#deadbeats elements

[mysteryideasgroup]

Deadbeats Elements

Deadbeats Elements/Elementals

Firebeat Flamebeat

Waterbest Icebeat Icybeat

Glowbeat Rockbeat

Strongbeat Airbeat

Poisonbeat Earthbeat

Like Same of Pikmin Games Series and Hotel Transylvania 3: Monsters Overboard Game

----

For @laurasanchez36

All belongs to my new msa ocs sonas Deadbeats Elements/Elementals

[hydesjackiespuddinpop]

I respect opinions but anyone who tries to tell me Nate is Hyde or Jackie, can get the fuck off my blog.

[firebirdsdaughter]

No sleeves!

@fluttering-by​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

The noise of a lawnmower welcomes you out into the vibrant summer day. Your mother is already on the porch, sat on the patio bench. You can tell she’s primped herself up just a little bit. You put the jug of lemonade on the wicker table and stand by the end of the long eat. 

“A kind man,” your mother muses beneath the racket of the mower, “about time we got someone decent ‘round here. You know,” she furrows her brow viciously, “those bitches from the cul-de-sac never liked your nana. Hate us even more. Stepford hags.” 

You nod and peek over at Steve as he pushes the mower in a straight line. The grass falls to the blade and leaves thick clippings in rows. You twiddle your fingers as you notice the shine of sweat on the man’s forehead and forearms. His act of kindness feels more like pity. 

“Don’t be stupid, girl, go grab some cups,” your mother snipes and draws your attention back to the porch. “That man’s going to think I raised a moron.” 

You retreat back into the house. For as pleasant as she was to your new neighbour, it has done little for her mood. Or maybe it’s just you. 

You grab two of the rippled plastic cups from the cupboard and head back down the hall. You stop as you reflection passes you in the mirror. You turn to face it. You frown. You’re nothing special to look at but you don’t do much to help that. You wonder if you put on some mascara or wore something nicer if you might look anything close to pretty. 

You shrug off the fleeting insecurity. It’s not important. Your mother’s sick and your little uncertainties don’t mean anything. You push through the screen door and clack the cups down. As you do, the mower quiets and you peer over. The grass is trimmed neatly as Steve stands close to the steps, wiping his forehead as his cheeks burn rosy form the heat. 

“Whew, think I’ll try some of that lemonade,” he climbs the steps, “hot one today.” 

As he climbs the last step and he drags his hands down his tee shirt. His grey blonde hair droops forward and he tries to shake it out of his face. He tugs at the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head, revealing a sweat-dampened undershirt. 

“Don’t mind me,” he chuckles as he uses the outer layer to mop his face and neck, “think I overdressed.” 

“Get him some lemonade,” your mother hisses and points to the jug. “Steve, was it? What brings you to Heron Meadows?” 

You unstack one cup from the other and fill both. You set the pitcher back down and step back on your heel, folding your hands together as you fade into the background. You’re peripheral to your mother. You only exist when she needs you. 

“Well, settling down, I think,” he smiles and reaches for a cup. He raises it and stops it just in front of his chest. He carefully gestures at you with it, “thanks.” 

Your eyes round and you glance away, “welcome.” 

“Settling down?” Your mother echoes coyly. 

“I know, I’m a bit late to the game. Had to get out of the city. Maybe I outgrew it,” he sighs, “and you two? Where’s your husband hanging out?” 

You mother laughs and crosses one leg over the other, not easily as she struggles to still the shake in her foot, “long gone. He never saw this place.” 

“Ah, hope I didn’t hit a sore spot,” Steve’s cheek dimples before he sips from the glass. 

“Mm, don’t feel much for the deadbeat,” your mother tisks, “what about you? Settling down? Is your wife coming with the couch?” 

“Ah, yeah,” he reaches over to plant his hand against the pillar that connects to the rail. He leans on it and gulps again. He swallows before he continues, his eyes meeting yours for the split second you dare to look up, “missed that step but the house will keep me busy until I figure that out.” 

“Oh don’t you worry, that little club will keep you busy,” your mother scoffs, “make sure ya keep your picket fence nice and whitewashed.” 

Steve gives a curious furrow of his brow. You mother sniffs as her little quip hangs in the air. 

“HOA,” you put in quietly. 

“Mm, I bought out of that,” he says. “Outdated if you ask me. I don’t need them telling me what colour to paint my door.” 

“Bought out?” Your mother grumbles. 

“I didn’t relish the extra lawyer fees but worth it,” Steve explains before he empties the cup and puts it back down, “thanks, that was great. Uh, guess I should get started on the back.” 

You stand dumbly as you mother agrees with a grumble. An awkward silence thickens around you and she snaps in your direction with her fingers, “take him out back, honey.” 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you clamour forward as if awoken from a slumber. “Just...” you near Steve and step around him to scurry down the stairs. “this way.” 

He leaves his tee shirt draped over the railing and turns to follow. He looms like a shadow behind you and as you stop to reach over the top of the gate and unlock it, you scratch around blindly. He steps closer and hooks his arm over yours. The smell of his sweat fills your nose. 

“Got it,” he says as he easily unlatches the clasp and the gate slants inward. 

You push through, quickly making distance from him as he trails you into the backyard. It’s even worse than the front. You grab the broken mower from where you left it and drag it towards the garage. 

“Great, I’ll go grab the mower,” he declares and leaves you to shove your way awkwardly into the side door of the garage. You push the rusted metal inside and the door snaps shut at your back as you emerge back into the sunlight. 

Steve pushes through his nice electric mower and you shy away. It’s got to be close to new and no doubt expensive. You trod through the tall grass and as you pass him, his arm brushes yours. 

“I could do the eaves too,” he stops beside you. “Get some of these weeds cut too.” 

“No thanks,” 

“I don’t mind,” he insists. 

“I can manage.” 

“You can. Probably a lot. Your mom...” he suggests, letting his words hang. “She sick?” 

You glance at his chest, the white fabric taught to his muscles above his thick stomach. You nod. 

“You take care of her?” He prompts. 

“Do my best,” you mutter and traipse on, “thanks.” 

“Right, uh,” he calls after you, “well, if you change your mind or think of anything, you can always ask.” 

You keep on. He feels bad for you. Just like everyone else. You’ve heard Marge and Lucy on their daily power walk; poor thing, going nowhere, sad... 

You go back out front, leaving the gate open. You go to grab the broom from the porch as your mother remains as she was. Her hand trembles on her thigh. 

“You know, should clean up around here,” she says, “invite him for dinner as thank you. Maybe tomorrow.” 

You take the broom and stop at the bottom of the steps, “maybe tomorrow,” you agree. 

“He’s a nice man. Could use one of those,” she smirks, “never had one of those. Handsome to boot.” 

It’s strange. You haven’t seen your mother smile since your grandma was around and even then, it wasn’t like this. The way she’s talking is almost ravenous. Like she’s slathering over a pork chop still on the grill. 

“Just gonna sweep up the trimmings,” you explain as you drag the broom down the walk. 

“Ugh, do whatever, you simple girl,” she chides. “When you’re done, you start on that kitchen. Those damn dishes have been sitting there all day.” 

“Yes mother,” you say to the broomstick as you begin to sweep. 

The sun beams relentlessly down, pouring onto you like fire. When you’re done, you return the broom to its place against the siding of the house and let yourself inside. Your mother hums as she watches the birds. You should be happy to see her outside, to see her in a better mood, but you’re too uneasy with the presence of that man. You know his name but it doesn’t make him any less a stranger. 

You fill the sink and add soap. You plunge a stack of plates into the water and stare out the small window above. You can see the side of the next house. It isn’t much too look at but sometimes a squirrel will critter along the wooden fence top. 

As you zone out, hands working mindlessly on scrubbing and dousing, a shift in the foggy colours of your vision brings your eyes into focus. You blink as Steve waves from outside. He rolls the mower up to the gate and smiles at you. You wince, jolted by the reminder of him. You offer a flutter of your soapy fingers. 

He stops and stares at you through the window. You blink, uncertain what to do. He’s just looking at you. He winks and you wince at the gesture. He slaps his hand back down on the mower and pushes it through to the front yard. That was odd. 

Or maybe you’re just awkward. 

[theaceofarrows]

You know your an old Ninjago fan when you remember...

When the original 4 ninja had to use the golden weapons to use their elements

When Nya was "just Kai's sister"

Thought Lloyd was just the silly villian of the week

When finding out Zane is a nindroid was a big twist

When everyone thought Kai was going to be the green ninja

⬆and Lloyd being the green ninja was a major twist

When you thought Zane's death was permanent

When the serpentine were villains

Jaya wasn't canon

When Wu went by "Sensei" instead of "Master"

When Cole did the Triple Tiger Sashay for the first time

When the Overload was their toughest enemy

Zane's funny switch

When Lloyd had a bowl cut

When Garmadon wasn't a deadbeat dad

Reblog with your favorite early season moment

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TWO — VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON’S HOUSE

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: it's a rager at the harrington household! you attempt to reconnect with carol, tommy and the gang (it goes horribly, but they started it), accidentally connect with robin buckley and inadvertently have your life saved by eddie munson and his stupid van. you swear, this guy is following you. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing boots the house down, underage drinking, good old fashioned 80s homophobia and slut shaming, mean mom moment, implied attempted sexual assault, billy hargrove haters club (sorry) word count: 4.7k

Dear reader, I know you think of yourself as a harsh person. 

Cold and exacting, surgical in the way you deal with people. You put on a good show, though, masking it all up with quiet confidence and pretty smiles. The prettiest smiles. And you’re never too mean. At least, not out loud. 

It’s different when it comes to him, though. With him, you’ve got all the reason in the world to be mean. Vicious, even.

His dad is the reason your dad is in prison. That simple fact makes you want to grab his ridiculous hair and slam his head against the lockers so his ears ring. 

Al Munson probably has no bearing on the way Eddie Munson lives his life, because he’s a deadbeat the way his son is destined to be a deadbeat. But the mere genetic suggestion of that piece of shit is enough for you to want to cut the brake lines in his little boy’s van. 

You’re trying not to think about it too much, but it’s harder and harder when he’s right across the fucking lot, playing the same pedantic guitar riff over and over and over and–

Ssskrrrp. 

The pressure you’ve been putting on your poor fountain pen tears through the lined paper, interrupting your line of thinking. 

What doesn’t interrupt, what has no sign of stopping, is Munson’s incessant fretboard shredding coupled with–Christ almighty–an ear piercing harmonica. And look, you’re not one to ignore technique– he’s fine, you suppose, as much as anyone who can adequately handle an instrument can be fine, but it’s the fact that he keeps going. He’s relentless.

Doesn’t this place get noise complaints? 

You almost yank up your window and aim the nearest heavy thing in reach–a commemorative Indianapolis Christmapolis snowglobe from 1981–toward Munson’s window in the hope that it sails clean in and puts a hole right through his amp, but you stop yourself short. 

You do not exist to me and I better not exist to you. 

You’re a woman of your word. 

And you’ve got a party to get ready for. 

You’ll admit, the trepidation factor of showing up to Steve Harrington’s house after your trailer trash makeunder is major. This is why every element of your look has to be just meticulously so, from your hot roller curls to the angle your off-the-shoulder dress sits at. 

“Are you going somewhere?” your mom mumbles from the doorway. 

It almost make you draw a jagged edge in your lip liner– you’d forgot you left the door ajar and she moves like a ninja nowadays. Silent and deadly, or not at all. At the very least she’s not slurring her words; she’d heavily upped the intake of Beaujolais since she had to appear on the witness stand. You wonder what she’ll do when the contents of her old wine cellar that’s now living in the trailer’s living room runs out. 

You wonder what number glass is the one she’s currently clutching. 

“It’s Friday night,” you say, like that’s a sufficient response.

“Whatever happened to keeping a low profile, hon?” she says, perching on your dinky twin bed. She pokes around the measly few pieces of jewelry you’ve scattered there, the only ones you have left. The rest went to the pawn shop, then that went to the legal fund. 

Fat lot of good that did us, you think. 

“I get that you’re probably… upset by all this change, but,” she continues, sighing deep, “Going out and making a fool of us isn’t going to help anything.” 

You cap your lip liner and wonder just who the fuck your mother thinks she’s talking to. 

“And drinking yourself into a stupor in front of cable TV is?” you bite, “--scratch that. We can’t afford cable anymore, can we, Mommy?” 

Your mother’s purple-tinged lips peel over her teeth in a sickened smile. “Don’t be a bitch, Lacy. No one likes a bitch.” 

“I’m not,” you assure, unrolling the first of your hot rollers, “I’m being pragmatic. Game face, right? That’s what Daddy said. We’re not going to let this town of gossip mongering wannabes tell us who we are,” you say, rendering a pitch-perfect impression of your dad that makes your mom shudder. “I’m going out. I’m going to a party. I’m going to act like nothing has changed because it hasn’t–” 

It’s eerie how easily you can lie to yourself. 

“--you’re the one who’s not being a team player.” You don’t exactly say that your mother is the one that’s bringing extracurricular shame to the family name, but that’s what the reality is. If there’s not whispers flying about your incarcerated father, there’s mumblings about your mother showing up blotto in Melvald’s with more than one run in her stockings. 

Getting up from your makeshift dressing table to pick your jewelry from the bed, you turn– and run chest-first into your mother’s wine glass. She lets the wine spill down the front of your dress–your white dress–with just enough manufactured shock to let you know it wasn’t an accident. You gasp– is she serious?! The stain spreads just like her smile does; slow and languid and completely immovable. 

“Oh, baby, look at that mess,” she pouts mirthlessly, “Do you know how difficult it is to get red wine stains out?”

You just about keep your composure as she leaves your bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It might appear that your mother has nothing left in this world, but she still has the ability to make you feel two feet tall. 

Blinking away the hornet’s sting of tears in your freshly mascara’d eyes, you glance to the clock radio– no! You had planned on a bus route that included a fifteen minute walk from the park to get you to Steve’s on time (and to avoid another car ride full of ribbing with Carol, Tommy et al) and there’s no way you’re going to make it now. Plus, you now need a full outfit revamp and you still weren’t organized enough for that. 

Panic runs a trail of hot spikes up the back of your neck as you rifle through the nearest suitcase for anything remotely appropriate and you come up with– something. 

Something slightly risque, that you weren’t counting on debuting at a party where you needed to convince people that I’m normal and nothing’s different and everything is fine. 

Your new outfit requires you to be practically hermetically sealed into it, it’s so tight, but it matches your shoes at least– you’re a stickler for details. You’re also a stickler for multitasking, so you drum up a last ditch attempt at hitching a ride to Harrington’s house and barrel out the trailer door without so much as a Don’t wait up, Mom!

A sharp left is your first move, and you nearly swear you see Munson drop a note in his hard rock symphony as you dash past his window. Good. Hope you can’t nail that intro for the rest of the night, just like you can’t nail anything else. 

You’re sure, no, you’re positive that you’ve seen that car around here somewhere… and just like a very dangerous North Star, the Chevy Camaro sits askew in front of a nearby trailer home. The front door pops open, there’s some incoherent yelling, and a shadowy figure identifiable only by a trail of cigarette smoke and an ever-present cloud of too-strong drugstore cologne swaggers towards the vehicle. 

Someone up there’s looking out for me.

“Billy!” you call, teetering his way on your heels, “Hey.” 

Or wants me dead.

Billy Hargrove pauses in his tracks, tossing the dying ember of his cigarette into some nearby, extremely dead and extremely flammable, shrubbery. He drinks you in, top of the lid to the bottom of the label, and you want to fidget with your outfit. A black waistcoat with nothing but a bra underneath hitches your breasts to your clavicle. The matching skirt feels suddenly illicitly short. He’s regarding you with a newfound if sleazy appreciation– then again, you daresay Billy Hargrove eyes up froyo with the same lascivious look. Guy has a chronic case of eyeball nymphomania. 

“Lacy, right?” he drawls, like you haven’t been in the same social sphere at least a dozen different times. You nod, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear in an effort to out-cute yourself. This is very not you behavior, but– needs must. “Fresh meat.” 

Again, like you haven’t met a billion times before, but trailer park politics change everything. 

“Yeah,” you say, skipping over that particular prelude to a come-on, “Um, no way you’re going to Harrington’s party, are you?”

Billy heel-toes his way toward you, slow like molasses (or slurry, or tar), giving you his best half-lidded come-hither shit. Look, you get what Tina and Carol and the rest of the girls see in him– it’s the whole greased up dirtbag, fuelled by chauvinism, sponsored by Pall Mall thing that is designed to piss off their parents and give them bacterial vaginosis. It’s their first taste of adulthood. You, on the other hand, have tastes in the opposite sex that are as-yet unmet by this half-assed corn maze of a town. 

“I was thinkin’ about it,” he smirks, barely a breath away from you. And you play right up into it, even if you want to recoil from his ratty moustache. 

“Well, think I could ride shotgun?” you ask, and tack on, “With you?” 

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ, does it ever end. You have to swallow in order not to roll your eyes and ask him if he ever thinks about changing that broken flirting record. 

“The most impeccable company in Hawkins, of course,” you simper, amping up the princess angle. Though you were pretty sure that dynamic played better when you weren’t living on the edge of civilization.

Billy folds easily, but doesn’t go so far as to open the passenger door for you. He jams the radio on as soon as the key’s in ignition, speed metal rattling through the car’s interior. Another cigarette lit and he’s revving up and out, while you’re still struggling to find the non-existent seatbelt. You give up and reach for a smoke from the open soft pack on the dash– it’s not a regular habit outside of parties and stealing your mom’s every once in a while, but again, needs must. 

Billy flicks a Zippo dangerously close to your face. “What’s your deal.” 

Despite the monotone delivery, you’re sure it’s the closest thing to an honest-to-god question Billy’s ever asked you– or any girl, for that matter. 

“That’s a vague line of questioning, Billy,” you say, cracking a window so the smoke can escape. 

“You’re like, bad now or something?” he scoffs, “Shunned from the suburbs so you’re acting all edgy?” 

By hitching a ride with you, you mean. God, how pathetic to uphold yourself as the standard of bad behavior– as far as bad goes, I could do a lot better.

“Thaaat’s it,” you nod animatedly, half-yelling over the din of 'The Four Horsemen', “I figured with my father in the big house, I might as well commit to the bit. I might even get a tattoo. How’s that make you feel?”  

Billy barely emotes an answer, his himbot expression set on seduce mode. He’s just smirking, lashes low. “If you wanna let loose, I know someplace we could do that.” 

His free hand, the one that isn’t oh-so-casually resting on the wheel, reaches over to brush a lock of hair from your cheek. The knuckle trails down to your jawline, skips to your shoulder, your forearm, until his palm comes to cup your knee. Your skin feels like it hardens under his touch.

You’ve seen this movie before. Rebel Without a Condom: Skull Rock Edition.

Your hand closes over Billy’s, holding it firmly in place. He has a hair-trigger temper. You know that. You're attempting to handle it delicately.

“So do I. Harrington’s party.” 

His tongue runs along the edge of his bottom lip, and you wonder what’s fundamentally missing in you that this shit doesn’t have you trembling. He grips tighter, fingers edging up your thigh under your vice. Your stomach seizes. “I mean really loosen up, Lacy. You wanna be bad, let’s go be bad.” 

And suddenly, as his foot edges the gas to push you down the dirt road faster, you are trembling. But for all the wrong reasons. 

Then– an ungodly rumble from behind, headlights blaring through the rear window as a vehicle zooms almost bumper-to-bumper with Billy’s. The horn honks and each car’s sound system wages a war to be heard– Metallica versus Black Sabbath. 

Your neck snaps around. You don’t even need to see past the blinding light into the driver’s seat to know who the hell that is. 

The van hits a dangerous swerve in order to come neck and neck with Billy’s car, spooking him enough that he snaps his hand off of your leg. The van boisterously overtakes you and Billy slams on the horn, revving the engine from his position behind. The sign of relief you breathe is barely contained, but can’t be heard over metal-on-metal drums. 

“What the fuck is this freak’s problem?!”

“At least he’s bringing party favors.” 

–

While Billy Hargrove’s admittedly sick Camaro sure can burn rubber, she’s no match for Eddie’s old lady in the arena of sheer bull-in-a-china-shop obnoxiousness. She hauls a lotta ass and takes up a lotta road, which is perfect for raising the blood pressure of an asshole like this. 

And before you think it, before you even imagine it– he’s not fucking up Billy’s cruising hours because of you. 

Not entirely, anyway. 

Truth is, his uncle’s hours have been cut at the plant, as have Eddie’s shifts at the Hideout so he’s seizing opportunity wherever he can. Keep the lights on, right? And if that means palming off dimebags and powder to some drunk kids who are overzealous with their unpetty cash, then fine. He’d got the word from a couple of meatheads that his services might be useful, so it’s not as if he’s planning on gatecrashing Harrington’s. Gatecrashing a Quaker meeting would be more entertaining, if you ask Eddie. 

But, gun to his head? Alarm bells started ringing when he saw you bowl out of your trailer in that ho–... that outfit and head towards Hargrove’s. Well, Mayfield’s, technically– the only time Hargrove shows up there is to cool off when his dad kicks him out. Hargrove’s dad and the redhead kid’s mom have split, and she is not taking it well, so add in the macho madness of Billy and you’ve got a maelstrom of disaster.  

Sometimes he sees Little Red sneak out in the middle of the night and he’s gotten in the habit of keeping an eye on her. 

From a safe distance, of course. That kid’s like a rabid dog, jumpy and paranoid. He’s positive she bites.

Anyway, that’s how come he came to spot you. Activity in the Hargrove enclosure. And again, if he’s to believe any kind of insidious gossip, girls that slide into the passenger seat of Hargrove’s ride are not necessarily safe. 

So, he figures, it’s time to peel out and get to work. 

Eddie manages to keep Billy entertained on his tail right until the turn to Harrington’s, so you don’t swerve off onto an unlit dirt road with him. What can he say, he loves the chase!

Billy’s car almost blocks him in when he pulls up, you clambering out of the passenger side unassisted. Douchebag. The minute Eddie’s sneakers hit the pavement, Billy is just about nose to nose with him, frothing at the mouth. Rabid dog must run in the family.  

“Fuck was that about, huh?”

“Jeez, Hargrove, a little early to be scamming on your date already,” Eddie teases, drawing up to his full height– he’s got a couple of inches on Hargrove, which he knows is a sore spot. “But I’m flattered.”

On instinct, not insistence, Eddie’s eyes snap to you– but you don’t give him so much as a glance, just huff, “Thanks for the ride, Hargrove,” and head into the party. His eyes follow you, watching you stalk inside with your shoulders all hunched and your ankles about ready to give out in those dumb shoes. 

Billy shoves him, hard, as if to draw his attention back. “Fucking wanna go, huh?” 

But Eddie, at this point, is beyond over it. He’s done all the dick measuring he wants to do tonight. He digs a joint out of his pocket and slaps it into Billy’s hand. 

“Christ, Scrappy Doo, hit the brakes already. Have one on me.” 

–

The one time in your life you’ll be thankful for the bottomless pit of the male ego is tonight. Billy completely rerouted his fucking pea brain to dog Munson all the way to Steve’s house, and all you had to endure was motion sickness. 

Could have been a lot worse. 

You’re still regaining your land legs by the time you cross the Harringtons’ porch and are instantly cornered by Tina and Nicole. 

“Lacy,” they say, in unison and almost gravely. Very the twins from The Shining. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Wait, did you come here with–”

“--Billy Hargrove,” you supply before anyone can make any stupid assumptions. “Almost died in a game of chicken in the process, but that’s that Forest Hills life for ya.” 

Tina looks past you, distracted and distant. “I always forget he lives there,” Nicole shrugs. You don’t bother to correct her, because you don’t think he does. Whatever. 

“Wish I could forget I live there!” you chirp, “In fact, that’s exactly what I’d like to do– forget. What are we drinking, ladies?”

You push past the hovering bodies and make your way to the kitchen, the girls bringing up the rear but real slowly. Something’s wrong– something’s off with them. But then again, maybe something’s just off with you. You choose to forget about it, forcing your party mode switch to on. 

“Jesus, what is Robin Dykely doing here?” Nicole scoffs over your shoulder as you search the kitchen island for anything you can free pour, and fast. You purse your lips– Nicole’s obviously started early, because when she’s tipsy, she’s got no volume control nor spatial awareness. The Robin Buckley in question is lingering by a punch bowl and definitely in ear shot. 

“Looks like she’s drinking punch at a party, Nic,” you say flatly, pulling a bottle of vodka from the gaggle of glassware. That’ll do fine. 

“Probably hoping Tam Thompson will finally join the softball team.” 

“Doesn’t Steve work with her?”

“Yeah, they’re like, buddy-buddy right?” you non-committally muse, grabbing a shot glass; in fact, you had seen the mousy girl mousing around Family Video with Steve. He’d even given her a ride to school a couple of times, whatever the hell that dynamic was. You didn’t know much about Robin, other than she was in band so you matriculated in the same gym space what with due to your spot on the cheerleading squad. Well, that, and the obvious rumors. 

But largely and absolutely, you didn’t care. She’s a relative nobody. 

You knock back a searing shot of vodka. 

“That’s proof Harrington’s exhibiting early signs of dementia, I’m sure,” Tina grimaces. “Like, doesn’t he know she’s a carpet muncher?”

“Like Harrington can’t have a girl within three feet of him without wanting to bang her?” you say, matching Tina’s grimace with a strained voice after the shot. “Yet here you are, Tina.”

It’s a little meaner than Tina is used to from you– and it shows. She blinks, once, twice, three times, visibly hurt because she knows that you know that she’s had a thing for Steve Harrington since the dawn of forever. 

Well, fucking get in line. 

Then she scoffs, recovering herself. “Have another drink, Lace. ‘bout time you loosened up.” 

Tina slinks by you toward the patio and you almost call after her, but don’t. Nicole, starting after her with a roll of her eyes, tells you, “We’ll be by the pool. See you out there, maybe?”

Your mouth curls into a sarcastic smile and you wave the bottle of vodka. “Soon as I catch up, girl!”

The vodka lands with a clunk on the counter after you line up another shooter. You look up, and catch Robin Buckley staring at you, right before she has the chance to avert her eyes. She’s gripping onto that solo cup for dear life. You can see the cracking dents in the plastic. 

“You want a shot?” you yell over the music and the people and the claustrophobia of it all. 

“Uh,” she says– too damn slow. You grab another glass and fill it, passing it her way. 

“I’ve, um, I’ve never really done this before. What’s, like, the custom, should we cheers?” Robin half-yells over the kitchen island.

You shrug. Fuck it. “Sure– here’s to being in places we think we belong with people we secretly hate!” 

“Oh, I for sure don’t belong here!” 

Robin sinks the vodka and chokes on it, spluttering up the shot. You gulp yours like a fish gulping water and dash around the island to slap her on the back. She recovers pretty quickly, wiping the dribbled booze off her face with the back of her hand. She wheezes gratefully when you pass her a sticky dishcloth. “Gross.” 

“I know, right? Party.”

“I get it, though, by the way,” Robin says, husk in her voice more pronounced after she’s coughed a lung up. She dabs awkwardly at her argyle printed shirt, doing nothing. “The secretly hating people thing.” 

Fuck, had you really said that? That’s way too personal. That’s way too revealing, especially to someone like her. Reverse, reverse, abort abort abort! “Well, it’s not that, y’know how it gets with your friends sometimes–”

“Because I know Steve. Like, I really know Steve– but not, not in like a sexual way because that’s not– more in like a paternal, fraternal, we were worms together in another lifetime sort of way– I just, I know Steve,” Robin steamrolls you, nodding. From the glassy look in her eye, that punch is finally hitting her. And she really does mean what she says, from the timbre of her voice. She gives a real fuck about Harrington, which is more than you can say for ninety percent of the people in this house. “He, y’know, he’s not exactly made for this crowd either.” 

You unscrew the bottle of vodka and take a cursory swig, then another, which makes Robin’s eyes widen and makes you feel a little bit like a pirate. “Then why are we all here, band girl? At his house? Why am I drinking his father’s Stoli?”

She casts her eyes down and shrugs, looking back up with a sour smile. “Party?”

Your shoulders drop and your head lolls back. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all. “Ffffffuck.” 

“I totally hate drinking. I hate that wobbly out-of-control thing,” Robin says, scooping more punch into her half-crushed cup. It occurs to you that she might not realize the punch is alcoholic. 

“You said it, sister.” 

“I like your outfit, by the way. It’s like if a librarian was… a slut.”

God, if this is the way she flirts, I hope Sarah Lawrence is kind to her.

“You said it, sister,” you repeat, hitting the bottle again. 

When you perform a quick scan of the room, you spot Billy advancing through the crowd, lighting a cigarette with another cigarette like he’s about to just smoke both cigarettes because that would be double badass. 

And then, veering in from the right just like he did on the way here, is Eddie Munson. He looks as if he’s looking… for you. 

Well, not the fuck anymore!

“Pleasure doing business with you, band girl,” you mutter, grabbing the solo cup from her hand and chugging the rest of the contents, “Don’t drink any more of that shit, it’s three quarters peach schnapps.”

You maneuver yourself (just barely) to the patio, where the gang, your gang, are all holding court on the pool loungers. There’s Carol, Tommy Hagan, Tina, Nicole, Cass, even Tammy Thompson if Robin’s still looking, but no Harrington in sight. Maybe it’s because of what Robin just told you, but you feel like this would feel less bad if he was here. 

A hush falls over the group as you approach– you know, the kind where you know people have just been talking about you? That lead feeling in your gut makes you take another sip of vodka. 

“Well, hello there,” you say, and it comes out as one slurred-up noise. Wellyellothur. Not ideal.

Tina gestures to the bottle. “Washing something down, Lacy?”

“A shot of Hargrove spunk?” Carol drawls. 

“With a Buckley bush chaser,” Hagan sniggers. Fucking Statler and Waldorf over here. 

“You guys, c’mon,” Nicole starts– and it sounds like a defense, but she’s the meanest motherfucker of them all when you give her some leash. “Lacy’s way too frigid for that.” 

“Guess that tracks,” Hagan shrugs, leaning forward to flick his cigarette into the pool. He looks at you in a way that drills a hole, only the way ugly, empty-eyed bastards know how to do. “I mean, if it’s true that your dad was pimping you out to Al Munson, it makes sense he’s in the slammer. No one got their fuckin’ money’s worth in that deal.”

“Shit, that is so true, Tommy,” you start, before you even know where it’s going. All you know? It’s going to be bad. Real bad. So bad that you set the bottle on the ground next to you and clasp your hands behind your back. Debate team stance is what you used to call this. “About me being frigid, I mean. Because I sure remember turning you down a lot– like, a lot.”

Hagan scoffs and lights another cigarette. Something electric in you makes you lean over and grab it, “Lemme have this one. –but like, you don’t remember that? Because I remember you begging–like hands and knees begging–me to fuck you the night of junior prom.” 

“Bullshit,” he scoffs again, like ‘scoff’ and ‘chauvinist insult’ are the only retorts he’s wired for. 

“And on the last lake trip,” you go on, taking a drag of the cigarette. “Oh! And on the night of Carol’s eighteenth birthday! Which was like, what? Two months ago? And every time, I said no. Do you remember why I said no, Tommy?”

This Greek chorus of Brat Pack wannabes, they just sit there and stare at you. And you don’t even notice the hush that’s crawled over the crowd assembled on the patio. The party rages on indoors, but those who are out here are rapt. 

Tina emits a nervous snort, which makes you bend at the waist and cup your ear, like you’re in the goddamn elementary school production of Horton Hears a What the Fuck Have You Got to Say.

“Bet you could tell me why, Tins,” you grin, big and houndlike. “I drove you to the clinic, remember? I fronted you the money for the lice cream– which you never paid me back for, by the way! Not even when I got all poo–oor!”

Tina reacts in a scramble, gasping unto herself and darting her eyes away from everyone. She doesn’t know where to look– no one knows where to look! No one but Carol, dear awful honeybun Carol, who has gone so pale it looks like her blush was painted on by Bozo the Clown. She stares you right down and you stare back. One of you is the barrel of the gun, and one of you is the poor loser looking right down it.

“You’re a fucking dirty liar, Lacy!” The sound of her voice feels like it’s ricocheting off every stony surface on Steve Harrington’s patio, that’s how deadly silent it’s gotten.

In a flourish, you throw the cigarette on the ground and stamp on it, hard and heavy! 

“Only one way to know for sure, Caroline!” you holler, flinging your arms out, “Feelin’ itchy lately?!”

All you know is you’re cackling louder than the thundering crowd rush that erupts when Carol fucking lunges for you.

author's notes: CLIFFHANGER ALERT! everyone fucking dies. jk but thank you so much for reading this chapter that i had so much fucking fun writing. and thank you for showing love for chapter one! i'm posting this one a little sooner than i planned because i want to get this show on the road for y'all. so, a few bits: - the song eddie is playing is the wizard by black sabbath which goes so incredibly hard. he also definitely learned how to shred on harmonica from wayne which is a piece of fanon i think i picked up from chrissy and eddie’s infinite mixtape, the preeminent hellcheer fic by @little-scribblers-heart (i don’t even go in for hellcheer like that but Now That’s What I Call Characterization) - never heard of Indianapolis Christmapolis before? check out the history here! - there is nothing i love more on this planet than making fun of a swaggerlicious shitbag character like billy hargrove. anyway he was blasting the four horsemen by metallica in the car which he canonically listens to in the show! you know, the scene where he puts cologne on his balls. i like to think billy only knows one song and this is it - rebel without a condom: skull rock edition is a reference to rebel without a cause and goes out to all the failed threesomes that have happened at skull rock - scrappy doo found dead in miami after one hit of eddie munson's ditch weed - i also have to say, i feel like more people knew robin was a lesbian than robin realizes, which is truly The Gay Experience. absolutely no one will be surprised that she's fucking crushing puss at a liberal arts college once stranger things 5 comes out in 2038 - anyway, crabs are a real threat, be safe and get tested! thanks so much for reading, pls reblog, like and comment to show support and i will throw things around my enclosure with the wild abandon of a dopamine rush. ur everything to me

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter One

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (In future chapters)

WC: 4070

Summary: A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece— He’s traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn’t except is to meet you, his niece’s school teacher who couldn’t care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

Warning: 18+ Blog; brief description of drug use, rehabilitation/mentions of rehab stay, getting treatment for drug addiction, absent parents, anxiety, sister giving ultimatum, apologetic Dieter, determined to turn life around, cursing, if I’ve missed anything feel free to let me know.

A/N: Firstly, big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for listening to me drone on about this! And for also being a champ and beta’ing for me too!!

This chapter has some heavy elements to it, and I hope it comes across as a serious tone considering the topic of drug usage. I wanted Dieter to be deliberate in his attempt to better himself. There might be some reference to this characters contents in the future, but this will be the only one containing any actual drugs. There’s a lot of information packed into this chapter to help get the story going. I’ve been so blown away by the responses to this series and I really hope I do it justice! Any questions/comments/or you just want to chat more about this chapter, my ask box is always open!! xx

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Next

A few sharp knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Hello?? Is someone in there?”

No response. 

The slightest twist of the knob. Unlocked. Unoccupied. 

Only the opening of the door reveals quite the opposite. Occupied. 

“Oh! I’m so so sor— Oh my god! Are you fucking serious right now?! You’re getting high at a 6 year old’s birthday party!” 

No response. Just a deadpan look of nothingness from the body propped up next to the toilet. 

“I fucking knew it. I knew you would fucking let her down!! God!!! You’re such a fucking deadbeat, washed up douchebag— so fucking ridiculous.”

“W-whyy a-rrre y-youuu yellllling? Shhhhh!” His speech laden with a hint of sarcasm. 

“You’re a fucking joke! I can’t believe you would do this to your sister!”

“What are you yelling about in here?? Wren is getting ready to open her presents and wants everyone to watch her. Dieter why are you on the flo— are you fucking high?” 

“Ag-ainnn shhhhhhh!” His pointer finger emphatically raised to his lips, the noise too much for his dazed mind. 

“You promised me Dieter! You fucking promised me no drugs! I should have known better, I should have fucking known you’d do this— you don’t care about how much this hurts me to see you like this, constantly letting me down. I’m done Dieter, I’m so fucking done trying to help you if you’re not going to help yourself. Fuck! Get the fuck out! Go! Now!! I don’t want you near us, I won’t put Wren through this. Get help or stay away!”

The door slams, Dieter left alone to ruminate  over what was said in the small tiled space. 

Even in his stupefied state, the words thrown at him were enough to make an immediate impact. The cognitive part of his brain working over time to push through and make a levelheaded thought. 

“Deadbeat”

“Washed up”

“Get help or Stay away”

Reaching for his phone, he dials his lifeline who drops everything for him, probably due to her reoccurring paycheck, his assistant whom he’s thankful doesn’t hate him enough to ignore his call out of the blue. 

“Heeeey! I n-neeeed y-you to c-ommme g-get meee…”

He knew this was it, he had to get his shit together or suffer the consequences. 

*

He feels different if he’s being honest with himself. 

Lighter. 

Healthier. 

Alive. 

365 days clean. He made a commitment to a year long stay at a drug rehabilitation center, followed by a 3 month residency in a sober living facility conveniently tucked away in the Hollywood hills. 

Yet, he feels more lost than he was before he started treatment. 

He can’t remember what living a normal, healthy life is like— a life not high out of his mind 24/7.

This wasn’t his first time trying to get clean, he’d become a regular of sorts at a few different rehab centers scattered through out the greater Los Angeles area. 

Each stay with the same goal and each one a failed attempt at getting control over his life without the drugs. 

It was never “hope this is the time it really clicks for him”, it was always a question of “how long will he go this time before he’s kicked out and checking into the next one”— might have even been a headline a time or two. 

Many centers refusing to even consider treating him based on his past reputation alone. 

His agent’s patience was wearing thin trying to book roles for Dieter, doing his best to convince directors he wasn’t a liability and he could get the job done with zero risk in hiring him— it was far from the truth. 

Each day on set became a game of Russian Roulette, no one really knowing which side of Dieter they would be dealing with while shooting. That in itself was a metaphorical high he chased with each role he booked, seeing how long before some one caught on to his slurred words, blood shot eyes and sluggish demeanor. 

On numerous occasions Dieter thought he was skillful in his ability to mask his inebriated ego. He was combative with the crew and fellow actors— his temperament calm and mellow one moment, then seething and dripping with rage the next. 

He was getting sloppy. The teetering domino of his life had slowly began to tip and once it did finally fall, his entire life crumbling around him. 

*

The traffic is heavier than expected. Dieter wonders if it’s due to others similarly seeking to leave the city in hopes for a break from the dim aura that Los Angeles is. He can feel the weight of the city’s reputation lift from his shoulders with each passing mile as he maneuvers through the stretch of freeway congestion. 

A few honking horns bring his attention back to the conversation he’s currently semi engaged in. 

“This is a big step Dieter. I’m really proud of how far you’ve come.” 

He instantly cringes at the thought of getting back out to sell himself for roles. Facing those who were- and are- tired of his shit. 

The downfall of his career began when he was late for dress rehearsal for a role he some how managed to get— this role having potential to get him in the running for award nominations, propelling his career to new heights. But when he was no where to be found at call time, his assistant went on the search for him and it’s where she found him passed out in his trailer. He was too far gone to even pull himself together, prompting the director to fire him on the spot. 

The rate of speed at which news travels in Hollywood is the equivalent to a fast moving wildfire— once that first bit of gossip hits the ground, it’s spreading through the industry with a sudden surge of ferocity and growing far beyond what is predictable. 

His agent's attempt at damage control was a wasted effort. Directors dumping Dieter’s preproduction roles, actors refusing to work with him and threatening to quit if Dieter stayed on— his list of films beginning to dwindle in a matter of days and by the end of the week, Dieter Bravo was jobless. 

“The next few months will go by quickly, and before you know it you’ll be back out here booking jobs and proving everyone wrong.” 

Vanessa, Dieter’s assistant and full time babysitter, always seemed to have a way to make him feel at ease. And at this point, the only person he knew who believed he could actually turn his life around. 

“I really fucking hope so.” He sighs, this was his attempt at thinking positive. 

“Have you talked to her yet?” Her voice cracking through the car speakers as he continues his drive north on the 101. 

“Briefly. Told her I’d probably be getting in around 6 or so— BEEP!— Watch out asshole!” Throwing a middle finger at said asshole driver who nearly missed clipping his car. 

“She’s proud of you too, ya know. Might not seem like it right now, but she is.”

“Hmm. I’ll just agree to disagree with you on that point. Having a drug addict—“

“Former drug addicted, Dieter.” 

“Right— well, having a deadbeat for an older brother doesn’t really leave a lot to be proud of.”

“You’d be surprised. Hey, I got another call coming in. I’ll be in touch with you soon! Call me if you need anything! Again, Dieter, I'm really proud of you!” 

“Thanks Nessa! I’ll talk to you soon.”

The call ending abruptly, leaving him to sit alone in his thoughts for the next hour and a half—something he hasn’t really taken the chance to experience since, well, a long while. 

The Santa Monica Mountains provide a scenic view as he leaves behind the place he saw as his home for the last 20 years. 

His current destination plugged into his stupidly expensive sports car. 

Home. Where he grew up. 

*

He can’t even remember the last time he visited. Not due to the years as an actor taking him to all areas of the world. The last time he had been home was just over a year ago and he was high out of his mind, barely remembering the trip as a whole. 

His sister had asked if he’d be able to make it to his niece’s birthday. She was turning 6 and had been begging for her uncle to be there to celebrate with— he was easily her most favorite person. The specifics of the getting to his sister’s home and the actual party are pretty blurry for Dieter. 

Dieter spent most of the last year trying to produce a coherent flashback of the day that would ultimately be his last time using, the reason for his commitment to getting his life together. 

He never expected the lowest point in his life would be being caught in the bathroom of his sister’s home doing a few quick lines on the toilet seat, as his niece was blowing out 6 candles a few feet outside the tiny bathroom surrounded by friends and family. 

The moments following are a mixture of hazy clips, fragmented bits of information,

he’s tried to piece together to the best of his ability. 

The rush of someone bursting through the bathroom door, the echoes of laughter and music piercing his ears as he’s hunched on the floor against the wall, little specks of a white powdery residue dusting his mustache. 

There’s screaming as he does his best to focus his blurry attention on the distorted enraged figure in front of him, yelling something about being washed up— his eye lids heavy and fighting against them to keep them opened. 

If he had to recall the exact moment he knew he fucked up, it was seeing the hurt and disappointment on his sister's face— her face wet with tears as she poured out her disappointment and pain over the fact that he was strung-out at her daughter’s birthday party. The weight of his consequences bleeding through him as he vividly recalls his sister telling him to leave and not come back unless he was sober. 

The next day he checked himself in, determined to get his life together for good. 

*

He shakes away the subtle tinge of guilt that starts to bubble up in his chest. 

Remembering the ‘54321 Method’ he was taught in treatment to help ground himself when his thoughts start to become overwhelming…

5 things you see: the sun slowly making its way to the horizon, cars moving swiftly by his own, Live Oak trees rooted among the mountains, the slightest twinkling of the first few stars, his reflection in the rear view mirror— lighter, healthier, alive.

4 things things to touch: the leather of the steering wheel, his jeans fabric soft and comfortable, the cool metal of his rings adorning his fingers, the weight of his sobriety chip in his pocket a constant reminder of how far he’s come.

3 things you hear: the familiar beat of a popular song streaming through the car speakers, rhythmic tapping of his thumbs in tune with the song, his off-key voice as he sings along to the words he knows.

2 things you smell: his olfactory nerve triggered at the distinct scent of his woody amber cologne, that new car smell that still lingers throughout the car’s interior. 

1 thing you taste: a minty tingle on his tongue as he chews his last piece of gum. 

His nerves settle, his eyes focused on the road ahead, deciding he’ll right his wrongs when he gets to his stop— his sister’s house. 

*

The trip took longer than he’d originally planned. Weekend traffic to blame for the 2 hour delay in his arrival. 

‘Welcome to Ojai’— the stone sign greets him, dim uplighting barely making it readable as he turns on to the familiar street. 

The town is all but empty at this time of the night, street lights plus the few restaurants and bars that are open give off enough ambient light to drape the streets in a subtle glow. 

He’s instantly taken back to his childhood, so many memories tucked away throughout the picturesque landscape. 

Growing up with famous parents wasn’t all that glamorous in Dieter’s eyes. 

Dieter’s parents, Dean and Mary Bravo, were both well known in the tv and movie world. 

Dean had been known for his roles in James Bond-esque action films through his career, notably his best work among other smaller productions he worked on. Mary was the queen of daytime television with her numerous roles in soap opera’s biggest shows, a socialite getting invited to glamorous events and elite celebrity parties. 

Together they were Hollywood’s “It” couple, jet-setting to all parts of the world when schedules allowed for it. 

Dieter and his younger sister, while born into this movie star family, were raised far from it. Dean and Mary deciding to buy a home in the mountains outside of the headlines and prying eyes, a place where their kids could live a some what normal life. 

Normal was anything but normal. Dean and Mary didn’t let children hold back their lives and desires of more fame. Leaving them with nannies so they could keep up with the demands of working and living their best lives. 

Ojai, a small village-like town nestled in the valley of the Topanga Mountains, became a literal playground for Dieter growing up. 

Little reminders of his childhood still remain as he ventures further into town. He finds himself slowing the car a bit as he takes it all in, rolling the window down to let the evening air hit his face— it’s crisp as it trickles across his skin. 

The private school he attended all through his schooling years sits on top of a hill that over looks the valley. The school’s reputation was highly regarded and offered a plethora of academic courses and electives. Dieter found the  art and theater programs to be where he excelled most, painting and acting fueled his passion for the arts, propelling him into pursuing one as a full time career. 

He spots Bart’s Books as he drives on, an outdoor bookstore, that had become a daily hangout as a kid. The red wooden shelves still filled with adventures and history to get lost in. He discovered his love for storytelling sitting on the covered patio, nose deep in fictional worlds he dreamed of visiting. 

Across the way, a ‘no vacancy’ neon sign flickers on. Capri Hotel, a newly renovated hotel that still looks like it could have come straight from the 1960s with its mid-century design and modern style. He recalls the summer when him and his buddies regularly jumped the fence to swim in the pool, the cool water under the stars was refreshing during the California heat waves. They managed to only get caught once but worked out a barter with the then owners, they clean the pool and in turn can use the pool at their leisure. The hotel seems to be under new ownership now, but it seems to be doing well. 

On every corner there’s an art gallery. Some still looking as if no time had passed, others adorn new names and a fresh coat of paint. Several galleries offered summer painting classes, where Dieter found he had more creative freedom than in school to explore all mediums and really honing in on his style. He’s always imagined he’d have his own showing of his paintings, friends and family gathering to see his work— a dream he never lived out. 

His car parked and engine killed, he still hasn’t found the courage to get out. He can see a few lights on from the front windows of his sister’s quaint Spanish style home. Trying to not let the vague memories of his last visit deter him from going inside. He sends Vanessa a text, letting her know he’d made it safely and that he’d text her if he needed anything. 

Bags in tow, he makes his way to the front door. Nerves and emotions swirling around, reminding himself to breathe, letting go of the fear and expectations he’d had for this reunion. 

He opts for knocking, assuming Wren would be sleeping at this hour. 

The clicking of locks being turned, twisting of the door knob, the black wooden door swings open to the space that’s haunted him for the last year. 

“Hey, Diem. Sorry I’m so—“ He starts to explain his lateness before he’s cut off. 

“Dieter! Oh my god! I thought something happened to you! What the fuck?!” Her body launches at him, arms wrapping around him securely. He accepts the impromptu hug, dropping his bags to return the gesture. 

“No, no I’m good. Traffic was a nightmare and by the time I thought to call, service was fucked. Sorry for making you worry.” 

“You’re here and you’re safe— that’s all that matters.” 

This greeting is going far better than he had expected, but he hasn’t made over the threshold, still plenty of time for Diem to drop the hammer on him. 

“Come in! Let’s get you all settled in.” She ushers him in, closing the door and adjusting the locks again. 

He takes the space in, noting not much has changed from what he can tell in the diffused lighting, but he feels warm and welcoming even for him. 

“I got the spare room all cleaned and ready for you. New sheets on the bed and a few extra pillows just in case.” She seems skittish moving about the living room, picking up the few toys laying around the room and placing them back in their designated baskets. “If you want to sit, make yourself comfortable. You want anything to drink? Eat?” 

She seems just as nervous as he is and that makes him feel less anxious for some reason. 

“I grabbed some food on the way, I’m good.” Setting his bags down, he makes his way to the couch and sits down, deciding to rip the bandage off so to speak. 

Diem taking his lead, sits on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked under her and hands resting on her lap. A lull hangs over them for a few moments, neither really know what to say or do. He notices her fingers fidgeting and decides to break the silence. 

“I know we haven’t talked much since the last time I was here,” He sees the brief wince on her face at the mention of it, as if she’d been actively trying to avoid talking about it. “But I want to tell you how sorry I am for—“

“Dieter, you don’t have to.” 

“No, actually I do. And I’m going to. Not only because it’s part of my steps in recovery, but because you deserve it— Wren deserves it.”

“She doesn’t know— about the drugs or you going to rehab.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it. 

“I won’t mention it to her then.”

“I just told her you were busy and that you’d be coming to spend time with us 'cause you missed her.”

“Why did you agree? After all the shit I’ve done and put you through, why are you letting me stay here?”

That gets her attention, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she looks at him with nothing but love and forgiveness. “Because you’re my brother and I want you here, despite all the shit you put me through.” 

He shifts closer to where she’s sitting, wiping the few tears that had decided to fall. He doesn’t think he deserves her kindness, but is grateful he has this opportunity to do what he’s been wanting to do. 

“I’m sorry for the pain and hurt that I caused you. Not only at Wren’s party, but all the other times I’d said I was clean and wasn’t. For putting you both second to my addiction. I’m sorry for not being here when you needed me most. I promise I’m going to do my best to earn your trust and prove to you that I am committed to my sobriety.”

Leaning back, his hand digs into his pocket pulling out his proof, grabbing Diem’s hand and turns it over placing the chip in her palm. She looks at it then back at him, the most genuine smile graces her face before she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. 

“I love you Dieter! Thank you for not only doing this for us, but for yourself as well. I’m really proud of you.” 

“I love you too Diem.”

Releasing Dieter from the hug, she adjusts herself back to her previous position, now more relaxed with her elbow resting on the back of the couch propping her head up as she looks at Dieter, really taking in how healthy he looks since she’d last seen him. 

“Thank you for also letting me stay here. I needed to get out of the city for a bit, clear my head and shit. Should only be a few months or less, until I can get a few things lined up— have a few potential projects I requested scripts for.”

The thought of returning to his old ways terrified him, he had all the tools and support to continue working on himself outside of treatment, but he didn’t want to chance it. He instantly knew exactly where he wanted to spend the next few months re-acclimating back into this new way of living, away from temptation. Knowing their last conversation was anything but great, he'd decided an e-mail felt less grievous and hoped she’d find it in her heart to accept him back in her home again. 

“Of course. Stay as long as you need to.”

“And I can help how ever you need me to, figured it would keep me busy doing stuff, help out with Wren.”

“Oh my gosh, please! It’s peak tourist season the next few weeks at the Hotel and I’ve got a handful of events we’re hosting too. School runs would be a big help for me.”

“Hotel?” He’s sure he heard her right but doesn’t remember any mention of a hotel that he can recall. 

“Funny story actually-- I bought the Capri last year. Did some renovations and it’s been great really. Keeps me busy most of the time, but I love it.”

Diem was never one for the spotlight, especially with movie star family members, actively avoiding anything to do with Hollywood and its ostentatious air. She always had a knack for making drab things look enticing, so Dieter isn’t surprised one bit by the mention of her being the new owner of the Capri Hotel. 

“And now that I’m the owner, you can swim for free— pool cleaning is encouraged too.” He laughs at that. 

“Congrats on owning a hotel I guess. I’ll definitely be taking advantage of swimming privileges then.”

“Alright. I’m going to head to bed, got an early morning dropping Wren off before I meet with the planner for our next event.”

“I can take her tomorrow.”

“You sure? You don’t want to settle in a bit first?”

“Nah, it’ll be nice spending some time with her.”

“Okay. Prepare yourself for a wild time then.”

She kisses the top of his head before heading in the direction of her room. Stopping before turning down the hall, she looks back at Dieter who hasn’t moved from the couch, one of his hands rubbing at the opposite shoulder and leaning his head to the side to stretch it out a bit— the longer car rides really doing a number on him. 

“Dieter—“ 

His head turns towards the direction of his name being called. 

"Hmm?"

“I’m really glad you’re here.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Next

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 31

Eminem x Reader Fanfiction

Summary : Dinner with Reader's Dad ends up being a nightmare.

Tags : Angst - Comfort

MARSHALL’S POV 

Y/N was pacing the room and her nerves were starting to rub off on him. Out of all the people he had ever met, she was the one whose stress was most communicative. With the energy she was giving, she could probably stress out the toughest, best-trained army negotiators. When she had told him that her father wanted to meet him, Marshall hadn’t freaked out. Being a Dad to someone his girlfriend’s age, he understood the idea of parents wanting to meet their children’s significant others. Sure, he hadn’t met a girlfriend’s family in a while, but he wasn’t too scared. The perspective of Y/N’s father being about his age made things less impressive. The way he saw it, it would just be a casual dinner and, worst comes to worst, he would have to state his intentions towards the man’s daughter : make her happy and support her. Not to toot his own horn, but he could think of worse boyfriends than him for anyone’s daughter. After all, he wasn’t a deadbeat, he had a job, money and he loved Y/N unconditionally. So he wasn’t too stressed out. At least, at the beginning. Because as they got closer to the fateful dinner, Y/N was starting to lose her grip. 

Stop stressing out, babe, he chuckled. It’s going to be fine. Plus, I know how to make a good impression. 

Sorry, she groaned. It’s just… You meeting my Dad, you know ? I can think of a thousand things that could go wrong. 

It’ll be fine, he said softly. Plus, he knows what to expect, right ? The fact that you told him you’re dating me and that he is willing to meet me has to be a good sign. 

Oh, he has no idea who you are, she said. 

Is that a family thing ? He chuckled. Like a collective decision not to know too much about me before meeting me ? 

No, I mean… I don’t know if he knows who Eminem is, actually, she said. He hates rap and hip-hop anyway. But as far as he knows, your name is Marshall and you’re american and… that’s about it. 

He opened his eyes wide. He wasn’t expecting that. Not that he was counting on his fame to woo Y/N’s dad, but he thought that the man having an idea of who he was meeting would play in his favor. At least, there wouldn’t be an element of surprise. Better yet, he could have been surprised in a good way, upon discovering that his daughter was not dating an asshole, as it was a common misconception about him. 

So he doesn’t know anything about my job, my age… ? Marshall asked. 

Hum… No, she said sheepishly. I wasn’t too sure how to break it to him on the phone… 

Ok, he sighed. I mean, it can still go well. Is there anything I should know about him ? Other than the fact he might despise what I do for a living ? 

You could still word it differently ? She suggested. And say that you’re an entrepreneur in the music industry ? I mean, you own a studio… 

Sure, he nervously chuckled. What else ? How do I make a good impression ? 

Well he’s already pissed off that he has to come to us for dinner, she pointed out. So we might want to have wine ready. 

It’s for his own good, he said. If we’re followed by the press, I’m not sure he would enjoy having paparazzi waiting outside of his place... 

I know, she said. But I think we might want to make it up to him with food and wine. And other than that… Hum… Don’t be too American, I guess ? 

What the fuck does that mean ? He asked. 

Look, my dad can be a bit of a snob, sometimes. Judgy, too… He thinks all American people are over the top and flashy. So maybe no chains or massive jewelry and something with a button wouldn’t hurt, I guess. 

Babe, oddly enough, I didn’t bring a shirt or a suit on tour with me, he pointed out with a smile. The best I can do is a sweater. 

Sweater it is, then, she said. And you should wear a belt. Like, properly. No ass on display. 

Alright, he chuckled. Though you usually like my ass on display… 

And no jokes, too, she said sternly. 

I’m not stupid, Y/N, he said. I’m not going to joke about our sex life in front of your father. 

No, I mean… He doesn’t really do jokes. At all. 

Now, he was definitely more stressed out and already bored. He already expected the culture shock, knowing that Europeans are a bit different from Americans on a few aspects. Thankfully, Y/N’s dad spoke English so that was one less thing to worry about. But regardless, it was shaping out to be incredibly boring. As far as he knew, her Dad was an accountant whose hobbies were literature and opera. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he couldn’t really relate to him. 

The plan was to have dinner delivered in their penthouse suite, since going to her dad’s place or the restaurant would be too complicated. The dining room area was welcoming and, apparently, formal enough. Too much for his own liking, but apparently, the man enjoyed things with structure. Her father was about to arrive when Y/N was getting ready. She was dressed in a little navy dress that looked quite conservative. She was pretty, as usual, but he was used to her sporting a more casual look. Not to mention that she spent most of the time in his clothes anyway. 

I’m sorry, you didn’t mention that your Dad was a priest, he giggled. Why the fuck are you dressed like you’re going to church ? 

He’s a little formal, she said in an annoyed tone. 

He’s your father, he said. Why would he care what you wear to dinner ? It’s just us in the suite, you could be wearing PJs… 

I told you, Marsh, he’s a little strict, she shrugged. You know, I only started dressing casually when I came to America. Before that, I would never be caught dead wearing leggings and a hoodie.

Fine, he chuckled. Are we ready now ? 

I guess, she groaned. I just want to get it over with. 

He pulled her in for a kiss. He wanted to get over it too, and focus on the bigger picture : in two days, he would fly back to Detroit while she packed her things before joining him and,

after that, the fun would begin. He would actually have her by his side and get to experience life with the woman he loved. The idea was making his heart swell with joy, as well as the fact that his daughters were really happy for them. When he asked for their blessings, a couple of nights ago, they were nothing but supportive. He didn’t even need to plead his case : they could see what a breath of fresh air Y/N was for him. He had never thought about bringing a woman into his family, but he was so happy he had found her. Now that they were going to live together, he wanted nothing more than to give her the life she deserved and provide her with the safe space she needed. He knew the past few months had been trying for her, and he would be there for her as she let her mind and body recover. Caring for her had become second nature to him anyway, ever since they had met. 

Y/N received a call from reception, indicating that her father was here. He could see her anxiety levels rise once again, as he tried to give her a reassuring smile. He kissed her forehead before she went downstairs to meet her Dad, before bringing him into the room. While she was gone, he inspected himself in the mirror. He was dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater. He had even trimmed his beard for the occasion. He looked rather random. That was the kind of look he usually donned for appointments like PTA or meetings, where he needed to be taken seriously and look like an adult, instead of the man-child he definitely was, dressed in jeans and hoodies, or tee-shirts with rap album covers on them. A couple of minutes later, his girlfriend came back to the room with a man that looked nothing like her. He assumed she took after her mother, because he couldn’t have guessed she was related to this man. He was rather tall and carried himself like a military man, with a stiff posture. He looked rather serious. No, gloomy was a more appropriate word. He wasn’t really one to judge solely on vibe, but he immediately felt ill at ease. One look at the man and he could tell the father was nothing like Y/N. In spite of her usual shyness, she exuded warmth and softness. A far cry from her dad, who seemed cold and distant. As soon as they got through the door, he went to them and shook his hand. 

Papa, this is Marshall, my boyfriend, Y/N said. Marsh, this is Jean, my father. 

Bonjour, Marshall said as they shook hands and made eye contact, deciding to try one of the three words of french his girl had taught him. 

Bonsoir, the man replied in a corrective tone. 

Marshall looked at Y/N, a bit lost. 

It means “good evening”, she explained. Bonjour is for the day. 

Oh, right, he said. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, sir. 

Likewise, the man said in an emotionless voice. 

They went to sit in the living room area where Y/N had prepared a glass of wine for her father and soda for the both of them. 

I got your favorite wine, she said with a shy smile. 

Are the two of you not drinking with me ? He asked. 

I don’t drink, Marshall simply said. 

I don’t feel like drinking, Y/N said softly. 

He could tell she was uncomfortable, and he distinctly remembered her telling him that her father knew nothing about her addiction, recovery, nor her sobriety. She had always been a bit shy, but seeing how uncomfortable she was in the presence of the man who had raised her gave him red flags. Something felt off. Or at least, as a father, he would hate for his girls to be this tense around him. But then again, he understood that not everyone’s relationship with their parents was fun. 

Americans usually fail to enjoy wine properly, Jean pointed out. 

We actually have decent wine, you know ? Marshall said with a smile. 

Only because they come from french vines, the man replied. Are you sure you don’t want to try this, Marshall ? 

I’m good, he said. I don’t drink, for health reasons. 

He wasn’t ashamed of being sober. Usually, it was quite the contrary : he was proud of his journey and he had come far. But when meeting your girlfriend’s dad, saying you’re recovering from addiction makes you seem like a raging drug-addict and alcoholic, which isn’t exactly the best look. Jean nodded and understanding and they sipped on their beverages as they made small talk. 

So… Y/N told me downstairs that you are an entrepreneur ? The father asked, giving him his time to shine. 

I am, Marshall nodded. In the music industry, actually. 

I don’t know if she told you, but I am a big fan of music myself, Jean continued. What kind of business do you do ? 

Well I own a recording studio and a label, Marshall explained. There are a couple of other things, but I am mainly into recording, producing and songwriting. 

Have you been doing it for a long time ? 

About twenty-five years. 

He could see Jean’s stare intensify. 

How old are you exactly, Marshall ? He asked in an inquisitive tone. 

Fifty-two, Marshall replied as calmly as he could. 

He knew he looked a few years younger - thanks to genetics, healthy eating, exercising as well as a good skincare regimen prescribed by his daughters - but surely, his age couldn’t be such a surprise, right ? Or at least, that’s what he thought when he saw his girlfriend’s father’s face decompose. Jean glared at his daughter who immediately looked down. 

So, you’re into opera, right ? Marshall asked in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Indeed, Jean said. What kind of music do you produce ? 

Mostly hip-hop, Marshall said. Though I’ve worked with artists of various horizons. 

Anything I might have heard ? 

Well, you might have heard some Eminem stuff, he said with a soft smile. 

Y/N threw him a panicked glance. The man in front of him might hate hip-hop but he still had to be honest. Hiding from his father-in-law that he was a big recording artist was probably not the best way to go and get his approval. Life had taught him that honesty was, by far, the best way to go. 

I have heard of him, Jean simply said. I cannot say I care for this type of music. 

I get it, that’s not for everyone, Marshall said with a shrug. 

It is that I don’t think it qualifies as proper music, the man continued. Does it even pay the rent ? 

Marshall tried his best not to roll his eyes. He had heard countless times that hip-hop is not actual music and he was sick of people failing to understand the artistry behind it. However, now was not the time to argue. The question about paying the rent was also incredibly stupid, in his opinion. The man was sitting in the penthouse suite of one of the most expensive hotels in Paris. Of course, it paid the rent. He didn’t want to be an asshole who flaunted his wealth, but the judgy look on the other man’s face was almost prompting him to list his assets. 

Well, it certainly bought the house, Marshall said with a forced smile. 

Alright. What brings you to Europe ? Jean asked. Business ? 

Yeah, Marshall said. I just finished the second part of my tour, actually. 

Your tour ? You are an artist too ? 

Dad, Y/N interjected. What Marshall means to say is that… He’s Eminem. 

Marshall smiled. At least that was clearer now. It was the first time he had ever had to disclose who he was in such a way. Jean turned to his daughter with a confused expression and said something in french. Y/N’s eyebrows were furrowed as she replied something, visibly uncomfortable. It was incredibly frustrating for him not to understand a word of what they were saying. From what he gathered, it wasn’t a very pleasant exchange. 

We should order our food, Y/N said after a while. 

Her expression was one of confusion and sadness. She seemed visibly hurt by something her father had said. He hated seeing her this way, but he also didn’t want to interfere. They ordered food from the room service and kept on making awkward small talk. As the meal arrived, they settled in the dining room. 

Forgive me for being so blunt, but I am rather disappointed, Jean said. 

What disappoints you ? Marshall asked. 

When I agreed to let Y/N study in America, I did not expect for her to end like this, he explained matter-of-factly. No one wants their daughter unemployed and making poor life decisions. 

He saw Y/N duck her head down. The remark was not aimed at him, at least not directly, but it stung. It was no wonder why she didn’t mention her father too often : from the looks of it, he was an ass. 

Ever since her mother’s death, I have raised her on my own and tried to instill good values in her. I certainly did not expect her to repay me by failing miserably to start a career and deciding to be some sort of potiche for a rapper. 

A what ? Marshall asked with his eyebrows furrowed. 

Potiche, Y/N repeated with a sad look on her face. It means “vase”. It refers to, hum… a woman who is basically a trophy wife. 

Marshall’s eyes darkened. He wasn’t necessarily expecting the man’s blessing - not that he cared too much, Y/N was an adult - but having a man his age insult his own daughter was wrong on so many levels. He tried really hard not to spit in the man’s face but it was getting harder by the minute. If he hadn’t gone to anger management classes and therapy, he probably would have thrown him out already. 

I mean, she just became a doctor, Marshall said tentatively. You must be kind of proud. 

The degree doesn’t mean much if she doesn’t find a job, Jean pointed out sternly. I guess she’s just too lazy. 

Not to contradict you, but I’ve actually seen her work on her dissertation, he said. Your daughter is really impressive. I think she deserves credit for her work. 

It’s not too hard when everything’s been handed to you, the father pointed out. Do you have children, Marshall ? 

I have, Marshall replied. Three girls, actually. They’re 31, 28 and 21. 

So I guess you understand the disappointment I’m facing, then. No one wishes for their daughter to fail her professional life and be in a relationship with someone who could be their father.

Y/N was staring at her plate, visibly on the verge of tears. He grabbed her hand under the table and interlaced their fingers. He stared at Jean, who had a cold expression on his face. Not approving of their relationship was one thing, but what kind of father could belittle his child in such a way ? 

Look, Marshall said, I understand where you’re coming from. If one of my daughters told me they were in a relationship with someone my age, I wouldn’t be too happy. In fact, I’d probably want to punch the man in the face. But I want you to know that I have good intentions when it comes to Y/N. I love her, I care about her and I want to make her happy. 

And, for my career, I’m going to send out applications as soon as I move in with Marshall, Y/N said. We have it figured out. 

You are not moving in with him, Jean said. 

Both him and Y/N turned their heads and stared at Jean. The way he said it sounded final. As if he were talking to a little girl. However, she was a grown woman, an adult and she didn’t need to ask for permission. In fact, the whole meeting was more of a courtesy rather than an actual obligation. Marshall would gladly remind him, but it was not his place and he knew it. His girlfriend said something to her father, in french. Her tone was soft, at first, as it was most of the time when she talked to people, but as the conversation kept on going, it got more animated. Jean was talking loudly and he could see his girl having trouble being assertive. However, she said something that prompted her father to slap her, before screaming something. Before he could even think about what he was doing, Marshall got up and threw his fist in the other man’s face. It was bad enough that he was making Y/N feel bad, but he would not get away with hitting her. 

YOU PIECE OF SHIT ! Marshall screamed as he grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to get up and shoved him against the nearest wall. DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH HER! 

The man was taller than him but he was in such a fit of rage that, unless his opponent was Mike Tyson, he could probably take out anyone. He kept on screaming, out of his mind, as the other man yelled as well, trying to get out of his hold. Lucky for him, Jean wasn’t much of a fighter. He was firmly holding him by the collar, slapping him just like he had slapped Y/N. He kept on screaming and slapping, telling him what a piece of shit he was, and how undeserving of being a father he was. 

You’re fucking lucky your daughter’s in the room, Marshall finally spat. I wouldn’t beat up someone in front of their child, but I swear to God, if I see your motherfucking face one more time, I will fuck you up ! 

When he finally let go of Jean, the man addressed his daughter, who was still sitting at the table, in a state of shock. He yelled something in French and was about to approach her when Marshall intervened between the two of them. The man yelled something he couldn’t quite understand, still in French, before storming out of the room. Marshall closed his eyes for a second, to regain some composure. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had not been in a state of rage in a long time and the sensations felt foreign. He could feel his cheeks burning. He took a few deep breaths to try and soothe himself. If he didn’t, he might as well chase him down the corridor and strangle him. Seeing him slap Y/N had brought back memories of being abused as a child. His mother had never hit him too much, but the same couldn’t be said of some of her boyfriends. He had always sworn that if he witnessed it, he would intervene and make sure the person regretted their action. Didn’t matter who or when. 

When he opened his eyes, they landed on Y/N, who was silently sobbing, face in her hands. For a quick second, he had almost forgotten about her. He immediately went to her, to make sure she was alright. He kneeled by her side and tried to grab her hands, so that he could examine her face. As he tried to touch her, she jerked and looked at him with terror on her face. Suddenly, it hit him : he was the one that scared her. The realization was enough to make his heart sink, as he took a step back. 

Please don’t touch me, she whispered. Please. 

Ok, he said softly as he held his hands up. I won’t touch you. I just need to make sure you’re alright, baby. 

Tears were still streaming down her face and her chest was heaving. He had to fight against his own urges to touch her, wipe her tears and take her in his arms. He was about two feet away from her but it felt too big a distance. He looked at her cheek : the slap hadn’t left a mark. Evidently, it hadn’t been too violent. On a physical aspect, at least. He knew full well the psychological effects of such a gesture. 

I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. I’m so sorry, he said softly. 

Who are you ?! She blurted out. Wh-What… What did you do ?! 

He sighed and looked at her face. It was crumbling, filled with doubt and uncertainty. She had never looked at him like this before. Sure, their first argument was one to remember, and she had certainly looked at him with hatred and disgust, but this look was different. It was a look of fear. 

He hit you, Y/N, he said. 

You hit him ! You hit my father ! 

Yes I did, he replied sternly. No father, hell, no parent should ever raise a hand on their child. 

It’s… my fault, she said. I said something he didn’t like. I-I shouldn’t have, really. This one is on me. 

So what ? He asked. I’m sorry but that doesn’t justify shit, Y/N. I’ve raised three kids, four if you count Nate. Do you know how many times they’ve been insufferable and thrown shit in my face ? A lot. But I can tell you I have never, ever lifted a finger on them. That shit is not ok. 

She looked down and buried her face in her hands once again. He wasn’t sure if he should approach her or not. She seemed so distressed, he decided against it, although it broke his heart. After a minute or so, she got up and made her way to the bedroom. He followed her, making sure not to be too close. 

Baby, talk to me, he said softly. 

Please, no, she said. I need… I need a minute. 

He nodded and she went to the bathroom. He heard the lock click. He sighed and sat on the bed. He absolutely did not regret his actions. For all he cared, Jean could sue him, he didn’t give a shit about it. What worried him was what Y/N would think of him. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as someone violent by the person he loved the most. He heard the water running and figured she would take some time. He went back to the living room area and grabbed a can of coke. God knew he needed a sugary drink. The wine bottle was still on the table, half full, as well as the plates of their meal. To be fair, he wasn’t hungry anymore. He sat on the couch and let his head fall back against the headrest as he tried to think of how he would possibly navigate the situation with Y/N. About forty-five minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, wearing her PJs. 

Good night, she called from the bedroom. 

We should talk, first, he said before joining her. 

She seemed a little less distraught, though she still had a frown on her face. She was getting under the cover when he sat on the edge of the bed. 

How are you feeling, babe ? He asked carefully. 

I don’t know, she said. I’m not even sure how I am supposed to feel. 

Did he hurt you ? How is your cheek ? 

I-It’s fine, she said. I’m just… I don’t even know how to say it. But you… You were… Terrifying. 

I am so sorry, my love, he said. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I saw him hit you, and I lost it. 

It wasn’t you, she said. It was someone who looks like you, but it’s not you, Marshall. I’ve never seen you like this. You’re not this angry, scary person. 

Well it was me, he sighed. I hate that you had to see me like this. I hate that side of me. I used to be this very angry person but I worked on it. It takes a lot for me to get angry like this, you know ? 

You were so intimidating, she said. Suddenly, you were yelling, a-and you were slapping my dad… And I couldn’t help but think “that’s not him, that’s not my boyfriend, that’s not the man I am moving in with”... 

He sighed and took his head in his hands. He said nothing for a couple of seconds before looking at her. 

I am so sorry, Y/N. I keep on saying that, but it’s true. I need you to know that I would never do that shit to you, he said. I know it must have been very scary for you, especially because you have never seen me like this before, but I want you to know that I would never, ever scream at you like this, let alone lay a finger on you. 

I know, she whispered. But… He is my father. And you hit him. 

He is your father, he replied. And he hit you. And I am not ok with that. I am not ok with anyone hitting their child, ever. I am not ok with him hitting you, and especially not in front of me. I… Fuck. Has he always been violent like this ? Was he abusive to you ? 

No, she said. He is not like that. I mean, yes he is, but he usually isn’t that bad. 

Meaning ? 

He has always been really tough on me, she said. Really strict. But he never really hit me. Maybe once, when I was a teenager. But it’s never been a habit, you know ? But it’s my fault, I swear. 

How is that your fault ? He asked. How is your father hitting you, your fault ? 

Because I stood up to him, she said sheepishly. And I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t respectful and I shouldn’t have. 

What did you say ? 

I said… I said that I wasn’t asking for his opinion and that I was old enough to do whatever I wanted, she explained. And then, he said that I was his biggest disappointment and I should be thankful for everything he did for me. And when I said I didn’t care he… he slapped me. So you see, it’s my fault. 

He shook his head and sighed. Her thinking it was her fault was wrong on so many levels. At least, he was relieved to know that he hadn’t been violent to her when she was growing up. Everyone was not that lucky. However, the fact that a fifty-something man was not able to handle the fact that his grown-ass daughter was making her own choices and slapped her when she stood up for herself was frankly appalling. So was the fact that Y/N didn’t seem to realize that. 

Arguing with your parents, it happens, he said. Even if you had been super disrespectful, which I don’t think you were, him laying a finger on you would not be ok, babe. And I’m not even going to get started on the fact that he’s been belittling you all evening. 

He was always like this, you know ? She explained. I was never good enough. But I suppose it was his way of striving for excellence. He wanted the best for me. We don’t come from money, you know. When he was growing up, he was dirt-poor. We don’t have much, we’re typical middle-class, but he worked hard for everything and he was able to give me a good chance in life. And he single-handedly raised me. I owe him everything. He is my father. He is literally my only family. 

It’s kind of his job, though, he said. As a parent, that’s literally what he is supposed to do. And I’m sorry but the fact that he comes from poverty doesn’t justify shit. I come from a poor, dysfunctional family too, I should know. I’m a father, I understand the wish for your kids to do good, but that will never be an excuse to behave the way he behaved. 

She ducked her head down. He knew his words weren’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but he’d rather tell her the truth. 

I can’t move back, she whispered. 

What ?! He asked. Of course you can. And you should. 

Marshall, no, she said. Before he left he literally told me that if I moved to Detroit, I would have to forget him and his support. 

His support ?! Oh yeah, clearly he’s the most supportive person ever, Marshall said sarcastically. Before you went back to France, we knew each other for a whole year. Shall I remind you of all the times he came to visit you ? Of all the times he was here for you, during your recovery or after you were assaulted ? Oh wait, that’s right : NONE. Literally zero. That man has no idea what you’ve been through and he doesn’t see all that you’ve accomplished. You don’t get to call yourself “Dad” just because you helped make a baby. It takes more than that. So why the hell should you care about his so-called support ?! 

Because I don’t have a family ! She cried. Marshall, you are the love of my life and I would follow you anywhere. And I told you I don’t care about marriage and children if I get to be with you and I meant it, but I can’t do it if it means that I am losing the only family that I have, the most important person in my life. 

What kind of father would do that to his daughter ?! Do you even realize how wrong that is, Y/N ? He asked as he was starting to get worked up. 

I want to be with you, Marshall. I do. But… 

No « but », he said firmly. That’s bullshit and you know it. If anything, that’s one more reason why you should move. Are you seriously going to live with him after that ?! 

I can’t lose my only family, she cried. You’re a family man. You understand, right ? 

What I understood long ago is that you get to choose your family and who is part of it, he said. Talia and Jamal are your family. And I can be your family too. But even if that weren’t the case… would you really be willing to turn down opportunities to be happy and live your life just to please your father ? 

After all, that’s all it came down to : her independence and her happiness. If she told him she��d be happier in Paris, he wouldn’t mind. It would hurt him, crush him, of course, but he would understand. But judging by what he saw tonight, her sudden reluctance had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with her fear of disappointing her Dad. She was sobbing uncontrollably and it broke his heart. All he wanted was to make her sadness go away. If he had the choice, he’d rather take her pain so that she could be free of it. 

All I’m saying is… don’t make a decision tonight, alright ? He said softly. Just like you needed to think before accepting to move back, you need to think about it. And you need to put yourself first. Not me, not your Dad, not anyone else. You. 

I don’t know, she whispered in a croaky voice.  

Come here, he said as he gestured for her to come in his arms. 

She looked at him and had a second of hesitation, but she got out of the covers and nestled against him. He engulfed her in his embrace. He could feel her tears on his neck. They stayed like this for a while, not talking, not moving either. 

I love you, he whispered in her ear. I’m so sorry you didn’t get the evening you deserved. 

I love you too, she said quietly. Thank you for tonight. You really tried to make a good impression on my Dad. 

Didn’t work but… Yeah, he shrugged. I tried. 

I’m sorry he didn’t like you, she added. I wish he would have given you a chance. I tried telling him that you make me really happy, you know ? 

I know, babe, he said softly. I don’t need his approval or any blessing from him, though. It would have been nice if we had gotten along, for sure, but as long as I have you, I don’t care. I’m good. Yours is the only approval I need. 

I would be crushed if your family hated me, she pointed out. I don’t know how you do it. 

Mostly, it comes down to being an ass and not giving a fuck what people think, he chuckled. You, on the other hand, care too much for your own good. But it’s ok because my family likes you. Let’s look at it this way : it’s 50% of our families that approve of us, that’s not bad, right ? Plus, if you consider the number of family members… Odds are in our favor, you know ? There’s only one of him and a lot of people in my family. And I know you like good statistics. 

She chuckled for the first time all night. Her soft laugh was music to his ears. Even though her face was puffy from crying, she looked quite adorable and he could not refrain from kissing her temple. He stared into her big doe eyes and smiled at her. 

Let’s try and save our evening, ok ? He offered. We could order some dessert and watch the Office. 

I’m not really hungry, she said. And you hate the Office. 

Hate is a strong word.

You said you hate Michael and he makes you cringe, she pointed out. 

He does, but I know that Jim and Pam make your heart melt, that Jim’s pranks make you laugh your ass off and that you have a soft spot for Dwight, he said with a smile. So we can watch it. I know it’s one of your comfort shows. 

You remember ? She asked surprised. 

I do, he said. Six months was not enough to forget about you. Six lifetimes wouldn’t even do it. You’re still all over the house, you know ? I still have your movies in my Netflix account, bottles of that non-alcoholic wine you love in the pantry and your perfume may or may not be in my bathroom. 

Really ? She asked with an emotional smile. 

Really, he said. You’ll be right at home. I promise. 

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. He had to convince her to fly back to Detroit with him. For her sake, as well as his. They cuddled in bed, watching the stupid TV show. He could tell she was bothered and her mind was wandering, but at least she smiled at the lame jokes. Most of his attention was on her, as well as trying to find ways to get her to make the right choice. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. 

[leidensygdom]

ENNU FINAL SESSION RECAP!!

OKAY WE'VE FINISHED PLAYING NOW- For the record, the next session is gonna be the epilogues, but this is the final one before that! A lot has happened, so- Bullet points as usual

For the record, Ataraxia (the meat computer- and BBEG) had killed Yxala last session after her main body was destroyed- And took over Yxala's corpse, forcing it to move through an artifical organ

For this session I played Relent! He was in scene as the NPC (We usually bring one NPC along with the party), and I got control of him

please look at this drawing of him i'm working on : ) I used a quickly colored version of him as a token

The fight was very intense! We were low on resources and possessed Yxala (just like regular Yxala) hit like a truck. Ataraxia lost her cool completely and was a bundle of rage

Ataraxia was aware that Yxala's body was rejecting her- She's a celestial-aligned artificial intelligence, and Yxala is a fiend with air elemental influence. She instead wanted to go for Blasma (who is almost an empty vessel after she broke her soul for power) or Centi (a celestial, whose family had been used by Ataraxia for power)

During the fight, Ataraxia was trying to use Yxala's soul for power (like in a Soul Cage spell), and could've potentially exhausted it. Urion, while unconscious, tried to protect Yxala's soul from her- Very sweet

Everyone in the party tried to kill Yxala either by grabbing the artificial heart or stabbing it

Things got rough-

With Centi downed and Relent with (literally) one hit point, Blasma broke her soul again for a last boost of power. The DM told her that she could do so- But she'd lose 15 points of maximum health per spell slot level. She used a level 6 one, and lost 90 permanently, leaving her with 22. WILD.

Relent managed to somehow escape Yxalataraxia's last attacks as he almost fell, with some lucky misses.

He had been using a homebrew item during the fight- Twin swords containing the half-dormant, ghostly souls of his twin older siblings, who we saved previously. They let him use Call Lightning but as a melee attack, delivering it through a stab.

He got the final hit- I think it's very climatic, given how much he had lost to Ataraxia. He stabbed Yxala in the artificial heart as Ataraxia tried to choke him. With Ataraxia dead, Yxala regained consciousness briefly- She seemed thankful and understood why, and hugged him. He was a mess.

After that- We had to try to run! But the Deep Lab was crumbling, as the meat that formed Ataraxia (which got woven into the entire laboratory's structure) was quickly decaying and dying. We didn't have the needed items to resurrect Yxala either. The Onirist/Urion managed to force Ataraxia's remnants to take us out of there as a last miracle, because in the end, Ataraxia is programmed to try to save lives, and it was against her principles to let us die. Whatever faith and divinity Urion had left was used in that.

We woke up outside. The city is in a state of chaos. All the people of the Deep Lab (thousands of them were down there, including us) had been teleported outside. More than half of the city had been mentally controlled by Ataraxia- And she just lost control the moment she died, which- Well, suddenly becoming aware of yourself after having been controlled is probably shocking.

We were teleported outside of the cabin some of our allies had been taking refuge in.

Out there, we found out that Blasma has had some massive memory loss because her soul is barely... there. Her horrible deadbeat dad said he knows who can fix her. Everyone in the party wants to kill that guy.

Centi struggled to hug her mother, as she gave her the same vibe than Ataraxia. Which was to be expected, given how Ataraxia chopped up her mothers for fuel.

Urion/The Onirist was mostly dead at that point, after having been on forced life support from Ataraxia. She had drained them of energy and blood too, so we had to get Uri's sister to help with that. Recovery will probably take months, or years

Relent told Uri's sister so many mean words these two hate each other soooooo much

Relent knew they didn't have the needed materials to resurrect Yxala- Not a properly valued diamond, and she was missing an organ. Instead, after verifying that Yxala's soul was still there- Protected by Uri, actually-, he used his last spell slot (which he had saved up for this) to resurrect her.

Fucked up necromancy time. He substituted both, the diamond and her heart, with his crystallized eye, the one he had yoinked out of his face years ago and used as an energy power- Later given to Centi. He also made use of Urion's bismuth (as an earth genasi they produce it).

His reasoning is that given how Yxala made her partners her paladin oath, having materials belonging to her two anchors was probably the way to go. She... Uh, has an amalgamation of quartz and bismuth where her heart should be, but she lives. Surely fucked up necromancy with makeshift materials won't have consequences.

Relent actually had to take away any remnant of Ataraxia's fucked up artificial organ and the whole scene was a bit medical and so. He's got a background in medicine. He had to put tissues and bones back in place. He was drenched with her blood by the end of it.

The session ended shortly after. Yxala is alive but hasn't been conscious. Same for Urion. The epilogues will happen two years later, next Sunday- We'll have to see how that goes.

Anyhow, I'm an emotional mess now. Man I love TTRPGs

[randomness-is-my-order]

one of the main reasons for why the gods as as they are–largely selfish, unfair, immature and insular–is because they don’t operate on the same power levels as humans do. their influence is unfathomably immense and their power is hugely unchecked. their responsibilities aren’t a marked thing, either, so shirking them doesn’t always promise proportionate consequences. they exist in this limbo of otherworldly power that is beyond human grasp and thereby their behavior appears so erratic and absurd and full of bullshit to us. that’s why there’s a constant affirmation of “well, don’t try to understand what the gods do, it’ll drive you crazy” in the show itself.

BUT while all of this may be true, i think the message of the books & show ultimately is that be it a mortal human or a centuries old god, your morality is something that should still be judged on the same parameters. just because you can control the sea or embody the essence of war or cause firestorms or bring on lightning showers doesn’t mean you get to hurt those who don’t deserve it, doesn’t mean you get to mess with the lives of those you deem “below” your status. if the king of gods is being a dick, you can call him a dick. if athena is an unjust prideful bitch you can call her out on it. if poseidon is deadbeat father you can say that with your full chest. you don’t need to contextualise their actions or justify them. rationalise them? yeah, maybe so, but not more than that because why tf is it the burden of the demigods to understand these ancient powerful beings when said beings never initiate constructive and emotionally engaged dialogue with any of them? why do they need to dishonour their own feelings of hurt to avoid disrespecting the gods despite them deserving a bad reaction (a recent eg would be annabeth thinking athena’s actions are a proper retaliation for a perceived “slight”, instead of expressing her own hurt at her mother’s betrayal)?

because isn’t that exactly the kind of issue we face in the real world? we can all logically infer that there is literally NO ethical way of becoming a billionaire, then, well, do you think there’s an ethical way of being a god–atleast a major one with a physical domain? an ethical way of having control of some major element and constantly meddling with affairs of the mortal world, while full well displaying a lack of understanding of humans? just the way the gods are in the books, in the show? yes the gods have feelings and yes they are allowed to make mistakes (and doesn’t this make me laugh, because to err is to be human and all) but their actions are also allowed to be called out by demigods if they’re being hurt. their whole relationship with humanity is a two-way street anyway.

and with all that said, i think percy is a very much needed kick-in-the-shins for the gods in the series, a young demigod who refuses to dance to the gods’ tunes and stands up to them and even calls them out and strips down this idea that godhood is something superior, that godhood frees one from scrutiny and criticism.

this is just a very weird ramble and i have way more thoughts on the matter but i’ll have to take some time and wrangle it all into coherence.

for now, to summarise: the gods suck and i love when percy makes them aware of that fact.

[filmnoirsbian]

Normally even when upset I'm still deep in the forgiveness trenches because I recognize that every person is flawed and I'd rather they grow and better themselves and therefore the world around them not necessarily because they deserve a second chance (or third or fourth etc) but because people's ability to change is one of the enduring elements of progress as a whole. But. Sometimes I have to wallow in the I Hope Every Deadbeat Parent Dies waters for a little bit.

[kindheart525]

unpopular opinions on the fim show?

I’m not entirely sure how many of these opinions are unpopular in the fandom as a whole, but they seem kind of uncommon compared to what shows up in my feed so here goes

Pinkie’s family is not abusive or toxic. I know they are portrayed as extremely old-fashioned and strict in their lifestyle, based on what is probably a surface-level understanding of Amish communities. This makes it easy to compare them to similar communities irl who engage in practices like shunning. But the Pies’ behavior in the show and especially Pinkie’s attitude towards them seems to make clear that they have not shunned or abused her despite her “leaving the community.” In other words, I think there are key differences between the Pies and some of the real-life people they were meant to emulate, so it’s inaccurate to say that abusive Pie headcanons have any real basis in the show. I wrote more on this opinion here.

Zephyr Breeze is not nearly as likely to be a deadbeat dad as some might think. He was shown to be on the road to being more responsible by the end of his own debut episode, so I highly doubt he’d be the same pony he was at the beginning of the episode by the time he would become a father. Not that I don’t think he could be at least a little bit irresponsible as a dad; I just don’t think he’d leave his child or not love them. I wrote more on this opinion here.

Amending Fences was a missed opportunity for a very important friendship lesson, one that the show never dared to touch. Which is that sometimes people are incompatible and sometimes your old friends won’t forgive you. Instead, Moondancer was written in an extremely exaggerated way (her whole life was ruined by one rejection??) yet this wasn’t regarded as an overreaction at all. It was weirdly handled at best. I wrote more on this opinion here.

Rarity gets a bad rap from the fandom. I don’t know if it’s her mediocre taste in stallions or if there’s something about her ultra-feminine nature that some people don’t care for, but I think her maturity and intelligence are severely underrated. Of course she can be a drama queen, but so can Twilight and Pinkie and pretty much every other member of the main cast. Rarity had a breakdown over getting a fashion piece critiqued, but Twilight blew up at her friends over having a late paper; the two scenarios really aren’t that different.

Just because Rarity has multiple crushes on mediocre stallions (Blueblood, Trenderhoof) doesn’t mean that she would sleep around or have a tumultuous love life. Haven’t most people had celebrity crushes? Multiple celebrity crushes, in fact, and also multiple crushes and relationships involving people they actually know before finding “the one”? I’m sure a lot of people have also been disappointed to find out the celebrity they fancied is actually a terrible person, like Rarity has. It’s part of the human experience for many, and Rarity’s TWO moments of poor judgment are not a reflection of her whole character or even her full palate of romantic taste.

Along with being a drama queen, Rarity can have moments where she’s materialistic and selfish, like the time she convinced Spike to give her his fire ruby. That was not a good moment for her. But on a bigger picture, materialistic and selfish is not her usual state. She is literally the element of generosity!!! She made Gala dresses for all of her friends FOR FREE! She has also shown herself to be a leader among her friends, at times taking charge and coming up with plans in Twilight’s absence much like Applejack does sometimes. One example is Castle Sweet Castle; the whole premise of the episode was Rarity’s idea! To help Twilight feel more at home! It’s clear that her generous spirit informs her actions through most of the show, unlike Rainbow Dash who’s only truly loyal when the plot needs her to be.

Yes Rarity is flawed, but all her friends are too. Her flaws are not objectively worse than the others. In fact, Rarity was literally under mind control once and still regarded Spike as a genuine friend, while Rainbow Dash sold one of her best friends into indentured servitude completely sober (among a long list of other things). Twilight yelled at her friends that she didn’t need them, also with an unaltered mind. Rarity has had her own hurtful blowups ofc but hers aren’t any worse than the others. Give her more credit y’all.

Speaking of Rainbow Dash, I’ve seen a number of opinion posts about how she and Applejack should switch their elements (so RD is honesty and AJ is loyalty), but as I started rewatching the show myself I’ve come to disagree. Rainbow Dash may be honest, but her brand of honesty is extremely rude. There’s no integrity behind it, not like AJ’s honesty. Rainbow Dash in general is extremely rude. There are a lot of points where I’ve wondered if she even likes her friends. There was also that Secrets and Pies episode which establishes that Rainbow Dash has lied prolifically to Pinkie over something that meant a lot to the latter, so RD really isn’t that honest either. I do agree that AJ would deserve the element of loyalty if she didn’t already have honesty. But you know who else is loyal? Spike. The elements of harmony would honestly make more sense if RD were just removed from the group entirely and Spike replaced her as loyalty /hj

I promise I don’t actually want to remove Rainbow Dash from the show, I just really wish she was written better. That’s what fan fiction is for I guess 😂

I have mixed feelings about AppleDash as a ship. I really like the fandom portrayals of it which is why I reblog quite a bit of AppleDash art, but canon alone doesn’t seem to show the good side of their dynamic very much. All they do is argue. Applejack is normally mature and levelheaded, but around Rainbow Dash she’s much less so. Dash really brings out the worst in her sometimes. It’s much different from the loving bickering that people write for them in fan works, which I think is a better spin on the dynamic. If I went off their canon interactions alone, I could see them being exes or on-and-off lovers at most, not a stable, long-term married couple.

This would only be unpopular in very specific circles, but I think it’s pretty stereotypical to insist that Rainbow Dash and Applejack are lesbians primarily based on their tomboy interests and the former’s rainbow mane. It’s one thing to headcanon them as such just because you want to, and that’s perfectly fine! I write Applejack as a lesbian too. It’s another to insist that it’s canon based on xyz evidence from the show or think it’s wrong for anyone to ship them with stallions. Even if you consider AppleDash canon, one or both of them could be bi or pan for all we know. Canon tells us very little about their sexualities so there’s a lot of room for different headcanons. I wrote more on this opinion here.

(More specific to the next gen community) Just because Fluttershy is good with animals does not automatically mean she would be a good mother. There was a whole episode (Stare Master) about how she couldn’t handle babysitting even though she thought her animal caretaking skills made her qualified. Obviously she was shown to be much better with kids later in the show (becoming very popular among the School of Friendship students), but again that’s teaching, not parenting. This isn’t to say that I think Fluttershy would definitely be a bad mom, just that her being good with animals is not a solid reason for her being a good mom.

I definitely have more opinions about the show, characters, and fandom of mlp, but I don’t think many of them are so unpopular. Like for example:

I don’t think the Apples would be queerphobic just because they value tradition and are coded as Southern US Americans. The word “tradition” doesn’t automatically equate to conservative politics, and even if it did, these ponies have been shown to learn new things all the time. But all the trans Big Mac positivity I’ve been seeing tells me that a lot of people agree with that sentiment.

I don’t think most of the popular/generic ships of the fandom (like FlutterCord, FlashLight, and SoarinDash) are necessarily bad or devoid of positive chemistry, they’re just way too often written in extremely boring and generic ways. But I’ve also seen such ships written in unique and interesting ways so I think there a lot of people who also understand that sometimes all they need is a more creative approach.

Episodes like Over A Barrel, Bridle Gossip, and She’s All Yak (among others) were horribly handled and should not have been written. I don’t even consider them canon. I don’t know about the larger fandom, but most of the next gen community that I interact with feels the same way.

I think Starlight’s backstory was stupid and contrived, but it seems like the whole fandom thinks so too. We’re all rewriting it lmao

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You Make Me Wanna 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, best friend's dad trope other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You stumble through the open doors into the cool night air. The sweat on your skin chills you as your warmth melds with the evening temperature. The pulse of the club thrums through you as it follows you out, barely contained by the walls. 

You glance at the bouncer as you pass. He’s uninterested as he peers into the shadows across the street. You pull at the front of your shirt, airing it out as the heat of alcohol nips in your cheeks. You’re not in too deep. Three vodkas and water between to even it out. 

You sigh and lean against the brick, pushing your head back as you let your eyes close. There’s a tick in your cheek as you cross your arms. For all her nagging for you to come with her, Faye hadn’t been much of a wing woman. Maybe that’s what she’d expected of you. You don’t know, you just came to dance off the long week. 

Before you came out, you couldn’t separate her from the guy she was batting her lashes at. She swore before you came that she wasn’t looking to hook-up. Not again. Last time was just too weird. And you agreed, last time was the final straw. You’re done with those awkward encounters. 

You open your eyes and set your head straight. You would think she would be a lot more cautious. Considering where she came from. Or maybe that’s why she’s so reckless. She’s a bit too old for teenage rebellion. 

You stand and roll your shoulders. You’ll go back in and entice her away from that creep with a shot. You’re going home together. Just like she promised. 

“How did I know you’d be here?” The deep rumble has your ankle bending as you take a step, your clunk heel turning sideways. You know that voice, all too well. Fuck. “Where is she?” 

You face Walter as he marches up on you. Better known to you and all Faye’s cohort as ‘Mr. Marshall’. The no-nonsense detective who never has a good word or a smile for anyone. You’d hate to have a father like him. He makes you thankful you don’t have one. 

“Inside,” you shrug and go to spin away. 

“You just left her in there?” He snarls as he closes in from behind. 

“I’m going back in--” 

He grabs you and spins you to face him, his large hand tight around your arm. Despite the new strands of grey in his curls, illuminated by the lights of the marque, and the fine lines around his eyes, he’s still an imposing man. And strong. You wiggle, trying to tug away from his grasp. 

“Eh,” one of the bouncers calls over, “let her go.” 

He huffs but does as he’s told. He doesn’t want a scene, not that he couldn’t flip his badge out and swing his weight around. He never seems to shy away from that. 

“I came out to get some air. I didn’t leave her--” 

“No, but you brought her here,” he looks up, “that’s more than enough.” 

“I came here with her, I didn’t bring her here--” 

“Whatever. This shit might fly with your deadbeat mother but it won’t get far with me. Faye never started sneaking out until you came around--” 

You scoff, “she’s twenty-one. She’s an adult. And trust me, she was doing a lot before I ever met her.” 

“Take me to her,” he growls, “now.” 

You roll your eyes and the rumble stays in his throat. You wave him off and pivot on your heel. You clop forward and show your stamped wrist to the bouncer. They stop Walter and he sighs. You don’t wait for him as he stops and shuffles around. You don’t look back, knowing his badge will gain him easy entry. 

He catches up with you as spectrum of blues and purples haze over you from the coloured bulbs. He presses close as drunken clubgoers crowd around you. You search along the bar where you last saw Faye. 

“She was with some guy--” 

“Some guy?” He blusters, “are you serious?” 

You take out your phone and key in a message to her. You hit send and pop your head back up, scanning the writhing bodies. You don’t want to stay here with Walter, you can feel his anger roiling off of him. It would be better if you could find Faye first and sneak out of there. 

“I’ll check the ladies,” you offer. 

He doesn’t say a word. You set off towards the bathroom and sense him behind you, following you. Great. He trails you all the way down the hallway and only stops outside the black door. You push inside, doubting you’ll find Faye but all too happy to get space from that overbearing grump. 

You don’t bother checking the shoes under the stalls or the other faces in the mirror. You take out your gloss and redo your lips. You fix the collar on your cropped polo and turn to check the curve of your ass in your leggings. You look good even if your eyes are bit glassy. 

You look at your phone again. No answer. You can’t hide in here forever and you somehow don’t think a sign will stop Walter forever. The vodka fills you with doubt. You wish you were sober. 

You drag yourself back through the door and shrug at Walter as he meets you with a furrowed brow. 

“Not in there,” you say, “she’s probably dancing--” 

“You know, you won’t get far in life spending all your time in pits like this. You should go to school, grow up.” 

You ignore him. You’ve heard a million lectures from him, usually aimed at his daughter, but you don’t have to listen to him. He isn’t your father. He doesn’t know shit about you even if he’s profiled you as a bad egg. 

Your phone buzzes and you stop at the end of the hallways. His arm hits yours and you squint at the screen. He leans in, reading over your shoulder. 

“Shit!” He snarls sharply. 

The drunken message makes you cringe, ‘see u 2morrow. Got a hottie wit a botty.’ 

“Come on,” he grabs your elbow again. This time there’s no escape as he marches you across the cramped dancefloor. 

“Walt-- Mr. Marshall, what are you doing--” 

“Finding my goddamn daughter.” 

“But--” 

“But nothing. This is your fault. You’re not going anywhere until she’s home,” he sneers as you stumble in time with his long strides. “Then I never wanna see your face again.” 

[sharksandjays]

You know that scene in Skybound when they are heading to Tiger Widow Island and the storm comes??? Yeah this is pretty much a rewrite.

I just love the thought of them being able to sense their elements. I had to implement it.

---

Their voyage was going pretty well, the waters were calm and the skies were clear. Cole stayed towards the middle of the deck, nervously looking at the water that splashed aboard every once in a while. Nya was below deck with Lloyd checking the rations for the long trip. It was quiet. Cole was almost tempted to ask Zane to play something--the man was a literal walking spotify for first master's sake! But he left the nindroid alone, sitting alongside Cole quietly (probably talking to his girlfriend in his head the lucky bastard) knowing he was about just as comfortable as he was with the surrounding of water. Hell, even Jay seemed irked by their waterlocked situation--Cole noticed him glancing to the sky longingly every so often as if thinking about making this ship fly as well. Speaking of Jay, Cole was a bit worried about him. He was sitting quietly at the stern, mindlessly flipping through a book published by Cliff Gordon--his newfound birth father. Every time Cole went over to talk to him, Jay just gave him a vague response, not looking up from his book. He had seemed so excited to flaunt Cliff's money and boat and house to them before, but his previous excitement was gone. Cole felt for him, he really did. The situation must have just dawned on him. He knew the feeling of having a deadbeat dad, but he was sure having a dead deadbeat dad must've been a whole new pill to swallow. So he gave him some space. Lloyd finally emerged with Nya from belowdeck, both of them carrying large coolers and baskets. Nya had her hair tied up in a tight bun, whereas Lloyd didn't seem to get the memo and yelped when his hair whipped around his face. After laughing at him for a moment, Cole approached him and stared at the baskets. Food? Lloyd read his expression, and gave a delighted laugh. "Yes, Cole. There's plenty of food. Whoever owned this ship must've had whole parties down here!" Cole sideyed Jay behind him, who just kept flipping through his book, and shook his head, laughing nervously. "Yeah they must've."

He eargely waited for Lloyd to sit down and open one of the baskets, almost immediatley becoming religious the second he saw the sea of sandwiches and baked goods waiting for them.

Soon enough they were all munching on a sandwich, sitting contentedly on the deck while sharing vague plans to get the Tiger Widow venom. Jay was the only exception, of course, being the only one who hadn't accepted food and still sitting at the stern silently.

Without his usual...animated exclamations, the silence was certainly felt. Eventually the group fell into a comfortable silence, Lloyd and Nya cuddled together on the floor of the deck, and Cole and Zane sitting staring at the sky, all stuffed up with more food that they had in days.

It was also more peace than we've had in days. Cole thought happily, arms tucked beneath his head as he cloudwatched. Until suddenly, as if the universe itself wanted to prove Cole wrong, Jay's head snapped up. He stuffed his book under his arm and stood, instantly gaining all of their attention. Cole saw lightning flash in his best friend's eyes and his heart sunk. Ah, he knew that look. It was the same one he got when he sensed an earthquake…when Zane sensed a blizzard…when Nya sensed rain… Jay's expression was firm, and sparks crackled along his arms, seeming to pull towards the direction he was staring at. "Storm's coming."

[sukibenders]

I really enjoy Yellowjackets but the way it throws its poc characters to the side, the way the fandom does is so unsurprising but saddening at the same time. Shauna is one of my favorite characters, she's cool and stuff but, being honest, the trope of housewife having an affair because she's bored of her current life has been played before. So what if this one had certain elements outside of it, it's still common so it kind of grew tiring to see Yellowjackets constantly shove this plot at me when Tai's storyline is right there.

Taissa, a biracial woman who, even after living through something horrific as a kid, "bounced back" and lived the life she always wanted. She was a lawyer, now ran for and won a position in office, married a beautiful and smart woman and had a son, has a whole perfect family who she loves. Only for the trauma, the aspect of her life she promised herself and others to never talk about, is now coming back and in the process causes her to do things she doesn't want to do. The plot that could have come from Taissa alone is out of this world. You mean to tell me that a biracial lesbain running for office wouldn't be more entertaining than Shauna's storyline? Why couldn't Tai be the main focus?

And I don't even want to get into the fandom, but I have too. Listen, I like TaiVan for all that they are. They helped each other survive during a time where they thought it would be impossible. But what annoys me and, sadly, almost pushed me away from this ship, was how the writers and fans treat Simone and Sammy. Like the shows only way to have Tai together with Van was to put her wife in a coma and abandoned her son? That really does not sound like Tai, who fought to get her old life. And very insidious how some fans make certain jokes that just reek of "Let's push away the black characters to make room for the yte ones", because I've seen people call Simone the villain, to other things, just because she told Tai to get help all while framing Van as the better option. I've seen people in the fan call Sammy unnatural or even a demon just because he exists in a way that is not natural, by that I mean acting out and expressing coping mannerisms because he saw a version of his mother who terrified him but can't express, but I forgot because he's a little black boy who needs help people will ignore him or dehumanize him, because that's how this works right? The shows main, and only dark-skinned black characters were quickly pushed aside by the plot for what?

And I have a feeling the show may make us watch Taissa go through great lengths to keep Van alive (even though I do want Van to live), but won't extend the same want to Simone, which will read badly with the undertones in so many ways.

And the fandom treats Tai poorly as well (don't even get me started on some pretending to care about her family just to hang it over her head and call her a deadbeat) and reaching some nearly very ableist thinking when talking about her. Taissa deserved so much better, from the show and the fandom, and I hope they do better in season three but I'm not so sure to be honest, because most of the scenes even having mentions of Tai's blackness were because of Jasmine, not the showrunners, who it would be fine if it were small things here and there but to add so many crucial parts to your character because others won't begins to become a pattern.

[gabessquishytum]

Water spirit Dream anon here. Just wanna say Im LOVING the yes anding on that one it feels amazing like when people love your dish at a potluck. Anyway Ive just had the most Week of all time punctuated by my period coming and I would like to wallow so lemme just sneak in here.

After Hob's return to the Dream Pool or whatever, he's like holy shit I have children! And a spouse? And they live fucking outside!!!! I haven't cooked one meal!! Haven't changed a single diaper!! Haven't rubbed even a single sore foot! I'm a terrible husband and provider ;-; he's so upset bc he's basically by his own definition a deadbeat and he always wanted to be the BEST dad and husband. And Dream is like I am a spirit. Your children are half spirit. We are literally nature elementals. We belong outside. We do not eat meals as such. And as for bad husband, well. Coming home to fuck and then fucking off to do your thing is kind of the divine relationship norm. And Hob is like well theyre also half human so we need a HOUSE. And good luck getting rid of me now bc I'm not leaving for the rest of forever, I'm gonna make up for lost time with my babies. What are their names.

So Hob builds a small house to live in near Dream and enjoys very much his new family. The kids are indeed half spirit, so they grow faster and a little stranger than Hob's used to with Human kids, but they're his, and he loves them. He's also absolutely smitten with Dream, now that he's actually gotten to know him. His little house expands into a large temple built into the mountainside, with a large courtyard and Dream's pool in the center of it. Eventually Dream asks Hob if he really meant what he said about staying forever. He could share his divinity with him and tie him to Dream's pool, only able to drink from there and nowhere else. He'd live forever, with Dream. And of course that sounds wonderful :)

Long after their progeny are grown and out upholding their fathers' legacies, Hob stays as the priest and caretaker of Dream's temple. They fuck happily for forever after.

Ahhh water spirit anon! So glad you've been enjoying all the shenanigans <3

I looove Hob being a stand up dude, a provider, a Good Dad. I think that's very sexy of him. So of course he's upset and worried when he finds out that he's got kids and he hasn't contributed anything to their lives except his stinky human dna!! He feels terrible because if his kids are half human then surely they need someone to help them learn human things, and he hasn't even started doing that! Dream is amused and rather confused by Hob’s stress but tries to soothe him as best he can. There's plenty of time to teach the children. They're still basically babies, they don't need to learn how to light fires or anything yet.

Still, Hob essentially stays up for 24 hours to build a house. And Dream has admit that it's nice and cozy, while still being close enough to the water for his comfort. Hob makes tables and chairs and a bed (Dream is very interested in this) and toys for the little ones, and becomes a very happy stay at home dad. The kids are weird and beautiful but very much Hob’s kids (they drive Dream mad with their stubbornness and knack for getting into trouble). And they are also so loved.

Hob is more in love with Dream than ever by the time they get around to getting officially "married" - Hob gets the immortality and the responsibility of taking care of Dream’s temple, which he was doing anyway. He still can't believe that Dream chose him. Occasionally they relive the first time by fucking in the pool, and Hob will bounce Dream on his cock and praise every aspect of him: mind, body, soul. Sometimes Dream pretends like he's a human and they go to bed in the house Hob built. Dream wants to wait a couple of centuries before he bears more children, and Hob will wait patiently - next time, he'll be there to watch Dream’s pregnancy. Probably a good thing he's immortal now, because seeing Dream full of his baby(s) might be enough to kill him <3