#also remembering the fact my dad's wife hates me for existing :// like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quixoticall · 4 months

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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

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Eddie Munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #steve harrington #rockstar!eddie Munson #past!eddie x chrissy #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers

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atonalginger · 3 months

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It's Snippet Sunday! What a fun day! Thanks for the tag @therealgchu, @silurisanguine (on discord), and everyone else who urged folks to share. I will also urge those who see this and have something they've been working on to consider picking a small peek, just a snippet ;)

Anyway this snippet comes from Reclaiming Home, my DocCoe fic that has been slow to get off the ground after that spicy explosion of a first chapter. ...they needed some rest...lol

TW for discussions of past emotional abuse, attempted kidnapping. Placed under a "read more" cut

“It’s fine, Sam,” Jamie chuckled, “it’s not a secret.”

“Then why is he acting like it is?” Cora motioned at her dad.

“It used to hurt to think about it,” Jamie admitted, “but that was a long time ago.”

“So I am being nosy,” Cora frowned.

“No, you’re curious. Being nosy would be snooping and digging where you didn’t belong even after being told to drop it,” Jamie reached out and smoothed a stray curl back into place, “Fox took me away from Dodgewood when he did to save me from our parent’s plans for me.”

“What were the plans,” Cora leaned in.

“To stop me from being independent. My mom found out I’d been working with the history teacher at the school, filling out college apps and applying for financial aid. Neither of my parents wanted me going to college because, to them, that wasn’t meant for me. They were saving for Jasper’s college and were banking on Fox’s time in the militia to pay for his higher education.”

“But why not? You’re a genius!” Cora exclaimed.

Jamie let out a quiet laugh. She said it didn’t hurt anymore but the truth chewed a raw spot on her heart, “because my success would draw attention and they didn’t want that. They didn’t like people remembering I existed because it meant they had to act like they liked me.”

“But…” Cora stopped herself, absorbing what Jamie had said, “what were they going to do?”

“Dad knew a freight pilot from Hopetown who had a son a few years older than me looking for a wife. Wanted to move to Akila hoping to find better work. So my dad offered the guy a job on the farm and he and mom started working on convincing me he was just perfect for me. They hoped to browbeat me into marrying him, getting rooted in Dodgewood, and continue to be their little maid.”

“Oh, their those people,” Cora said quietly.

Her response made Jamie chuckle a little harder, “Yes they are.” “I don’t get it, it’s the 24rd century, people!” Cora threw up her hands.

“For some traditions and personal believes run deeper than any fact could hope to sway,” Jamie looked up to Sam. He was now standing behind Cora, leaned against a locker watching his girls with that worried look he wore so often nowadays. She looked back to Cora, “but Fox learned about their plans from Jasper, who was so excited to see my dreams crushed he couldn’t keep mom and dad’s secret. Baby brother’s animosity for me is what saved me in the end.”

“He wasn’t worried about you like Fox?” Cora asked.

“No, Jasper hated me with a fiery passion. As soon as they could get away with it my parents dumped all parenting responsibilities onto me. ‘Good practice’ they called it, for when I one day had my own.” Jamie looked over to the desk and took a deep breath, “I didn’t let him do every little impulsive thing his potato brain thought up and so he hated me.”

Cora’s hug caught Jamie off guard, causing her to jump slightly as the girls arms wrapped around her. She turned and hugged Cora back, rocking them back and forth slightly. Into her shoulder Cora asked, “so that why you both changed your names and kept lots of details vague in your writing.”

“Partly,” Jamie nodded and gave Cora one more little squeeze before sitting up, “We hadn’t planned it initially. We hoped some distance and time would give us a chance to prove to them it was the right call. Fox was the golden one, he did no wrong in their eyes, so he hoped he’d be able to convince them. But we learned fairly quickly how wrong we were on that front.

“Family came out of the woodwork to let us know what horrible children we were. Luckily by boss at the Rock was able to get security to keep an eye out for me when Fox and your dad were out of town. But even that started to fail and it’s one of the reasons I abruptly left the city. I couldn't risk my move being discovered by our family too soon.”

“What’s they do?” Sam asked, a heat on his words, his blue eyes burning as he looked down, hiding them from his girls.

“My Univeralist Uncle showed up with the potential suitor asking around for me, introducing the guy to others as my fiancé. People who knew me or your dad knew that was bogus but that didn’t stop the talk and then a few days before I left town they accosted me near the Rock. Deputy Monroe, well deputy at the time, he interceded and I was able to slip into the Rock but I knew I couldn’t stay after that.” A low growl rumbled in Sam’s throat. They’d need to talk about it later, when Cora went to bed. About why she never said anything.

“Seems like a lot of work when they could have just let you go,” Cora said as she sat back down. She held onto Jamie’s hand, seeming to want to keep some tether to her.

“It was embarrassing and reputation meant everything to them.” Jamie said with a tired smile, “Us leaving Dodgewood was the talk of the settlement when it happened. It’s a tiny settlement in the ass end of nowhere, it was all people talked about for a weeks. Speculation over why it happened and talk about how dramatic it looked: Fox had come home for a week of leave, was seen talking to Jasper near the spaceport, stormed home, and within an hour we were spotted loading into the militia transport he landed with and were gone. And we never came back. It was juicier than any shows they could download.”

“But couldn’t they see they were hurting you?” Cora asked.

“They didn’t care about my feelings on the matter, sweetheart,” Jamie said softly, “there are people in this world who only care about themselves. Everything they do is in service of making themselves look good to others. The jobs they take, the friends they make, the families they have, all of has the end goal of making people like them and nothing else. Most people won’t pick up on it because they aren’t personally affected by it, they’ll only see the good deeds, the kind words, the selfless charity.

“But that also means nothing can ever go wrong. Nothing can ever look out of place for them, because if it does it will let people see other cracks in their facade.” Jamie gave Cora’s hand a pat, “they wanted me to come back so they could say, ‘look everyone, we’re still a happy family and everything is fine’. As time went on and I completed my degrees, changed my last name, started making a name for myself in the Starfield, they backed off more and more because those that knew I was their daughter praised them for my success, making them look good. And those that didn’t know my family couldn’t judge them anymore.”

“Ew,” Cora scrunched her nose, “they tried to lock you away and then got to brag about your successes?

“Yup,” Jamie nodded, “and agreed, Ew.”

“Why not put them on blast? Tell everyone exactly what they did? Make sure they can’t steal your successes for themselves?” Cora asked.

“I’ve considered it,” Jamie admitted, “and every time I get close to doing it I remember that it won’t fix any of it. They won’t admit their fault. They won’t apologize. What it would do is let them play victim to those around them. Allow them to ‘woe is me, look at how my own daughter speaks of me after all I did for her’. Far better to allow my absence and silence weigh on them. If anyone asks after me and how I’m doing in my daily life they won’t have anything. And from what I’ve heard from the few people I’ve stayed in touch with from Dodgewood, that burns them the most. Sure, they love the praise of being parents of Doc Melody but when people ask questions…”

“That does sound like a better revenge,” Cora admitted.

#starfield #sam coe #starfield fanfiction #fanfic #atonalginger writes #coemancer #snippet sunday #the coemancer crew #DocCoe #Doc Melody #Cora Coe #some of Doc's backstory under the read more

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horizon-verizon · 9 months

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"We stan Criston for respecting sex workers and being the only feminist man in probably the entirety of GOT. And we hate Daemon for constantly making misogynistic remarks about any woman, generally his wives, that he doesn't like, emotionally neglecting his second wife , grooming Rhaenyra, cheating on Rhaenyra, neglecting his children, committing treason every other sentence, and that's not even half of it."

I mean… what book did they read? When did Daemon make misogynistic remarks about his wives there? Neglected Laena? Groom Rhaenyra? Neglecting his children? All this is never named in the book. I remember that Daemon married two pretty badass women and that he completely accepted the fact of being below his wife, future queen. And that he left Baela, his daughter, a lot of freedom. Deceiving Rhaenyra is something that has never even been proven. And what are the other supposed betrayals named? In my memories, he is on Rhaenyra's side all along and literally dies for her cause and to avenge Lucerys.

Even for the show, Daemon didn't heal Rhaenyra, or make misogynistic remarks towards the women in his life.

Rhaena is the only child with whom a problem seems to exist (and non-existent in the book once again), and it is frankly ridiculous. I want to say that just because something is shown / said in a series does not necessarily make sense for the characters / narratively speaking, or even that it is screaming any truth. It's just a ridiculous and overlooked part of the storyline, no more no less. Other than that, Daemon seems like a decent dad to his kids and stepsons from what little we've seen (unlike the other dads in this series). Wow, Negligent Father: Make Baela learn High Valyrian himself. Go find dragon eggs for his babies himself with Rhaenyra. Try to comfort Viserys II when he cries. Defend his sons-in-law. Yes. Behavior reflecting overall parental neglect and disinterestedness… Let me laugh.

As for Daemon's so-called infidelities, none have taken place so far in the series. As for insults, I'm not sure it can be considered deeply misogynistic to insult a woman you hate and were forced to marry, + the daughter of a man he hates, working actively to steal his niece and wife's right to the throne… Basically, he insults a woman he hates, classic human behavior. And another woman who literally deserves so much insult I can barely name them. In the book, Daemon actually never insulted Alicent, apparently treating her as her position as queen demanded, although he despised her.

And… Whether it's the book version or the series… Wtf for Criston Cole?! BE A FEMINIST?! But what have these people smoked my word?!

Basically, this commentary is a mix of head canon, mixing series and book. How can they expect to be taken seriously?! This kind of comment baffles me. They're crazy, that's the only possible explanation.

*EDITED POST* (12/14/23)

Daemon

I don't think book!Daemon cheated on Rhaenyra with anyone, not even with Mysaria anymore. He also never neglected any child. And he hardly committed any sort of treason against Viserys or Rhaenyra so much as never taking to Viserys' orders that really just isolated them both.

However, Daemon called his wife Rhea Royce his "bronze bitch" told through his own writings. I say this in another post:

Remember him and Mysaria, when he attached her sex work to his "curse" of her when he realized she helped Rhaenyra become distrustful of him? And again, calling your wife an ugly bitch who resembles the ugly sheep of her ugly homeland because you hate that you were forced to marry her, and constantly, is misogyny.

Yeah, Rhaena Targaryen (rider of Dreamfyre and Queen Dowager) took her frustrations out on Androw Farman when Elissa left and took the dragon eggs, becoming less amenable to being married to him and stuck almost similarly to Daemon.

However, while Androw still had that incel quality jump out of him as soon as people around him began to mock him enough to actually kill only women (which I think shows how that misogyny was in him all along), Rhea Royce had done nothing and will continue to do nothing to Daemon. Daemon began the ill-will between them by being so obvious in his dislike for her. Rhea definitely had justified feelings of discontent towards him for this alone if for nothing else.

Daemon's taking his frustrations on her because she was available and the one he's tied to, but 1) She warranted less than Androw 2) Daemon will always have more grace as a man than Rhana, espe since we know he fucked his way around in a way Rhaena had to mask through marriage. Do I feel bad that he was forced at 16 to marry Rhea, yes. But Rhea did not ask for it and Daemon has his freedom. Yet Daemon implies that she is a bad feminine presence by using a word that uses her femaleness. and connecting to how undesirable she is specifically to him--she is not the "right" type of woman for him. And her entire identity becomes wrapped up in that. finally, you know he's said this about her several times.

Yes, Mysaria was a traitor to them and turned Rhaenyra against him. Why did he have to use her sex work past to define, emphasize, or characterize her treachery? Why are they put side by side? When we already have societal misogyny against female sex workers for being "loose", inferior women?

Criston

I agree that it is hypocritical (and just stupid) to stan Criston while criticizing Daemon when the book and show Critson are the most flagrant misogynist men in the story (aside from Aegon, Aemond, Borros Baratheon). In the show, he explicitly calls Rhaenyra a "cunt" after he says she is a spoiled woman and years after she rejected his nonsensical proposal...after he accepted the chance to sleep with her....after he quite obviously lusted after her for the years before her 18th name day.

Yeah, the show made a mess of what sort of consent he was giving to her in their sex scene; however, it's strange and contradictory for people to claim that he primarily proposed because he genuinely loved her...then go on to say or repeat that he only slept with her because he was afraid of her position and was her subordinate.

A woman who convinces herself to "love" or devote herself to a man is not in the same danger as a man subordinate to a woman who is herself and doesn't know how stable her position as heir/future Queen is on account of her society's inclination against female rulers.

#asoiaf asks to me #criston cole's characterization #criston cole #hotd characterization #daemon's characterization #rhaenyra and criston #character comparison #hotd critical #fandom critical #hotd fandom #green stan nonsense

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alarrytale · 5 months

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Anon mentioning Ricky Martin´s She Bangs, just yesterday I watched that video after like 22 years(?) and I remember when I was a kid and Ricky Martin was sold as hot sex god and I also had crush on him a bit because of his image and I how remembered that video was very hot and full of sex. Okay, those years takes toll on that video especially when it comes to effects haha but still, he´s so ripped there and sexualized, it´s full of sex, hot bodies and obviously he´s making out/dancing there only with women. Maybe Harry doesn´t have to do this (thank God) but still the fact as his image is sold is equal to that RM´s videos full of sex.

Second thing when you mentioning how harries and antis should realize that closeting exists - amen to your answer! I don´t have time now but one day I would like to share my story how I met 2 closeted gays - they are long time friends of my dad and my step mom - who both have families ( you know, real grown-up children, one is still married and probably won´t get divorced because of safety), they are over 50 and if I didn´t know about closeting thanks to Larry, no way I would notice it in my real life when I met them during one family event. And I and them live in Europe and yet they have to hide from society and most friends and my dad+step mom are one of those who give them safe space. So yes, closeting EXISTS and you don´t even have to be world known singers.

And third thing, Marte, please don´t take it in offensive way but how you write that you find lyrics analyzing pointless, how do you know then that most of Harry´s songs are about Louis?

Hi, anon!

I haven't watched that music video in ages! Did you notice him trying not to giggle when the women are roaming their hands over his naked chest? H or L could never pull something like that off.

To your last question. I don't think that most of H's songs are about Louis, but many are. Just because i don't care for lyric interpretation and analysis doesn’t mean i don't do it myself. It just means we'll never come to a consensus. I don't think us larries disagree on Sweet Creature or Two Ghosts being about Louis for example. I usually agree with general themes, but when you break down the individual lyrics to mean this or that to me it's comparable to finding meaning in an abstract painting or cloud watching. Some see elephants and some see cars. Some see dispair and some see happiness. A song can be a happy song for some and a sad song for others.

For this reason i also have a huge problem with people using lyrics as evidence for this or that. They broke up because that lyric in that song implies it. They hate each other because the car in that song is a metaphor for a fight. Larry is real because Louis wore something yellow and Harry wrote Golden. I see things like that everyday. Then it turns out that song was about Kid Harp*ons wife forgetting her wallet in her car or something. When it comes to H's songs if you think it means something, it most likely isn't what you think it means. The metaphors are layered too deep to get real meaning out of it.

#ricky martin #lyric analysis #solo harry

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leporellian · 2 years

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ok. rigoletto headcanons. here we go

i love rigoletto. both the opera and the character. here are some headcanons about both. source: i know everything

first off. i think rigoletto, gilda, and sparafucile are all autistic but in different directions

rigoletto and gilda are both very outwardly expressive autistics, both verbally and visibly. sparafucile meanwhile is not very expressive at all and is generally very quiet, and has maybe 4 facial expressions at most. (usually he looks... very focused but also vaguely confused.)

science is unsure if rigoletto and gilda are expressive bc of the autism or because they are italian. (sparafucile and maddalena meanwhile are french but we will get to them eventually.)

also i think rigoletto is trans. world's first jester with transmasc swag. transjester, if u will. 'why' again i just know everything

also i think rigoletto is 40, gilda is 15, and sparafucile and maddalena are both 38 (but distinctly have the energy of like.... ageless cartoon characters). i will mostly be writing these about those 4 because while i am aware i COULD make headcanons abt like. monterone or giovanna or whoever. i don't have the Autism focused on them atm. maybe later

in my mind, rigoletto was abandoned at an orphanage when he was a baby. nobody knew what his parents were like, or why they abandoned him

rigoletto himself has always suspected it was because of his kyphosis, but a very small part of him wonders if they did want him and just couldn't provide for a baby. (he isn't sure if this would be better or worse)

he grew up in an orphanage but was never adopted or even really taken into consideration to be adopted, mainly because- besides his disability- he always Did have a bit of anger about him and wasn't the easiest kid to get along with. eventually he aged out of the orphanage and ran off to start his own life; i imagine he did have a bit of a creative streak to him but he realized his options were limited as a disabled person back in Ye Olde Times, and that led him to be a jester

(in a modern au where things aren't As depressing (and, later on, gilda does not die because while i realize the story hinges on that its MY emotional support modern au and I get to choose how actually narratively sensical it is): rigoletto was also born and given up pretty early on, but instead he floundered in the foster system, handed over between households but never actually adopted. he aged out of the system, took a couple of gap years, and then went off to study politics- only to realize in the last year of his program that he Fucking Hated politics and would rather write comedy.)

i can't imagine him ever having had a wife, tbh. (i know it says that in the libretto but i know everything.) i imagine gilda was an accident baby created out of wedlock, and that rigoletto Had considered giving her up for adoption, but then realized like... he couldn't stand the idea of her going through the exact same cycle he did, and never being adopted, and becoming cynical and bitter like him. from the very start rigoletto's fear has been the idea of his daughter turning out just like him. and so he decided to raise her instead

(not helping the above is that i imagine gilda to be physically disabled as well- i draw her as having a missing arm since birth- so there's an additional 'fuck fuck fuck she can't turn out like me' there. anyway this makes the tragedy of the opera worse in some ways i think. :) )

gilda is an absolute horse girl i think

i'm biased bc i am, obviously, a warrior cats kid but in a modern au (or. an au where warrior cats is somehow existent in the 16th century.) gilda 100% had an insane warrior cats phase also.

in general i think gilda should be a little insane in the like. 'tells you gruesome facts out of nowhere just to make things interesting' way. like i'm sorry look at her dad she has Strange genes. also she deserves a personality

sparafucile and maddalena, meanwhile, are french (they're foreigners from burgundy, remember). they are twins- maddalena was born at around 11:40 on september 30, and sparafucile was born just after midnight on october 1. both siblings have been using this factoid to annoy each other as long as they've been aware of it.

they were born into poverty, with parents that were too occupied with other things at best and outright negligent at worst, and were often forced to fend for themselves.

sparafucile was born missing a leg, and was just... naturally very weak and sickly (ironically up until he was about twelve he was much shorter than maddalena even though as an adult he's taller than her). maddalena was always very protective of him when they were kids, and sparafucile never forgot that- which is much of why he's so protective of her in turn when they're adults.

neither really had the financial opportunity to make their situation much better- and when they did try they often ended up abused

sparafucile killed the first guy on accident. i don't know the specifics of it but it was definitely on accident. he realized that there was no way he was getting out of that scot-free bc. well. he is poor and nobody but his sister knows him. so he just sorta... stuck with it

also his special interest is knives so. not all bad? i guess? ?????

(if you were wondering: i think gilda's special interest is just... weird animal facts and rigoletto's is. actually i don't know what rigoletto's is. finding new ways to be rude to people, i guess.)

(he feels very bad that maddalena got involved with the whole thing. maddalena however... seems to enjoy it, somehow.)

in a modern au i think sparafucile would be a lawyer. idk he's got that sort of energy. maddalena... i could see her being a bartender or something. she would just love to have a job where she can talk people's ears off.

also i will say it. whatever was going on in that duet between rigoletto and sparafucile in act 1. it certainly was not entirely heterosexual.

anyway there are definitely things i am forgetting that i'll shoot myself in the foot for not including later but i'll add those. at some point. eventually

#hi. i'm insane #rigoletto #opera tag #gilda #sparafucile #maddalena

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tetsunabouquet · 18 days

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I just heard that there are people planning to protest during 4 May against Israel. As a Dutch woman of Roma heritage, I AM FUMING. To those who don't know: 4 May is national memorial day in the Netherlands where we remember those who died during WWII. Whilst I find you anti-semitic fucks who are villifying every Jew in existence for what's currently happening in Israel to be awful - targeting 4 May when that day is for EVERY minority hunted down during WWII means you are targeting ALL of our communities. Remember how I mentioned that during my final year of elementary school I had a hag of a teacher? I literally remember arguing with her about how the history books barely talk about us. The REAL estimated number of deaths could have been as high as 1,5 MILLION Roma unlike the reported '400K' you'll find in your history pages. I have seen in YouTube videos from Americans and Canadians how they solely talk about the Jews and are trying to make it about black people with the unproven historic sentiment that Jewish people originally were black. I've even heard statements written out loud from American musea who only mentioned us like a footnote before talking about black people in length. Reported numbers of black people castrated/killed during WWII were a couple of thousand because that's how few black people there were in Europe. The Roma are the biggest racial group hunted down during WWII, stop trying to take that away from the potential million people that died! Give their souls the respect they deserve. How sick in the head do you have to be to be like, 'This major genocide has to be about MY race'- when the actual group hunted down for their skin and culture wasn't yours. My deadbeat dad and his sisters are more lily white looking as I always call it, but grandpa was a bit more Roma looking like me and my late grandma did make a few implied statements that it was his father who had a Romani mother. That was during WWII. My great-great grandmother likely was an elderly lady hunted down like a rat during this period. The fact my paternal family didn't had any pictures of my great-grandfather unlike his wife, worries me but it's too heavy of a subject to talk about with relatives that I have a strained relationship with. How can you make that about you? Tell me! Another one of my great-grandfathers wasn't a member of the Resistance but he did help out with food smuggling. Ever heard of the Dutch famine during WWII? My great-grandfather tried to keep regular Dutch citizens alive and was willing to stick his neck out as one of the richer families of the area to help the lesser priviliged and he was publically beaten for it by the Nazis as an example for the townsfolk. He's the only male relative I am proud of to be related to, because that was an act of bravery and generosity worthy of praise.

Not every wealthy white man is a greedy devil, my great-grandfather proved that. As much as I hate Frank Timmermans (Dutch politican), I do agree with his statement that you can protest on every fucking day of the year- just not memorial's day. This day belongs to so many non-Jews too and making this about Israel is just overshadowing the other victims once more. We haven't done anything to deserve to get erased. Yet the media, history books and non-Roma do that very thing. In my own personal experience, even the gays are mentioned more often then we are. The only group that might be more forgotten then we are, are the disabled. And as an autistic individual that also earns my ire.

I can bet my ass off that none of those sickening protesters would have been hunted down if we lived during WWII, unlike me. I have to live with that and the handful of people throughout my life who did call my blood impure. LEAVE 4 MAY ALONE!

#tetsutalk #4 may #4 mei #wwii #jews #roma #roma erasure #romani #romani erasure #israel #don't target the victims of wwii- they were more then just Jews #millions of non-Jewish people died in my country #remember the Dutch famine?

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star-anise · 3 years

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Oh goddamn my brain just exploded.

I just watched F. D. Signifier's video on "I Don't Dream of Labour" and just how much the whole discussion operates in a while different reality from the one in which Black American men and the concept of working for a living have historically existed.

His take is enormously well-informed and informative, and this isn't an idea that's of his calibre at all, it's just that his take on the context this discussion is happening in was so insightful that it shook something loose in my brain as relates to my own experiences. Mainly, it helped me contextualize a reaction I'd had last week, in a post about dream jobs outside of capitalism and whether it was okay for "engineer" to be one of them, in my background in white lower-middle class.

Like yes, I do have intellectual reasons for believing what I believe. My work experience, my research, my education in the social sciences, my curiosity about the world around me, my readings of Foucault, have all informed my beliefs that society has chronically devalued forms of labour that, in fact, it depends on so much that the entire system freaks the fuck out if those devalued workers realize that they're valuable enough to demand better.

Signifier's video helped me connect with some of my emotional reactions to socialist and utopian thought, and recognize just how much my views are also rooted in hard gnarly matter of my lived experience, and the lived experiences of the people who raised me.

I dream of labour partly because I've found a line of work that I love and that gives me meaning. But the other thing is, I dream of labour because of a bone-deep tiredness in me that says: If I don't do it, the work won't get done.

I'm a therapist, and the birth of my vocation as a therapist was in the years when I didn't have one or feel like I was allowed to ask for them, and neither did anyone else I knew, and the amount of terror and pain that we all lived with because of it would have ripped a hole in my ability to trust the universe if I hadn't decided to make myself the hero I needed. I say that if I do my work well enough I might contribute to enough social change that I'll put myself out of a job, but in practical reality, I don't think that will happen in my lifetime.

I digress. A few years after that, my mom admitted she had depression and went on disability leave from work because she was pretty damn bad. I remember when we got home after she'd picked me up from school one day, and while she was out of the house, her female friends had come to our house and gone to town on all the housework she'd been struggling to do (and then some; we knew things were different from the front door, because the floor of our mudroom sparkled in a way it never had before).

I remember it so much because I think it was only the second time in my life I'd seen her cry. Because it was so unexpected and such an amazing relief, this sense that someone else would step in and do the work for her. (Yes, my dad and older brothers and I pitched in, but everyone's expectations were that if the house was still standing at the end of our tenure it'd be a net win, and yes, I still feel ashamed for not having done more even if I logically couldn't have.)

This is part of what it means to say my gender is "farm wife". My ancestors were white settlers in western Canada, where farms were divided up in a grid pattern that guaranteed that homesteads would be pretty isolated. My grandmothers were children during the Great Depression. For their mothers, being a farmwife meant doing work their family depended on to survive, and knowing that until their oldest daughter got old enough, there was no one to do the work if they didn't. That sense of necessity lives in us still. My mom will endure a job she hates for ages, but feel unable to quit without having another one lined up. I still have "you do not have to fix it" on my phone lockscreen, because unsolved problems cry out to me in the voice of my terror when I was 13 and nobody was saving me.

The thought of coming home and finding my floor washed for me is so impossibly amazing I don't know how I'd even cope with it. The only person I can currently think of who'd actually do it is my mom. And she and I are still trying to sort out the toxic effects of this legacy, where we take on work because we feel we have to and then get angry when we aren't respected or rewarded for it, or try to avoid being the target of that anger by not asking for help we need. The thought of leaving work undone inspires such a deep, visceral level of fear and shame that it's hard to think around sometimes.

All of which helps me explain and understand my reflexive "Oh, fuck YOU" reaction to people who say that in the future robots will flip our burgers and burp our babies, but in the meantime, it's being corrupted by a neoliberal agenda to try to make the backbreaking work of ordinary people five pounds lighter. I am the enemy if I ever hire someone to wash the floor for me.

I'm not sure that "Oh, fuck you" response is bullshit, though. Like, I feel like I'm supposed to say that my ideological enemy is the capitalist boss who mandates workloads, not the edgelord tankie who sends hatemail to insufficiently radical "liberals", but this entire thought process has just helped me formulate why I hate those goddamn tankies so fucking much.

The work of defeating capitalism is important and real and more people need to be doing it. But it's stark raving idiocy to pretend that it's the most important work there is, because before it comes the work of keeping people alive. The work of keeping people fed and clothed and housed, healthy and well, connected and cared about. And I'm always thrilled when I get to do so in a manner that also resists capitalism, but if the only people helping me do that are capitalists, that is who I'm going to fucking ally with. Because the work needs to be done, and I would like to die without the family curse of never feeling able to trust that people will survive if you pause for one moment making my bones glow in the dark.

So if your only reaction to that is to say I should heroically struggle in ideologically pure isolation because Capitalism Bad but also in Big Rock Candy Communism my work won't be necessary so it's not like you feel any need to help me?

Yeah, you're my enemy. Get out of my fucking way.

#long post #class warfare #tankie shit #staranise original

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rafescoke · 3 years

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Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her.

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill.

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up.

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her.

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?”

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting.

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck.

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes.

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after.

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

add yourself to the taglist!

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron smuts #rafe x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x reader #outerbanks #outerbanks imagines #outerbanks x reader #outer banks

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diavolosthots · 3 years

Text

This got really long so i put it under a cut and I'm totally going backward with this series but i cant help myself. I HAVE to start with my husband. Most of these are my own headcanons but please read the warning.

Warning: some of these are confirmed in lessons/devilgrams. If you dont want spoilers, don't read the ones in red. (Also Note: I remember reading all of these either in the game or on the official wiki page but I could not find all the in-game sources if you asked me to. Still, they are tagged as spoilers.)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾DIAVOLO Life Headcanons☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Diavolo’s dad, the Demon King (whom I Headcanon to be named Daemon. I could write headcanons on that guy too?? Lemme know what you guys want) loved Diavolo’s mom dearly and Diavolo was thus a product of pure love, not necessarily just to have an heir. That’s just a bonus.

Sadly Diavolo’s mom died in childbirth, leaving only the Demon King and Barbatos to take care of him.

This caused the King to begin resenting his son and Daemon grew cold. Barbatos was, more often than not, the one who took care of little Diavolo, although Diavolo tried desperately to win his dad’s affections, never truly understanding why his father would hate him.

Diavolo was a rambunctious child and caused a lot of trouble, much to his father’s dismay, and he found himself in trouble a lot.

On top of that, Diavolo is also highly emotional and it wasn’t until much later that he learned that tears won’t get him anywhere. Barbatos used to give him sweets and tea every time he cried, which was a lot thanks to his dad.

Although the butler did stop this at some point, that’s definitely where Diavolo’s love for tea came from

Barbatos is definitely, and has always been, someone he confided in, and he found it hard to view him as nothing but a ‘servant’, per his dad. It’s not even that his father hated Barbatos or thought of him as lesser than, he just didn’t like that Diavolo confided more in him than anyone else.

Diavolo definitely had a rebellious phase as he grew up. The mixture of his absent-father’s non-existent love and the responsibilities put on his shoulders from a very young age got too much for him at some point and let’s just say…. Diavolo had a lot of ‘oopsies’ in his ‘teenage’ years.

If you know, you know. They are no longer among the living. R.I.P.

People used Diavolo a lot because of this, though. The lack of care and love at home caused a young Diavolo to be naive and trust too easily, getting hurt in the process

Which is why Barbatos now has a torture chamber for the enemies of Diavolo (or people who just want/use him for the wrong reasons)

When Diavolo didn’t try to escape the castle for some love, he found comfort in art and unbeknownst to both his father and anyone else working at the castle, Barbatos helped him build a mini art gallery up in one of the towers where Diavolo still goes for some relaxation or just to think.

A lot of people backstabbed him as he grew up and even he himself backstabbed a lot of people as well. At some point he saw the hurt he caused and decided to never lie again, and now he’s always telling the truth, albeit he can beat around the bush a lot, and knows for certain when someone else is lying to him.

At some point, his father forbade him to treat Barbatos as more than a trusted servant and that pretty much solidified his dislike, not hatred, for his father.

As he grew up into the man he is now, he started to see his dad as more of an authoritarian ruler that works for his own political gain rather than the well being of everyone. The Devildom was never in shambles, or anything, but one could feel a clear hierarchy and there was definitely tension with the other two realms

His father was actually the one is (somewhat, if not fully) started the war against heaven (not to be confused with the celestial war that the brothers were part of)

Now, he never hated his father, truly. To a certain extent, he actually understood why his father was the way he was. He lost his beloved wife for a son he had to grow a new relationship with. Diavolo never thought his father hated him, either, but one could tell that their relationship was filled with grief, heartache, and even a sense of regret.

Diavolo never blamed his father, though, and as he grew older, he took certain aspects of his father’s character into his own: loyalty, ambition, and honesty.

That’s why his father stepped down, but not fully since Diavolo hasn’t been crowned yet. The Demon King is tired; tired of pushing through the days, and Diavolo understands.

The situation with his parents is also the reason why Diavolo refuses to settle down so easily. He’s scared of both A.) trusting the wrong people again, like he had many times before, and B.) of having the same fate as his father and mother.

That and Barbatos is highly protective of him lol Good luck getting past the butler if you want to be with the future King.

One of the main reasons Diavolo keeps up the naive and himbo attitude is also because he never got to be a kid. His father pushed him straight into royal life once he was old enough to comprehend things.

This does not mean, though, that Diavolo is actually a himbo. He’s quite intelligent and there’s a reason for everything he does.

Diavolo doesn’t believe in coincidences and is a firm believer in fate; that everything happens as it should and for a reason (A/N: homie is a determinist and that lowkey makes me happy lol)

That’s why he’s perfectly fine taking his time and doing his thing. He likes to have a certain sense of control, of course, but not to the extent that Lucifer does. He’s cool going with the flow as well.

Speaking of Lucifer, the reason he views him as a best friend and even family is because Diavolo believes he can relate to the absence of a father that’s supposed to be there no matter what

That and because Lucifer is brutally honest. He doesn’t take Diavolo for granted and he certainly doesn’t want Diavolo around for the riches and fame. Diavolo appreciates that a lot.

Diavolo gets along with pretty much everyone; he’s very adaptable because he has to be. However, that doesn’t necessarily make him an extrovert. As a matter of fact, he’s actually more of an introvert and likes to keep to himself or with a limited group of close friends

Speaking of friends, Diavolo doesn’t have a lot, if any, outside of the brothers and Barbatos. It’s hard to know who to trust when so many people just want to use him or rob him, even strip him of his title.

Diavolo is very lonely, as a matter of fact, and he hopes, prays even, that he could find a bond with someone, anyone, like Lucifer shares with his brothers. In a sense, he may even be jealous of the seven.

Although his life was less than peachy, even if he did have everything anyone could ever wish for, Diavolo craves true emotional connections, which is why he clings to Barbatos and Lucifer.

This, however, doesn’t mean he is helpless. He’s very much an independent, intelligent, and ambitious man, and he is excited for the future, whatever it may hold.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #cheys headcanons #obey me lord diavolo #shall we date diavolo #om! diavolo #obey me diavolo #diavolo obey me #obey me diavolo x reader

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quixoticall · 6 months

Text

This Could Get Ugly 1. Before the Beginning

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

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 3.4K

A/N: long time reader, first time poster. Please share your thoughts and any tips you may have. ❤️❤️

***

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.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

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

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

***

“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.

***

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

***

1978

***

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

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

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

***

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.

***

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.

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.

***

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.”

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.

“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.

***

NEXT CHAPTER 🎹

#steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #Daisy Jones & the Six AU

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

love in the time of p.t.a meetings {marcus moreno} - 2/5

summary: your kid has taken a liking to marcus moreno - and frankly, so have you {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, mentions of divorce & very brief mentions of his wife’s death

i don’t normally update series this quickly but this was originally one imagine that reached about 11k words lmao so it’s all written, just being split up. i’ve also decided it’s gonna be 5 parts instead of 3, cos i reread the ending and realised i was not done by a longshot. enjoy!

- jazz

Mondays. You hated ‘em.

Everything just seemed so...amplified. The peace and relaxation of the weekend was over and everyone had to go back on the grind. The traffic always seemed worst, the clock seemed to tick backwards and you just wanted to be at home, in bed. After an incident involving the dog, a toaster and a small pan fire, you were already running twenty minutes late and you knew in your soul that your child’s shoes weren’t on the right feet. That, and also he was wearing a Chewbacca onesie to school. It had been a compromise. As in, he was refusing to go to school unless you let him wear the damn thing. It was a compromise. You’d lost.

On the bright side, the past weekend had been the best you’d had in a long time. Jack had spent all of Saturday afternoon at the Heroics headquarters and he was so worn out, he’d slept through all of Sunday. Marcus Moreno must have a been a fucking wizard, because you’d been trying to tire the kid out for five years. You made a mental note to do something in return, though you sensed there was nothing on God’s green earth that could possibly amount to babysitting the world’s most exhausting child for six hours. You were allowed to say that, because Jack was your world’s most exhausting child and you wouldn’t have changed him for anything.

‘New week, huh buddy?’ You glanced at Jack in your rear view mirror. He was sat on his booster seat, legs dangling back and forth and a power ranger action figure in his hand. ‘A fresh start.’

‘Can we listen to the song from Cars?’ Jack ignored your comment.

‘You gotta try and behave yourself this week. You’ve seen what happens to people who do follow the rules, right? They get to go work at the Heroics-’

‘- I wanna listen to the song from Cars!’

You wanted to have a deep conversation. Jack wanted to listen to Life Is A Highway. That was...actually, it was exactly how you’d expected that to go. It wasn’t that off of the time you were trying to explain your divorce to him and he’d interrupted you to demand that you put Toy Story on.

‘Sure thing, kid.’ You rolled your eyes, reaching across to hand him on your phone. ‘D’you know how to spell it-’

Your sentence was cut off by the sound of guitars blaring from the speakers. At least he could work out Spotify.

By some miracle, you managed to make it the school with a few minutes to spare. Because most people had dropped their kids off earlier (see: on time), the lot was pretty empty. That meant you could once again dump your car without regard for the painted white lines -- who had time to park properly on a Monday morning? That was for people who had their shit together.

Leaping out the car, you almost cursed when you tripped over your heels. You didn’t have to wear them, but since you’d started working in a managerial role at your office, you figured it made you look a little more professional. And what was the harm in being a few inches taller? It made you feel powerful.

‘C’mon, J.’ You pulled open the back door, helping Jack leap out the car.

‘You know, I’m starting to think you can’t park your car at all.’

‘Marcus!’ Jack practically flew out the car, his tiny body suddenly jolting with excitement.

‘Morning, buddy.’ He replied; he then moved his brown eyes to gaze at you, offering a smile. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey, how you doing?’ You greeted him. ‘I don’t normally see you here in the mornings.’

‘Yeah, I normally drop Missy off at the front but it was one of those mornings, you know? She was taking a little more convincing than usual to go in.’

‘My kid is in a Wookiee onesie and backwards Thomas the Tank Engine shoes and you have the audacity to ask me if I know those mornings? I am those mornings.’ You replied.

Marcus chuckled. ‘I think it’s a look. I especially like the Lightning McQueen sunglasses.’

‘Do you have a super suit?’ Jack asked. ‘Can I try it on?’

‘C’mon, Jack. You’ve already managed to get a tour of the HQ.’ You ruffled his hair. ‘And we gotta get going to school.’

‘But I wanna ask more questions.’ He muttered. ‘I have over a hundred.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ You murmured under your breath. ‘But school is more important.’

‘I don’t wanna go anymore.’

‘I let you wear the onesie. That was our agreement, remember?’

‘All good superheroes have to get an education.’ Marcus reasoned. ‘And if you go in, maybe I can show you my suit at some point?’

'Okay!’ Jack grinned. He wrapped his arms around your waist in a quick hug, before peering up at you with a toothy smile. ‘See ya later!’

He turned on his heel and ripped his backpack from your hand, suddenly speeding up the path and towards school. Had...had that just happened? For once in your life, had you not had to wrench him from the car and wrestle him through the school gates? Move aside, Harry Potter, because Marcus Moreno was the new wizard in town. You might have been a little jealous that he was so good with your son but at the same time, it made you like him even more. He was the first parent at the school that had leant into Jack’s wild tendencies. And, whilst you tried not to think too much about it, even his own dad had struggled to do that. It made your heart warm a little.

‘You are seriously my favourite person.’ You chimed, leaning back against your car.

‘Kids with character are way more fun than kids who are well-behaved.’ Marcus replied.

‘I spent forty-five minutes scraping string cheese out the USB port of my computer yesterday, but sure.’

He chuckled. ‘No, I’m serious. I don’t encourage Missy to misbehave but she does get herself into some situations. I choose to see it as a testament to her intelligence rather than disobedience.’

‘I refuse to believe for a second that Missy ever misbehaves.’ You shot back back. ‘She seems so well-behaved.’

‘What you see in the parking lot is not a reflection of our whole lives.’ He reminded you.

‘Right, because despite appearances, I’m actually a very put together parent.’ You snorted. ‘But I get what you mean.’

‘I gotta get to work now, but it was good to see you.’ Marcus pulled his car keys out his pocket. ‘I was serious about that suit thing, by the way. He saw my katanas on Saturday.’

‘Katanas?’ You spluttered. ‘My kid managed to start a fire last week out of nothing and you want to give him katanas?!’

‘Maybe I can show you how to use them.’ He flashed you a smile. ‘And then you can pass on the knowledge.’

‘That’s probably an even worse idea.’ You shook your head with a laugh, pulling open your car door. ‘I’ll see you around.’

‘You as well. Have a good day, pretty lady.’

Did you stop thinking about your exchange at any point during the day? Absolutely not. In fact, you’d already written an email to the local deed poll office to change your legal name to Pretty Lady.

No, but in all seriousness, you’d been a little giddy about it. Had he been flirting? That didn’t seem like a long shot. You got on well, you’d hung out a bit over the weekend and not to toot your own horn, but you were by no means bad looking. Tired and a little frazzled, sometimes? Yeah. But anyone would have been lucky to have you and you were doing a better job at recognising that, especially since your divorce.

You were almost ecstatic when it got to 4PM and you hadn’t received a single call from Jack’s teachers. That meant that he had behaved, and what Marcus had said had worked. Because you worked past his finishing time, he usually went to the after-school club till you could come to collect him - it had been a lifesaver, especially since you couldn’t always leave early. He usually came home with some kind of weird arts and crafts. Last week, it had been an unidentifiable item made of dried macaroni and glitter. He’d placed it pridefully on the old fireplace in your lounge.

After saying goodbye to your co-workers, you headed out the building. Your office was right in the city centre and not too far out from the school. It was a nice place to be; your lunch hour, when you could head out to a street cart and eat your food in the local park, was usually the highlight of your day. It was when you could exist just as you. When you were at work, you were in charge on your entire department. When you were home, you were a parent 24/7. That time to yourself was vital.

As you were heading to your car, your phone began to ring. Your heart almost jumped out your chest when you saw Marcus’ name - he hadn’t called you before, only texted to sort out the previous weekend’s plans with Jack. You quickly organised yourself (he couldn’t see you, dumb ass) and cleared your throat.

‘Hey, everything alright?’ You brightly greeted him.

‘Hey! Are you out of work now?’

‘Yeah, I’m literally just leaving. What’s up?’

‘Look, I hate to do this but I’ve had an emergency at work - superhero related, you don’t wanna know - and I’m not gonna be out for hours.’ Marcus sounded stressed. Yeah, I feel that you thought. ‘Would you be able to pick up Missy and possibly have her for a few hours? If not, that’s totally-’

‘- I’d be glad too!’ You interrupted him. ‘I owe you one anyways for the weekend. And this morning, actually.’

‘You don’t owe me anything.’ He sounded surprised that you’d even imply it. ‘But I will definitely owe you for having Missy.’

‘Hey, it’s cool!’ You insisted. ‘Do you want me to drop her off at yours later?’

‘I can come and collect her if you text me your address?’

‘Perfect.’ You smiled. ‘I’ll see you later then?’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Marcus said. ‘I’ll text Missy to let her know to find your car instead of mine. I would ask for your plate number, but your car is...’

‘...bright red, covered in dents and hard to miss?’ You finished his sentence.

‘Exactly.’

You’d been in the same situation before; pulled between work and parenting, with Jack stuck at school and an important meeting that felt like it was never ending. It was hard to get a sitter on such short notice - or afford one, sometimes - and it was just another one of the million, stressful situations that single parenting could get you into. If you could help Marcus even a little bit, of course you were going to. You knew he’d do the same for you. Heck, he had done the same for you.

Jack and Missy were both chatty on the way home. Given that she was a little older than him, her conversational skills were strikingly better. It was nice to ask someone about their day and not get where are my Cheetos? as an answer. From what you gathered, she hated science class, enjoyed gym, and her favourite subject was lunch. That didn’t come as a surprise to you - her dad was a literal superhero and probably encouraged physical activity.

(You’d seen his arms, okay? They were more than enough to go on. I digress).

The only thing that made you wish you’d had a little more notice on having her for the evening was the state of your apartment. The place wasn’t bad; you’d lived there for the better part of eight years, and it was crammed with soft furniture and millions of blankets, as well as photos of you and Jack and his questionable art projects. It was just that you hadn’t done the dishes that morning, there was a mountain of shoes by the door and the pancakes from the previous night were still stuck on the roof.

Missy barely blinked an eye; the minute she saw your dog, she’d abandoned her bag and was playing with him.

‘Hey buddy!’ She grinned. ‘What’s he called?’

‘That’s Oppy.’ You replied, hanging your jacket up. She didn’t need to know that it was short for Optimus Prime. No guesses on whose idea that had been.

‘He’s so cute!’ Missy continued. ‘I’ve been asking dad for a dog for ages but he won’t budge.’

For some reason, that surprised you a little. Marcus might have been the leader of a super-hero team and a public figure, but you could tell he would do anything for his daughter. You knew because it was the same for you with Jack. He might have ruled your whole life but you would have hung the damn stars in the sky for him if he asked

‘They’re a lot of work.’ You reasoned. ‘I have to wake up every morning at 6AM to make sure he gets a walk. Then there’s the matter of-’

‘- mum! Optimus Prime pooped in the bathroom!’

‘The matter of that.’ You murmured under your breath.

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. You fed the kids some leftover takeaway and between the dog and Netflix, they were easily entertained. Jack seemed to take a liking to Missy, which was good because it meant he wanted to sit with her the entire time instead of bouncing off the walls. She had the same patience as her dad, especially when he asked her a million questions about superheroes. It took her twenty minutes to convince him that Batman wasn’t her uncle, and a further fifteen to make him believe that she hadn’t met Captain America.

Jack had asked you a few times about whether or not he would get siblings. Of course, it would be different to any interactions with Missy because he would have been the oldest, but it did get you thinking. You were finally in a place where you were moving past your former relationship and healing from the wounds. Time wasn’t much of an issue either - you’d had Jack when you were young and barely out of college. You couldn’t possibly imagine having any more kids right now, not when it was just the two of you, but in the future? You’d never rule out meeting somebody new. If anything, you were hopeful. Your first relationship had been your only one, and it had ended badly. You wanted to experience love for what it actually was, and not what you thought it was supposed to be.

Not long after 7PM, there was a knock on your door. By that point, both Missy and Jack had passed out on the sofa with Star Wars playing quietly in the background. It had been her idea to watch it - she had good taste. Marcus had clearly done a good job.

‘Hey!’ You greeted him as you pulled open the front door. ‘Come in quick, it’s fucking freezing out there.’

‘Thank you.’ Marcus came inside, dusting a few snow flakes out his hair. ‘Seriously, I can’t say it enough-’

‘- it’s fine!’ You shook your head, offering him a smile. ‘Missy’s been great. She’s really chatty and it was nice to have a coherent conversation with someone that isn’t about Paw Patrol. But was everything at the office okay?’

He was quiet for a minute. ‘Yeah. We uh, we lost someone. A hero.’

‘Shit, man. I’m sorry.’ Your voice fell quiet. ‘You wanna come in? You look like you could probably take a moment.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course! Missy and Jack are both asleep on the couch anyways.’ You pointed through to the living room. Marcus leant over to have a look, smiling slightly at the sight.

‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’

He took a seat at the kitchen counter. Your old bar stools were a little old and wobbly, but Marcus didn’t seem to notice. If anything, he admired the place. It was cluttered as hell and filled with useless, old items - cook books you didn’t use, random magnets, assorted toys - but it was nice. His house always felt a little cold and clinical. He’d moved a lot over the course of Missy’s life and now that he was retired from the field, he’d sworn to her that their current house was going to be permanent. Whether or not it felt like home was another question entirely.

‘I would offer you a drink but all I have is..’ you paused, opening the fridge. ‘Nesquik, vodka or apple juice.’

‘You know what? A Nesquik doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘I like your thinking, Moreno.’

After quickly fixing up the two drinks, you slid into the seat beside him and handed him one. You had never in a million years imagined a situation where Marcus Moreno would be in your kitchen drinking chocolate milk, but here we were. It had clearly been a long day for him and you had enough of those to last a lifetime, so you knew how it felt. Coming home after a day that had beat your ass into the ground and having to put on a brave face for your kids was difficult at best.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ You gently asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll be okay - it just always fucks me up a bit.’ Marcus murmured quietly. ‘Hits a little too close to home.’

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you knew what had happened to his wife. You knew why he’d retired, and why he and Missy had moved away from their original city six years ago.

‘Sorry, that was too deep-’

‘- it wasn’t!’ You quickly cut him off. ‘I’ve had random women come up to me at pick up time and say they’re sorry to hear about my divorce. People I don’t even know. So really, after that, nothing is too much.’

He smiled slightly. ‘They always say they’re sorry but why would you bring up a subject if you have to apologise for it?’

‘Exactly!’ You replied. ‘Especially when I’ve moved on. It’s been a year.’

‘It’s the same with me. Missy and I miss her everyday but we don’t mope about it. We just...we look back with fondness on the good memories we have. You can’t move forward if you’re stuck in the past, no matter how much it sucks.’

‘That’s...that’s wise.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘S’pose that means I should take down the dartboard I have with my ex’s face on.’

‘From what I’ve heard, he seems like he should have more than a dart board.’ Marcus snorted - then he froze. ‘Wait, not that I’ve heard stuff, I mean...I don’t listen-’

‘- Marcus!’ You whacked his arm. ‘It’s fine. One of the other kid’s mums started telling me about the terrible divorce someone was going through but she realised she was gossiping to the one who was going through it.’

‘I don’t know how much of what I’ve been told is true, but it sounds like it was bad.’ His hand hovered over where yours was rested on the counter.

‘The rumours pretty much get the gist of it.’ You replied. ‘But we were talking about your thing, so I don’t wanna take away from that.’

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He finally moved his hand, fingers gently curling underneath yours to intertwine them. ‘If even half of the whispers are true, he sounds like an asshole. You and Jack both deserve better than that.’

Whatever people had said, it had sort of covered the gist of it. You’d married too young and had a kid too young - your ex had been a terrible husband and an even worst husband. He’d chastised Jack for being...well, being Jack. He’d stay out late with his friends, spend money on things neither of you needed and tried to make you take the blame for it all. After giving him a few too many chances, you’d finally reached breaking point and kicked him out. Filing for divorce and taking on being a single parent was single-handedly the hardest and bravest thing you’d ever had to do. In a way, you were glad you’d done it when Jack was still so young - he didn’t really understand any of it, even when you’d try to explain it in child friendly terms.

‘I think people judge me for it a little sometimes.’ You confessed. ‘They see me struggling but they know I made the choice to separate from him, like I brought it all on myself.’

‘That’s bullshit.’ Marcus plainly stated. ‘Parenthood isn’t a dependent thing based on whether or not you’re still married to the other parent. It’s unconditional and permanent.’

‘I should tell him that, but I also don’t want him back in our lives.’

‘I know it’s none of my business, but he doesn’t deserve Jack. He’s one of the best and brightest kids I’ve ever met.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad he doesn’t seem like a complete lunatic.’

‘He doesn’t deserve you either.’ Marcus continued. ‘Again, I might be out of place saying this but you are...you’re amazing. I was a wreck when I was suddenly on my own and you’re still holding everything together and working your ass off.’

‘You’ve noticed?’ You quirked an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, in passing.’ He admitted. ‘I remember I once saw you carrying three separate science projects at once and then Carol made a passing comment that you were on your own and...I just kinda admired you from afar.’

‘You, Marcus Moreno, admired me?’ You blinked at him in disbelief. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I wish I’d had my shit together half as much as you did when I lost Missy’s mum.’

‘But the difference is you didn’t have a choice in your situation. I chose to boot his dad out-’

‘- you gotta stop discrediting yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘And stop blaming yourself. You did what was right for your kid and that is the most admirable thing of all.’

‘You really think so?’

‘I know so.’

The conversation slowly drizzled away, leaving you two to just look at each other. It was hard to tear yourself away from his brown eyes - there was a lot going on behind them. Fear, pain, anguish, admiration. He was one of the most mind-blowingly impressive people you’d ever met; single dad, superhero, electric car owner. He probably didn’t have a mortgage too and that was kinda hot. You were none of those things and yet, here he was, with you, managing to connect on a level that you never had with anyone. Both of your situations were tough, but they’d brought you together.

Marcus Moreno was pretty fucking fearless (came with the job, you figured), and he wasn’t afraid to make the first move. He slowly inched his head forward and in return, you gravitated towards him. Your lips met halfway in a soft kiss, his hands moving to firmly hold your waist as he pulled you closer.

You almost stumbled out your chair with the movement, but his grip on your hips meant you didn’t slip. Instead, he placed you up on the counter, standing up as he did. It took you a moment to adjust to the position, but with your legs resting on either side of his, you could reach forward and lean on him. You had one hand tangled in his hair and the other on the back of his neck - you’d surprised yourself with that. It had been months since you’d kissed anyone, but you weren’t as rusty as you thought.

‘Oh my god, is the superhero gonna be my new dad?!’

Marcus suddenly jumped backwards at the sound of Jack’s voice. He was stood in the doorway, post-nap hair covered by a lopsided Chewbacca hood. His eyes were like dinner plates, even though he was grinning from ear to ear.

‘Uh...’ you glanced between him and Marcus. ‘We were just...we were...’

‘I had something in my eye.’

‘He had something in his eye.’ You quickly agreed. ‘But now it’s out, so Marcus is gonna go home.’

He knew you didn’t mean it rudely - it was more of a desperation thing. The longer he stayed, the more questions Jack would come out with. Missy could have overheard too and that would have been twice as much to explain. So really, the sooner he got out, the better.

‘Yeah. I’ll uh, I’ll grab Missy.’ Marcus said, scratching the back of his head. ‘Thank you again for looking after her.’

‘You don’t need to keep thanking me.’ You shot back.

He disappeared into the living room for a moment, reemerging with a sleeping Missy in his arms a moment later. Your eyes met again, and he gave you a soft smile.

‘I’ll call you.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ You nodded. ‘See you, Marcus.’

True to character, the next hour was spent being pelted with questions from your over-curious son. He didn’t shut up once when you were bathing him and he got even louder when you were reading him his best time story. On the bright side, you’d managed to get him to change out of his slightly manky Wookiee onesie and into a clean Buzz Lightyear one. Normally, you would have argued that he couldn’t live in pyjamas, but if it kept him quiet? It was a price you were willing to pay.

‘Night, kiddo.’ You pressed a kiss to his forehead, switching on his nightlight. ‘Remember our deal, yeah? If I buy you a Happy Meal tomorrow, you won’t mention what you saw to any of your friends?’

‘You said library was bad.’

‘No, it’s bribery.’ You corrected him. ‘And do as I say, not as I do.’

‘Sounds bad, but okay.’ He sleepily murmured. ‘Night.’

‘Night.’ You stood up, flicking out his bedroom lights.

‘Wait, mum!’ Jack suddenly sat up, as though he’d remembered something. ‘You never said no.’

‘No to what, buddy?’

‘When I asked if the superhero was my new dad.’

Well, fuck.

taglist: @naivara-duneimith @1-2-3-4-5metalfingers @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @lyanna-the-giantsbane @phoenixhalliwell @crazycookiecrumbles @bitchin-beskar @comphersjost {message me to be added!}

#marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno imagine #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character headcanons #pedro pascal characters x reader

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serrj215 · 3 years

Text

Road Trip

"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair" He sang with the radio. He couldn't be more off-key if he tried. As the song went on he fumbled and mumbled half the words. "da da Hoooteeel California"

Beast Boy found himself looking out a windshield. He was in a car, traveling on a highway heading north. It was either very late or ungodly early. Rain was lightly falling on the windshield and save for the headlights and the occasional street lamp it was pitch black. His head was resting against the passenger window. He sat up in the seat, straitening his back trying to remember where he was and what was going on.

"There he is!" The driver says. "You've been out for almost 300 miles, you missed me doing a heartbreaking rendition of Margaritaville about an hour ago. I might have missed my calling."

Beast Boy turned to see a skinny but older man in the driver's seat. He had shaggy blond hair that was months overdue for a trim, and was graying around the temples. When the street lights passed through the windows, he could see he had grey-blue eyes behind chrome wire-rimmed glasses. He must not have shaved for the last few days. The driver's voice was friendly and familiar but Beast Boy couldn’t place it.

The driver arched his back in his seat, stretching tired muscles. "Aggh, I am fading. Don’t get old Gar, trust me. You ready to switch?"

Beast Boy just sat there staring at him as the music ended and the driver turned down the radio.

"Gar, you still asleep?" He asked glancing at him before turning his attention back to the road. "Will stop for gas soon, I will buy you a cup of coffee. Three sugars right?"

"Um, Yea." Beast Boy didn’t know what to say which was new for him. He knew the driver and the driver knew him or at least knew him well enough to know how he likes his coffee. He just couldn’t pull the name from his mind. This man was important, he was safe with him but at that moment he would love to see his driver's license.

"If you pay a few more bucks for the good stuff you don’t need all that sugar. There used to be a little coffee place near the university, they roasted their own beans. I will take you, If it is still there it's been almost 20 years."

"What time is it?" Beast Boy asked.

"Well it's too early for breakfast and too late for dinner " He replied with a smile "but we’re making good time."

Beast Boy knew he had heard that expression before. In fact he was sure that he had used the expression before. But before he could think too much about it.

"Please thank Raven for me," he said. "You found a good one Gar, It's not many women that would be okay with this. I mean especially with a little on the way. " He flipped the turn signal and started merging to the right. "I just hate planes. I think it's worth it taking 14 hours to get someplace if it means I get to pick what and when I eat and I am not stuck in a metal tube with no leg room."

"I guess I am lucky I can fly myself " Beast Boy responded then in unison they both said.

"But boy do your/my arms get tired!"

They both started laughing at the very old humor.

"So when is Raven due again?" the driver asked

"Late September."

"So that means you and Raven got frisky right around New Year’s or the Christmas party?

"HEY!?" He responded he could feel the blood rush up his neck.

"Oh, what?!" The driver expounded. "I am one of the foremost experts in primate biology, also I used to be 22 with a hot wife. " He laughed to himself. "You going to tell me that you and Raven go out and save the world, then go home and play Jenga?"

Beast Boy just retreated a bit in embarrassment leaning back against the door.

"You know you should keep it up, it can help with a lot of the pregnancy symptoms. The stress management and blood pressure benefits alone-"

"I do not want to talk about this!"

"Okay. Okay, changing the subject. Have you settled on names yet?" He started again not letting this conversation end. "I know its tradition to name the firstborn son after the Mother's father but I doubt you're going to do that!"

"Yea that’s a no." "We were thinking of Marie for a girl."

"Your mother would love that."

The exit came up and the driver pulled off the highway into a gas station. He turned off the car and tossed Beast Boy the keys. "Okay throw $20 in it, I will get the coffee and you one of those peanut butter jobs if you don’t tell your mother I am getting one too. She worries"

"Dad?!"

"Yea?" he said looking at his son straight on.

Beast Boy really saw him for the first time with the car's dome light.

"Your dead."

Mark Logan heard that statement and mentally weighed it, after a moment. He said with a smile that Beast Boy had only seen in old photos. "Yea, but I am still around."

The door slammed.

Beast Boy shot up in bed and then tumbled out of it onto the floor, taking the covers with him. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees trying to get a hold of reality.

"eg Gar are you okay?" Raven struggled a bit to sit up in bed. She wrapped her arms around herself. "And may I have the blanket back?"

Beast Boy got up, gathered the covers, and made the bed over his pregnant wife. As he tucked her in he told her about the dream.

"Are you okay? She asked laying on her side looking up at him.

"Yea, I mean it was weird but it was just a dream." he said not sure if he was buying that himself.

"Was it?"

"Rae? Are you saying that was real?”

"Gar, we have seen so much, different dimensions, time travel, different levels of existence. We have been to so many places and met beings that can use reality as a plaything. it wouldn’t be unheard of that you were visited." she said just before a long yawn.

"Really?"

"No." she put a small but sympathetic smile on her sleepy face. A pale hand slipped out of the blankets to take his. "We have talked about this before Gar. I know you are-"

"Scared shitless"

"Apprehensive." she corrected "But I know you are going to be a good father. I know you wish your parents were here to help, but we have family and we are going to be okay."

"Yea I know Rae, there is just so much I wish I could ask."

"We will figure it out. Try to relax we have a big day tomorrow. Now come to bed, you neglecting your duties as my personal bed warmer."

He kissed her hand before letting it disappear back under the blanket. "Okay, I will be there in a minute," he said before walking off.

Beast Boy looked flipped on the bathroom light and went to the sink. He splashed some water on his face a few times and ran his wet fingers through his hair. He straightened up and looked in the mirror, when he saw his face he jumped back a bit.

He slowly touched his face, making sure that the person in the glass was doing the same. Somehow he had missed it. He would look at himself every day, and see the goofy kid he was when he joined the Titans. That night he looked in the mirror and saw his father. His skin, eyes, and hair were still green but his chin, and nose, even the barely controlled chaos of his hair was the same as his Dad's.

Maybe Rae was right. Could it be he was trying to tell himself something? Could it be that in the vastness of creation and all of the unknown his father did visit him? Could it be that he just saw the Lion King too many times?

He took a few deep breaths and headed back to bed. He found his wife where he left her lying on her side, the blankets pulled tight around her. He carefully climbed into bed kissing Raven's head. But before he settled in he leaned over to whisper to his wife's belly. "Grandpa says hello, and he loves you."

***************************

This story has been with me for a bit. My father passed a year ago this month. We didn't see eye to eye about many things as I got older. When I do remember when we did get along it was when we were on the road together. Long road trips going up and down I-95, where we could talk. In the passenger seat is where my father would forget that I was his son and we could talk like two men.

#bbrae #bbrae fanfiction #Serrj215 Original

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angellesword · 3 years

Text

MAGIC SHOP | JJK (02)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively,

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, slow burn, pining, slice of life au.

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/Note: child abuse (physical and psychological/emotional violence) , psychological manipulation, infidelity.

SERIES: CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

Your relationship with your father used to be a secret.

You were an illegitimate child and your mother was a mistress. Taemin obviously didn’t want the world to know about his dirty secret.

So he hid you.

He hid you from his wife and your siblings.

"Mom, is dad coming?" Seven year-old you asked. This was the question you uttered once a year.

Your father was never late with any of his appointments with you. He would always show up on time, sometimes earlier. But there's always that one day of the year wherein he was either hours late or he wouldn't come at all.

That day was your birthday.

You were four years old when your mother made you understand that Taemin couldn't stay at your house since he was busy with work. You didn't question this even though you wanted to know why.

Why couldn't he stay for more than an hour a day? Why didn't he kiss your mother or tell her he loved her just like what you saw husbands did in children's books and movies?

"He's not coming because he doesn't love us. He doesn't love you." Your mother was glaring at you as if it was your fault your father couldn't come to your own birthday party.

Everything was prepared according to his liking, even the food she cooked were his favorites. It was your natal day but it looked like your mother wanted to please somebody else.

It was never about you.

"That's not true! Dad said he loves me the most! I'm his princess—"

"Enough!" She slapped you right across the face, your cheek instantly turning red.

Your eyes brimmed with tears. You also didn't understand why your mother always acted so hostile. What did you do to make her hate you this much?

You followed everything she said. You didn't like sketching but your mother forced you to do it. She kept saying that you needed to be good at it so you could beat Sin-ae's daughter.

You didn't know it that time but your mom was actually referring to Soojin. The latter was a prodigy when it came to drawing. Your mother wanted you to surpass Soojin's talent since it was the only way to become the best architect.

She was wrong though. Being able to draw beautifully wasn't the key to succeeding in the mention field. It was only a bonus.

"You have to be the best if you want your father to stay with us. Do you understand, huh? Be a good girl so your father wouldn't have to look at Sin-ae's daughter." She caressed your cheek after slapping you.

"You can do it, baby girl. You are my leverage."

You were. Your father couldn't leave his obsessive mistress because of you. Your father loved you and didn't want to abandon you, but most importantly, he didn't want Sin-ae to know that you existed.

Your mother threatened Taemin that she would expose his infidelity if he tried to abscond from his responsibilities to you.

Taemin was a powerful person, unfortunately he couldn't control your mother. She was richer and stronger than him.

Your mother's only weakness was the love she claimed she felt for your father.

At this point, you didn't know if it was love. Did she really love your father or was she just lonely?

Was your mother scared to be alone? Just like you?

"I'm not going to leave you." You remembered seven year-old Jungkook's promise to you.

You were six when you first met little Jeon. He was the son of Jong-in, another influential architect.

Taemin and Jong-in were best friends. The latter was the only person who knew about your father's secret.

Jong-in knew you. He knew your mother as well. You lived in a small world after all. Jong-in and Taemin built Castle Architectural firm. Your mother was one of their investors.

She saw the potential of Architect Kim and Jeon, but it didn't end with that.

Your mother didn't just see Kim Taemin's potential. She also saw a future with him. She acted based on desire, ignoring the fact that Taemin was already a married man with three children.

Taemin didn't seem to mind the advances of your mother. In fact, he seemed to like it. Because if he didn't, then why were you existing?

Why did he fuck a baby into her?

He wanted this to happen as much as your mother did.

And now, they weren't the only one paying for the price.

You were paying too.

You were suffering because of them. You suffered abuse from your mother and at a very young age, you came to realize that people, no matter how many times they assured you they loved you, would still end up hurting you and breaking the promise they made.

"You are!" This was your response to Jungkook when he said that he wasn't going to leave you.

You two were seven years olds. What did you know about promises and keeping them? You drilled it in your head that Jungkook was just like your father. He would end up breaking his promise.

He was going to leave you too.

"You're a liar, just like my dad!" Tears cascaded down your cheeks.

You were very upset. Your father promised to take you to an amusement park, a simple way to make it up to you for not being able to attend your birthday party. Again.

The promise was made yesterday. Taemin told you to wear your favorite onesie because you were going to Lotte World with him and Jungkook.

Taemin was true to his words. You were at Lotte World with Jungkook, wearing your favorite onesie. However, the adult accompanying you was not your father.

Taemin said he had to work so he sent a nanny to look after you and your best friend.

You found it stupid and annoying. You wanted to spend time with your father. You missed him so much. He hadn't been home for weeks now.

"He keeps saying things he doesn't mean!" You sobbed, continuing your rant.

Jungkook was only staring at you using those innocent eyes. He felt bad. His little heart was shattering.

"I hate him! He doesn't love me!" You were slowly believing what your mother told you.

Were you hard to love because you weren't good enough?

"He doesn't love me." You said again and again. "I'm not a good girl. He doesn't love me—"

Jungkook pulled you into an embrace, cutting your absurd thought.

"That's not true. I love you.." His voice sounded genuine.

You sobbed once more, breaking the hug.

"Really?" The thing about kids was that they were easy to reassure. Buy them an ice cream and voila! They’re okay again.

Jungkook didn't give you an ice cream but you believed him. You guessed you love him too, and also because the stars in his eyes were enough to make you believe that he would never ever leave you.

Nineteen years later, Jungkook was still keeping his promise.

He stayed with you through thick and thin.

"We are baking cake today, Tiger." Jungkook announced.

He sometimes called you Tiger, when you asked him why, he simply said 'because I can.'

You stopped questioning his reasons a long time ago; however, you couldn't stop yourself today.

"Bake a cake? Why?" You creased your forehead.

"Because I want to." Was his answer once again, causing you to roll your eyes.

Why did you even ask?

"Do you know how to bake a cake?"

"Nope," he grinned. "But it won't hurt to try. I've read before that baking is a good way to relieve stress..."

Jungkook brought out an apron from the kitchen cabinet and then he went near you, carefully helping you to put on the garment.

He was standing in front you, buckling the D-ring neck that was on the apron. After that, he pulled you closer, your head hitting his chest.

Jungkook encircled his arms around your waist, reaching for the strap behind you as he expertly tied it.

"I can do it, Kook," you slightly pushed him away, chuckling.

He grinned at you.

"I know...but I want to help you."

Of course he did. Jungkook had always been thoughtful and kind. This was why he invited you to his apartment.

You had been staying with him since yesterday. Today was Saturday. You slept here last night. Jungkook didn't mind. He had a spare room and even if he didn't, he wouldn't mind you staying over.

He could always sleep on the floor.

Jungkook was used to sleeping in the same room as you anyway. You used to live in the same house together.

When Jungkook's father died, he officially became an orphan at the age of fifteen. His mother died giving birth to him so no one would look after him now.

All of his relatives were living abroad, this was why Taemin decided to adopt him. Jungkook didn't change his last name. He was still a Jeon. Taemin was simply his legal guardian.

Sin-ae didn't mind that there was an additional member of the family. She could never deny Jungkook since she also treated Jong-in as a dear friend. Besides, the Kims didn't have to worry about the increase of their expenses.

Jungkook was the only heir of Jong-in. The former would inherit his father's share at Castle. Taemin was Jungkook’s fiduciary guardian. He gave Jungkook his share as soon as he reached eighteen.

Jungkook tried to compensate Taemin but the latter didn't accept the money. Instead, he urged Jeonguk to work at Castle as soon as he graduated college.

Your best friend agreed. He could never say no to Taemin. He even stayed at the Kims' mansion despite having the ability to live on his own.

Taemin asked him to stay as per Soojin's request, but two months ago, Jungkook finally moved out of the house because Kim Taehyung, the third born son of Taemin, went back to Seoul after studying and working in New York for years.

"You wanna try baking banana chocolate chip cake? I have all the ingredients here," Jungkook was waiting for you to answer.

You shrugged nonchalantly, helping him prepare.

"Fine by me."

Jungkook asked you to prepare the wet ingredients while he took care of the dry ones.

"You think this is enough?" He was sifting flour.

You coughed.

"Kook! What the hell?" You covered your nose because he was tapping the strainer grimly.

"Oopss..." His lips curled up. "Sorry!"

He wasn't sorry. Not at all. You could tell he was doing this on purpose because instead of stopping, he only used more force while tapping the strainer.

"You ass!" Gritting your teeth, you grabbed a handful of flour from the bowl and started throwing it at Jungkook.

He stopped sifting the flour, eyes widening because of what you did.

"I-It's your fault! You're pissing me off!" You stammered.

You were supposed to be mad at him, but it was you who felt shiver running down your spine when he just stared at you.

Was he mad? Was throwing a handful of flour on his face uncalled for?

"I'm sorry—what the fuck." You hissed when Jungkook also threw flour on your face.

You ended up squinting and coughing because the powder went to your eyes and mouth. It tasted like shit.

"Jeon Jungkook!" You were so annoyed you threw flour at him again.

Jungkook bursted into laughter, clearly having fun.

You two ended up having flour fight—if this was even a thing.

You had to admit that though annoyed, you couldn't help the smile gracing your lips. You liked playing with Jungkook to the point that you didn't want to stop.

You were only forced to end the fight when someone banged on his door.

"Jungkook! Open up!"

Soojin.

You were certain she was on the other side of the door.

"Is that Soojin?" Jungkook furrowed his brow, the smile on his lips was slowly disappearing.

"Yeah. I think so..."

"Huh." He furrowed his brow more. "Did you invite her?"

You shook your head.

Jungkook shrugged. "Okay. I'll ask what she wants. Stay here..."

You nodded, frantically running towards the sink so you could wash your face.

You didn't know why your heart was beating fast or why you felt as if you had done something you shouldn't have.

Maybe you had.

It was the only reasonable explanation why Soojin was glaring at you, her jaw tensed because of annoyance.

"What the hell were you two doing? I've been banging the door for so long! Didn't you hear me!?" This was the first thing Soojin said the moment she took a step in Jungkook's kitchen.

She didn't like that you and Jungkook were staying under the same roof.

"I'm sorry." You bit your lower lip, trailing off.

You didn't know what else to say. You knew your sister. Her question was rhetorical. She would only get madder if you tried to reason out.

When she was pissed, all you had to do was shut up and take the shit she would give you.

"The door is literally a few steps away! I don't understand why you can't hear me!"

Soojin continued to rant as you watched Jungkook enter the kitchen. He instantly stopped your sister's mean remarks because he could feel that it was making you uncomfortable.

"Let it go, Soojin. We apologized, didn't we?"

But Soojin just scoffed. She was about to speak again; however, Jungkook cut her off.

"There's an apron in the cabinet. Wear it if you want to join us..."

You were surprised when Soojin didn't protest. Rolling her eyes, she stomped towards the hanging cabinet to get an apron.

"What are we making?" Soojin crossed her arms.

"Banana chocolate chip cake." You simply said.

Soojin nodded, refusing to look at you.

"I'll mash the bananas." When she said this, you were expecting her to peel the bananas and use a fork to mash them.

Soojin didn't do any of this. Instead, she threw the bananas in the trash bin.

"What? The bananas are overripe." She reasoned out when you and Jungkook groaned.

"It doesn't matter. We can still use—"

"I said I don't want overripe bananas!” It was her turn to cut what Jungkook was saying.

"There's a grocery store across the street. Go buy some bananas, Jungkook."

It was hard to fight Soojin. She would just continue insisting what she wanted until you relented.

Jungkook didn't have a choice but to follow your sister, leaving you in the kitchen with Soojin.

You were thinking how to break the ice when your sister suddenly spoke.

"You didn't go home last night..."

You stopped weighing the butter, your heart skipping a beat.

"Yeah. I stayed the night here..."

Soojin clenched her jaw and you wondered if you should have lied instead. It looked like she didn't like your answer.

"You know, dad asked where you are and I told him you were in your room, working..."

Silence.

"I told him not to disturb you. You're obviously still moping because of what happened yesterday..."

You didn't know what to say. You knew you should be thanking her. Your father was strict. Jungkook was a friend, yes, but Taemin would go feral knowing that you were out here, doing God knows what with a boy when you should be in your own room, working and fixing your mistakes.

"I covered for you because I care about your feelings." She scoffed once again. "But it turns out you don't care about what I feel, huh?"

"Soojin..." You called. "What are you talking about?"

Why was she getting mad at you? You covered for her countless times! Meanwhile she only did the same for you once.

"I'm saying I like Jungkook, sister." She confessed, emphasizing the word 'sister.'

Your heart sank, face growing pale.

"Y-You like...Jungkook?" Saying this felt like a stab in your chest.

"I've been in love with him since we were sixteen. I tried telling him how I feel but I can't do it because of you." The way she said this made you feel like it was your fault.

"Me?" You blinked, shocked.

"Yes. You..." She inhaled deeply, like she was trying hard to stop herself from lashing out on you.

"You were always with him. I can't find the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth because I feel like you're preventing me!"

"Soojin..." You tried to reach for her hand but she swatted it away.

She was upset.

"I'm sorry..." You apologized. You honestly had no idea why you're saying sorry.

You guessed you felt bad.

She was right. You were always with Jungkook, always monopolizing his time that you didn't realize that you were hurting Soojin—preventing her happiness.

"I don't need your sorry. I need you to stay away from Jungkook for a while. Can you do that, huh? Will you let your sister confess first?" Just a few breaths ago, she was swatting your hand away, but now, she was taking it, gently stroking the back of your hand.

"Please? I'm not saying that you should stop being friends with him. I get it. You met him first. You were friends before I came into his life....but please, please give us time and space. I really, really like Jungkook..."

Soojin was looking at you as though she would die if you didn't say yes.

So yes.

You said "Yes. I won’t stop you from telling him how you feel..." just to make her happy.

Soojin's happiness mattered to you.

You could live without Jungkook for a while.

She couldn't. She had waited long enough.

It was her time to be with him.

You were allowing this.

You were allowing her to be happy with your best friend.

"Yay!" Soojin embraced you. "Thank you, sister!"

You smiled and hugged her back, reminding yourself that you made the right choice.

After all, it should always be family first, right?

#ficswithluv #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook best friends to lovers #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook roommate au #armywriterssupport

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aangarchy · 4 years

Text

Reasons people have listed for hating Aangs character and me debunking them

1. He ran away from his responsibility as the Avatar and got encaved in ice resulting in the airnomad genocide. A bullshit reason. Aang was a 12yr old monk who only just mastered airbending, found out he was the Avatar sooner than he was supposed to (they’re not supposed to know until they’re 16) and then found out they were planning on seperating him from his mentor. He was an upset child that ran off and because of stupid coincidence he got into a storm, resulting into his Avatar spirit kicking in and protecting him. It’s not his fault that it lasted for 100 years and it’s not his fault that a dictator decided to eradicate an entire race.

2. He crumpled up the note for Bato containing the map to Hakoda’s camp. Katara and Sokka promised to Aang that they would stick by him. They were his new family. They said so themselves. By telling Aang this they not only agreed to accompany him to the North Pole, they agreed to help him save the world. Of course they would want to see their dad, but their responsibility is to Aang first now. Aang was excluded the entire evening at Bato’s. He tried to include himself in the conversation several times and got dismissed. He has a right to be upset by that. Then he hears that the people who promised to accompany him and who promised they were his new family might leave him to go see their father. Once again, Aang has the right to be upset. Crumpling up the note and hiding it was a shitty move, but Sokka and Katara’s reaction was shittier. Instead of letting him explain they yell at him and tell him to go to the North Pole by himself and with that, save the world by himself. They went back on their promise. This situation was a miscommunication on everyone’s part. Solely blaming Aang is not only wrong, it’s bullshit.

3. He pushed his beliefs onto everyone. Show me a scene where Aang forces Katara and Sokka to eat vegetarian. Show me a scene where Aang forces everyone to meditate. Show me a scene where Aang gets upset when people eat meat in front of him. You can’t. Why? Because this statement is simply not true. The only scene you could possibly pull up is Aang begging Katara not to choose revenge. He tries to help by telling her he knows what she’s going through. He tries to help by giving a metaphor that the monks taught him, because it helped him. All of this comes from a place of love, not a place of wanting to force everyone into airnomad beliefs like Zuko suggests. Aang never tells Katara explicitly “I forbid you from going on this journey and executing your revenge.” He even acknowledges that this is a journey she has to make. He just asks, because he knows how toxic revenge is. He tries to relate to Katara by going “how do you think I felt when the sandbenders took Appa.” This is a valid point to make bc he nearly killed all of the sandbenders in a blind rage fueled by revenge. Katara stopped him then, now it’s his turn to stop Katara.

Another point I’d like to make with this one: everyone else was pushing their beliefs onto Aang when they were trying to force him to kill the firelord. They never asked kindly like Aang did, they said “you have to.” Why? Because they believe there is no other way. Aang believes otherwise because once again, revenge is a toxic notion.

4. He didn’t kill the firelord. Are you seriously wondering why a 12yr old pacifist monk in a kid’s show didn’t murder a man on screen? Really? I’ll refer to number three to tell you exactly why this is bad: it’s other people forcing their ideas and beliefs onto Aang. I’ll also refer to a few other Aang posts I’ve made where I talked about how this outcome, where Ozai isn’t dead, is better than a scenario where he is. His supporters would have used him as a martyr to demonize the Avatar. The same thing happened in the Chin village with Avatar Kyoshi. She killed their dictator leader, and 300 years after that they still hated the Avatar (not just her, all Avatars) and even charged Aang with murder. Killing Ozai would have backfired immensily. The cycle of violence wouldn’t have ended, it would have continued. With Aang showing him mercy and taking his firebending away he broke the cycle and a new era of peace could begin.

5. He’s immature. This is a short one: he’s a CHILD. He’s not supposed to be mature. Think back to how you were when you were twelve. Think back on how twelve yr old boys behaved when you were at school. Aang might have the responsibility of the world laying on his shoulders but he’s still twelve, you should at least expect him to act his age, even if he sometimes has wisdom beyond his years.

6. He lied in the great divide. Lmao pls don’t act all high and mighty here. Everyone has told a little white lie to save themselves once in a while. Yes Aang lied to those clans about that age old ceremony, but it ended up solving a 100yr old fued. Sometimes lying to make people feel better is good. I’m a very honest person but I have told lies to make people happy or to save my own skin. It happens.

7. He’s a bad father. This was started by LoK, when two of Aang’s kids, Bumi and Kya, suggested that they were neglected by him because Aang took his other son, Tenzin (the only airbender) on trips without the other two. At that point Aang and Tenzin are the only two airbenders known to exist. Aang wants to keep his culture alive, it’s why he started the Air Acolytes, therefore he must have been thrilled to finally have another airbender to share his knowledge with. I don’t think we can fully blame Aang for spending more time with Tenzin while trying to teach him about airnomad culture. It’s Aang’s job as the Avatar to keep the balance and without airnomads the balance is disrupted.

Then we have the fact that kids memories are often blown out of proportion, or not reliable bc they don’t have all the facts. For example, I remember several times in my childhood where I was left out by my older friend when she found someone her age to play with. Those are the memories I have of her. But through looking at pictures and hearing stories from my parents, I realized there had been several times where I wasn’t left out by her and that we got along great. I don’t remember those, I only remember when I was left out. There might have been plenty of trips that Bumi and Kya did attend, but they only remember the ones where they felt left out bc they didn’t come. Kya and Bumi are also older, there might have been years before Tenzin was even there where they had Aang all to themselves. But they don’t remember that. And even if Kya and Bumi were to come on these trips, they’d probably be complaining that they were boring bc Aang would only be talking about his culture and teaching them about it. Then the complaint would be “dad would drag us along on these boring trips just to teach tenzin airnomad stuff”.

Let’s all also remember that Aang is in fact the Avatar, as in, one of the most important people in the world. He must be a busy man. And while yes, your children should be your number one priority, the Avatar is an exception to this rule because his responsibility is to the world first. Not to his wife, not to his kids. Aang has struggled with this before (choosing to save Katara over mastering the Avatar state) and probably struggled with this later in life too.

This is a long way to say that you can’t judge someone’s parenting over one scene in LoK where Bumi and Kya aired their frustrations about Aang to Tenzin in a moment of stress. Later on Kya even showed them a happy family picture, and they didn’t seem to think Aang was that bad anymore. People definitely jumped the gun to claim Aang was a bad father after hearing one (1) complaint about his style of parenting.

If you guys find more weird reasons people have given to hate Aang’s character, definitely send me them!

#avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar #aang #avatar aang #analysis #katara #zuko #sokka #the legend of korra #tenzin #kya #bumi

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arkus-rhapsode · 3 years

Note

Bnha chap 302 was crazy! So many stuff have been revealed! What did u think of it?

(So before I start, I just want to say, sorry it took me a few days to answer this. when discussion recent chapters of MHA, I’m trying now to wait for the official release before posting anything. I know I haven’t always been the best when using scans vs official releases, but I’m going to try and make this more a thing. Given some flack I’ve received in the past, as well as recent crack downs by shueisha. So you can send me asks like this, please I’m not discouraging it. but you’re just going to have to wait till after the official releases.)

With the preamble out of the way OH MY GOD! This flashback chapters are amazing! Like this has been the kind of stuff I’ve been waiting for in MHA after the metric crap ton of build up by Horikoshi. And its not disappointed.

First, I do likeEndeavor’s gradual decline into is asshole self from Shoto’s memory. It’s vocally recognized that Endeavor is breaking societal taboos with his Quirk Marriage. Not only his selfish wishes to have an ultimate child to surpass All Might, but Toya is basically one of the worst combinations of this selective breeding. Being that he has stronger fire than Endeavor, but he has resistance to cold temperature so he’s just burning his body.

Yet Endeavor still is more focused on surpassing All Might. And when he comes to the realization that Toya will never surpass All Might, he decides to make a his real ultimate child. Now the reason I like this is because this isn’t Endeavor just being like “I need to surpass All Might with the perfect child”, its also, “I need to create my ideal child which will surpass All Might and act as a deterrent to Toya wanting to be a hero.”

Now, I love this scene, not just because no matter how Endeavor tries to justify his actions, he is still ultimately breaking societal conventions just to selfishly surpass his rival. But it also shows, Endeavor is aware of Toya’s feelings. He KNOWS Toya won’t stop trying to be a hero. He’s not some ignorant to his son wanting to live up to his dream of the ultimate hero. But his plan to stop Toya is not altruistic. It’s still selfish. His plan is literally to make an actually superior child, just to get his son to give e up. Its probably the worst thing you can do.

And most recently in 302, when that doesn’t work and Toya still burns himself and tries to attack Shoto. Endeavor finally just decides to no longer deal with this. personally. He is leaving Toya to Rei and is just going to focus on Shoto. He’s pushing a problem onto someone else and NOW he’s just ignoring it.

And then he just doubles down worse from there. Actually becoming more of the abuser that Shoto and Natsuo remember. All because Rei couldn’t keep Toya in line. Even though Toya was his son too.

It’s been awhile since we have seen Endeavor as the antagonistic figure. And I know the story of Endeavor will always be a tough one because its ultimately one trying to redeem an abuser. And I like that in this flashback, we are really reminded of why Endeavor wants atonement, because what he did to his family was wrong. And now we’re actually seeing it. Hell, some of it is more uncomfortable because we now see, its not like Endeavor was so pure evil psychopath, he gradually slipped from some wrong-headed jerk who was breaking taboos who is aware he’s doing bad things but pushing forward to ignoring his problems he’s caused to finally lashing out at his family as if it’s not also his responsibility.

And we see a man who is regretful. But he still made mistakes. And I like that this hasn’t just been for the audience, this has been for Endeavor. Because he can no longer keep those skeletons in his closet nor is he in a position to throw himself a pity party. Again, we still have to wait a few chapters before we see like how this pays off. But Rei is reminding him that if he really wants to make things better and prove he’s a better person, then let’s start by getting his house in order.

Speaking of Rei, this has been a pretty interesting character study for her as well. We see Rei as pretty much a passive player both in the series up to this point being in a hospital, but also in this flashback. She agrees to be Enji’s wife and while she’ll speak up, she doesn’t stop Endeavor from having more kids. Nor does she stop him from really separating the kids. She also brings it up that like Endeavor, she didn’t really “see” what was really going on with Toya.

While Endeavor may have thought a deterrent of making him Toya give up would work, Rei try to just talk to Toya about looking beyond his father, but its not just wanting his father’s attention that is driving Toya mad. Its the fact that his birth was solely to make an ultimate Quirk users and if he’s not then his whole creation is pointless.

Because at he core, she is still complacent with this arrangement. From her family to the fact that when she can’t actually stand up to Enji, she then starts lashing out at the children who remind her of them. She has hurt her children too and its wrong. But unlike Endeavor who is really now just trying to come to grips with that, Rei has clearly stewed in that self loathing for a while. And now, she’s not being passive, she’s now taking a stand and being the one who needs to pull Endeavor out of his own self-pity.

Its very nice to see this character who, like Endeavor, has transformed over the course of this union.

Now what does this mean for their marriage? As this seems to be the root cause of here passivity. I’m not sure. But Hori has given me no reason to think he’ll do something crazy with it. So I’m going to wait and see.

Now onto the man himself, Toya. Man finding out about Dabi has been a trip. Because at first it seems like he just wants his dad’s attention. To be proud of him. But its more than just that. Toya has a fire in him that won’t go out.

Toya’s “fire” isn’t this drive to be number 1 hero and get the glory. Its literally the validation of his existence. Because he was made to surpass All Might. If Toya can’t do that, then he failed at his existence.

It really pulls back that Dabi doesn’t hate Endeavor because of abuse like Rei, Shoto and Natsuo. Dabi hates Endeavor because he was born solely to fulfill his mission, and when he was physically incapable of doing so, he replaced him with a child who could. It hurts to watch.

Because Dabi will never get over the fact of why he’s here in the first place, I think a lot of kids when they get older have that realization about why they’re here is because of their parents. And Toya can literally trace why his father made him. As he recalled with Snatch.

Just contemplating his family and why he’s here. He lost it.

We also get some cool details on Dabi’s powers. With his flames growing even stronger from red to blue, but also that the burns around his chest that we first saw in his video is intentionally so he could both hide the burns but also avoid hurting him.

There’s also the fact that his flames are tied to his emotions. Probably why whenever we see Dabi he’s mostly irate and disinterested. But when he finally had to get infront of Endeavor and the world, Dabi lets all his emotions come out. Letting him use flash fire and be wary more gleeful in his destruction. Yet we see that any times he cranks up his emotions, he always starts crying. Like he did with Snatch and Hawks. Which is such a subtle touch that I love.

There’s also his unique resentment towards the women in his family more than Natsuo. Now Endeavor we know he clearly hates, but when it came to Natsuo, he ignored him. But he knew Rei and Fuyumi the longest, and they did nothing for the longest time.

We also see the beginning of Dabi’s use of faux concern about society and using it as a way to turn people on Endeavor.

Dabi has stated he doesn’t care about the League of Villains. Even in his big speech about how its Endeavor’s fire that let him kill people, he knows that’s a lie too. He would talk about confiding in his beloved brother, but if it meant making his dad suffer, he would’ve killed him.

Dabi’s hate is for one man, and if he can use anything to make Endeavor’s existence a living hell, he’ll use it. And we see that his hate is justified, but he will wrap that hate in a way to get others to feel like him. Its very effective.

Its just nice to see a villain who gets a bunch of build up LIVE up to all his hype. Its not like a let down, its just opening more doors to explore.

And now we get to the Todoroki family. Where do we go from here? Well Dabi isn’t just an Endeavor problem or a Rei problem, its a family problem. They all share the burden and Dabi will be their goal.

And I like this because, for the most part, Shoto completed his arc in the Sports Festival of hating his dad, but then accepting this is his power and looking beyond Enji. And while that wasn’t the end as he still has to make his choice on wether to accept his dad as a changed man or not, that’s more part of Endeavor’s goal. Shoto has been sorta like Deku and Bakugo with a focus on being number 1.

But now he has real and true personal motivation that no one but this family can really address and I am excited. I’m glad that the prominent characters of this series like Shoto has something to do. I get that all the kids in UA will never truly get this treatment. They have focus, but they are still mainly supporting cast. But having a main character really be able to justify why they’re up in front is great. I’m eager to see what awaits the Todoroki family in the future.

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