He had organized it by color, the neat box for the introduction and thesis statement being blue. Then the three body paragraphs were in pink, and conclusion green. Klaus banded Ben a blue, pink, and green highlighter.

“I figured color coding could also help keep the ideas straight! So whenever you find information for the intro, like certain dates and stuff, you underline it in blue. When you see facts for your body paragraphs, underline it in pink. And so forth. I know that it’s definitely easy to get all the information mixed up, ya know? This’ll make it a bit easier to differentiate I hope.” Klaus rubbed the back of his neck, “You like it?”

“I-,” Diego cut himself off. He had gotten more work accomplished with his brothers in the last 15 minutes than he had for the last hour and then some. Ben and Klaus talked about school in a way that made him understand. They weren’t dumbing anything down, they weren’t trying to force him to try harder. They were simply offering alternative methods, trial and error. And so far there hasn’t been a single error.

Diego needed to thank them for this - for putting up with him. Grace’s help was never able to get through to him, nor Pogo’s. Five and Luther were a lost cause and their help only ended in insults and even more frustration. He had learned a long time ago that there was no hope for him. He was just the lazy, dumb brother.

“Thank you guys for doing this. I know I’m s-st-stupid but you-“

Diego was immediately cut off by Klaus’ finger at his lips, the curly haired kid shushing him “Nuh uh, nope. You stop that train of thought right there mister.”

“I agree, none of that.” Ben quipped, the two of them turned to face the smallest boy.

“Diego, it’s clear that you’re incredibly intelligent. You just need a little guidance in finding ways that work for you. There’s no shame in that. Every brain is different. Vanya had the entire circle of fifths memorized by the time she was 10 but can only do her times table up to 6. You are beyond capable of doing this, doing school. Don’t listen to Reginald, he’s never been right about a single thing in his damn life.”

“Benny dear, did you just, just” Klaus started to giggle, “swear?”

“I, uh.” His face suddenly split into a huge grin, light chuckles escaping from his chest. Diego followed suit, losing composure. The three of them erupted into laughter, their best attempts at keeping quiet failing.

“Okay! Okay!” Klaus panted, his hands grasping his stomach, “I’m in PAIN! I can’t...”

The other two’s laughter slowly started to subside as well, just a single chuckle here and there until eventually they all evened out into a comfortable silence.

“Let’s...keep going?” Diego asked lightly, looking over to his left and right.

“Yeah, yeah let’s do that.” Ben agreed, picking up the book at where they left off.

The three boys continued on, creating a comfortable rhythm. They munched away on snacks, working diligently. Diego was getting faster at spotting the important sections. Sometimes his enthusiasm caused him to leave out certain details here and there but Klaus was there to gently ask him to reread it again more carefully. Diego was receptive and found the errors, adjusting accordingly. The trio worked like this until the entire outline was completely filled, leaving absolutely no room left on the paper. He has so much information that the essay was basically written; all he had to do was write it down on paper.

He received a 99%, his first A+. AKA a higher grade than Luther. His brothers helped him celebrate with more impromptu bedroom parties filled with nothing but laughter and snacks. The even numbered boys would be alright.

[hellyeahomeland]

Me again with more Carrie and Saul. can you elaborate on how it’s different between them? You say it’s evolved but I don’t see how. Things have happened to Carrie especially, but I don’t really see how their relationship has changed at its core. Maybe Saul treats her more like an adult but even that’s debatable imo. I don’t mean to be argumentative for argument’s sake but... (continued...)

Cont… can you give concrete examples of how the development has played out on screen so I can understand it & hopefully S8 better. Specific scenes and what how they weren’t just individual scenes but changed the relationship going forward. Much appreciated! Oh and one more thing re: Saul and Carrie, sorry I forgot. Can you also venture a guess what it means in practice? What do you think will happen between them that will feel like closure or catharsis or something that’s expected of a show’s final season and perhaps finale as well?

Note #1: this became a lot longer than I expected (sorry, you asked!). Beyond what I’ve written, I challenge you to go back and watch these individual scenes. I’ve chosen ones from each season to illustrate the full arc of their relationship. Observe the differences in Claire and Mandy’s body language, in their facial expressions, in their discomfort, in the shared trauma of what’s come before. It’s deliberate writing and deliberate acting. Shorter version of this post is here, from April 2018.

Note #2: I chose almost exclusively scenes of conflict to represent the evolution of their relationship because I believe that conflict drives change. 

PROLOGUE:

To understand the Carrie and Saul relationship, we’ve got to understand what their relationship was before we met them. From what we know, Saul recruited Carrie, straight out of college. He saw in her something special and unique, something that didn’t come around every other day. She was gifted but she was also alone. She had no partner. She was socially isolated from her family and from the world (he didn’t yet know of her mental illness). This was an advantage of sorts. It meant she could give herself more and more to the work, same as he did. Remember this is his Achilles’ heel: whenever they call, he picks up. He doesn’t know how not to. It destroyed his marriage. But he molds her in his image. He teaches her, he raises her, the way a father would his daughter. He brings her up. Their relationship melds the boundaries of teacher/student, boss/employee, mentor/mentee, and father/daughter. It’s personal, and it’s deeply intimate. 

This is what we are given before the pilot and it’s what we’ve grappled with for nearly eight years: his attempts to harness her gifts–often to her detriment–and her simultaneous resentment of him for it and unwavering yearning for his approval. 

Key Scenes in the Carrie and Saul Canon:

#1: “What happened to the Saul Berenson that trekked the Karakoram?”: Much of the season one conflict between Carrie and Saul comes from her three thousand miles an hour suspicion of Brody and him being like “whoa slow down pls.” He is the first person she tells of these suspicions and he essentially shoots her down, causing her to go rogue. It’s here where the lines become blurred between boss/protege and father/daughter, because the way in which he chastises and punishes her feels awfully familial. 

So when Carrie finally reaches a breaking point in “Blind Spot” (the original Carrie Mathison Appreciation Episode), we feel that as though a family is breaking up. It doesn’t matter that she comes crawling back to him, just an episode later, remorseful. 

Carrie underlines just how much Saul has changed: in her words, from the man who “did three months in a Malaysian prison” (HELLO???? repeat: he raised her in his image) to a pussy. We understand that Carrie and Saul are both outsiders in the CIA. We understand that Saul is still grappling with his former employee David Estes bring promoted over him. While Carrie truly seems to not give a fuck, Saul keeps in line. He says “yes, sir.” He advises caution. None of these are inherently bad qualities but in this scene we come to understand that what drew Carrie to Saul was not his caution, his yin to her yang, but his daring and bravery and “FUCK THE CIA” mentality (there’s a reason why that line is in this episode too). 

#2: “You don’t know a goddamned thing”: This scene is now famous for lines like “you’re the smartest and dumbest fucking person I’ve ever known” (he’s not wrong) but this scene is actually one of the more important ones ever on this show, and I still maintain that t“The Choice” is the mos important ever Homeland episode. As to why this scene itself is significant in their relationship, I’ll allow Jacob Clifton to explain:

Saul is one thing only, and his love for Carrie comes out of the idea that they are the same. And he’s right. But because she’s giving up herself to something he can’t, it looks like they are not the same. It looks ugly to him. He fights it like an addict fights recovery, striking blindly at her softest places because can’t stand the change in vector: Her madness is only acceptable as long as it’s useful; her self-abnegation is only positive so long as he can understand it.

I bolded that last sentence because it’s almost shockingly predictive of future seasons. We can hem and haw all we want about Saul’s relative rightness about Carrie leaving the CIA for Brody being a terrible decision, but the truth is that he would have done it regardless of who Brody was. He would have done it if she’d left with Quinn, with Jonas, with Otto, with Estes, with anyone, or all by herself. I don’t actually believe that Saul wants Carrie to be miserable. I just think he doesn’t care. I think he sees her gifts, her “saving the world” (to be totally Mandy Patinkin about it) as a more profound and upright calling than, for example: having a family, being a mother, having an integrated and whole personal life… the list goes on. 

But the moment when Carrie tells him she doesn’t want to end up alone her whole life, like him, is probably the first great fissure in what was until then a generally even relationship. It establishes her desire for… something beyond everything he’d ever shown her (she literally turns down the greatest career opportunity ever for THE DUDE IN THE SUICIDE VEST… and like, did we ever consider that wasn’t really about Carrie loving Brody so much but more about how much she really didn’t fucking want to be Saul????). She threatens his control and he strikes her at the knees. 

#3: Literally all of season three: It’s difficult to choose a single scene in season three to encapsulate just how much Carrie and Saul’s relationship this season was changed but let’s just discuss the overall arc:

Saul and Carrie come up with a plan to lure out Javadi (i.e., Iran) since they know he’s partially responsible for the Langley bombing. In their shared plan, Carrie will pretend to be crazy in front of the Senate and the press so that she seems vulnerable to the influence of a foreign power. Coolness. 

Except Saul changes the plan in the middle and: 

Publicly blames the Langley bombing on Carrie

Outs Carrie’s sexual relationship with Brody on national television 

Has Carrie committed to a mental institution for four weeks with little to no contact with the outside world

Sics Dar fucking Adal on her when she gets out of the mental institution in order to maintain the cover

The scene at the end of “Game On” where Carrie comes to Saul’s house and tells him the plan has worked is devastating to watch. I don’t think it was entirely clear at the time just how much Saul’s plan had strayed from their shared vision until Carrie tells him, through tears, “you should have gotten me out of there, Saul. You shouldn’t have left me in there.” He doesn’t say anything in response. When she tells him it’s too hard, she can’t keep going, he offers her some tea. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking sad. 

Again: 

Her madness is only acceptable as long as it’s useful; her self-abnegation is only positive so long as he can understand it.

Season three was all about that: about the lengths Saul would go with Carrie’s own illness, and how far along she’d left herself go too. Javadi literally makes a speech about it.

Now, Carrie wasn’t forced to do any of this (well, except the mental institution, that was extremely forced). We see at times how desperately she craves his attention and approval: in “Tower of David,” when she pleads with her therapist to give a good report back to Saul; in “The Yoga Play,” where he berates her for getting involved in Brody Family Drama and tells her she’s ruined everything and ARE YOU HAPPY ABOUT THAT NOW CARRIE (god, the father/daughter vibes in that one are nauseating); in “Still Positive” when she calls him, triumphant, after having arranged the meeting with Javadi and he’s like “oh yeah by the way we lost you for a few hours there.” 

(This doesn’t fit into the above theme but the scene at the end of “One Last Thing” when Carrie tells him in order for any of this shit to work they have to trust each other is one of the most interesting and important scenes of the whole season, simply because it implies one easy truth: they don’t trust each other. And what a change that is from earlier seasons.) 

And yet, he needed her for it all to work. Saul may have been the mastermind of the entire clusterfuck of season three (better on rewatch than you would think!), but without Carrie literally every step of the way, it would have gone up in flames. She lured Javadi to America with her 95%-based-in-reality mania. She convinced Brody to go to Iran knowing it would almost certainly end in his death. And then she went straight along to Tehran knowing she’d probably have to witness it all. 

The end of season three is super interesting in their relationship because I believe in my gut and in my soul that Carrie still resents Saul for convincing her to convince Brody to go kill himself. I really believe this. Again, she wasn’t forced. She did this of her own volition. But he planted the seed in her head, and I think some part of Carrie–likely equal parts rational and irrational–blames him for it, even as she mostly blames herself. 

I won’t even mention Saul’s complete un-acknowledgement of Carrie being nine months pregnant in the last half of “The Star” but Saul basically ignoring Carrie’s child for four years is more significant than we give it credit for.

#4: “Escape or die. I promise.” The season four relationship between Carrie and Saul is interesting because it upends their previous dynamic. Carrie and Saul were always outsiders in the agency, but now he’s actually on the outside and she’s ascended, more an insider than ever. Also, I know part of it was grief, and again this is not an absolution, but where else do we think Carrie learned her casual disregard for human life? I’m just saying, season four came after season three. 

So anyway, when Carrie promises to Saul that he’ll kill him before letting him be re-captured by the Taliban, we almost sort of believe her. She nearly killed him once before (wanna know the quickest way to get me from 0 to 1500 words on this show? mention the end of “From A to B and Back Again.” but actually don’t please).

The middle episodes of season four–Carrie nearly killing Saul, reneging on her promise to kill him, and then tearfully saving him from himself–are extremely moving. And they cement the arc of that entire season, of Carrie ascending where Saul had fallen. “The student becomes the master” (or the Drone Queen, rather) and all that jazz. Her journey to save her soul coincided with her journey to save him. Is that coincidental? Saul stopped being Carrie’s moral compass around the time he lied to her and had her committed. But just as Carrie is finding her way amid the chaos and fog of war, Saul is making backdoor deals with Dar fucking Adal to turn a blind eye to Haqqani’s reign of terror so that he could go and be the CIA director again. 

Saul preached idealism and goodness and morality in an increasingly terrorized, dangerous, chaotic world. He raised her in that image. She strayed, but was finding her way back to it. In those final moments of season four, that betrayal is complete. She detaches from him. And their relationship is forever altered. 

#5: “There’s a line between us that you drew. Forget that. There’s a fucking wall.” Oh, season five. This is getting really long so I’ll try to be succinct: Carrie and Saul’s relationship in season five is about her being in mortal danger and him being like “lol good luck….. NOT.” Ok, it’s only like that for an episode. 

How do they come back from the damage done at the end of season four? I think the answer is that they didn’t. They’re not healed from it. Parts of Carrie don’t trust Saul, and parts of Saul don’t trust Carrie. There are the surface elements of course: Carrie went and found a cool life in Berlin, riding bikes and wearing balloon hats and such, working for a man whose ideals often stood in direct counter to the CIA’s. In effect, she basically went and did the opposite of everything Saul had ever done. That this all comes in a time of real upheaval in Saul’s personal life (Mira divorced him, he’s literally fucking a Russian mole) only makes his ego more volatile. 

And then we have The Landstuhl Conundrum. I’m calling it this because it doesn’t yet have a name but I’m referring to the moment when the doctors say that they can’t wake Quinn from a coma, because if they do he will probably die or have irreversible brain damage. But Carrie and Saul believe he has valuable information about a terror cell that he’d eagerly share after coming out of said coma. Honestly!!! This show is extremely ridiculous sometimes. 

Anyway Saul is like “what would you want me to do if it were you lying there,” implying DUH she’d have him wake her. She says she can’t speak for Quinn. Well apparently she can, because she wakes him. Cue the irreversible brain damage, the almost-death. 

Later Saul comes to see her and Quinn at the hospital and asks how he is. “Not great,” she replies tersely. He tells her he didn’t come here to fight with her. 

Resentment City: Population of 1. I’ve actually beat this drum for a few years, but I still think that Carrie harbors resentment toward Saul for coercing her into waking Quinn. First Brody, then Quinn. This isn’t meant to absolve Carrie of blame. She convinced Brody to go to Tehran because she believed in that mission. She woke Quinn because she believed in that mission. But I do think that Saul gave her a nudge and I’m not 100% convinced that without his influence she’d have made the same choices. When we talk about Saul teaching Carrie, about him mentoring her… and then we talk about Carrie having no regard for human life, of choosing mission over man, time after time… how much of that is her nature and how much is him nurturing her toward that outcome? 

#6: “Maybe I don’t like the idea of you worrying about me.” Season six is spectacularly dull on many fronts, and the Carrie/Saul relationship is not the centerpiece. The evolution of their relationship after Berlin has taken the shape of something like season three. Saul needs Carrie’s help, she’s in no position to give it, he coaxes her with some terrifying outcome If She Won’t, then she agrees, and things still Turn Out Shitty For Her. 

Ultimately I think this season highlights that whatever difficulties they now have working with each other, whatever trust issues they both still harbor, at the end of the day it is ALWAYS Carrie and Saul Versus the World. That’s always what this story has been (though this is extremely different from their relationship being the same as it’s always been), and it’s what the show comes back to after Quinn’s death. 

He still cares about her. She tells him not to, he’s not her fucking father. This is one of the great complexities of their relationship: Saul often does coddle her the way a father would a daughter, but he’s a firm believer in tough love and all the forms that can take. 

Again, I don’t think that Saul wants Carrie to be miserable. I also don’t think he wants her to happy. Her personal fulfillment and well-being is just entirely secondary to her role in his own mission of Whatever The Fuck. I mean I guess his mission is for the world to be more peaceful and better but like… y’know how Thanos thinks that killing half the universe’s population will help with the suffering caused by overpopulation? I’m not saying Saul is Thanos. But they’re both deranged males! (Also, if y’all don’t think Saul would Gamora Carrie right up outta this dimension if it meant fulfilling his life’s mission then please let me sell you this Homeland lamp!) (But honestly, I’m not saying Saul is as bad as Thanos.) (Do not send in asks about this.)

#7: “You’ve given me a hard time these last few years.” Season seven takes the post-Berlin foundation that season six built and adds some new interesting layers that are like a weird inversion/combo of seasons four and five. Carrie’s more on the outside than she’s ever been and now Saul’s the one who’s gone to work for the enemy. 

Still, no matter whatever shit has gone down between them, it’s still Carrie and Saul Versus the World. The show highlights some key ideas in the last three episodes. First, it fully acknowledges that whenever Saul comes calling, Carrie will always answer. Remember how he said this was his Achilles’ heel? Remember how in that same episode Carrie said she was going to be alone her whole life? Remember how Saul raised Carrie in his image? These callbacks are not evidence of stagnation of their relationship; they’re references to its elemental core. 

Second, the show finally has Carrie acknowledge the… um… storm of shit Saul has put her through while also fully copping to the extreme codependence of their entire relationship:

I’ve not come all this way in that fucking plane and in my life to fail in that mission when I know I can succeed. You’ve given me a hard time the past few years. I’m in, I’m out, I’m all over the place. I am not all over the place now. I’m here and I’m all in, and I need you to say yes. 

She pledges her devotion to the mission (above all else). She acknowledges Saul’s hot-and-cold nature with her. And then she says SHE STILL NEEDS HIS APPROVAL because–say it with me–they are in an extremely! toxic! relationship!

In a nutshell, the evolution of the discord in Carrie and Saul’s relationship started with him putting her life at risk in service of the mission. And now we’re at a point where she fully fucking volunteers for the task! In my heart of hearts I think a non-zero part of Carrie is doing it so he will love her more. Did I mention they are in a codependent relationship? 

So where do we go from here?

If you are still reading, congratulations! That’ll teach you to ask me a question about Carrie and Saul! Actually, about five questions were asked. The last–what will happen in season eight that will feel at all like a catharsis–is not one that I’ve actually thought that much about. 

I think I’ve made a case for Carrie and Saul’s relationship being the soul of this show–its mangled, twisted soul. The truth is their relationship is toxic. They are both their best and worst selves with each other. Like family, they know what buttons to push, and where to strike to make it hurt the most. 

What catharsis looks like in this relationship depends a lot on how you see this relationship. For example, it would be cathartic for me for Saul to die, but that will almost certainly not happen. It would be cathartic for Carrie to strike out on her own–finally–and attempt some type of fulfillment. Also very unlikely. 

If I had to guess about what the end of this story will look like for them, it’s probably with Carrie dead. Probably on a mission Saul convinced her to believe in. 

Saul’s been alone his entire life. He will never be less alone because Carrie is alive. I guess that’s the prison he has to live in. And then maybe she’ll finally be free of hers. 

EPILOGUE:

The above is a reading of their relationship that is quite sympathetic to Carrie, obviously, and quite unsympathetic to Saul, also obviously. You will probably disagree. Gail has written very interesting stuff on how the dynamic of the Carrie/Saul relationship is most like handler/asset. I think that is a very astute perspective and there are definitely aspects of it but I think the relationship more resembles the trope of found family: she is the daughter he never had and he is the stable father she never had, and they will both ruin each other. Fin!