#my number 1 rule is always be polite. niceness gets you in the door. and whatever happens happens

[simplydnp]

I have struggled for months to make friends on dnp twitter, so i tried tumblr and I'm having the same struggle again. How does everyone have so many mutuals, I feel lonely lol

aww anon i'm sorry you feel that way.

mutuals & followers, especially on here, are a little overrated. i'm so grateful i have them, but it's not the be-all-end-all of existence. some people really like to be mutuals, for others it isn't a big deal. especially since you may be mutuals, but it's someone's sideblog so it doesn't show that you are.

true friendship is something that takes a long time to build, especially in an online setting, as it's not like school or work where you're situationally around each other a lot. i wouldn't stress too much.

i sort of fell into friendship on here--my main purpose for this blog was for me to get my thoughts out about dnp, and see what others were saying. it wasn't specifically with friendship in mind. the friends happened along the way. but i think it was a full year before i made an actual friend on my old blog.

there aren't any hard and fast rules that guarantee friendship, but from my experience, people value authenticity. i post to make myself laugh, or something that made me feel wild.

something else that can help is personalizing your blog/blogging experience. you're more approachable if you have a name in your bio (doesn't have to be your government one, but something people can call you). how do people get a sense of your personality? are you writing your own posts, are you writing in the tags, etc.

now, even if you do all of this. there's still no guarantee it'll work. sometimes, people just aren't looking for new friends. and that's allowed. try to make this experience something you enjoy, and then, hopefully, people will share in that joy with you, but if not, being here still makes you happy.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Home

Series Summary: After being arrested, Spencer Reid desperately tries to get back home to his daughter, Camellia, who was placed into foster care in your home.

Pairing: Single!Dad!Spencer x Foster!Mom!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Content/Warnings: mentions of Diana’s Alzheimer’s and Schizophrenia, prison, separation of father and daughter, swearing

A/N: i hope you guys enjoy my new fic! this may be about 8 chapters or so! i’m not sure yet, going to see how interested people are in the plot :) (also quick disclaimer: i have never been in the foster care system so please excuse any inaccuracies)

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Spencer never wanted his daughter to see him like this, being brought into the BAU bullpen in handcuffs. He was supposed to be the good guy.

Right now, he couldn’t tell if he still was. He had good intentions going down to Mexico to get non-FDA approved medicine for his mom but he may have killed someone in the process. If only he could just remember.

Camellia ran into his arms to hug him, a hug he so desperately wanted to return if it wasn’t for these stupid cuffs around his wrists.

“They can’t just take you away, Dad,” she cried.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m going to get back to you as soon as possible,” he promised, kissing the top of her head.

Spencer felt absolutely crushed as the guards had to drag his crying 11-year-old off of him so he could be taken to his holding cell.

-

You had just gotten off of work when your phone rang. Eileen, the head foster care coordinator, was calling.

“Hello,” you answered.

“Hey Y/N,” she greeted you, “I know you haven’t had a foster kid in a few months but I kind of have an urgent case. 11-year-old sixth grade girl. Mom has been out of the picture for a while, Dad recently imprisoned and on trial for murder. There are a bunch of family friends willing to take her but no direct family,” she explained.

“I can take her for as long as she needs,” you told Eileen.

“Great! I’ll text you the address, it’s the FBI headquarters.”

-

When you walked into the BAU, still in your dino scrubs and white lab coat, Eileen was surrounded by a frantic group of people.

“As I said before, I don’t doubt any of your credentials but this is the law. We can only give away a child to direct family at this point in time. If you are not direct family, you will need a lawyer to fight for custody as well as permission from her father but that process could take months,” Eileen stated.

“Spencer hasn’t spoken to his father in years and his mother is in a facility for her schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s,” a dark-haired woman spoke.

“Exactly so she must be turned over to the foster care system. I apologize to you all but this is how it works. We can’t bend the rules,” Eileen said.

“I don’t want Callie fending for herself in a house with 20 other kids,” a blonde-haired woman argued, “I’m her godmother. She stays with me all the time. She was staying with me while Spencer was in Mexico.”

“Sorry, my answer is still no. But, hopefully this will squash your concerns, Y/N!” she called you over, “This is Y/N. Jo will be placed with her. She is a pediatric doctor and currently has no other foster kids at the moment but all of her past kids have absolutely adored her. She always passes her surprise safety and wellness checks with flying colors.

“Hi,” you waved, intimidated by this huge group of frustrated people with guns on their hips.

“A doctor? So she isn’t even going to be home most of the time,” a curly-haired man scoffed.

“Actually, I own my own practice. I don’t work at a hospital so I usually have a regular 8-4 shift unless one of my patients needs urgent attention,” you clarified.

“JJ, don’t make me go,” a girl, who you could only assume was Callie, sobbed.

They were all staring at you like you were the worst person on Earth. You wanted to shrivel up and die. When you went through the process of becoming a foster parent, you thought this was a very admirable thing to do. You just wanted to provide a good home to kids in need.

“Do any of you have a key to Dr. Reid’s residence so Camellia can pack a bag?” you asked politely.

The woman closest to Callie that must be JJ pulled a key off of her chain and handed it to you.

“I’ll-um-leave my phone number and address here so you guys can contact me at any time or stop by. I understand your concerns but please know I try my absolute hardest to make sure all kids feel welcome and safe in my house,” you scribbled your information down on a scrap piece of paper.

“Are you ready to go, Camellia?” you asked softly.

She went around hugging everyone in the circle before solemnly nodding to you.

God, you felt like such an asshole.

-

After Callie finished packing her things from her bedroom in relative silence, you returned to the car.

“I don’t know what you like to eat but we can stop at the grocery store so we can get stuff you like and any other things you need,” you said.

You were met with silence from the backseat. You offered for her to sit in the passenger seat but she declined.

“Listen, I’m really not trying to be the bad guy here. Please don’t make me out to be one. I know you are having a tough time with your Dad’s situation right now but shutting everyone else out won’t help,” you spoke softly, “Trust me, I know.”

You sighed when the silence continued. You pulled out of the Reid’s driveway and headed to the grocery store.

-

You let Callie lead when you entered the grocery store, opting to follow behind her with the cart. She went immediately to the frozen meal section and started throwing them in.

“Camellia, that’s fine if those are what you want but just so you know, I love to cook so I can make you anything you want,” you offered.

“This is what I’m used to,” she spoke sharply, “My dad is not a bad dad, he just usually doesn’t have much time.”

“I never claimed he was,” you defended yourself.

After that, you kept your mouth shut. Clearly, she was a very independent girl and she had her own routine she liked to stick to.

-

You hauled all the grocery bags inside the house and unloaded them as Callie brought in her suitcases.

“So Camellia, I put all the food you picked out in these two cabinets. I mean obviously, you are welcome to anything in the kitchen but I just wanted you to know where the things you picked out were. I always have a grocery list on the fridge that you can add to,” you began to give her a tour of the house, “Bathroom is in there. There’s another upstairs. Here’s the living room with a TV,” you headed up the stairs, “Here’s my room.”

On your bed was an adorable toyger kitten cuddled up on your pillow.

“Oh! This is Winnie like Winnie the Pooh. I just got her a few weeks ago from a shelter. She is super friendly and loves snuggles so she will probably try to sneak into your bed unless you keep your door closed.”

“I don’t mind,” Callie spoke softly as she petted Winnie.

You smiled softly. These were the first words you got out of her that weren’t a rejection.

You continued the tour, “There’s a bathroom between our rooms but I tend to use the downstairs one so feel free to make it your own. And here’s your room,” you opened the door to a white room with a queen bed in the center, a small bookshelf, a few plants, and paintings.

“I hope this is good enough for now. We can go out this weekend to a home goods store if you want to redecorate. I’d even be open to repainting it if you want,” you offered.

Callie just set her bags down and nodded.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be. I’ll probably be downstairs for a while watching TV if you want to join. Let me know if you want me to make you anything,” you began to shut the door but Winnie slipped in first.

“Good night, you guys,” you smiled softly.

-

“Do you want me to wait out here or come in with you?” you asked softly.

Spencer had been denied bail, meaning he was transferred to a federal prison and Callie was going to be staying with you for a while. She had taken the news rather hard as expected when the team came over to your house to tell her. You still weren’t really accepted by the group so you mostly stood in the corner of the kitchen while they were all in your living room.

You had spoken to Eileen several times about Callie’s current situation. She gave you permission to do whatever you saw fit. This means you could opt her out of school one or two days a week if she wasn’t feeling up to it as long as she emailed her teachers and got her missed work in on time. You were researching different therapists for her to talk to because she didn’t seem to want to open up to you. You were also given a schedule of visiting times for her to visit her dad in prison.

“I’ll just go in alone,” she walked in the door to the visiting room, leaving you in the waiting room.

-

“Dad,” Callie tried to hug Spencer but the guard pointed to the ‘No Touching’ sign posted on the wall.

They both sat down defeatedly at opposite ends of the table.

“How are you?” Callie inquired, wiping her tears away from seeing her father locked up.

“I don’t want to talk about me, sweetheart. How are you? Emily and my lawyer visited yesterday and told me you had to be placed into foster care,” Spencer asked, concerned.

“It’s okay. Not the best,” she sighed.

“What’s happening? Are they hurting you? Are they not giving you enough to eat? Callie, I’ll have my lawyer on the phone and you out of there so quick,” Spencer frantically stated.

“No, Dad. Y/N is fine…nice, even. But she’s not you,” Callie cried.

Spencer’s face softened, “I’m so sorry, Callie. You don’t deserve to be dealing with any of this.”

“Just please come home,” she sniffled.

“I’m trying, sweetheart, I’m really trying,” he replied earnestly with tears in his eyes.

A/N: i will also be starting a series taglist if you don’t want to be added to my main taglist so just clarify which one you want to join! also i recommend listening to the song Home by Phillip Phillips because it is kind of like the theme song for this story

main taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @babymetaldoll @fics4arainyday @ssavanessa22 @all-tings-diego

series taglist: @ilovespencerreidmarryme

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 1) - The Nanny

Summary: The reader interviews for a new live-in nanny position with Jensen and quickly gets the job but she starts to slowly see that her new employer is going to be different than any other she’s had before...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Square: Slow Burn

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, mention of death of a spouse/death of a parent

A/N: Please enjoy the first part of this series! This was also written for @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

If someone had said you’d be celebrating your 30th birthday by accepting an interview to be a live in nanny when you were a kid, you would have told them they were nuts. Beyond nuts. Beyond help for that matter.

But there you were. Thirty. Single. Childless. Taking care of other people’s families and not doing much else with your life. You weren’t sure if your mom would have been on you about the no kids thing or the no boyfriend thing more to be honest.

But the pay was normally good and sometimes great and it gave you a taste of family, even if you were just the help to the adults most of the time.

You buzzed the button by the gate at the end of the driveway, a brief moment passing before it opened. It was probably on a timer like most of the people you’d worked for before, an alarm system kicking on at some point in the evening that required a buzz in, the code or a car sensor. You drove down the driveway and parked a little behind a black SUV. The house was a little modern, a little grand, a little overwhelming. A fence and lots of trees surrounded the property. The yard appeared large but you could see houses on either side. Private but suburban. 

The cadillac wasn’t a shocker. Most everyone in these neighborhoods had Escalades. You walked past an open garage on the way up, a muscle car and a more modest smaller SUV parked inside. You went up the very short path and stepped up, ringing the doorbell and fixing your shirt. You were in jeans and a plain gray shirt. It was your normal wear for chasing small children around all day and you weren’t a fan of uniforms.

“Hi,” said a very tired, very handsome man as he opened the door. “You must be from Nanny Core.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N from Home Pair,” you said with a smile. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the door. 

“The last girl was from Nanny Core,” he said. He blinked them open and shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Yes, Y/N. You’re the one that’s a consultant, not firmly associated with Home Pair, right?”

“Correct,” you said as he opened the door more and you stepped inside.

“Can I ask what the distinction is?”

“Mostly it has to do with benefits,” you said. “Consultants pay out of pocket for their own or negotiate with their client for those to be covered.”

“Gotcha,” he yawned. You looked ahead and he wiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I must seem like an ass.”

“You seem tired is all Mr. Ackles. Not a crime,” you said with a smile. He nodded and he returned it, no fake cheesiness to it. 

“Mind if we do the interview in the kitchen over a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“Wherever you like, sir,” you said. You took off your shoes when you noticed he didn’t wear any inside and he chuckled as you walked back farther into the house.

“Uh, for the record, call me Jensen. None of that sir stuff. They must teach that at nanny school or something huh?” he said, motioning to a table. “I noticed all of you do it.”

“Something like that,” you said. You took a seat and watched him go to a coffee machine, fumbling with it before he spilled some ground coffee on the counter. He shut his eyes and gripped the counter’s edge, taking a deep breath to himself. “How about I make the coffee and you take a seat, hm?”

“I’m okay,” he said as he opened his eyes. 

“Well making you coffee is probably going to come up in my job quite a bit so consider this part of the interview. It’s alright, really,” you said. He glanced over to you and you smiled. 

“Thank you,” he said. You swapped places with him and got him a cup going, taking a mug off the counter and waiting a beat before liquid started pouring out. “I’m gonna ask you the same question I’ve asked all seven other women I’ve talked to today.”

“Yes?”

“Why should I trust you to watch my children?”

“Honestly?” you asked as he nodded. You smiled and carried the cup over to him, Jensen taking a long sip. “You shouldn’t.”

“I shouldn’t. That seems counterproductive.”

“I wouldn’t trust any stranger with my child. Trust is earned, not given. I think the real question is do you believe I’m capable of earning that trust with you and that’s something intrinsically only you know.”

“How so?”

“You meet a lot of different kinds of people with this job. My gut reaction to you is stressed, overwhelmed, sleep-deprived father who doesn’t really want any nanny at all but is forced into this situation. It’s going to be impossible for you to trust any of the seven woman from earlier or me off the bat, Jensen. You should be thinking of who will you come to trust. Who can you count on.”

“This is why my wife should have been the one doing this,” he said, smiling to himself as he drunk down most of the hot liquid.

“We could always re-schedule for when she’s available.”

“Oh, we’d have to wait a very long time for that,” he chuckled. He sat the mug down and glanced down briefly, smiling as he looked up. “She passed away unexpectedly six months ago. Car accident.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said. He nodded and made a face like he wanted to make a comment. “My mom died kinda unexpectedly. I know it’s...harder.”

“You’re young. How old?”

“Turned thirty today,” you said. He laughed and you heard the life behind it, Jensen shaking his head.

“Well Happy Birthday. I meant with your mother though. If that’s okay with you I mean.”

“It’s fine. I was sixteen,” you said. 

“That...fucking sucks doesn’t it?”

“So does losing your wife,” you said. 

“Yes it does. I’ve grieved. We all have. The kids are small. They’ll be okay.”

“Is dad okay?” you asked.

“Yes. Ready to start moving on with life again,” he said with a soft smile. “You’re kind. Not in a I’m trying to get this job kind of way. Just kind.”

“Well being cruel doesn’t sound like very much fun,” you said.

“You’re not trying to impress me.”

“The first rule of nannying, Jensen. You think you’re interviewing us when in reality we’re interviewing you too.”

“How am I doing so far?”

“Nice coffee choice,” you said with a smile that he nodded at. “You respect people. You’ll employ me but won’t treat me like I’m second class. You’re checking the boxes so far.”

“What if I don’t check all the boxes?”

“You don’t get to know the luxury of knowing the answer yet, Mr. Ackles,” you said. “Interview isn’t over.”

“You got fucked over by somebody, didn’t you.”

“Also perceptive,” you said. “Like I said, I don’t tolerate being treated unkindly anymore. It’s why I left my last position.”

“I have one more question,” he said. “Would you treat my children like they’re your own?”

“Again, asking the wrong question,” you said. He sat back and crossed his arms, smirking at you.

“What exactly should I be asking?”

“Will you treat my children kindly and with respect but take charge when required?”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is me doing my job and the other is me doing yours.”

“How old did you say you were again?”

“Thirty today.”

“Right. Well I think I know where I stand. Do you have anything for me?”

“Can you show me a picture of your kids?” you asked. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “You answered my question.”

“I didn’t show you anything yet.”

“You’d be surprised how many fathers I’ve met don’t carry pictures of their children in their wallets. That one is just a me thing.”

“Your dad do that?” he asked as he tucked it away.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. He was polite enough to not go down that route though and this was already getting more personal than you anticipated. “I think I know where I stand as well.”

“I’d like to hire you,” he said.

“Assuming our negotiations go well, I accept,” you said. He held out his hand over the table and you shook it.

“I did come up with what I thought was fair for salary and benefits. Let me go grab the paperwork and hopefully settle on something,” he said. He excused himself and you looked around the house, already trying to familiarize yourself with things. He was more relaxed when he returned with some papers and a notebook, handing you a few sheets. “If I’m missing anything let me know. I-”

“This is my weekly rate?” you asked when you saw the number at the top of the page.

“Oh no. That’s your daily,” he said as he took a seat. “So I think that’s-”

“Jensen,” you said, pushing the paper back. “I have to ask, things like insurance, are those coming out of your pocket or mine?”

“I’ll cover the expenses of your health, dental, all of that. You just choose and I’ll subsize it as part of your paycheck,” he said. 

“This is for a live in position. Um...can you just...explain what makes up that daily rate number?” you asked.

“It’s simply your base pay. Obviously I pay for housing, utilities, gas obviously. I will get you a credit card to make purchases with for the kids and all of that so it’s simple to keep track of. You’re free to any of the food in the kitchen. I’m guessing the salary is the sticking point here.”

“Jensen,” you said as you scratched your head. 

“I can go up fifty more dollars a day.”

“Jensen. This is way, way too much money. Way too much,” you said. “The average rate around here is about twenty five an hour or two hundred a day. Jensen this is double that. Are you factoring in like time and a half for additional nights and weekends?”

“No. That’d be on top of that. I thought that was a fair value based on the fact you are going to be taking care of the most valuable things in my life. It’s gonna get taxed too so it’s not like you see all of it.”

“You’re sweet, Jensen,” you said, writing down a number at the top of the page. “The average in Austin is twenty five an hour. I would be very happy with that.”

“You have to literally be the first person in existence to negotiate their salary down from the offer,” he said.

“Are you rejecting my offer?” you asked. He took the paper and crossed your number out, jotting down his own and spinning it back. “Jensen.”

“Y/N,” he said, crossing his arms. “I came down. Now it’s your turn. Do you accept?”

You knew thirty five was still way overpriced for the job, especially considering everything else he was paying for.

“I will accept on the condition that you get four hours of what we’d call evening or weekend at the normal rate ever week.”

“I can agree to that,” he said with a smile, writing that down. “So medical plan. Single, plus one, family?”

“Single for all that,” you said. 

“I should mention that there is an in-law suite off to the other side of the garage where you’ll be staying. It’s just down the hall but it has its own small living area and kitchenette. There is a separate entrance to it. If you have guests over I just ask you keep them to your area of the house,” he said.

“Absolutely. I don’t tend to bring people over much anyways while I’m on the job,” you said. He let you read over the rest of the benefits, a good amount of sick and vacation time too. Technically you were free evenings and weekends but he could ask you to work longer if he needed you and you were available. Overall everything seemed in order. “Alright. Everything looks good to me.”

“Awesome. Are you available to start Monday?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “It gives me plenty of time to move in things tomorrow so I can jump into the kids routine first thing Monday.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll show you around. We can start with your side of the house.” You got up and followed him over to near the front door and down a long hallway, past a set of doors. There was a frosted glass one to your left just before he pushed open a wide white one.

Behind it was a living area and kitchen. Not huge, about the size of a small apartment. There was a TV and sectional, a table tucked against the wall and a kitchenette like he’d mentioned with full size appliances. 

“Like I said, I know it’s small. Please like, seriously watch TV out in the family room at night if you want or hang out wherever or the yard or pool. This is just your own space when you want to be away from us.” You hummed and he showed you a closet and then a bedroom and bathroom. It was simple but decorated nicely and looked relaxing. “If there’s something obvious I’m missing please let me know. A cleaning service does come by every two weeks on Tuesdays at around ten in the morning. They’ll do in here too. Otherwise you can keep after yourself. Cleaning stuff is in the laundry room. Oh yeah. Um, this is probably the last time I’ll like, ever come in here unless you need help moving things in since this will be your space.”

“Thanks. I don’t have too much. I do have one request before we sign all the paperwork.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to meet the kids if that’s alright. There’s not much point in hiring me if they hate me.”

“Fair point. We’ll get ‘em over here and then get you all squared away.”

Monday Morning

“Good morning,” you said, a cup of coffee in your hand already as Jensen yawned. 

“Morning,” he mumbled. His hair was a mess and he was in only a pair of boxer briefs before he paused and looked down. “I should probably put on some clothes.”

“This is your house. Wear whatever you normally would. Pretend I’m invisible,” you said as you poured a cup of coffee into a mug for him.

“Sounds like you worked for some real assholes,” he said, graciously taking the cup. “As long as it doesn’t bother you, me walking around in my undies.”

“No, not at all,” you said with a smile. “Would you like me to drop the kids off at school and daycare this morning?”

“Sure,” he said. “Car keys are on the table by the garage.”

“Okay great. I’m used to driving that kind of SUV,” you said. You snuck a look at your schedule you’d printed out again, knowing the twins would get need to get picked up around noon. You started to work on their lunches and snacks for the day while he took out the carton of eggs from the fridge. He cracked one into a pan and turned the heat on, yawning again as he got out some bread and threw it on a plate. “Would you like me to make lunch for you as well?”

“No thank you. I’m getting lunch with my manager today. You don’t have to make me coffee in the morning either, Y/N. Your job is to take care of the kids, not me,” he said.

“A cup of coffee is not difficult, Jensen. My job is to help you so if I can make dad’s life a smidge easier it’ll make theirs better too,” you said with a smile.

“You’re not like, a morning person are you,” he chuckled. “I don’t do peppy in the morning.”

“Oh no. I’m always a little nervous when I start a new job. I’ll get a rhythm down soon,” you said.

“So what do you normally do once the kids are dropped off?” he asked as he got out a spatula.

“On a weekday I’ll review their schedule, see if anything different is going on. An average day like today I will clean their rooms, their bathroom, do some laundry while they’re at school, maybe some shopping. I’ll pick up the twins, bring them home for lunch, a little playtime, a nap. We’ll have some quiet time and maybe a craft or coloring before we get JJ from school. Then I’ll give them all a snack, we can get outside and play to get some energy out. I’ll help JJ with any schoolwork she has while the twins play and then I will start on dinner about the time you’ll be getting home. Since you have no plans currently tonight I’ll leave you guys be at that point until tomorrow unless you ask me for help.”

“So when do you take a break?” he asked.

“Naptime. I’ll have lunch with the twins. Don’t worry about me Jensen. That’s my normal plan but if you would like me to run some errands in the morning I can,” you said.

“No, no. Just…” he trailed off. “I still want to make them breakfast and dinner and play with them too is all.”

“We’ll figure out the right mix of things,” you said. “You just gotta tell me is all, okay? It can vary day to day too,”

“Yeah,” he said, taking his fried egg out of the pan and placing it on one piece of bread. He made a sandwich and took a big bite, looking out the back window. “I never asked. How was your birthday?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dropping some carrots into a reusable bag.

“On Saturday you said it was your 30th. You do anything fun that night?” he asked with a soft smile.

“I got a new job. That was the highlight of my day,” you said, Jensen cocking his head. “I ordered pizza, binged netflix. My normal Saturday routine.”

“I know everybody jokes about 30 but it’s really just jokes. Wait until you’re 42,” he chuckled. “Then you really feel old.”

“Most 42 year olds would kill to look like you,” you said. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “I’m so sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

“It’s alright. I took it as a compliment,” he said, smiling again. “So you did nothing for your birthday, huh?”

“Uh, no,” you said, mixing in some grapes into each of the snack bags.

“I’m gonna get you a birthday cake,” he said.

“Mr. Ackles-”

“I thought I said it’s Jensen. I’m the boss so what I say goes. We’re gonna have a birthday cake for you tonight. So. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Whatever you want is perfectly fine.”

“Y/N.”

“...I like red velvet,” you said. He smiled and chuckled. 

“That was my wife’s favorite,” he said. “Haven’t had that since her birthday. She would have liked you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You’re quite kind to me. She was always protective of me, even if she was the scaredy cat most of the time.”

“Can I ask how…” you said as he took another bite.

“Accident. Tractor trailer versus her car. He tried to miss her but it was too late. I wanted to hate the guy too but it was an accident and I couldn’t blame him for that.”

“My father died in a car crash when I was six. It does get better with time,” you said.

“That’s why you didn’t know if he had a picture of you in his wallet or not,” he said as you nodded. “You’re too young to have that much tragedy in life.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not young anymore.”

“You’re young and overly generous,” you said with a smile. 

“Misery loves company,” he said as you both heard a few feet above you running around. “Munchkins are up.”

“You want to make breakfast or should I?” you asked.

“Give me five minutes to get them in some clean clothes. Then I can show you how they like their eggs.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jensen.”

Later That Evening

“Y/N?” said Jensen, knocking on the door to your room. You got up from the couch and answered it, Jensen standing there with a smile. “The kids and I were wondering if you’d like your birthday cake for dessert.”

“You actually got me a cake?”

“I did indeed,” he said. You followed him down the hall and back into the living space, Arrow running up to you.

“Y/N! Are you sleeping over?” she asked as she gave you a hug.

“I live just down the hall now, cutie,” you said.

“Daddy, can we have ice cream too?” asked Zeppelin as he climbed up into his chair at the table.

“Sure thing bud. Girls, would you like some too?” he asked. Both the little ones said yes as he looked back at you.

“I really shouldn’t,” you said.

“We eat ice cream in this house,” he said.

“You don’t have to twist my arm over it,” you said. He got out the container and set it down on the table by the cake, lighting the match on the candle on top. “Oh please don’t-”

He started to sing though and the kids joined in, Jensen having a really good voice actually. You blew out the candle when they were through and he dished up some dessert for everyone.

“Y/N, can you read me a bedtime story later?” asked Zeppelin and you glanced at his father, Jensen making a face.

“Well Y/N’s not at work right now so she doesn’t have to unless she wants to,” said Jensen. “We’re already cutting into her-”

“I would love to, Zepp,” you said, his little face lighting up. “Maybe you guys want to join us?”

“JJ’s a little big to get read to at night I’ve been told,” said Jensen.

“Am not,” she said. “I can get a story too, right?”

“Of course,” you said. You took a bite of the cake and hummed. “This is really good.”

“I bought it myself,” said Jensen. 

“Well you have good taste,” you said. “In fact, I’m gonna have another slice.”

“Good,” he said as Zeppelin grabbed the ice cream container. “Alright, alright. You can have a bit more, bud.”

“Night, JJ,” you said, getting a hug from her as you put her back to bed an hour later. JJ smiled from her bed and you flicked off the light, pulling the door shut after you turned on her night light.

“Thanks for giving up your night with them. I didn’t mean to have that happen,” said Jensen as you headed downstairs with him.

“It’s no problem. It’s good bonding for us,” you said. You helped him pick up the plates at the table and wash them off, Jensen grabbing a bottle of whiskey from a tall cabinet as you covered up what was left of the cake. 

“Drink?” he asked.

“A small one,” you said. He poured a single into a whiskey glass and slid it over to you, smirking when you took a sip. “Oh that’s smooth.”

“Very,” he said, drinking from his own glass. “Thank you for tonight. JJ’s been…”

“She’s the oldest. She’s gonna have a harder time with it.”

“You were about her age when your dad died you said?”

“She’ll be okay. She’ll miss her but it won’t be a deep pain. She’ll have nice memories of her mom. She’s doing pretty good, trust me.”

“Can I ask another personal question?”

“I’m off the clock. Shoot,” you said.

“Your mom ever...try again with someone else?”

“Yes. Years later she found a good guy. He actually is who I stayed with after she passed. He’s married now, has some kids of his own but I know if I call him up he’d drop everything for me.”

“Good. I was getting afraid you were a complete Shakespeare tragedy,” he chuckled.

“Nah. I’m not at that level of crazy in my life,” you said. “As long as we’re off the clock, can I ask if you’re asking because you’re thinking of getting back out there?”

“I am. My wife kind of insisted on it. When we first got serious we had this deal that we’d go try again if something happened. I mean, I don’t cry everytime I think about her now. I can smile and be happy and that ache doesn’t try to swallow me up everyday anymore. I think it’s time I could get back out there.”

“I’d say it is. The kids are ready. They’ll understand.”

“You think your mom loved the second guy as much as your dad?”

“For sure. She was a bit of a free spirit but she didn’t think you had to have just one soulmate. She told me that after she’d met Ray. She said she got two so maybe I had two out there. I haven’t found either one of them yet so I’ll take increasing my odds as best I can.”

“Well you’re not gonna meet your soulmate sitting at home on Saturday nights, Y/N.”

“Just a lot of douchey guys,” you said.

“Ah. You need to meet a better kind of guy is all,” he said.

“Yeah see I’m thirty. All the good guys are married by now.”

“Oh all of them are taken. I didn’t realize that,” he said with a chuckle. “What am I then? Another douchebag?”

“You don’t count. You’re…”

“Too old for you?” he chuckled.

“My boss. Plus you’re like famous. You can go get like a victoria secret model or something.”

“Looks ain’t everything.”

“Maybe I ought to try older guys now that you say that,” you said.

“Y/N, you gotta be careful with that. I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of.”

“And this is why I watch netflix on Saturday nights,” you said.

“You serious about the older guy crack?” he asked. 

“I do find them more...attractive sometimes. I guess it depends on how old. Why?”

“I got a friend my age, might be interested?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “No offense to your friend but...I mean if he’s 42...I want kids and stuff you know? Although a dude it doesn’t really matter how old...I don’t know.”

“It was just a thought,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll think about it,” you said. “He’s not a weirdo, right.”

“No. He’s an actor. Something to think about,” he said.

“I will,” you said. “Thank you for the birthday cake, Jensen. You’re a good person.”

“I bought a cake.”

“Yeah but I haven’t really had one of those in years. You’re a good person.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said as you slid off your seat. “You’re free to hang out if you like.”

“I’m kinda tired. I won’t be getting up that early from now on I don’t think.”

“I completely understand,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Jensen.”

________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[haikyu-hoe]

Study partner

Kageyama x reader

one shot, fluff

warnings: none

If you like this fic, a reblog/ like is appreciated, and you can check out my other fanfics too! :)

———————————————————————

You were always a good student, but you didn’t stand out so much. You had a small group of friends, followed the rules, did what was asked of you without questioning it. So when your math teacher asked you to tutor another student, you accepted, not even asking who it was. Looking back on it, you should have. You never hated anyone, but like every human being, there were people you’d rather… avoid. Kageyama Tobio of class 1-3 was one of them. Despite having a rather reserved personality, you were really friendly deep down, and were a quite enthusiastic person. Kageyama was the opposite. He never so much as smiled, he only frowned and scowled. But it was too late- you accepted, and you couldn’t let down Mrs. Nakamura. So, taking a deep breath in, you opened the door to the school’s library and walked in silence to a table where a seemingly angry black-haired boy was sitting.

“Hi, Kageyama. I’m y/k”, you said in a prudent tone. He already seemed upset, no need to make it worst. In an hour or two it would be done. You checked the clock, took a deep breath, and took out a manual.

Kageyama was quiet the whole time, and you didn’t even try to make conversation, simply talking when he needed explanations. His homework was progressing at a good pace, and you were even already done with yours. You could be out of there in, let’s see… half an hour maybe 45 minutes. That was ok. Feeling snacky, you took out a box of homemade cookies from your bag as Kageyama solved a problem. As you took a cookie out, you could see him eyeing it.

“Did you want one?”, you asked politely, tipping the box over to him.

“N- sure.”, he said and quickly grabbed one, as if you were going to change your mind if he didn’t hurry. Strange boy.

As you had thought, after half an hour, you were walking out the library and all the way to your house.

———

It was now Thursday, time for your second appointment with Kageyama. You headed for the library, a tad less nervous than the first time. This time, you had brought him a nice box of cookies, maybe that would warm him up to you.

“Hey Kageyama, I brought you more of the cookies. Are you ready to-”

“I don’t like your cookies, let’s just work.”, he cut you off. His face was all red, and he was looking away. You weren’t sure why this hurt so bad, but tears flooded your eyes. You dropped the box on the table anyways and calmly walked away. Your vision was blurry with tears, but you still grabbed a book on the way out, you had been waiting for that one.

You weren’t expected home for two more hours so you headed for the nice student break room, where you could read in peace. There was practically no one, and you got captivated by your book, forgetting about Kageyama Tobio of class 1-3.

Who knows how long you sat there? What matters is that you got interrupted suddenly by… Kageyama.

“I need help with number 3.”, he said in a cold tone. You looked up. You sighed and got up.

“Fine, let me explain it to you.”, you brought him to a table and helped him, and then got back to your book. You left about half an hour later without a goodbye.

———

Monday again, third studying session with Kageyama. You show up reluctantly, but to your surprise, he isn’t even there. You were going to do your homework anyways- you sit down at the usual table when you notice a piece of paper.

it reads “Meet me at the school gate. Thanks.”

You recognize the bad handwriting; it’s Kageyama’s. What does this mean?? Maybe he just wants to study elsewhere. It would be mean if you stood him up, and you weren’t rude. Putting your books back in your backpack with a sigh, you realized you were feeling stressed about this. With a sigh, you left the library and walked to the school gate at a quick pace.

He was indeed standing there. He was fidgeting as if he was also feeling stressed. This was getting weirder by the minute.

Taking a deep breath in, you wave at him.

“Kageyama! What’s up?”, you say.

He turns abruptly towards you, as if he wasn’t expecting you to show up.

“I wanted to, well, apologize. I did like your cookies. Follow me.”, he said quickly, as if you’d change your mind and go away.

You stood there a few instants, in shock. Where was he taking you? Kageyama was so strange, and you were a bit scared, yet excited. You blinked and realized he was already several feet’s away. You jogged to get back by his side and you walked in silence until he stopped in front of a local restaurant.

He went in, still not saying a word. You asked several questions, but without paying any attention to you, he ordered you guys some food, and went to sit at a table by the window. Giving up, you sat in front of him.

“Thanks for the food, Kageyama. Although i don’t understand why you’re doing this”, you said digging in your plate. You looked out the window and into the lively streets.

“Because… Because i reacted badly to your tutoring since… since i have a crush on you.”, he said blushing like mad, looking very grumpy.

“What??”, you were so confused, but yet it kinda made sens right? That’s why he had been so shy! “Since when? I’m still confused”, you added.

“Ever since the beginning of the school year. You’re an idiot if you didn’t notice.”, he mumbled.

“Hey!! Wait is this a date then?”, you said laughing a bit. Kageyama was really cute with his pouty red face, deep blue eyes and dark silky hair. And it is true that you caught him staring a few times…

“NO!! Are you stupid? Why would this be a date? I just came to apologize-”, he said, clearly panicking.

“Relax, this is nice. And how about a real date this weekend then?”, you said, still laughing.

“Sure”, he replied, calming down and looking a bit surprised.

You left a few minutes later, kissing his cheek before walking home, leaving him to blush on the sidewalk.

———

Today was your date with Kageyama, the real one. You were waiting for him on a park bench, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. He sat silently besides you, and you took his hand silently to guide him further. There was a nice fountain deeper in the park, and you sat in silence in front of it. The view was beautiful,just a few days of sunshine piercing through the clouds. The trees were blooming and Kageyama looked so sweet in this golden lightning.

“You know, you didn’t have to act so rude… I wouldn’t have judged you. Besides, i like hanging out with you, this is fun!”, you said calmly.

Kageyama blushed a bit, and muttered a bunch of incomprehensible words. He then got closer to you, putting his hand on yours. His other hand went up to your shoulder as he dragged you closer. With your free hand, you got his hair out of his face to look in his deep eyes, before trailing it down to his neck. You both got closer and closer, until your lips met in a soft kiss.

He backed off suddenly after a few seconds, cheeks flushing pink. He looked confused and shocked.

“Wait. Does this mean you like me too?”, he asked with a mistrustful look in his sapphire eyes.

“Pftt who’s the idiot now? Are you really asking yourself that question?”, you said, mocking him a bit, before getting closer to him again.

“I understand… I think.”, he said in a shy tone before kissing you again. You shared a passionate kiss for long minutes, sometimes stopping to look tenderly at each other, touching your foreheads together. His hand went all over your arms, stroked your hair, grabbed your tights, like he couldn’t get enough. Meanwhile you we’re hanging on tight to his neck, another hand on his heaving chest. Your fingertips twirled in his jet black hair as the kiss got rougher.

You eventually let go of each other, simply holding hands in the pink and orange sunset.

“So, am i your boyfriend? Like how does this work-”, said Kageyama, breaking the comfortable silence. He seemed nervous again, fidgeting with his hands.

“I’d like that, Kageyama”, you said softly before kissing his cheek.

[lovelylunarwriting]

Jaemin Soulmate!AU

Jaemin has a reputation as a “cool” kind of guy, which is why he wears bracelets to hide the words permanently etched on his left wrist

“Wait- if it’s not butter, then what is it?”

Jisung and Haechan are notorious for giving him shit for having a ‘weird’ soulmate, but Jaemin thinks it’s kind of funny, honestly

Like great question dude but,,, why are you asking me this

Jaemin’s apartment is around the corner from a little family-owned grocery store that he’s frequented since his high school days.

He’s very much a regular, to the point of the owner being like “Jaemin…. Please just work here. You already know where everything is”

To which Jaemin has to respectfully decline, because he wants to focus on his dancing and singing, and working too much would get in the way of practicing.

That, however, does not stop the old man from sending customers with questions to Jaemin whenever he comes in.

Because Jaemin is too polite to be like “uhh I don’t work here, good luck”, he always ends up helping them

But secretly, he doesn’t mind. He thinks that maybe one day, his soulmate will be the next one to ask him a question.

Even after repeated questions about “how much does this cost?”, “when do you guys open tomorrow?”, “when will the next shipment of bok choy be in?”, he still isn’t terribly bothered.

The other employees chastise the boss for sending customers to Jaemin, but the old man is always like “he knows this store better than you all do. That’s why he gets a discount higher than yours”

Employee discount: 15 percent off all merchandise

Na Jaemin discount: 20 percent off all merchandise

It’s an unspoken rule amongst employees that Na Jaemin gets a discount, but they are NEVER to mention it to him! He knows that business has been rough recently and wouldn’t accept the generosity, but the boss thinks Jaemin is too skinny and wants him to be able to afford to eat well.

Now lovely reader, this is where you come in. You recently got a job at this grocery store but you work in the back, so you have never seen the famous “Na Jaemin” that all your fellow employees chat about so frequently.

Coworker #1: “Ugh, he’s like SO dreamy”

Coworker #2: “I know right? He’ll have no trouble becoming an idol at this rate”

Meanwhile you’re like “lol what who? Also where is the printer for printing clearance labels”

You specifically applied for the back of house position because you did not want to talk to people.

It’s not that you’re antisocial by any means- honestly it’s the opposite. It’s just that you have the tendency to say whatever you’re thinking with absolutely no filter.

So in the past when more…. challenging… customers have talked down to you, you gave back the same energy without thinking.

Management was not happy,,, so you were like “mmmm maybe I should just keep to myself and everyone would be happier”

One day though, it seems that you’re shit out of luck.

Your work bestie calls you at 3 in the morning on your day off saying that her kid has a fever and she’s gotta stay home and take care of him.

You have no plans other than generally being a lazy lump at home, and she’s always had your back at work, so you’re like “girl don’t worry about it, I got your shift. I’ll make some chicken noodle soup for him too”

To which she’s like “bitch if I hadn’t found my soulmate already I would’ve snatched you up T-T”

You giggle and tell her to try and get some rest- both her and her kid.

And then sleep another blissful 4 hours before rolling in for the 8am shift.

When you get there, boss man is like “ayeee so you’re covering for her shift which is stocking shelves, are you gonna be okay doing that?”

You: “Ahaha yeah it’ll be fine~ just please don’t send customers to me oh my gosh”

Boss Man: “Don’t worry, I just saw Jaemin walk in. I’ll send them to him”

You: “... who is Jaemin”

Boss Man: “He’s my FAVORITE!! Remember that!”

You: “Oh, okay!! Yes sir!”

You’re like fifteen minutes into your shift and you’re already on edge because all you’ve done so far is dodge all the old ladies who are shopping this early.

No actual products have been put on the shelves yet, or at least not by your hands.

Settling down in the dairy section, you relax a bit and start putting cold products in the cold shelves fixed to the wall.

And of course- things are in the wrong place. Why would anyone put anything back where it belongs?

Picking up a product, you glance at the label out of sheer boredom more than anything.

“Wait- if it’s not butter, then what is it?”, you say to yourself.

Or so you think.

“Yeah, that is like the one question I don’t know how to answer”, you hear a masculine voice say from behind.

You spin around and look up into the man’s face.

And oh boy is that a nice looking face.

“Oh I’m sorry, I- WAIT”, you start, before you realize what he said.

Grabbing his left wrist, you push up the bracelets to reveal what you’d just said. Then you drop his hand out of sudden shyness, and because it’s not cool just to grab people.

“Do… do you mind if I look at your wrist as well?”, he asks quietly.

You roll up your sleeve and present him with your arm. He delicately wraps his fingers around your wrist and flips it over to read the words written”

He drops your wrist and sinks into a squat, flopping his arms over his head and looking at the ground.

“Oh my gosh why did I say something so lame…”

“Umm,,, to be fair,,, I did ask you about butter so by comparison yours isn’t that bad,,,,”, you try to comfort him, and he lifts his head up to meet your gaze.

“You mean that? It wasn’t like the lamest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Oh I’ve heard much lamer things, don’t worry!”, you say with a cheery smile that contrasts your words entirely.

He stands up again and clasps your hands in his. With a look of determination he looks straight into your soul and asks:

“What time do you get off work?”

You tell him, but let him know that you’ll be busy after work making chicken noodle soup for your coworker and her son.

He’s like “oh you can cook?” and you’re like “lol no but I’m gonna die trying”

He writes his phone number on your arm (next to your soulmate tattoo) and is like “text me when you’re done with work and I’ll swing by and walk you home and maybe I can help you cook”

And quickly clarifies “ONLY IF YOU’RE COMFORTABLE WITH ME IN YOUR HOME, I UNDERSTAND IF BECAUSE WE JUST MET YOU-”

You’re like “dude,,,, it’s fine, we are literally destined to be together. Also if you try anything I’ll just beat you up so it’s chill”

Looking at his watch, he sprints makes a beeline for the checkout counter, going on about he’s gonna be so later and Haechan’s never gonna let it go if he’s late twice in a row, and something else but by that point he’s so far away from the dairy aisle you can only hear muffled sounds where words should be.

The next several hours could not go by ANY SLOWER.

Starting off today, you figured the day would go by quickly because you’d be preoccupied figuring out how to do something new, but now all you can think about is pretty soulmate boy.

And how he never mentioned his name, but to be fair, it was a rather quick exchange.

What feels like centuries later, your shift is coming to a close so you grab the ingredients you the internet tells you you need for the soup and head to your favorite cashier.

Somehow the front of the store is both quiet and abnormally loud for this time of night.

“Jaemin’s been waiting there for fifteen minutes? Do you think he’s waiting for someone?”

“Maybe he needs to talk to the boss? Usually he’d just ask one of us to grab him but he’s just standing outside”

“Ugh it’s so cold, should we tell him to come inside?”

You glance over to the crowd of coworkers towards the entrance and break out into a smile.

“Just keep ringing me up, I’ll be right back!”, you tell the cashier and fast walk past the small crowd.

Peeping your head out the door, you greet him.

“Are you cold? Come inside, I’m almost done”

“Oh okay, should I wait by the door though?”

“No, come with me. I wanna show you off~”, you instruct and he raises an eyebrow, but plays along.

Holding open the door for him, he scuffles his way in and shyly offers his hand.

Gladly, and with a pounding heart, you lock your fingers between his.

“Your hands are freezing, dude”

“Shhh it’s fine. I was trying to be cool, okay”, he jokes with you as you walk back to the register

Ringing up your items, the cashier is looking at you and him with raised eyebrows, and you’re just like “shut up jessica I’ll explain tomorrow”

The two of you walk back to your apartment and spend the rest of the night cooking and talking about everything and nothing.

The more you learn about Jaemin, the more confident you are that the universe got this one right.

Even when most things feel unclear, you know this person is someone you can always rely on.

(also when you bring your sick work bestie the soup, Jaemin insists on tagging along and she’s like “omg Y/N that’s JAEMIN” and you’re like “I KNOW” and he’s like “hi here’s some soup, also why do you know my name”

[honey-lemon-teashop]

If you're doing the prompts, 36, 102, and 268 with Simeon please 🤲

Okie, so. A few things.

1) I’ve never actually answered an ask on Tumblr, so if the format is off, I AM SO SORRY.

2) I used the prompts, however, I reworded them to fit my writing style, and also make the story flow better. Hope that’s okay!

3) I did make a reference with the safeword. Kudos to you if you know what it’s from!

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The prompts were

- “Don’t be gentle.”

- “You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”

- “Even angels can be bad.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

You were impressed.

Just before school started, you slipped a buttplug into Simeon, and proceeded to spend the entire day flicking through the different intensities.

You’ve been with Simeon for a little over 6 months, and the longer you were together, the more comfortable he got. And the more comfortable Simeon was, the more vocal he became.

So you were shocked when he was able to keep his whimpers and whines at bay.

Well, expect for when Luke was having him try his new scone recipe, and you turned the vibrator to the highest setting, and he let out a loud moan.

Luckily, he was able to blame it on how ‘heavenly’, the scones tasted, so nothing really became of it.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

As soon as classes ended, you practically dragged Simeon to your room in the House of Lamentation.

Pinning him against the door, you grabbed his waist, before leaning in.

“You did so well today, Baby Boy. I think you deserve a reward, no?” you cooed, nipping at his earlobe.

You could feel him nodding rapidly.

“Well, Baby, what do you want your reward to be?”

Simeon responded by mumbling something into your shoulder.

“Gonna have to speak up, Angel. Mommy can’t hear you when you mumble.”

He lifted his head, before repeating what he said.

“I was hoping that maybe we could try out the new outfit you bought me?”

“The maid outfit? With the cat ears?”

Shaking his head, Simeon sighed, before quietly muttering, “Schoolgirl one.”

“Ohhhh.” You said. You had bought two outfits off of Akuzon as part of your 6-month anniversary present. You were both so busy cramming for midterms, that you hadn’t had the chance to use them yet.

“Of course we can. Wanna go grab that from your room while I get things ready in here?”

“Yes, please.”

“Always so polite, Baby.” You said, giving him a kiss on the cheek, before moving towards your bed.

“Anything for you, Mommy.” Said Simeon, blushing.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

10 minutes had passed, and you only had a few minor things to adjust. The only thing missing was Simeon.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

Speak of the devil. Or, well. Angel, I suppose.

“Come in, Love!”

You could hear quiet shuffling, and the crinkling of a bag, before it went silent.

Turning around, you looked at your boyfriend.

“You wanna go to the bathroom to get changed? I’m just about finished here.”

“Okay.” He said, taking a few steps, before stopping to look at you. “What’s the scene gonna be?”

Pausing, you thought for a minute.

“How about… I’m your professor, and kept you behind because you’re failing my class?”

A small smile spread across Simeon’s face.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Safeword?” You asked.

“Pineapple juice.”

“Okay, now that that’s settled… Go!!” You giggled, pushing him into your bathroom. “I wanna see you in that outfit already!!”

You shut the door, before yelling, “Scene starts when you leave the bathroom, Dollface!”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

A few minutes later, and a bashful Simeon peeked his head around the door.

“Start?” You reaffirmed.

A thumbs up from Simeon, and you were set.

“Well? Aren’t you going to come in?”

His eyes widened a bit. Glancing down at his outfit, he slowly inched his way into the room.

“Today please, Mr. Simeon.” You said, inspecting your nails.

At your words, Simeon moved forward until he stood directly in front of you.

“Do you know why I called you here, Mr. Simeon?”

Simeon gulped, looking at his feet.

“Yes.”

Reaching out and grabbing his chin, you forced him to meet your gaze.

“Yes, Ma’am.” you said.

“Yes… Yes Ma’am.” He stuttered.

“And why did I call you here?”

“Because… Because I’m failing your class…”

“Correct, Mr. Simeon. I’ve looked over your grades, and after that last exam, I’m afraid I am unable to let you pass.”

“But Ma’am!” Simeon cried, “I need to pass! I can’t fail! Oh, please Ma’am, isn’t there any way I can make it up?”

You raked your eyes over him.

God, you really did a nice job picking out his outfit. A red headband, complete with a bow, sat atop his head. A classic white button up, tied like a bra around his chest, leaving his gorgeous stomach on display. A sleek red tie, done messily around his neck. And riding low on his hips was a skirt. Well, calling it a skirt was giving it a bit too much credit, considering it was barely a scrap of fabric, but it still looked stunning nonetheless. And last but not least- thick, white, thigh-high socks, and a pair of black Mary Janes covering his feet.

It seemed he had also done his makeup at some point- eyeliner and black eyeshadow, paired with a bright red lipstick.

Fuck, how you wanted to ruin him.

Simeon shifted anxiously, clearly waiting for a response.

You slowly stood up, grabbing his waist.

“There is one way…”

“I’ll do it! Thank you, Ma’am! Thank you so much for this opportunity!”

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” You murmured, gazing steadily into his eyes.

“...Ma’am?” Simeon answered timidly, eyes wide.

You pulled his body flush against yours. A quiet gasp rewarded you for your actions, before you swallowed it with your mouth.

Slowly tracing his lips with your tongue, you squeezed his ass. His mouth opened in a moan, giving you the chance to slip your tongue into his mouth. Gently cupping his jaw, you continued kissing him, before finally parting for air.

Simeon was panting, looking up at you, eyes heavily lidded. You could see a few smudges of lipstick in the area around his lips, making you chuckle.

You pulled away to sit on the bed, making him whine.

“You answered 20 questions incorrect on your last exam, Mr. Simeon. You know this sort of thing can’t go without punishment.”

“But Ma’am, I-”

“No buts. I want you over my knee. Now.”

Simeon seemed to hesitate, before slowly laying himself over your lap.

Grabbing the ruler from the bedside table, you spoke.

“Mr. Simeon, you will be receiving 20 strokes; one for each problem you missed. I want you to count them aloud. If you mess up counting in any way, we’ll start over. Am I clear?”

“...Yes Ma’am.” Simeon muttered.

You grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking it until your eyes met his.

“Louder, Mr. Simeon. I can’t hear you.”

You felt his cock twitch where it rested on your thigh, making you smirk.

“Yes Ma’am!” He said loudly, all the while maintaining eye contact.

“Good.” You said, throwing his head back down. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Using the ruler, you flipped his skirt up, revealing his ass.

“Oh?” You said. “What’s this?”

Tracing your fingers along the seam, you admired the white lace thong he wore.

“God, what a slut. It’s like you wanted me to punish you.”

Simeon moaned and wiggled his ass in response.

You ran your palm over him a few more times, before switching back to the ruler.

Bringing your arm back, you let the ruler fall onto his right cheek. Hard.

“Ahh!” Simeon squeaked, jolting forwards on your lap, thighs pressed tightly together.

You waited a moment, before grabbing his hair again.

“What did I just fucking tell you, you useless fucking whore?” You seethed.

You could see Simeon running through his memories, trying to find what he did wrong. It was another moment, before horrified realization flashed across his face.

“...You told me to count,” he said, avoiding your gaze.

“Correct. I didn’t think we would be starting over this soon. After all, aren’t angels supposed to be good at taking directions?”

“I…” He said, looking around wildly.

“I guess angels can be bad, too, huh?”

Simeon only whimpered in response.

You went to strike him again, but paused before you swung.

“Remember to count this time, Mr. Simeon.”

And with that, the ruler went flying down onto his left cheek.

“One!” Simeon said, before he peeked up at you.

“You don’t have to be gentle, you know.” He began. “I can take it.”

“Oh really?” You said with a laugh. “You’ll regret saying that, Mr. Simeon.”

You swung again, and again, and again.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“Thirteen, foURTEEN, FIFTEEN!” Simeon squealed, as you landed three harsh slaps in rapid succession.

Running the ruler over the marks, you spoke.

“Only a few more to go, Mr. Simeon, and then you’ll be done.”

Sighing in relief, Simeon let his head hang briefly.

Your next hit was hard- the hardest yet- and it landed directly on the skin where his ass met his thighs.

“SEVENTEEN!” He cried, biting his lip.

“God, what a dumb little angel you are, Mr. Simeon.” You tutted.

Simeon’s eyes flew open, and his head whipped around to face you. He looked at you in confusion.

“What number comes after fifteen, Mr. Simeon?”

He let out a gasp, before frantically trying to explain.

“Ma’am, it’s. I-”

“You knew the rules, Mr. Simeon. Again. From one.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“NINETEEN!”

Simeon was wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked.

His ass was a dark red, and covered in welts. His face was pink and blotchy from crying. Eyeliner ran down his cheeks in messy streaks, and there was a huge smear of lipstick on the left side of his face. He was ruined.

But despite everything, his cock laid hot and heavy against your thigh.

Your last hit was a bit lighter than the previous ones, but you made sure to clip his balls in the spank.

“SHIT! OH FUCK. TWENTY. TWENTY TWENTY TWENTY.” he wailed, before cumming all over your lap.

You laughed, grabbing a handful of his ass.

“Did you really just cum from getting spanked?” you said. “You must’ve wanted this pretty damn bad, then.”

You hoisted Simeon up, until he sat straddling your lap. Tilting his chin up, you continued.

“You may have passed the test, but you still have a number of outstanding assignments. And not to mention your horrible attendance.”

He sniffled.

“How can I make it up to you?”

“Well,” you began, “you can start by sucking my strap.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Simeon knew he was in for a long night.

[samanthadalton]

So we meet again part 2

since a few of you guys wanted a part 2 i thought i would give it a go, hope you enjoy. I wanted to do a mix between past and present so i’ve stated which parts are the past etc also there’ll be a part 3 which will be the finale, I’ll write that soon 💜

pairings: Poppy x Bea 

taglist: @cloud9in @somewillwin @alleycat97 @baexpoppy @save-me-the-last-dance @helpconfusedpersonhere @dopeyouth @iamsimpforpoppy @alexlabhont @thedaft1 @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings 

wordcount: 3.4k 

slightly NSFW also there might be swearing, i can’t remember tbh (it’s like 2am rn im sorry) 

also part 1 is here in case you need a refresher💜

--------

Bea and Poppy roll around in the bed, playfully, as Bea peppers kisses all over Poppy’s body, while pressing her body into the mattress. 

“Bea that tickles.” 

“Really?” Bea removes her hands from Poppy’s wrists and begins tickling her sides. 

“Please..stop..” Poppy says in between giggles and huffs. Eventually Bea moves her hands and is met with a pillow smashing into her face. 

“OW!” Bea cries out, as she rubs her face, a hint of a smile ghosts on her face. 

“I told you I hate being tickled,” Poppy huffs, expertly hiding her smile as Bea continues rubbing her face. “I’m sorry. Want me to kiss it better?” Bea pouts, nodding her head as she inches forward puckering her lips. Poppy rolls her eyes, placing a chaste kiss on Bea’s lips and just as she pulls away, Bea crashes her lips back into hers, eliciting a moan from the strawberry blonde. 

“That’s a kiss,” Bea teases, in retort Poppy playfully shoves her before leaning against the headboard. Bea lays her head on the pillow, shifting her body to face her girlfriend. “Hey can I ask you something?” 

“You’ll ask even if I say no,” Poppy jests. 

Bea leans up on her elbows, her expression sobering, “look Pops, these last two months have been amazing but I want to take you out on a real date.” 

Poppy groans, “not this again Bea.” 

“Hey, hey, let me finish,” Bea says pleadingly, Poppy rubs her temples, her silence indicating for Bea to continue, “I like what we have right now, just chilling and making out and stuff but I want to take you out on a real date. Somewhere public where I can show you off and make random strangers jealous of me because I’m dating the prettiest girl ever. All of this sneaking around is just reminding me of college.” 

*Flashback* 

As Bea climbs through Poppy’s window, her leg gets caught  in the curtains and she tumbles onto the floor, as the items on Poppy’s desk, plummet to the ground. 

“God damn it Farmsville, why not alert the entire sorority of your presence?” 

“Geez, it was an accident,” Bea dusts herself off, before picking up the fallen items and placing them back. “So what the hell is so urgent that you have me in your room at 1am and why couldn’t I go through the front door?” 

“Ew, don’t say it like that.” Poppy scrunches her nose up in disgust, “it’s not like that.”

“So why am I here?” 

“You’re number 1 at Belvoire now, think of this as my final consultation before you officially become queen.” 

“I was named queen the second they gave me the award, and I certainly don’t need any advice you have to offer.” 

Poppy visibly becomes irritated, her face etches into a scowl, “remember that I ruled this school for 3 years, and judging by recent events like your little plight with Kingsley, you’ve already got some enemies. Remember heavy is the head that wears the crown.” 

Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “don’t worry I have a plan.” Poppy raises an eyebrow, intrigued, “I’ll do the opposite of everything you did. I won’t backstab my friends, I won’t be a bitch to everyone and I’ll treat everyone with kindness and respect.” 

“Don’t forget Hughes, it was exactly that kind of subterfuge that got you in my spot in the first place.” 

“No, it helped me get into the top 15 I’ll admit, but everything else was careful strategy and just being a decent human being. You would be surprised how many people were desperate for your reign of tyranny to end.”

Poppy huffs, “funny how you act like people hate me so much when they would do anything just for a fraction of my attention.” Poppy takes a step forward, a sneer expression on her face. 

Bea snorts, “get off your high horse.” 

“Eurgh no farm jokes.” 

“I- I’m not going to even comment. So is that all you wanted or was there something else?” 

“What else do you think I want?” 

“I thought this was going to be about what happened at the fountain.” Poppy freezes for a split second, a blush creeping up on her cheeks, her mouth hangs open but no words come out. “Oh come on Pops, don’t act like you haven’t thought about what happened at least once or twice over the summer,” Bea flashes a smug grin which seems to bring Poppy back to reality. 

“Please,” she scoffs, “you’re giving yourself too much credit, that kiss was mediocre at best.”  

Bea raises an eyebrow, “liar.” Bea takes a step forward, “That kiss was mind-blowingly good. So good that on the first day back at Belvoire, you needed to make up a dumb excuse for me to sneak up to your room at 1am.” Poppy presses her lips together in a thin line, her eyes carefully roam Bea’s, waiting. Without any hesitation, Bea places her hands on Poppy’s hips, pulling her close to her as she presses her lips against Poppy’s, desire instantly building between the two of them. 

Poppy feels her eyes rolling to the back of her head, as Bea peppers kisses on her neck, and has to stifle a moan when Bea runs her tongue over her jaw. 

“Bea…stop with the foreplay.” Poppy feels Bea’s lips quirk up against her neck, but Bea continues kissing her neck, only frustrating Poppy more. “God Farmsville,” Poppy growls, she pushes Bea away from her and pulls her towards her bed, before straddling her lap. 

“Taking charge?” 

“I always take charge,” Poppy retorts, her lips ghosting around Bea’s until she playfully bites Bea’s bottom lip before sucking on it. “But I’m feeling nice today,” Poppy runs her forefinger down Bea’s body, evoking goosebumps, “so maybe I’ll let you be in control, just this once.” 

“So you’re planning on doing this again?” Bea teases as her lips quirk up into a wide grin as she flips their positions, pushing the strawberry blonde deep into her mattress, already locked in a passionate embrace before Poppy can retort. Bea places her hands around Poppy’s wrists placing her above her head, her eyes piercing into Poppy’s as she does so, in an attempt to demonstrate her dominance. Just as she leans in for another kiss, a loud series of knocks breaks them apart. 

“Hey P, you up?” Veronica’s voice rings through the room. 

Poppy silently motions for Bea to leave as she erratically flaps her arms towards the window. Bea wordlessly runs to the window and just as she’s about to climb out Poppy whispers, “don’t tell anyone about this, now hurry up.” 

*Present* 

Poppy averts her gaze from Bea, a guilty look on her face, “I’m sorry but college was different. I wasn’t ready for the world to know about us, I mean I barely understood what I felt for you.” 

Bea stares at Poppy with a hopeful look in her eyes, “but now you do.” She takes one of Poppy’s hands in hers, “look there’s no expectation to be super fancy, we can do something lowkey, just so we get a feel of being out together in public.” 

Poppy sighs, “fine.” Bea’s face lights up and Poppy can’t help but feel the butterflies in her stomach, “so where were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we would go to my restaurant.” 

“Digne d'une reine? That’s kinda high maintenance no?” 

“No, I meant Farmsville. I think it’s time for you to see the restaurant which you inspired.” 

Poppy bites her bottom lip, unable to stop herself from smiling, “okay.” 

……

A few weeks later, Poppy and Bea finally find the time out of their busy schedules to have their first date. As Bea leads Poppy into the small diner, Poppy stands awkwardly to the side as Bea leads her into one of the booths in the back. Poppy’s gaze darts around the room, wondering why the restaurant is so busy on a Sunday evening. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” Bea calls out to Poppy who looks lost in her own thoughts. 

“Yeah, great,” Poppy gives her girlfriend a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, as she nervously darts her gaze around the room, feeling as if all eyes are of them. 

Bea senses Poppy’s discomfort and reaches over the table, taking Poppy’s hand in hers, “hey if you wanna go…” 

Poppy violently shakes her head no, “no, I said it’s fine Bea.” She pulls her hand out of Bea’s and sits in silence until the waitress approaches the table handing the girls’ a menu each. 

“Hey Bea,” the waitress flashes the girl a bright smile, as she stands with a notebook in her hand. 

“Hey Cecila, how’s it going today?” 

“Not bad, it’s been kinda busy, but we miss seeing your face around here.” 

Bea lets out a small chuckle, “Don’t worry I’ll be back next week for a bit. I’m just glad we have you looking out for this place here otherwise it would’ve gone down in flames, literally. Jerry would’ve accidentally set fire to the kitchen if it wasn’t for you.” 

The waitress lets out a boisterous laugh, causing Poppy to furrow her brows as she reaches over, possessively interlacing her hand with Bea’s. “Hmm, funny.” The women stop laughing and look over to see Poppy’s unimpressed face. Bea expertly hides her smirk as she realises what’s going on. 

“Cecila,” Bea clears her throat, “this is Poppy-” 

“The girlfriend,” Poppy interjects. 

Cecilia gives Poppy a bright smile, “I was wondering when I was going to meet you! Bea would not stop talking our ears off about you.” Cecile playfully pushes Bea shoulder with her hand, “and she told me you were gorgeous but you are even more beautiful in person.” 

“Thanks,” Poppy bluntly replies, twirling a strand of her hair. 

“Well I’ll come back in a few minutes so y’all can look over the menu in the meantime.” Cecile gives a polite smile before moving to the next table. Once she’s gone, Poppy slips her hand out of Bea’s, but just as she lets go, Bea grabs her wrist pulling it back, a wide grin plastered on her face. 

“You’re jealous,” she says matter of factly. 

Poppy scoffs, “I don’t do jealousy, shut up.” 

Bea smiles, clearly enjoying herself, “yeah you are.” Poppy stares daggers at Bea, a scowl appearing on her face, “you don’t have to worry, I don’t think Cecile’s husband and kid would appreciate her leaving them for me.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, she’s super straight, and married.” 

“Oh,” a blush appears on Poppy’s face as she looks away embarrassed. The strawberry blonde pulls away her hand as Bea loosens her grip on her wrist. 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been jealous.” 

Poppy raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her girlfriend, “what the hell are you talking about?” 

“Come on, the Christmas party? Don’t tell me you don’t tell me you don’t remember.” 

*Flashback*

As the months went on, Bea and Poppy would meet up a couple of times a week for casual sex. They had set some ground rules, they can only meet up in Poppy’s bedroom, no cuddling afterwards, Bea would either have to sneak out through Poppy’s window or through the back door of the sorority if everyone else was asleep, and  no feelings could be involved. Poppy had been adamant to Bea about how sex was only a release for her frustrations and for the girl not to read too much into it because it meant nothing. But the Christmas party was just the beginning of the lines starting to blur. 

Just as Bea enters the frat house, she takes in the spirited atmosphere of the party, the loud thumping bass music, drumming in her ears as she makes her way over to the drinks station, pouring a drink for her and Zoey. 

“It’s really loud!” Bea shouts over the music. 

“What?” Zoey replies, as she takes one of the cups from Bea’s hands. 

“What?” 

“Yeah totally. Hey I’ll catch up with you soon, there’s a super cute girl over there.” Zoey lumbers over to the other side of the room, leaving the girl on her own. For a while she mingles with a few different groups, an obligation for the queen of Belvoire, but when Veronica begins not so subtly flirting with Bea, she can’t help but flirt back, especially when Veronica looks this good. 

They standing in the corner of the living room, as Veronica begins whispering into Bea’s ear about the party and how idiotic the football team look while playing strip pong but when Poppy walks through the living room in a skin tight pink dress, all rational thoughts are thrown out of the window for Bea. 

As if she can feel the girl’s eyes on her, Poppy swings her hips slightly as she walks past, a glimmer of a smile of her face, as Bea’s eyes follow her until Veronica breaks her out of her reverie. 

“You okay?” 

Bea deftly glances at Poppy to see her casually talking with Chloe, paying no attention to her, “yeah I’m good. Dance with me?” She holds out her hand which Veronica accepts as Bea leads her into the makeshift dance floor. Veronica presses her body against Bea’s, her hips grinding into Bea’s front, Bea places her hands on Veronica’s hips, only enhancing the friction between them. 

Poppy looks over to see Bea and Veronica dancing together as feels a burning sensation in her chest, it wasn’t jealousy, she wouldn’t admit to that but she did not enjoy seeing Veronica rubbing herself all over Bea. She leaves the house pulling up Bea’s contact info and texting the girl to meet her in her room asap. 

“I’ll grab us some drinks.” Bea nods as Veronica stalks off towards the drinks table and when she feels her phone buzzing in her pocket, she pulls it out to see a bunch of messages from Poppy saying it’s an emergency. Bea makes her way to the door but Veronica steps in front of her, 2 cups in her hands. 

“Are you leaving?” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry I just have to be somewhere,” Bea darts out of the house, leaving an abandoned Veronica who stands near the front door, confused.

“What’s the emergency?” Bea pants as she runs into Poppy’s room, not bothering to knock, while Poppy is standing near the door and is almost rammed over by Bea. Without a word, Poppy pulls Bea in for a kiss, her hands eagerly hooking around Bea’s neck. 

“Hey, wait,” Bea pulls away, anger written in her face, “what the hell Pops, just stop for a second.” Bea slightly pushes the strawberry blonde back, as she looks down on her. 

“Just please Farmsville, no talking, just kiss me,” Poppy replies, her tone almost begging, almost. 

Bea hesitates slightly, she’s not used to seeing Poppy so desperate, but she gives in. Poppy kisses Bea with urgency, her tongue already tangling with Bea’s, as she moans softly into Bea’s mouth. Bea guides Poppy to the bed, still locked in a kiss as she runs her hands down Poppy’s body, before she moves her hands to her back and begins unzipping her. 

“In a hurry Farmsville?” 

“As sexy as you look in this dress, you look even hotter without it.” Poppy doesn’t say anything but she gives Bea a smile as Bea’s hands continue wandering all over her body. Bea’s fingers ghost around Poppy’s inner thigh, causing the strawberry blonde to squirm slightly, as her hips rise off the bed. 

“Hughes please,” captivated by her pleading, Bea gives her, her thumb begins circling around Poppy’s button as her fingers just tease her entrance. 

“Say my name,” Bea whispers in a low gruff voice and unhesitantly, Poppy moans out Bea’s name. Bea pumps her fingers into Poppy, as she kisses her intensely, even after she feels Poppy’s juices all over her fingers, she continues moving against her, letting her ride out her orgasm. Once Poppy slumps down on the bed, Bea places her fingers in her mouth, tasting Poppy’s desire before pulling the strawberry blonde in for one more kiss. Bea remembers the rules and slides off the bed looking for her clothes before Poppy’s soft voice calls out to her. 

“Stay.” 

“What?” 

“Did I stutter? Stay, it’s late so you might as well stay.” 

“That’s not in the rules.” 

Poppy becomes irritated as she frowns at Bea, “I was just trying to be nice but whatever, leave if you want.” 

Bea knits her eyebrows together, unsure of what to do but against her better instincts she slides back under the covers, while maintaining a safe and wide gap between her and Poppy. “Thanks,” she mumbles out as Poppy just hums in response. 

The atmosphere becomes dense with awkwardness, as they lay in the bed together, unfamiliar with this territory. It isn’t until Bea speaks out that the silence is broken. 

“Hey can I ask you something?” 

Poppy sighs heavily, “even if I say no you’ll still probably ask.” 

“Probably.” The girls slip back into silence until Bea turns on her side, facing the strawberry blonde. “Why did you pull me away from the party?” 

Poppy shrugs, “I was sexually frustrated and our agreement consists of us letting out those frustrations.” 

“But you seemed pretty okay to me, I mean I saw you talking with Chloe and then I was dancing with Veronica and-” Bea falls silent, realisation dawning on her. “You’re jealous.” 

“You know what, I changed my mind, get out.” 

“Come on, I was just dancing with Veronica, I wasn’t going to sleep with her.” 

Poppy glares at Bea as she narrows her eyes, “whatever. I don’t care what you do with her anyway.” 

“Sure.” 

The girls fall back into an awkward silence until Bea feels sleep creeping up on her. Just as she closes her eyes, she hears Poppy’s voice. 

“Bea, you awake?” 

“Hmm?” Bea humans quietly. 

“You awake?” Poppy whispers. 

“Yeah, I am,” she replies, fighting back a yawn, “what’s up?” 

“What do you wanna do once college is over?” 

Bea purses her lips in thought, “it’s kinda stupid, you’ll laugh.” 

“I probably will but tell me anyways.” 

Bea lets out a short laugh, “I've always wanted to own a restaurant.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah.” Bea turns over to face Poppy, she can only make out a few of her features in the dark, but she sees Poppy’s big brown doe eyes staring straight into hers, “I’ve found food as my comfort. My family loved to cook, and growing up on a farm meant we were surrounded by fresh ingredients everywhere. My mom actually taught me how to cook and I’ve been using them as guinea pigs to test out new recipes ever since.” Bea can see a smile appearing on Poppy’s face and can’t help but smile back as she reminisces about the past. “So what about you?” 

“My fate has already been written out for me. Take over the Min Sinclair business and rule the world basically.” 

“Is that it? You’ve never had any other dream?” Poppy shrugs. “Come on, there must be something.” 

Poppy sighs, “I like to draw.” 

“Really? Do you have anything you can show me?” 

“As if Farmsville, it’s private.” 

“Fine, it was worth a try.” 

The girls fall back into silence, only this time it isn’t awkward, it’s almost refreshing. After that night, their nights weren’t always physical, sometimes they would sit there and talk about everything and nothing, and they shared things even their closest friends didn’t even know about each other. 

*Present*

“I was not jealous.” 

“Fine, whatever you say.” 

As the date continues, Poppy visibly relaxes, enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant as well as the company, as soon she forgets all her earlier doubts and begins truly enjoying herself as she laughs along to Bea’s stupid jokes while telling a few stories and jokes herself. Once Bea pays the bill, after fighting with Poppy for five minutes about wanting to be the perfect gentlewoman, Bea takes Poppy’s hand in hers and leads her to the exit of the restaurant. 

“I have a surprise for you.” She gestures to the huge blank wall at the entrance of Farmsville. “Surprise!” 

Poppy raises an eyebrow confused, “it’s a blank wall wow,” she says her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Well it is for now until,” she twists Poppy around, pulling her back to her front, as she whispers against her neck, “you work your magical artist skills and turn it into something beautiful.” 

Poppy gasps as she turns to face Bea, “wait you’re letting me paint it?” 

“Yep, even though you didn’t show me any of your work, I know you’ll do something amazing here, I’ll even pay you if you want.” 

Poppy shakes her head, pulling Bea in for a long kiss, “you’re the best you know that.” 

“Yeah I am pretty awesome.” Poppy grins pulling Bea in for another kiss.

[blossom-hwa]

valentine’s day + golcha ✧

blame @wingkkun​ for enabling me :) as well as @thepixelelf​ for putting up the list of valentine’s day prompts on her network @newskynet​ (check out the list and the network here!) that inspired these little blurbs! i really encourage anyone to join in on the event and use the prompts, they’re super cute and hella funny :) 

anyway happy early valentine’s day! there’ll be more blurbs for the boyz and stray kids leading up to the day of, and changmin’s interwoven story will top the holiday off <3

(find other valentine’s day blurbs for the boyz and stray kids here whenever i put up the masterlist!)

pairing: golcha x gender neutral!reader (one blurb for each member!)

wc: 4.9k (total)

genre: fluff, pure fluff, university!au

triggers: cursing, like one slightly implied mention of sex (it’s the first couple sentences of sungyoon’s story, but absolutely nothing explicit)

stray kids version | the boyz version

Golden Child Masterlist

9. “i’m allergic to roses.”

jaehyun doesn’t know why his boss decided to give him the valentine’s day shift. it’s annoying and stupid and dumb, especially when he just wants to spend the entire day with you, but you have class and he has work. so jaehyun resigns himself to being forced to work in the pits of hell on the supposed day of love (it’s a drugstore on valentine’s day. he’s pretty sure he won’t even be able to count the number of boyfriends and girlfriends who’ve forgotten to buy their partner a gift and have come to this shitty CVS for a last minute card or box of chocolates). 

slumped over on the counter after opening, waiting for the first wave of poor significant others to come washing in, jaehyun doesn’t even bother to move when the automatic doors slide open and a few pairs of footsteps sound on the floor. only when someone steps in front of him does he actually look up, immediately plastering on his customer service smile (that you’ve always found simultaneously hilarious and scary - “you look so dead inside, i don’t know what to say!” “i’m not dead inside!” “jaehyun, you’re in university. we’re all dead inside”), but it immediately drops when you step up to the counter and pass over a bouquet of tulips (not roses this time, thank god - jaehyun doesn’t need a repeat of the time you brought them and he had to break it to you between sneezes that “i’m allergic to roses.”), laughing at the expression of shock on his face. 

“wanted to bring you something nice in the morning since we won’t see each other until later,” you explain, pushing the bouquet into his hands. “i’ll meet you in front of your dorm, right? don’t be late.” 

holding the flowers, jaehyun doesn’t know what to do but nod and smile, smile so brightly it feels like the sun has come down to rest in his heart because by god, you’re the sweetest thing in this entire world and he loves you so, so much. “okay,” he breathes, unable to stop his eyes from crinkling as he smiles. “i’ll see you then.”

you lean over the counter and press a brief kiss on his lips. the bouquet nearly falls to the ground as he scrambles to lean in, to extend this bit of affection as long as he can, but then someone coughs and you two break away, jaehyun red-faced and blushing, you laughing as both of you turn to the customer holding two bags of lollipops with a smirk and a raised eyebrow on their face. jaehyun only blushes harder as you squeeze his hand one last time, supremely unconcerned, and murmur “see you later” before walking back out the door. 

14. “you’re seriously asking me out on valentine’s day?”

exactly one week ago, jangjun’s professor gave the entire lecture hall a stern talking-to regarding valentine’s day activities in class. no kissing, no inappropriate PDA, and “no giving out candy or confessions unless you’ve brought enough for the entire hall.” and given the fact that this is a lecture hall of just under a hundred students, no one is eager to break that rule. 

but on valentine’s day, you come running in just two minutes before class starts, a large shopping bag banging against your legs as you sprint to your seat next to jangjun. he frowns at the bag, looking up at you in confusion, but you only give him a shit-eating grin as the professor walks to the podium. just as he’s about to start the slides, you raise your hand. “professor, i have candy to pass out.”

a whisper runs through the hall as jangjun starts to laugh. you really would. you actually would. y/n, you perfect bastard. professor just raises an eyebrow that jangjun can see all the way from his seat halfway across the hall and replies “do you have enough for the entire class?”

“as a matter of fact, i do!” reaching into the bag, you pull out two packages of lollipops and brandish them in the air. “all in the spirit of valentine’s day, professor!”

the hall devolves into chaos and laughter and shouts as you run down the rows, throwing candy at every student. jangjun’s laughing with everyone else - even the professor can’t help a smile as you hand him a lollipop too - but then he realizes you’ve completely bypassed his row. no matter, though, right? you’ll probably just come back and give him one when you come back to your seat, or he’ll steal a lollipop away from you. that’s how best friends work, obviously.

but then you’re running down the stairs, finished passing out candy for the rest of the hall. jangjun expects you to slide into your seat but you don’t, instead stopping at the end of the row and tossing him his favorite flavor of lollipop. he grins, about to say something, but your smile has turned slightly nervous and he’s confused - you’re never nervous, never, you didn’t even look like this before you had your first job interview - but then your gaze takes on a steely  determination that’s more characteristic of his favorite friend ever and you say, “wanna go on a date with me?”

screams erupt from the seats around him, but jangjun can only stare as he tries to comprehend what you said. his mouth moves to form words and they are not the words he wants but he never thinks before he speaks and certainly not now when his brain is literally fraying at the edges - 

“you’re seriously asking me out on valentine’s day?”

your gaze shutters, your eyes turning dim. the smile on your face is still there but it’s a little forced and jangjun starts panicking because what the fuck, that’s not what he meant, and - “oh my god, y/n, i’m an idiot, i didn’t mean to say that, yes i want to go out with you, holy fuck i’ve wanted to literally since we met -”

“jangjun? shut up.”

he shuts up, terrified he’s messed up forever. but you’re smiling. you’re smiling so wide it looks like the stars themselves have come down to grace your eyes as you sit down next to him and tangle your fingers with his.

there are more screams and someone’s camera flashes but jangjun doesn’t care. he doesn’t fucking care, not when you’ve just asked him out when he’s been pining for you for probably years at this point and jangjun knows he’s grinning like an idiot when he squeezes your hand once, softly, and you squeeze back, winking as you pop a last lollipop into your mouth.

13. “you’re so cheesy. i love it.” (slightly amended from “this is so cheesy. i love it.”)

daeyeol may be dyslexic, but he certainly isn’t blind. as the ta for this lecture section, he’s had a front row seat to the obvious pining tension between jangjun and his best friend since they stepped into class on the first day. when they hand daeyeol a lollipop, he can see jangjun smiling like an absolute idiot even so far away, and when oblivious idiot #1 finally pulls themselves together and asks jangjun on a date, the professor himself can’t help but grin even as he starts clapping his hands to bring the class to order.

as the lecture goes on, daeyeol lets his thoughts wander. he’s been over this particular set of slides so long he could probably talk about them in his sleep (and according to sungyoon, he actually has, though he has no video proof so daeyeol will just put that down to his roommate exaggerating), so he doesn’t feel too bad about not paying attention as the professor keeps talking. he has better things to think about - namely his plans for later today. 

yeah, he has a date. he has a date with, in his humble opinion, the most wonderful and beautiful person in the world. he can’t help but smile when the image of your eyes crinkled in a laugh runs through his mind, the sound of your giggles and snorts making his heart flutter with excitement because holy fuck, he may not want to be in class, but at least he’s going to get to see you for hours later today. 

if he wasn't the ta, he’d be the first one out of class. instead, though, he stays a couple minutes to talk to the professor (he smirks a little bit when jangjun and his best friend-turned-significant other walk out the door, still holding hands) before he finally deems it polite to say goodbye and rush out of the lecture hall to his dorm so he can get changed. 

he’s breathless when he walks out of the flower shop to meet you just an hour later, clutching a bouquet of flowers in his hands. despite the fact that you two have been dating for months already, he still turns shy when you accept the flowers, eyes sparkling in delight. your gaze only turns sweeter, lovelier when you look up from the bouquet to give him a hug, wrapping your arms around him tightly as your body presses against his. 

“i missed you,” he murmurs into your ear, holding you as close as he can. 

you laugh. “we saw each other yesterday, daeyeol.”

his name still sounds like honey from your lips. “yeah, but that was still too long.” 

again you laugh, pulling away. before he can complain, your hand slips into his, automatically tangling your fingers together. “you’re so cheesy,” you announce as though you haven’t said the same thing a million times over the course of the last few months. “i love it. anyway, should we go?”

daeyeol smiles, squeezing your hand. “of course. come on.”

4. “valentine’s day is just a ploy to make people buy heart-shaped stuff.” / “what’s that in your hands?” / “none of your business.”

jibeom isn’t anti-valentine’s day, not exactly. it’s just that he doesn’t entirely care for the way capitalism has decided to commercialize love through chocolates and teddy bears when a handwritten card would mean more to him than the most expensive candies in the world. 

which is why he teases daeyeol when the older boy comes into the flower shop where he works part time, even as he wraps up the bouquet of pink and red roses. “still a slave to capitalism, i see.”

daeyeol just snorts. “you think i didn’t see the flower crown you were making when i walked in?”

“yeah, well, i made it. i didn’t buy it.” jibeom ties the last ribbon in a large bow. “i’m not going to be a slave to the machinery of this shitty economic system. valentine’s day is just a ploy to make people buy heart-shaped stuff.”

“what’s that in your hands?”

jibeom shoves a heart-shaped box of chocolate under the counter. “none of your business.”

"yeah, right.” daeyeol snorts, taking the bouquet of flowers. “well, enjoy your date later. hope y/n likes the chocolates.”

jibeom sniffs. “you enjoy yours.” 

with that, daeyeol walks out to meet his partner. jibeom averts his eyes (it’s so weird seeing someone he thinks of as his older brother kissing or hugging something else, even if it’s sweet), but then the door opens again and a wide smile spreads across jibeom’s face when you walk into the shop. 

“your shift is over,” you announce, hopping on a nearby stool so you can lean your elbows on the counter. “time to go!”

“y/n, for the last time, i can’t just end my shift when i want to,” jibeom says. he’s still smiling, though - he knows you don’t mean it, knows that you’ll just hang around and bother him until his shift is actually over and the two of you can go to whatever reservation you made this year. 

you groan. “come on, that’s no fun.”

jibeom snorts. “here, maybe this will keep you busy.” he hands you the chocolate he bought early that morning from a dead-eyed jaehyun (thank god for the flowers his partner brought him at the start of his shift or he probably would’ve keeled over at that point). “happy valentine’s day.”

with a delighted screech, you tear into the box. jibeom watches in amusement. “i thought you didn’t like participating in the valentine’s day capitalist commercialization of love?” you ask, mouth full. 

“i don’t.” jibeom shrugs. “but if it’s for you...”

he doesn’t get to finish before you yank him down by the neck of his shirt to press a full kiss to his lips. “jibeom, i love you more than you can imagine,” you declare when you finally pull away. 

you look beautiful, lips slightly swollen, eyes sparkling. jibeom lifts the finished flower crown from behind the counter and puts it on your head. “there. perfect.”

“hm?” you look up, smiling when you realize what he’s given you. 

“you looked beautiful before,” jibeom explains. “but now you look even more perfect.”

“are you saying that because of your flower crown, i look nicer?” you frown in mock disapproval. “jibeom, that’s awfully egocentric.”

“well, am i wrong?”

your frown splits into a wide grin as you shake your head. “no, not at all.” you squeeze his hand. “anything from you makes me feel beautiful, no matter what it is.”

21. “for me?”

“don’t mind them, jibeom and his partner won’t suck face too much.” the worker rolls his eyes as he walks forward, leading joochan further into the store. “you said roses, right? red roses?”

“yeah.” joochan takes a deep breath, trying to stop himself from screaming internally. “red roses.”

but even as the worker - seungmin, his name tag says - leads him to a selection of deep red flowers, joochan’s starting to second guess himself. what if flowers come off too strong, roses no less? it’s only the first date - and by god, he’s lucky you even accepted, you’re the wittiest and most amazing person he’s ever come across, he never imagined you would actually say yes - and joochan has no idea what to do, how to act, least of all with flowers. 

dimly, joochan becomes aware of seungmin deftly tying the roses together before handing him the bouquet. “come up to the front, you’ll pay there.” he snorts. “hopefully jibeom and his partner aren’t being idiots.”

“i heard that!” comes an indignant shout from the front. despite his nerves, even joochan cracks a smile when seungmin forcefully elbows jibeom out from behind the counter, forcing his partner to stop him from falling over. “yeah you heard that, you think i would’ve said it if i didn’t want you to hear?” seungmin snaps, fingers flying on the register. “that’ll be -”

“joochan?!”

what.

what the fuck. 

joochan spins on his heel to see you standing not three feet away from him, a bouquet of flowers clasped in your own hands as someone else rings up your purchase. for a moment, you two only stare at each other. 

god, joochan wants to melt into the floor. 

“i -” you swallow. “sorry. hi, joochan.”

“hi,” he squeaks, fingers clutching roses in a vice grip. “uh... didn’t expect to see you here?”

“i wanted to get flowers for you,” you mumble, staring resolutely at the ground.

joochan’s brain makes the windows shutting down noise. “for - for me?”

“yeah.” you half-smile, laughing a little as you point at your bouquet. joochan wants to immortalize the sound of your laugh forever in his ears. “wait - here.”

suddenly, joochan has two bunches of roses in his hands and he doesn’t know what to do with either of them. your fingers brush his skin as you hand over the flowers. joochan can feel himself getting redder by the second as he finally figures out that he should also hand over his bouquet to you. 

seungmin’s voice stops him. “you still need to pay,” he says, eyes screwed almost shut with suppressed laughter. 

“oh - right. sorry.” joochan hands his card over, face flaming. seungmin swipes it, gives it back, and joochan finally passes his roses to you. 

for another two seconds, you two just stare, but then you smile (and joochan subsequently feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears, you’re too amazing to look at). “shall we?”

you’ve extended a hand. joochan looks at it dumbly, uncomprehending, but then he realizes you’re asking to hold his hand. gingerly he nods, pressing his palm into yours as an involuntary smile splits his face. “okay,” he breathes. “let’s go.”

25. “i love you.”

“that was... something.” you turn to seungmin, second-hand embarrassment written all over your face. understandable. even if seungmin found it funny, the awkward romantic tension in the air before joochan and his partner left was enough to make his insides curdle. of course, being a perfect worker, he didn’t show it, but...

“were we ever like that?” seungmin wonders aloud, tightening his apron.

jibeom snorts from where he’s taking off his own apron, finished with his shift. lucky bastard. “no, but you’re worse.” he pulls off the green smock, hanging it on a nail in the back. “you’ve been in love since you were like, five. disgustingly mushy.”

“you two suck face in the back whenever you have a spare moment,” you snap, throwing a small handful of discarded leaves at them. 

jibeom’s partner shrugs. “better than being overly romantic and making everyone want to puke on how adorable you two are.” they wave as jibeom drags them out of the shop and down the street. 

you sigh. “sucks that we got the full shift,” you mumble, slumping over the counter. “wish we were doing something better.”

“hey, we get to avoid the crowds tomorrow when we go for our late valentine’s day dinner.” seungmin sits next to you, pulling a bit of leaf out of your hair. “isn’t that better?”

“yeah.” you sit up, leaning against your elbow to smile at him. even after so many years together, the sparkle in your eyes still makes seungmin’s heart flutter. “kinda works out. i just don’t want to work.”

“lazy,” seungmin teases, kissing you briefly. 

despite the insult, you smile against his lips before pulling away. “asshole.”

“hey,” he whines. “an asshole wouldn’t do this, would they?” he picks up a discarded rose - still perfect, really, the stem just got snapped a little too short for a bouquet - and tucks it behind your ear. “would they?”

you laugh. “no, of course not.” you rise from your seat and glance from side to side. when nobody enters the shop, you wrap your arms around his neck. seungmin’s hands automatically loop your waist as you kiss him long, full, deep. 

“i love you,” you murmur against his lips. “i love you every day, regardless of whether or not it’s valentine’s day.”

“same here.” seungmin raises a hand, cups your cheek. you lean into his touch. “i love you too, y/n.”

3. “what, no roses?”

when sungyoon walks into the flower shop, a tray of coffee in hand, to see two of his friends locking lips just behind the counter, he only sighs. at least they aren’t trying to eat each other’s faces like some other couples he saw in the cafe today. and not much could be worse than that one time daeyeol forgot to hang a sock on the door before sungyoon got back home. 

seungmin and his partner of well over five years (they’re cute. disgustingly cute and so in love it makes sungyoon want to retch sometimes) break apart, thankfully, when he puts two cups of coffee on the counter. “enjoy,” he deadpans to a nonplussed seungmin and his equally unbothered partner. 

"oh, thanks.” seungmin takes one, draining half of it in one go. “oh my god, this is so good.”

“of course, it is, sungyoon made it.”

sungyoon nearly jumps. how is it that you always manage to sneak up on him? he can’t figure it out. but even though his heart is pounding, he turns around with a smile on his face to catch you when launch yourself into his arms for a hug. “hey, sungyoon,” you murmur into his skin.

“hey, yourself.” he smiles, pulling away to take you in. “you look beautiful.” as always. 

“you don’t look too bad yourself,” you tease, pulling a bouquet of flowers from behind your back, smiling widely. “for you.”

sungyoon smiles, taking the delicate stems between his hands. “what, no roses?”

“nope,” you reply, popping the p. “our shop ran out. and i’m not about to buy from my competitors.”

a scoff sounds as sungyoon laughs. you narrow your eyes at seungmin and his partner, who are both replying to your gaze with mock glares of their own. it actually used to be a real point of contention, the fact that sungyoon had started dating a worker at the rival florist a few streets away, but now it’s all fun and games.

tulips and carnations, pink and red, fragrant and delicate. sungyoon breathes in their scent before turning back to the counter to hand you one of the last two cups of coffee in the tray. “your favorite.”

“thanks.” you take a long sip before leaning in to kiss him with coffee-tasting lips. “ready to go?”

“absolutely.” he takes your hand, squeezing your palm gently. “come on. we’ve got a long evening planned, don’t we?”

11. “it’s so cold! why can’t valentine’s day be in summer?!”

bomin collapses on the floor as the music turns off for the last time that evening. “oh my god,” he gasps, staring at the ceiling. “y/n, i literally hate you.”

“not my fault you aren’t flexible enough,” you snip, effortlessly folding your legs as you sit down next to his prone figure. “now get up. i got you coffee from that place you like.”

in a flash, he’s sitting, making grabby hands for the cup between your fingers. “did sungyoon make it?” 

“yes.” you roll your eyes but hand him the coffee anyway, smiling. “sometimes i think you love him more than me, you know?”

“impossible.” bomin pouts at you over the cup. “i love you more than anything.”

“i know, i’m just teasing.” you stand, reach out a hand, and pull him up. “gross, you’re all sweaty.”

“i just danced for an entire hour and on our anniversary no less, valentine’s day, the most romantic day of the year -”

“yeah, yeah.” you nudge him with your shoulder as you two leave the studio. “you’re the one who told me to make sure you do your stretching exercises every day, right? valentine’s day is no exception. we did so much earlier in the day, too - you can’t say we didn’t have fun.” a smirk rises on your lips and you nudge him again. “besides, whose fault is it that our anniversary is on the cheesiest day of the year?”

bomin groans as the two of you walk out into cold air. “listen, daeyeol and everyone else was giving me extremely bad advice and i couldn’t wait and i just wanted it to be romantic, okay -”

“i know.” you pause in your step, reach up, and press a soft kiss on his lips. “i know, bomin. you’ve told me this before.”

“then don’t tease me,” he grumbles, dodging donghyun and youngtaek as they run, screaming about cold, into the dance studios where it’s warmer. “it’s so cold,” he continues grumbling, burrowing his head into his coat. “why can’t valentine’s day be in summer?”

a laugh sparkles from your lips, and against his grumpy will, bomin finds the corners of his mouth lifting at the sound. “can’t exactly control when a saint dies,” you reply, linking your arm with his. “and isn’t it kind of sweet? holding hands to keep each other warm?”

bomin sighs, allowing the smile to full spread across his face. “i guess,” he concedes, unlinking your arms so he can hold your hand in his. “still doesn’t mean i don’t want to get back to the dorms and cuddle you right now.”

“well, the faster you go, the faster we get back!” you fling his hand away, sprinting forward onto the path. “last one back is the bigger idiot!”

“hey!” bomin complains, trying to follow behind on legs still shaky from exercise. “hey, slow down!”

“hell no!” you yell. “running fast will get you warm!”

(bomin does catch up to you in the end, grabbing your hand just outside the dorm and spinning you around to press a laughing kiss against your lips. he’s warm, now, warm from the exercise, but he feels far warmer from the feeling of your arms wrapped around him.)

5. “30 roses, one for every cat you’re gonna have when you’re old and alone.”

at first, donghyun doesn’t notice when you appear in the dance studio. you come in quietly, the noise of the door opening and closing overpowered by the music blasting from the speaker in the corner. he’s too focused on youngtaek and his partner, making sure every one of their movements is perfectly in sync. 

when the music fades, clapping sounds and donghyun turns to see you standing just inside the studio, smiling behind a large bouquet of roses. he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he bounds up to you and crushes you in a sweaty hug. “hi.”

“hello to you too, sweaty.” you push him away playfully. “don’t crush the roses!”

donghyun pouts but obediently wipes his face off on a towel youngtaek hands him. “you value the roses over me,” he whines. 

“not so.” you laugh. “i value the roses because they’re for you, and when i actually hand them over, i want them to still look nice.”

donghyun melts into the wooden studio floor. he really does. youngtaek takes advantage of his whipped™ moment and shoves him out the door with his belongings, leaving you to follow behind as fast as possible before you’re trapped in the studio. 

once outside, you take donghyun’s (now dry) hand. “flowers for donghyun,” you announce, pressing the bouquet into his other palm. “thirty roses, one for every cat you’re gonna have when you’re old and alone.”

“old and alone?” donghyun stops in his tracks. “what about you?”

“oh shit.” you laugh. “i didn’t think about that. i’ll be there with you, of course. just us and our thirty cats. unless you get tired of me before then.”

you say it with a joking tone, but donghyun still pouts at your words. “i’m not going to get tired of you,” he says, squeezing your hand tighter. “never, y/n.”

a small, shy smile spreads across your lips and donghyun revels in the feeling of making you feel flustered on this lovely day. “all right, donghyun.” the smile grows wider. “i could never get tired of you either.”

he kisses your cheek, kisses the corner of your lips. you start whining for him to give you a real kiss and he laughs, dancing out of the way. “only if you promise not to say stuff like that anymore,” he bargains, dodging your lips. “promise!”

“i promise!” you trap him between your arms, leaning in close as your eyes sparkle. “i promise, donghyun.”

“okay,” he breathes, pulling you closer. “okay.”

against your lips, he smiles. 

2. “happy valentine’s day.”

music blasts in the background as you and youngtaek begin cleaning up your studio. even though you both are exhausted from hours of dancing, the music seems to work its way into your veins again as you pick up the last few things from the floor. twirling once or twice in time to the beat, you put them back in your bag before spinning, arms held out wide.

youngtaek catches you, pulling your hand as it flies out and dipping you down. his eyes crinkle as he smiles, face just inches away from yours. he braves the small chasm to kiss you briefly before holding you closer, losing himself in the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. 

for a few blissful moments, you only stare, smiling into each other’s eyes. the pounding music fades, soon replaced with a slow, soft song. 

youngtaek breaks your silence. “hey, dance with me?”

you laugh. “we’ve been dancing for hours, youngtaek. you’re not tired already?”

he kisses you again. “never tired if i’m with you.”

with that, you twirl him around, giggling as he spins dramatically before wrapping his arms around your waist once more. you put your hands on his shoulders and sway slowly, gently, peacefully, as the music rolls around you in waves. 

youngtaek likes it like this, likes it peaceful and quiet and calm. for others, valentine’s day might be about big displays of love, over the top shows of romance, but even though those are nice every once in a while, it’s possible to show so much love in a soft look, a gentle touch, in the feeling of his head resting against your shoulder as you sway gently to the music. 

he doesn’t need roses, doesn’t need chocolates or jewelry to know that you love him and he loves you. he’ll treasure the handmade card you gave him this morning, just as you’ll listen to the song he composed you for weeks, months, and hopefully years. head tucked into your neck, he presses a soft kiss to the skin, smiling at the way you shiver slightly against him. 

“tired?” you murmur, running a hand through his hair. 

youngtaek’s eyes close in bliss. “not yet.” it’s not quite a lie, he still has strength in his legs, but he wants to stay in your embrace just a little longer. just a little.

“if you say so.” your fingers continue carding through his hair. “we can go whenever you want.”

“okay.” youngtaek’s smile widens. “i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too, youngtaek.” you pull away slightly, kiss his forehead. “happy valentine’s day.”

[justpan]

Title: Unwilling Bride

Summary: At last it is time for the battle between Pirates and Lost Boys.

Pairing: Peter x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31

Everything was on track.

The camp was moved, the fences were ready; even better, Tootles found a way to put them all on a single pulley system.

One rope cut and all the fences would drop down in sync, that meant that the archers wouldn’t need to waste arrows trying to trigger them each individually.

Peter made good on his word, he was watching the pirates, constantly. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t sleeping at all.

All he seemed to do was sit up in the tallest trees he could find, send his shadow to locate the enemy, and report his findings to Felix who was patrolling the new camp.

‘Any news?’ you asked as Felix approached you.

‘They are less than a day away from the battle ground.’

‘Finally, guess we’d better get our asses in gear, can’t be late for our own party.’ you smiled excitedly.

‘BOYS!!! GET READY, THE GAME IS ABOUT TO START!!!’ Pan yelled as he marched into the camp.

His back was straight and he had a glint in his eye, the smile on his face was shark like and dangerous.

Like the smile you saw the first day you met him, it was as if he was on top of the world.

‘You heard me didn’t you? Get to the battle ground, or you’ll miss all the fun!’ he shouted.

The boys cheered nice and loud, and almost instantly the camp was hectic.

Everyone was running around grabbing their weapons, already laced with dreamshade.

‘You ready squirrel?’ Rufio asked.

‘As ready as I can be, little bird.’ you smiled.

‘I bet I can take down more pirates than you.’ he grinned.

‘Oh, yeah? What’s the wager?’

‘How about...if I win we try to take things further.’ Rufio suggested.

Your breath got caught in your throat, you hadn’t expected that to be on his mind right before you ran into battle.

‘And if I win?’

‘Then...we’ll do whatever you want.’

‘And if I want to take things further...what then?’ you asked, a small smile pulling at your lip.

‘Then I guess it’s a win win for us.’

Well, it looked like you were both on the same page, you both wanted to. There was a battle hours away, and by the time you got back to your room the two of them would be bloody and exhausted.

You couldn’t think of a more perfect way to lose your virginity.

‘A win win.’ you smiled.

‘Yeah?’ Rufio asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

‘Yes, really, I’m still gonna take out more geezers than you.’ you grinned.

‘We’ll see.’

‘Hey! Be cute later, we gotta get moving and fast.’ Felix said, dragging the two of you along with the others.

You quickly shook away your feelings and started getting mentally ready for the battle; you couldn’t afford any distractions. Because this wasn’t training, it was a real battle with an opponent that would kill you if you gave them the chance.

Everything needed to go right, the fences, the arrows, the fight. Most important was the feeling.

This fight needed to feel like a guaranteed win; every Lost Boy needed to believe they would live through this fight and every pirate they let live needed to feel like it was a mistake to challenge The Lost Boys.

Once you all arrived everyone got in position, you saw Rufio taking his place with the clubs, Felix with the clubs.

Pan was standing in the middle of the clearing, watching over everything.

You walked over to him, to go over everything one last time.

‘How long?’

‘They should be here in less than an hour.’ he replied.

‘Their numbers?’

‘Less than fifty.’

‘Good, we got the mass and the skills...but I feel like something is wrong.’ you said to yourself.

‘Whatever it is we have no time to dwell on it, get down.’ Pan said.

You nodded and used your magic to put a door into the hollow tree behind Pan, you stood there and charmed the door to close.

In the dark you made sure you still had enough room for your arms to move the way you needed to work your magic.

With that done you put up a spell on the bark in front of you so you could see the clearing.

It looked like everyone was in place, now it was just a matter of time.

You watched in anticipation as the quiet settled over the camp, all you heard was your own breathing.

At last you could hear a rustle from the trees, and watched as the pirates entered the clearing.

‘I take it you are not here to deliver a box of cakes.’ Pan said smugly.

‘No I’m not.’ the one you knew to be Captain Hook said in false politeness.

‘Then why are you and your friends here? Did you want to play a game?’

‘No games this time Pan.’

‘There’s always a game, and this one is called...Pirates and Hunters. You can be the pirates.’ Pan grinned before he whistled.

The arrow zipped through the air and like magic the fences dropped down and closed in the clearing.

Immediately the clubs and swords jumped out of the trees.

‘Let’s play!’ Pan yelled.

You watched the pirates pull out their swords and listened to their war cry as the much anticipated battle finally began.

All you wanted was to be in the middle of it, but you had to keep your eyes sharp, that was your job; make sure none of your own were killed in the scuffle.

So you watched every pirate and followed every arrow to make sure only pirates were hit by them.

At the left you saw Tootles fighting with one man while another was behind, his sword ready to stab the boy in the back so you shot out your hand and used your magic to yank the pirate all the way back to your tree.

His back hit the bark with a loud crack that came from either his skull or his spine cracking, either way he was certainly not getting up ever again.

Without taking a moment to think of the first man you’ve ever killed you got back to following the battle.

A few arrows were missing targets and planting themselves in trees and in the dirt, whenever you were sure no boys were in immediate danger you would take up the arrows and have them hit any pirates that were near it.

It seemed as if everything was going perfectly, only old fat bodies were on the ground and at least six were dropped by the fences.

You looked to your right and saw Rufio, he was fighting two pirates, moving so swiftly it looked almost graceful. He kicked one down then spun to bring his club down on the other and while he did that you dragged the other and slammed his head on one of the roots of your tree.

All of a sudden you heard a loud crash and the camp went silent.

One of the fences was blown to shreds, you could see a canon where the door once was and saw the last person you ever expected to see on a battlefield.

Wendy.

She was there with her hands tied in a way that kept them over her ears and covering her eyes.

A fat man with a red cap was beside her, with a sword to her throat.

‘Smee, good form.’ Hook said happily.

You looked to Pan and saw he was standing across from the captain, their swords still touching from when they had been battling.

‘Now...how about a new game? I call it Hostage.’

Pan was furious, but if he knew how to do anything it was how to compose himself.

‘That’s cheating.’

‘Pirates aren’t known for following rules. Now how about this we’ll give you your little girl, in exchange you grant us passage off this damned island.’ the pirate smiled.

The fat man in the red hat handed the crying girl to his captain who placed his hook to her throat.

‘If I don’t like the game?’

‘Then I’ll rip this girl’s heart out, in the bloody way. From my understanding she is rather important to you.’

‘It so happens she is.’

‘Take the deal.’ the one handed pirate offered.

‘Deal, there will be a portal just for you in the middle of the sea, but know that I will never open another portal for you again. You will be in the ground feeding the maggots in some boring realm before you ever see the alligator you want.’

‘Oh I will find him, now call off your dogs.’

You looked to Pan, looking for anything, any sign that he had a plan. A sure way to get Wendy away from the pirates and still win this battle.

There was nothing, no knowing smirk or calculating look in his eyes, he just looked furious. Angrier than you have ever seen him before, considering that at one point he had chased you through the woods that said something.

‘Game’s over boys, looks like pirates don’t play fair...bad form.’ he said.

One by one all the boys threw down their weapons and the archers stepped out from their hiding spots, but you stayed put.

You looked over, when you saw something red moving behind the canon that was still smoking behind the fairy tail captain.

Rufio.

He had his club raised high and eyes set on Hook’s head, in an instant you understood his plan, kill the pirate so Pan could get Wendy and we could get back to killing these old geezers.

But unfortunately you weren’t the only one who saw him.

Hook’s namesake was always polished, not for the sake of looks, but to see the reflections of things behind him. It was impossible to not notice such a loudly dressed lad.

Swift as wind he withdrew his hook from Wendy’s neck and before you could even scream in terror he had buried his hook in Rufio’s chest.

‘NO!’ you yelled.

The pirate removed his hook and let Rufio’s body drop to the ground.

You ran through the door of your tree and rushed to your boyfriend’s side, there was so much blood covering his chest you couldn’t see where the wound actually was.

‘No, no it’s OK. I can fix it.’ you said with shaking breath.

You tried to use your magic to heal him, but it wouldn’t work. Your hands were too unsteady and you couldn’t focus on how the body was meant to connect.

‘It’s...ok...Love y-you....’ Rufio choked out before his eyes lost focus and his body went limp.

‘No…’ you sobbed, you placed your forehead to his and tried to force him to be ok, or maybe to make yourself wake up.

Whatever you were trying to do didn’t matter because it didn’t work.

Felix was suddenly by your side, his eyes were wet, but he wasn’t crying.

He placed his hand on your shoulder and kneeled down with you over Rufio.

You didn’t notice it, but the camp had gone silent.

All these centuries of running wild on this island and killing any intruders and this was the first time they had ever lost one of their own.

‘No one else try anything, let me and my men go Pan.’ Hook said, removing the blindfold from Wendy's eyes and hands.

‘Leave the girl, and know that if I ever see you again, on this island or in any realm at all you will be as dead as that brother of yours.’ Pan spat out.

With tears in your eyes you watched the pirates retreat through the woods, a part of you wanted to burn the whole island down but you couldn’t.

Magic required a good amount of control, and you had never felt more unstable in your life.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that were spilling out of you or make your body stop shaking; there was only one thing in your mind.

Rufio was dead.

Your boyfriend had just died in your arms and there was nothing you could do about it no matter how strong your magic was.

Magic can do a lot but not that; dead is dead and it’s forever permanent.

‘(Y/N).’ Peter said solemnly.

‘I couldn’t save him, I saw him making his move and I didn’t stop him.’ you said around the lump in your throat.

‘We all saw him, and we all thought he could do it, it isn’t your fault.’ he said.

All at once it clicked in your head, like the last piece of a puzzle a thought formed in your mind.

Wendy.

‘You!’ you all but growled as you stood up and tackled the only other girl on the island to the ground.

‘You got him killed!’ you screamed in her tear streaked face as you wrapped your hands around her throat.

With all your strength you tried to crush her windpipe; if it was the last thing you did you were going to make her suffer for what she did.

‘(Y/N)!’ Peter yelled as suddenly you were yanked back, partially pulling Wendy with you, but eventually you lost your grip.

With a grunt and a thud that probably sounded worse than it actually felt you hit the ground.

‘I-I’m sorry!’ Wendy coughed, looking as pitiful and as helpless as the insect she was.

‘You will be, I’ll make you sorry!’ you spat as you struggled against the magic weight that was holding your body down.

‘Calm down.’ Peter said, his voice calm and clear as he stood over you.

‘Fuck calm! I want her dead!’

‘So do I.’ Felix said from beside Rufio’s body.

Felix closed his friend's eyes and looked up at his leader.

‘She betrayed us...Rufio is dead because her. She has been prancing through camp being as useless as a leech in dress and none of us said anything to you, but this.’ Felix said, standing up and pointing the body in front of him.

‘We can’t ignore this; and I won’t forgive it.’

More boys spoke in their agreement and soon they were all but spitting at the girl, the sight at one point would have disgusted you, but right now you just want to get up.

‘Quiet!’ Pan yelled, his voice strong and loud.

‘I know...the girl deserves to die, she deserves to die bloody. She is useless and no one likes her, not even me despite what I know you all think; but I still need her. We all do if we want to win the real game.’

The real game.

His master plan, the one he hadn’t even disclosed to you completely, all you knew was the goal, he needed Bae’s child; to get him he needed the Darling boys, and to keep them in line he needed Wendy.

Rufio was dead, his killers were on their way to freedom and all Peter, no not Peter, Pan cared about was his goal.

‘I hate you.’ you said, not even realizing you had said it.

You probably wouldn’t have even noticed your own voice if silence hadn’t become so heavy, as heavy as the weight that was no longer pinning you down.

Slowly you pulled yourself up and you looked at Peter, or Pan or whoever the hell the boy demon really was.

‘Rufio...he fought for you, he killed for you, and because of that stupid daffodil in a dress he died for you. You are so selfish and self concerned that you won’t even avenge him, won’t let me avenge him! He deserves that much!’ you cried.

‘(Y/N) I know right now it feels raw but-’

‘Not just now! I will never forgive this!’ you snapped.

You looked from him to Wendy and had to refrain from attacking her a second time.

‘Hide her, don’t ever let me see her face because if I do I will kill her...the same goes for you Pan.’

‘What are you saying?’ Peter asked, still masking his emotions in that way that not even you could see through it.

‘I’m saying that I hate you Peter Pan and if I ever see you again I will put you in the fucking ground...you and your little daffodil.’ you said.

Your eyes moved to the boys, the ones you had been laughing and training with for what must have been nearly a century now.

‘Only love for you all, if any of you ever find me I won’t be sore to see you; and if you’re following orders to find me I’ll fight you fair. Keep each other safe...since we can see vengeance is only priority in the right circumstance.’

You looked down at Rufio and again your vision was obstructed by tears.

‘Bury him by my tree, Felix.’

‘I will.’ your best friend without any hesitation

With that done you felt like you had said all you could say, so you turned away from all of them,

From Rufio’s body, your ex Peter Pan, the girl who’d gotten your boyfriend killed and all your friends too.

You look out at the woods and spare no time to think of all the dangers that hid behind the trees as you walked away from what was once your home.

[fleckcmscott]

Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too. 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​ @jokerownsmysoul​ @rafaelbottom​ @ralugraphics​ @iartsometimes​

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 5x10-- And the violence spread.

So, that’s it for season five. I’m still trying to sort out how I feel about the season as a whole and Wackner’s arc. I’m hopeful that writing this will help me decide.

This episode has a Previously, and it’s rather conventional. I’m guessing it’s here to bookend the season, with conveying information being only a secondary objective.  

Did we see Rivi scream, “You’re done, Wacko, you’re done! Canceled! Canceled!” in the last episode or is that new to this previously? I feel like I absolutely would’ve had things to say about a) Wackner being called “Wacko,” which has been RIGHT THERE this whole time, and b) the use of “Canceled,” which is a thing Rivi would never say but is VERY thematic (you know, cancel culture and also Wackner having a TV show and also this being a TV show that’s wrapping up* Wackner’s arc).

* The way things end this episode, I’d say we’re done with Wackner. The Kings have said they aren’t sure about the plan for season six, so never say never, but I think that if we see Wackner again, it will be as part of a different arc.  

I went back to 5x09 and while we do see the same shots of Rivi screaming, whatever he’s saying in 5x09 is in Spanish. So either he was saying this in Spanish or the dialogue here is totally new.  

I’m a little sad that I knew in advance Robert King had directed this episode, because I want to know how long it would’ve taken me to guess. I’d like to think this first shot, of Diane flopping down on her bed in a very pretty floral print dress, then Kurt flopping down in the opposite direction, would’ve given it away. We usually don’t get shots that are both striking and kinda balanced unless RK’s directing.  

This also has some big season three opener vibes—the scene where Diane turns to Kurt and says, “I’m happy,” thus jinxing the entire season.  

Diane and Kurt are about to go on vacation, which means, of course, that Diane and Kurt are definitely not about to go on vacation. I’ve watched 12 seasons of this show; I know all the tricks!  

If I didn’t get it from the initial staging of the opening shot, the camera panning to Diane and Kurt’s suitcases and then back would’ve been another clue that RK directed. He ALWAYS has the camera in motion.  

I love that Diane’s travel outfit is a dress you could wear to a fancy party and a statement necklace. Of course it is.

And if I needed evidence that RK and MK wrote this episode (which I didn’t; it is a finale so I knew they wrote it), Diane quoting Waiting for Godot is a clue there.  

I really should read Waiting for Godot, shouldn’t I?  

“Wow. Educated and a good lay,” Kurt responds. I know that the political stuff between Diane and Kurt can get more than a little murky, but banter like this reminds me why they stay together and why politics never drive them apart. Also, it’s really nice to see Diane and Kurt have some fun banter that isn’t about politics.  

And Diane making kissing noises and asking Kurt to meet her halfway! This just feels like I’m spying on someone’s private life and I love it. Not in a voyeuristic way, since this is actually a little uncomfortably private, but in a, “ah, yes, these do feel like real people” way. This is the kind of “a little goes a long way” character moment I always want more of, and Kings episodes ALWAYS include stuff like this.

And there it is. The phone rings as Diane and Kurt are about to start out for the airport. Diane thinks the call must be for Kurt, but it’s for her. It’s a very flustered Liz, informing her that STR Laurie’s execs are on their way to the office for a surprise visit.

If the Diane/Kurt scene didn’t tell me that Robert King directed, I almost certainly would’ve gotten it from the sudden cut to Liz, walking through the hallways and doing a million things at once with a ton of background noise. No one loves chaos the way Robert King loves chaos.  

This episode STRONGLY reminds me of the Wife season five finale. It is equally chaotic and also spins a ton of plates. But, mostly, the similarity I see between the two episodes is that they are both extremely fun and captivating to watch because of how much momentum they have, but everything just feels slightly hollow and not exactly focused on the thing you want to see.  

(Shout out to my friend Ryan, who messaged me the 5x22 comparison before I could message it to him!)  

I decided I should rewatch the first few minutes of 5x22. I am now 15 minutes into 5x22 of Wife and 2 minutes into 5x10 of Fight. Oops.  

Apparently, STR Laurie planned a surprise visit because they heard RL was dysfunctional. You don’t say!  

I felt like 5x09 concluded with STR Laurie being won over by Allegra and the RL team, so this is a bit of a surprising place to start the episode. But, since Diane seems surprised too, I’ll allow it.  

Now Liz and Diane have 90 minutes to agree on a financial plan! Kurt’s on the phone with the airline before Diane even hangs up with Liz.  

Diane is determined not to lose out on her vacation and asks Kurt to change the flight to 8:00. “Kurt, we are going on this vacation if it kills me!” is a line I would worry was foreshadowing on basically any other show.

The RL/STRL PowerPoint template is pretty ugly. They want to call 2021 their best year yet, thanks to the deal between Rivi and Plum Meadow Farms we saw last week. Even though we saw champagne and signatures, the deal isn’t done yet because Plum Meadow can back out if Rivi goes to jail.

RK also loves close-ups more than any other director on the show; I do not love close-ups.  

The Plum Meadow deal is such a big deal that for the quarter, they go from $45 million to $5 million without it. They should just not say numbers. I can believe it’s big enough to take them from a modest profit to being behind projections or whatever, but I can’t believe that they have $5 million in other business and $40 million on this one deal.  

It seems that Rivi was arrested. I don’t think it is ever said in this episode why. I assume the arrest relates to his behavior in Wackner’s court, since there were police officers there, and I suppose that Rivi is a big enough deal the police would actually take him to real court, but are we not going to address the weirdness of Rivi being arrested in a fake court where his employees are being tried, then taken to a real court by the same people who just an episode ago were disillusioned with real court? This seems like a plot point.

Carmen on a frantic phone call in the backseat of a car feels very 7x22.  

Who is James that Carmen has in her contacts!? And why does everyone always put Liz in their contacts as “Elizabeth Reddick” when everyone calls her Liz?  

Carmen calls Marissa to go argue in Vinetta’s court since she’s on Rivi duty. Carmen doesn’t take Marissa’s job in Wackner’s court seriously and then notes that this instruction is coming straight from Liz, so Marissa falls in line.  

Wackner’s case of the week is about rural Illinois wanting to form its own state separate from Chicago. There’s a farmer who feels like his tax money is only going to the big city and he wants it to stay in his community.  

They’ve just now added stage lighting to the set of Wackner Rules, dunno why they wouldn’t have done that earlier!

I don’t know what standing you’d have to have to bring a case about wanting to divide the state in two to court, or if this is even something a court would or should decide, but, sure, Wackner and Cord, go for it. There are no rules!  

This map splitting Illinois into two new states that Cord is holding is a dumb prop because Galena, where this farmer is from, is in the same section as Chicago. Do I pause every reference to Chicago on this show and then google information to see if the writers bothered to look it up or pretend they’ve ever set foot in Chicago? You know I do.

“Secession!” the audience screams. Does the audience of Wackner Rules really want to see this?

A Good Fight Short! And it really is short: “Stop this obsession with secession and breaking up the Union. It’s boring and it’s dumb, end of song.” I feel like that’s the thesis statement for this episode, or one of them (that this episode seems to have about ten thesis statements is kind of my problem with this episode, tbh). This episode is very much about danger of things becoming too fractured—the COTW, the copycat courts, the firm drama—and I feel like the writers come around to just saying no, this is enough, we need structure and consistency.

But more on that later. MUCH more on that later.

Marissa is swearing more because “the world has required it.” She notes this to Wackner as she calls him out on the secession case. Cord barges in.

Take a look at the employee of the month poster on the back of the door at 5:39. Then at 5:40, look at what’s in the box just to the right of the center of the screen: it’s an employee of the month poster with Wackner on it! Cute easter egg. (Would Marissa definitely notice this and have questions? Yes. Is this here as a cute easter egg for eagle-eyed fans? Almost certainly.)  

“Insane is just one step away from reality if you get people to believe, and you know what makes people believe? TV.” Cord explains when Marissa asks how they can possibly be litigating this case. That’s thesis statements two and three, folks. The first is that if you get people to believe, then anything is possible, which sounds like a tagline for a Disney movie but is actually super dangerous; the second is that reality TV is a way to persuade people and change opinions.  

So we’ve got: (1) Factions are bad. (2) People are persuadable and the rules don’t actually matter. (3) Reality TV changes minds. Let’s see if there are more.

(Yes, these theses do kind of add up to a whole—The rules don’t matter, so if you persuade people, through reality tv, you get factions of people believing their own sets of rules and facts—but what I'm interested in tracking throughout this episode is how well the writers actually bring these theses together.)

(And this is setting aside that key themes in previous episodes, that I think many of us were looking for resolution on, included outlining the flaws with the extant “real” justice system and exploring the role of prison in the justice system. From this episode, I don’t think the writers ever intended to really tackle either of those issues. That’s fine—I'm not sure that TGF has something to say about prison abolition and I don’t want a thought experiment where the writers actually try to fix the legal system—but feels a bit disjointed. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but 5x08 and 5x09 needed to do a better, clearer job of setting up this finale. The key themes of Wackner’s arc were always present, but they needed to slowly narrow the scope so the resolution felt inevitable and clear. Instead, we spent time on things like parking spaces (when we could’ve had a real plot about how Wackner’s court gains legitimacy through violence, incarceration, and playing on people’s frustration with the real systems) and Del’s focus groups (when we could’ve instead done a plot about Wackner gaining fans who wanted to use his methods to do ill). Everything I just mentioned in the parentheticals is in the show! It’s not subtext! We see it all! We see Cord use violence and prisons to enforce Wackner’s rulings; we see the cops turn to Wackner out of frustration; we see that the people drawn to Wackner Rules and to Wackner’s court are increasingly sounding more and more like right-wing populists! I can’t be too hard on this arc because, again, all these ideas are there. I’m not coming up with them on my own!)

I’m just saying: this ending would’ve been a lot clearer and a lot more interesting had the writers focused on what I mentioned above instead of the distractions of the last two episodes.  

Whew, that was a ramble. Hope you’re ready for more rambles.

On a similar note, I’d like to reiterate my problems with how the writers used Marissa after the private prison reveal. I don’t have much more to say than what I wrote last week, but it’s another example of the same problem. Marissa objecting to Wackner’s court because she notices what it’s becoming and how Cord plans to use it for political gain (two Illinoises (??) changes the Senate and the Electoral College...) always was going to be part of the endgame. Marissa only seriously objecting after the fourth or fifth line Wackner crosses feels bizarre.  

Cord does NOT like that there is another court, and wants to protect Wackner’s IP. Wackner, as we saw last episode, does not feel threatened by the other court. In fact, he seems to be excited by it.  

I love Liz questioning Diane’s outfit like it’s unprofessional. It’s a little low-cut and showy, but I don’t think unprofessional is the word I’d use for it.  

Now they have 45 minutes to decide The Future Of The Firm and Diane wants to be considered a name partner. Oh, that debate is still raging?! Every time I think it’s done it comes back, which should probably be a sign to Diane that her options are to leave and start something new, jettison Madeline and the others, or step down. Staying on as name partner and calling it a black firm is just not an option.  

“Diane, there is a split in the firm that...” Liz starts, before asking some associates to leave the room. Ha! The reveal Liz and Diane aren’t alone is a pretty fun touch.

“The Black equity partners don’t want to be in your work group,” Liz informs Diane. “Because they think they’ll be punished by this firm?” Diane asks. “No, that’s paranoia. We don’t punish here,” Liz responds. “Of course you do. My fracking client. My union client. The Black lawyers who work on those cases—they're considered traitors” Diane says. “Because those CEOs are racists,” Liz counters.

Lots going on here, and I’m not sure I understand it all. Why would the equity partners—who are partners—feel like they’re being punished by being in Diane’s work group? (And also what does a “work group” mean and why haven’t they talked about it in the past?) When Diane starts talking about the lawyers who staff her clients, she’s not talking about equity partners; she is talking about associates.

And people are giving associates shit for working on Diane’s clients whom they happen to be staffed on!? That’s sad, though believable.

“So what do we do? Only bring in clients who can pass the racial smell test?” Diane asks. I mean, actually, yes. IF the goal is to be a black firm and to have that designation mean something in moral terms rather than marketing terms, then yes.  

“It’s okay if you’re a drug kingpin like Rivi, but it’s not okay if you want me as lead attorney?” Diane says. Also, yes. Diane makes good points here.  

“Diane, this is not about you,” Liz counters. Um, sure, but it has to be about something, Liz. Unless you’re trying to build a firm you don’t control that makes 88% of its revenue from a drug dealer (40 million out of 45 million this quarter = 88%; I told you they shouldn’t give me numbers) but happens to have black people in charge, you have to grapple with this question. I don’t think anyone who’s fighting for the firm to be a black-led (not owned, bc STRL) business is the type of person who thinks that having a black-led firm that does all the same shit as any other firm is in itself a good thing, so you NEED to address your client list. Madeline is anti-Rivi, anti-Cord, anti-Wolfe-Coleman (the rapist guy), pro-social justice, and pro having a black led firm.  

“I mean, why... why do white people personalize this?” Liz asks. “Oh, now I’m just a white person?” Diane responds. I... don’t know what to do with this! Liz is right that Diane is taking this personally; Diane is right that Liz needs to deal with the rest of the client list. But no one is saying the things that REALLY need to be said: That all their decisions are meaningless in the shadow of STRL, and that deciding to be a black led firm isn’t the end of the discussion if they haven’t decided what types of clients they want to have.  

“What happened, Liz? Last year we were intent on an all-female-run law firm,” Diane starts. Oh, THIS AGAIN! Diane never learns, does she? She never seems to realize that no one she’s approached with this idea is NEARLY as in love with it as she is. She probably still wonders to herself why Alicia—who partnered with her at the end of season seven basically just because it was the easiest, most frictionless thing to do—didn't seem more committed to their firm.  

“Diane, there is history here that we are trying to...” Liz says, but Diane cuts in to note that women (women like Diane Lockhart!) have history too! In fact, she’s spent “35 years fighting gender discrimination to get to this position.” “And we have spent 400 years fighting racial discrimination to try and, you know...” Liz starts, before cutting herself off to get back to the ticking clock.

Sigh. Just talk about the actual thing instead of talking around the thing, guys. Diane is obviously deserving of A name partnership, in the abstract. This is an undeniable fact. And while Diane is definitely making this about herself rather than the big picture, I don’t think Liz trying to trump Diane’s 35 year career with the history of black people is going to win her any arguments? Like, just say what you mean and say it clearly. What Liz, I think, wants to express is that Diane’s individual accomplishments aren’t the issue here and everyone thinks she’s deserving (though Liz suggested Diane was not deserving a few episodes ago, which I didn’t understand then and don’t understand now). The problem is that Diane is trying to fight a battle that’s about something much larger than herself with, “but I'm a good lawyer!”  

And that’s KIND OF what Liz is saying here, if I add all her sentences up and read between the lines, but, again, why not just say it?  

“Alright, now we have 43 minutes to fix race relations, gender relations. STR Laurie’s gonna fire our asses, and you know it,” Liz says. I am curious what that would look like. Wouldn’t that just mean that STRL wouldn’t control them anymore? I’m sure being fired would be bad and all, but wouldn’t it free them from the contract they wanted out of last year?  

“Let’s split the firm down the middle. I hire half the lawyers, you hire the other half,” Diane suggests. What does this mean? Why are you hiring your employees? Huh?

“You hire the white associates, and I hire the black associates?” Liz confirms. This seems like a very bad idea that would make things a lot worse and open them up to lawsuits! I also still do not know what they’re even talking about. And I don’t know why Allegra isn’t a part of this conversation.

“I’m not saying it’s good. I’m just saying it’s what we’re left with. It's what we can agree on,” Diane says. I really wish I understood what “hire” meant in this context because I don’t understand why they have to split anything or why this has to be done now and I don’t understand why this would possibly be a good solution. Can you imagine the backlash when people realize all the white people report to Diane and all the black people to Liz and that people were taken off of the accounts they’ve worked on for years to accomplish this? And this must be something that the employees would know about eventually; otherwise they could just randomly assign half to Liz and half to Diane.  

I’m sad Madeline isn’t in this episode because I feel like we needed to see more of her POV as well as the associate POV. I don’t really understand the divides at play within the firm or what the staff and other partners are asking for, but I suspect it isn’t this.

Hallucination Jesus is back, and at least there’s actually a point to him this time (he shows up when Jay is in Vinetta’s court and reminds Jay that Vinetta will rule based on her religious beliefs). I still dislike the hallucinations.

Jay advises Marissa, who is Jewish, to talk a lot about Jesus in her defense.  

Charmaine Bingwa is really great as Carmen, and obviously she is not fluent in Spanish, but it’s so funny to me that the only time you can hear that she’s Australian is when she’s trying to say Oscar like she’s speaking Spanish.  

"I know you’re hiding something when you speak English,” Rivi says to Carmen. Heh.  

“Community court” is such a nice, unthreatening term for referring to Wackner and his copy cats. Thanks for that, Carmen!

It’s a smart plan to mention Jesus a lot, I guess, but Jay and Marissa both should’ve realized that Vinetta is too smart to tolerate obvious pandering. I’m a little surprised Jay doesn’t get up and argue since Marissa is, obviously, not familiar with the New Testament.  

Marissa wins this round with facts and logic.

Why is the judge who was handling Rivi’s previous charge now in bond court? Make it make sense.

I like that Carmen calls out the ASA for swearing hahaha  

Why... would this Matteo kid just casually mention he was holding a gun, omg.  

In Vinetta’s court, you can be charged with murder and tried because... you had a gun and also there were murders at other times. Coolcoolcool no problems here.

Community courts for civil cases? Sure. That’s basically arbitration. Community courts for criminal cases? Bad, bad, bad idea.  

Vinetta’s reasoning: “Those murders happened on our street, and the police haven’t convicted anyone because they don’t care. We care. This is self-defense. And how is it different from your court?” Aside from the whole imprisoning people in her basement thing, Vinetta’s not wrong. I almost brought this up last week but hesitated because I couldn’t remember the details enough to decide if I wanted to recommend it, but there’s a book I read a few years ago that seems relevant here: Ghettoside by Jill Leovy. Again, been a while so don’t take this as a wholehearted endorsement or anything, but from what I remember, the central issue at the heart of the book (it’s non-fiction) is that a poor black community (I think in LA?) doesn’t trust the police (in part) because the police don’t solve murders, and then with no way of getting justice through the court system, there’s more violence as a stand-in for justice. https://www.vox.com/2016/8/26/12631962/ghettoside-jill-leovy-black-crime

I’m not sure if that’s QUITE what Vinetta is saying but it seems similar, and it’s a decent point (though not a justification for her court). Why should she trust the system to improve her community when it’s ignored her community for years?

I like that the writers chose two very different, very understandable characters for their community courts. It’s easy to see why Wackner and Vinetta feel the need for alternative courts; it’s easy to see why others would trust them. This arc doesn’t really work unless there’s a legitimate frustration with existing systems...  

Marissa calls Wackner’s court a “joke,” which she should understand by now isn’t the case. (Marissa’s smart; she knew it wasn’t a joke the second she saw David Cord get involved.)  

Vinetta accuses Wackner of copying her court, which alarms Marissa. This isn’t addressed again, and I don’t know if it’s true! I could really go either way on this. On the one hand, I absolutely believe that Wackner saw/heard about it, liked it, and did it himself without thinking much of it—and if this is the case, then the ending where Vinetta gets in trouble for violating Wackner’s IP is a lot more of a gut punch. On the other hand, I don’t really feel like the seeds for this were planted. We see Wackner innovate a lot and try new things and he has an explanation for why he does everything—how much of that is Vinetta? And Vinetta clearly watches the show and likes it or she wouldn’t have recognized Marissa, so it’s a little hard for me to just believe her claim when literally all I know about her is she has a court that looks like Wackner’s and she is aware of and feels positively towards Wackner rules. Also, Wackner knows about Vinetta’s court (from Marissa) and sounded excited about it last episode. Sure, he didn’t necessarily know which one it was, exactly, but I assume if he’d copied the idea and then heard about a case involving people from the exact same community where he found the idea... his reaction would be different. So IDK. My reasons for doubting Vinetta’s claim are probably based a little too much in things I’m not meant to spend that much time paying attention to.  

“I fucked up. It’s in the same court, but now it’s a murder case,” Marissa tells Diane. I do like hearing characters admit when they fucked up!  

Diane hears that STRL is delayed, so she heads out to help Matteo. When she goes to change into her pantsuit, she finds that she’s grabbed Kurt’s bag by mistake. “Of course. That makes sense,” she reacts.  

Diane pushes her flight to the next day, also telling Kurt, “And yes, for some reason, I took your suit instead of mine, so fuck it.” I love it when the characters feel like real people.  

I am not sure why Kurt is getting to the office when Diane is leaving or why Kurt is there—to pick Diane up on the way to the airport, maybe?

Carter Schmidt walks into RL at the worst possible time, threating to blow up the Plum Meadow deal. Another 5x10 to Wife 5x22 similarity: he’s in both episodes.  

Liz heads out to help Carmen with Rivi, and then STRL arrives. Oops.  

Credits!

One thing about Wackner’s court that should definitely be a warning sign even though it seems noble: he ignores just about every warning sign, like this rowdy crowd screaming WE LOVE YOU WACKNER or the potential interests at play in a case about secession, because he thinks his fair judgement can overcome these obstacles. If the world worked that way, there’d be no need for his court in the first place.

Is anyone representing the State of Illinois in this trial? If not, then... how is it happening?  

Dr. Goat, some dude who claims to have some hidden historical document about how Illinois is actually two states, is clearly making stuff up and yet Wackner indulges him and Cord. I feel about this the same way as I feel about the Devil’s Advocate: That Wackner would not allow this to go on for more than five seconds before calling bullshit and therefore there is no reason I should have to sit through it.

Why is some guy screaming, “No taxation without representation” like dude you absolutely have representation. But of course, I’m expecting him to be logical, and the point is that he is not.

Dr. Goat’s Latin phrases—shock!-- don’t actually translate into anything like what he said. Even though this information is verifiable by a quick google search, the crowd starts screaming “Liar!!!!” at Marissa. If only I could say this felt unrealistic.

Wackner asks Dr. Goat to bring in the document.  

“You look like you’re heading to the beach,” Vinetta says to Diane, who looks like she’s heading somewhere but definitely not to the beach. Vinetta asks where Diane was headed on vacation. Diane says she’s headed to Lake Como, and unnecessarily clarifies that “It’s in Italy.” She assumes Vinetta doesn’t know that... but Vinetta does.

“So you’ve been there before?” Vinetta probes when Diane says it’s beautiful there. “Just once. We don’t get away often. We thought we’d splurge,” Diane says. Vinetta stares at her and smiles, and Diane hits her head on a basket that’s hanging in Vinetta’s kitchen. If I just write out the dialogue here, it sounds like a perfectly average conversation, but everything about this conversation is so charged: Diane is afraid to look like a wealthy white woman; Vinetta’s pleasantness is pretty clearly also a way of sizing up Diane.  

Vinetta shows Diane pictures of neighborhood children and young adults killed as a consequence of gang violence. You can see she’s not trying to do anything other than help her community, even if her methods are highly questionable.

Diane argues that Matteo should be given over to the police; Vinetta disagrees: “The police haven’t arrested anyone for those murders, any of these. Since the BLM movement, they’ve pulled back from our streets. No one’s coming to help. That’s why I started this court. It’s not a joke to us.” Wait I’m sorry did Vinetta just blame lack of good detective work in black communities on... the BLM movement?!?!?! Is there any foundation to this!? Why can’t it just be that the police weren’t actually doing a good job of policing/finding justice and were being antagonistic towards the community instead of being helpful and no one trusted them?? That explanation is literally right there.

Jay suggests the Jesus strategy, again.  

“It’s women! We could just move on, install men,” STRL guy says. I don’t know if he’s joking, but ugh. Also, what is RL if it has neither Diane nor Liz? A bunch of lawyers who will all promptly quit when they see their bosses get fired and a few opportunists?  

Kurt is watching golf in Diane’s office, and the STRL people love it. Of course Kurt accidentally makes friends with them.  

Court stuff happens. It’s not good for Rivi, and then Liz and Carmen come up with a theory: Plum Meadow is stalling the deal so they can find Rivi’s more stable second and make a deal with them instead.  

Wackner giving Dr. Goat a single point on his stupid little board, for any reason related to his obviously fake totally unverified document, is dangerous. Why would you signal to a crowd that’s clearly not interested in fact that they have a point? That’s basically egging them on.

I know Wackner’s judgment is obviously not 100% sound—need I remind you of the PRIVATE PRISONS?-- but I thought it was more sound than this.  

Wackner shows off his knowledge of paper and proves that Dr. Goat’s document is a fake. Why... did he just give Dr. Goat a point???  

Or is he moving the point from Dr. Goat to Marissa?  

Dr. Goat sounds like a fake name I would call a character in my recaps long past the point of anyone other than myself remembering the joke. (See: Mr. Elk)

“The truth is ugly. The only thing uglier is not pursuing it,” Wackner tells Marissa. How is taking on a case about very obvious falsehoods, funded by someone with a vested interest in the case, that gets people riled up, some noble pursuit of truth?  

STRL and Kurt are now drinking and discussing hunting, while Diane’s arguing for Matteo in Vinetta’s living room. Vinetta is—as was always obvious, sorry Jay—far too smart to fall for this patronizing bullshit. She screams at Diane and plays back a recording (on a baby monitor) of Diane coaching Matteo to lie about his faith.

Soooooo yeah no you can’t do that, that is bad, recording conversations between lawyers and their clients is not good even if it leads to you exposing their schemes...

Then Vinetta places Diane under arrest, which obviously isn’t going to end well for Vinetta.  

Liz and Carmen suggest a post-nup to Rivi to see if Isabel is planning on turning on him.

“I’m going to have to kill her,” Rivi says sadly. I don’t think Rivi will ever kill Isabel because we already did that with Bishop.  

I’m going to assume that Diane chooses to stay in basement prison instead of calling one of the many, MANY, MANY people she could call to get her out/take down Vinetta because she doesn’t want the situation to be publicized or further deteriorate. That said, it’s really not clear why Diane just accepts being sentenced to basement prison with a cell phone.  

Love the STRL man looking at that picture of Diane and HRC. They’ve gotten so much mileage out of that photo.  

Wackner’s court has no rules, but at least since it has no rules, I can’t complain about how its rules make no sense!  

What is this, debate practice?! Ugggghhhhh I can’t deal with this case for much longer.  

Marissa takes a breath, then decides to pursue a strategy she knows could blow everything up.

“Then why care what Judge Wackner decides? Why should you defer to him? Why defer to anyone?” Cord says that’s the point—the people have decided to trust Wackner. “So if you don’t like this court’s decision, you’ll just start a new one?” Marissa asks. “I guess,” Cord concedes.  

“So then why does this matter? This court?” “It matters only insofar as we continue to agree that it matters,” Cord says. “So if you don’t like Judge Wackner’s rulings, you can just ignore them and create a new court?”

Good point, Marissa. Good point. (Does this count as a thesis?)

“I’m guessing that I will like the way the judge decides,” Cord says. Well, that’s basically a threat.

Wackner takes a break and heads to chambers—without Marissa.  

Kurt goes to visit Diane in basement jail. He’s granted a conjugal visit, which means Matteo gets moved up to the bedroom so Diane and Kurt can have some alone time.

Diane is staring at an image of Lake Como in her cell. I thought it was odd she brought a printout of her vacation destination with her, so I LOVED the line where she explains that Vinetta printed it out for her. COLD. (You know who also would’ve done this if they’d for some reason had a basement prison? Bree Van de Kamp. You know what show DID do a basement prison arc I’d rather forget? Desperate Housewives!)  

I love how Diane responds to basement prison by making jokes non-stop.

“I thought the craziness would end with 2020,” Diane says. Nope.

Kurt brought alcohol; Diane brought pot gummies.  

I love that Kurt has never had pot before. I was going to say that I bet Diane’s had a few experiences with recreational drugs when I remembered we had a whole damn season of Diane microdosing.  

Christine and Gary’s acting and their chemistry really bring these basement prison scenes to life. The writing and directing are really sharp, but it’s the actors who make these scenes something special. You can tell Diane and Kurt love each other a lot. You can tell they’re disappointed about their vacation and exhausted by the chaos of the day. You can tell they’re in disbelief over this situation but also find it funny.  

Didn’t Rivi and Isabel have an adult daughter who died of COVID a few episodes ago? Weird she isn’t mentioned in this scene. Maybe from a different marriage/relationship?

Isabel called the SA’s office because she thinks Rivi’s a threat? I think this is a power play.

Heh, Carmen saying, “Shut a black woman up!?” in disbelief in court. Love it.  

Isabel instead flips her story and supports her husband and fights for his release. With no intervention from Plum Meadow, this gets the judge to free Rivi. I don’t really understand what’s happened here or why. I get the resolution, but I don’t get why Isabel called the SA or why this went away so quickly. I still don’t even get why Rivi’s been arrested.

Diane and Kurt put up Christmas lights for ambiance and talk about how they never go on vacation.

“I wanna see the pyramids on this coast!” drunk & high Kurt insists, hilariously. “I mean hemisphere. I like the Aztecs. They, they care about people.” I’m not going to transcribe the rest of the dialogue because it loses its magic when you’re not watching the scene.  

After some fun banter about travel and movies, Diane changes the topic. “I should quit, shouldn’t I? That judge upstairs? She looked at me like I was the most entitled white bitch on the planet. And that’s the way they look at me at work.”

Kurt tries to say that’s not true, but Diane knows it is: “Yes they do. I’m the top Karen. And why do I care? I mean, I... I could find another firm. I could quit. I can’t impose my will on people who don’t want me.”

YES. I see a lot of debate over what the “right” thing to do is here. But I think we are long past “right” and “wrong.” At a certain point, this stops being about absolute moral truths. If Diane doesn’t have the respect of her partners and employees, that is a very real problem for the firm and for Diane. How can she continue to impose her will on a firm that doesn’t want her, all the while claiming to be an ally? (The back half of that sentence is the most important part.) Forget whether or not Diane “should” have to step down. Forget what’s “fair.” If the non-Diane leadership of RL thinks the firm should be a black firm, and the employees of RL think so too, and Diane just doubles down on her white feminism, she’s creating an even bigger problem for herself and ruining her reputation in the process.  

Kurt stands up on the prison cot and warns Diane she might make a decision she’ll regret. This scene is so cute. Why can’t other shows do drug trips where the characters just act silly and have great chemistry? Why does it always have to be some profound meditation on death whenever characters get high?

“I think I like starting over. I like the chutes and ladders of life. I mean, I want the corner office, but then I wanna slip back to the beginning and fight for the corner office. I mean, I think maybe it’s better that I don’t get the top spot,” Diane says. LOVE to hear her admit this. I’m not sure I would’ve come to this conclusion on my own, and it sounds like it’s a bit more about how the writers like to write (you know, the “we love our characters to always be underdogs”) than Diane, but... you know what? I believe it. I fully believe it. Diane LOVES to fight, LOVES to feel like she’s in the right, LOVES power plays and to be making progress. She LOVES winning. The fact that she isn’t just choosing to retire right now, even though she’s past retirement age and has a great reputation, is in itself enough for me to believe that she would find it fun to repeatedly start over.

Plus, it’s a fun new direction for the show to take in season six, because they’ll get the same sense of conflict without the actual conflict. This season’s arc was firm drama and resulted in a firm name change... but it didn’t feel like a knock-off of Hitting the Fan. Diane trying to work her way back into power (I assume by becoming a better actual ally, otherwise doesn’t she just end up in the same exact situation?) should also provide conflict without being repetitive.

Hahahahahaha Kurt immediately reacting to this serious statement by being incredibly silly and horny and then Diane singing “I Touch Myself” to him, man, I love these two. I want to know the story behind this song choice.

Wackner emerges from his chambers. The score is tied. Wackner calls Cord corrupt and notes that they can’t just decide to call Downstate Illinois a new state based on his ruling. Now it’s thesis time!

“I was taken by Mr. Cord’s arguments of individualism. So much of our country has been built on people finding their own way, not being held back by bureaucracy. Yet, if we only follow individualism, that way lies chaos. And that was not the point of this court. Or at least not my point. Judgment for the defense. There will be no Downstate Illinois.”

“If we only follow individualism, that way lies chaos.” is probably the clearest of the many theses of this episode. To recap, we have:

(1) Factions are bad. (2) People are persuadable and the rules don’t actually matter. (3) Reality TV changes minds. (4) Institutions only exist when we collectively agree they exist (5) Individualism = chaos.  

But let’s put a pin in this for now and let the chaos of individualism play out.  

The crowd does not like Wackner’s decision, and decides that an appropriate way to express their displeasure is to make anti-Semitic remarks towards Marissa and then start throwing chairs. What nice people.  

As the crowd goes totally 1/6 on Wackner’s court (thanks for pointing this out to me, Ryan—I cannot believe I didn’t make the connection myself!), the door slamming into the desk finally pays off since Marissa and Wackner are able to use it to keep the crowd from reaching them.  

They immediately turn to the police, or they would, if they could get service. I’m sure it’s not a coincidence that as soon as things get bad, they want to involve the existing system.  

Wackner Rules is, somehow, still taping in the midst of all the chaos. I don’t know if I think they’d air this, but someone certainly would. (I wonder if any of the cameras we see in these scenes are actually the cameras filming the other angles of the riot.)  

Cord shakes his head and walks out, unharmed.  

“You think they’ll kill us?” “I think they might,” Marissa and Wackner fret.  

“My dad said the whole world would be a better place if everybody realized they were in the minority. ‘No matter where you are,’ he said, ‘Make sure you keep an eye on the exits, and make sure you’re closer to the exit than the Cossacks are to the entrance.’” Marissa says. Love Eli Gold coming through with thesis number 6 (and maybe thesis number 7).  

“Your dad sounds a little paranoid,” Wackner says, correctly. Remember how I mentioned I accidentally wound up watching 5x22? Eli calls Alicia and responds to her hello with, “DISASTER!!!!” I miss him.

“He was, but he wasn’t wrong. He said, ‘Stay away from parades. They’re cute until they’re not. And don’t trust any pope who was Hitler Youth.” “What’s that law called?” “Godwin’s Law. My dad said anybody who argued for Godwin’s Law has never been near an actual crowd. Crowds love you, they hug you. Then they grab a gun and try to kill you.”

“Why? Why do they do that?” “I don’t know. Hate is fun. It’s clear-cut.”  

I really like all of this. It is a little preachy, but it isn’t wrong and it’s self-aware. And, more importantly, it’s in character. I absolutely believe that Marissa would tell lots of stories about Eli in a moment of extreme stress. It’s nostalgic, probably comforting, and it also helps her feel like she’s on the right side with the right arguments. So, even backed into a corner, she’s still a winner: she has theory on her side.  

Wackner speaks a foreign language (I do not know what language but I wish I did) and says, “A guy could get killed doing this,” which makes him and Marissa laugh as things crash around them.

Idk about you all, but I couldn’t really get myself to actually worry about their safety during this scene. Maybe Wackner’s, just a little, but I got the sense we were supposed to focus more on the chaos and destruction and monologuing than on the actual danger. That’s not to say the stakes didn’t feel high, but rather to say that this didn’t feel like an action sequence where you don’t know what’s going to happen next. The point was to watch the court fall and think about why it fell, not to worry about if Marissa would live.  

Diane and Kurt are woken up by sirens and loud noises. The cops arrive and are shocked to find professionally dressed white people in a basement cell. They let Diane and Kurt out with compassion, but scream, “don’t you fucking move” to the people on the floor.

“It’s okay, they didn’t do anything,” Diane says. This is, as I theorized earlier, probably why Diane just sits there until her punishment blows over instead of escalating things.  

If the cops weren’t there to free Diane, why were they there? Why, because they like David Cord and David Cord has gotten Chicago PD officers to protect Wackner’s IP.  

If I had to say one thing in favor of Vinetta being the originator of the community court idea, it would be that it’s SUCH a gut punch to watch Diane and Kurt walk away from their bizarre little adventure as Vinetta gets arrested in the background, and it hits ten times as hard if Vinetta’s only being charged because some white guy is claiming IP that’s actually hers.

(I think Vinetta is probably, at this point, actually being arrested for imprisoning people illegally, but, still.)

“Pfft. Some judge,” one of the cops who adores Wackner says of Vinetta. Racist much?  

Marissa and Wackner emerge from the backroom. “I think I better get back to work,” she says, meaning her RL job. "Me too,” Wackner says, grabbing a Copy Coop apron. He’s an employee of ten years.  

I don’t think this lands as well as it’s meant to. I think the point is supposed to be that Wackner’s just some guy—not a billionaire, not an academic, not a judge, not a lawyer—with an idea. But it’s a little too neat. And it doesn’t explain how Wackner financed his court initially, nor does it explain why he has basically unlimited access to Copy Coop space and resources. I’d buy it if he were the OWNER of Copy Coop, but I have so many questions about him being an employee.  

Diane tells Liz she’s actually going on vacation this time, and they laugh about how Kurt bonded with STRL.

“I want you and Allegra to be name partners. I’ll be an equity partner,” Diane says. “Why?” Liz asks. “Five years ago, when I hit rock bottom, this firm took me in. So I don’t like the idea of splitting this firm in two. And I can’t lead if no one will follow.” “And your clients?” “We’ll manage them together.” YES! I love this. I don’t love it because I necessarily think it had to go this way, but because it’s so refreshing to see Diane say that she actually is willing to take a step back because she cares about the firm and the people there more than she cares about being a name partner. This isn’t something we usually see. When we hear “this firm took x in” it’s usually being said incredulously against someone who’s decided to leave and steal clients (cough, Hitting the Fan, cough).  

It’s been pretty clear for most of this arc that Diane and Liz like working together and they like their firm, but that no one (other than Diane, I guess) is willing to let RL lose its status as a black firm, and that the employees and equity partners weren’t going to be satisfied until Diane stepped down. Diane really had three options: Stay and piss everyone off and claim the whole firm for herself, quit and go somewhere else and totally abandon the good working dynamic she had, or step down and put her money where her mouth is.  

Also yeah the clients were never actually going to be an issue! They were only an issue because Diane intentionally went about informing them she was stepping down in a way she knew would make them worry!  

“I think I need to prove myself,” Diane says. I’m not sure that’s the key issue or that she can ever prove herself fully, but we’ll worry about that next year.

“I missed you,” Liz says. “I’m here,” Diane replies. “I know. Thank you,” Liz says.  

Diane decides she’s going to move downstairs so Allegra can have her office. I think there’s another office on this floor, since she, Adrian and Liz all had offices. This feels a little bit like Diane’s in love with the idea of making things difficult for herself and maybe hasn’t fully grasped the point, but, you know, I’ll take it.  

Diane tells Kurt her decision and he asks if it was the right thing to do. She says she doesn’t know—but she says it with a smile. Kurt notes he’s going hunting next month with the STRL folks and will put in a good word for her. Ah, yes, because STRL still controls all of this and all of this is moot! Thanks for the reminder Kurt! Diane says she wants in on the hunting trip. Of course.  

And the elevator doors close. Remember how closing elevator doors was a motif earlier this season??? It’s back!

Then we get a little coda with Wackner Rules airing a new episode that’s just violence and destruction. This sequence seems to straddle the line between being there for thematic reasons for the viewers and there to show what happened in the show’s universe, but I think it’s main purpose is theme, so I will not go on a full rant questioning why Del would want to air this.

A white blonde lady in an apron watches the destruction of Wackner Rules. She looks concerned. “That was violet,” she says with dismay. And then we see she’s holding a guy in a jail cell in her kitchen.  

And then we see other courts, as America the Beautiful plays. One’s in a garage debating kicking someone out of the neighborhood; another is across the street about the same case. There’s one in Oregon about secession. There’s one among Tiki Torch Nazis deciding only white people can own property. There’s (inexplicably) one about pronouns. There’s one with arm wrestling, one that happens while sky diving, and a bunch of others. It’s pretty ridiculous, and not necessarily in a good way. It feels at once like the natural extension of the Wackner Rules show and like an over the top parody you’d see on another show. Tiki Torch Nazis screaming “only white people can own property!” is the opposite of subtle writing. Tonally, this sequence feels more like the zany humor of Desperate Housewives or the insanity of BrainDead than anything TGF has done before (and TGF’s been plenty surreal), and it doesn’t quite work for me. It feels like it is trying to prove a point in the corniest, most on the nose way possible. It almost feels like it’s parodying its own plotlines.  

On my first watch, this ending for Wackner left me stumped. I knew the writers were making an argument against individualism (Wackner’s speech + the repeated references to The Apprentice) and cults of personality. But I couldn’t figure out a real life analogue to Wackner’s court, and since this ending was so obviously trying to be About Something, that bugged me. Sure, that last sequence could be an argument against people making community courts, but WERE people making community courts? I didn’t see the urgency.

And then I talked to @mimeparadox. And as soon as he said that it was about factions and people playing by their own sets of rules beyond the justice system, it clicked. I’d been looking for Wackner’s plot to be a commentary on the legal system. It is much broader than that. It’s a commentary on the weakening of democratic systems (the Big Lie, etc.), more broadly, and Wackner and his common-sense approach are just a way to get liberal viewers to go along for the ride.  

Now that I understand the point, or what I think is the point, I like this conclusion. Circumventing the system leads to chaos; that’s why we have institutions and bureaucracy, and I think the show is arguing that these institutions should still be respected despite their flaws. The many theses of this episode all come together to make this point (though the reality TV stuff is a little more tenuous and I'm a little shocked we got through all of this without any commentary on social media?): If we stop having a shared belief in institutions and instead follow individual leaders (whom we may learn about through reality TV), the rules will stop mattering and we’ll end up with a fractured country and widespread violence.  

But, and maybe this is just about me being upset I missed both the obvious 1/6 parallels AND the point of the arc the first time through this episode (my defensive side feels the need to also note I first watched this episode at like 5 am when I was barely awake), I don’t know that I actually think this episode does a great job of driving its point home. There are SO many moving pieces to the Wackner plot and SO many references. There are so many threads we never return to from earlier in the season, and there’s so much that strains credulity (like Wackner taking Dr. Goat seriously for more than a split second). It’s pretty clear what the themes are—even though I’m saying I missed the point my first time through, I've hit on all these themes separately in past recaps and posts—but, I dunno, something about this episode just feels scattered. Maybe it’s all the moving pieces, maybe it’s all the moments where it sounds like the characters are voicing related ideas that don’t quite snap together to form one coherent picture, or maybe it’s that Wackner’s plot gets two endings (the actual ending + the coda) and it’s up to the viewer to put together how they relate.

I really don’t know. At the end of the day, I think there was a little too much going on with Wackner and that the writers needed to use the episodes between the private prison reveal and the finale to narrow—not broaden—the scope of what they were trying to do with Wackner. But I also think that what they were doing with Wackner was really, really smart and original. I don’t think I can overstate how impressed I am that the writers took an idea that sounded, frankly, awful when I first heard about it and turned it into something captivating and insightful that I was happy to spend nine weeks watching.  

Overall, a few bad episodes aside, I thought season five was the strongest season of TGF yet. I haven’t seen this show be so focused in... well, maybe ever. Having two overarching plots that received consistent development and felt like they were happening in the same universe at the same time REALLY helps make season five feel like a coherent whole, and I can’t wait to rewatch it.  

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

P S Y C H (ch.3)

Alright so to clear anything up, anytime there are single quotation marks ('blah blah') with no obvious speaker, that is [Name]'s internal thoughts. I think i'll probably change the writing style in the future to make it more obvious but that's what i've got for now.

Previous // Next

[Name] had become extremely guarded at a young age. Dealing with bullies before he had developed his quirk and a mom who was an empath taught him bad habits. Obviously, being bullied can make you defensive against harmless teasing. Normally people can almost never tell if they’re being laughed at or laughed with and if you’re used to being laughed at, lashing out is the easiest way to kill the joke. When your mom can read your emotions you can’t exactly have privacy, and the easiest way to get around all of that is to share, share and overshare. By dumping the most useless details and confronting most of your negative feelings people think you’re being honest with them because you trust them. In reality you’re protecting yourself by never giving them a reason to pry. [Name] has mastered being an open and honest person, that no one knows anything about.The problem is, now he’s forgotten how to socialize. And the first day of school is rapidly approaching. 

“God is testing me. I am not one of his strongest soldiers, push me too far and our next meeting will be in person” [Name] thought as he tried on his uniform to make sure everything fit nicely for school the next day. The uniform wasn’t bad but there was no way he was putting on a blazer every day. He’d wear it for the first day, appearances and all (and of course [Mo.Name] would want a picture) but henceforth blazers would be a special occasion thing.

Sighing, [Name] got ready for bed and turned out all of the lights before praying. It was a quick prayer, one done out of habit and not necessarily belief before scrolling on his phone to distract himself from the self doubt and anxieties about his first day.

“I was really gonna be too powerful with this quirk and this body so I was born with crippling insecurities and anxiety. Thanks G-man for humbling me”

The next morning was a fumbling of nerves for pretty much everyone involved. [Mo.Name] had gotten up early for work and made [Name] lunch for his first day even though he’d politely asked her not to worry too much about his first day. As an empath her emotions might carry over onto him and as someone who already HAS anxiety, he didn't need any extra. 

“GOOD MORNING”

“Why are you always so cheerful in the morning? For someone who wakes up at like the crack of dawn you’d expect a little ‘don’t talk to me before my coffee’ behavior”

“Did you want me to be all grumpy as soon as you wake up?”

‘....”

“I thought so. Can’t you just say good morning mom”

“Oh mother, it is of the best news that you were able to wake me this morning. Your delightful smile I will never tire of”

“Smart ass”

“Better than a dumb one”

“True. Hurry and get dressed if you want to stop by the bakery before school. I might not be an asshole before coffee but YOU definitely are nicer to talk to with some sort of morning beverage”

“Fair”

[Name] dressed as quickly as he could and met his mom at the front door. He paused in the doorway and decided to be honest. He was terrified. He was starting a new school as a socially awkward kid who has some bad habits. He didn’t know if he’d step on people’s toes and ruin his chances of making friends. And there was the whole issue of the fact that he was more than likely behind all his classmates. He’d gotten his quirk much later than the average kid which meant he had less time to practice and master his gifts. Using telekinesis without getting a headache had just become an unconscious reflex. In his mind everyone else in 1-A could use their quirks as easily as breathing.

“I can feel you panicking from out here. Literally. Just get your stuff and let’s go.” When [Name] made it to the front door [Mo.Name] stopped him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Looking in his eyes she projected calmness through his skin using her quirk. Once [Name] had obviously returned from the reality in his head to the world of the living she removed her hand and spoke to him earnestly. 

“Your grandmother used to say two things.” She began “‘When you’re blessed be a blessing’, and ‘God don’t like ugly’. Looking at you, I can tell you must truly be favored by God. He has blessed you with a great quirk and you’re doing His work by becoming a hero. I know you’ll be great. It might seem like a big shot school with superpowered hotties to you. But they’re awkward 15 year olds who blush when they see boobies. You’ll be fine”

“Yeah”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What fresh hell is this” [Name] whispered to himself as he stared at the giant building. “Whoever designed this building is now my number one enemy. How am I supposed to find anything in this maze modeled after a letter in the ENGLISH alphabet. We’re fucking in Japan!”

[Name] had unfortunately not had a chance to down his matcha latte considering the long line at the bakery when his mom dropped him off before going to work. He GOT the matcha latte, but it was just freezing his hand off because he had to rush to the trains to be on time for his first day. In a stroke of luck the train was too crowded for him to comfortably move so he just had to hold it until he got to school where he got lost looking for class 1-A. 

Whatever happened to being one of God's favorites?

When he finally reached 1-A he was stuck in the doorway behind All Might’s successor as the green haired boy panicked about a stuck up rule follower and the blond bombshell that was Katsuki Bakugou. [Name] managed to maneuver around Midoriya catching Bakugou’s eye before the blond looked away dismissing [Name]’s presence. [Name] was not offended. No, not at all. It wasn’t the first time he’d been underestimated. And it wouldn’t be the last. But everytime it did happen, it would play into [Name]’s favor.

[Name] found his way to his seat and decided that the chaos of new students arriving as well as Bakugou’s… abrasiveness would be the best opportunity to do some research on all of his classmates. Nothing too invasive but a quick scan of their surface thoughts so he could create a profile for each student. He got about halfway through the class when a gruffy man in a yellow sleeping bag hijacked his focus. 

“If you came here to socialize, then get out”

‘I am terrified of you. Please continue’ [Name] thought

“This is the hero course”

‘There’s someone in there’ the class thought simultaneously

“It took eight seconds for you to quiet down. Time is a precious resource, you lot aren’t very resourceful are you?”

‘Our teacher???’ they all echoed

‘Then he’s a pro hero too…’ Midoriya thought out loud

‘I thought you would know…’ [Name] whispered to himself

“I’m your homeroom teacher. Shota Aizawa. Pleased to meet you” 

‘Homeroom teacher???’

‘how is everyone thinking the same thing at the same time??’

“Quickly now. Change into your gym clothes and head out to the grounds”

‘The system here at UA is like no other. Today the homeroom teachers will conduct..’ Midoriya thought to himself, and consequently [Name] who was eavesdropping

“A test of quirks”

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it’s wildly unremarkable.

chapter:  6/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 1 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Remus was unsure what had come over him when he went into the team meeting at Quill. He had a relatively unremarkable morning. It was an early opening shift at the grind, he spent a lot of time in the backroom taking inventory, counting the same product over and over again. He remembered walking out of the backroom to a line at the front door. He didn’t remember how long it took him to fumble with the lock, or shuffle back behind the counter. He didn’t remember why some businessman was yelling at him because his latte, which just came off the milk steamer, wasn’t hot enough. He didn’t remember why he started yelling back, why he was so short. The entire morning felt like a blur. 

Maybe it was all of the emails Sirius had never opened, maybe it was the text from Fenrir that remained unopened on his phone. He had no idea what had caused it, but he felt like he was spiraling out. Had he taken his meds today? All of them? His fingers methodically worked the POS system, his body ran on autopilot, he didn’t know how to handle any of the stress of working with others on something he cared about. He cared so much about this book, and he honestly felt like his toes were being stepped on. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel that way, but he did. It was tiring. He didn’t know how else to handle this other than lashing out. He didn’t want to be a dick about things, he was just so passionate. 

He was so incredibly proud of his healing and his recovery. He was proud of the way he got a handle on his lupus, he was proud of the way his body moved better and worked better. He didn’t know what else to think about or be proud of. He had come so far from the bruised, bloodied boyfriend he was all those months ago. months? years? How long had it really been? Did he even remember? Was he allowed to move on? Was he supposed to? What was he, the perfect victim, supposed to do? 

He knew that he was a high-maintenance author, a high-maintenance person. It was one of the reasons he self-published before. But Quill had been so good about doing what he wanted, everyone except Sirius. Sirius was constantly MIA, who never spoke to him about anything, who had asked him on a date. What kind of mind fuck? Did he even read Remus’s book? Did he even think about the implications of his actions, or what something like this would do to his already fragile psyche? 

He had always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Look at how far that had gotten him. So he wasn’t planning on doing it again. He didn’t want to get hurt, get his heartbroken, fall into all those same holes and pitfalls he’d been so prone to in the past. The way Sirius had ignored him repeatedly, had refused to talk to him, was a red flag. He wasn’t in the business of ignoring those anymore. He didn’t have the energy left to ignore red flags. He had been burned too many times and had no intention of getting burned again. Or at least, he thought that until he picked the fight in the meeting. 

Sure, it might have been petty. It might have been rude to tell Sirius he didn’t like the designs when he did. It might have been uncalled for to tell him that it wasn’t his problem if he couldn’t do his job.  But to be fair, Sirius had been wildly unavailable. Remus wanted to send a message, to remind him that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t getting anywhere with being polite, so he would have no problem making Sirius hear him. He wasn’t going to be kept in the dark on his own book. 

It was unfair, how easily Sirius could get everyone back on his side, after all of the meetings he wasn’t in (Remus had no idea that only the most important meetings even got on Sirius’s calendar, as decided by the rest of the team). He offered a smile and a cordial response, and everyone was back in the palm of his hand. What the fuck? 

But he wasn’t going to press the issue. Not when he was sure that all of these people knew something he didn’t, understood something he’d never get. The whole thing felt patronizing. It exhausted him. Was Sirius so great that he didn’t have to follow the rules everyone else did? The evidence remained to be seen, on Remus’s end. He didn’t know why everyone was always bending over backwards to justify Sirius’s behavior. To begin with, he just wanted to make sure Sirius was alright (the man looked so tired all the time), but at this point, it felt like Sirius was just avoiding him. It was so frustrating to think about what he could have possibly done, was it his book? Was it his past? Was Sirius homophobic? If he was, why had he slept with Remus? Was he repressing himself? Was it some kind of dare? 

Remus felt himself spiraling with catastrophic thoughts about why Sirius hated him as much as he had. He didn’t understand. But James, who was quickly becoming a true friend to him, pulled him out of his spiral with a text inviting him to “family dinner.” Remus didn’t know who would be there, but he was excited to have this large group of new friends through Quill. He was eternally grateful to Lily for helping him get this opportunity. It was such a kind gesture that opened so many career doors and helped him connect with so many people.

He didn't know what to wear that evening. He usually settled on a soft jumper (not too overstimulating) and a pair of plaid slacks. He wanted to look nice because as much as he didn’t want to think about him, he was still quite hooked on Sirius Black. The thought of him catches in his mind, and he thinks he should probably get a meeting on the docket for the next week. He cared too much about this book, and it would probably be best to see what the man comes up with before the next team meeting. He knew it was unreasonable to get irritated as he had in the team meeting, but it stressed him out nonetheless. He didn’t know how to be calm and collected about all of it,  and he felt burned by the way Sirius’s advances suddenly dried up. So he nervously drafted an email asking about it. But as usual, he was met with Sirius’s out-of-office message. So instead of waiting to not be responded to he picked up his phone and dialed Sirius’s number. God, why was he so nervous?

“Sirius Black.” For two people who had spent hours just being vulnerable and intimate, in the act of Sirius falling asleep in his lap, that felt like a clinical greeting, which put him off. 

“We need to get that meeting on the calendar.” It was a question, even though he didn’t phrase it as one. He didn’t want Sirius to have the option of saying no, but he also didn’t know Sirius’s schedule.

“I’m out of office Remus.” Remus found himself getting even more irritated. Was Sirius just avoiding him?

He felt his voice rising, this was hurting his feelings if he was honest. “You’re always out of office. You never answer when I call you, it’s fucking nutty how hard I have to work to get you on the phone.” That wasn’t entirely true. He had heard Sirius was online quite a bit, it just never seemed to be when Remus wanted to talk to him.  

“It wouldn’t be if you could just check the google calendar or get your nose out of my business.” Well, that wasn’t the response Remus was expecting. Get his nose out of Sirius’s business? Had he been caught out for asking around? 

“I don’t think that’s—“ He began, but Sirius was quick to cut him off. This wasn’t fair.

“Stop asking people why I’m not in the office. It’s none of your business. It’s fucking weird. I don’t know you.” Well if his feelings weren’t hurt before, they were after that statement. He wanted to get to know Sirius, that was the whole point.

“I was just–“ Remus wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise. Sirius wasn’t going to let him, and he was finding that incredibly frustrating. He could feel the hot tears welling up in his eyes, even though he was trying to pretend they weren’t there. His breathing was becoming much more shallow, and he found himself picking at the cuticles of his fingers. 

“And for that matter, it shouldn’t matter whether or not I’m remote. It seems to bother you so much, but you were the one who tried to put me on the project. You were the one who asked Marlene about it. I’ve been remote since before you got picked up, it’s not news to anyone else on the team. It’s weird that you’re so concerned with me.” That wasn’t a fair statement. Sirius asked him out, not the other way around. And then seemingly disappeared from not only their conversations but also any and all meetings. 

“You were the one who—“ 

“That was a big fucking mistake.”  The words felt like they cut into Remus like the scars all over his body were mirrored by the internal ones. This conversation was bringing too much up for him and he could tell. 

He paused, trying to stop the flow of tears down his face, to keep Sirius from knowing just how upset he was. They didn’t know each other well enough for that. Sirius was right. “What was the point of it then? Why’d you ask me and then pull this?” His voice sounded far away like it wasn’t his own. He didn’t know why he sounded so small (maybe it was because Sirius made him feel small). 

“I liked you until you started prying into my life. I don’t need more people running around trying to dig up information on me.” More people? Dig up information?  Remus just wanted to know if he was okay. He wanted to know if Sirius was angry with him, or some other such nonsense. He wasn’t trying to pry or dig up information. But he wasn’t going to say that. So instead, he just mumbles “oh” and hangs up. He couldn’t handle the shock to the system that was more confrontation. So instead he mills about his and Lily’s apartment some more, trying to decide what to wear to this family dinner? He settled on his usual wares because he was already so overwhelmed. He couldn’t risk the way the tags of some of his other clothes, or the fabric blends would make him want to crawl out of his skin.  He pulled himself together and left the house, hoping that Sirius wouldn’t make some surprise appearance.

He didn’t understand how he had ended up in this whirlwind, but he was here. He was in James’s home, sitting down to dinner, trying to be chill. He was trying to understand how he had essentially usurped what he understood to be Sirius’s role in the group. He didn’t want to, but seemingly he was because he had no choice but to show up to these plans. These plans at James’s house for dinner seemed sweet, but there were two extra place settings at the table. Remus wondered who the second was from because he was sure one of them was for Sirius. 

Who had been seated at the second place setting? Who did Remus not know? It seemed that all of the people at this table were people who worked at quill, or the one-off adjacent person, such as Marlene’s partner, Dorcas, or Alice and Ted. He didn’t know them, so he was assuming that they didn’t work at Quill.

He followed along as they talked, but he didn’t add much to the conversation. He had nothing to say, really. He felt like he didn’t belong here. These weren’t his friends, they were Sirius’s. It felt like he was intruding after that fight over the phone. But he didn’t really have a choice, it was in his best interest to just go with it because these people were directly responsible for his poetic success. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize his career, so instead, he sat there, staring at the empty chair before him. Was Sirius avoiding him? Had he overstepped his bounds? 

He felt the mask he was used to wearing slide back on because he was stressing himself out. He joined into the conversations around the table mindlessly, he wasn’t going to make a mess of this opportunity. But he wasn’t thinking about it until James made a comment about taking leftovers to Sirius’s home. Clearly, his absence was felt around the room, and Remus couldn’t help but feel responsible. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel guilty, but it wasn’t working. But he went along, in hopes of finding an opportunity to apologize for being so nosy, he just wanted to quell his own fears that Sirius hated him. He was trying to deal with actually being intimate with someone, and vulnerable with someone, after all this time. 

He was shocked when they arrived at Sirius’s home and weren’t allowed in. Was the man agoraphobic? Why did he never leave the house? But he didn’t want to think about it, for fear of being considered nosy all over again. 

“No, lads. Go home. It’s a school night.” That sounded shocking to him. Sirius was 21, he didn’t have a child. Even if he did, there was no way that child could be old enough to go to school. It didn’t make sense.  

“You don’t have a kid,” Remus called, but then his mind roamed back to that first meeting. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Sirius did have a child, and that was the voice he had heard in that meeting. But then he remembers that they had been in Sirius’s house on a Thursday night, and he had seen no evidence of a child. He wouldn’t miss something so big when he had spent so much time in Sirius’s home that day and the day after. 

But Sirius doubled down, so Remus dropped it. He wasn’t going to continue to talk about it with them. He just followed along with the group as they left, piled back into James’s car, and headed back to his house. Peter, Lily, and James were the only people who remained in their home. Lily had mentioned James taking them home later, and Remus wasn’t about to pass on a free ride home instead of paying for the Underground. Especially not after a long night of interacting with people. So he waited around, drinking beers and hanging out. Remus found himself becoming more comfortable, getting to know James and Peter even better. He’s caught off guard when James just answers the phone sitting in the room with them. Remus really felt like a member of the group when he did that. But then he suddenly stood up and walked away from the group, and Remus feels like it’s his fault all over again. 

 “Sirius, I didn’t know. I don’t want you to get him taken from you. I’m sorry.”

Well, that was interesting, because Remus had no idea what any of that meant. Get who taken? By who? He looked at Lily, incredibly confused. She and Peter exchanged a look before he started talking. 

“You were going to find out eventually.”  He began, but then Lily cut him off. 

“Pete, I can explain, don’t worry about it.”  But then Lily’s being cut off with a quick look and a dry laugh from Peter. 

“At least he’ll forgive me. He wouldn’t forgive you. You don’t know him well enough for that, in his chaotic opinion.” He laughs, but it sounds humorless. God, Remus was confused. 

“Sirius is in this messy custody battle over his younger brother.  It’s why he never comes out anymore. He’s trying really hard to keep his younger brother happy and healthy, and in his care despite how often he gets taken to court over it. It’s why he’s only in like half of our meetings,  and why he’s been working remotely. The poor lad has far too much on his plate.” Peter looks so incredibly worried, and Lily’s working her lower lip between her teeth. This was information he absolutely was not supposed to be privy to, and he felt so incredibly stupid for being so self-centered.  

“I– I had no idea.”  He whispers, shaking his head. How had he not understood why Sirius was so tired? Or busy? How had he missed all of the signs and the concern, or not thought through that voice that had sounded so terrified and sad? Why was someone trying to take his brother from him? Why was the council so involved? What did “messy” even mean?  

“Okay but you didn’t hear it from us, okay?” Lily looks terrified. But Remus is already mentally drafting his apology to Sirius, he didn’t want to cause more chaos in the man’s clearly exhausting life. 

So when the conversation shifted away from the absence of Sirius in the group, and when James returned to the group he began drafting an apology. Remus really was pretending that he didn’t hear James saying he was worried about him, that he was alone all the time, and he’d been lashing out. He definitely pretended he didn’t hear the concern in James’s voice as he said “I can’t remember the last time it was this bad.

Remus: I just wanted to apologize for how I was in the meeting, and on the phone earlier. I know I’ve been prying, and I understand it’s not cool. I was worried, and I went about it the wrong  way, and I’m sorry. I also shouldn’t have lashed out in the meeting, I swear it won’t happen again. 

He didn’t expect a response before the  end of the night, but when James was driving him and Lily home, he received a text. 

Sirius: Can we start over? I’m not really in the business of making more enemies these days. 

He wondered what that meant. Who were Sirius’s enemies? Was that related to the people he was engaged in the custody battle with? He was definitely wary of someone dealing with the council consistently, he remembered his own trials and tribulations with the council, when trying to get a restraining order. But he had made too many snap judgements before, so he was trying not to make any now. 

[hawkinshellfire]

Right Where You Left Me

Chapter 1 - Willow

Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark Show me the places where the others gave you scars

Leaning back in his chair, Hopper stretches his arms up over his head and peers to the far side of the classroom. Two rows behind him, on the left, one of his best friends, Joyce Horowitz, was scribbling down a note furiously, her brow furrowed as she focused on what their science teacher was explaining up at the blackboard.

He extends his left arm and hurls a wad of paper in her direction, smirking when it hits her in the side of the head and forces her to look at him. She brushes the note to the side of her desk and shakes her head, choosing to ignore him rather than give in to the childish game he loved to play in this class.

As expected, Hopper balls up another wad of paper and tosses it at Joyce; this time it hits her on the cheek before falling onto her notebook. Reluctantly, she looks over at him and cocks her head while she mouths, “cut it out.”

Hopper holds his hand to his ear and mouths back, “what was that?” Adding fuel to the fire, he lobs a third piece of paper at her.

“I said cut it out!” she exclaims far louder than intended. The rest of the class turns to stare and Mr. Benson stops speaking, folds his arms over his chest and marches over to her.

“Something you wanted to share with the class?” he asks.

“No sir,” she whispers, gaze locked on the notebook in front of her.

“Very well. Mr. Hopper, please leave Ms. Horowitz alone. Save your antics for when you’re outside my classroom.”

“Yes sir,” Hopper replies.

They sit through the rest of the class and listen to the biology lesson, but as soon as the class is dismissed Joyce runs up to Hopper and scolds him with a swift smack on the forearm.

“Why do you have to cause problems? Mr. Benson is going to think I don’t take his class seriously.”

She waits as he gathers up his books and trails behind him as they begin to make their way down the hall.

“Oh c’mon Joycie, you know I’m just teasing you. Loosen up, have a little fun,” he smirks down at her.

“I have plenty of fun,” she protests.

They walk down the hall side by side and Hopper tells Joyce his after school practice is cancelled and that he can drive her home. He’d been driving her home ever since he received his license and his parents gifted him a car, but football season often meant he had to stay late and Joyce had to either walk home or take the bus.

Hopper waves to a few people as they continue down the hall, and fistbumps a tall dark-haired senior that brushes past them. She’s telling him about the latest book she’s devoured and while she knows he’s listening to every word, she can’t help but notice that he has the attention of several of their peers and he could just as easily brush her off to greet them.

She and Hopper had been friends since they were kids. Having met on one of the first days of school, they formed a quick bond that had yet to be severed. Joyce didn't get along very well with many other girls and had a difficult time making friends due to her introverted nature, but something about Hopper drew on her extroverted instincts and she found herself comfortable and open with him.

Sometimes, she envied the way everything came so naturally for Hopper. He got decent grades without studying, was a member of the Hawkins High football team and constantly had a slew of girls desperate for his attention. In addition to that, he seemed to know just about everyone. While Joyce could count the number of friends she had on a single hand, Hopper was always saying hello to strangers and other students she’d never seen before, and she was sometimes left wondering if he knew them or if he was just being polite.

There are times when his popularity feels overwhelming to her. Moments at parties where he runs off to greet someone new and she’s left feeling insecure about not knowing many others, or moments like this when despite knowing he cares about what she’s telling him, she can’t help but notice others noticing him.

She always wondered how their classmates perceived their friendship. She wasn’t exactly the most popular member of the junior class while Hopper practically ruled the school and she knew that seeing them together must be odd. Sometimes she wondered if Hopper felt obligated to remain her friend, but that fear went away the moment she caught his eye while she spoke and she can tell he cares about what she has to say.

They reach the cafeteria and part ways, Hopper, to join some of his teammates, Joyce to a few of her friends from her photography club.

“See you after school?” he smiles.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” she smirks back.

He sits down with a group of boys at a table along the far wall and is immediately pulled into a conversation with the two students next to him while he unwraps his lunch. Joyce makes her way across the room and settles at her usual table, where Josie and Eli are already seated and eating. Each of them looks up and greets her with a smile, and Joyce plops herself down and pulls out a book and her lunch. She begins reading while she eats her peanut butter sandwich, enjoying the silence amongst her group. One of the things she liked most about this group was that there was no pressure to socialize. Sometimes they would spend the lunch hour having heated debates, sometimes they talked about their classes or latest projects, and some days, like today, they all sat in silence, immersed in their own little universes.

In Joyce’s case, that universe was contained within a 256-page paperback. Turning the page, she glances across the room and catches Hopper’s eye. He smiles at her and nods before returning to the rowdy group of boys bustling around the table.

.

.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insanely short,” Hopper smirks as he approaches his car. Joyce is leaning against the passenger side door, leather-clad arms folded over her chest.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insanely tall?” she fires back.

“At least once a day,” he remarks with a shit-eating grin.

“Are you going to unlock the car or are we just going to stand out here and chit-chat?”

“You hate my company so much, huh? ” he grins as he teases her and rounds the car. Once he opens the driver's side door, he lunges across the cabin of the car and flips the lock open on her door. Joyce tosses her book bag onto the floor and climbs in, fastening her seatbelt at the same time as she pulls the door shut.

“You really should just fix the locks,” she complains.

“Do you have a spare few hundred dollars lying around?”

“You don’t know that I don’t.”

“Yes I do,” he remarks. He puts the keys in the ignition and they listen as the car roars to life. “You’re forgetting I know everything about you, Joycie.”

And he did. He knew just about everything there was to know about her.

“I hate that nickname,” she reminds him.

“That’s why I use it.”

“How would you like it if I started calling you Jimmy?” she teases, rolling down her window and allowing her armrest in the vacancy as he backs out of the parking lot.

“You’d sound like my mom. Please don’t.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know, it has kind of a nice ring to it.”

“Do you have any plans later?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Just some homework, why?”

“Are we still on for tonight?”

“Only if I can call you Jimmy,” she beams. Joyce loved teasing Hopper. He did this thing where he scrunched his eyebrows and his cheeks turned a bright pink shade that made doing it all the more fun, and so she often pushed until he got flustered. She wasn’t single-handedly to blame for the teasing that occurred in their friendship, Hopper enjoyed pushing her buttons right back and as a result, most of their conversations began as quick-witted jabs and teasing remarks.

“You’re not going to drop that anytime soon, are you?”

“Absolutely not. You’re cute when you’re bothered.”

“I’m not cute , Joyce.” His cheeks darken and he does his best to stay focused on the road signs ahead.

She knew he hated being called cute so she called him cute often.

“Right, sorry. You’re very manly.” Her response is mocking and said with a chuckle but it seems to relax him all the same and she shakes her head. “Speaking of manly things, why was practice cancelled today?”

“The coach is out. Something about his son being sick. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

“So what are your plans for the evening? You can come over to study if you want?”

“Can’t. I told Benny we could work out at his place before grabbing something to eat. Want me to bring you anything?”

“I’m alright. We’re supposed to be having pasta.”

Hopper grimaces but does his best not to outwardly show his reaction. He can’t remember the last time Joyce’s mom actually provided dinner for her daughter. The few times he’d stayed for supper, he and Joyce were the ones to prepare the meal from the limited supplies in the pantry. It wasn’t that her mother couldn’t cook, she was just hardly ever home. Joyce’s father, a character if Jim had ever seen one, tended to take out his anger in unconventional ways and as a result, Joyce’s mother often offered to work extra hours, leaving Joyce to fend for herself.

“You sure? I could grab a burger.”

“It’s fine Hop.” She places her palm on his wrist and gives it a gentle squeeze, something she’d done since they were kids when she was trying to reassure him that she really was alright.

They reach her house and Hopper pulls the car into the driveway before she unbuckles and reaches for her bag.

“Thanks for the ride, see you later?”

“See you later.”

He waits until she’s inside before backing out of the driveway and heading to Bennys.

.

.

“28… 29… 30.”

It’s a chant he does over and over again in his head as he pumps his arms up and down, hosting his body weight from the cool hard pavement lining Benny’s garage. The two boys were nearing the end of their workout but Hopper refused to slow down. He needed to be in his prime for the upcoming home game if he wanted to impress the coach and be made the quarterback in his senior year.

After wrapping up with the weights and rinsing off, Hopper and Benny head to the local diner, a favourite hangout among their friends and meet up with a few more teammates for burgers.

“Hey, Hopper, who are you taking to prom?” The question is directed at him from across the table by one of the junior linebackers named Mitchell and it catches him off guard.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he shrugs. He bites into his burger and continues to speak with his mouth full, “someone hot .”

The group erupts in a chorus of hollers and begins talking about one of the seniors who’d recently been caught with a student from a rival school beneath the school bleachers. Not one for dramatic gossip, Hopper finishes his burger and flags down the waitress to place an order to go. Once the takeout container is ready, he stands and slips into his letterman jacket.

“Where are you going so early, you got a hot date or something?” one of the boys calls at Hopper.

“Sorry guys, I’ve got plans,” he says. He grabs the food and slips his keys from his pocket, weaving through the crowded diner towards the exit. He can hear his teammates calling out after him, vague things about using protection on his “date” but he tunes them out. He balances the food on the roof of his car while he fumbles to unlock it, the dimly lit parking lot only covered by the faint neon lights lining the diner window after sunset. He knows he may be early, but there’s only so much team bonding he can handle and tonight, all he wants to do is unwind with his best friend.

As he approaches Joyce’s house he knows that he’s early. The porch light is still on, illuminating the driveway so he lingers near the cul de sac across the way and wishes he ordered himself a shake while he waited.

They had this routine, he and Joyce. Her parents insisted on Joyce having an early curfew, so he’d begun coming by after her father turned off the porch lights, indicating that he’d gone to bed. Hopper would usually wait a few minutes before pulling into the driveway and flashing the headlights. Joyce’s bedroom was the only one at the front of the house, therefore she was the only one who would see Hopper’s headlights.

Once she knew he was parked outside, she would pop the screen off her window and shimmy out onto the roof over the porch, where she climbed down the trellis at the side of the house and down to his car.

They’d been safely sneaking Joyce in and out for months, but each time they did it part of Hopper panicked that her dad would catch them and he’s certain the metallic taste that takes over his tongue will never go away as long as she was sneaking out of her father’s home. She always insisted that things would be fine and they wouldn’t be caught, but his pulse raced every single time they did this.

Tonight, he waits five minutes after the porch light is switched off before he pulls into the vacant driveway and flashes his headlights. While waiting for Joyce, he drums his fingers on the steering wheel and hums to himself. When she finally appears in the window, she’s wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of baggy pants, her hair swept into a messy ponytail, situated on the top of her head. He watches with bated breath as she maneuvers down the side of the house and reaches over to unlock her door before she gets to the car.

“Where to?” she asks.

“Let’s go to the lake.”

“How was dinner?” he asks as they back out of her driveway.

“She ended up staying at work late.”

“Joyce.”

“It’s fine Hop, I made some scrambled eggs for us.” He knows the “us” she’s referring to is her and her father and he cringes at her grouping them together in the same term.

“Reach behind you,” he instructs. “I got you something.”

She does as she’s told and reaches around the seat, where her hand finds a white doggy bag. She grabs it and places it in her lap while turning to give him a look.

“Before you yell at me, it’s your favourite.”

Joyce debates lecturing him on how she can handle things on her own and doesn’t need his help, but the smell wafting out of the bag demands her attention and she resigns and decides it’s best to say thank you and enjoy the food.

“With the extra sauce?” she asks slowly.

“Exactly how you like it,” he nods.

She reaches into the bag and pulls out a foil-wrapped burger that she immediately begins to unwrap and snack on. She didn’t need Hopper to look out for her, but who was she to say no to one of her favourite snacks on a late-night drive? She would yell at him for trying to be a hero, tomorrow.

.

.

When they arrive at the lake, Hopper pulls into his usual spot on the lawn just in front of where the shallow water meets the shore. He cuts the engine and flips the headlights on, allowing the fog to dance among the white shadows that lead a dim path to the lake.

It’s a clear evening, but the warm mist rising off the lake creates a haze that makes the area feel like it’s secluded from the rest of the town. Hopper reaches into the back seat and fishes out a blanket that he lays down in front of the car and motions for Joyce to join him. She does, sitting opposite him on the small plaid square with her legs crossed, the dewy droplets from the fog illuminating her face in a way he would describe as perfect in the headlights. He wasn’t blind to the fact that his best friend was beautiful, but he wasn’t vocal about it either.

“It’s so peaceful here.” It’s an observation she makes every time they come out to the lake, but her relaxed facial features and dropped shoulders are one of the reasons he so often selected the lake as their late night drive destination. It was rare to see Joyce so relaxed and he would do just about anything to allow her to be in a comfortable state of mind like this all the time.

“How was your workout with Benny?” she asks.

“Good. Not at good as a real practice would have been but I think it did the trick. How was homework?”

“Oh you know, an English essay can only be so thrilling.”

“You love writing essays,” he reminds her. “You used to help me with mine, remember.”

“I remember,” she smiles softly. She goes quiet for a moment, lost in a memory; a large oak desk and pre-teen Hopper anxiously chewing on the end of his pencil while she worked on outlining his history essay. They were in his family office after school. It was one of the first times she’d been invited over to his house, as they usually hung out outside. She remembers thinking their friendship wouldn’t last. Hopper had recently taken a huge interest in sports, hence her helping with his essay, and he was bound to outgrow their friendship in the coming years.

He never did, and now here they were years later, sprawled out on a picnic blanket beside Lovers Lake, still best friends.

Joyce watches as Hopper shifts himself closer to her and mirrors her stance by folding one leg beneath the other. The light from the vehicle reflects in his eyes and for a brief moment, she’s lost in a sea of blue and emerald. She knew he was attractive. Hell, there was a reason half the senior girls were after him. But in small moments like this, she found it was easy to forget that she told herself her childhood crush on Hopper was long gone. She would never tell him this, but in the quietest of moments, while he sat and listened to her speak, she found herself drawn to him in a magnetic sense that made her question her own feelings.

Tonight, she swallows that thought and forces herself to focus on the moon's reflection across the still water.

She couldn’t have feelings for her best friend. It would complicate and ruin everything.

“Hand,” he demands. His voice grounds Joyce and she forgets about her wild train of thoughts and focuses on the boy in front of her.

She extends her palm to him and angles her body so that her torso is perpendicular to his.

He hooks his thumb, much rougher from the years of helping his father cut wood, around hers and joins their hands. This was a “game” they’d been playing together for years and Joyce was no stranger to how it worked. It was another die-hard habit they’d picked up as kids. When one of them had had a long day, they would sit down in the grass on Hopper’s lawn and link their thumbs, fiddling them back and forth like a relaxed thumb restless match while they asked each other questions designed to distract them from the real world.

“Current favourite song?” she asks.

“Lame, you know the answer.”

He moves his thumb to the left of hers, then back to the right.

“It changes every five seconds!”

“Fine, it’s Back in the USA.”

“I knew it,” she boasts.

“Favourite sentence from your essay?” he asks.

“Ou,” she takes a moment to think it over.  “Alright, I’ve got it. ‘Though men may have a predetermined fate, we can not, by any means, move through life as if our actions are so predetermined that they do not matter’.”

“You wrote that?”

“I did,” she says proudly. “I liked the essay topic.”

“What would you want your last meal to be?”

“A nice steak,” he nods.

“Tell me your biggest fear,” he says softly, thumb narrowly avoiding hers as they continue the pointless thumb wrestling match between them.

“That’s a loaded question. I asked you what you would want your last meal to be, those two things aren’t even on the same playing field.”

“You could’ve asked something harder.”

“Being alone,” she admits quietly.

He locks eyes with her and instead of moving his thumb in the usual to and fro pattern, he hooks it around her hand and presses down.

“Joyce.”

A silent conversation passes. She’ll always have him. He’s told her thousands of times. She believes him, for the most part. Though, her deepest fear is that after school he’ll move on to a bigger and better life and she’ll be left on her own to fight against the scariest thing she knew, life.

“I know,” she smiles.

Hopper was the only person she let herself be vulnerable like this with. At school, she came off as tough and uncaring. She liked it that way. She liked that she wasn’t perceived as someone who needed anyone .

Hopper releases her hand and lays back on the blanket to look up at the sky. It’s cloud-filled and unclear, but something about the darkness calms him.

“The guys asked who I’m planning on taking to prom,” he tells her.

“And? What did you tell them?”

“That I wasn’t going.”

“Yeah. Right, ” she smirks and rolls over to face him. “Jim Hopper, one of the most popular kids in school isn’t going to prom. I think the world would end.”

“You’re so dramatic,” he groans, pulling himself up so that he’s seated with his back to the lake. He wraps an arm around his knees and drops his head in her direction. “Besides, I didn’t really tell them that, I told them I was taking you.”

A smirk breaks out across his face at her initial panic but she recovers quickly and begins to laugh. “Get out of here, you know I wouldn’t be caught dead at prom.”

“Not even with me?”

There’s a serious undertone in his voice that makes her wonder if he’s still joking around, but she quickly forces herself to dismiss the thought and smiles at him. “Not even with you, Jim Hopper.”

“What if I asked you in some ridiculous way? You’d have to agree to go with me.”

“I wouldn’t go to prom if you paid me,” she reassures him.

“You’re telling me that if I did something crazy, say,” he scampers to his feet and steps towards the parked car, “climbed up on the hood of the car…” He’s standing on the hood of his car now, arms outstretched while she watches with an amused expression.

“And yelled, ‘Joyce, will you go to prom with me?’ that you’d turn me down.”

“I’d turn you down before you even had a chance to hop up on the car. Now get down before you hurt yourself and your coach wants to kill me.”

She reaches up and takes his hand while he effortlessly jumps down and rejoins her on the blanket.

“You’re a heartbreaker, you know that Horowitz?”

“And you’re insane.”

“You should come to prom,” he says.

“Why? It’s not like I’ll know anyone there besides you and I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with your date.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“I don’t think so Hop, maybe next year.”

“At least think about coming? For me? It’ll be so much more fun with you there.”

“I’ll think about it, but I’m not making any promises.”

Eventually, the cold begins to seep through Joyce’s jacket and Hopper offers to drive her home. She watches as he packs up the blanket, rolling it together and tossing it into the back seat of his car, and she thinks about what he said about prom.

She hadn’t any interest in going. It wasn’t like she had many friends and the few she did have wouldn’t be caught dead at a school dance. Even though she knows he was joking, she finds herself wondering what it would be like to go with Hopper. People would stare, probably whisper and she’s sure she would hate it. What she wouldn’t hate, she dares to let herself think, is being in his arms while they shared a dance. She’s quick to rain-in and dismiss the thought, but it still popped into her mind and a vision of them, wearing ridiculous outfits while they danced to a jazz band version of a trashy song, doesn’t displease her.

She shivers, the overwhelming sensation that normal people didn’t daydream about their best friend rippling through her tiny body.

“Cold?” he asks, noticing her quivering next to the passenger side door.

“Yeah,” she replies automatically. Cursing at herself for getting carried away with an unrealistic, absurd fantasy, she climbs into the car and folds her arms across her chest.

As Hopper begins to drive back to her place, she finds herself fascinated by the way the moonlight paints him in a faint shade of yellow. He catches her staring and smiles. “What?”

“Huh?” she replies, tearing her gaze away as quickly as possible.

“You’re staring.”

“Oh nothing,” she sighs, “just tired.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to drive around some more?”

“I never said that.”

They drive around for another hour, talking about everything and nothing. On a particular stretch of abandoned road that lies between the edge of the town and the woods, Hopper even lets Joyce drive his car. He’d taught her to drive years prior, but she hated to when other cars were on the road and so she reserved practice for late nights like this, with Hopper in the passenger seat and the moon being the only other light aside from the headlights.

When Joyce begins to yawn, Hopper drives her home. She lingers in the warm cabin of the car, laughing at a story he’s telling about Benny. Her hand falls to his arm as she laughs, and rests there until the cold evening air crashes through the open car door and she announces that she should get going.

She waves from the porch before climbing the trellis and back towards the window she escaped from hours prior.

Hopper smiles to himself, watching as she moves silently against the night sky and waits until she’s safe inside before he begins his own journey back home.

I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans

[teamred]

beautiful stranger

summary: you sneakily take photos of a cute boy on the train to send to your friend. when the cute boy sits down next to you, you realize you weren’t as sneaky as you thought you were. pairing: peter parker x reader warnings: fluff, mild language word count: 1.7k words

prompt: “I was trying to take a sneaky picture of you because i told my friend about the hot guy on the train and she wanted to see but you totally noticed and yeah this is awkward” au from here

gif created by me, please credit if using

is it illegal to be this cute????

You texted your friend on the way home from school, hiding your face in your phone while sitting on the subway. Only a few steps away from you, a beautiful boy in a blue sweater grasped onto the pole as he listened to music. He stepped onto the train a few stops ago and now, you couldn’t stop staring. 

istg im sweating n dying from the close proximity of his presence 

hes not even that close

is htis normal?????

Slowly peeking up, you stole another glance at the boy. His attention drifted to his phone while your eyes danced over his sharp jawline and strong features, which contradicted against his overall sweet face. 

Saying he was beautiful was an understatement. You were so drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.  

Suddenly, he began to smile and laugh from whatever he was doing on his phone. Your heart burst then and there, causing you to hold your phone close to your chest in hopes it would contain the invisible chaos. Your friend texted you back:  

-!!! send me a pic!!! let me see!!!

fine okay gimme a sec

Lifting your phone up a bit, you angled it enough to get a decent shot of the boy, but not too high to make it obvious. You attempted to take the picture as if you were taking a selfie. Although a bit difficult since the train rattled casually, you successfully took the photo and even had extra shots to send to your friend.

-okay he pretty cute 

-u should say smth!!! 

?? what would i say “hi i think ur cute lets go out sometime”??

-yea??? thats how meeting ppl works?? 

As you texted your friend back, the person sitting beside you stood up, ready to leave the train. Without moving your head, your eyes darted to the empty seat. Then, you glimpsed at the boy, who seemed to be making his way towards you. Your phone practically fell out of your hands when you replied:  

omg the seat next to me is empty i think hes going to sitdown 

-make ur movE OR ELSE U WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN

-DONT BE A PUSSY!!

You tried your hardest to pretend you were preoccupied with your phone, but all you could do was wait for the handsome stranger to sit down. Without looking up, you heard the boy ask the lady standing in front of you if she would like to have the seat, but she politely declined. The pounding in your ears was too difficult to ignore, but you still tried your best to drown it out. It felt like forever before he sat down next to you. 

You weren’t even sure which app you were scrolling on at this point and you really couldn’t care less either. All you could think about was your friend’s text. 

Make your move. Make your move. Make your move or else-

“Hi.”

You froze, unsure if you heard a voice. You glanced around before your sight landed on the attractive figure next to you. The spotlight was all on you, with his earphones off and a smile plastered across his face as wide as a football field. Was he actually talking to you?  

“Hi.” 

Your eyes fluttered as fast as your heart in an attempt to look into his sparkling, brown eyes.     

He leaned a little closer to you. If you weren’t sweating already, you definitely were sweating now. Did you remember to wear antiperspirant today? You clenched your hands in a fist, with your phone still in hand, fighting against the urge to check. 

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered. Of course he had a sweet voice to match his face. You nodded. 

“Do I have something on my face?�� 

Tilting your head in confusion, you shook your head in response. “No, I don’t see anything.” 

The boy sighed a relief, relaxing into his seat a bit. “Phew, that’s good. Just wanted to make sure I look good for my picture.” 

“Hm?” 

The mysterious boy gestured towards your phone. He came in closer to whisper again—

“Rule #1 of the Selfie Rulebook: you should always try different angles to get the lighting right. You kinda just stuck your phone out in one direction and that was it.” 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He knew. 

“Well, what if I’m confident in my selfie angling? Maybe this is my best side.” You held your phone out, mocking yourself from moments earlier. You were already caught, may as well die with the lie as long as you can.  

He chuckled.

It really was illegal to be this cute. 

“Then I can’t really argue with you. Please take my most humble apologies, oh, Selfie Master.” The boy placed a hand on his chest, dipping his head as if bowing. 

Almost instantaneously, defeat took over your body. You placed your palms against your face, covering yourself in shame. Maybe if you held still long enough, the embarrassment would fade and the cute boy would forget what happened.  

“Was I that obvious?” you groaned behind your palms.

“Only to me.” 

You peeked through the slit of your fingers to find him still smiling at you. 

“Why’d you take photos of me? Art project on collecting photographs of beautiful things? I had to do that once.” 

You wondered what (or who) he took photographs of for his art project. If this conversation didn’t end in flames, maybe you could ask him. Your hands drooped down, resting upon your thighs.  

“To be honest,” you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, ready to confess. “My friend was curious about this cute guy I noticed on the subway. I needed proof to validate my taste in men.” 

After a moment to exhale, with your eyes still closed, you heard him reply:  

“Well, let me say that your taste in men is impeccable.” 

Opening your eyes, despite the warmth that radiated from your cheeks, you smiled shyly. Taking a chance, you introduced yourself and held your hand out. 

“I’m Peter,” he took your hand in his and shook it. Both of you lingered on the shake longer than expected, causing you two to giggle.  

“Which school do you go to?” you asked. 

“Midtown Tech. You?”

“Same!” 

“Really?” Peter wrinkled his eyebrows. “I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“Just transferred,” you shrugged in response. 

“Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m always happy to help. Well, not anything, but, I mean,” he scrunched his nose while rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m always here. To help. With things. Most things.” 

Laughter filled the air between you two. You opened your mouth, but stopped in your tracks when you noticed your stop was coming up soon. Just because you two went to the same school, it didn’t mean that you would ever bump into each other, especially in the sea of a few thousand other kids. It was now or never to make your move. 

“I’d love to stay and chat, but my stop’s coming up soon. I don’t normally do this, but do you want to exchange numbers and maybe meet up for coffee or something?” The words spilled so quickly from you, you weren't sure if Peter caught everything. He stared blankly at you for a moment and you almost repeated yourself when he said— 

“Definitely.” 

In a hurry, you practically dropped your phone into his hand. His fingers breezed over your phone as he typed in his info before handing it back to you. You were about to text him to ensure it was the correct number, but you saw that he already did so. The name Peter Parker was at the top of the conversation and a “Hi!” stared back at you. 

“Got your text,” Peter held up his phone as confirmation. Unwillingly, you stood up, beaming down at him, and adjusted your backpack over your shoulder. 

“Where do you have to get off?”  

“Actually,” Startling you, he stood up too. “My stop passed already.” 

With your mouth agape, you shook your head. “Wait, what? Why didn’t you-” 

“I wanted to find out the name of the pretty girl who was taking my picture,” He mirrored you, adjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as well. “but I’m glad I got more than I bargained for.” 

Your mind couldn’t compute what Peter was saying; all you could do was blink incoherently. The train slowed down as you walked towards the doors with Peter trailing behind you. Both of you stepped off towards an empty side of the station near a rusty pillar.   

“Well, I have to get to the other side,” Peter gestured towards the platform across from you. Still in awe, you smacked your lips together and nodded. “It was really nice meeting you. Hopefully, we can see each other soon. Get home safe.” 

His cheeks puffed from his emerging soft smile. You died a little on the inside. 

“You too, Peter. I’ll see you around.” 

You rushed away down the stairs, bolting away from what felt like a dream. At the edge of the entrance of the station, you paused abruptly to check your phone. 

-??? WHAT HAPPENED TELL Me

-dont leave me hanging like this!!!

According to the timestamps of the texts between you and your friend, the whole interaction with Peter lasted a mere ten minutes. You chuckled in disbelief as you answered your friend: 

i have the number for one (1) peter parker!!

he goes to midtown too!!! 

and he thinks i’m Pretty 

-!!!!!!!!

-im so proud of u!!!!!!

In the middle of replying, you had a notification of a text from none other than Peter. 

*Hi! Long time no talk. 

*I don’t want to come off as impatient or weird, but is it too early to text you? Should I wait? 

*(If so, we can pretend these texts never happened in the first place…)

He wasn’t even there anymore, but your cheeks tingled once again. With a grin, you said: 

(((you can text me only if we pretend i didnt take pictures of you on the train)))

You placed your phone back into your pocket and walked home, still revelling in all the events that just occurred. Coming up to your house, you opened up Peter’s response—

*Deal :)  

[petrichoravellichor]

Title: A New Kind of Life

Wordcount: ~10k

Rating: T

Summary: What if, when Sam and Dean break into the Empty, Cas isn’t the only one they save? A post-15x19 fix-it fic in which Crowley gets a second shot at the redemption (and family) he deserves.

(Read on Ao3)

********************

Chapters 4 & 5 (of 5) (Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3)

The next morning, Crowley and Jack enter the library for Jack’s daily chess lesson to find Sam and Eileen hunched over a pile of books at the table nearest the doorway. Crowley takes a breath he doesn’t technically need, steeling his nerves. We can choose to be good...

“Jack,” he says smoothly, “be a good lad and go set up the board, will you? I’d like to have a word with Sam’s charming guest.”

Sam's eyes are on him in an instant. There's a quiet click as Sam's knuckles tighten around the book he's holding, followed by the sound of his foot sliding across the floor to nudge Eileen.

Eileen glances up from her work, looking first at Sam, then over at Crowley, and bloody hell, if looks could kill, she'd have him dead on the floor. Crowley doesn’t miss the way Eileen's grip tightens around the pen in her hand; in fact, he’s fairly certain she’s already plotted out at least three different places to stab him with it.

Crowley inclines his head in a gesture of polite greeting. “Hello, Eileen. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

“I know who you are,” Eileen says icily, and Crowley thinks that perhaps he underestimated the number of already-plotted stabbing places, “and unless the next words out of your mouth are I’m sorry, you can—”

“I’m sorry,” says Crowley, without preamble, and the silence that follows is absolute. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam stiffen, though whether it’s in anger or impatience or something else, Crowley doesn’t know: Eileen is all but boring into him with her gaze, and he doesn’t dare look away.

“You’re sorry,” Eileen repeats, slowly.

Crowley nods. “For the hellhound. The British Men of Letters asked for one, and I obliged; I didn’t ask what for. The first time I heard your name, you were already dead. It wasn’t personal. So...yes. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Eileen’s expression is inscrutable. She continues to regard him carefully, rubbing her thumb over the pen in her grasp, until finally, she blows out a slow breath and sets the pen down. “Okay,” she says, and though she still looks wary, Crowley notices a slight drop in her shoulders. “I mean, don’t get me wrong: we’re not friends, and I still don’t trust you, but...thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” Then, deciding the smart thing to do is bow out before his luck expires, he adds, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my pupil awaits,” and, with a final nod, hurries over to the other table.

Jack is positively beaming. “I told you,” he whispers as Crowley slides into his seat. “Eileen is nice! I think you two will be friends.”

“Doubtful,” Crowley murmurs, but at least Jack’s pleased with him. When the boy had knocked on his door earlier and told him that Eileen was with Sam in the library, Crowley had suggested postponing their lesson, but Jack had insisted it would be a good chance to make amends, and blast it if Crowley has yet found a way to deny Jack anything he asks for. If the boy weren’t already busy being the new God, Crowley muses, he’d make a hell of a crossroads demon.

They begin their lesson. Jack is getting better; he actually manages to give check once, and Crowley feels a swell of pride for him even as he easily captures the offending piece. With enough practice, Crowley has no doubt that Jack will eventually be able to give him a run for his money, maybe even compete in tournaments. Now that, thinks Crowley, would be something to see: God and his coach, the former King of Hell. Jack’s opponents would never know what hit them.

Eileen leaves just as Jack’s lesson is coming to a close, but Sam lingers after she’s gone, glancing over every so often. Crowley pretends not to notice and tells Jack to go on, he’ll put the board away since Jack set it up. Once Jack is safely out of earshot and it’s just Sam and Crowley left in the room, Crowley decides they might as well get on with it, whatever it is.

“Something on your mind, Moose?” he asks mildly, snapping the chess set closed and rising from his chair. “Because if it’s a snogging you’re after, pass. These days, I make it a point not to get involved with anyone whose partner has access to things that could kill me and knows how to use them.”

The look of dry exasperation Sam shoots him is well worth it. “Very funny,” Sam retorts, before his expression softens a bit. “I just...wanted to say thanks. For apologizing to Eileen, I mean. I know it probably wasn’t easy.”

Crowley blinks; he’d been expecting hostility, not approval. He masks his surprise with a cavalier shrug. “Easier than telling her that you and your brother allied with the man who set the hellhound on her, I presume.”

A pained look crosses Sam’s face. “I—yeah. Ketch was...complicated.”

“You have told her about all that, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” Sam says, and there’s enough anguish in his voice that Crowley believes him. “I told her everything.”

“Good. Glad to see you lot have finally learnt a thing or two about keeping secrets from one another.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Crowley thinks that perhaps their conversation is over, but just as he’s about to go—

“While we’re on the subject of apologizing,” Sam says, carefully meeting Crowley’s eye, “I’m sorry about Rowena showing up in your room. I told her we were going to the Empty to get you and Cas back and that we’d let her know how it went, but then she kind of just ambushed you as soon as we got back, before I’d even had a chance to call her, and...yeah, I’m really sorry.”

The genuineness of Sam’s admission catches Crowley off-guard. “Yes, well,” he scratches the back of his head and looks away, “Mother never was one to sit and wait for news she could go out and get herself.”

Sam’s lips twitch in a wry sort of smile. “Well, she can’t astral project into the Bunker anymore, not with the warding we laid down. Also, um. I don’t know if Dean told you, but he, uh, talked to her for a while on the phone that night.”

The surge of affection Crowley feels is almost overwhelming. “No,” he manages. “He didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure Rowena knows not to try anything else unless she hears from you first.”

Crowley sighs. “Which, incidentally, might be sooner rather than later. I’ve decided I’ll hear her out.”

“Really?” says Sam, sounding pleasantly surprised. “That’s...great. Do you want me to take down the warding, or…?”

Crowley shakes his head. “If I’m to do this, it’ll be in person. I don’t want her flickering out the moment it all becomes too much, not before I’ve had my say.”

“So, you’re thinking of going to Hell?”

“I don’t see any alternative,” grumbles Crowley. “She can’t come here physically, not without a host, and I’ve a feeling that particular option is against house rules.”

“You would be correct,” Sam says firmly, though not unkindly. “Maybe there’s another way, though...Cas might know a spell, or I can check the lore, see if we can figure something out.”

“Figure something out for what?” comes a voice, and Crowley turns to see Castiel enter the library, a small pile of books in hand. “Did you need me for something?”

“Crowley wants to talk to Rowena,” Sam explains, “ideally in person, but—”

“—but the only way to do that without Rowena taking a host,” Castiel finishes, “is for you,” he nods at Crowley, “to go to Hell. I understand.” He sets his books down on the table, looking thoughtful. “There may be a way,” he says after a moment, “although it’s not without risk, and we’ll have to check that we have all of the necessary ingredients. I can supply the angelic grace.” He looks over at Sam. “How much blood can you spare?”

Sam’s eyes widen; he glances from Castiel to Crowley and back again. “I mean—”

“Oh for the love of—do you two even hear yourselves?” Crowley demands; dear God, he’s always thought of Dean as the one lacking impulse control, but apparently it’s just a household prerequisite. “We’ll find another way, one that doesn’t involve either of your life forces!”

They all fall silent, each ostensibly pondering alternate plans, when suddenly, Sam gets a look that suggests he has an idea. “Jack.”

“Yes?” says Jack brightly, startling Sam as he appears out of thin air; he sees Castiel and Crowley and furrows his brow. “Are we having a family meeting? Shouldn’t we wait till Dean gets back from walking Miracle?”

Sam chuckles. “No, we’re not having a family meeting. I wanted to ask, do you think you could make body for Rowena, so she can visit us here at the Bunker?”

“Oh.” Jack considers a moment, then smiles. “Sure, I can do that. When does she want it?”

*****

One week later, they’re all in the kitchen having breakfast, and Crowley is doing what he considers to be an admirable job at hiding his nerves.

That is, until Dean abruptly calls him out on it.

“You sure you don’t want backup?” Dean asks, giving Crowley his best no-nonsense look from the other side of the table. “’Cause I mean it, man: you don’t gotta deal with this on your own.”

“We could wait in the hallway,” Sam offers from the next seat over, “and only come in if things get out of hand.”

Next to Crowley, Castiel nods. “And we could have a code word of some kind, a way for you to let us know you’d like assistance.”

“Oh, like Poughkeepsie!” Jack says around a mouthful of cereal. “I’ve never gotten to use that one before.”

And the thing is, Crowley can tell they mean it; a word from him, and he’ll have two hunters, an angel, and God himself there to support him. The thought makes him feel warm in a way he still isn’t used to, so he fumbles out a half-hearted remark about how they’re all impossible and insists they leave the Bunker as planned.

Over by the stove, Juliet looks up from where she’s lying curled around Miracle and lets out a miffed sort of bark; Crowley shoots her a look, and with a low growl of displeasure, she lowers her head.

The hellhound had shown up out of the blue four days ago, howling insistently at the Bunker door. A quick call from Sam to Rowena had revealed that Rowena knew nothing about it—apparently, Juliet hadn’t been seen in Hell since Crowley’s death and was presumed to have run off. It had taken Crowley quite a bit of persuading to convince Sam and Dean to let her in, but eventually, they’d settled on a few ground rules that everyone could live with: Jack would make Juliet visible to everyone, not just Crowley; Crowley was to keep Juliet either with him or in his room at all times; and Juliet not to go near Eileen unless or until Eileen said otherwise. Crowley had readily agreed to each one; after all, a few simple rules were a small price to pay in exchange for having his beloved hellhound back at his side.

After breakfast, Crowley takes Juliet to his room and orders her to stay, sighing when the hound gazes reproachfully back at him. “Don’t worry, girl,” he assures her, scratching just behind Juliet’s ear in the place he knows she really likes. “Papa will be just fine.”

Ten minutes later, as Crowley stands in the library and awaits his mother, he’s still repeating that last bit to himself when Rowena appears in the doorway. She halts as Crowley catches sight of her, and for a long moment, they just stare at each other. Eventually, Crowley clears his throat.

“Mother,” he says, stiffly. “You’re looking well, for a dead woman.”

Rowena smiles. “Yes, well,” she says, raising a hand to examine it in the light, “let it never be said there aren’t certain benefits to being a surrogate aunt to the new God.” She lowers her hand, and her smile turns more tentative. “You’re looking well yourself. It’s good to see you, in the flesh.”

Crowley doesn’t smile back. “You said you wanted to explain, so now’s your chance.” He narrows his eyes. “Your last chance. If I were you, I’d choose my next words very carefully. In fact,” he adds, remembering his own apology to Eileen, “unless the first two are I’m sorry, then you needn’t bother with the rest.”

Rowena hesitates, biting her lip, and just as Crowley is about to tell her to leave and not come back, she actually says it: "I'm...sorry."

Time itself seems to stop. It’s as though the words have turned Crowley to stone; he'd half-expected her to refuse outright. “For?” he manages, after a moment.

Rowena's gaze is pained and earnest. “For everything. For abandoning you when you were a child. For using you, for manipulating you, for...for Gavin.” A single tear falls down her face. “He was my grandson, and I let him die because I knew it would hurt you. It was wrong, and...and I’m sorry.”

Crowley feels like he’s swallowed glass. He closes his eyes and thinks back to the last time he saw Gavin, when Gavin decided to return to the past and embark on a doomed voyage in order to save the soul of his beloved. Crowley sees himself reaching for Gavin, determined to whisk him away; he sees himself being frozen in place by Rowena’s spell, sees Gavin’s look of sad resolve as he says goodbye.

I’m sorry, Father...

More than anything, Crowley wants to be able to go back, to forgo his damnable pride and say that no, he’s sorry, because for all he’d hated his mother, for all he’d sworn to himself that he’d be better than her, he hadn’t been. Instead, he’d been a bitter, abusive arse who’d made Gavin’s life hell for as long as he was alive. By all accounts, Gavin should have followed in Crowley’s footsteps and become a hardened, miserable drunk, only...only he hadn’t...

Because somehow, inexplicably, Gavin MacLeod had been decent. He’d met a girl and fallen in love, and when it became clear to him that staying in the present meant his love would be damned and that innocent people would die, Gavin hadn’t hesitated. He’d gone back, knowing full well what it would mean, because it had been the right thing to do. Gavin had a choice, and he'd chosen to be good.

We can be more than the people we come from...Gavin had been better than him. Maybe it’s not too late for Crowley to be better than himself.

He opens his eyes. Rowena is staring at him from near the doorway, face a mess of tears, and for the first time, Crowley thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s not the only one who wants to be better, not the only one who needs to be redeemed.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, quietly. “When you said you’d missed me?”

“Aye,” Rowena rasps, voice barely more than a whisper. “When Sam and Dean...when they told me you’d...died…All I could think was that I’d rather have you alive, even if you hated me. I don’t need you to love me; I know I haven’t earned that. I just...” She keeps her eyes on Crowley’s face and takes a hesitant step towards him. “I just want to be a part of your life.”

“Why?” demands Crowley, and even he can hear the way his voice breaks on the word. “Damn it, Mother, why? Why, after a lifetime of not being there, do you want to be there now? And don’t say it’s because you love me,” he says sharply as she opens her mouth. “Just...don’t. Pick a different reason, one I can actually believe. You say you want to be in my life, but why should I let you? Why do you deserve to be?”

Several seconds go by in silence; then—

“I...I don’t,” Rowena murmurs, eyes widening as she speaks words that are equal parts admission and realization. “I don’t deserve it, I—” She hangs her head and lets out a shuddering sob. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know how to do this right; I wish I did, but I don’t! I thought loving you made me weak, but I was wrong; I always have been. You deserved better from this world.” She raises her eyes. “You deserved better from me, and...and I don’t know how to love you the way you deserve, but Fer—but Crowley, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

If he’ll let her...Crowley feels himself sway. It’s a dizzying notion, letting his mother in. They’ve hated each other for centuries; it’s been the one constant in Crowley’s life, a perverse and painful North Star that, in one way or another, has guided every major decision he’s ever made and shaped the very core of who he is. Hating and expecting to be hated back, by his mother, by everyone—for his entire life, it’s been how he’s survived, but...

But that isn’t true anymore. Crowley has a new life now, one with people who care about him, people who had been willing to stand in this room beside him if he'd asked it of them. The idea of not hating Rowena, of her not hating him...it’s strange and uncomfortable and borderline frightening, but it’s also...possible, realizes Crowley, in a way that it’s never felt before. Because whatever happens with Rowena, Crowley knows he’ll survive it. And he won’t have to do it alone.

Crowley draws himself up to full height. “I don’t know how to believe you,” he says. “Not right now, at any rate, but…” He hesitates, then takes a careful step forward. “I’m willing to...entertain the possibility that someday, I might.”

Rowena’s face is a study in barely contained hope. “Then...you mean…?”

“I’ve decided I’m going to let you try, but on my terms, with boundaries.” Crowley looks her square in the eye. “And if you give me a reason, any reason, to regret that decision, then I promise you now that it will be the last chance I ever give you. Have I made myself clear?”

Rowena regards him carefully, no doubt sensing the absolute certainty of the words, and nods. “Aye. I understand. So.” She gives him a tentative smile. “What are your terms? And shall we have them in writing, to make it official?”

Her tone is light, playful, almost, but her eyes are serious, and Crowley gets the sense that the question is a sincere one. Honestly, it’s probably not a bad idea, writing it all down, especially since everything about this is uncharted territory for them. He’s never got this far with his mother, and he has no idea how to best move forward...but he knows he doesn’t have to figure that out alone, either.

“I’ll get back to you,” Crowley says at last. “In a few days, perhaps, after I’ve thought about it, talked about it...with my family.”

And for the first time in his life, the word doesn’t hurt when he says it.

********************

Epilogue: A Few Months Later...

It’s Dean who suggests they all go to the beach.

“Just think about it,” Dean says over pancakes one morning, gazing dreamily off into space. “Sand between our toes, cooler full of Margiekugels, matching Hawaiian shirts...”

Crowley balks at the last bit; he’s seen the shirts Dean has in mind, and there is absolutely no way in Heaven or Hell he’ll ever be caught dead in—

“We’re all getting matching shirts?” Jack asks, beaming.

Bollocks…

A few days later, Crowley sits on a California beach at sunset, reluctantly dressed in what can only be described as a vibrant, floral nightmare. He watches with a sort of begrudging fondness as Jack, Sam, and Eileen, all in similar shirts, play fetch with Miracle and Juliet down in the surf, and if Crowley doesn't actually hate his current attire as much as he pretends to, that's nobody's business but his own. He takes a sip of his cocktail—Sex on the Beach, and a damned good one at that—and glances over to where Dean is humming Queen and flipping burgers over a charcoal grill. "Remind me to take Jack shopping when we get back,” he says. “I’ve given up on you and Moose, but perhaps there’s still time to save the next generation from a closet full of fashion sins.”

Dean snorts. “Dude, whatever. Besides, the kid’s God now: the hell’s it matter what he wears?”

“That is precisely why it matters,” counters Crowley, exasperated. He looks past Dean at Castiel, who’s chopping tomatoes at a nearby picnic table. “You there, Feathers, back me up! Where’s your sense of fatherly pride?”

“I’m proud of Jack regardless of what he wears,” Castiel says without looking up from his work, and Crowley’s just about to argue the point further when Castiel adds, “Although if you’re offering to help ensure he doesn’t look like a lumberjack, I’m not opposed.”

Dean shoots Castiel a look of abject betrayal. “Hey! At least I don’t walk around lookin’ like a holy tax accountant.”

“I love you too,” says Castiel mildly, smiling as Dean’s frown melts into a blushing pout, and Crowley gleefully registers the argument in his favor.

Savile Row, here we come, he thinks, smirking and taking another sip of his drink. He wonders idly how much convincing it would take to get Sam, Dean, and Castiel to accompany him and Jack on their shopping excursion. They could make a day of it, hit up all the best shops and end by taking in a show. Eileen, of course, would be welcome to join, and Crowley thinks that perhaps he’ll even invite Rowena...perhaps. If she asks very, very nicely.

For now, he leans back in his chair, watching contentedly as Jack races the dogs back from the shoreline, Sam and Eileen trailing behind while closer by, Castiel joins Dean at the grill and the two start plating food. There will be time to sort out the details later; today, Crowley’s on holiday, with his family. And there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.