#as if sad dad time wasn’t a real issue

[floral-hex]

didn’t know what to talk about in therapy today so I just talked about my dad for an hour. this therapy shit is easy 😎

[zvdvdlvr]

Why’d You Have to Wait?

🔥 - synopsis. You get kidnapped on a case. Aaron’s coping mechanism? Self isolation. But when you’re recovering, Aaron wonders if staying away from you is the right thing to do. Jack convinces him anyway. Are things too far gone for Aaron to fix?

🔥 - warnings. Non descriptive torture. Scars. Burns. Very vaguely described mental issues. Slow burn. Friends ro enemies to lovers? Sad hotch. Angst. No happy ending.

🔥 - author’s note. Doing a part two. Hopefully this doesnt flop :)

Aaron had dreams about it now. They were so vivid- lifelike and real. Every time he had them he woke up in a cold sweat, heaving in the bathroom as tears dripped slowly down his face.

He hadn’t gone to the hospital to see you. In fact, Aaron hadn’t seen you since the day you almost died. He rode in the ambulance, but tore himself away from the hospital as he watched the doctors wheel you into the operating room. Your blood had stained his hands, face, and arms for days. Every time the white spots danced in his vision after emptying the contents of his stomach, he swears he can still see the glossy red liquid drip off his fingers.

You were well like. Not only by the team but by Strauss. She had given the team the time off to help y/n recover: sit in her room after another surgery, cheer for her during physical therapy.

Jack loved having time to see his dad after school, but he knew something was wrong after consistently hearing him pad to the kitchen during the middle of the night.

Tonight was no different.

Jack sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. He blinked owlishly around the room and stood up. The little Hotchner slowly followed the light to the kitchen and saw his daddy lean over the sink. “Daddy?”

Aaron turned his head and tried to smile at Jack. Aaron knew he probably looked a mess. “Hey buddy. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Before Aaron could set down set down his water cup, Jack crawled up the seat and watched his dad over the counter. “What’s wrong, daddy?”

“I just can’t sleep,” Aaron shrugged, facing Jack with his arms crossed. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

Jack looked at Aaron as if he had grown two heads. “You get up in the night a lot, daddy. And your eyes are red. You cough a lot too.“

Hotch wanted to laugh. Of course Jack knew something was wrong- he always knew. “Yeah. You’re right, kiddo.”

“You yell when you sleep sometimes too. What happened to y/n, daddy? She doesn’t come see me anymore.”

Aaron shuddered as he inhaled. Smart boy. “She got really hurt, buddy. It’s bad. I guess I just… get scared thinking about her getting hurt,” Aaron admits, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest.

Jack nodded. “Can we go see her?”

“I- I don’t think we should. She’s still getting better.”

Jack furrowd his eyebrows and tilted his head. “But I miss her.”

“I do t- I bet she misses you, too, Jack, but I don’t know how she’s doing. She might still-“

Jack sighed. “But daddy, she’d be so happy to see me!”

Aaron sighed. As much as he selfishly wanted to see you, he couldn’t. He’d do something he wasn’t proud of- embarrass himself, ruin his reputation of being a mentally and emotionally tough boss, ruin your friendship… No. Aaron couldn’t go by himself, but Jack could go with him. Why hadn’t Aaron thought of it before?

“Okay,” Aaron relented. A smile tugged at his lips when Jack’s face lit up. He scrambled off his chair and collided into Aaron’s legs and squeezed.

“Can I sleep with you tonight, daddy? Aunt Jess always stays with me when I have a nightmare.”

Aaron bent down and picked Jack up and nodded. “Yeah, buddy. Let me brush my teeth again.”

Jack wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and squeezed, as big of a hug his little body could give.

— 🔥

The days were all a blur for you. Now that you were all fucked up, nothing felt right anymore. Second defree burns crawled up the calf of your left leg. Small cuts littered your entire body, scarring and twisting your skin. The worst part was the long, twisting scar that started on your cheek about two inches away from your ear and pulled down to your collarbone.

The unsub, Barney MacMillian, was a sadist. A stupid fucking sadist. He thought he was punishing you for hunting him when he kidnapped and tortured you.

You know the team tried- they really really did try- to cheer you up, to get you back. But the fact that you now considered yourself a monster and how you started to believe the things MacMillian had whispered in your ear as he tore you apart, layer by layer.

Derek genuinely thought your scar was badass, but learned not to bring it up. Penelope just kept rehashing everything- something you had eventually told her to atop doing. Prentiss was cautious, testing the waters. But she eventually got back into a rhythm with you as your best friend. JJ didn’t do anything wrong, she was just really nice- too nice? Spencer was… himself. And you couldn’t thank him enough for just staying him, recitinf facts about burns and scars, knives and blood loss. It was morbid, sure, but you were always close with him and the way his brain worked.

Rossi was the one that kept you together through it all, though. He had conversations with you, long past visiting hours. He talked with you about anything and everything and somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear or talk about. But he kept making excuses for Aaron.

Aaron. The romantic feelings you kept trying to flush away turned into hurt every time Rossi’s eyes flickered away from yours when you asked about him. But you knew now. He didn’t care. He never would. That’s why he didn’t show. It’s the only plausible explanation of why he wouldn’t show up, shoot you a text, something.

So you turned your hurt into anger and stopped asking, ignoring the way your heart would drop to your stomach and how the acid in your stomach churned eveey time you heard his name.

You already had your resignation documenta stored neatly in a magazine in the second table in the nightstand to your right. You were done with it all.

— 🔥

That’s why you felt tears prick in your eyes when you saw Jack Hotchner leap into the room. His little eyes scoured your face, eyes dragging down the healing skin on your face. You heard Aaron’s footfalls stop short at the door. Your jaw clenched and you stared at Jack, waiting for him to start crying and ask to leave.

But he didn’t. He just smiled and leapt into your arms, completely unaware of the physical pain in your leg and body. He just wrapped his arms and legs around you.

You sat still, eyes looking at Rossi, who smiled at you. You hadn’t yet looked at Aaron and didn’t even want to. Carefully you wrapped your arms around Jack’s back, ignoring how fast the tears left your eyes.

Jack pulled back and looked at you with a smile that faded the second he saw your tears. In all of your time (almost 10 years) at the BAU, Jack had only seen you cry once. And that was during a movie. 

“I thought coming to see you what make you happy,” he sad, voice sad. “Why are you crying?”

You smiled at him, sniffling pitifully. “I’m not sad, little J. I am really happy to see you,” you said. You hoped Aaron would hear the sharp undertone in your voice. Judging by Rossi’s huff of a laugh, he did.

“Oh! Well, I brought you stuff. I know you like the Black Widow because she’s really cool, so I brought you a coloring book,” Jack explained as he brandished his backpack full of stuff. You listensed intently, only looking up when Rossi got your attention and nodded to the door to signal him leaving.

Jack kept talking and you were overjoyed to listen. He was a pleasent little man, making your time more enjoyable. He opened up the coloring book he bought and started coloring after giving you a Beanie Baby he had that you mentioned you liked. He also got you a necklace- that Aaron no doubt spent a pretty penny for- that had your birthstone set in it. Jack watched you carefully as you opened it, and he put it on with his chubby fingers. You didn’t tell him that you would have to take it off soon after he left so it didn’t kill you when you slept. Hospital policy or something.

Soon after you finished your own coloring page featuring the Black Widow and Tony Stark making a hero landing, Jack turned on the T.V. and fell asleep.

“Hey,” Aaron said finally.

You nodded. “Hi boss.”

Aaron bit his lip. You stared forward, hand threading through Jack’s hair. Aaron felt his heart clenching in his chest. He didn’t know how you were gonna react when he came by, but he didn’t expect this- this silent treatment. He didn’t really blame you though. He wanted more than anything to make it up to you, to get you smiling again, but he knew the distance was probably better. For him at least.

“Y/n-“ Aaron started.”

You cut him off with. “Jack’s asleep, sir. It would be best not to wake him.”

Sir. You only called him sir if you were mad. Aaron swallowed. He knew he fucked up. Would he ever be able to fix his mistake, bring the old you back? He pondered the questions as he leaned back in his chair and watched the television show Jack chose before he fell asleep.

— 🔥

“Y/n is getting sent home today,” David’s voice crackled through the phone. “We wanted to take her out to dinner, something nice. Are you coming?”

Aaron sat at the kitchen table, checking over Jack’s homework. Jack himself was sitting a couple feet away on the couch. “Probably not. I have Jack.” 

Rossi scoffed on the other line. “She loves Jack and he loves her. Bring him with you.”

“I don’t know,” Aaron sighed. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “Dave, she hates me.”

Silence. Rossi exhaled and shook his head. “She doesn’t hate you, but you’re giving her a lot of reasons to. Clean yourself up and meet us all at the address Garcia’ll send you. 6:00. Be there, Aaron. If not for her…” he trailed off, considering his next words carefully. “Then for Jack.”

— 🔥

David convinced you all to wait until ordering.

But when 6:45 rolled around and Aaron didn’t show, you just clenched your jaw and ordered a neat whiskey.

[forever--darling]

summary: after three years spent away from home because of nasty divorce between your parents, you finally come back & realize that this time you might not be able to keep sam monroe away any longer.

pairings: sam monroe x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings/notes: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of past feelings, mentions of childhood trauma, divorce, daddy issues, allusions to sex

masterlist

There was a lot of things you could attest to even only at twenty-one. After experiencing everything you had under one roof, it wasn’t hard not to grow up fast. To learn just how horrible it is loving someone because of what it can do to you. Something that still remained true even if both of your parents remarried because everything still sounded the same within that forsaken house.

The walls spoke the same languages that your parents would as they whispered, which eventually would become yelling. The indents still lingered with chipped paint near where your height marks resided in the doorframe. It was just as it had been at six and then eleven. Yet at twenty-one, having come home for the first time in over three years, to a house that now only is full of your father’s stuff, it only felt more vacant. More sad and debilitating. 

Your sister never seemed to really accept any of that though, instead choosing to ignore it in favor of the free meals your father cooked or the platinum credit cards he would hand over. Something you were sure would pass along to you as well, anything to try and make you forget it all. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. 

Which was why you still hadn’t ever been in a relationship, let alone ever hangout with anyone long enough to form an attachment. It was the only real reason you had never made a move on Sam Monroe when you were seventeen and in high school. Even as you both sat on a dusty couch littered with weed and beer in some abandoned basement. Even as he stared at you the way he had from behind, the black eyeliner and shadow, blue eyes practically undressing you, almost pulling you forward by a string. You had been a little high and a lot drunk, and yet, you still couldn’t. Not even after having had a crush on him for well over three years. Three years and you left that basement without one kiss or his fingers even tracing along the inside of your underwear. 

Seventeen and even then you couldn’t let yourself like someone let alone get to the point of loving them. 

So, how would it be any different? Sam Monroe stood in front of you that afternoon, under the hot sun, just outside the new house he and his father had built. Sweat stuck to his shirt, dark hair still present but void of blue dye. His piercings were there but left empty, and you couldn’t see any makeup. It hadn’t even looked like him at first. 

But it was, and the shirt gave him away, that in the way your stomach immediately clenched, the familiarity of him enough to make you fall back into that last summer spent in that town before you left for college. 

“Y/N?” his voice was deep, deeper than you had remembered, a sudden twang of confusion filling your ears as he processed your presence. 

Standing in your father’s driveway, boxes scattered at your feet, hair pulled back messily out of your face, and beads of sweat appearing along your shoulders and neck. Still beautifully you. 

“Sam, hi!” 

You were just as surprised as him. Even more so as he seemed so different and yet still completely Sam; just taller, broader, even more like his father than you were expecting. 

“You’re here.” 

It sounded so much more like a question than a statement. 

“Yeah.” 

“Like you’re here in your dad’s driveway.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yes.” 

“It’s been three years.” 

You stiffened, feeling as if your bones would break like they really did feel how long it had been and how much time had passed. It really had been that long. “I know. It’s been a while.” 

“Too long, really,” he admitted, and somehow it had never sounded so charming before than it had then. That sudden shock seemed to melt away, and what only remained was a softness you hadn’t seen in him before. A teasing smile appeared as he took you in again. 

You felt the lump appear in your throat, somehow matching the tightness in your chest. It was only Sam who could ever make you feel that way, even after three years. 

“How are you?” he asked, stepping forward, his hand extending almost as if he wanted to touch you, possibly pull you into him. You didn’t know, but some part of you wished it would be the latter. A part of you craved a touch you had never met before. 

“I’m good. Really good, actually.” 

“Yeah, it looks that way,” he replied, enough to stain your cheeks with a newfound pink. “How in that time did you manage to grow up?” 

“Me?” you giggled, pushing him lightly, your fingers lingering where they touched his forearm, “Look at you.” 

He chuckled, that glint evident as ever, “What about me?” 

“You have a house, Monroe. An actual house that I’m sure you pay taxes on with a job.” 

“Yes.” 

“And college?” 

“Online classes, yeah,” he confirmed and you coudn’t deny the wide smile that appeared. 

Almost like a swell of pride had formed — a sudden amazement that he really had done it proved everyone wrong in that fucking town. 

“That’s great, Sam. It really is,” you smiled, that urge to touch him again appearing, but it somehow waned at the thought, “I was sorry to hear about your dad.” 

He cleared his throat, the light diminishing but only briefly as his eyes danced across yours, almost trying to find something in them, “Yeah, thanks.”

“I can’t assume it was easy.” 

“No.” 

“I wish we could’ve been here for the funeral. I wanted to, but my professors wouldn’t let me reschedule my exams.” 

“It’s okay, I understand. Both your parents sent very kind letters to us. I really appreciated them.” 

You nodded, not knowing a response to it other than you should have done more. Texted, called, or tried to come back earlier, earlier than now, when you were only moving home for the summer. It was Sam. The way you felt about him was everything, really. Yet you were too consumed in the comfort of the distance and hiding. That was what you had focused on for so long. 

Your head bowed, eyes unable to meet his, instead finding comfort in his sambas, and the green grass. Inhaling, you glanced up at the house. The house you never even saw complete until then. You took it in. “It truly is a beautiful house. You guys did a great job.” 

“Yeah I think so too. Plus, it looked like it needed an adult to live in it.” 

You looked back at him, the teasing demeanor having completely taken over his expression in the form of dark knitted brows and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “Adult?” 

“Yes, since you think I’m so grown up.” 

“You are, and I never thought I would see the day, Monroe. But, it seems I have.” 

“It seems so. Finally, Y/N Y/L/N is home.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed, somehow feeling a small sliver of the universe realign. Perhaps by the way he was looking at you or the reality that would become of you because of him. Feelings you were sure never really left in the first place. “I will say not much has changed around here. Well, except for one thing.”

His brows furrowed, lip lifting in interest as you took in his clean face. 

“The black eyeliner. I'm not lying when I say I might miss it.” 

“Really?” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, it was totally working.” 

“Working?”

You nodded, a teasing look of your own apparent, “Yeah. It was hot. Hm, just never thought you would be so different.” 

“Different?” he scoffed, the words somehow completely wrong as they left your lips, “I’m not that different, Y/N. I’m still me.” 

“Right,” you nodded, eyes following how his chest rose and fell, the t-shirt alone catching your attention, the bright yellow words somehow something you would expect to be said, “Well, I’m glad some things stayed the same.”

He smirked, following my gaze to the front of his shirt. It was black with bright yellow bolded writing which said, ‘I’m good in bed. I can sleep all day.’  The same type of fucking shirt that seventeen-year-old him would wear, seeming unable to part from the looks he would get when people would read them. 

“God, you wore stupid shirts like this all the time.” 

“Hey! I find them pretty funny. They’re charming if anything.” 

“Charming?” you laughed, the word fitting Sam exactly though you were sure no other girl would have described it that way back then. “It can only be charming if it’s true.” 

“True?” 

“Yes,” you replied, the word a mere mumble as you truly noted how it felt with him standing so close, looming over you. 

“Well, how about you can be the one to decide if it’s charming. Let you tell me if I am good in bed or not. Would make for an interesting summer, wouldn’t it?”

You knew then you were fucked. So completely and inevitably because you had waited that long. Since you were seventeen sitting in that hot gross basement, him only a few inches from you. You had waited, and suddenly Sam seemed so much more tantalizing, enough so you would maybe give in. Just this once.

[read-write-thrive]

part 1

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop”, while pessimistic, seemed to be a running theme in Charles Rowland’s life. It wasn’t really a phrase he heard when he was alive, to be fair, but at some point he’d come across it (probably hanging out with too many Americans, but can’t remember for sure) and it felt a little too much accurate. His dad’s come home angry again? Time to wait for the fallout. He’d gotten written up at school for not paying attention? Just a disaster waiting to happen. He goes against his best mate’s advice? There he goes, literally torn from Charles’s arms and back to hell, just as he’d said. Maybe the last one was a little dramatic, but that’s the gist.

The looming anxiety of it all usually slid off of him for the minor stuff, and was otherwise bottled up and shoved far away for the heavier stuff, but regardless he didn’t let it show. Have to keep up appearances and all. He’d only had one real instance of all those emotions blowing up (and he still blames the Night Nurse for all that mess) so he thought he was doing a bang-up job keeping himself together.

That was until his dad died. Yeah, it was rough, and he ended up berating the old man on his death bed, which probably was a shitty thing to do. And yeah, he’d needed a bit of a cry afterwards. So what? Blokes cried sometimes, and he was man enough to admit to his emotions and all that. The girls had done a good job of emphasising that he (and, mostly, Edwin) needed to express their emotions more. That it was healthier to let it out than bottle it all up. Not sure if they still needed healthy habits as ghosts, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Just a little uncomfortable.

All that to say, it felt like his friends had been treading on eggshells around him ever since his dad died. Which was infuriating, yeah, but also didn’t make sense to him. Especially after he’d already cried—did they expect him to get angry again? To blow up over a dead man? He thought he’d gotten it out of his system just fine, so getting these weird vibes was starting to stress him out more than anything. He’d resolved to bring it up on their next movie night and ask why they were acting funny—didn’t want to mess up a case, after all.

However, he didn’t get the chance before it all came crashing down on his head. Ultimately, Edwin was the messenger.

“Charles, I—“ he took an unnecessary breath, “Have you checked on your mother lately?”

His undead heart went cold, but his default smiley ways were still stuck on, “Not really, why?”

Edwin’s eyes were sad, which was never good. He didn’t emote unless it was serious, “I think you need to visit her. She’s not faring well.”

And so they went. Turns out everyone hadn’t been waiting for Charles to blow up, but rather for his mother to pass and then for him to break down all over again. Edwin had been checking on her daily since his father’s passing, deducing correctly that Charles would be too swept up in the emotions around his dad dying to remember that his mum wasn’t getting any younger.

The girls weren’t free until the evening, but they promised to stay in touch and maybe visit later if they could (particularly if they could figure out how to visit the Hospice without rousing suspicion). And so Edwin and Charles were on their own.

Charles had rushed into the room, as if running at the issue would evade the emotions of it, or as if getting there quickly would reveal it was all a lie—neither of which were true.

Instead, he was face to face with a dying woman with some resemblance to the photo on the mantle in the house he grew up in—his grandmother, or maybe his great grandmother, or some favourite aunt, he couldn’t remember anymore— hair gone fully white, pulled back into a tight bun so as to keep her curls controlled, keeping her gaunt, sleeping face exposed. Unlike that photo, this woman was in a hospital gown, tucked into sterile sheets, with a tube under her nose to help her breathe. Gone were her usually loud and ornate earrings, her bare fingernails stained from years of colour. There was a singular blanket laid across her lap, on top of the sheets, that almost looked more familiar than the woman it covered. It was her, but apparently he hadn’t stopped to just look at her any time recently, if ever. It felt too much like looking at a ghost, as ironic as that felt.

She was awake, but halfway to dozing. There was someone at her side, adjusting the blanket and murmuring reassurances in what was definitely Punjabi. It had been so long since he’d heard it, added to having never properly learned anything besides English under the threat of his father, that he couldn’t make out the words. That realisation left a stinging feeling in his chest.

“A relation of yours?” Edwin asked at a whisper, coming up to stand beside Charles, almost entirely copying his position from that fateful hospital room. It didn’t seem as if either of the room’s living occupants had noticed them.

Charles blindly reached for Edwin’s hand for comfort, not looking away from the scene in front of him and matching his partner’s volume, “No idea. Don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Edwin hummed, “Perhaps a little too young to have met you. Or someone your mother reconnected with recently—“

“I’m not really in the mood for deductions, love.” Charles said, not unkindly. Everything felt too fragile to be picked apart like that.

“Right. Apologies.” Edwin squeezed his hand and went quiet.

Charles squeezed his hand back in forgiveness, joining in the silence. He kept going back to what the stranger was saying, familiar consonants both soothing and devastating. What kind of a son was he, failing to comfort his dying mother, unable to speak her mother tongue, a stranger to his relatives? His tears were thankfully silent.

It took much longer for his mother to see them than his father. Several days passed, with the mystery relative coming and going more days than not, and the usual nurses and caregivers administering various care. Over time, the boys (the girls couldn’t figure out how to enter the space, but were supportive from their distance) had learned that the stranger’s name was Sangeeta, and she was a niece of his mother’s who’d noticed her steady decline and was the one to take her to hospital and then to hospice care. Charles’s mother had apparently stopped taking care of herself after her husband’s death, and she had refused other care, so at this point all they could do was make her comfortable. Charles spent a whole morning ranting to Edwin about it, how unfair it was that her life was so tied up in his asshole father’s that she wasn’t even trying to live after he was gone. Edwin, the deeply kind person he was, had let Charles rant until he ran out of steam, then gently pointed out that she’d been under the thumb of his father for far longer than Charles was, and that she’d now had to mourn her husband and her only child, which presumably takes a toll. Charles had started crying before Edwin had even finished talking, and Edwin had held him close on the plush sofa for the rest of the day.

It was hard to tell if it was a comfort or not when she finally saw them, but Charles decided that wasn’t important to think about right now, if ever. Right now, his mother could see him for the first time in forty years, and they didn’t know for how much longer. And yet, with all this time to prepare, he still found himself speechless when the time finally came.

“Mere laal,” She beat him to the punch, eyes glazed over but clearly locked on Charles, “I am glad to see you again, beta. It’s been so long.”

Charles let out a shakey breath, “Hi, mum. It’s—well— it’s been longer for you. I’ve visited a few times, over the years.”

She reached out a sinewy hand on a bone-thin arm, and Charles flew to the seat by her side, keeping his focus to make sure his hand stayed solid in her grasp. He vaguely noticed Edwin taking the seat beside him.

“Such a handsome boy. You were so young.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, all anxious energy and nerves, tears of his own threatening to spill, was quick to respond, “It’s alright, mum, I’m alright. No need to cry over me.”

She huffed, “Nonsense. You were the light of my life. Who else should I cry over?”

They were both crying at this point, tears streaming as they sniffled in turns. Edwin laid a careful hand on Charles’s back in a show of comfort.

However, that seemed to give Charles an idea, “No, really mum, it’s okay! See the bloke next to me? His name’s Edwin, and he’s been by my side all these years! He’s the one who first found me, and we’ve been helping people ever since. It’s been aces. Not sad one bit.”

Edwin stiffened at the mention, then all but froze when her eyes turned to him. He knew he looked night and day from Charles, and if he started talking she was bound to find him as abrasive as everyone always did, so why had Charles pointed him out!? If ghosts could sweat, Edwin would be drowning in his nerves.

Her gaze stayed on him for a long moment before she broke the silence, “He’s been good to you? Not like those other boys.”

Edwin wasn’t sure what to do with that, but thankfully Charles was quick on the uptake, “Not like them at all. He’s— he’s the best, mum. None of those tossers could even compare.”

“Because the boys— the ones who—“

Charles gripped her hand, “I know, I know. He’s a genuinely good person, Edwin. I was bad at picking friends in life, but thankfully I chose well with this one.”

His attempt at joking was overlooked completely by her, “Those boys, how could they do that? I knew their families, John Parish’s mother went to your funeral… Such cruel boys…”

“I’m alright, mum, I’m okay.” Charles kept going, smiling even as the tears continued, “It’s all in the past.”

“I should’ve fought harder for you… kept you close… mere laal, taken from me…” She was sobbing, her whole frame shaking with hiccoughs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles took a steadying breath, “You know I couldn’t have stayed in that house, mum. And no one could’ve known those lads would go that far…”

Her sobs were worse for a moment, then stilled suddenly as she fought for oxygen. She coughed weakly.

At that, Charles’s crying intensified, despite all he did to keep himself together. He could tell. He knew what was coming. It was still devastating to see. Edwin pulled him in for a proper side hug, taking care not to jostle his grip on his mum.

This did not go unnoticed, and the dying woman suddenly smiled, as if the devastation was forgotten with the oxygen. She looked back to her son, “I am glad you have been happy, beta. You deserved happiness.”

“I’m happy, I’ve been so happy mum, I promise,” Charles tried to calm himself down, stuck in his reassuring her.

“Mere laal, light of my life, darling boy,” She breathed with difficulty, smile dropping, “Can you forgive me? I failed you…”

Charles’s frame shook with his vigorous nodding, “I forgive you, mum, you did the best you could, I love you so much—“

Her weak smile returned, glinting in the lamplight of the evening room, “Thank you, beta. You were too good for me, for this world…”

“All because of you, I swear it, all thanks to you—“

“Charles.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son, I’m could’ve been better, gotten you out of that house—“

“Charles, darling.”

“You deserved better, I love you, I forgive you—“

“My love, the light—“

Edwin was right, a deep blue light had filled the space, illuminating the still body of his mother. Her face was pulled into a slight smile, eyes closed, as if she was having a pleasant dream, even as the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“No, no I’m not ready—“ Charles immediately started to protest, gripping onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Charles—“

“I only just got to see her! She only just got free of him! No, no, I won’t—“

Edwin gently but solidly grabbed under Charles’s arms, “I’m sorry my love but we should go—“

Charles was nothing but hysterics by this point, head thudding onto the sheets for a moment before Edwin fully pulled him away. He said more, but Charles was too overwhelmed to process it properly, buzzing in his ears and headache behind his eyes making him feel alive in all the worst ways. Maybe it was just the first time he had cried this hard in his afterlife, or maybe being this close to an active death did something to their physiology—

Everything was a blur as they returned to the flat, Edwin all but carrying him through the mirror so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. They collapsed onto the sofa, extra large cushions taken up by their ghostly presences. The girls were already there, and joined into the cuddle pile without another word (or perhaps with a few, Charles still wasn’t all there yet). Edwin jostled them all slightly to better position everyone before settling in again, making sure Charles was properly surrounded.

Charles sobbed for a while longer. He wasn’t quite sure for how long, or what day it was, or if he was bothering his friends by taking up their time and space like this. His devastation had seemed to take over his entire being. But, when he did breathe a little easier, when he was finally able to sit up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mom was dead, yes, but so was he, and dying had granted them both freedom from that man, from that house, from the cruelties of the world. And in his death he was surrounded by people who loved him, people who were there for him when he needed them and would still be there for him tomorrow, and the next, and the next. The other shoe had dropped, and it certainly hurt, but thankfully he had people around him to help him through it. He was truly lucky to have them.

~

hope you enjoyed this impromptu series exploring Charles and his parents and grief and loss and all those lovely things. this was inspired by the complicated emotions I have / had after my grandparents passing, and I heavily encourage you to do something similar if you’re ever struggling with these big emotions—therapists and such will say that journaling is where it’s at, but sometimes it’s easier to project onto fictional characters and that’s ok !!! and, just to drive the point home, I want to reiterate that you are loved, and there are people around you who are there to support you, I promise ❤️

also, just to make it abundantly clear, I’m a v white midwestern american and as such have vvv limited knowledge of cultural aspects of Charles’s mom—I did research and tried my best, but if I screwed anything up PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!!! same goes for Britishisms ig but mostly looking for feedback on her Punjabi and her various cultural elements :)

[shmaptainwrites]

ahhh guys it’s a part 2 to love you three! it ended up being a little more hurt comfort than i expected but still more content of our cute little family 🥹

Pairings: James Wilson x fem!Reader

Warnings: some family insecurities

Three, Four, Five

“Benny!” you spun around and shoved your hands in your pockets, seeing no sign of your son anywhere. “Hey, sweetheart, have you seen Ben anywhere?”

James shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes pointed behind the kitchen island, discreetly giving his son’s position away.

“Oh, that’s just too bad I was going to ask him what he wanted for dessert tonight,” you said in a clear loud voice, and just like you predicted, little Benjamin came running out from the kitchen almost so fast you couldn’t scoop him up in your arms when he arrived at your feet.

“Can we have ice cream?” he asked eagerly and you laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“After dinner and after we finish this project you have to do for school.”

“Dad, do I have to?” Ben whined and James gave him a look saying,

“What do you think, squirt?”

“Why don’t you want to do it?” you asked, putting him down on the couch and sitting next to him, James closing the fridge and joining you in the living room, the faint sound of your other two children playing in the room filling the rest of the quiet house.

“No reason,” he shrugged and you and James both looked at him skeptically.

“What’s the project?” James asked.

“A family tree,” Ben sighed and you looked up at James with a hint of sadness past your eyes.

Not knowing what to say initially, you let your husband take the lead of the situation as he hummed in thought, standing up from where he sat on an armchair to come join you both on the couch, sandwiching Ben between you.

“So there’s no reason you don’t want to do the project so then why don’t you do it?” he attempted to point out the fallacies in the young boy’s logic, seeing if that might speak to him.

“Cause it’s boring,” Ben said, looking up at his dad.

“So that’s a reason then, right?” James continued. “Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

“You know you can talk to us about anything, right Benny? That’s what dad and I are here for.”

Ben was contemplating his options before leaning back in the couch and softly saying,

“Derek says you guys aren’t my real parents.”

You frowned when you heard what he shared, knowing this conversation might come up eventually, but you didn’t expect kids to be so cruel so young.

“What do you think?” James asked.

Ben pursed his lips and moved them around in thought.

“I know I’m adopted,” he reflected. “But does that mean I can’t put you on my family tree? Because we’re not related?”

“Benny, we’re not related like Derek is to his parents, but we’re still related,” you wrapped an arm around him and gave him a squeeze.

“How?” Ben asked curiously.

“Well cause we’re a family,” you smiled. “That’s our connection to each other and it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t look the same way as it does in other people’s families.”

“And we have some cool stories to go with it too,” James added. “Have your mom and I ever told you about how we met you?”

“How you met me?” Ben chuckled. “No, I don’t think you have.”

“Well we’d have to go back about seven years ago,” you started.

“Yeah a time where dad’s back didn’t have issues and mom didn’t need glasses to read everything,” James added, making Ben laugh and you roll your eyes. “It was a pretty cold night, wasn’t it?”

“Snowing outside,” you nodded. “I got a call from your auntie Lisa telling me there was a small baby in the emergency room and they needed my help to make sure he was okay.”

“Was that me?” Ben asked.

“You bet,” you nodded. “So I ran downstairs from my office and when I got there I saw you all bundled up in one of the nurse's arms while they checked you up. I went over and offered to take you and when they put you in my arms I could have sworn it was magic.”

“How was it magic?”

“You know how sometimes moms and dads talk about how they feel when they hold their baby for the first time?” you asked and Ben nodded. “I felt that with you, because I think deep down I knew that you were going to be my baby.”

“It was love at first sight,” James said. “Just ask your grandparents how they felt when me or your uncle Danny were born. We felt the exact same way when we saw you.”

“So you felt the same with me as you did with Amy and Nate?”

“The absolute same,” James nodded. “We love them just as much as we love you.”

“Which is a lot,” you added with a nudge.

Ben seemed to be feeling better about the whole situation, but with a bit more thought he found himself with one more question.

“What do I do if someone says you aren’t my real family?”

“That’s a good question,” you pursed your lips. “Any ideas, Jamie?”

“You could tell them it’s too bad they think we aren’t your real family because no matter what they think it’s not true,” James said simply. “You’re our son and you’re Amy and Nathan’s big brother, nothing someone says is going to change that.”

“Change what?” Amy asked, walking into the living room from the hallway, Nathan trailing behind her.

“That I’m your brother,” Ben said.

“Yeah, no duh,” Amy rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world, making you all laugh. “Who said you’re not our brother? They’re really stupid.”

“Amy, language,” you chastised.

‘She’s right’ James mouthed in your direction and you tried to stifle another laugh to not encourage her.

“Come here you two,” James motioned for the kids to join you on the couch, picking Amy up and placing her on his lap while you helped Nathan sit next to you.

“What are we doing?” Nathan asked after a moment of silence, looking to his twin sister for answers.

“We’re trying to have a nice family moment, Nate, you gonna cooperate?” James teased and reached over to tickle his youngest son who squirmed and squealed with laughter while Ben and Amy tried to come to his aid, eventually overpowering him and tickling him right back.

“Alright, alright kids, give your dad a break, we still need him in one piece,” you put your hand on Ben’s shoulder, pulling him back a little and then moving Amy's hands away from James’ neck where she was still earnestly trying tot tickle to avenge her twin brother.

“Thanks honey,” James leaned over and you shared a quick kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you smiled before looking at your three kids and they all knew what was coming. You and James each pressed a kiss to either side of Ben’s face saying,

“Love you three,” before moving onto Amy with “Love you four,” and finishing with Nathan and “Love you five.”

You looked over at James with a grateful look in your eyes and you both thought maybe Ben’s project could wait until after dinner and a nice big bowl of ice cream.

[ohthewh0rror]

MATTHEO RIDDLE: DATING HEADCANONS

A/N: if you’re looking for a “bad boy” with behavioral issues, but none of the homicidal tendencies, look no further than Tom Riddles son! (Or in some cases his brother, an idea I still don’t understand)

Honestly he flirts with you at first as a joke.

Which sounds bad! I know! But he wasn’t doing it to make fun of you. He’s a flirt, that’s just who he is, it’s harmless fun.

That’s the dynamic for a while: the whole annoying classmate and/or housemate that teases you who you say you can’t stand but are sad when they aren’t in class.

Once he does start to develop a crush on you, the teasing let’s up, and he starts just having genuine conversations with you.

You think this is him losing interest in you, so imagine your surprise when he says, “you know you’re my girlfriend, right?”.

And that was the start of the relationship!

Let’s get real here: Mattheo would not be a “bad boy 🥰”. He’s a boy with serious authority and anger issues. The childhood trauma this boy has from having Voldemort as his father is through the fucking roof.

The relationship is very fragile, it’s a on-again-off-again type of relationship for a long time.

One minute he’s the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, and the next you’re screaming at him to get away from you because of something he’s said or done.

It always ends the same: you ignore each other for a while, no one apologizes, and then one day Mattheo will start talking to you again like the argument 2 weeks ago didn’t happen. Now you’re back together.

This relationship is never going to last though unless Mattheo can work through his personal problems.

Mattheo wouldn’t be a bad ex to have, unless you two ended on a bad note. Mattheo enjoys ruining other people’s life/day for fun, and he will do the same to you if you crossed him in some way.

On a good note!! Let’s get the sweet side of him:

Loves to play with your hair. Takes the ends of your hair and twirls them around his finger.

Gets you things he thinks you would like, even if it’s just a little trinket he saw while out at Hogsmeade, he will buy it and bring it back to you saying he has a surprise for you.

Loves to situate himself between your legs, resting his head on you, his cheek squished against your chest as you run your nails lightly across his upper back.

Helps you study by making up ridiculous games to play using cards. It also helps take your mind off the nervousness you may have about said test.

If you’re having a bad day he won’t hesitate to sweep his thumb under your eyes, wiping the tears away and pulling you in for bone crushing hug.

Has no problem letting you cry it out on his shoulder, and honestly gives you great advice, no matter your situation.

Is always on your side!! Literally your #1 supporter.

Even when you two are on a break and you’re not speaking to each other, he will not let anyone disrespect you. Any hateful word uttered about you is met with him smashing said persons face in.

Mattheo takes care of your needs first in bed. Makes you cum before he’ll fuck you.

It doesn’t matter if he has to finger you, eat you out, etc. he’ll do it every time if it’ll get you off.

Loves aftercare, is very touchy after the fact, and it’s why (contrary to popular belief) he’s not the biggest fan of quickies.

Might call you a ‘bitch’ and a ‘whore’ in bed, but never outside of that.

He refers to you as “my girl” to his friends, but uses pretty generic pet-names to your face.

Will refer to you as his “sweet girl” even if you’re an absolutely terrible human being!!

Because to them you may be awful, but to him you’re the best things that’s ever walked earth.

Marriage/Father bonus:

First of all: doesn’t want kids.

You two probably won’t have kids because he’d be very cautious.

But!!! If you two did have an accidental baby, he’d be a girl dad.

Though he didn’t want kids at first, he is a good dad in the end. Well, as good as someone with his trauma can be.

Tries to be the father that his wasn’t.

You two get married either way!! It’s your dream wedding, he will spare no expenses for you. If it makes you happy, he’ll find a way to make it happen.

[sobx9]

Season 1 and 2 pogues would be horrified at the way they treated JJ in season 4, esp part 2. The lack of thought, care, concern, togetherness. The scene between JJ and John b in season 3 when John b says he lied and now his dads in trouble and JJ comforts him and says we’ll figure it out - that vibe was completely missing from the pogues dynamic in season 4. Yes we got funny, heartfelt scenes of them building poguelandia and surfing, but the deeper connection between them all was missing. Is that due to writing or real life vibes coming through on screen? Either way, it was obvious and hard not to feel it.

In a similar way, season 1 and 2 JJ would also be horrified at how his relationship with Kiara was in season 4. I don’t even want to elaborate on it that much either because it’s all been said in the fandom and it seems we all agree, but that was not Jiara. At first I wasn’t sure if it was me being let down because of the high expectations I had in my head from loving this couple, thinking critically about their journey, fanfics, etc. but the unanimous disappointment and criticism has validated those feelings for me, telling me that even casual viewers came to similar conclusions. After part 1, I was let down by Jiara but tried to convince myself I wasn’t, and then part 2 really opened my eyes to their relationship through the whole season and I hated to admit I was disappointed. I don’t even want to get into JJ dying because again, it’s been said and agreed on for the most part, that that was awful writing, lack of understanding of a character, character assassination, and a totally missed opportunity for great storytelling. No matter how the decision was made.

I just imagined season 4 way different and such a different direction for these characters and story. Again, is that me being too close to it and bias? I don’t think so because again even casual viewers noted the messiness of the plot, unnecessary storylines, plot holes, storylines that started and went no where, etc. The show runners had a great chance to redeem season 3, but they truly lost the plot with this season and it showed.

Hi, you make some interesting points :) I just responded to another ask, where I am talking about the disconnect between what kind of show the Pates wanted to create and what show the fans wanted. Just like you, I talk about the lack of deeper connections and unfinished story lines if you want to read that :)

Touching what you said about the expectations for season 4, my biggest issue is how different part 1 was to part 2 and how it was promoted.

When they promoted the season, the main selling points they used were that we would get the vibes of season 1 back, the Pogues together, having lots of scenes together with banter and we were promised a season full of Jiara. And in my opinion part 1 actually delivered! So when they promoted part 2 in similar fashion, I had no reason not to believe them!! I was super excited and then I watched it…

And suddenly the Pogues were being split up again. There was so much time spend on JJ and Groff (which yes, was needed for the plot but fans hated how much screen time John B and Big John got together in season 3 so why are you repeating something the fans hated?). I understand as the season progresses, the stakes must get higher and we obviously won’t see the Pogues surfing and hanging out in episode 9. But it was 180 on how out of nowhere the show was only about the action and the hunt for the crown and the villains, and the characters themselves suddenly didn’t matter. And I don’t even have to mention how Jiara was suddenly non existent. Like you couldn’t even tell they were supposed to be a couple.

That’s why I think feeling disappointed is valid. We were promised something we didn’t get! And as a big fan myself who was so excited to watch it, I was extremely sad about it all, and as you can clearly see, it’s still heavily on my mind three weeks later.

[lottesreads]

Why Me? - Part 7

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, bruises, mentions of getting punched, details of panic attacks, swearing, mentions of being kicked out and homelessness, pining, smaller Rooster warning, mommy issues, mentions of death, insecurities, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 6900

Summary: The aftermath of your and Rooster's fight weighs heavily on your emotions and you turn to Bob once more. Plus, dinner with your dad, Penny, and Amelia can't possibly go wrong, right?

A/N: I apologize for lying to literally all of you three weeks ago... But it's finally here and I am so sorry!! Work got crazy around the holidays and ya girl got a little burnt out

Masterlist

Once your breathing had evened out, Bob continued to rub your back until you were ready to let him go. You wouldn’t say you were exactly ready, but if you didn’t pull back you knew you wouldn’t be able to eventually. He was so warm, and his arms provided a comfort you haven’t felt in a very long time. You felt safe, and seen, and it wasn’t just a hug for a hug's sake. It was something to show you that he cared, that he saw you, and he didn’t want you to feel this way anymore. You squeeze your arms around him once more before sliding them off his shoulders.

You spend the next few minutes diverting your attention back to Sylvia who has since been getting closer to you. It’s almost as if she can sense your sadness, and much like Bob, wants to make you feel better. Bob hasn’t moved back to his original seat, and your thighs touch as you move your good hand to gently caress Sylvia’s head and ears. Bob huffs out a small laugh as he watches the two of you, unable to hold back a smile.

“What?”, you ask softly, looking back at him as Sylvia does the same.

“Nothing”, he shakes his head, “it’s just I’ve never seen her open up to someone so quickly.”

“Oh yeah? Who else have you introduced her to?”

“Just Phoenix and Fanboy. Nat’s only come over a couple times and she hasn’t approached her yet, but when Mickey comes over she won’t leave my side.” You look back down at the wide-eyed border collie and share a look with her.

“We just have a special bond then, don’t we Syl?” She moves her head further up your leg at your remark, causing your smile to widen. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Unbeknownst to you, the two of you did share some similarities. There is a reason she’s hesitant to approach new people, afraid that they’ll do to her what her last owners did. Bob can’t help but think that Sylvia can feel a certain energy radiating off of you. The two of you unknowingly bring a sense of belonging and comfort to each other.

Noticing her dad staring at her, she moves over to rest her head atop both of your thighs as you readjust the ice pack Bob brought you earlier. You wince as you attempt to stretch your fingers out, immediately demanding Bob’s attention. Removing his hands from Sylvia he reaches over and touches the wrap around your own hand, “May I?” You nod as he takes the ice pack off, gingerly taking your injured hand in both of his. Even through the pain, you can’t help but admire the prominent veins tracking through his large hands. The rough pads of his fingers assess the damage, as you follow their path across your knuckles. It’s funny really, you didn’t think anyone, a man especially, could be so gentle. So thoughtful. That was Bob you supposed.

He turns your hand from side to side, checking for any real injuries other than tenderness or bruising while you stare at his face. His eyes are concentrated at the task at hand as he hums. “Just as I thought.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid we’re going to lose the hand” You scoff and lightly push his arm as a sly smirk crosses his face. “No, it’ll be fine, just sore and bruised for the next few days.”

“Is that your professional opinion Dr. Floyd?” Bob clears his throat at the remark, glancing back down to where he holds your hand, his thumb tenderly rubbing your fingers.

“That it is, Lieutenant Mitchell”, you look back at his head, bowing down as he continues to caress your hand. There’s a freckle that sits right beneath his hairline that you first noticed when he drove you home from the bar. You were so drunk you must have forgotten about it until now. The urge to brush the hair away from his forehead and kiss it is very hard to resist. But you resist nonetheless as your eyes are drawn to his as he looks up.

Your eyes are still a bit red and puffy from crying, but it doesn’t deter you from giving him a slight smile. There’s an underlying hint of sadness coming from it, but Bob doesn’t mention anything as a tear falls down your face, his thumb immediately moving to wipe it away. Your eyes flutter shut at his soft touch. He doesn’t tell you to stop crying, he doesn’t pester you to open up, he’s simply there for you.

You don’t even know why you started crying again. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never outright told anyone what your mom had done, or it’s been a long while since you were able to talk about Carole, but deep down you know it’s the fact that you feel safe telling Bob all of this. You feel comfortable. Something you have been without for too long.

-----------------------

The drive back to your house is quiet. Bob doesn’t bother turning on the radio in case you want to talk. You stare out the window the entire time, looking a lot more tired than you were when the day began, but the radio remains off anyway.

When his truck pulls up to the curb you don’t make any motion to move. You remain still, staring out the window at you and your father’s shared home. The tears have since dried up, but the close of Bob’s door jolts you out of your daze. He opens your door, helping you out while his other hand carries your bag. He follows you inside and notices the lack of lights and other life.

“Is your dad home?”, he says as he cranes his neck attempting to look to the kitchen.

“Uh”, you look around the house, “No, he’s probably with Penny or-”, the name gets caught in your throat, but you force it out anyway, “Rooster.” His eyes land back on you as you get quiet again.

“Hey”, you look up to meet his eyes, “are you gonna be ok by yourself?”

“Oh yeah”, you wave him off, “I think I need to be alone for a little bit. Thanks for- well thanks for everything you did today. I’m sorry to trauma dump on you.” You attempt to laugh the last half of the day off, but Bob’s not letting you let it go that easy.

“I don’t mind one bit. I gave you the penny, remember?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that now”, you give him a small smile, resting your hand at your side and fiddling with the penny in your flight suit pocket. It’s hard to feel it under the material, but you know it’s there.

“If you ever need anything or want to talk, if you call I’ll pick up.” Your heart melts a bit at the sentiment.

“Thanks Bob, and I’d do the same for you. I hope you know that.” The want to hug you again is clawing at every fiber of his being, but before he’s able to make a move to soothe you, your phone is ringing in your pocket. You give Bob an apologetic smile and clear your throat to collect yourself before answering. “Hi dad”, your attempt to sound normal comes off as forced, at least Bob thinks so. “No, it’s ok I got a ride home. How was your meeting?” 

He nods and gives you a small smile before heading out the door. And there you are once again. Alone in your own home, this time with bruised knuckles and a penny in your pocket.

After Bob left you were too tired to do anything other than take a shower and lie in bed. Your phone occasionally dings with notifications from Phoenix checking in, and you just tell her you’re ok as she threatens Rooster’s life. It makes you crack a slight smile as you type out a response.

Not right now, but thank you. Stay on standby just in case I change my mind, though

With that you turn your phone to silent and close the blinds, succumbing to the darkness of your room. The day had been too damn long and you were ready for it to be over.

You didn’t even hear the light tap your dad left on your door as you were fast asleep. He peaked in just to see your chest lightly rising and falling, and he decided to let you get your rest.

-----------------------

The next day you awake to the sounds of pans clattering in the kitchen downstairs and the smell of fresh.. smoke? Just as you rise to your feet, the shrill sound of the smoke detector being set off  has you booking your way down the stairs. There you find your dad juggling a pan of burnt bacon as he attempts to open a window.

“What the hell is going on?” Walking up to him, you take the pan of bacon leaving him to open the windows while you set it in the sink.

“Well”, he responds, “I was trying to make breakfast.” He motions to the disarray of bowls with lumpy pancake batter, and multiple pans still sitting on the stovetop. You both take a second to look around and back to each other with matching exasperated looks as the alarm finally stops screaming at you. “How do you feel about cereal?”

“Cereal’s good”, you smile.

He grabs your favorite out of the pantry and pours the both of you bowls. You give him a small thank you before shoveling a spoonful into your mouth.

“I invited Penny and Amelia over for dinner tonight ”  You raise your brows and try to hide your smirk.

“You gonna make them your specialty cheerios?”

“Very funny. And no, I will be grilling.”

“Ah, I see. There’s no smoke detectors outside.” He laughs and shakes his head while you continue to eat.

“So, how did everything go yesterday at work?” He asks, leaning against the countertop behind him. You stop mid-chew and catch his eye.

“It was fine”. In the 10 minutes you’ve been awake you honestly forgot about yesterday. It was just you and your dad again. Like it was all those summers after Bradley left. Except for the ones where he was deployed of course and you were stuck with your mom for all four seasons. 

“Yeah?” You nod in response. “Good, I was worried about putting Hangman and Bradley in a group together, but I figured you’d work as a good buffer. Plus it doesn’t hurt that I think Bradley could give you a few good pointers.” Relief is immediately followed by a feeling that leaves your jaw clenching. Just at the mention of Bradley’s name you become angry then tired. Tired of everything to do with him and how your father places him on a pedestal. Tired that your dad is so blind to your feelings and how lonely you’ve been. 

You can’t blame Rooster entirely for your dad’s shortcomings. He’s splitting his time between him and Penny, and yeah you’re an adult, but it still hurts not being picked first. In fact, the only time you’ve felt really seen was when you received the Top Gun trophy for first place. That was something your dad couldn’t even say he accomplished. And you just wanted to make him proud, to make him see you. To not compare you to the kid he wished he had, the son he so desperately wanted. Your heart and head start to ache at the thought.

“Kiddo?” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts, realizing you’ve lost your appetite you push your bowl away.

“Yeah?” He places his own bowl in the sink and turns to you, leaning back against the countertop.

“Are you feeling ok?” Your stomach sinks as you hope he’s not going to bring up anything else about yesterday. If he didn’t know yet you weren’t going to be the one to tell him. You could deal with the repercussions on Monday at work, but right now you just wanted to forget about the entire day.

“Not really actually, I think I’m gonna go back to sleep”, you tell him as you wash your bowl out. He takes you by the shoulders, placing the back of his hand on your forehead.

“You coming down with something?”

“No”, you push his hand away, “I’ve just got a headache.” He lets you go, albeit very skeptically.

“Are you going to be ok for dinner later?”

“Yeah I’m- I’m fine”, you breathe out. He steps forward, kissing the top of your head before you head to your room and fall back into your bed. It doesn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, and when the buzzing from your phone awakes you it’s already noon.

Reaching out for your phone, you blindly tap the answer button and groggily ask, “Hello?”

“Mantis?” Rooster’s voice has you sitting up immediately. Taking the phone away from your face you squint at the unsaved number. “Mantis, I am so sorry-” Not granting him a response, you hang up and toss the phone on the pillow next to you. You stare at it for a couple more seconds before the same number appears on the screen. Out of pure anger you answer and speak before he can even get a word in.

“Rooster, I am going to say this once and it better stick. Do NOT call me or text me. I don’t want to talk to you.” You hang up without hearing any response, hoping for once he’ll listen. You stare at the blank screen for a minute, waiting to see if he’ll follow direction, and to your surprise he does.

How dare he try to call you now? The audacity of this man to call you up, no more than 24 hours after completely humiliating you. God, you need to get out of this house. Get some fresh air. Looking down at your pajamas, you come to the conclusion that you’re done moping. And on a whim you text the only person who you know can make you feel better.

Any chance you’re up to do something?

Bob: What did you have in mind?

Before you know it, you’re knocking on Bob’s door. The skitter of paws on the hardwood makes you laugh as the pounding of feet gets closer. Bob swings the door open as he ushers you inside.

“Sorry, give me two minutes and I’ll be good to go”, he says, trying to hide the fact that he’s out of breath, presumably from running to answer the door.

“No worries”, you wave him off. You take a peak around the house trying to find a blob of black and white fur, but to no avail you come up empty. Bob’s sat at the couch tying his shoes as you whisper, “Where is she?” He laughs and looks up at you, still bent over.

“Is that the only reason you wanted to see me today?”

“How dare you accuse me of such outlandish-” He cuts you off with a whistle that echoes throughout the house and in less than a second you hear paws bounding down the stairs while Sylvia runs to her dad. Of course you’re standing in between them, but you’re on your knees instantly. She comes to you first this time as your thumbs soothe over her ears. “Not so shy now are we?” You ask her.

Bob smiles as he looks at the two of you. Sylvia’s still way more energetic when Bob greets her, but she didn’t run and hide this time, in fact she leans into your ministrations. “What were you saying about outlandish accusations?” You just turn slightly to smirk at him while Sylvia vies for your attention.

The three of you start your trek to the beach, Bob’s house only sitting a little over a mile from the nearest pet friendly one. You pass small businesses and bungalows that get smaller and more colorful as you get closer. An ice cream shop catches your eye as you walk by, their unique flavors intriguing you.

He doesn't treat you like you're fragile whatsoever, like if he asks how you are you'll burst into tears or fall apart. Which you appreciate immensely. It's like Bob can sense you're looking for something to do, a distraction, and he will gladly be that for you.

“How often do you two go to the beach?”

“Not often. I’ll usually just take her on a walk around the block, but I figured since you’re here she’d be more comfortable venturing out a little bit more.” You smile, bending slightly to pet her black fur as you walk. “You wouldn’t guess by how she acts, but she is a ball of energy.”

“Is that something else you two have in common? Are you secretly a gym junkie or something?” He gives you a small laugh before staring ahead, the smile slightly slipping from his face.

“Nah”, he lets out, the beach now just ahead of you. “What ya see is what ya get with me.”

“That is not true”, you say, shaking your head. “When I first met you I would have never guessed you have a great sense of humor”, it’s his turn to shake his head, trying to hide the small laugh that leaves his nose, “Or that you know the greatest cure for hangovers, or-” the two of you finally stop at the short wall that separates you from the sand. You stop to turn, taking in Bob’s features as he gazes out at the ocean, “Or that you are one of the most kind and generous people I have ever met.” He meets your eyes and notices the genuine look in your face, but all too soon tears them away.

“That is very kind of you to say.”

“Well it’s true.” He looks back for longer this time, and the smiles grow on both of your faces before Sylvia barks, disrupting the moment.

“Oh I’m so sorry”, he says to her, rolling his eyes. The two of you take off your shoes, placing them nearby on the sand while Bob reaches into his pocket to grab the ball he brought for Sylvia. “Is this what you wanted then?” Reaching his arm back, he extends and throws the ball far down the beach. Your eyes widen as you watch the ball fly through the air, all while Sylvia runs after it.

“What?” Bob asks, examining your features. You scoff at his cavalier question and motion to where Sylvia was retrieving the tennis ball.

“You just threw that like a mile down the beach!” He gives you a genuine laugh at your exaggeration and shrugs his shoulders.

“I played baseball in High School.”

“For who, the Orioles?” You gawk. He shakes his head and laughs while Sylvia runs back and drops the ball at his feet. He throws the ball once more, just as far.

“I played outfield in little league ‘cause I was terrified of the ball, but turns out I was good at throwing.” He shrugs once again while you shake your head and smile.

“Oh Bob”, you laugh, “You are just full of secrets.” He turns the ball over in his hand before throwing it and can’t help but think of how true that is. It may not be multiple but he has one big secret. The one that threatens to tear open his chest every time he’s with you. The one that causes his heart to beat faster every time you smile at him. The one that threatens to give way every time he dares to take a glance at you.

He continues throwing the ball to Sylvia while she chases it until she visibly slows down. He offers to let you throw, but you use your injured hand as an excuse not to embarrass yourself. Traveling further up the beach, shoes in hand, you find a taco truck and decide to stop while finding Sylvia some water.

You have an excuse to pay this time after ordering, all thanks to Bob’s hands literally being full. Smirking as you hand the cashier your card, he tries his best to look annoyed all while his lips betray him and twitch upward.

The two of you find a picnic bench to sit on while Sylvia laps up the water in the complimentary bowl. You can’t help but stare at Bob’s veiny forearms as he takes a bite of his food. Throwing the ball today had strained his muscles, and you weren’t mad at the view as he sits opposite you. You so desperately want to reach over and trace the veins from his arm to his hand, tracking each and every one… Shaking your head slightly, you remember where you are.

“So what position did you play in high school?” He takes a large gulp of water, clearing his throat before answering.

“I switched between left and centerfield, but was mostly left.”

“With a cannon like that, it makes sense.” He laughs and raises a brow, not disagreeing with you.

“Well, it’s what got me my first girlfriend.” He casually tells you while taking another bite.

“Oooh, you had a high school sweetheart?” He grimaces, wiping his hands on a napkin before responding.

“I wouldn’t call it that. We dated for three months senior year. She dumped me right before prom for our pitcher.”

“Like right before prom?” He nods, resting his elbows on the table.

“I went to her house to pick her up, her folks told me she had already left. I wore my brother's old tux and got a corsage and everything. I held out hope, but when I got to the school, I caught her with my teammate… in his truck.” Your mouth falls open.

“Oh Bobby, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine”, he waves you off, “It was a long time ago.”

“Did you stay for the dance?”

“No”, he laughs, smiling at the memory, “I went home, but when my sister came back later she told me she caught them sneaking back into the gym and her and her friends slashed his tires.” You laugh with him, but that doesn’t stop your brain from imagining sweet baby-faced Bob driving all the way home from prom, wiping tears from behind his glasses. You give him a sad smile, and as if he can sense where your mind has gone, he coughs and changes the subject.

“How was your prom?” You scoff and give him a single laugh.

“Wouldn’t know, I didn’t go.” He raises his brows at your confession. He would have imagined people would have been begging you to go with them.

“Why not?”

“Well”, you swallow, “my mom was very strict-”, you give him a look, as if telling him he already knows what you’re implying, “and I didn’t have a lot of friends. Let alone people asking me to dances. And that definitely meant no sweethearts.” Glancing behind Bob at the orange tint of the sun, you think about the other reason. What was actually happening during your last months as a senior.

“I would have asked you.” He quietly responds, bringing your eyes back to his. They’re swimming with honesty, and it makes you wish you could have gone to high school with Bob Floyd.

“And I would have said yes, and we would have had the most fun on the dance floor.” You smile. “Although, I haven’t seen you dance before.”

“I don’t really dance”, he laughs out, “but with you I would.” Taking a deep breath in, your smile overtakes your face as Bob’s crooked one does his.

“I would have made you forget all about what’s-her-name.”

“Mandy”, he grimaces.

“Eugh, Mandy”, you remark in disdain. The two of you slip into laughter, the orange glow from the sunset creating a halo around Bob’s head. It’s fitting, you think. Bob is such an angel. Even if you prayed for whatever power above to send you a guardian one, you don’t think they’d do nearly as much.

With your food finished, and Sylvia all tired out after running down the beach some more, the three of you walk back to Bob’s small home. You pass the same bustling ice cream shop on the way back, and you tell Bob you’d like to try it next time. “Next time”, his heart beats a little faster at the thought.

Stepping through Bob’s front door, you follow him into the kitchen as he grabs Sylvia’s bowl.

“You want your dinner?”, he asks in that same baby voice he reserves just for her. She jumps up and down at his words while he fills her bowl. Oh shit, dinner.

“Shit, what time is it?”, you reach forward and grab Bob’s arm, turning it to check his watch. “Damn it!” You start putting your shoes back on as fast as you can, checking your phone and noticing the most recent missed texts from your dad.

“What’s going on?” Bob asks from behind you.

“I forgot that I’m supposed to be having dinner with my dad tonight.” You finish lacing up your shoe, and in a rush you kiss Bob’s cheek before running out the door. “Thank you so much for today, I’ll text you!” Bob is left reeling in his kitchen as his hand slowly makes its way up to his cheek where your lips had been seconds ago. He can feel the heat in his face as he puffs out a breath, staring down at Sylvia while she looks up at him. He gives the door you just left through one last glance.

“Daddy’s in trouble.”

-----------------------

The entire drive home you can't stop smiling. Maybe it was a bit bold for your situation and your body was running faster than your brain, but you could still feel Bob’s warm cheek against your lips.

You finally pull up to your house, throw the car in park and quite literally burst through the front door. Turning the corner you find Penny, Amelia, and your dad all sitting at the table looking at you with wide eyes.

“Hi”, you attempt to say, a little out of breath.

“So glad you could join us”, your dad offers, his tone dripping in sarcasm. “We were just about to start eating.”

“Oh good, I’m just in time then”, you say, taking the empty seat next to your dad. You look up and greet Penny and Amelia, the latter of which is very confused by your smiley and flushed face. “This looks great dad, a big step up from cheerios”, you joke. The table is full of steak, kebabs, potatoes, and surprisingly for your dad; a salad.

“Well thanks, proud to say I did it all by myself since my sous-chef was nowhere to be found when I got home from the store”, he chides. The four of you start filling up your plates as a knock comes from the door, your dad excuses himself to answer it. Reaching for a roll, you stop at the sound of Penny’s voice.

“What did you do to your hand?”, concern lacing her voice as she reaches out to hold it. Very slowly you pull it back and wiggle your fingers.

“Oh it’s nothing, I just accidentally slammed it in the car door.” The lie slips easily off of your tongue, just a little something to keep people from worrying or thinking about it too much. “You know how it is.” She gives you a look, one that says “I don’t believe you, but for your sake I’m going to pretend I do.” And you can’t thank her more in that moment.

“So how’s school going Amelia? You’re what, a sophomore now?” She gives you a nod, swallowing her bite of food before responding.

“Yeah, I’m a sophomore. And it’s good”, she shrugs, “school is school.”

“She just got asked to her homecoming”, Penny interjects with a coy smile on her face.

“Mom-”, Amelia groans, her face heating up.

“Oooh, who is it? Are they any cute?” She groans once more, covering her face in both of her hands.

“His name is Connor.. And yes”, she mutters. You share a look with Penny as the two of you stifle your giggles.

The sound of the door shutting has you turning your head in the direction of two pairs of feet making their way to the kitchen. Your dad enters the kitchen, followed by- of course, Rooster. You straighten up and clench your jaw at the sight of him. He’s wearing his aviators, but you can still see a shade of purple peeking out from beneath them.

“Look who I found on the front porch”, your dad jokes. You turn your back on the both of them as Rooster greets everyone else. Why would he show up unannounced? Or even if your dad invited him over, he knows you don’t want to see him, so why would he agree in the first place? Maverick ushers him to take the only empty seat… next to you, as you try your best to focus on the plate full of food in front of you that you’re not sure you’ll be able to stomach now.

He starts filling his own plate, noticeably only taking things from right in front of him. Your dad coughs in his direction, discreetly tapping the side of his face, asking him to take his sunglasses off. Hearing him sigh next to you, he reaches to take them off, pocketing them in the neck of his white undershirt. You cringe at the sound of your dad’s voice.

“Whoa, Bradley, what happened?” All eyes except for yours turn to take in his face. You’re honestly surprised he hadn’t run and told your dad you punched him immediately after it happened. But then again if he did, he’d have to tell him why you did it in the first place.

“It’s nothing, really-” Your heart rate is speeding up, anticipating the ultimate truth to come forward, “I tripped up the steps to my apartment and smacked my face on the stairs.”

Penny glances between your hand holding a spoon of mashed potatoes and back to Bradley’s cheek. She’s not buying this for one second.

“That looks pretty bad”, Mav assesses while tilting his head in Bradley’s direction.

“So Mantis, what were you up to today?”, Penny asks, changing the subject.

“Oh, I was just out with a friend. Spent some time at the beach.”

“Do I know them?” Your dad asks. Shuffling in your seat, you decide to respond truthfully. It’s not like you were doing anything wrong. Bob is your friend after all. And that’s all he is.

“Actually you do, it was uh- it was Bob.” Rooster chokes on his water next to you while your dad raises his brow in surprise.

“I know you wanted to get to know him better, but since when are you friends?”

“Probably since she got drunk and he had to drive her home”, Amelia comments from behind her fork.

“Amelia”, Penny chastises her.

“When did you get drunk?” You roll your eyes at your dads questioning, since when did he care?

“That was last weekend when you and Rooster were off doing god knows what at your hangar.” Your dad looks more confused than ever. “Thanks for the invite by the way.” It’s not like you even care anymore about not being invited, but Rooster showing up has you a little on edge. You start absentmindedly tapping your foot under the table at the building tension.

“I’m sure you and Bob had more fun than we did”, Rooster pipes up from beside you. “We were just cleaning stuff out.”

“Oh shut up, you knew what you were doing. And why the hell are you even here right now?”, you turn to face him this time. It’s the first time you’re seeing the damage you inflicted on him, and just before the large purple bruise fills you with regret, you stare at the rest of Rooster’s face and it makes you want to hit him again.

“Mav invited me in, I didn’t come here to crash your dinner. I came over to talk to you, actually.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as he glances across the table.

“And I told you that I didn’t want to talk. So if you came here to rid yourself of guilt, go ahead and apologize. But after what you did I am way past accepting it at this point.” You grit out in his direction.

“Ok, wait a second. Time out”, Maverick interrupts. “What the hell is going on?”

“Mav, yesterday after you left-” Rooster starts.

“Rooster, don’t”, you grit out.

“Things got a little heated and I said something-”

“Stop it”

“Why are you protecting me?”

“I’m not protecting you, I am protecting myself!”, you emphasize pointing a finger to your chest. “Because nobody else did! And what you said was humiliating and I’m not gonna stick around and hear you repeat it, just to embarrass me all over again!” The seat slides out from underneath you as you retreat from the table. Pushing the back screen door open you let it slam behind you as you begin to take in deep breaths. Deep, calming breaths like Bob showed you yesterday. You place your own hand against your chest to feel your heart beating. You’re still here. You’re ok.

The sound of the screen door opening distracts you for a moment, but you already know who it is without having to look. They stay silent, waiting for you to either invite them to talk or curse them out.

“Why did you say it?”, you ask, trying to keep your voice even. “Out of everything you could have brought up.”

“I’m sorry”, Rooster speaks to the ground. Head hung in shame. “It’s no excuse, but I was angry.” A cricket chirps in the distance. “And I knew it would hurt”, he confesses.

“When Hangman brought up your dad, I was up immediately after you. Either to hold you back or help you I’m not quite sure. You haven’t seen it, but I have always been on your team, Bradley.” Turning to face him, he brings his head up. “Why haven’t you been on mine?”

“I got your voicemail.” Your heart feels as if it’s been dropped off a cliff.

The last voicemail you sent to Bradley consisted of you begging him to call you back. You needed him more than anything in that moment, and you thought he might understand where you were coming from. You sobbed through your words and pleaded with him to pick up the phone.

“I called you back, but by then you must have blocked me or something because it didn’t go through. Then I called your landline and your- your mom picked up. I asked how you were, and she told me you were on top of the world, and your dad must have been so proud of you, because you were just accepted into the Naval Academy.” He breathes a shaky breath through his nose, trying not to get too upset by the memory.

“Is that why you’re mad at me? You thought I was begging you to call me back so I could brag to you?” He furrows his brow, confused as he nods a couple times. Scoffing, you shake your head. Your heart aches at how much pain your mother caused and continues to cause in every person’s life she touches. There are tears starting to form in your eyes, ones that you’re sure you can’t control no matter how hard you try.

“Bradley,” you gasp, “She kicked me out. I wasn’t calling to brag, I was calling to ask for help.” His brow twitches as he looks at you.

“What?” he breathes out.

“She found my acceptance letter and we had a fight. I was scared if I told my dad he would do to me what he did to you, so I never told him. I was living out of my car when I graduated high school, up until it was time to move into my dorm.” Hot tears start to fall down your cheeks, but you’re quick to wipe them away this time. They’re more out of frustration than sadness. “She canceled my phone plan, that’s why I never answered. Thank god the car was in my name. I would have been homeless.”

“Oh my god”, Bradley rasps as he runs his hand through his hair.

“This entire time, you really thought I would have rubbed it in your face?”

“I don’t know. It had been six years since I last saw you, I thought maybe you were angry enough.” He shrugs.

“I didn’t have enough energy to be angry then. I’m angry now.” It’s quiet again. The two of you absorbing the explanations that were long overdue.

“You’re right you know”, Bradley breaks the silence.

“What?”

“My mom would be disappointed in me.”

“She’s not the only one”, you mutter.

“She explained to me pretty early on what your situation was. Cause she wanted me to watch out for you.” He swallows and takes in a large breath, attempting not to get choked up. For a moment you feel for him. Talking about Carole gets you the same way. But you are not about to comfort a man that has done nothing but bring you down. “Before she died- she told me the same thing. She said, ‘Watch out for Bug, and she’ll do the same for you. The two of you need each other.’”. You flinch at his use of Carole’s nickname for you. “I’m so sorry-”

“Just shut up for one goddamn second and let me think about this.” His mouth closes as you start pacing around the backyard, head in your hands. “So instead of using that information to keep me from getting hurt, you turn around and stab me in the back with it? And not to even mention my dad, but you seemed to have made up with him so easily after what he did. I didn’t even do anything to you Bradley! I was a literal child and had no clue what he did until YEARS later.” You pause, letting the weight of your words do their job. “So from where I’m standing you had no right to be mad at me in the first place, and you had absolutely no right hurting me the way you did when you know for a fact you were told that piece of information in confidence.”

He doesn’t respond for a brief moment, and you know he knows you’re right.

“How can I fix this, make it right?” Scoffing, you throw out your arms in disbelief.

“You can’t. It was broken a long time ago, and you’ve pulverized any chance of me believing you could be the person I thought you were.” He whispers your name as you wipe away the tears that have started falling again.

“Rooster”, the two of you look up to find your dad standing at the back door with his arms crossed against his chest. He takes in your tears and his face softens as you look away, embarrassed. Looking back to Bradley he hardens his gaze again, “I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Mav, I-” Realizing he has no real explanation he stops before he even starts. Bradley rings his hands out as he follows the door your dad has propped open with his body. But right before entering the house, he turns to you one last time. “For what it’s worth, if I could go back, I wouldn’t have done it.” Whether it being yesterday, or leaving you behind all those years ago, you’re not sure. “I’m sorry.”

You wipe your face of the straggling tears that continue to fall as your dad walks Rooster through the house, and before too soon he’s back as he softly says your name from across the yard.

“I’m fine”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Which part?”, you bite. He crosses the yard to reach you, but as he lays a gentle hand on your arm you shrug him off. “When would I have had the time to tell you? I swear you’re always off doing something with Rooster, or preoccupied with your newest project at your hangar or- or on a date or whatever with Penny.”

“I’m gonna rip that kid a new one, I swear-” “It doesn’t even matter. Cause he’s still a kid to you, your kid. He left us and after how many years you forgave him like it was nothing. So sorry dad, but forgive me for not telling you how he left me to fend for myself again. Because after a little bit of sweet talking I’m sure he’ll be right back at the top of your list.” He’s calling out your name as you storm back into the house and into your room. Penny and Amelia are long gone as you pass the kitchen on your way to the stairs and you couldn’t be more grateful. You just hope they didn’t stick around to hear too much.

Today was a good day. Up until you had to come back down to reality.

It’s almost like a dream every time you’re with Bob, and then you come home. Back to where the prodigal son gets praised at every turn while you work and work to be the kid your dad always wanted. But he already exists, and he’s made your life a living hell.

You went so many years trying to forget about how everyone left you behind, and you tried to make a name for yourself. You were successful for a bit, but even at the top Rooster’s already there, and he’s got your dad wrapped around his finger.

Taglist:

@lemmons1998

@itsmytimetoodream

@theamuz

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[rosakuma]

Feelings on FOPANW S1 Finale

Okay so the finale dropped…….that sure was a finale….Alright, let’s discuss this in full detail. Spoilers for Fairly Oddparents A New Wish finale, DO NOT READ BELOW IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT OR CAUGHT UP YET!

Okay so this finale is a big mixture for me for a few reasons, to which I’ll explain in detail of listing out the good and bad, before then listing out personal thoughts and what I think they’ll do for S2(if we get one, to which Y’ALL WE GOTTA LOCK IN AND REWATCH THIS SERIES IN NOVEMBER ON NETFLIX OKAY??)

The good~✨:

▪️I absolutely love that they brought back most of the new characters Hazel’s befriend and seen throughout the season come back to help Hazel in taking back fairy world. ▪️ANTI-COSMO AND ANTI-WANDA ARE BACK! It was definitely a short time, but I’m just glad they reappeared and them with Cosmo and Wanda was so funny. I love them exposing their weaknesses like Cosmo being afraid of big words or Wanda not standing seeing someone read a book upside down. ▪️THANK GOD DEV WASN’T TURN EVIL! The boy definitely mess up, but I am happy he listened to Wanda and help out in the end despite the consequences of it. It shows that despite Dev doing all of this to impress his dad, he realizes that his dad not going to change and that he’ll just overlook Dev for other people or things. Plus it nice to see that he didn’t want any the fairies lock up or to blow up, he just wanted to get back at Cosmo, Wanda, and Peri(speaking of him). This definitely marks a great start to his redemption arc that I feel next season will go into more.

▪️You don’t know how much it means to me seeing Peri fricken dying and yet, he’s still worrying about Dev. The fact he still cares about him and just only was strict on the rules because he wanted to do right by Dev..MY HEART AGHHH! THAT’S HIS DAD RIGHT THERE, HIS REAL DAD! I swear they better reunite. Le bad~⚡️:

▪️Dev losing both Peri and his memory of fairies….WHY!? I get punishing him to teach him what he did was wrong, but he recognizes it and also, HE’S NOT GOING TO IF HE DOESN’T REMEMBER WHAT HE DID WRONG! Not to mention that Dev still needs Peri, he still needs a fairygod parent because he’s stuck with a neglectful dad who thinks boots are better than his own kid and doesn’t know how to make friends with him having trust issues! Plus Peri still cares for Dev and I doubt he wanted to give him up! THATS HIS FIRST GODKID, GIVE HIM BACK HIS SON 😭 ▪️The point above gets worse when Hazel could’ve prevented that from happening by including Dev in her wish for her friends to keep their memories of her fairies and magic OR that Dev keeps Peri(which is a two for one sale as he gets both his fairy and memory). I understand Hazel is probably still upset at Dev and does think that he needs to learn a lesson, but she clearly still cares about him. Enough for her to look sad at the end when he gets poofs away and to thank him for doing the right thing. Not to mention now Dev’s growth at the end for realizing he did wrong will disappear and he can’t reflect on himself now to grow from it. ▪️Speaking of memories. So Hazel decided to let Winn, Jasmine, and her brother Anthony keep their memories of all of this. I won’t lie, I am conflicted on this as while I don’t mind too much of Winn and Jasmine to know about her secret as that allows them to join more adventures and develop from there with Hazel now that they know! But…why Anthony? I can understand Hazel wanting to share her cool fairies with him, but girl you got those fairies in the first place BECAUSE he’s away at college. Even if Anthony currently visiting right now and she can have fun with him, he’s still going back to college sweetie. Heck Anthony might not worry too much of needing to visit a lot because now he knows his sister being taken care of by Cosmo and Wanda(which is good thing, but to Hazel, she might be upset to think Anthony will spend less time with her now that she has fairies to fill his role).

Alright, I definitely got that out of my system. Ultimately despite these problems I have with this finale, I still enjoyed it and this season entirely. And I feel like the writers with what they did with Dev wasn’t to be mean spirited of taking away Peri and his memory. I believe they wanted to show Dev starting to reflect on what he has done and grow with realizing his mess up, which is why he even admits that he does deserve this and Hazel agrees. And despite Hazel not including him in the wish or wishing for him to keep Peri, she does still care about him. She’s glad he did the right thing in the end and she does look sad when Dev gets poofed away after being memory wiped. And honestly….this might be good for both of them in terms of being able to rekindle their friendship. Now that Dev won’t remember the the arguments that happen when he had a fairy, it means that his jealousy toward Hazel having Wanda and Cosmo and knowing that Hazel wished to be friends with him(to which he took personally because it seemed like their friendship was based off of just wanting to get something out of him he feels and it’s fake). The only problem is thanks to the memory wipe, we don’t know exactly how much Dev remembers. Does he only remember his fight with Hazel at Founders Day or their fight during his birthday? If the former, then did he forget Hazel being at his birthday? And if not and it’s the latter, then does Dev still remember project H but without the knowledge of Hazel’s fairies? Is he still upset at her for his father paying attention to her? Does he think they’re still friends??? Really the problem is since we’re in the dark of whether we’re getting a season two and we don’t know these details, we’re stuck unsatisfied since there’s clearly more to explore and explain here. But all we can do for now is just wait and watch the show again on Netflix when it drops while spreading word of the series. We can do this and get that season two for everyone! Seriously Netflix you better listen to Peri and greenlit season two.

[alaskan-wallflower]

I need more Darry raising the boys headcannons!!! Like how is Darry as a parent?

Hm…honestly I feel like he tries to draw the line between parenting and being a brother! He doesn’t like being seen as a parent because that just isn’t who he is! So firstly I kinda feel like he tries to draw that line of distinction. Even punishing his brothers is something he hates doing because he’s their big brother, not their dad…I know a lot of people like to headcanon that Pony would call him “dad” by accident sometimes when he’s sad or sick but I feel like that would really hurt Darry because he’s not their dad. And he doesn’t want to be. But he’ll try anyway.

He was definitely rocky at first…I mean his brothers had always respected him so that wasn’t an issue but with Ponyboy being thirteen and Soda being sixteen it was just…a lot

Raising Ponyboy was a lot harder because Soda was pretty much independent for lack of better terming while Ponyboy still somewhat needed that guidance (I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m babying him but I feel like a 13 y/o is a lot harder to raise up than a 16 y/o since Pony’s just so much younger)

He was pretty awkward at first with discipline…he didn’t really want to punish his brothers because he didn’t feel like he had the right to as their brother but eventually he got over that

Signing Pony’s school papers and even trying to help Soda manage his paychecks was very painful for him

Now onto happier stuff-

Darry always always ALWYAS goes to Pony’s track meets-he’ll literally skip work to go to them because he doesn’t want Pony to feel like his big brother isn’t there for him. like Darry knows the rest of the gang will be there but it’s different since Darry is his big brother

Darry literally always cheers the loudest and holds no qualms. At all. He doesn’t care if the other parents are getting mad

Whenever Soda gets employee of the month Darry will frame that picture of him on the fridge

The one time that was awkward was when Pony started dating and Darry had to set up rules

I know people think Darry would be super overprotective and like checking on Pony and his girlfriend every five minutes but let’s be real I don’t think Pony would ever take it that far. Also Darry trusts Pony.

If anyone’s overprotective it’s Soda lmfao

Darry still reinforces the same rules with both his brothers-no keeping the doors closed, stuff like that

Darry was a teenager once too, he knows. And he’ll tell Pony straight up that if he’s gonna do anything he needs to use protection (meanwhile Pony looks like he’s about to barf because he doesn’t WANT that)

Darry also had to learn to be there a lot more for his brothers

I mean he was always there for them but he knew he’d have to be there in a different kind of way because his parents weren’t there to help

The first time Pony and/or Soda really opened up in a more than siblings way and more like a parent way he cried himself to sleep

Taking care of his brothers when they weren’t feeling well was also something he had to learn how to do

He always made their mom’s soup for them and herbal tea and he became a lot more nurturing in a way?

He also had to learn how to cook for three teenagers and the first few nights he severely underestimated their appetites

Half his paycheck goes to food let’s be real

Pony’s growth spurt was especially hard because he just…wasn’t able to keep up with Pony’s appetite and he felt awful

Anyway I think that’s all I have 😭 hope these are good!

[fanfictilltheend]

A Trick of the Winter Light (Joel Miller/You)

AO3 Link

Masterlist

A/n: To fill the anon tumblr prompt: "I have a Joel x daddy issues!reader request!! Reader sees how good Joel is with Ellie, and it makes her happy and sad at the same time. She's happy Ellie gets to have an amazing father, but she can't stop thinking about what was wrong with herself that her father couldn't love her the way Joel loves Ellie. This causes a bit of trouble in their little family until Joel and ellie confront reader about why she's being distant. I'd like a happy ending where joel comforts reader too!!!"

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, past abusive father mention, daddy issues, referenced past domestic violence, sarah mention, please take care of yourself!!

Summary: Reader comes from an abusive home and seeing Joel and Ellie's good relationship is heartwarming but also confusing at times. When Joel and Ellie get in a snowball fight reader assumes the worst between the two of them and Joel and Ellie comfort you the best way they know how.

Your dad was an asshole. There was no other way of saying it. You can’t even count the number of times that fucker came after you with a belt. This wasn’t the worst of it though, you think. The worst was that that motherfucker basically ignored you your entire childhood except to criticize or beat you. No playing dolls, no showing up to soccer games, no high-fives if you managed to scrape up an A on your report card. Instead, radio silence except for the slamming of fists or the shouting of harsh words. 

To say this didn’t fuck you up would be a lie. But it didn’t just fuck up how you felt about yourself, that could have filled up a novel, no, it also fucked up how you perceived other people’s relationships. And that’s where Joel and Ellie came in.

When Joel and Ellie moved into Jackson it turned your life upside down in the best possible way. You were an assistant teacher in the Jackson high school and met Ellie first. She charmed her way into her heart and that dark and mysterious Joel Miller was soon to follow with prompting from Ellie. Joel had initially been cold to you as he was to everyone (maybe that’s what drew you to him – another emotionally unavailable older man who actively didn’t give a shit about you), but he warmed up to you quickly when he saw how awesome you could be with Ellie. The rest was history and you moved in with Joel and Ellie soon after.

Most days were amazing! You were so impressed with the way Joel fathered Ellie, always being so kind and considerate to her and the way he looked at her like the sun shone out of her ass always melted your heart. But it was a lot to get used to, seeing a real, mostly-functional father-daughter relationship that you just never had. And then sometimes you were transported into the past against your will.

Take today, for example. It was winter and snow covered Jackson like a Christmas card. School had been canceled for you and Ellie and a construction project Joel had been helping with became a snow hazard so he had off too. You and Joel had been reading contentedly on the couch until Ellie raced inside and threw a live snowball right into Joel’s chest. You died laughing until Joel got up and declared war on Ellie who raced back outside, giggling hysterically. You and Joel grabbed coats and gloves and ran out into the front yard and began lobbing snowballs at Ellie who was screaming with glee from behind a snowbank. Everything was fine until Ellie managed to hit Joel square in the face. Joel stopped what he was doing, wiped the melting snow off his face gruffly, got up from the embankment you two had hidden behind, and marched over to Ellie. Ellie’s eyes widened in fear and she ducked down behind her snowbank. In seconds, Joel was upon her and tackled her to the ground behind the large pile of snow and you simply lost it. You didn’t think Joel would ever be capable of hurting Ellie, but you had seen that ferocious look in his eye – that same look you’d seen in your father’s. 

“Joel!” you yelled urgently, running over. “Get the fuck off of her! How the fuck could you–”

But you cut yourself off the second you realized the two were just laughing, rolling around, and play-fighting in the freezing snow. 

Oh, I am an idiot . You thought to yourself, wiping away the tears that had somehow collected in your eyes.

“Chill out, Y/N–” Ellie giggled, turning over to face you. “Oh my god. Shit. Are you crying!? We were just messing around…” she trailed off, looking over at Joel with worry.

Joel was looking up at you now with concern too. He knew about your past, but you didn’t blame him for not connecting the convoluted dots. 

“Shit, darlin’,” he said gently. “Don’t cry. What’s the matter now?”

“I-I-thought–” you began, but suddenly you were crying. You were always a crier. Every time your dad hurt you verbally or physically, you always cried. Like clockwork. “Thought you were m-mad at Ellie. I-I’m so sorry,” you sobbed pathetically, wiping the tears from your eyes.

Ellie looked up at you again with worry. Then she put two and two together. (Always was a smart kid).

“You…you thought he was really gonna hurt me?” She asked, looking up at Joel from her spot on the ground. 

“Kinda,” you nodded, staring down at the snow-drenched earth.

“Joel’d never ever hurt me like that, Y/N,” Ellie said, getting up and taking your hand. “Don’t you know that?”

“Yeah, is the thing,” you replied, looking over into Joel’s eyes. “I know he never, ever would. You’re so lucky to have that, Ellie. I just knew some people who weren’t like that is all. And I sometimes forget how good people can be.”

Joel stood up too and put a large hand on your shoulder.

“Over my dead body, I’d ever hurt either one of you,” he said meaningfully, looking into your eyes and you knew he was telling the truth. 

And because of that, you burst into tears.

“Ellie, kiddo, why don’t you go over to Dina’s for a little?” Joel suggested gently.

Ellie gave you a kind of awkward side hug and nodded and made her way over to Dina’s house, looking back a little uneasily.

Joel mouthed something to her, but you couldn’t tell what because tears had flooded your vision.

“Hey, I dunno who you’re talking about, Y/N,” Ellie shouted from half-way down the block, cupping her mittens around her mouth. “About those asshole people. But I’ll kick their asses for you!”

“Thanks, Els!” you giggled through the tears. She was always looking out for you like that even though she was only fourteen. “You’re a good kid.”

And with that, Ellie disappeared into town with a last nod.

“Uh, why don’t we head on inside and have something hot to drink,” Joel suggested. 

You nodded your head and Joel took your hand so gently, which was so different than how you’d seen him handle a weapon on patrol that your heart broke a little more, unsure how you got lucky enough to find someone who handled you so tenderly. 

***

You both sat at the kitchen counter with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate as the sun got lower in the winter sky.

“Gonna tell me what that was all about?” Joel asked, putting his hand on yours.

“It’s so fucking stupid,” you replied, taking your hand away.

Joel frowned. 

“Not to me it ain’t,” he responded seriously, his brown eyes meeting yours. “Nothing you say is stupid. Hell, half the time I’ve gotta look up words you just slip into normal conversation.”

You grinned at that. This was Joel after all. You knew you could tell him pretty much anything and he wouldn’t judge you, had probably done fifty times worse. 

“You just…had this angry look in your eye when Ellie threw that snowball at you. It reminded me of how my dad used to look at me before he’d…get physical. In my mind, I know you would never, ever hurt Ellie. But it’s like my body hasn’t caught up to my thoughts and it’s still a little girl, living at home with a terrifying asshole.”

“I get that,” Joel said after a moment. 

“You do?”

“Sure. Sometimes…sometimes my body still feels like it’s holding Sarah the day I lost her even though it’s been twenty years.”

Joel rarely mentioned Sarah so you were honored he felt comfortable enough to bring her up. You put your hand back on his and rubbed his calloused skin tenderly.

“Never’d hurt you or Ellie though. Over my dead body, alright?” Joel continued meaningfully, reaching out a large hand to rub your back. “But your dad? That asshole? Like Ellie said, I’d kick his ass six ways to Sunday.”

You snort into Joel’s flannel-covered shoulder, trying to imagine it. Joel would rip that asshole limb from limb with his bare hands, you were sure of it. You’d heard stories of what he was capable of, had seen glimpses of it on patrols. Ellie would be more than happy to assist. Come to think of it, maybe you’d get a kick or punch in edgewise of your own.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked slowly, your foot tangling with his own. 

“‘Course, doll,” He replied with a kind smile.

“This may not mean a lot coming from me, seeing as I don’t know much better, but I really do think you’re an amazing father.”

“To me, angel, that means the world,” Joel told you with a genuine grin.

He leaned over and kissed you on the top of your forehead and then between your lips. You kissed him back lovingly.

“Your dad didn’t know what the fuck he was missing with someone like you,” Joel murmured low against your ear.

You grinned.

“Love you, Joel,” you told him, pulling him in for a hug.

“Love you too, babygirl. Never gonna let anyone lay a finger on you ever again.”

A/n: Any feedback would be much appreciated! Lmk prompts or suggestions or if you would like to be tagged! Thanks for reading!! ❤️

Masterlist

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly Track 1: Before the Beginning

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, bad parents all around, era-typical misogyny and sexism, mentions of reader's looks (as being very beautiful), partially interview format, no use of YN

AN: Hi, if you're a longtime TCGU reader, please read this note from me explaining this new format. If this is your first time coming across This fic, welcome! Please enjoy my attempt at a Daisy Jones and the Six!AU with some Fleetwood Mac-messiness thrown in.

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 8.6K

***

STEVE: Right, so I just start talking into this microphone thing?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, but you need to introduce yourself first.

STEVE: You know who I am, we’ve known each other for—ah, okay, okay sorry. I’m Steve. Harrington, obviously. Former lead singer and guitarist of The Downsides. So, uh, where do I start?

INTERVIEWER: The beginning—tell me about how you first got involved with music.

STEVE: Right, okay, I can do that. I grew up kinda lonely. My dad was this big real estate investor but we lived in Indiana of all places, so he was always traveling. I don’t think I remember him ever being home for more than a month straight growing up… and my mom was there but she wasn’t there, ya know? She drank a lot and spent a lot of time in bed, that sort of thing.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

Your childhood is a lonely one but it’s also a boring and predictable one.

Born in sun-soaked LA to a movie director father and his much younger model wife, two people who didn’t know each other well enough to either love or hate the other. They maintained a similar distance in their marriage as the one they tried to uphold in their individual relationships with you, their child.

So, your infancy was spent in a rotation of different nanny’s arms with your parents’ presence only dotting the periphery of your life. Who could blame them, after all? Infants are so contrived and boring compared to the big, wide, world of art that was Los Angeles in the 1960s.  Your parents were far too busy trying to cement their legacy in the art they created and inspired to spend too much time looking after you.

(Much later in life, you would find yourself wondering if your parents ever saw the irony  in the fact that your art ended up eclipsing their entire existence in the end and their only legacy was that of being your parents.)

As a child, however, you spent little time thinking of legacy and instead spent your time trying to feel less lonely.

***

STEVE: When I was a kid I would wonder why my parents even had me. Sorry, that’s like a total bummer thing to say during an interview. But it’s true. And you said to tell the truth. I never felt wanted by them. Until I got famous, and even then… but that’s not new,  a lot of kids grow up feeling lonely, right?

***

The employees who raised you were nice enough, but they saw you for what you were: a means to an end. A paycheck with big, sad, beautiful eyes that may beget sympathy, but they couldn’t get too close to.  The children you came to meet at your elite California private school seemed palatable enough at first, but the more you interacted with them, the more you found yourself at a loss. It was like they spoke a secret language you did not know—a language of price tags, and ever-changing hierarchies and thinly-veiled insults. One that your mother spoke perfectly, but never bothered to pass down to you.

You end up turning to books instead. The home library your father kept up for appearances’ sakes became your favorite room in the house and your teenage growth spurts were fed by any and all novels you could get your hands on from historical biographies to soapy romances, you read them all.  You loved them all, but you loved poetry the most— emotive and raw in ways you were unfamiliar with. You liked the way the syllables rolled gracefully into one another and how each word served a purpose—compact with meaning and so unlike the people around you who were so careless with their words.

As you began to age, and the meaningless mess of childhood shifted into the sharpness of adolescence, you began to write yourself. One day, somehow you had the idea of putting your poetry to music. If you could write songs good enough to be played on the radio then maybe you could earn people's adoration through your art like your parents had, you reasoned. Maybe you could even earn their adoration. You beg your parents for piano lessons, and they scoff at the thought.  “But what’s the point of having one if no one can play it?” You ask, referencing the piano in the grand foyer.

“That piano is not meant to be played,” your mother explains, slowly, “it’s meant to be admired by our guests.”

She walks away from the conversation before you can even protest.

Instead of giving up, though, you went to the library and borrowed all the books you could on music and piano playing and slowly began to teach yourself. You were not very good, at first, and both your parents made a habit of reminding you whenever they were around to hear you practicing. Luckily, they were rarely around.

***

STEVE: My parents signed me up for every single activity and extra-curricular you can think of: karate, basketball, pottery.   The one that really stuck though, was guitar lessons. Soon, that was the only thing I wanted to do it was something I was actually good at. Not something I had potential in, not something I was passable at. It was something I was good at. My dad did not like the idea of me going into music at first—he wanted me to take on a “manlier” hobby—but even he couldn’t deny that I was talented, and he sent me to this specialized music school in Indianapolis. That’s where I met Robin. That’s when I stopped feeling so alone.

ROBIN: Robin Buckley, brass, bass, and synth for The Downsides.

I met Steve when we were thirteen, I think, at this fancy music school in Indianapolis. I was there on scholarship.  I’m not going to lie, he was obnoxious, but most thirteen-year-old boys are. Even then, though, there was something about him that made everyone want to be his friend. He was also really talented. He never had to work very hard to be good at something, but he worked hard anyway. I hated him at first, but he wore me down and we eventually became best friends.

***

1978

Your music became a good outlet for all your loneliness and anger and disappointment, but it was not a cure for any of those things. You craved friendship and commonality and to be liked beyond the surface.

One day, when you were towards the end of seventeen, you decided to go exploring. You had heard Emily Cooke whispering salaciously in the girls’ bathroom at school about sneaking into the Whiskey A Go-Go to see The Six playing and an idea began to blossom.

Your home was only a walking distance from the Strip, the aptly named piece of street that was lined with clubs and musical venues, so that day, after hearing Emily’s plan you decided to try your luck at the Whiskey. You loved music, after all, and you wanted to be good at it, like the musicians that played there. Plus, there were others that shared those interests and the was a chance that some of them would be more tolerable than Emily Cooke.

You waited in line, by yourself, donning an outfit that you hoped made you look older than you were in an organic, cool way. When you made it to the doorman, you smiled trying to look more confident than pleading. His eyes raked over your body once, then twice and you resist the urge to flinch away. You had known then that you were beautiful—mostly because it was the only thing your mother valued in you— but what you hadn’t known was how far just being beautiful could get you. The doorman had let you in the club, not even questioning when your voice wavered while you had told him you were older than you actually were.

***

ROBIN:   Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Steve was my first kiss.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

ROBIN: Oh, right…. Well, whatever, Steve Harrington was my first kiss. He was also the first person I told that I liked girls. I knew from a really early age that I didn’t find men attractive but when Steve kissed me at our high school dance I had this immediate realization and I sorta burst out, “Steve, I like girls.” It was a really great moment of self-awareness for me—growing up as a girl, they always try to put you in this box of like feminity and being whatever men wanted you to be, including an object to be looked at or pawned over. I didn’t know how being gay fit into all that, until that moment.

I don’t think it was that great of a moment for Steve, though.

STEVE: She told you about that? Well, for the record, it wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it's just when you're a teenage boy and if your first crush admits she's a lesbian moments after you kiss her for the first time, well, it does not do your ego any favors, does it?

***

The moment you walked through that door, your life became severed in two: the before and the after. You watched, from the fringe of the crowd, as Billy Dunne crooned soulfully, and the audience sang his own words back to him.

You briefly imagine yourself on the stage, being someone that people would actually want to come see, someone that people would listen to. Someone people would love.  

***

STEVE: I always knew I wanted to be in music. It was the only thing that ever made sense. Wait, no, that’s not right… It’s the only thing that ever made life make sense. So, I started working at it, like seriously working it at, when I was 16. I bought as many records as I could, figured out what I liked, what I could do, and I practiced all the time. Like all the time. Robin did, too. I would play the guitar and sing, and she was insane on the trumpet and bass. I don’t think we ever sat down and had a conversation about whether we wanted to form a band or even what we wanted for ourselves in the future. We just always knew it was going to be the two of us, and we were going to be making music. Of course, you can’t have a band with only a guitar and a trumpet, so we had to start looking for more members.

***

1980

From that point on, your life had purpose.

You began to study everything about music—obsessively. You collected records, you played the piano until your fingers became cramped and sore or until your mother yelled at you to stop.

You filled notebook after notebook with lyrics, some good, many bad.

But you also kept your eyes on the tabloids and the gossip rags and the fashion magazines. To be a successful musician, you had to be good of course, but you also had to be well-liked. Growing up in the environment you did had given you a very unique perspective on this. Since infancy, you had seen hopeful artists-to-be approach your father for a chance, or ask your mother for advice. The most successful of them were not always the ones who had the best things to say, but those who said what they had to say in the best way.

 You practiced giving fake interviews in front of your mirror and in the shower. You stayed on top of trends and bought the best-fitting clothes. And most importantly, you tried to associate yourself with all the right people.

By the time you turned 18, you were well-known, even beyond the Strip. Photos of you standing next to the bass player/drummer/guitarist/lead singer of whatever band might have been riding a momentary wave of popularity at the time began to appear in tabloid magazines.

Most of them were men. Most of them wanted something out of you. You became a master in the art of giving just enough for them to think they had a chance with you if it meant that you could learn from them or convince them to listen to one of your songs. But every time you would even mention the idea that you wrote music, you would come hit a wall of patronizing, feigned interest followed by a grab at your chest.

Then came Jason Carver. Lead singer of the Letterman’s, Jason Carver. You dated him for a few weeks, right after you had turned 18. He was 25 and just charming enough for you to overlook his frequent condescension. Plus, he had promised that he would teach you a few chords on the guitar.

One day, you had come over to his apartment and he was getting all worked up because the band’s label was on his ass about writing a song and he couldn’t quite get it right. He needed to write a love song, something introspective and sweet but Jason could only churn out party anthems and songs meant to be played in dive bars.

Eventually, after hearing him gripe for what seemed like an eternity, you sent him off to take a shower and in the meanwhile compiled all of his shreds of half-lines and began to work filling in the gaps. Forty minutes later, you had a solid chorus and first verse to present to him for a song you thought should have been called “All At Once”. You thought that this would’ve made him happy, after all, you had gotten him one step closer to a possible song. (And maybe, you had secretly hoped, in all of his gratitude he could be swayed to give you a writing credit on the song).  Instead, he laughed at you like you were a child pretending to do an adult task and asked you to leave with a hasty promise that he would call you later that week. He never called. The hurt you felt was only a pin-prick. Six months later, you heard The Letterman’s on the radio: a new song by them called, “All At Once”. You tried to convince yourself for a moment that there would be no way that Jason could blatantly steal your song after having mocked you for even trying to write. But, boy, were you wrong. Those were, in fact, your lyrics, on the radio. Yes, the band had added another verse but, ultimately, your lyrics were all there. The same lyrics Jason had so easily dismissed six months prior.

That was when you realized if you were going to get ahead in the industry, you were going to have to play dirty, like Jason Carver.

***

 ROBIN: We met Argyle in Chicago. Once we graduated high school Steve and I started working as subs for small bands in the Midwestern circuit. Yes, it was as grim as it sounds, but it paid the bills and helped us meet people. Argyle was the drummer of some Reggae band that needed a bass player for a few weeks when their bassist got arrested on possession charges. I subbed in and was immediately super impressed by his skills. People always underestimated Argyle, to this day, because of the whole vibe he gives off, you know? But he’s smart and adaptable. Anyway, when his bassist lost his case, the band broke up indefinitely and I tried my best to convince Argyle to join Steve and me. There were two of us, we’d never played an official gig, and we didn’t even have a name, but Argyle said yes. Next was Nancy. We held open auditions for a keyboardist once Argyle was onboard. After five passable auditions, Nancy Fucking Wheeler walks in in this long skirt and bows in her hair. She had a book of Debussy sheet music for God’s sake. I almost burst out laughing when I saw her because I thought she must have been lost but then, in true Nancy Wheeler fashion she blew us all away. Ugh, was that woman talented. And gorgeous. Steve’s jaw had to be crane-lifted off the floor, it was love at first sight.

STEVE: It was not. She’s exaggerating.

1980

Ironically, you met Murray Bauman at one of your parents’ parties.

You knew he was a music producer for Starcourt Records because he kept loudly boasting to his date about it. The same Starcourt Records that the Letterman’s were signed on to.

You waited until he was two gin martinis in and standing alone admiring your father’s latest art purchase before you approached.

“Hello,” you said, brandishing a dazzling smile, your whole body angled and ready to perform this familiar dance.

“Aren’t you the producer for the Letterman’s?”

He shot you a grin that borders on swarmy and said, “why yes, I am and you look like you’re out past your bedtime.”

You didn’t react to his statement and instead marched onwards, “I loved their latest song, ‘All At Once’ right? It’s so romantic.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure how Carver popped that one out, he’s a bit of a meathead if you catch my drift.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction before laughing at his own joke.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not surprised to hear that considering I dated him,” your eyes flashed in a way that you hoped came off as dangerous, “and that I wrote that song.”

He regarded you for a moment before breaking out in a laugh. When he saw your expression remained unchanged, he stepped back in assessment.

“Oh shit, you’re being serious.”

You only nodded grimly.

“Okay, well that’s a new one. Usually, girls come up claiming that one of those idiots impregnated them, not this.”

He regarded you again, searching for a trace of a lie. He sighed, “So let’s say that you did write the song, which, knowing what I know about those Neanderthals, I am willing to entertain the possibility of this being at least partially true, then what does that mean? You’re going to blackmail Starcourt? Do you want money?”

You gestured vaguely behind you, sure that he must have known who your parents were. “I don’t need money.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I write music. Obviously. I want to write for your label.”

A grin broke out across his face, “Oh, boy.” He started to laugh: a deep chuckle that floated up from his belly.

“You and every other Joe Schmoe in Hollywood, sweetie.”

“But not every other Joe Schmoe wrote a song for one of your most popular bands.”

Murray regarded you again, he gave you a look you’re all too familiar with. One that says he did not expect such a fight in such an unassuming package.

“Here’s the deal,” you start, taking his brief lapse to pounce, “all I want is for you to take my demo tape and listen to it, like actually listen to it. Do that and we never have to mention this again.”

“And if I say no to your little proposition?”

You smile at his question before offering a small piece of paper, “Then here’s the business card to my lawyer he’ll be reaching out.”

This, puzzlingly, makes the man burst out laughing once again.

“Let me get this straight, you just want me to listen to your tape? That’s the grand blackmailing scheme? No record deal, no music video?”

You shake your head in response, “No, I think my music speaks for itself. I just need to get it in front of the right person.”

Murray’s still chuckling to himself as he extends his hand out signaling for you to drop the tape you are now holding in his hands.

“Fine, but you are one shitty blackmailer.”

You were signed to Startcourt Records a month later.

***

STEVE: Once Nancy joined, we were a band, and so we needed a name. I suggested the Steve Harrington experience but the girls shot me down like, right away. We ended up fighting about names for like an hour. It was actually Argyle who ended up coming up with our name. The Downsides, he had said, since we were all so negative about everything. He had said this after Robin had said I was 'all hair and no brain'. Not the best of origin stories, I guess. But we liked it and that’s how we became The Downsides.

***

NANCY: Nancy Wheeler, former keyboardist for The Downsides.

  I had been playing piano since I was eight, it was just one of those things my parents signed me up for to make me more well-rounded for college applications but I ended up loving it more than they had hoped.

I auditioned for the band on a whim, I was going to Indiana State at the time, getting my teaching degree but I loved playing the piano more than I would ever love being a teacher. To be honest, when I auditioned, I didn’t think they were going to take me, not even after I saw they had another girl in the band. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I had the talent for it, I just didn’t necessarily give off Rock and Roll vibes, but they accepted me anyway.

  I had a feeling Steve liked me from the moment we met, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him then. He’s Steve Harrington for God’s sake. Girls had posters of him up on their walls for the better part of the 80s. I just—I didn’t want people to think I got the spot because I was involved with the lead singer. I wanted people to know that I earned my place through talent. Steve was really disappointed when I turned him down, but he was always really respectful about it.

  That didn’t mean he stopped being interested or that I didn’t feel his eyes on me during every rehearsal in the summer of ‘81.  

1981

Of course, you knew that when you had been signed to Starcourt Records it wasn’t completely because of your talent.

You had started to wonder, however, if Starcourt had given you a shot because they didn't want to risk litigation or maybe because those record execs had seen your name floating around in a magazine or, more importantly, your picture.

The more you thought about it, the more insecure about your place you had felt, like an imposter among others who had earned their spots. But, after one week of rubbing shoulders with the musicians over at Starcourt, you realized that to be able to make it, you were going to have to ooze confidence, even if that confidence was fake.

***

NANCY: We started playing gigs together around the Midwest. In the beginning, we mostly played covers but eventually, we started writing our own music. I’m not a great songwriter and, to be frank, neither is Steve, so a lot of the stuff we were coming up with was pretty simple but it worked for us. We went from playing weddings to actually getting gigs that paid money. I mean it was barely enough to cover gas to get there but it was something. I guess, for the sake of transparency, there is one more thing I have to talk about while we’re talking about this time in the band’s life.

Steve and I spent a lot of time writing music together. It was great, being able to get close. I thought we were becoming friends. He was still a bit hung up, though and one night, when we were up late writing at his tiny apartment, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The next day, I told him that that couldn’t happen again. I gave him my reasons and he respected that but still, I could tell he was crushed. I think that between the kiss and us having this talk, he had begun to hope that something would happen between us.

I think that’s what made me and Jonathan hurt him so much more. 

1982

You didn’t necessarily like Murray when you first began to work with him but you did trust him. In the professional capacity at least. He never tried anything with you, which you appreciated although that bar was abysmally low.

You hadn’t known what to expect on your first day in the studio but you had a feeling that as far as the music was considered, you were in decent hands.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

The moment you had stepped into the studio, Murray had handed you a stack of music, all unfamiliar and definitely nothing you had written.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyes crinkling in confusion.

“A few contenders for an EP. The team over at marketing came up with some branding concepts and this is what we landed on.”

He then pulled out a thick folder overflowing with pictures of what you assumed the studio had wanted to mold you into. It was all bubblegum and teased hair and not at all what you had envisioned.

“Wait, Murray, I don’t understand.  I have a brand, one that I've spent a lot of time curating along. This isn't me and this is definitely not my music.  You said I could sing the music that I’ve written.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Murray hummed, condescendingly, “I never said that.”

“Well, if I can’t sing my music then I just won’t sing at all.” You were the full image of a petulant child, arms crossed and lips dangerously close to a pout.

Murray feigned concern for a moment before hunching down so that he was at eye level with you.

“You signed a contract,” he spoke slowly, “Starcourt owns you, and if you don’t like it, then talk to a judge.”

He turned away from you, leaning against the mixing console. He speaks again after what seems like an eternity.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s ethical or right, but if you want to make it in music, you got to play the game. You can’t come in here, swinging your metaphorical dick around, calling the shots when you haven’t proven you can rake in the dough.

“Sure, you’ve got talent, but who doesn’t? Right now, there’s a line of girls around the block who can sing and write and are probably better at following directions, waiting to take your spot.

"Plus, I read the songs you sent over, you have some good lines but there's not a single song worth attaching Starcourt's name to. Take this as an opportunity to learn, to be better, to actually work for something for the first time in your life. You have nothing right now, so nothing is below you, not even this pop dribble they're giving you to sing.

"I’m not saying it’s always gonna be this way, but you have to prove to them that you can play before they take you seriously, and then if you got what it takes, you can start writing your own music. Hell, if you make them enough money, they’ll let you play the fucking didgeridoo and go out in a nun’s habit… well, maybe not the habit, but the point stands. So, can we stop acting like the spoiled princess we are for just one afternoon and get to rehearsing?”

You snatched the book of songs from his outstretched hand and with a smile on your face, tore it down the middle before stomping off.

It had taken five days of Murray, along with various other executives at Starcourt, pounding on your door at the Chateau Mormont—the hotel that was your permanent residence since you had turned 18— before you had even considered setting foot in Starcourt again.

All it took was a gift basket full of Champagne and half a dozen threatening letters from their legal team.

***

NANCY: Jonathan came on as our second guitarist. I remember when he came to the audition he was this quiet, super shy kid who barely managed to make eye contact, but once he had a guitar in his hands, he had this way of coming alive. He wasn’t a showman like Steve, but he was electric when he played.

We—I never meant for things to turn out the way they did but with Jonathan, it wasn’t much of a choice. I know this sounds so cliche, but we were drawn to each other. I remember, during rehearsals, even before we really knew each other, he and I would lock eyes from across the room and I would know exactly what he was thinking.

Soon, we were sneaking around together. We were getting more and more serious, it was only a matter of time, honestly, before the others found out. Jonathan wanted to come clean early on, he could tell it was causing me so much stress, but I didn’t want to tell anyone else. Part of it, was Steve, of course, but also, what Jonathan and I had felt precious and personal and ours. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had built for ourselves.

Of course, it was Steve and Robin who eventually caught us, making out in Jonathan’s car after rehearsals one day.

To say that Steve took it hard is probably an understatement. He skipped rehearsal for five straight days and when he showed up he had this new song he had written, this ballad called, “Regret You”.

“If I never had you, then why can’t I forget you / I hate myself because I could never regret you.”

Yeah, that was an awkward one to rehearse but, to his credit, it was a great song. It was the song that got us noticed.

1982

You had spent months recording your first EP, a five-song collection the studio had decided to name “The Setlist”. It was meant to be a play on your groupie status, or at least that’s what some intern over in the marketing department had claimed, a little too proud of himself for your liking.

While you couldn't ignore the sense of accomplishment that bubbled below the surface, you mostly felt empty. 

The whole thing made you think of your father, whom you hadn't spoken to in years but had a very staunch view on artistic integrity. He despised artists who 'carelessly churned out poor imitations of real art for money'.  "To make art is as close as one can get to being god," he had explained to you once, with self-important tears in his eyes, "why would anyone sell that off? Art should mean something to the artist. Otherwise, they are a peddler of fake divinity." 

Your father had never had to worry about money a day in his life. 

That empty feeling was only exacerbated when, the Friday after you had officially finished recording, Murray had invited you to lunch with a particular proposition in mind.

“No, Murray, not gonna happen. Over my dead body and all that,” you spat from across the table.

“Listen, I don’t want to pull the contract card on you, but I will,” he warned with no real heat as he swirled his gin martini in one hand.

“Nice try,” you mirrored his pose, martini and all, “but the contract doesn't cover this, only original work. Not duets. You know that, I know that, so why don’t you try again and give me one good reason why I would even consider a duet with The Letterman’s.”

Murray gave you a look you had come to familiarize yourself with—one that was equal measures of pride and annoyance. It was the look he gave you whenever you bested him.

“How about the fact that they’re one of the hottest acts right now and being on a track with them would guarantee you a spot on the charts which is a great place to be at any point in time, but especially when you’re about to release an EP?”

Your face dropped in the way it only did when you knew Murray was right about something you didn’t want him to be right about. A look he had been starting to familiarize himself with.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but I want to spend as little time as possible with Jason. He’s a pompous ass.” “No disagreements there, sweetheart.”

The day you were scheduled to record with Jason and the rest of his band, he was an hour late. You hadn’t doubted for a moment he had done this on purpose.

When he finally had shown, he pretended not to know you, a game you had quickly caught on to, and made sure to respond with, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jackson” after he made a show of introducing himself to you which made the rest of his band and Murray guffaw.

Jason narrowed his eyes at you, his voice struggling to stay level, and said, “Watch it. We’re the ones doing you a favor here, remember?”

“I did you one first,” you responded, your eyes meeting his gaze, “remember?”

It had taken 20 minutes for his bandmates to calm him down, but eventually, the two of you got into the booth.

Your only priority had been to do your best job in as few takes as possible because you did not know how much longer you could tolerate being in Jason’s presence.

In the end, after a two-hour session, Murray had sent you both home, either happy with the finished product or at his wit’s end with the tension. Either way, three weeks later you had a duet with The Letterman’s called “It Was You” and just as Murray had predicted, it was quick to climb the charts.

You were getting noticed.

***

NANCY: Not long after Steve wrote “Regret You” we got noticed by a scout from Starcourt Records. I think at first we thought it was some sort of scheme, but it was legit. They had us record a few demos and in something like six months, they moved us to a house in Culver City.

The whole thing had felt like some sort of fever dream. I had to quit school and tell my parents. They didn’t even know I was in a band. Or seeing anybody. Needless to say, they didn’t take any of it well. When we got to LA, we did more test recordings and they even had us playing some shows at a few clubs on the strip.

Like I said: total fever dream.

But, when you’re under the thumb of a label like that, there are certain stipulations. One of the first things they told us was that they wanted to make our sound more modern and pop. We kinda

had an alternative, experimental sound back then. They said synth was going to be the new thing so they wanted Robin to learn how to play the synthesizer which meant that on certain songs, Jonathan would have to take over for bass. Also, they wanted Steve to be more of a frontman and less of a guitar player. Steve could always work a crowd, and they wanted to use that, especially with this new sound they had envisioned for us. All of this meant we needed another guitar player and, believe it or not, the label already knew who that was going to be. Eddie Munson.

***

EDDIE: Okay, here we go.

 I’m Eddie Munson, lead guitar for The Downsides.

 I  grew up trailer trash in some town that no one’s ever heard of. My mom died when I was eight and my dad was in and out of jail pretty much my entire life--well, until those royalty checks started rolling in, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

  People always use the dead mom/jailbird dad thing to either turn me into a sob story or villainize me, so I generally tend to avoid talking about it but since it's you, I'll say this: the thing I remember most about my mother is her absence and there is not a single redeeming thing about ole' Munson Sr. but I don't think they're responsible for any of the ways I've fucked up over the years. Nah, kid, that was all me.

Let’s get to the good stuff, shall we?

At the tender age of ten, I was gifted an old beat-up guitar by my uncle. Clearly, something he had picked up at the local Goodwill to try and keep me occupied and out of trouble. The neighbors hated us after. They hated us, even more, when it turned out that I could actually play.

When I was 18, Uncle Wayne got the idea that I was ready to commit to a life of indentured servitude over at the factory and that did not sit well with me, at all. I wanted to be a musician. But, instead of talking to him about it, you know, like a rational person? I just ran.

I sold my van and got a one-way ticket to LA. The metal scene was starting to pop up on the strip and music—metal—was the only thing I was good at, so I thought, ‘what the hell!’ and booked it. I slummed it for a few months and then, through some stroke of luck, I heard about a band that was auditioning for a new guitar player since their last one got hitched and quit. The Metal Gods smiled down on me the day of the audition because that same afternoon they called me back and told me they wanted me on as lead guitar.

1982

“It Was You”, your duet with The Letterman’s peaked at number 6 on Billboard’s Top 100 in October of 1982.

Suddenly, everyone wanted you to be featured in their songs. Your EP did well enough, but it didn’t even crack the top 30. That didn’t keep you from being the hot new thing on the scene and a

huge part of that was your reputation.

Of course, people knew who you were because of your groupie days, and you unintentionally built a reputation for being romantically involved with different musicians. So, when you broke out on the scene with a romantic duet, people started talking, and the tabloids began to spin stories about you and Jason being romantically linked which only caused a buzz for the song. You, of course, hated this and vehemently denied being involved with Jason to anyone who would listen. Jason, meanwhile, played it coy with the press, only fueling the rumors and your rage.

“Listen, I hate the guy as much as you do, sweetheart, but you got to respect the strategy,” Murray had said after hearing you gripe about one particularly salacious headline.

Before the year was through, you had been featured in five other duets. All with male artists. All resulting in more and more outlandish dating rumors. And all enjoying a lengthy stay on the top of the charts.

Starcourt had begun to push you to take it a step further and Brenner had asked for Murray to arrange outings between you and whatever male artist you were collaborating with. The meetings—you refused to call them dates—were always somewhere that was strategically public, somewhere where there was always at least one paparazzi with their cameras locked and ready. The pictures they would take would always make it to at least one gossip magazine, which resulted in even more publicity for the song.

Your partners—you refused to call them dates—were, at their best, cordial and business-like, one or two of them even asked for your permission before holding your hand. At their worst, though, they were handsy, entitled, and rude. None of them ever tried to ask you out on a real date and you weren't sure what that said about you.

Soon you were racking up duets and notoriety in equal measures. Radio DJs would make jokes about you every time they would play one of your songs—and they played your songs a lot. Once, while you were walking around Rodeo, a woman stopped you in the middle of the street and told you, very brazenly, that you needed to stop sleeping around so much. Before you could even tell her off, though, she proceeded to gush about how much she loved your duet with The Letterman's.

It seemed like everyone seemed to see you in a similar light though: they thought you were some sort of despicable maneater but all they wanted was more of a reason to talk about how you were a despicable maneater.

Murray had his work cut out for him, “We just need to find a way for you to have this same buzz all the time.”

***

EDDIE: Things started to pick up with Corroded Coffin. We were playing shows pretty much every night.  As I said, metal was on the rise and we were at the forefront. Eventually, record label bigwigs had no choice but to acknowledge that.

Some of them got smart and started poaching bands early on, like Starcourt. Corroded Coffin signed with them in ‘82. We thought we were hot shit after that.

There’s a certain lifestyle that goes along with that, though, you know? A reputation that you have to uphold.

I'm not trying to make excuses for myself here, trust me. I'm just...trying to explain myself.

People always love to talk shit. They'll call you all sorts of names before they see you as an actual person. Trust me, I would know. But, these interviews are an opportunity to set the record straight, to finally be seen as an actual person.

So, there I was, a nineteen-year-old kid from Bumfuck nowhere, finally making it big, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere--like for the first time I wasn't a freak whose mom died or some trailer trash high school dropout--of course, I was gonna get swept up in it all. Of course, I was going to start picking up the bad habits and doing drugs. There was no one there to tell me otherwise.

It started out as something to get us through the madness that was our schedule: between the live shows and the studio time, we needed uppers just to keep us on our feet. Then, obviously, you needed the downers so you could fucking relax because the uppers made you so tense. 

I stopped enjoying the drugs pretty early on, but at that point quitting wasn't something that I was willing to put that much effort into. 

1983

The first time someone asked for your autograph, you were at a show at Whiskey a Go Go. Murray, acting as a sort of manager, had set up a photo opp with Charles Riva, your latest duet partner. He hadn’t shown that night but you never walked away from a live show.

Two girls, not much younger than you, appeared behind you as you were ordering at the bar and tapped you on the shoulder.

“See, I told you it was her,” the shorter one, a strawberry blonde with severe bangs whispered excitedly to her friend, a taller brunette.

Before you could ask either of them exactly what they wanted, the strawberry blonde spoke again, “Can we have your autograph?”

You could only nod dumbly as they handed you a cocktail napkin and a pen. You tried to think of something meaningful to write, but in your shock, could only come up with “Best wishes, xoxo”. You didn’t even ask them their names. The best you could do was offer to buy them a drink, which they happily accepted.

You regretted the offer as soon as you registered how young they looked underneath all that makeup, an observation that made you unsettlingly sad. You were reminded of your first days on the Strip: lonely and young and wanting someone to notice you for the right reasons.

Your thoughts became too heavy to deal with at that particular moment and you abruptly excused yourself, leaving the two confused girls behind. A shame, you thought to yourself, in another life you might’ve all been friends, but no one really wants to be your friend these days. They just want to tell people they’re your friends. Walking away saves everyone the disappointment.

You needed a drink.

By the time the main act had taken the stage, your vision had started to haze at the edges as a result of the multiple drinks you had procured for yourself. You watched, half-interested as a band you’d never heard of, Corroded Coffin took the stage, your eyes tracing after each member, eyeing the things only a fellow musician would: the models of equipment they had, the way the band queued each other up.

You didn't know enough about metal yet to know whether you'd consider yourself a fan or not but even with the little familiarity you have, you can tell this band is good. Their playing is unpolished but overflowing with energy and the crowd is feeding into it, screaming the lyrics along with the lead singer.

All of it reminds you of your first show at the Strip—what seemed ages ago—and that memory summons a whole other thought entirely: the reason that you had gotten into music was to actually make music you liked, not to be a topic of discussion in a gossip magazine, getting no say in the music you created.

You don't even remember the last time you had even written a lyric.

You think to yourself that maybe you should wander backstage after the show, like you once did and talk to the band. Maybe you could pick their brains about songwriting. They clearly didn’t care about mass appeal if they were making metal music which means they were probably doing it for the art.

At the very least they probably had a decent stash of pills.

Either way, it would be worth it.

***

EDDIE: It was pretty much love, at first sight, the moment I saw her in the crowd that night at Whiskey a Go Go. I remember seeing her for the first time halfway through our set and it was like I went blind for a moment. I had completely forgotten what I was doing, I think I even missed a cue. After the show, I made a beeline for the bar where she was standing, trying to act as cool as I could but I was shitting it.

***

Once that band had wrapped up, you made your way to the dressing rooms. You maneuvered to the dressing rooms like you had dozens of times before, but the band wasn’t there.

You milled about for a bit, before growing bored and leaving wondering if maybe they had seen you coming and left.

***

EDDIE: I ordered a drink just as an excuse to get closer and it worked. She was even more beautiful up close and so, so kind. Told me she loved our show and even pointed out specific guitar solos of mine that she liked. She always had a way of making you feel special like that. Chrissy Fucking Cunningham. Even her name was perfect, not a syllable too few or too many.

I asked her for her number that night and we went on a date two days later, I could hardly keep it.

together having to wait two days to see her again. Then, after a few weeks, we were going steady, as the kids say. It was perfect. I never really had anyone to myself, you know? She was the first person that ever made me feel seen and cared about.

I remember one time; she was hanging out at my place while the band was in the studio. When I came back, she had done all my laundry. When I asked her why she had done that, she just said “I dunno, just because” then, all of a sudden there were tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like that for me “just because".

My life had never been better--so of course, I fucked it up.

***

While you did not manage to meet Corroded Coffin, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, even days later. It was like seeing them play had awoken you from a daze you didn’t even know you had been in.

You spend a few days getting incredibly drunk by the pool after that. But no matter how much you drank or how many pretty dresses you bought yourself or how many pill you took, you could not shake the feeling.

A few mornings later, you had called Murray, “This stops now, Murray. No more duets or features or whatever else. I want to meet with Brenner. I want to do this my way.”

Murray, not used to being awake so early, gave a weak attempt at talking you down.

“No,” you urged on, “you said once I started making money, I could have a say. Well, now I’m making money and I’m tired of Starcourt just using me for that. So, I want something permanent and I want to write my own music, got it?”

“You have a contract,” Murray parroted back, half-heartedly.

“Yes, I do, and I plan to honor that contract but so help me God I will make life a living hell for you and for Brenner and any other exec that tries to get me to do another duet with Jason fucking Carver. In fact, I will find a way to lose Starcourt money if you don’t get me out of this. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Great, I’ll see you at lunch Murray.”

He signed, “See you then.”

***

EDDIE: My drug use was getting more out of hand. Chrissy hated it, but I couldn't bring myself to quit. Especially the things that I thought I needed to make it through the day.

Chrissy was a saint throughout the whole thing, until one night when she caught me in the dressing room of Whiskey with a girl who was not her. She walked away and I don’t really blame her. Out of all the regrets of my life—and trust me, kid—that was one of the biggest.

She moved out that day and refused to take my calls, moved in with one of her friends and I spent days just calling her, sending her flowers, the works.

She told me she wouldn’t budge unless I got clean. So, I checked myself into rehab. She was a good enough reason to quit. 45 days later, I checked out, clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Chrissy was gone though, I had no clue where she had disappeared to, but wherever she went, she didn’t want me to find her.

On top of that, my band was fucking pissed. I left the band for 45 days without telling anyone, right as we were finishing recording our debut album. Yeah, they weren’t happy. I was in something called “breach of contract” with the suits over at record label and they wanted to take me to court, and not the Star kind.

I definitely didn’t have lawsuit type of money back then, so it was in my best interest to work something out with Starcourt and jump back on fulfilling my contract. Problem was, Corroded Coffin didn’t want me back anymore, even though the guy they replaced me with wasn’t half as good as I was.

I thought that because my old band didn’t want me, that meant that I would be free of my contract. I was wrong. What actually happened was that my fate was then put into Starcourt’s hands and they could place me in whatever podunk production or band they wanted. They owned my ass.

And that’s how I ended up with The Downsides.

PLAY NEXT TRACK

[mitzymossy33]

Jinx is my comfort character, here’s why;

So, ima be real with y’all for a second , I’m nit someone who likes to go on and on about trauma and dump my issues into other people, but I feel the need to post this, before we start, TW for mental illness, SA, childhood trauma, etc. Read at your own risk. So, Jinx, is my comfort character, and you may be asking why? While I don’t have schizophrenia or schitzo-affective disorder or anything else that would enable me to have hallucinations, Unless you account taking 12 melatonin gummies in one night, (I did that ONE time, ONE, okay?). But anyways, enough with the jokes, while I personally don’t have hallucinations, my mom did. A little backstory, my mom has pretty severe mental issues stemming from lots of childhood trauma, first off, SA, her dad left, she started smoking and doing drugs at like 11, got sent to a CATHOLIC boarding school labeled for troubled girls in the 80s-90s (you can tell how that went down) and whole lot of other stuff. Anyways, yeah, a lot. That’s why I feel for Jinx so much, her hallucinations, where erratic behavior, everything, because it feels so real, I’ve seen a bit of discussion on whether or not Jinx is a good representation f mental illness and I have to advocate for yes, I’ve seen first-hand what mental illness and trauma can do to a person, and it is not pretty. I remember days when I my mom used to hold me and ‘I can’t see you, I can’t see you’ and at the time I didn’t think much of it, but now that I understand what she went through, my stomach churns thinking about it. Most of my life my face probably looked distorted to her, even my dad’s did. Imagine a world where you can’t see the faces of your loved ones. Anyways, I appreciate the realism of Jinx, the delusions, the hallucinations, the mood swings, the impulsivity, everything, it’s just portrayed so tastefully and I could not be more grateful, with a lot of ‘crazy characters’ for example Harley Quin in the Birds of Prey movie, well, yes, she’s supposed to be crazy, she lacks actual mental illness, or it’s just played for laughs. It feels shallow. Watch a few Harley Quin scenes where she’s supposed to be acting unstable and you’ll see what I mean. The problem with the manic pixie dream girl, is that she lacks, well, mania. With Jinx, we see that, we don’t just see ‘oh haha crazy=funny=sexy’ we see her struggle, it’s scary, terrifying, all the other characters have to walk on eggshells often so she doesn’t go off the rails, like in the dinner scene, they all know one wrong move and someone ends up dead, and someone did. She flinches and reacts at hallucinations, which to others may seem odd, but it was the same with my mother, she would always grunt and put her arms up in a defensive position, reliving that pain, and that trauma over and over again. It’s genuinely sad, but unfortunately, you can’t just have someone be fixed, it’s a tragic reality, and that’s why Jinx’s behavior feels like a lunch in the gut.

Another thing is Jinx’s identity thing, and while my mom didn’t start going by a new name, I personally relate to it, you see, because of my mom’s mental illness, and me being homeschool by her until sixth grade, it caused me to not have the best childhood myself. After I got out, and started processing and realizing what happened, I wanted to escape, I did this through maladaptive daydreaming, escaping into my own world where I was a new person, free of of what happened, someone who went through much worse and still came out on top, and that gave me comfort, because if she could do it, why couldn’t I? Anyways, at my worst in my mental health, this got taken to a new extreme, I started hating my birth name, wanting to separate myself from it and be a new person entirely, I went Cass, Cassie, Cassandra, and Moss, until I settled on Mossy. It was my way of reclaiming my freedom, saying that I wasn’t that same little girl who was so isolated that covid felt like nothing changed. That I wasn’t that little girl who had to listen as my mom had mental breakdowns, as my parents relentlessly fought, as my mom shook me and told me god’s an A-hole. It was a separation of identity, kill the past, embrace the future. And while I don’t hate my birth name anymore, I still choose to go by Mossy online for sake of privacy, as well as it just being my nickname. I feel the need for freedom from the Jinx and Powder thing. I love how realistic Jinx is, and I can only wish for her to have a happy ending, even though that is extremely unlikely. But, if you stuck it out this far, thank you for sticking around and I hope you didn’t mind my bit of trauma-dumping, just really wanted to pour my personal views and experiences into the amazing show that is Arcane!

Anyways, I hope you like my analysis, I wanted to go more in depth, but my memory was fogging up due to my brain blocking out what happened. Maybe I’ll edit this or update it somewhere in the future, but for now, this is what I got.

[largemandrill]

d twins and rogier 🫵

Thank you I have many thoughts about them.

Rogier

Favorite thing: His mental illness, obviously. There’s so many things wrong with him that are also things that are wrong with me. He’s just like me fr (bad thing)

Least favorite: I’m gonna be so vulnerable right now but his outfit is so fugly. Like, he rocks it, but it is HELL to draw and I personally rank characters in my head by how fun they are to draw. I love him enough to try though.

Favorite line: I like it when he full on admits that the Tarnished terrifies him. We are very scary and he’s just a little guy. He knows the only thing keeping the Tarnished from murder is that they have a little crush on him lol.

brOTP: Rogier doesn’t have real friends, He only knows how to abandon people after he’s convinced himself that they hate him. However, I do see the relationship with the player Tarnished as the only platonic thing he’s got going on. They are buddies and he’s not used to that. He can’t leave this one behind because he physically cannot move, and that’s probably for the best tbh.

OTP: you know who I am.

nOTP: Honestly I don’t really have nOTPs. Rogier is slutty enough that you can throw him at anyone and it can work. I guess I’m not too privy on when people portray him and Fia with anything close to a healthy relationship, but that’s not the ship itself’s fault.

Random Headcanon: He’s so transgender you could never understand.

Unpopular opinion: Not unpopular within our particular circle, but with the community as a whole. He’s a pathetic little weasel of a man with sad eyes and undiagnosed mental disorders. I love him but therapy can’t fix him.

Songs I associate: Should be noted that I can make any song about him if I try hard enough. The main ones that remind me of him are We are not friends by S, Bag of Bones by Silversun Pickups, Wine and Wheat by Madds Buckley, and Liar by Arcadian Wild.

Pic: This tiny guy from the manga

Darian

Favorite thing: His strong arms that can carry me into the sunset. And probably also his reflexive need to care for others to the point where he would probably die for a complete stranger.

Least favorite: Not his fault but again with that fucking OUTFIT. I love it aesthetically but my wrist hurts even thinking about drawing it.

Favorite Line: I love how much a jokester he is once you join Gurranq. Like when he tells you to not let him starve to death is so funny to me. He trusts you enough to joke and that makes me emotional tbh.

brOTP: In my mind, he and Nepheli are actually really good buddies. They’re both adopted by not great dads and they value other’s lives above all else. Also they probably drink together.

OTP: I’m not going into him and Rogier rn because that would take a full hour to write down. I’m just a man.

nOTP: I can’t see him with a woman, I’m so sorry self-shippers. It doesn’t gross me out, but it doesn’t register as realistic in my mind. He’s gay, that’s a golden order mandate.

Random Headcanon: He wouldn’t be a great dad, but he would be one of the best dads out of the male cast of this game. Really a tallest dwarf situation.

Unpopular opinion: He’s never been wrong about anything that wasn’t related to the Golden Order tbh. The skeletons are an issue and he’s one of the only people equipped to properly deal with them.

Songs I associate: If a song is about Catholic guilt it’s immediately about him. Take me to Church is legally his theme song.

Fav pic: my profile picture/phone background, obviously.

Devin

Favorite thing: His rabies

Least favorite: I wish he had more screen time. I know that’s so his speech is more impactful, but I still wanna see him more.

Favorite Line: His iconic slutshaming moment. Good for him tbh.

brOTP: Him and me in real life. We’d be chill.

OTP: I physically cannot imagine Devin having any romantic interests for some reason. He’s not really a person in his head so maybe he believes that he’s incapable of love or something. I have many Devin thoughts.

nOTP: see above

Random Headcanon: I genuinely believe he could be a pretty good musician if he pushed himself. He looks like Kurt Cobain I had to make that joke somewhere.

Unpopular opinion: I know I say he’s a freak, but he’s actually just a grieving little guy. His mouth is foaming and his eyes are filled with tears.

Song I associate: Moon Waltz by Cojim Dip. I dunno the vibe is just correct.

Favorite image: All fan art of him is great. I don’t have a specific pic for him lol.

[stitched-mouth]

TALK TO ME SPOILERS

Just watched Talk To Me, loved it. First horror movie in a while that actually scared me, that being said though it was VERY predictable.

And I don’t think it needs a sequel. Like a sequel would just be telling the exact same story with different characters, not interesting. If they could make a story continuing from Mia’s perspective as a ghost I’d love it though. But that’s a nearly impossible story to write.

Also one specific thing that I loved about this movie is how using the hand and temporarily connecting to spirits is framed like drug use. It’s the new drug teens use at parties and get hooked on and I just kinda loved that connection. Although I do see some people hating it as it is very cringy to see teens using drugs at party in movies but I think it was handed very well here.

And how the end references the beginning with the dying kangaroo. Mia is heavily encouraged to put the kangaroo out of it’s misery but opts not to, and kinda cruelly leaves it dying on the side of the road. But when she is encouraged to put her close friend out of their misery, she goes for it and things end badly for her. I strongly think she did actually try to kill Riley but had no control of her body anymore and when she throw Riley onto the road, she actually threw herself. Not her opting to throw herself after being unable to kill her close friend. She didn’t chicken out this time and it ended badly for her. It makes me think the writers have an issue with putting people and animals out of their misery, especially since Riley survives this and makes a full recovery. It’s like the writers are saying even if someone is on death’s doorstep they can still very much so recover and if you try to or actually put someone out of their misery, karma will get you. I don’t really believe in this message but I like that they had a message in there that explained the dying kangaroo in the beginning.

And I loved the bad ending. I want to see more protagonists end up as ghosts in the end. I don’t know why, it’s just a cool uncommon concept. That being said, I did feel very extremely bad for Mia and kinda wished she had a better ending.

Maybe this is a controversial opinion, but I hated Jade. She turns her back on Mia so quickly and never seemed like a good friend anyway. Also she treats her brother like shit. Like girl he’s 15, if you’re going to do ‘drugs’ in front of him you don’t get to act surprised if he asked to join in. And you can’t physically stop him, like he’s 15 and I know you started doing that shit at his age. Also how she just stood by looking all sad when her boyfriend was being humiliated. No wonder why he hates you touching him. Why did the writers make Jade so unlikeable?

Also Sue, I think she was straight up abusing and neglecting those kids. Mia seemed like she was parenting both Jade and Riley in the beginning of the movie; until she started playing with ghosts and Sue has the audacity to blame Mia. Like she wasn’t the hired babysitter, she is a teenager and your daughter’s best friend why are you leaving her to parent your kids?? And acting like she’s responsible when one gets hurt?? Like Sue can be mad at Mia was partying with her kids when she made it clear she didn’t want a party but she should be mad at all the teens for being irresponsible. Not solely mad at Mia as if it was her job to keep her kids out of trouble.

Wish Max had more screen time, cause his character made NO sense. But I was real sad when he got stabbed. Like he was running to help his daughter, found her in the same way he found his wife when she died and then she stabbed him 😭😭😭😭😭 I almost started crying in the cinema. He also looked a lot like my own Dad, who I have a complicated relationship with, so his and Mia’s relationship felt so similar to me and my Dad and it hurt

I was simping for Hayley for a lot of the movie. And I’m once again questioning my sexuality thanks to them. I’m hoping to see Zoe Terakes in a lot more movies, I’ve heard they are already well known in Australia but this was my first time seeing them so again I hope to see them again. I’m really disappointed the whole movie was ban in Kuwait just because the actor is gender non conforming. We still have transphobia in 2023? Wow.

(Credit to @louxkate for the gif)

edit: just found out I’m not the only one simping for Hayley’s actor, Zoe Terakes, which makes me feel better about not understanding my sexuality.

gonna go see this movie a second time now.

[linaisfunny]

Hot take of the week; The castle swimmer fandom hates on Susca WAY TO MUCH and liked Shoal WAY TO MUCH.

Okay, hear me out. Both Susca and Shoal are written incredibly realistic. They’re not perfect at all, they have flaws, they have faults and regrets. However, i see people scorn and hate Susca to an extreme amount and I think it’s completely unfair to hate HER if you like Shoal.

Susca not only lies to her people, she almost kills the Beacon to protect her sons life. She would willing kill and lie to protect Siren. Ask any parent and they’d say, “Yes, I’d do anything to protect my child.”

Pim threatens her castle’s leaders because they were mistreating Pagoon and left with him.

Mucku gives up her memories to protect Neth.

So why are we hating Susca for trying to protect Siren?

“But Susca tried to kill Kappa!!! She lied to Siren!!! She hurt him!!”

If you had a child, would you rather have them killed by a stranger or kill that stranger to protect them?

She did lie. She lied to everyone. But not for her own sake of being. She didn’t lie to comfort herself or because she could bare seeing people get hurt, she lied to protect her child.

But so did Shoal.

“Did I really leave to find a way to break our curse? Or was it too much of a coward to stay and watch our people die because of our decision?”

Shoal lied. Both he and Susca made the prophecy up. If you hate on Susca for putting Siren under pressure, you should also hate on Shoal for doing it to. It’s both their faults.

Susca hurt Siren on complete accident. Siren was the one to jump in front of her spear. And after she told that castle what she did and owned up to her mistakes and would have accepted being banished. She got insanely good character development.

But what did Shoal do?

He abandoned both his wife and son. He is, by definition, a deadbeat dad. Yes Susca made mistakes but she owned up to them and apologized and let Siren leave and accepted that Kappa and Siren love each other.

Shoal wasn’t even there to see Siren turn ten!

Shoal uses excuse after excuse to try and say he made the right choice and that leaving his wife and child behind was excusable. It wasn’t.

Yes, he does regret it, but what does he do to show his remorse for abandoning his family? Stay gone.

He had ten years to come back. He never did. He even admits the real reason he left is because he couldn’t bare to see his people get hurt because of his decision.

“Did I really do this to save Siren? Or did I abandon him because it’s to painful to stay by his side?”

Yes, Shoal, you abandoned your son.

I think the only reason people like him is because he’s attractive and he’s shown to love Siren.

But how much can you truly love someone, if you abandoned them because you couldn’t handle emotional turmoil?

Shoal does regret leaving, but never comes back? Back to his wife or son? Or his people?

He forces Susca to become not only a Queen, but a single mother raising the child Shoal couldn’t bare to stay around because it was to painful and forces Siren, who was nine at the time, to lose his father and go through life without a father.

Imagine the abandonment issues Siren must have because of Shoal. Most Sharks die for their family, Shoal left his.

Shoal is never shown to have any character development at all. He doesn’t change from the sad, deadbeat dad he was ten years ago.

Susca changes into a much more responsible and mature women and admits her mistakes and accepts if Siren never wants to see her again.

What did Shoal ever do for Siren that was for only his benefit?

Susca is a liar but Shoal is a coward.

Hate on Susca all you want, but remember that she was the one who stayed.

Susca was the one who stayed. Shoal wasn’t.