#also i just need more excuses and prompts to talk about mash tbh

[marley-manson]

Hawkeye is being overdramatic when he says 'would you hold me and let me die in your arms or would you let me lie there and bleed' (probably in part because he's still coming down from a manic episode and has been extra intense this episode, and in part because he's Hawkeye and Hawkeye is often overdramatic), but BJ's overly literal response is bizarre because he's either willfully ignoring what Hawkeye's saying and refusing to engage with his actual point, thereby proving Hawkeye's point (even if you can't do something to change a situation you can still be emotionally available, except you never are) or he's just totally misunderstanding what Hawkeye's talking about somehow and thinking Hawkeye is being literal in some way?

Honestly Mike Farrell's delivery there is v strange to me too lol, because he sounds genuinely confused and freaked out but idk how you can miss Hawkeye's point man, the context is very clear, and if you're not used to Hawkeye's occasional overdramatics by now... Like him taking Hawk's line weirdly literally might work if it was in a casually dismissive way, like 'shut up lol you're not dying' but that wasn't the vibe.

I wonder if he's meant to be more disturbed than he otherwise might be because of Hawkeye's recent manic episode, projecting his feelings about that and running away again? Or maybe that's more like a convenient excuse to himself, because ofc he doesn't want to talk about his emotional constipation? idk.

[dreams-of-valeria]

Could it be F1 and A1 but like maybe the reader and hopper have an age gap so the reader parents are almost (but they are not... or they are ? Idk that’s up to you lol) the same age as hopper therefore there’s this kind of tension??? And hopper being kind of clumsy at the cake ? Sorry if I am asking too much, tbh your prompts got me exited!

@may85 asked:

Sooooooo can I please request A1 and F10 together? F10 being that the readers parents are complete shit and giving reader a hard time about Hop being late. Pllleassee!? 🥰🥰

In the midst of winter

F1: Baking a cake together

F10: Requester's choice

A1: Late for Christmas dinner with Reader's parents

Pairing: Jim Hopper × Younger female reader

A/N: Merry Christmas and thank you so much for your kind words! I’ve clubbed both of your requests together because as you can see, they are essentially the same but I’ve made sure to give them some individuality and I really hope you like it!

Warnings: Ok so this turned out to be a little darker than I expected and includes mentions of abuse and crying but it’s nothing our favourite Chief can’t handle. Age gap.

Word count: 3,067

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The old clock on the wall taunted you with every plock, demanding your attention between every bite of the bread you were working down just to keep your mouth busy.

The alternative would be to make conversation with the two severely conservative, stuck up and judgy people you knew as your parents. But unlike that moment, your childhood didn’t consist of you swimming in bread, although it had always been your favorite.

Your eyes drifted anywhere but over them sitting across from you at the table, and rather flew over the spread you had spent all day making. Gingerbread, ham, mashed potatoes, roasted green beans and carrots, sugar cookies, cake batter on the counter and a stuffed chicken because the store had run out of turkeys the night of Christmas Eve. The festive season was surely joyous and mesmerizing, but also meant you had to work tirelessly to a goal you had set for yourself, and could barely accomplish when your parents had arrived an hour early; just so they’d have extra time to pick at how untidy your apartment was, how old your simple black dress looked, and how you were wasting your life working as a writer at local newspaper. Which, they had added rather graphically the people of Hawkins only used to wipe their unmentionables. And that was even before they got to the pièce de resistance.

They had always been elitist and looked down upon the humble families just trying to survive and make it in a capitalist country, especially the folks of a small town, which was part of the reason you had moved to Hawkins, Indiana. The lion’s share was because you just had to get away.

The pleasant dream of having a small, homely Christmas dinner with Hopper had been shattered by that one phone call last night, of how your parents had caught wind that you’d found someone for yourself from your sister.

Becky hadn’t told them on purpose, of course. Unlike your parents, she didn’t see anything wrong with you dating a 40-year-old man especially when you were finally, truly happy. In fact, her only folly had been to leave the postcard you had sent her out on the counter, and naturally, your nosy parents had found out. Strangely, it had been Hopper’s idea to dress both of you up in all red for the photograph and send Christmas postcards out to everyone you knew. He wasn’t very generically forthcoming but did have certain ways to show affection.

Including offering to cook dinner with you. You smiled when you remembered, how only last night he had taken you in his arms after the phone call and calmed you down until your panic attack had passed. ‘We can figure it out’, he’d said, brushing your hair lovingly. You missed feeling that sense of warmth and safety in his arms.

You didn’t feel even an iota of that warmth and safety in your own apartment and surrounded by the people you’d known ever since you were born. But knowing and loving were two completely different things, you’d realised, a little too late in your life. The moment you did, you were on a bus heading south.

But now there was nowhere to run. They were there to meet your boyfriend, and like he had said, you just had to get through it. Pull off the bandaid. You wished Hopper wasn’t late, that he was there to defend you from the comments or offer comfort with his hand on the small of your back, but he was late, fighting crime. Typical.

Unlike in your parents’ case, you found that to be endearing. Even if he was forced to let you cook dinner alone.

“It’s been a while,” commented your mother, pulling her blazer’s sleeve back down over her diamond wristwatch. She was studded all over with stones, and they made your eyes hurt from the glare. You swallowed the bread and the lump down your throat and tried to smile.

“Like I said, he’s the Chief of police and must be busy with work.”

“On Christmas Eve? Did someone lose a cow or something?” Your father laughed, a balding bespectacled man who outshone his better half only in contempt.

“We’re not all mindless, farming hillbillies, dad.” You sighed, taking a sip from the wine, but reminding yourself not to drink too much. Drowning your sorrows in alcohol had worked before, but right then, it would only work in your parents’ favor. Just another reason to find a flaw in you.

“Of course not, dear. You’re not one of them.” Rebutted your dad, keeping it civil but his eyes spoke otherwise. Appearances meant everything to them, but you could never forget that look in their eyes that spoke more than those golden words ever did.

“Them are people too you know? Like Jim, my boyfriend.” You smiled, rubbing it in. It was a rarity for you to have the upper hand when it came to irking your parents, and you were not going to let this go. Your father sighed, and you could see that he was taking deep breaths to keep the civility going. Deep down, you wished he would break. You could feel a storm brewing, but it was no reason to let Jim bear witness to it. Provided that he made it in time.

“Of course.” He gritted his teeth but soon eased up. “All we’re saying is, it’s rude to be late to dinner. Especially when you spent all day cooking.”

You opened your mouth in reflex to counter but then listened to his words. Really listened. There were no double entendres or veiled insults. That made you even more suspicious.

”We just want what’s best for you, y/n.” He smiled and your mother mirrored him, and you looked between them like a deer in headlights. What sort of game were they playing? There had to be a game.

“And it’s never too late to make the right decision–” Your mother started off, and you interrupted her with an exasperated sigh.

“I knew it,” you chuckled grimly. “You’re just here to try to talk me out of my relationship.”

“What relationship?” Your father spat suddenly, and the timber of his voice made you shudder. There it was. “You are a child, and that jerk is just forcing you to–”

The door clicked open behind you and heavy footsteps gushed in, along with a gust of frozen air. All eyes went to the hallway and landed on the man of the hour, all bundled up in a parka and boots and huffing heavy breaths, probably from running up the three flights of stairs.

He scanned the room and pursed his lips. “H-hey.”

He was terrible at meeting new people. But that was the least of your concerns. You went up to him with an automatic smile on your face despite the circumstances and helped get his parka off.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, a car had tipped over on Maple street and it took forever for the fire engine to get there and I had to wait, baby, there were kids inside–”

“It’s ok.” You assured him with a smile, holding his face in your hands briefly, knowing you had an audience. An especially judgy one.

On that note, he approached the table with a smile and drew his arm across to the seated guests.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Brown, I’m Jim–”

“Ms. Brown.” You mother corrected, eyeing him sharply. You went up behind him and rest your hand on his back, as a form of apology. You knew already you’d be doing a lot of that later.

“My apologies, Ms. Brown. And also for being late. It’s great to meet you.” You could hear the smile in his voice despite the curt way in which they shook his hand.

“Likewise, Jim.” Your father’s jaw clenched. “Now, shall we eat before you get called into duty again?”

Hopper forced a chuckle and you could hear it. He took his seat by you, not excusing himself to change out of his uniform or splash some water on his face like he usually did before dinner. He knew that no matter how much you mouthed off about them, there was still something there, and he respected that enough not to drag it out longer than it had to be and to take whatever they threw at him. It warmed your heart that he would do that for you, but at the same time, you wished he wouldn’t.

“It smells amazing, y/n.” Jim smiled on your right, squeezing your knee gently. You looked into his tired eyes and smiled back. He meant the world to you. Would they ever see that?

“Do you cook, Jim?” Asked your father as he served himself some vegetables, beating you to it. You sighed and served the potatoes to your mother, yourself and Jim.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Brown–thank you, sweetheart–unless you count microwave dinners.” He laughed in that deep, rumbling voice as he scooped some potatoes onto his spoon.

“I don’t.” Snapped your father, watching him intently as he chewed. “So this is what your … relationship is like? My daughter cooks for you and you don’t even help out–”

“I like cooking for him.” You interrupted, making louder noises with the cutlery than needed. You used to get reprimanded for that too.

Jim gently rubbed your thigh. “I meant to get here earlier, but my job–”

“So if God forbid something happened to y/n late at night, you’d be on Maple street, correct?”

“I bet you’d love if something happened to me, wouldn’t you, mom?” You hissed, stuffing your mouth with the potatoes. They were overcooked. Damn it.

“Please don’t be a martyr, y/n.” She scoffed.

“How could I be when you steal the show, mom?” You snapped and watched her jaw drop. That had never happened before.

“Y/n! That is not how you speak to your mother. Apologize.” You could see the perspiration on your father’s forehead already, and the next level would be his vein throbbing. Some part of you wanted to push him further.

“No, I’m good. Honey, could you pass the ham?” You asked Hopper, and it took him a second to blink and realize you were talking to him. He did as asked with a slight frown as he watched you closely.

You could feel your father’s eyes burn holes through you a while longer before he wordlessly returned to his dinner. You’d nailed the ham. That Jacques Pepin really knew what he was doing.

“If we knew this was how it was going to be, we’d never had flown up.” Your father said passive-aggressively, attacking the poor ham with his knife. “Thought we could just visit our daughter for Christmas …”

“Don’t pretend like that’s all you’re here for, dad.” You rubbed your fingers over your eyes, feeling moisture come back.

“Well, of course, it’s not! We paired you up with the most perfect man!” He exploded, and you were surprised he could hold it in for as long as he did. Of course, he would bring up the lowest point in your life.

“Oh, Gerald?” You scoffed, watching his vein pop. Hopper shifted uncomfortably, arms ready to interrupt if it came to that. He knew everything about your past.

“Yes, Gerald! He went to Yale! He’s going to be a doctor, y/n.” Your father cried, eyebrows furrowed in a rage. Like you had stabbed him in the back. Your mind imploded with the overwhelming memories and seemed to grip at your chest painfully. You could feel another attack coming.

“He … hurt me.” Your voice cracked, and Jim’s arm came around your shoulders.

“So you say!” Your mother dropped her cutlery, leaning forward in a rage. “He is a good boy but of course you would find faults with him, y/n–”

“He hurt me …” you gasped for breath as your voice quivered, feeling the tears track down your face. “ … every. Day.” Jim’s other arm had come around your front and held you tight, but somehow it made you feel better. The weight on your chest was getting lighter with his touches, as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“Oh, I remember the lies, y/n. And that you ran away. And all for what? Him?” Your father spat, pointing at Hopper. His arms around you froze, and you followed.

“Do you have any idea how much you’ve marred the Brown family name? Dating a damn divorcee who’s twice your age in the middle of Godforsaken nowhere?” He rasped, as his entire face turned red.

“What do you want me to do, dad?” You pleaded, throwing him another lifeline. You were stupid to hope, but that was who you were. “You want me to leave the man who loves me for who I am and finally makes me happy and go back to the one you two approve of? Even if he beats me up?”

You gazed at your parents through tears with a sincere question, still waiting like a fool for them to prove you right.

“Gerald would never do that.” Your father sighed, cleaning his glasses to the end of the table cloth, before looking up at you. There was nothing behind those eyes. “But, yes.”

And there it was.

You knew the moment you’d received that phone call that was the reason they were flying down. Not to check on their younger daughter who couldn’t do anything right with her life, or wouldn’t stay with the abuser her own parents had chosen for her right out of college to marry. But still, you dreamed that they were coming to see how you were doing, to meet Jim and maybe playfully threaten him to take care of you or to tell you that no matter what choices you made or who you were, that they were with you. That they loved and supported you.

You scoffed, realizing that that moment was the final nail in the coffin. You had long abandoned your dream of seeking your parents’ approval, but this was the end. You’d found a new dream already, and Jim would not make you chase him or point out your flaws. And you were completely and gratefully in love with him. And that was enough.

You gazed up at his face, at his still tired eyes and haphazard hair, but also at the overwhelming love in his eyes as he asked you repeatedly if you were alright. He was more than enough.

You smiled at him before turning back to them.

“Well, if I’m such a dishonor to the family name, maybe I shouldn’t have it anymore.” You said, straightening up in your seat as Hopper released you, but still kept his hand on your chair.

They looked up at you slowly, until they said almost at the same time, “What?”

“You heard me. And I think you should get going before the snow comes in.” You pulled your chair back and stood to your feet, watching them expectantly.

They seemed confused, and stared up at you with slack jaws until he said, “You’re kicking us out?”

“Perceptive aren’t you, father?” You mocked, and that seemed to do it. They hastily got to their feet and shuffled around to the hallway, grumbling as they put their coats on.

“You remember this moment when you turned your own family away, y/n. When you come begging back to us.”

“Jim treats me more like family than you two ever did. And if I do come back, it’ll be as Y/N Hopper.” You said, before closing the door after them. Their startled faces were etched into your mind as you walked back into the kitchen, wiping the remnant tears from your face.

“Honey?” Jim called hesitantly from behind you but paused in the kitchen when he saw you at the counter, throwing your apron on.

“You promised you’d help, Chief. Get your apron,” You smiled at him warmly through the tears as you uncovered the half mixed cake batter in the bowl. Hopper cautiously threw the apron on as he watched you, washing your hands before dousing them into the yellow batter.

“I’m sure we have a whisk, sweetheart.” He said, tucking some loose hair behind your ears.

“No, it’s better this way,” you smiled like you didn’t just cut off ties with your parents.

“You wanna talk about it?” Hopper asked in as gentle a voice as he could, eyeing the raisins in a bowl. He didn’t like raisins in his cake.

“I’m good. Could you pass the vanilla, please?” You asked, pointing your eyes to the small vial by the oven. He did as you asked, and you could still feel his eyes on him.

“The raisins, too.” You asked, but Jim didn’t spring into action this time. You entered a staredown, one where you looked at him expectantly, and he pleaded with his eyes. You gave in with a chuckle. He could be so adorable sometimes.

“Alright, but just this once.” You conceded, and he hovered behind you, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing your hair this time. You paused the mixing and sighed, smiling as his arms wrapped around you again. That one ounce of doubt disappeared when you were in his arms again, and bliss replaced it.

“I love you too,” you declared, turning your face to kiss him. Jim was chaste this time and let you off with a peck, lending that moment more gooey-ness than the batter. And it only increased when he slid his fingers down your arms and into the bowl, kneading along with you.

“What are you doing?” You chuckled, leaning back into him. He was your pillar in more ways than one. You were grateful for him every day, starting with the day you’d met him at the newspaper office when he’d wanted some ‘intel’. You’d found out days later that it was all made up and the only reason he was there, was for you.

“Helping.” He hummed, kissing your cheek as his fingers intertwined with yours and straightened out the batter, and Jim Hopper was kind enough to lend the same favor to you.

And that was more than enough.

J.