#recycling this line i used before: she’s daddy’s little girl but daddy doesn’t like his little girl very much

[wlwaerith]

i’ve been cooking a dark urge in my brain for the better part of the week, and all i can say so far is that she annoyed the hell out of ketheric & gortash was consistently amused with her harebrained schemes & always shocked they worked. and her dynamic with orin is too insane for me to post about publicly

[tartrazeen]

How DBH Leans Way Harder Into HankCon Than Father/Son

Listen.

I love you people who make Hank and Connor that whole platonic family thing. Totally you do you, that's fine, don't even worry about it.

For real - this isn't some ship war. It's a game. I even got some dad vibes from Hank before - oop, nope, we just went full daddy, didn't we. So this is not pitting two ideas against each other to see which one's better. They're both good. I massively prefer one, but I'm not saying either one is wrong.

I *am* saying the canon is geared towards their relationship being HankCon.

Putting my last analysis aside, this game's got a consistent pattern to it: the relationship comes to a conflict.

Can a machine be a person? Central conflict of the game. The relationship is between humans and androids externally, and androids and machines internally.

Can an android ever be a mom? Kara's story, with a conflict of "What's the worst that can happen?" It certainly leads to some bad decisions, and - just... the *worst* doctor's appointment.

Can an android be a human's son? Markus' story with its conflict of, "Is that bad?" And here, we get some subtle hints that Leo's not too thrilled, like when Markus gets shot in the face (#defundthepolice amirite? no seriously, wtf guys). Unlike Kara, Markus doesn't have a little "Family" bar showing for Carl, but not only do they openly say what they think, Markus' extended conflict towards this is questioning whether he was more than a slave in a gilded cage or a privileged rich kid now playing War Leader.

Can androids be a threat? There's some demonizing of Markus if he inexplicably gets mad that his people are being killed to death (with a beautiful analysis on that tone policing by dbh-rambling) , but yes, that relationship's in the Deviant Leader's story as Pacifist vs. Non-Pacifist.

Can androids love?

Oh boy.

The question of whether androids can be somebody's son (or daughter) is only actively and directly discussed in Markus' story, and in Kara's from the parent's POV. Family doesn't come up in Connor's except for one big moment and one big parallel: when Hank tells Machine!Connor that every time a Connor died, he thought of Cole, and when Daniel at the start has his whole thing of being replaced after thinking he was part of the family.

Those do not incite a conflict.

For Markus, Leo makes fun of the idea, leading to one of the plethora of opportunities we have to sad-kill his dad or allow Markus stand up for himself.

Zlatko mocks Kara and kidnaps Alice, and while Kara won't leave the house without her kid in tow (who warned you like a billion times to leave girl smh), the race is on to find this chick. Ralph straight up tries to force it if you go that route, again putting Kara and Alice's bond to the test. Same thing at the recycling plant and crossing the border: how far will Kara take this 'mom' thing is the conflict.

Ain't nobody pullin' that shit on Connor.

He's vaguely interested in Hank's 'personal problems' as it pertains to the case. Hank might open up a little about Cole. It's not discussed until the very end, and the theme of 'son' doesn't enter the picture until we *see* a picture at Hank's house, whereupon Connor says nothing about it. That's different from the other storylines, where that family theme appears (and gets talked about) pretty much right away.

Connor doesn't even connect with the idea of replacing a member of a family when he's facing off against Daniel at the start. He basically calls Daniel dumb for it, pre-Zlatko style. His one interest in the Cole situation is saying it's not Hank's fault, with his sincerity adjusted per the Machine! or Deviant! path. He's focused on Hank and Hank alone.

You know what else he's focused on?

"Androids can't feel anything."

"They're not 'technically' emotions."

"I'm a machine and machines don't want anything."

Markus doesn't question whether he can be in love. Kara is maybe surprised by the emotion of those two androids at Rose's house, but her love for Alice is out in the open several times. That's the one thing they feel confident about, and North is as quick to accept it (as the only relationship able to go to 'Lover') as Markus is if Kara explains to him why she's helping Alice. Even as he's mocking her, Zlatko doesn't question that Kara *thinks* she loves her daughter. He uses it against her. That's why these aren't conflicts: they're facts more than anything, taken for granted.

... You know who ain't takin' that shit for granted? And is instead - like, actively challenging every speckle of the concept?

"*smack* What am I to you, a statistic? A 'zero', a 'one' in your fucking program?"

"People are fucking insane. They don't want relationships anymore, everybody just gets an android."

"Those two girls wanted to be together. They really seemed in love."

And like Zlatko with Kara, we have 60 being all goddamn, "Now it's time to decide what matters most: him or the revolution."

That is a conflict.

Kara, Luther and Alice go to a happy little theme park and frolic on a merry-go-round.

Markus has a heart to heart with either Carl at his deathbed or just with Carl's grave, but always to seek advice.

Connor and Hank go to a fucking strip club advertised in their *first* chapter together and get into a bitchy quarrel about, "WHAT ARE YOU REALLY CONNOR, I SHOULD NOT HAVE ADDED A GUN TO THIS CONVERSATION (for real #defundthepolice)."

That is the relationship.

So to recap:

Testing Markus' family relationship with Carl incites a conflict with Leo about who Carl's son really is, eventually putting their lives on the line.

Testing Kara's family relationship with Alice incites a whole host of conflicts that put their lives repeatedly on the line.

Testing Connor's family relationship with Hank incites... uh... a 53-year-old bear calling a 30-year-old weaponized twink 'son' as Connor bleeds out in that one ending you get where you do nothing for two minutes you monster, or - at best - spurs Connor to follow the platonic love of putting a father figure over *the entire revolution and existence of his newly self-aware species* by using it to 'find each other' once Hank has to pick out the real Connor.

Testing Connor's romantic relationship with Hank incites Hank to *fucking kill himself* if you two aren't friends, him punching Perkins in the face if you *are* friends, variations on one your asses dangling off the side of a building or getting dropped/pushed right off of it, and having it listed as a full-on betrayal if you dare to stay a licky blood machine.

Look - Connor said it himself:

"I'm whatever you want me to be: your partner, your buddy to drink with, or just a machine programmed to accomplish a task."

*You do you*. If you see them as family, just make sure they're happy for me, please (and that you remember that even on the good ending, Connor has to murder a minimum of two guards to get through CyberLife so show his ass some respect).

... but.

But.

I mean, when even Clancy says they weren't father and son - not to appeal to the actors' POV or anything, but if that wasn't on the menu when Bryan whipped out a little "I adapt to human unpredictability" wink (that he apparently had to fight David Cage for) then whoa - that makes the idea of Hank and Connor's relationship being platonic less canon than the evidence *for* HankCon.

Besides that, if Markus and Kara *and* Connor are exploring those angles of platonic android and human families, in and around the willingness to explore overt romantic relationships among the androids, who do we have to explore a romance between a human and android?

;)

[sabraeal]

In Plain Sight, Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Written for @k-itsmaywriting​‘s birthday! I hope that, despite how weird the world is right now, you have an amazing day!

Shirayuki understands how this is supposed to work. She’s seem movies after all-- Witness, of course; Sister Act 1 & 2, if only because Opa thought Whoopie Goldberg was a national treasure and Oma thought she was too young to be watching Ghost; and Our Lips Are Sealed about eight times on video cassette, since she’s old enough (and Opa resisted DVD long enough) have both VCRs and wholesome Olsen twins content as a part of her childhood.

(Her favorite formative twins were Annie and Hallie from The Parent Trap; they were red-headed, just like her, and one of them had a British accent. She’d been devastated to find out that not only were both of them American, but they were also only one girl. She’d watched Double Trouble to console herself)

In any case, she knows how this goes, at least narratively. She lays down in this amazingly comfortable bed, stares up at the ceiling in a tense yet melancholy fashion for hours, and dreams in plot-relevant flashbacks. Extra points if they reference the crime she witnessed.

The problem is: she didn’t. She’s just the unfortunate collateral to her father’s personal redemption. All the life ruining without ever being part of the A plot.

There’s an upside though: the second she hits that firm cloud of a mattress, she’s out like a light.

Absolutely nothing wakes her, but Shirayuki jolts into consciousness anyway, as unpleasant as any false start. She expects to be confused; she’s not a graceful riser to begin with, and every morning in temporary housing, she’d bounce off three walls at minimum trying to find a bathroom that didn’t exist.

(Well, the bathroom did exist, it just didn’t exist where it should, which was down the hall to the right, and was compounded by the door being in exactly the wrong place too.)

Instead, she knows exactly where she is. Knowledge which is quickly followed by the low-key, seething resentment for the man who put her here.

She groans, lifting her head from the pillow. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s just--

7:00, her alarm clock says. Tuesday, her brain provides after a long moment.

She should be getting up, habit told her. Getting her morning fix of avocado toast and orange juice with Paul Newman’s face stamped on it.

There’s worse ways to start your day than having a fine pair of eyes smiling at you, Oma would say.

What can I say? Opa’d grumble back, flipping through the paper. It’s impossible to compete with Butch Cassidy.

Her fingers curl into the sheets. There’d be none of that today. Agent Jiang-- Obi’s assistant had gotten her Simply Orange instead. A small mercy. It’s hard enough to be someone else when there’s still so much her clinging to the edges.

It’s tempting to linger in bed; she’s always been a morning person, up with the birds, but maybe Claire isn’t. Maybe Claire likes to stay up late and sleep in, sleeping past the three alarms she sets for herself. Maybe she likes to have waffles for breakfast, straight from a box, and drinks pomegranate juice. Maybe she doesn’t bike into the lab at eight because--

She groans. Because Claire doesn’t have a job. A thing that will have to change soon, since Claire has to pay for this house.

There’s a great deal of compromise that happens between bedside and bathroom; habit insists she needs to be fully dressed, ready to greet the day, but everything else--

Well, she’s not going anywhere is she? There’s no reason she couldn’t wallow in her pj’s all day

Standards, habit insists. But those belonged to Shirayuki, not Claire. Claire has no job, no friends, and nothing to do on a Tuesday morning besides--

Oh no, the recycling.

The bin is nearly two-thirds her height, but with only one day under her belt, it’s already overflowing. Good thing she’d looked at that brochure when it slipped out from between the takeout menus.

She shrugs her hoodie a little tighter, pulling it down over her leggings-- habit and hedonism settled on exercise wear as a happy medium-- and grips the handle, tugging it out the opening garage door, right into the fresh Texas morning--

And promptly throws her hoodie back into the garage. She might need that with the downright frosty temperature the house is set to, but oh, she was not going to cover her skin out here any more than necessary. Even now, she’s starting to sweat in impossible places beneath her leggings.

Hooking her palm back around the handle, she tugs the bin down the drive. Her gaze fixes to the pavement-- the last thing she needs is to trip right over herself on her own driveway taking out the trash-- and she doesn’t look up until she hits the sidewalk. It’s a struggle to get it to sit right-- these are proper curbs, white poured cement with squared edges meant to puncture cheeky tires; one of the wheels catches in a gap and refuses to budge until she hip checks it out onto the next slab.

She’s damp at this point, skin dewing with giant drops of sweat she’s tempted to shake off like a dog, but--

But Martha Kino has an arm slung along their fence, holding a tall glass of iced tea that makes her mouth water just to look at.

“Oh, um, good morning!” she calls out with a weak wave. “I didn’t, um, see you there.”

It’s only when Martha slides her gaze to her that she realizes her neighbor hadn’t been looking at her at all. Her mouth curves into a knowing smile at the sight of her. “Good morning, honey. You here for the show?”

Shirayuki blinks. “The show?”

“Mm-hm.” Martha takes a long drag from her straw, ice clinking against the glass. “Here it comes now.”

Shirayuki tracks her line of sight right across the cul-de-sac, squinting at half acre of immaculately trimmed, completely invasive Bermuda grass. Their front garden is well-kept, as well; thickly mulched with giant hibiscus blooming blood red against pristine stone facade.

Oh, and there’s a man as well. That’s probably what Mrs Kino is looking at.

He’s tall. No, tall is an understatement; he’s a giant, six foot four at least with shoulders to match. He’s trimmed with the same military precision as his lawn, clean shaven with an undercut that could scratch glass. Heavy brows draw sharply over his nose, forehead rumpling as he tears a box right down the fold--

Ah, well, all right. It’s not doing much of anything for her, but the Vitruvian man’s more ideal cousin ripping up boxes definitely counts as a show. Halfway through, he grabs the hem of his shirt, mopping his brow, and ah, hm, he could definitely have made money as an anatomical model. His rectus abdominis are, ah...very defined.

“Is he--” Shirayuki searches for the words-- “from around here?”

“Oh, him?” Martha’s gaze doesn’t stray for a second, not even as she sips at her tea. “That’s Scott. Aspen’s husband. They just moved in a few weeks ago.”

Shirayuki glances around the neighborhood. Seems like more than a few of her neighbors hope they’ll never leave either.

“Quite the pair, those two,” Martha hums. “She’ll be at the luncheon. I know you two will just get on like houses.”

More like houses on fire if she mentions she’s seen her husband’s floor show. “Oh, right. The um, luncheon.”

Mrs Kino grins as Scott hops back inside, out of this heat, just like she’s dying to do. “By the way, he mows the lawn on Sunday, just before lunch.”

“Oh, um, great.” She’ll be sure to miss it. “Can’t wait.”

It’s too early to bake cookies.

There’s not a baked good on earth that tastes as good two days later as it does fresh out of the oven; Shirayuki knows that down to her toes and bones, but still--

Stress baking. It’s a thing. And she doesn’t have to make anything right now. She could get all the ingredients together, just to make sure she has them. And then...just not do anything.

She can. Definitely. Absolutely. She’s Claire now. Claire probably doesn’t even like chocolate chip cookies.

Oh gosh, who is she kidding? Only monsters don’t like chocolate chip cookies. What next, Claire doesn’t like brownies? Apple pie? Snickerdoodles?

It’s a slippery slope, not liking things. Best to just keep it simple and eat everything, that’s what Opa always said at the church potluck.

The morsels and brown sugar already sit out on the counter when her phone lets out a piercing ting. She’s half tempted to ignore it; she’s having a contentious battle with the ten pounds of King Arthur flour that’s tucked away in her cabinet-- what was she thinking?-- and she refuses to show any fear in the face of baking supplies but--

Ting. No one knows her number. Well, no one except the government.She settles back on her heels with a sneeze. The government probably doesn’t take kindly to being left on read.

Her hands clap against her thighs, flour misting into the air as she leaves two partial prints right over the helical print. She frowns, plucking at the fabric, nose wrinkling as more powder burst into the air. Ting.

“I’m coming,” she mutters, stumbling over to the island. “I’m coming.”

Sugar Daddy i got just what u need pumpkin check ur email

The corners of her mouth dig furrows into her cheeks as she clicks on the notification. It’s the only message in her inbox, aside from the ubiquitous Welcome to Gmail spam and a few coupons for Banana Republic and a couple of other retailers. They’d taught her about this at orientation; they couldn’t do much about an empty inbox, but everyone had at least a few mailing lists they’d either forgotten to opt out of or regularly used.

Still...what about her said Banana Republic? She glances down at her spandex-clad legs. If they were going to go for a too-expensive clothing line, they could have at least sprung for Lululemon.

Ah, but that wasn’t the point. Marshal Jiang-- Obi hadn’t texted all...that...to show off some spam. Sitting at the very top of her inbox is a Cornell email address-- Cornell-- with an attachment.

Dear Claire, the message reads, We’re so sorry to see you go, but I’m glad we’re able to keep in touch. Of course we kept the copy of your old CV. Good luck to you in all your endeavors.

It’s signed by some professor; not high profile enough for her to have heard of, but she doesn’t doubt that he’s real, someone a curious party could look up on Cornell’s directory. Well, at least for the next six months.

The Columbia alumna inside her writhes in agony. Cornell. She doubts it’s a coincidence.

Me Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?

Not that she’s very, um, up on the specifics of such a relationship, but she’d been under the impression that sugar...children?...were supposed to be fully reliant on their sugar parent. Her mouth pulls thin. Already she’s thinking about this far more than she’d ever hope to.

Sugar Daddy a good daddy makes sure his baby can take care of herself ;)

This declaration is followed by a stream of emojis, ending with an eggplant and a peach, and she just-- doesn’t need to know. She wipes away the sweat that beads at her hairline-- from embarrassment, of course-- and downloads the attachment.

Me I’ll take a look. Thank you.

She sets the phone back on the island, face down, and glares. He can’t possibly be like this to everyone. People would complain. They wouldn’t just let him insinuate that he-- that they--

Ting.

Sugar Daddy good girl

All right. Maybe they would.

Shirayuki doesn't get homesick.

She’d been the first brownie to leap out of her car at summer camp; Opa barely had time to lurch into park before she was traipsing across the field, backpack slung over her shoulder and duffel bag dragging on the grass. Freshman year, she moved into the dorm by herself, pressing kisses to wrinkled cheeks as she lugged her suitcases onto the train; she’d almost forgotten to wave from the window.

But as soon as she lays down in bed, the lights snuffed out and the world still, it hits her. Just a soft roll of her stomach at first, the barest itch on her skin, like wearing a wool sweater on a spring afternoon. It’s fine; too much to ignore but nothing that would keep her up too long.

It doesn’t stay that way.

Her stomach clenches, tears pricking at her eyes, and it’s everything she can do to just roll onto her side, letting the chills wrack through her body. She shivers so hard her teeth chatter, and this-- this isn’t the gentle ache of nostalgia her books prepared her for. This is an illness, plain and simple, like when she caught norovirus in eighth grade can could hardly do anything but lay on the bathroom floor and wait for the next wave to begin.

This isn’t her, she isn’t like this, she doesn’t get like this, but-- but--

Before she always knew her home was waiting for her; she could leave but Oma and Opa would always keep the front lamp on, waiting for weary travelers and last minute bookings.

It’s different now that there’s no home to come back to.

7:00, her alarm clock says. She watches it tick over, like she has for every hour before it.

She must have slept at some point; it’s impossible that she’s lain awake, staring at the clock for eight hours. But that doesn’t make her any less tired, and so when her alarm starts up, beeps cutting through the quiet white noise of the air conditioner, she reaches out and slaps it off.

Shirayuki may not sleep in, but Claire is certainly warming to the idea.

Her notebook sits open on the island; neat, looping script stretches across the page, straining the boundaries of the blue lines that contains it. She’d done her homework yesterday, combing through job sites to find the most likely candidates. There’s five on her list right now, ranked according to preference, and oh, is Shirayuki glad she had the gumption to do this before, because this morning she feels like roadkill being scraped off the blacktop.

Still, she worries at her lip as her laptop boots up, peering over her list. In the cold light of the morning, five seems too few, but...desperation hasn’t set in yet. She’s allowed to still have standards.

Wrapping her hands around her mug, she glances at the next page: another list. No, a set of instructions. Edit CV. Write cover letters.

Shirayuki groans. Even with the bullet points she left for herself, composing cover letters is a circle of hell all its own. With only three hours of solid sleep under her belt, it’s an insurmountable hurdle to getting hired.

“Right,” she murmurs, hooking an ankle around a stool and pulling it under her. “Editing it is.”

She clicks on the pdf Obi sent her, scrolling down and--

“Oh no.” She rears back from the screen, heart pounding. “No, no. There’s got to be a mistake...”

“Hey, baby,” Obi’s voice rumbles through her speaker. It’s thick and warm and would be utterly distracting if she were in any less of a crisis. “A little early for a b--?”

“What happened to my papers?”

“Uh.” All the suggestion in his tone evaporates. “What?”

“My papers.” Her hand grips the phone so tight it creaks. “They’re gone.”

His end goes silent. Silent enough to make that weird click, like the line’s cut out, and she pulls back to check--

“Someone stole your passport?” He laughs, incredulous. “Some sort of luck you have, Miss. Barely had it for a day and already you’ve gotten your identity stolen.”

She blinks into the barren air of her kitchen. “What?”

“You know,” he hums, too amused, “I picked out a cute house in the suburbs for safety, and here you are, getting robbed. Did you leave them in your car? Or did you just go out--”

“N-no!” She’s honestly half tempted to say what car, until she remembers the tasteful mid-sized SUV in the driveway, the one she’s still been calling the girlfriend car in her head, and realizes-- it’s hers. She’s the girlfriend.

Except she’s not. At all. Which is fine! She doesn’t even want that! If she’s still thinking about what his mouth feels like as he wraps them around his words, then--

She really can’t be thinking about this right now. “I mean my papers! I just looked at my CV and it’s a page!”

He hesitates, though not enough for the line to click again. “Isn’t that long enough?”

“CVs aren’t resumes,” she informs him patiently, pen twisting between her fingers. “They’re dick measuring contests--”

Her teeth snap around the words, but oh, it’s too late. They’re already out there in the aether, and he’s laughing.

“Now there’s something I didn’t think I’d hear out of you, Miss.” He doesn’t need to sound so pleased about it.

“It’s something my old PI used to say,” she mutters. Oh, Garak would be so proud of herself if she knew. “It’s not very polite, but she’s not, um, wrong.”

“I’m sorry the US government made you under endowed.” His words practically rattle as he says them. “It’s not the size that matters, Miss, but how you use it.”

“Obi,” she huffs. “All the work I’ve done for the past ten years of my life now is attributed to my birth name and my birth name only! According to this CV I have the same level of experience, but less papers than an undergrad! And you can’t tell me that any of these are searchable on PubMed.”

And none of them are first authors, is what she doesn’t say. It’s a petty thing to worry about when her entire academic career is functionally extinct.

“Hm.” His fingers drum quickly on a table. Desk? It’s strange not knowing anything about the man who is her only lifeline. “I’ll look into it.”

“I don’t want to be, um, alarmist, but I can’t get a job with this.” Her hand shakes as she scrolls down her screen. “No one is going to hire a post-doc with a one page CV.”

“Don’t worry, Miss. There’s a plan for this, somewhere.” She can feel his grin when he says, “You can’t be the first academic who’s had to go into hiding.”

She smiles, despite herself. “Considering some of the conferences I’ve been to, I can believe it.”

“Besides, you could always apply to pharmaceuticals.” The very word is like a donkey kick to her gut. “The pay’s supposed to be better--”

“I can’t work for Big Pharma.”

He hesitates. “You...can’t?”

“Obi, they make little old grandmas pay eight hundred dollars for insulin!” She presses a hand to her chest. “Banting and Best didn’t sell the patent for one dollar so that people could get gouged by--”

“I get it, I get it,” he assured her. “Preaching to the choir. But as a safety, I’m sure you could find one that isn’t stealing candy from babies.”

She huffs. “I doubt it.”

He rasps out a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do. As I said, can’t be the first PhD on the lam.”

Her mouth twitches. “Just yours?”

“You are certainly some kind of education, Miss.” He hums. “Give me a day. See what I can turn up.”

“You have two,” she informs him magnanimously. “I have the luncheon tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.” She doesn’t need to see him to know he’s lounging, smug like a cat post-canary. “Looking forward to joining the neighborhood’s Ladies’ Committee?”

“Ha ha,” she drawls flatly. “Very funny.”

He is unnervingly silent on the other end.

“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice certainly does not fill with a nervous quaver. “You guys don’t have things like that around here.”

Obi hums, humoring her.

“W-what would they even do?” She picks nervously at the sticker on her laptop, prying up part of NVIDIA. “Plan potlucks? Organize the Neighborhood Watch? Cotillions?”

She doesn’t know how he makes his grin so palpable over 4G. “Looking forward to your debut, Miss?”

Shirayuki scowls down at her screen. “I think I’m firmly up on the shelf, thank you. Now if you don’t mind, I have cookies to make.”

[revisitingstoneybrook]

#15 Little Miss Stoneybrook...and Dawn: Chapter 14

No spoilers for who wins the pageant but the foreshadowing is so obvious you can probably figure it out. And there’s bruised egos all around in the BSC.

The pageant officially starts! The host says this is the first annual (and probably the only, since we never hear of this pageant again) Little Miss Stoneybrook pageant and it's sponsored by Dewdrop Hair Care, “hair products for today's youth!” Kristy makes a stupid joke, wondering about next week's youth. Say what you will about Abby being a Kristy clone, at least her jokes aren't as dumb as that one.

The judges are introduced: the owner of Bellair's, the head of the Stoneybrook Dancing School (thankfully not Mme Noelle or else we'd be subjected to zee french ak-zent), Mrs. Peabody (I assume from the charm school Karen goes to at one point. Continuity!) and some doctor, according to Dawn. I wonder what it feels like to be a doctor and have “judging kiddie beauty pageants” as your side hustle. The host says he'd like to “send heartfelt good wishes to each and every little miss who is backstage right now” and Kristy says “Gag me!” Actually keeping with the times and using some 80s slang, good on you, Ann Martin.

“Marching music” is blasted through the auditorium and the girls trek across the stage for the opening procession. Sadly, no opening musical number:

You know Karen would have shoved her way to the front with some lyrics she wrote herself like she did in her class Thanksgiving play.

Claire starts killing her odds of winning right away by tacking onto the end of her introduction, “Oh hi Mommy! Hi Daddy! Hi Mallory!” before she gets moved away and misses shaking Mrs. Peabody's hand. Oops. Maybe it's a good thing they cut her off or else the pageant would have taken much longer for her to name her whole family. And I'm surprised Mallory's there and isn't staging a protest with Jessi outside, complete with a bonfire of lipstick, hair curlers, and false eyelashes.

Margo does well, no one notices because she's overshadowed by the professional-ness of Sabrina Bouvier the Younger. I'm surprised she didn't say, “I'm Sabrina Bouvier, I'm seven years old and when I grow up, I want to be a sweetie pie! *bats eyelash implants*” Dawn tries to reassure herself that grace and charm really won't help in a beauty pageant. Maybe Sabrina isn't that talented, maybe her intelligence is hovering in the same area as Claudia's. 

Now it's the part we've all been waiting for...the talent. The first contestant sings the national anthem while dressed in a red, white and blue sequined leotard. Claudia and Dawn share a laugh at how crappy she sounds and Claudia makes a mental note to ask the girl where she got the leotard from and whether they carry it in teen sizes. The second contestant sings a song she wrote called “I Love My Dog” but nothing is said about her because the true talent is taking the stage as she leaves. Myriah Perkins, in a pink leotard and tutu and black tap shoes, carrying a big lollipop, brings the house down with her rendition of “On the Good Ship Lollipop,” with a dance routine I'm guessing she choreographed herself. I'm surprised she isn't blindfolded and flawlessly juggling three hoops of fire too. She's met with tons of applause, and even cheering and whistling.

How do you follow that up? With Claire Pike! She says she doesn't want to do it but goes out anyway. For a moment she just stands there, doing nothing. Dawn eggs her on from offstage and Claire sings her Popeye song, does the hornpipe (and looks bored doing it), then sings again with the hand gestures. The audience, much to Dawn's relief, loves it. Claire hams it up even more and the audience laughs and gives her lots of applause. And, in a more shocking move, Kristy gives Dawn a thumbs-up for bringing Claire the Comedienne into the fray.

Claire's followed by a mediocre pianist and a failed baton twirler. Karen's up next and she goes onstage wearing her yellow flower girl dress. Dawn wonders if she's going to sing a love song. Oh no, Dawn. Instead of belting out “You Light Up My Life” or “Endless Love,” she sings the wonderful romantic ballad “The Wheels on the Bus.” FIFTEEN VERSES OF IT. Omitted from the text are the people in the audience screaming in agony as she makes up more verses on the spot, including “The people on the bus are tired and hot.” After the judges start looking at their watches, Karen takes a hint and finishes up. Surprisingly, Kristy doesn't act confident and smug and she and Dawn just shrug at each other.

A ballerina performs, Dawn remarks she's good (hold that thought, we'll return to it later) and then Sabrina the Younger comes onstage in a long black gown and white evening gloves with her hair piled up on her head. So like this?

It sounds like she’s going for a different look, because the song she sings is “Moon River.” Dawn says she's never heard of it but you'd think since the whole BSC is obsessed with old movies and Mary Anne loves Roman Holiday, which stars Audrey Hepburn, they'd know it’s the song from Breakfast at Tiffany's!

Needless to say, Sabrina butchers it, but she smiles a lot and the judges like her. Next, Margo takes the stage with her banana. The triplets snicker at her when she peels the banana with her feet but she ignores them and recites the poem without any mistakes and gets lots of applause. Phew. And Dawn gets another thumbs-up from Kristy. Again, what alternate universe are we in if Kristy is acting nice to Dawn?

And, just as expected, Claudia's plan of having her own pageant contestant blows up in her face when Charlotte freaks out, completely forgets the passage she's going to read, and runs offstage in tears. Charlotte's crying so hard backstage Claudia goes and gets the Johanssens to take her home and she stays at the pageant to see what happens, looking crushed. Charlotte never should have been a contestant in the first place, Claudia, you suck for humiliating her for your own personal gain!

The beauty parade is next, and it's every girl for herself. Dawn hears Margo tell Claire to break a leg, and Claire tells Margo, “I hope you fall off the stage!” Mee-yow!

Question time! Dawn tells Mary Anne she's worried and Mary Anne says she is too. I mean, she really has no reason to be, since she's coaching Myriah Perkins. Anyway, the first question a little girl gets is “What do you like best about Stoneybrook?” She says the ice cream store and everyone laughs in an “awww cute!” way.

The next girl doesn't fare well either and then we get to Myriah Perkins. She's asked what she would change about the world. Channeling John Lennon, Myriah says (and I have to quote it in its entirety): “It would be wars. I would stop them. I would say to the people who were making the wars, 'Now you stop that. You settle this problem yourselves like grown-ups. Our children want peace.' That's what I'd change.” The crowd applauds as the little peace activist exits the stage and Claire comes on.

Claire's asked what she hopes for most of all. She says, “Santa Claus. I hope he's real,” in a terrified tone. The audience laughs in the same way they did for the first girl and Dawn groans as if she's just been asked to babysit for Jenny Prezzioso. Mary Anne reassures her and says Claire probably got nervous. Karen's next and she gets the infamous “If your house was on fire, what 3 things would you rescue?” question. Kristy makes a point to say out loud that she prepared her for this.

But guess what, Kristy? You aren't the Queen of Babysitting because Karen manages to kiss the crown goodbye too. She says she'd rescue Moosie her stuffed cat (so I guess the Little House is the one burning down...nice. Save the MANSION), Tickly her blanket, and “as many toys as I could carry.” She asks if she could rescue a fourth thing and says it would either be Andrew, or her pen that writes in three colors. Lovely that she thinks of toys before she thinks of her brother. And I guess she's letting Lisa and Seth burn. I'm surprised she didn't say something like, “My parents are divorced and I live in two houses. Can I rescue six things since I'm Karen Two-Two?”

Unfortunately, Sabrina the Younger uses up the “global peace” answer before Margo can get to it. Or maybe it's a blessing in disguise, since she didn't know what it is. Either way, Margo's asked what she would most wish to happen in the year 2010 and she freezes. I guess she was nervous but terrified too because 2010? This book was written in 1988. And even then, in BSC land, that's ages away! She'd be 29 by the time the BSC got to 2010! And Claudia would probably still be wearing neon green hair scrunchies and bright purple leggings at age 35. Margo obviously doesn't want to recycle the global peace answer and her mind goes blank, so she's ushered off the stage after 30 seconds of dead air. 

Dawn freaks out backstage and openly admits she wanted one of her girls to win so she could show what a good babysitter she is! We're back to this shit again?! The others admit to this too and in one of the most ironic statements ever written in a BSC book, Kristy says, “Maybe we learned something, though. Even the best babysitter can't change a kid.” Now how many times can we all name before and after this where the BSC attempted to change a “problem child” or help out a kid with a problem because their horrible parents didn't know about it? So they all agree with Kristy, don't apologize for being bitches to each other and crowd around Mary Anne because they're confident Myriah has this in the bag.

The girls all line up onstage for the announcement of the winners, which is so obvious right now, even Claudia can predict it. Third place goes to Lisa Shermer, the ballerina from earlier. She wins $50 and fades into BSC obscurity. Second place is Myriah! She shrieks with delight because she just won a shopping spree at Toy City (which I would gladly take over the grand prize). Dawn even admitted she'd like it because she could buy Kid-Kit supplies. First thought ALWAYS to the BSC, just like a good cult club member. Well, Myriah's thrilled but Mary Anne screams in agony and wails, “Why isn't she the grand winner?!?!?” and we cut away from offstage before we can all drown in the deluge of Mary Anne's tears.

First prize, no surprise here, goes to Amber Dempsey Sabrina the Younger. Time for the song! “L the losers in her wake, I the income she will make...”

She wins $100, gets a little tiara and bouquet of roses, her mom's weeping, Dawn calls the whole thing disgusting. Little does Sabrina the Younger know that's a magical tiara that will age her 6 years so by the time book #60 rolls around, she'll be 13!

[admin-in-residence]

The Arcade Queen Pt. 2 (Billy Hargrove X Reader)

It didn't take me too long to think of a whole bunch of ideas for this series, and this was the one I thought was fitting for the 2nd part! I promise as this continues there is going to be more involvement with Billy!

Also a note; If you didn’t already guess, this is set a little ways into Season 2. 

Summary: A few days after your first encounter with Billy Hargrove, Max asks you to help him out, together the two of you successfully break your car, nearly wake the neighbors and you manage to break down a couple of Billy’s emotional walls.

Part 1

The next couple of nights you had off from the Arcade. It gave you a chance to catch up on homework, spend some time with your family, and dream about a certain Camaro driving boy.

But time flies especially when your busy daydreaming, and soon enough it was time for your next shift at The Palace. Unfortunately, it was another late closing shift. Packing your bag once more with perfume in case of emergencies, you grabbed a jacket and drove off to work.

The night had gone by quick, with you spending most of the time in the back taking inventory and unpacking new prizes, leaving Keith to work the front of the arcade. Roughly half an hour to the end of your shift, Keith popped his head into the back asking you to come out to the front.

You finished putting the empty boxes by the recycling bins and stepped out into the front.

“What do you need?” You asked walking over to your co-worker standing behind the counter.

“Little Red is out on the bench looking for you,” Keith replied.

Out into the chill of the Hawkins air, you felt a sense of déjà vu, you walked around the corner of The Palace, finding a certain red-haired girl sitting on the bench.

“Max? What are you doing here?” You called out to her, moving to sit beside the younger girl. You noticed the small shakes of her shoulders, and how her hair was currently hiding her face away from your view, but you knew none-the-less the girl was clearly upset.

“Hey, it’s okay...” You said softly, wrapping an arm around her. Max gave a soft hiccup before her shoulders began to shake harder. “You can talk to me, you know that right?”

You saw her head give a small nod, but you didn’t press further, waiting for her to open up to you, not wanting to push her away more.

“I got Billy in trouble.” She finally spoke, her voice wavering as she sucked some air in between silent sobs.

“Big trouble,” She quickly added, “I’ve never seen his dad so mad at him...ever!”

“Okay, alright...and then what?” You asked, urging her to keep going.

“His Dad and him got in a fight...a big fight, he hurt Billy and then he left, dad did, And Billy was really upset, and he left and drove off, and I panicked...” Max looked at you finally, her eyes leaking tears, red and puffy. “He shouldn’t be driving, I mean he’s really upset...so I ran off and I didn’t know where to go or who to go to and I figured that you would be here, so I came here.”

It was a lot to process at once, let alone for Max to experience it, but you sat quietly piecing her story together slowly in your mind once more.

“Okay, it’s alright.” You said, rubbing her back, “No more tears.”

“So, your dad hurt Billy,” You started, seeing her nod quickly, “Okay and then they both left, and now Billy’s out driving around Hawkins?”

“Yes!” Max said.

“Okay, what about your mom Max? Where’s she?” You asked.

“Out of town, she went to visit a friend for the week, I thought that his dad wouldn’t get mad if he had to watch out for me, but it’s never been this bad! I’m worried about him!” Max said, fresh tears beginning to well in her eyes.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you thought about the next steps in your head, you would have to take care of Max until you found Billy, and even then, you were positively sure you weren’t going to let either of them go back home tonight, not after what Max had shared with you...so the only thing to do next...

“Alright Max, we’ll go look for Billy, together...that sound good?” You gave the girl a reassuring smile, watching her expression change to relief.

You grabbed your bag and keys from The Palace, and after bargaining that you would clean the arcade for your next week’s worth of shifts, you left work early, entrusting Keith to lock up for the night.

And here you were, about an hour later driving around Hawkins, looking for any sign of Billy Hargrove or his Camaro. You had already driven by their house twice, in case he had returned, along with some frequent party locations, now you were just skimming some of the lesser roads of Hawkins.

Max had stopped crying but had been silent since the two of you had begun your search for her step-brother.

“So...this happens often?” You asked, breaking the silence, “With your dad and Billy?”

The girl in the passenger seat gave a small nod.

“And, does he always...hurt Billy?” You questioned.

Another nod.

You made a left turn, turning down a road lined with houses lined up on either side.

“Hey, he doesn’t...” You trailed off, not wanting to even ask this question.

“No. He’s never hurt me.” She answered, clearly understanding the nature of your question.

You both lapsed into another period of silence, checking out the driveways and anybody walking on the sidewalks as you made another turn, right this time.

However, shortly after your turn, your car gave a weird little sputter, a sharp little cough, and a horrible shake before ultimately shutting itself off leaving you to ease it over to the side of the road before it stopped entirely.

“That’s not supposed to happen.” Max chimed in from the passenger seat. You, on the other hand, let out a long groan at the timing of the entire situation.

You attempted to turn the key once more, hearing it turn over a few times before giving another sputter, this time a little steam rising up from under the hood.

You and Max got out together, her standing back a couple feet away from you as you lifted the hood up, waving your hand through the white steam flowing up from your engine.

“Yup. It’s dead.” You surmised. Max moved up next to you.

“What’s wrong with it?” She asked. You gave a sarcastic shrug of your shoulders.

“Your guess is good as mine kiddo. I’m not a mechanic. I use the equipment, I don’t fix the equipment.” You replied, shutting the hood down and leaning your back against it.

“So now what?” Max asked, moving once more to lean against the hood with you.

“No clue.” You said, raising your wrist to look at your watch. “It’s a little past midnight, and I don’t think that anybody around is going to be very cooperative helping out two kids in the middle of the night. How far away is your house.” 

It took Max a minute to retrace the last route you had taken from her house.

“Probably 20 minutes driving. We’re practically on the other side of town from my house” She replied. “What about you?”

“Couple of blocks from the last corner we took” You replied. “Guess you're staying over at my place tonight.”

Thus, the two of you began your walk of shame, you giving your jacket to Max who once again had left her’s behind.

“I hope Billy’s okay.” Max said, “He’s so...mean but he said something the other day and it just kind of stuck. We might not like it, but we’re family...I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“I know Kiddo.” You said, not finding the right words to admit your own guilt in not being able to help him.

It felt like an hour had past when you finally made it to your house and had shoved your key into the door when the two of you heard the familiar purr of a certain Camaro coming up the road.

Max and you looked to each other, and then to the road before you both made a mad dash to the sidewalk for Max, and you not even thinking twice into the road.

Headlight’s danced in your eyes, as you heard Billy’s brakes squeal into the night, the two of you screaming for him to stop, not caring about the late hour or your neighbor’s sleeping.

Your hand touched the hood of his Camero as you and Max made your way to the driver's side.

“Billy thank god!” You cried out, “We’ve been looking for you all night.”

Billy, on the other hand, had a mixed look of confusion, anger, and fear as he looked between you and Max, his cheek had a hint of discoloring on it in the dark, and you knew in the light it would be quite a shiner. His lip was also split, dried blood caked to it and trail of blood that had flowed down his chin.

                                                       ***

It took some convincing, but you had managed to get Billy to pull into your driveway, and you and Max had told him everything that had happened, from Max running to finding you, your car breaking down.

You set Max up in your guest bedroom finding some of your old pajama’s and closing the door behind you as you said goodnight to her, before you returned to Billy, grabbing a clean towel and some ice.

Now the two of you sat in silence upon your sofa, him staring anywheres except you, while you gently wiped down the blood and patched him up, holding an icepack to his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, Billy, wincing as you wiped away more dried blood.

He stayed silent.

“You know if you ever need to talk-”

“Talk!?” He suddenly exclaimed, making you jump at the loud tone. “You want me to talk to you about my daddy issues?”

“Billy, that’s not what I meant-” You tried to cut in, but your words had already ignited the fire within.

“You want me to tell you about everything...about how much I hate this stupid town, and how much I hate my old man for having me be the personal babysitter for a 13-year-old, who should be able to go out and do what she wants instead of being stuck with a piece of shit like me? How about the fact, that I’ve tried to hide for so long so that no one would ever see or know what happened with me and my father!” Billy slammed a hand down upon the coffee table in front of you as he stood, making you jump again.

“Billy-” You started, but he cut you off once more. His mouth opened once, before it shut itself, wordless as you saw a tear slip out from his eye as he turned away.

You had no words to say, so you stood up and lightly slipped your arms around his waist, hugging him softly from behind. One of his hands rose up to lay over yours, and you could feel him shaking.

“Billy. I don’t know what any of that is like, to have your father roughing you up all the time...but you can’t say that about yourself, your probably the only thing standing in between your father and Max, your protecting her...and it’s not fair that your getting hurt, but your doing it for her...” You laid your cheek upon his back, as you felt him take in shuddering breaths.

“I just want her safe. And I’ve spent all this time pushing her away because I’m afraid that I’ll act just like my dad, but the entire time the only person I have acted like is my dad. I can’t fix this, Y/N.” Billy spoke, his voice laced with honesty.

“It’s never too late to fix your relationship with your sister Billy. She was so worried about you tonight, she was a wreck, it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, what matters now is what you can do to be better.” You said.

“And if you ever need a place to stay, my door will always be open for you. Both of you, I can help you, but you have to let me help.” You said as Billy turned around looking down at you.

He gave a small nod, and you gave him a warm smile.

“Good, now help me with the pull-out, Max gets the bed tonight for you worrying her all night.” You teased.

Together, the two of you set up the pull out bed on the couch and you brought down some pillows and blankets.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Billy said, taking a seat on the edge of the makeshift bed, you taking a place next to him

“Anytime. Seriously Hargrove, now get some rest, your driving us to school in the morning since my car died looking for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder playfully. He gave you a cheesy smile in return, and you couldn’t help but thank that it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever see in your life.

The two of you stared into each other's eyes, and you could feel your cheeks flush under his gaze.

Feeling your heart pound just like the moment you shoved your phone number into his pocket, you leaned in close and pressed a feather-light kiss to his bruised cheek. As you pulled away, Billy brought a hand up to cup your cheek, with the softest touch, he guided you back, your lips meeting his, before letting you slip away.

If your cheeks were red before, your face was probably a tomato now, and you quickly stood, bouncing a couple of steps away from him before giving him a shy smile.

“Goodnight Billy,” You whispered.

“Goodnight, Y/N” He replied, his eyes following you as you practically skipped in joy to your room, shutting the door behind you. You raised your fingers to your lips and realized that you were, utterly and undeniably in love with Billy Hargrove.

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Tag list: @acidrain707 @golddustwitches @imsupposedtobedoingcollege

[wolfpawn]

Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 38

Chapter Summary - Tom gets more confident in the role of a father and takes Lily to the park and gets her a little treat, Alexianna however, is not pleased and says something that may destroy everything.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Tags: @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​​ @theoneanna​​

Request if you wish to be tagged

‘Which am I, Lexi, am I her father figure or not? Because you cannot pick and choose the parts of both you want, I am either all in or I have no part in this. It is not fair to her or me to do this to us. Pick one.’ Tom growled before getting his jacket and turning and walking out of the apartment, leaving Alexianna crying at the situation she had caused.

*

It had been, in Tom’s opinion, a good day. He had taken Lily to the park again solely because he wanted to and Alexianna was busy tidying the apartment. As far as he was concerned, it stopped Lily from getting under her feet and gave him more time with the little girl he did, on more than one occasion, have to remind himself he did not father biologically.

Lily adored him. Every time he left for work, she gave him the biggest hug and asked him if he would forget her before saying goodbye. She would not cry, she merely showed her sadness at his having to go but also her understanding that he would return. He would facetime her and Alexianna constantly. When he would return, her happiness and excitement upon seeing him again, he felt, could never be rivalled. She would rush into his arms, her legs would wrap around his waist and she would squeal “Daddy” with such elated joy that Tom could not put into words what it meant to him. She was his little girl. Alexianna’s smiles on seeing him, ones of genuine delight at his return, were overshadowed by her daughter and she knew it. It had become almost a joke between the two adults, her usual line being that if she tried doing as Lily did, she would hurt one or both of them.

When they were leaving the park, he decided to get her a treat, nothing spectacular but there was a nice toy shop only across the street from there and Lily had been so well behaved that he thought it okay to get her something small as a result. So, taking the excited child into the shop, he set the limits of what she was allowed and allowed her to choose her own present. She chose the characters of a TV show he knew her to like, so paying for the toys, they headed back to the car, Lily excitedly holding her toys blabbering on about them as they walked, her hand in Tom’s as they did so. Tied into her Paw Patrol car seat that had been gotten specifically for his car, the pair made their way back to the apartment, Lily continuing to talk incessantly the whole way.

When they got back to the house, Lily was still excited, trying to get the box open to get the toys out. Tom had barely opened the door when Lily rushed in.

‘Mummy, Mummy, look what Daddy got me.’ She jumped up and down while showing her mother the toys.

‘Oh.’ Tom immediately noticed the lack of enthusiasm in Alexianna’s voice. ‘That’s lovely, Sweetheart.’

‘We’ll get them out of the box and you can go play with them, okay?’ Tom encouraged, smiling brightly at Lily, who seemed to notice her mother’s lack of enthusiasm too. After he opened the box and got the toys out, Lily rushed up to her room to play with them. Tom smiled at her excitement for a moment before turning to look at Alexianna, who was busy flattening the cardboard box for the recycling. ‘Did something happen when we were out?’

‘No.’ She did not even look at him as she spoke.

‘Lexi?’

‘What?’ She snapped.

‘What is wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I know you since you were eight years old, please don’t lie to me.’ She did not look at him. ‘Is it something I did?’

‘Why did you get her that?’

‘That’s what this is about?’

‘Why did you buy that for her, Tom?’

‘Because I wanted to.’

‘You cannot just buy her things for the sake of it.’

Tom’s brows furrowed. ‘I do it with Sophie from time to time too. Look, we had a great time in the park, she has been so good recently, I thought it would be nice to get her something.’

‘You never asked me.’

‘I was not aware I had to.’

‘I am her mum, you cannot just buy her something without asking me first.’

‘Something that is expensive, yes. That was on sale.’

‘How much was it?’

‘What?’

‘How much was it, Tom?’

‘Twelve pounds.’ Alexianna walked over to where she kept her purse. ‘What are you….no, I am not taking it.’ Tom insisted as she got out the money and held it out for him. ‘No.’

‘Take the damn money, Tom.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we are not sponges, living off you.’

Tom’s eyes widened. ‘I am well aware of that.’

‘Lily cannot think that she can just get what she wants off you.’

‘She doesn’t, this was a treat, something to happen only every so often. I suggested going in, she never once asked to get it.’

‘But now she will expect to get more.’

‘And she will learn that it is not guaranteed, but that there are days when she will get something nice, today it was this, another time, maybe an ice-cream.’

‘But you can’t do that.’

‘Why not? Give me a legitimate reason and I will agree with you.’

‘Because you’re not her…’ Alexianna did not even have to finish the sentence before the hurt consumed Tom’s face.

Tom pursed his lips together. ‘Okay.’ He turned away from her, his voice tight but after a moment, he turned around to her again. ‘What am I to you?’

‘What?’

‘You got almost perfect results in your English exams, so I know you understand what I am saying. I asked what am I to you, what do you see me as?’

‘My boyfriend.’

‘And to Lily?’ She did not answer. ‘What do you see me as to her?’ Tom repeated.

‘A father-like figure, I guess.’

‘You guess?’

‘I don’t like labelling it Tom, it makes it sound more….’

‘Real?’

‘Forced. You have no obligation to be here, you don’t have an obligation to pay for her or for anything for her.’

‘So that tells you that anything I do for her, I do willingly. I want to get her a nice thing every so often. I want to do things with and for her. I am not going to get her a pony, a box of toys that are reduced to clear is not the same as that. That I would understand you being bothered about but twelve pounds…’

‘I can’t afford to get her those sorts of things. How do you think it makes me feel to see you throwing around money on things I could never afford.’

‘So, that is what this is about? You think I am trying to outdo you?’

‘No, it’s not...’

‘Then why say that?’

‘Because I am trying to explain to you why this is so frustrating.’

‘You are frustrated because I am doing something nice for Lily and you don’t want me to because you can’t, that is what I am getting from this.’ Alexianna swallowed. ‘You are okay with me doing everything else, why not this? You don’t mind me taking her when you need to get study or cleaning done’ She said nothing in response. ‘Why are you so afraid to share her properly with me?’ Alexianna shifted uncomfortably. ‘That’s what it is, you don’t want to share her with me.’

‘I…’

‘I am the man she calls Daddy, I am who is here for her as a father is supposed to be. I love her like she is mine. I take that role more serious than I ever will an acting one. Why won’t you see that? Are you that ready for this to end and for me to leave that you won’t embrace it fully?’

‘No.’

‘Then why are you trying to sabotage this. I want to be part of her life and yours fully and entirely.’

‘You are.’

‘But you don’t want me as her father figure?’

‘No, I do.’

‘Which am I, Lexi, am I her father figure or not? Because you cannot pick and choose the parts of both you want, I am either all in or I have no part in this. It is not fair to her or me to do this to us. Pick one.’ Tom growled before getting his jacket and turning and walking out of the apartment, leaving Alexianna crying at the situation she had caused.

[holylangdon]

Somebody Else (Michael Langdon x Reader AU)

Request: “Can you please do Daddy kink Michael Langdon where the reader has done something bad so michael punishes her using a vibrator to bring her to the edge only to deny her orgasm over and over until he eventually fucks her and let’s her cum? With lots of dirty talk??” - Anon

“Would daddy!Michael be into biting??” - Anon

“I need michael teasing/edging his partner until she squirts” - Anon

“Can you do a jealous smut of Michael Langdon x reader? ❤” - Anon 

“I need really rough kinky weird Michael x reader smut lol thanks” - Anon 

“Can you please bless me with some daddy dom Michael smut??” - Anon

Warnings: SMUT, AU, fem!Reader, dominant!Michael/sub!Reader, daddy!dom kink, praise!kink, sex toy use, lots of orgasms, rough sex, titty sucking, moderate biting, oral sex (both giving/receiving), very dirty talk, orgasm denial (reader receiving), slightly off request, alluded to facefucking, multiple sex positions, mentions of cheating/forgiving cheating, lowkey sugar daddy vibes, possibly opens the door for a third part? Definitely more that I’m forgetting to add

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Part two!! You can find part one here (x).

At a quarter till eight, you got the text from the building’s security system that he had pulled into the garage. You were ready for him. Well, as ready as you possibly could be for something as crazy as this. Your mind and heart both raced as you stood in the hall doorway, carefully leaned against the frame while you mindlessly scrolled on your phone in wait.

You’d prepared your escape plan. It was petty, but you didn’t care. Earlier, you’d packed four full suitcases and put them in the back of the expensive Mercedes car he’d bought for you just last year. Your letter to him explaining his future predicament was in the drawer of your nightstand with a ring box, ready to be placed on the kitchen counter. You weren’t going to keep your wedding ring. He deserved to have it back, at least. Maybe he could recycle it for one of his mistresses. 

You were dressed, or rather undressed, in a simple rose red lingerie set. It was hidden underneath your lavish black robe. Michael always did love that, he said it was like unwrapping a present. Your bright red lipstick and makeup was perfect, just waiting to be ruined.

It wasn’t long before Michael was opening the door, dropping his bag and keys on the small table beside the door. He placed his shoes on the rack neatly, his coat following. He was excited to be with his wife; little did he know, for the last time.

Neither of you needed to speak. You now sat at the bar with your legs crossed, your dark black stockings shining against the dim lamp light. He walked over to you, a small smirk on his lips.

He pulled you up, glancing over your body. He reached for the neatly tied bow around your waist, pulling it and letting your robe open carefully. He pulled it off of you, letting it fall on the floor.

“Mmm.” He hummed. “Perfect as usual.”

You felt a pang in your heart when he said that, but you brushed it off with a smile. How many other women had he said that to lately? You tried to distract yourself, to keep your mind off of it.

His hands instinctively found their way to your ass. They always did. His large palms felt good as he possessively gripped the soft flesh. His lips connected with yours in a deep kiss.

You knew tonight wouldn’t be emotional. It wouldn’t be passionate or firey like usual. It wouldn’t be slow or intimate. It was going to be raw and intense, purely physical attraction. That was a hard pill for you to swallow at first, but now that he was pushing you backwards towards the bedroom door, you were more than okay with it.

He bit your lip carefully as he pushed you through the doorway and towards the bed, completely blind. That just goes to show how many times he’d done it before. You sat on the edge of the bed and stared at him through your long lashes. He laughed as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. Desire burned through him as he moved quickly.

“Safe word?” He asked, staring over you for a moment.

“I don’t need it.” His cock nearly got hard when you said that. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

Okay, now that got him. You had only ever said that once before, and he had desperately craved it since but wasn’t exactly bold enough to ask for no limits. There was something unique about being able to fuck the woman he loved with no holds barred. He could do whatever he wanted or saw fit. Anything.

It was a blur how his lips ended up attached to your collarbone, sucking sloppy little pink marks all over the soft skin. You moaned lightly, and he was only encouraged by the soft sound. He bit slightly, taking the flesh between his teeth. He was skilled. He knew exactly what he was doing as he put pressure down, releasing it a moment later. He licked a small stripe over the bite to soothe it. A little whine escaped your lips at the sensation, that part of your collar pleasantly tingling for moments after. You couldn’t take it. You grabbed his hair tightly, pulling him to your lips.

The kiss couldn’t be described as anything other than lustful. Your desire for him was fueled by him grinding his knee against your heat, creating a certain friction. It was certainly welcome, and he could tell by your heavy breaths.

“You’re eager.” He lowly whispered into your ear. You couldn’t help but moan at the combined sensations. It felt so good as his cold fingers travelled along your back, your bra. Your breasts bounced free and he instantly moved his attention down, taking one of them into his mouth with care. He played with the other one in his rough hand.

You bit your lip to keep the sounds in as his warm tongue circled your nipple, licking it slowly. He was beyond skilled and it showed as he placed a light bite on your breast. Your hands found their way to his hair, grasping at the long blond locks. He groaned, sending the vibrations throughout your body. A moment later, he let go of your sensitive nipple with a slight pop.

“Mm, and what do you want?” He asked. You leaned forward, trying to reach to unbuckle his black pants. “Ah, ah, ah- not yet.”

His mouth fell back on your body as he had a new idea. He kissed his way down, down, down, before stopping at your panty line. His fingers slipped underneath the soft red fabric that rested on your hips, pulling the side down. You just hated when he teased like that, but it was only moments before he followed through and fully removed them. A cruel smile lined his lips as you glared at him, feeling him slick a finger through your wetness.

“Please?” You whimpered. He thoughtlessly threw the panties behind him before returning his hands back to your clit. He played with it for a moment before letting two of his fingers slip inside you. You moaned rather loudly at the contact, nearly closing your legs at the feeling. He clenched his jaw in frustration as he felt you tighten around his fingers, wishing it was his cock instead. But he savored the teasing, truly. Michael pumped the long, thin digits in and out of you with ease.

His tongue felt so, so good as he licked a plain stripe up your clit to tease. Your hands gripped the blanket beneath you as you became a moaning mess under his touch, so delicate. The faster he moved and the harder he sucked, the faster it seemed to bring you to your orgasm. He took his tongue away, replacing it with his thumb instead.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He cooed. You nodded your head. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m close.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Good girl. Do you want to come all over daddy’s fingers?” He drove you crazy with the filth that came from his mouth. He was so naturally good with the dirty talk that it was almost... Scary.

“Yes daddy,” You moaned. “I want to come on your fingers. Please.”

“I appreciate you saying please, but I want you to hold it until I say so.”

You wanted to fight him. You wanted to fight back against his demand, but you simply found yourself a noisy mess as you focused on the task he gave you. He let it go on for at least a minute more, but it felt like forever as you tried to hold back your orgasm.

“Daddy, please?” You begged softly, a tear threatening to fall from your eye. “Please let me come.”

“Come, baby girl. Come all over my fingers. Doesn’t it feel so good?” He loved feeling the way you twitched and clenched and squeezed around him as you came. He sucked and licked the insides of your thighs as you came, still paying close attention to your body. But in his mind, Michael was already planning his next move.

He sucked the juices off of his fingers, looking you in the eye as he did it. Then he spoke. “I have something for you.” He reached in his pocket, pulling out a black velvet bag. He opened it to reveal a small, silver vibrator.

His tongue fell back in place on your clit a moment later, and it wasn’t long before you heard the quiet hum of the vibrator whir to life. He slicked it between your folds, making you whine out. It wasn’t intense, just... Different. But pleasant. He took great pleasure in watching you squirm under his little wand and tongue.

“Ah, fuck,” You moaned out. Your legs instinctively locked around his neck, causing him to laugh lightly against you. A subtle whine escaped you. You were already so close to your second orgasm from his slight overstimulation, which washed over you a moment later. He talked you through the intense pleasure before you released him, allowing him to stand. Michael watched you breathe heavily with a mischievous smile. A moment later, he spoke.

“I want you on your knees.”

You instantly obeyed his order, kneeling on the carpet floor without a second thought. He stood in front of you, looking down at you oh so dominantly.

“You know your place.”

You certainly did. He had taken the uncomfortable slacks off at some point earlier, so you toyed with the waistband for a moment, letting your hand fall downwards to feel his cock. He groaned at the simple thought of your lips around his cock, his erection almost becoming painful as you pulled the black briefs down carefully.

You let your hand stroke him for a moment before you kissed the pink tip, earning another small sound from him, before trailing your tongue along his length. He was surely blessed in that department, having been given such a long and thick cock. He was grateful, and you were too.

He held his breath as you took him into your mouth, slowly. You pumped what you couldn’t fit with your hand carefully. He exhaled shakily as you began to take him deeper into you, down your throat. A moment later you pulled away, looking up at him with a rope of spit dripping from your lips. You took him back into your mouth again, but this time, he took charge. With your hair messily pulled into his hands in a half-hearted ponytail, he led your every movement. He was nothing short of hellish as he let you choke on him.

He became more vocal as his orgasm quickly approached, his grip on you only tightening as the sinful sounds surrounded the room. He loved the pure hellishness of it all as he came with a strangled noise falling from his lips. You swallowed it with a slight wince as he pulled away from you, a lazy grin on his face. He pulled you close for a chaste kiss, allowing him to taste himself on your lips. Michael found it... Gratifying. Always.

The two of you laid together in silence. Your hand rested on his thigh, and his carefully stroking your hair. The calm didn’t last but a few minutes before he was ready to go again.

That’s how you ended up on all fours, your husband having a nice grip on your hair as you begged for him. He loved the sweet, pained sounds that came from you and you couldn’t lie, you did too.

“Good girls don’t get daddy’s cock, you know.” He hissed into your ear. “Are you a good little girl?” You shook your head feverishly. He chucked lightly. “Hm, that’s nice to know.”

His free hand felt across your ass, a harsh smack landing with a sharp noise. Just when you were about to scream out of frustration, you felt him slide into you. God, he almost came again right then and there from how good you felt. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the feeling of your warm, wet walls to welcome him home.

The only sound you could muster was a halfhearted moan. You absolutely melted as he fucked you, being controlled only by his motions. His hand around your hair. His hand that gripped your curves. They were the only things that kept you from going limp. Your eyes drifted shut from the feeling of him filling you up. You had to admit that you’d desperately missed it.

Michael’s guestures came to a halt. “On your back.”

He entered you again moment later, but this time, he carefully watched your reaction. He lived for the way your eyes rolled back in your skull with every thrust he gave you, the way your grip on his arm had become so tight as his hand found its way to your throat. He groaned lightly as the stuttered moans fell from your lips. Michael loved the sudden rush of power every time he felt you gasp for air under his large hand, and you loved the wonderful feeling of being trapped underneath him. Your body rocked up and down from the force of his thrusts, letting the two of you fall into a sort of rhythm.

He released your throat, his bright blue eyes staring over you. His wife. You had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. How could he have fucked up so badly? Suddenly he felt guilty as he remembered the other women. How had he risked destroying his family so selfishly? His mind raced for a moment before he snapped back into the present moment.

“Daddy, I’m going to come again.” You said through heavy breaths. His touch on your clit didn’t falter. He reminded himself that you were his, and he was yours. Only yours.

“Mm, do it baby.” He purred. “Daddy wants to feel you come all over his cock. You’ve earned it.”

Almost as if you were on cue, you followed his instruction. A loud, almost scream-like moan of his name followed the explosion that happened throughout your body. Michael’s arm rested over your mouth to muffle it. God, he would’ve loved to hear it fully. But the last thing he needed was the neighbors calling the Los Angeles Police again, but it wasn’t the first time and he was absolutely sure it wouldn’t be the last. It must’ve triggered something within him, because he felt himself come unraveled inside you not but moments later.

You laid on the bed for a moment in thought. What had you just done? Maybe it was just the aftershock of getting your brains fucked out, but you almost, almost, didn’t feel as... Hurt. It wasn’t okay, what he did. It never would be. But as you stood and looked over his tired figure, all of the peaceful memories came flooding back to you just like they had earlier.

“Where are you going?” He rasped lightly, turning his head to look at you for a second. His bright blue eyes were visible even through the darkness that loomed over the bedroom.

Your answer was simple enough. Enough to distract him, to let him think everything was fine. Normal, even.  “Quick shower. I’m tired and sweaty.”

He laughed quietly, his head fell back on the pillow. “I love you, Y/N. Don’t ever forget that.”

And once again, you found yourself caught in Michael Langdon’s web.