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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father. The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst.

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him.

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could.

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity.

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now.

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar.

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy.

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain.

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams.

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink.

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him.

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals.

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?”

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.”

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss.

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch.

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know.

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit.

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control.

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised.

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

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snoopyblankie · 4 months

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LI’L PUP’S “DAYCARE” / “SCHOOL” ROUTINE !

Okay, so in a few posts, I mentioned that if you don’t have a CG, have a hard time with routine, have a hard time meeting certain daily tasks, etc., then it can help to make a sorta daycare/school routine (which would involve getting ready for the day, exercise, recreation, meal breaks, etc)!

Of course, the “daycare”/“school” aspect to it is all up to you ! Routines can have some variation, and if you’re having a little day or your routine seems to be difficult because of sudden regression, then this is more tailored towards that !! (It’s also a li’l more geared towards the 4-5 age range, but don’t let that dissuade you!)

Me personally, if I’m havin’ a rough time, I might feel a sorta lingering regression throughout my day which I’ve been feeling lately. I don’t want it to interfere when I have to be big, though, so this is also a good way to manage big tasks and little wants!!

The routine can start like this !

Getting Ready For The Day: You gotta make sure you’re ready to take on the day! Wake up at a decent time (what works for your schedule) and try to do each of the following!

Make your bed

Drink some water

Brush your teeth/hair

Go to the bathroom (even if you’re not sure you need to! It can’t hurt to try!)

Wash your face or splash it with a little water

Get dressed (It helps to lay out your clothes the night before if you can !) (don’t forget new underwear and socks !)

Have some breakfast

School Time: These you can rearrange the order of, but I recommend keeping lunch/recess/nap in a somewhat similar place (ex. not having recess first) unless you really gotta! These are just suggestions after all and you know yourself best !

Welcome to the Day: Make a list of the Big Things you might need to do that day (tidy up, laundry, work/homework, etc) so you can sprinkle them in throughout the day or work around them! You can write this out by hand as a little goal chart—this is how we are greeting the day! You can write your name and date on it, use fun pens, make it a little sticker chart, whatever you’d like! This is just a way to keep track of the things you’ve gotta do. This is also a time to Get Grounded; make a separate list of three things that have made you happy/went well/or that you look forward to this morning! Even if it’s a hard day, it helps to try and find the littlest things (like you!) that make your day a little better (ex. “The weather is nice right now,” “I made my bed,” “I changed into different pajamas,” “I’m going to the park later,” etc!)

Reading: Set aside around 20-30 minutes (or more! I’d say about an hour max for now) to get comfy in a fun chair, on the floor, wherever, grab a book (or a couple if they’re shorter,) and get reading! No need to take notes unless you wanna, and if you really wanna make it more school-like, you can read the books out loud to some stuffed animals (just make sure you’re reading ‘em, not just saying ‘em) or write down the books you read in a reading log! At the end of the month it could be fun to look back and see what you’ve read!

Music: This was always my favorite subject (well, one of them)! Again, set aside around 30 minutes, and have some music fun! Listen to your favorite artists, learn some chords on guitar, practice keyboard/piano, whatever you’d like! Write a song and play it for your stuffed animals! Come up with a cartoon theme song, or music for a video game!

Work Time: Set aside around 30-60 minutes to do some work! If you have school work, you can chip away at that. If you don’t, you can use this time to do some of your big tasks (start a load of laundry, wash some dishes, etc) and, with whatever remaining time, maybe find some things to stimulate your brain! Word puzzles, math problems, researching a subject you like—anything!

Recess: Set a timer for 30 minutes and go have fun! This depends on the weather, naturally, but it’s free time! If you can get outside, go for it! Enjoy the sun (or snow,) lay/sit in the grass, take a pet for a walk or just go for one yourself/with a friend, run around if you can! If there’s a park nearby, that could be fun! Or if you have outdoor toys (ball, hula hoop, chalk, etc) you can use those! Even just reading or drawing outside is nice to get the fresh air. If you can’t get outside, do some indoor fun! Try and stay off of screens, but you don’t have to (you could find some fun kids games on the computer,) and play inside! Play with your stuffed animals, whatever toys you may have, color, anything your heart desires! Maybe you just want 30 minutes to meditate wherever you are, go for it. Just stay safe, and keep stuff handy in case you get too excited playing!

Lunch Time: This can be 30 minutes to 60, however long you feel you need to make/have lunch and settle down afterwards! It’s not helpful to rush during a meal, which I know sometimes folks struggle with (me too,) so this is the time to slow down. You’ve had a busy day so far, you gotta make sure you’ve got energy to last you a while longer! Try incorporating fun stuff into lunch if it’s daunting; fun shapes, a color scheme, a theme overall, etc. Have a stuffed animal have lunch with you if you wanna (just don’t feed ‘em your food, they like their own!)

Art: We don’t wanna get right into anything too exhaustive after lunch, what better idea than to create? Set aside 30 minutes to do something creative! Paint, color, draw, use clay, make bracelets, make a fun craft, whatever you can think of. There’s loads of posts about agere craft ideas, and plenty of kids’ art ideas on Pinterest and in books—check those out for some ideas! Remember, you’re not making things to be the best, you’re making things to make them!

Writing: For 20 minutes, it’s time to write! Assess how your day’s going—if anything’s changed from the morning, what fun stuff you might’ve done, etc. Maybe you just wanna write a silly story, or you have one that you’re already working on, go ahead and work on it! If you’re feeling particularly little, those handwriting workbooks are very fun!

Gym: For 30 minutes, we’re gonna get our bodies moving! This is all dependent on your mobility levels, so I won’t get toooo specific here (I will in other posts)! Clear some space in your living room, a rec room, however much space you need, and get your blood moving. This can be things like yoga or simple stretches (which have lots of seated options,) Pilates, or a full-out routine! It’s important to get your body moving as best you can, it keeps your heart healthy and can help if you’ve got low energy (I can confirm)!

Quiet Corner: Now we really step away from the screens. For 20-30 minutes (minimum, if you can do longer go for it,) turn off your phone, the TV, the computer, and try to relax. This is another good time to journal, to meditate, or even take a nap if you feel like your body needs it (try not to take too long a nap though, keep that to 12-30 minutes so you don’t mess up sleeping later). This can just be any quiet activity that is more hands-on to help keep you grounded. I like to read in the little corner in my room, or to play with my sensory bin! (This is also a good time to bust out the “clean up” song and maybe tidy up stuff as you start wrapping up).

Goodbyes: The day isn’t over yet, especially if you’ve gotta work closing or have late classes, but the school routine is sorta wrapping up. Grab your journal yet again, and write down something about the day that you’ve enjoyed, something you’d want to do tomorrow, or maybe something you wanna do later in the day! This is also a good time to clean up as needed, as you say “goodbye” to the more organized schedule and carry on with your day!

Dismissal: The “daycare”/“school” day may be done, but the day isn’t over yet! Have another check in and see what tasks you’ve still gotta do for the day. It’s a good time to get crackin’ on those so your evening can be more restful!

If you have work/class that interrupts your schedule, just try and pick up where you left off (unless you’re gettin’ home real late—adjust as necessary). Once you’re done with all your tasks for the day (it’s okay if you can’t do ‘em all,) it’s time to settle down, have some dinner, have a nice bath, and get ready for bed however you’d like!

This routine is great because of how flexible it can be; don’t wanna do gym every day? That’s fine! Switch out gym for science (go outside and collect some rocks or fallen plants, look ‘em up, watch some Bill Nye)! Don’t wanna do writing that day? Okay! How about history? Brain Pop is great for all sorts of subjects, and it’s a good way to try finding some new books!

This is a VERY long post, and it’s all just suggestions, but I hope some folks find it helpful (I love detailed posts like this personally ^w^). I might make some more as far as routines go (morning/night routines, different daily routines, etc) but I will definitely be making follow-up posts to this one with links and resources for every subject (as I find them!)

Have a great day !!!!!!!!! You’ve got this !!!!!!

#lil pup speaks !#helpful !#words !#routines !#agere #age regression #age regressor #agere blog #age regression blog #agere journal #agere routine #agere resources

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yourfavepookiebear · 2 months

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Hello ! I hope you have a great day. Can I please request Leona, Lilia, and Rook with a cheerful s/o ? For example s/o is nice,friendly,funny and mostly positive ? It's okay if you don't feel like doing this though, it's up to you :)

Of course pooks ! And sorry for the late ass reply, I was hella busy these past few weeks (I'm always busy but still) anyways, this one was kinda fun to write, and I had "lay all your love on me" playing in my headphones too, cuz music helps me concentrate. It took me a long while to write this tho because my imagination is shit when it comes to coming up with stuff.

Cw : none ? Just cotton candy-material fluff. A bit ooc, and short asf. Rushed too

♡☆ Leona Kingscholar ☆♡

Has a love-hate relationship with your personality

It's complicated ; he finds it cute, but at the same time, why the hell are you being kind to anyone that isn't him ???

Naturally when someone has a good personality it means lots of people will want to be close to them, which is good for you but bad for Leona.

In conclusion, he : 1. Finds it a bit endearing. 2. Is annoyed bc you're a bug magnet (by bug he means people)

Also he's absolutely flabbergasted at how you manage to be so positive and cheerful.

You frfr need to teach him cuz he urgently needs it. (His pessimistic ass is jealous asf)

But he'll learn to appreciate it, eventually..

(Eventually means maybe in 30 years when he turns 50. Eventually also means probably never. Eventually means only god knows)

♡♤ Lilia ♤♡

Absolutely loves It.

He finally has someone to be funny, cheerful, and silly with.

Yall are fucking partners in crime at this point, (except Lilia does all the work and you just sit back and watch)

Now now, don't get your hopes up, just because you're partners in crime doesn't mean you're safe from his pranks

And worst of all, he'll definitely have you try his food. (You better run into the forest and never come back)

Appreciates your cheerfulness, and your sense of humor

♡♡ Rook ♡♡

"Oh mon dieu, QUELLE BEAUTÉ !!!"

Will make poems and songs about your cheerfulness and will most likely adress you as Kalim's counterpart (although you're a bit tamer than Kalim)

Will fr show up under your window/balcony at 5 in the morning and start singing about your "beauté sublime" (guitar in hand n all)

Will probably gift you a rabbit or sum. Don't ask why.

I hc he refers to you as "jumeau du soleil" or "beauté du jour" !!!!!!!

#yourfavepookiebear #rook hunt #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst fics #rook hunt x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #disney twst #x reader fics #twst hcs #gn reader #can be read as platonic or romantic #can be read as anything #the pookiest writes

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runningmunson · 2 years

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Eddie’s S/O taking care of him | Headcanon

● Eddie can take care of himself, he’s been doing it for years. Yes, Wayne helps but he works a lot so Eddie is home alone most of the time.

He is messy, unorganized, chaotic, follows no schedule, just goes with the flow.

Eddie is the kind of person who is so caught up in the things that he loves that he often forgets to do basic life necessities like eating, going to bed at a decent time, laundry.

That was before he started dating you.

● It started off small at first, you noticed that he didn’t eat school lunch and never really brought anything more than trail mix so you took it upon yourself to pack an extra sandwich for him.

Later on in your relationship when you began to spend more time at his trailer you realized they hardly ever had real food in the fridge.

○ “Eddie, when was the last time you had a home cooked meal?”

○ “Does frozen lasagna count?”

○ “No, Eddie. That definitely doesn’t count.”

From then on you always made sure Eddie had a home cooked meal, whether it would be at his trailer or your home. You even made sure to make extras for Wayne.

On mornings after you stayed the night you would quietly slip out of Eddie’s grasp and make breakfast before work, leaving a plate for Eddie and Wayne on the table usually with a note that said “have a great day!”

You sometimes have to literally feed him when he gets caught up with learning a new song on the guitar or creating another campaign.

Most of the time he has a guitar or pencil in his hand, you sitting next to him making him open his mouth to feed him because that boy didn’t need to get any skinnier (but something about you feeding him kinda turned him on).

● Eddie usually had a pile of dirty clothes in his room that he only washed when he absolutely needed to (and you bet he smell checked clothes to make sure they were okay to wear again).

You made it a habit to wash and fold his clothes when he was at hellfire club, bedding was included in this.

They once had a sale on bed sheets so you bought Eddie a new set (throwing out his old stained ones), let’s just say Eddie loved christening the new sheets with you.

● Eddie would stay up all night if it wasn’t for you.

You’ve always been pretty regular about your bedtime, you went to sleep at 10:30 every night and always felt well rested the next morning.

The soft light of his lamp and the sound of crinkling paper used to wake you up most nights.

○ “Eddie, come to bed.”

○ “Not yet, sweetheart.”

○ “It’s 3AM and you have school tomorrow.”

○ “I’m trying to finish this new campaign for Friday.”

○ “Edward Munson, don’t make me say it again. Get your ass in bed now.”

○ “Christ, fine! You’re so bossy.”

Eddie liked to pretend that he was annoyed by this but he loved nothing more than your inviting embrace waiting for him at the end of the day when he finally got in bed and to wake up the next morning still in each other’s arms.

● If Eddie had a long shift at the mechanics shop you bet there was a warm meal on the table, clean clothes and towels waiting in the bathroom, his favorite movie rented, and you excited to greet him. It was his favorite sight and he didn’t think he could love you more.

Some days he was so exhausted he would immediately throw himself on his bed. You were right there to take his shoes off, help him undress, usher him in the bathtub, and wash his hair for him. He had some of his favorite conversations with you during these moments.

● It’s not that Eddie couldn’t do all of these things himself, but you just genuinely loved taking care of him and doing all of this for him. He had to take care of everything from such a young age because of his parents. You unfortunately couldn’t take that away but you could control how it would be moving forward. Eddie deserved the world and you sure as hell were going to give it to him.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson headcanons #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fluff

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 month

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See The Road You're On

Elks Chapter 1

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him. Reader Background: Reader is in her 30's and comes from Colorado. No other physical descriptors besides her having long enough hair to put up. Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: The man you've had a crush on since he showed up to Jackson just so happens to be your favorite student's father... and he just saw you do a brutal face plant in front of his home. Chapter Warnings: Outbreak mention, timeline editing, reader has anxiety, reader trips and falls, Joel bandages her knees, SO MUCH softness. Words: 5,300 A/N: Whoa! Hi! Welcome to the first chapter of Elks, my first multi-chapter fan fic. I'm excited for you to meet my reader, and come along on the adventure of her falling in love with Joel Miller. This reader and Joel are in my previous work, Golden Walkway, so you know that later down the line things get REAL good between them. I'm selfish and need super comfort reads about Joel, so except this to be quite soft with very little angst. 🫡

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Playlist

***

“Caring Is Creepy” - The Shins

The world ended the day after you bought your homecoming dress, a long deep forest green sequined sweetheart a-line gown. Chosen by you because the neckline perfectly showed off your prized gold daisy pendant. The biggest issue of September 26, 2003 was turning in your biography of Renoir for AP English and remembering to grab your guitar out of your locker after art club. Little did you know that as you walked home after school with your headphones on and your guitar in hand, you were hearing the last lyrics that you’d ever hear before everything changed.

“Hold your glass up, hold it in

Never betray the way you’ve always known it is

One day, I’ll be wondering how

I got so old, just wondering how”

Twenty years later, hardened by life in the Denver Quarantine Zone and gently softened by your now comfortable life in Jackson, you’re still waiting for your first dance.

Life has always revolved around art and music for you, never allowing anything to take away your creativity. You create for yourself using art as a way to soothe your thoughts and anxieties, you create for the Settlement of Jackson to give back to the town that has given you a good life for the past five years, and most importantly you create for your students at the school you’ve taught at since your arrival.

Teaching was never your idea for a career, much preferring the company of animals to kids. You always planned to escape your small Colorado mountain town and move to Denver to attend veterinary school… then the cordyceps came for everything. You did find your escape in Denver, though it wasn’t to grow up and find new friends and learn new things, it was to survive… everything and everyone else gone besides your protective neighbor Helen, your school backpack, and art club messenger bag.

The fifteen years spent in the Denver QZ tried to steal your colors and mute your songs, joy becoming more difficult to find as each year behind those giant iron gates passed. The only happiness being supplied by your small group of friends and your students in the desolate school you spent ten years teaching at, only working there because you were young and still remembered most of your high school education.

You arrived in Jackson five years ago. Taking the opportunity to leave Denver happening when Helen’s sister made contact, the two of you escaping through the wasteland of the world for a better life up north.

Now, your life has color, supplied by the paint you make or what the patrollers bring you back. Your life has music from the CD player in your house and your guitar you strum. Jackson has filled your life with so much purpose, your weekdays spent teaching your impressionable students, your Satrudays spent working at the library you run by yourself out of your classroom. Yes, it's comfortable here, you spend your evenings with your mismatched art supplies and song book, but once the moon sits high atop the mountains, your nights are spent alone with only your cats Ripley and Penny in your small cottage. Laying in bed every night you try to silence the thought that there’s nobody in your life who creates beautiful things for you. Too many nights you find yourself thinking about the man that lives down the street from you… Joel Miller.

He’s so intimidating, beautiful and caged off, like an art piece you’d pay admission to be able to stand near. The most handsome face you’ve seen, soft and full lips always hidden under a frowning mustache resting below his large hooked nose, his brown eyes always focused forward in thought underneath his furrowed brows. Dark brown wavy hair matching his eye hue with gray streaks painted throughout. A strong and broad body hidden underneath his tan flannel lined jacket, tall and big, so big, somebody you’d imagine was born a protector. His hands, also large to match the rest of his features, capable hands that you can tell are efficient of any task you ask of them, thick yet dexterous and handy. His skin golden toned, born that way and bronzed by years spent outdoors. You sketch him in your notebook, your precious pages being depleted by trying to master the lines on his face. Maybe you could get the minute details if only you could stop being so afraid of the feelings he stirs inside of you.

You’ve been enamored with Joel since he first showed up to Jackson, your life, and everything you’ve tried to avoid for years, being upended by the presence of one handsome stranger. Walking into the Tipsy Bison to drop off some extra shoelaces and push pins for the community swap basket, your eyes dart over to the long communal table where Maria and Tommy are seated with two strangers. Your first spot a small teenage girl with a tight pony tail and a tattered sweatshirt talking animatedly with her mouth full. Sat next to her bent over a plate of stew untamely clutching a fork is a man with a curly mess of graying hair and a permanent scowl plastered on his handsome face. You note his strong jaw as he chews his food, his eyes stare straight forward void of kindness, you wonder when was the last time somebody created something beautiful for him. You know then he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, so intimidatingly sized and looming even in his seated and hunched stature. You quickly flit over to the corner where the basket is and deposit your items. You turn around to head back to your home when you notice the handsome stranger looking at you. His eyes dart away and you make your hasty retreat out of the tense room. You go home that night and write a song about a once warm and inviting cabin sitting in the woods now cold and desolate with tattered floor boards and a cracked window.

That girl you see at the Bison with him, Ellie, shows up in your class the next week. She quickly becomes your favorite student thanks to her love of art and her smart mouth. She’s always eager to learn in the mornings before heading out with the other older kids for patrol and community training. She doesn’t shut up about your handsome stranger, Joel, he’s from Texas, he’s grumpy, he hates scrambled eggs. He’s not her father, but he’s her protector, everything she tells you makes you think about him more.

Sometimes you’ll pass him on the street, always tucking your head down and continuing to your destination eyes planted on the ground. One night you see him with Tommy at the Tipsy Bison in the corner drinking whiskey, your eyes staring unblinking before you realize how anyone could look over and see the way you’re ogling, quickly making up a reason to your friends why you need to head home. Seeing him stirs up so many foreign emotions inside of you, but you like the rush. You like having your little crush, as long you can keep your distance from him.

“Jeez, what were they thinking when they named those bands? The Shins? The Strokes? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Did every band just pick a random word and put The in front of it?” Ellie questions as she peruses your CD collection while you grade papers. With training for the older students cancelled due to the Winter snow outside, Ellie decides that you needed company.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” you answer. “I’ll have to play them for you one day, those were some of my favorite bands when I was your age.”

“Really? Wicked! I’d love that!” She excitedly says smiling at you. You return her smile, happy for the bond that the two of you share.

You look back down to continue grading papers as Ellie returns back to your CD book. “Joel loves music too, wonder if he’d like any of these,” Ellie mentions not noticing how your pen pauses at the mention of his name.

“I’m sure there’s something in there for everyone,” you tell her as you stand. “I think we should get going El, before the sun sets. You go head home while I close up the school.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me hang with you, this was really fun,” she says as she grabs her backpack.

“Of course El, see you tomorrow morning.”

“Bye, teach.”

As you watch her happily stroll out of the room, the thought plants in your head that she’s only a couple years younger than the age you were when the outbreak happened. You know she’s in good hands with Joel, but you also want to hold her closer and nurture her.

Winter turns to Spring and the sun stays up longer, allowing patrollers a better chance to scavenge and bring their finds back. There's a wish list posted in the Bison above the communal basket. Residents ask for a broom, a TV input cable, a glue gun, crayons, other utilitarian items to help make life easier. You think about writing down the one thing you wish for the most, a new CD player. Your prized possession finally spinning its last song a couple of days ago making your home much quieter without your constant companion of music. The irony not lost on you that your just as old guitar lays silent against the wall, the crack on the neck finally breaking from overuse and rendering it useless. You don’t write down your main wish, instead writing down that the school needs chalk and you need a new oven mitt.

“Thought I told you not to touch my stereo kid,” you hear the deep timbre of a Texas accented voice behind you. It causes your heart rate to rise and goosebumps to spread along your body. You freeze in your seat on the floor as you try not to let your internal panic show. Joel is home. Of course he’s home, this is HIS home and you’re in it breaking HIS rules listening to your favorite mixed CD on HIS stereo system that’s much grander than your pitiful broken CD player. Why did you think this was a good idea?

“I know! Relax! I’m being active in the community like you asked me to,” Ellie responds as you both turn your heads to look up at him. His deep brown eyes bore right into yours, he gives you a half smile as you stare back at him mouth slightly agape. Joel Miller is in Joel Miller’s house with you.

“This is the teacher I told you about, her stereo broke and I know how important music is to her… kinda like how it is to you… I invited her over so she could play me some of her stuff,” Ellie reasons as you start to pack your backpack up and stand.

“Mm,” Joel grunts out before turning to you and reaching his hand down. “Nice to meet you, I‘m Joel.”

His big hand envelopes yours as you softly grab it to say hello. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries. I really appreciate her offering to help me. My stereo broke a couple days ago and she knew it upset me.” You nervously stammer feeling like a 13 year old in trouble again as you begin to fiddle with the gold daisy chain around your neck.

“Don’t worry, about it, please,” he urges looking over at Ellie, “I can of course look past it kid if it means you’re getting out of that damn garage.”

“She has way better music taste than you have old man. None of that twangy sad music you like.”

You start to feel antsy as Joel crowds the small space around you.

“Thank you for this, Ellie, I really appreciate it, I do need to head out though, I promised Helen I’d help her at the Tipsy Bison.” You’re not due for another hour but you can’t fathom the idea of being in Joel’s house with him inside.

“Oh, okay. Well, you’re welcome back whenever you want, right Joel?”

“Uh— of course. S’pose any friend of Ellie’s is welcome here,” Joel hesitates with a smile, his deep brown eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Thank you again Ellie, I’ll see you tomorrow, make sure you bring your notebook,” you say as you turn to walk out the door.

You smell the distinct woodsy smell of Joel’s house on your clothes and you hope it’ll linger for awhile. You almost trip when you realize you’ve left your favorite mixed CD in Joel’s stereo.

Weeks pass, and the weather gets warmer. Your mixed CD is now a victim of your inability to be anywhere near Joel. Either Ellie decided to keep it for herself, or Joel's decided you don't want it back. It's actually kind of a nice feeling, like old times when you'd forget a CD in your friend's car or in your locker over Winter break. It's not like you have anything to play it on still, your house is still silent, save for the purring of your cats or whatever song you can hum to yourself.

It's a day hotter than usual in the Spring and all you can think about is getting home and taking a long bath after helping out at the community garden. Your hurried footsteps pitter patter against the warm asphalt in front of Joel’s house. Your heart always begins to race as it comes into view, once in awhile you'll get to steal a glance of him leaving for patrol at the same time you're heading to school, you like those mornings. Today you’ve certainly lucked out. There he is, in his yard working on repairing a broken fence post. Your steps begin to slow as you see him set the hammer down, wipe the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, and stretch his back. You panic at the sight. The thought of him seeing you in the state you’re currently in, skin all sweaty and covered in dirt with your hair a mess. You pick up your pace not seeing the divit in the road. A trip and a fall ends with you landing hard on your stomach and knocking the wind out of you. You can just make out the sound of heavy boot steps over the noise of you gasping for air.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you okay darlin’?” Joel asks as he bends over, his broad body looming above you. “S’alright, s’alright, breathe.”

You look up at him, and notice how the sheen of sweat against his skin makes it glow almost golden, the freckles on his neck underneath his gray t-shirt more prominent in the sunlight. You’ve never seen him without a jacket or flannel, and now you get to see how his biceps strain the fabric of his short sleeves when he reaches out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You can’t tell if you’re still panicking from your fall or the stress of Joel seeing you as pathetic as you think you look. He called you darling and you feel like a fool.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry. I’m okay.” You gasp out as you try and stand up before it hurts too much and you let out a whimper from the pain.

“Hold on, hold on, there’s no need to rush, you took a mighty fall. Ya’ got a big cut on your knee, let me help you.”

“No, no, I’m okay really, I… I’m really okay.” You try to calm yourself, losing terribly against your raising embarrassment.

“S’alright now, I have some peroxide and bandages in my house, Ellie’d kill me if she knew I left you injured.” Joel implores as he reaches his hand out. "I want to help you, come here."

“I— okay,” you grab his hand, “I— don’t want to bother you.”

“Now, I’ll have none ‘a that, come on.” Joel helps you stand and steadies you with an arm around your waist, the adrenaline of being as close to Joel as you are now making the pain fade.

You slowly make your way up his walkway, Joel's hand splayed against your stomach, your head close enough to feel the dampness of his sweaty shirt against your cheek. The realization not lost on you that now you're headed back into his house for the second time.

“Here you go,” Joel says as he helps you over to his couch. "Just relax for a second, I’ll go grab everything."

You take a look down at your bare legs, marred by dirt and gravel bits mixed with your blood. Nice job, one knee doesn't look good at all.

The last time you were here you were far too anxious to focus on anything besides Ellie and the music coming out of Joel's stereo. Your solitude now allows you a chance to look closely at Joel’s living room.

For somebody with so many stories swirling around town about his gruffness and irritability, his home sure is warm and inviting. Wood carvings on shelves, a couple of old sports magazines stacked on the coffee table, a chipped owl mug sitting atop a book on the side table next to a chair. Very domestic and comfortable for a single man and his adopted daughter, you like it.

Your eyes roam along his walls, pausing where you spot a painting of yours hung up near the front window. How did he get it? You’re sure you traded it to Tommy for a small flask of whiskey a few months ago.

“Don’t have any large bandages but I got a gauze roll,” Joel startles you as he takes a seat on top of the coffee table across from you.

“That’s my painting?” You question aloud surprising yourself.

Joel turns and follows your eyes to the small piece of paper on his wall. “S’good. Had a painting like it above my bed before… everything. Saw it on my brother’s wall and asked him if I could have it. Reminds me of my old home and my life before… everything.” The last word coming out as a huff, like he still doesn't know what word to use for the last twenty years.

“They remind me of home. I was always drawn to painting the wildlife I grew up around,” you say as your eyes remain on your painting. “Herds of elk used to live near my Dad’s home in the mountains, I used to hear their calls during the mating season.”

“S’nice to remember those small moments, and I guess your painting helps me.” Joel admits as he delicately lifts one of your legs up into his lap, your attention returning back to the reason why you’re here. You feel the soft strength of his thighs cradle your leg, your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, you rapidly breathe in and out hoping he blames your panic on the threat of the peroxide.

“S’gonna sting,” Joel says as he tips the bottle and pours the clear liquid onto your knee. Your breath catches in your throat as it hits your sensitive kneecap. Joel bends forward and gently blows on your wound, you suppress a whimper feeling slightly dizzy when he glances up at your face. “Doin’ alright?"

You nervously chew on your bottom lip and nod. “Yes, sure, yes,” you mumble, “I-I’m okay it just hurts a lot to move them.”

"That asphalt is a sucker," he gently reassures as he picks up your other leg and places it on top of his lap.

“S’bouta sting again,” Joel warns.

The peroxide lands on your knee as you still try to control your breathing. You focus your thoughts on the burn and not on Joel’s fingertips resting against the depression on the back of your knee. You’re sure your lightheadedness is only from his touch. He blows on the peroxide as it bubbles again, your heart skipping a beat when his deep brown eyes meet your eyes. You sense that he knows exactly why you’re responding the way you are. His brows furrow as he picks up the bandage, focusing on the task at hand, lifting your knee higher to begin wrapping it.

“Place a finger here so I can wrap your knee,” Joel instructs you, his direction just as gentle as his touch. “Let me know if it’s too tight for you.” His hand tightens around your knee as he uses his other hand to slowly unravel the gauze around your leg. “How’s that?” He asks as he places your wrapped leg back on the floor and lifts your other leg higher to start on it.

“Feels good, thanks,” you say as you bend it back and forth.

“'Course.”

You place your finger on top of the other bandage without Joel asking, he smirks at your help as he begins to wrap the gauze around your other leg.

“I’d try to take it easy the next few days, give you a chance to heal,” Joel utters as he tucks the gauze in and smooths it down.

“I know, I will,” you say as you move your leg out of Joel’s hold and put it on the floor. “Thank you, again for all of your help. You really didn’t have to.”

“Please, you don’t have to thank me. Like I said, Ellie’d kill me if she found out I left you hurt in front of my home,” you both share a smile at the mention of her name. “She sure talks about you a lot. Should be thanking you for giving her a reason to love goin’ to school. I’m thankful for you being there for her.”

“She’s one of the best parts of my day," your cheeks heat as he secondhand compliments you. "I love having her around, she’s always so eager to learn."

“M’glad to hear you like her as much as she likes you. She's always showing me some new art way she learned from you or talking about a band she wants to hear that you told her about.”

Your smile grows as you hear how much you matter to Ellie, especially spoken out of Joel’s lips. “I didn’t know I meant that much to her. She’s a special kid.”

“She is.”

You both nod and smile at each other, the moment turning more awkward as you both maintain eye contact. It feels like he’s looking at you under a microscope, as you softly clear your throat.

“Well, I should get going, I’ve already taken up enough of your time. I really appreciate everything,” you cut the tension as you start to stand from the couch.

“S’no problem at all.” Joel quickly gets up and places a hand on your back to help you steady yourself while you move towards the door.

He opens it and helps you down his walkway, still keeping a hand on your back. You glance over at his abandoned tools strewn across the lawn. “I hope I didn’t keep you from finishing your fence.”

“I’ll manage. Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks Joel, you too.”

You try to walk as confidently as you can towards your home as you feel his eyes follow you. You’ve never been so thankful to see your little cottage, escaping behind the protection of your front door.

That night you paint another photo of an elk, this time with golden toned fur and deep brown eyes.

Saturday mornings are always busy for you, never allowing you the luxury to eat pancakes at the mess hall like everyone else on the weekends. Usually you're always turning to the left while everyone takes a right heading to breakfast as you're rushing towards the schoolhouse to start setting out books for the library. This Saturday you’re moving slower thanks to your injured knees and the large box of books that patrol have brought you from their runs.

“Mornin’," Joel says as he quickly heads towards you from the mess hall exit. “Lemme take those for you.”

“Oh, Joel, hi,” you pause in your tracks as he stops in front of you and grabs the box out of your hands. “You really don’t have to take—"

“None ‘a that,” he shushes as he effortlessly lifts the books higher. "Where are we going with these?"

"Oh, just over to the school house for the library."

Joel nods as you both head towards the school, Joel slowing his gait to walk alongside you.

“How are the knees doing?”

“A lot better, thanks.”

“Glad to hear.”

You fish the key out of your pocket, unlock the door, and let Joel follow you down the hallway to your classroom.

“Just right in here. You can put the box on my desk,” you say as you turn on the lights on.

He walks in and places the box on your desk. You notice the way his eyes roam around the bright mural on the wall you’re currently standing in front of. “Wow,” he says moving his eyes to yours. “I haven’t seen something like this in a long time.”

You smile at him then turn and face the mural. “Goodness, thank you. I just finished it a couple of weeks ago. I really wanted to make sure the kids had something fun and colorful to focus on while in my class. It was hard working in this plain room.”

Joel slowly walks over and places his hand on the cold cinder block wall. “Bluebells. Texas’ flower,” he faintly whispers.

You watch him as his large finger traces the outline of your painted indigo petals. You feel like you shouldn’t be allowed to see such gentle tenderness coming out of such hard and strong hands. You remember how delicately he touched you as he bandaged your knees. You realize that there once was softness surrounding all of Joel, the permanent grimace and rough reputation for him brought on by the harshness of the world he now lives in.

He feels your eyes on him and turns to you. “Where you from?” he asks, curiously gazing into your eyes.

“Colorado… I was in the Denver QZ.”

“No, where were you from before everything?”

“Sorry, still Colorado, just more in the mountains,” you say focused on the columbine next to the bluebell. “Florissant to be exact. It’s a little town famous for dinosaurs. My students love to hear all about dinosaurs. I was very lucky to be where I was when everything… happened.” You grab your daisy chain and hold it between your fingers as you look over to meet his eyes focusing on you.

“S’a nice state. Went skiing there once as a teen, had plans to go again before… everything.” Joel turns to focus in on the bluebells again.

“Big of a Texan to compliment Colorado,” you joke as you grab your library supplies from your desk.

He smiles a genuine smile, forehead wrinkling as he chuckles and shakes his head. “Good one. Did y’know you forgot your CD at my house?”

“Sorry about that. I figured Ellie just decided to keep it for herself. I don't mind, not like I have anything to play it on right now”

"I ended up listening to it. S’different music than I listen to but it's good. Had your name written all over it in Sharpie, forgot all about mixed CD’s.”

“I know I’m really fortunate to still have my CD’s, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost them,” you say as you begin to place down your hand painted placards on different desks.

“Can I help you?” Joel asks as he watches you work.

“If you’d like, just pick up a pile of books and put them on their respective tables. Children’s, Mystery, Romance, Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, Miscellaneous.”

“You do this by yourself?”

“Usually, I sometimes have help but I think everyone here works so hard during the week they like their slow Saturdays, I can’t ask them to give up sleeping in.”

“Hm. Sleeping in. Must be nice. Can’t do such a thing. Ellie would sleep all day if I allowed her.”

“You’re right,” you say grabbing more books. “Must be nice. I’m wide awake at 5 almost every morning.”

A soft chuckle from Joel's mouth makes you hide a smile, you like when you make him laugh.

“I take it with a title like ‘Burning Tenderness’ it goes in romance?” Joel jokes. You like it.

“Well, I’d fire you on the spot if you placed it in non-fiction.”

The two of you expeditiously work around each other setting up the library finishing a half hour before its opening.

“I’ve never gotten done this early before. This is the third time you’ve helped me this week,” you say as you sit on the edge of your desk giving your aching knees a break. “I feel like I owe you something. Is there a way I could repay you for your generosity?”

“Those bluebells you painted,” he pauses and breathes out, “do you think you could paint some ‘a those for me on a wall in my house?” This is a new look for him, shyness, as he focuses back in on the mural behind you.

“Oh wow. I’d love to. I can start it anytime. Just let me know when you’d like me to come over.”

“D’you want to come over Monday after you’re done at the school? I told Ellie I’d spend the day with her tomorrow.”

“That sounds good,” you reply not believing your luck that Joel Miller is inviting you over to his house.

The two of you are stuck again in a silent agreement. Both of you not knowing what to say, yet also okay in the shared quiet.

“Should probably head out and start my day. Taking this as payment for my work today,” Joel says holding up a book.

“‘As I Lay Dying?’ Didn’t pin you as a Faulkner fan,” you say as you open your logbook to note the title down.

“Liked the horse on the cover.”

“It’s a good book. Enjoy it Joel.”

“See you Monday. Good luck today.”

“Yes, Monday,” you respond as you try not to smile too hard. “Thanks again for all your help.”

“'Course,” he says as he stands in the doorway, his large form taking up most of it.

Back home after a busy day you sit in your favorite chair and your cats on your lap and sketch bluebells until you fall asleep pencil in hand.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter 2 will be posted within the next week. Obviously I’ve edited the timeline a bit. In my head, Joel and Ellie never went to Colorado. I know, I know, but like I said, I’m being selfish and want Joel to have his happy ending. If you’re looking for angst and/or conflict, this is not the fic for you. This is the story of Joel Miller’s ideal life after the past 20 years tortured him. Also, for all you smut nuts (!!!) chapter 5 or 6 will be explicit. I want them to take their time because once they sleep together, all bets are off.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #elks #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fic

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achillean-knight · 7 months

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Woe, doodles be upon ye

HC's below the cut if you're absolutely interested in my Spiderverse Noir HC's + his world 👉👈

First the ones I agree with that I've seen a shit ton of people mention >:33

- He is a fatherly figure to Peni. I can imagine when they see each other again, she'd run to him and give him the biggest fucking hug ever. She experienced her Canon Event between ITSV and ATSV too, right? So I can see her needing comfort so badly, and the only ones she ever truly grew close to were Noir and Ham.

- He'd 10000/10 get along so well with Hobie. Along with Hobie legit mentioning his hatred for the AM, PM and fuckin NAZIS IN THE COMIC ,

he'd be rambling so much with Noir about common interests and get along so well with him. Imagine he badazzles him in punk attire and based on this image:

(I'll link where I found the image tomorrow when I'm on my laptop lol if I remember) but based on this image, he teaches Noir how to play the guitar and shit and OUYGG I WANNA SEE THEM INTERACT (they're my fave Spiderverse characters so 👉👈)

- OHOHOHO He loves the colour purple. So much. He can't see it, ofc but he has such a love for the colour that he sees any beautiful colour- or well, of what he can see of colours, and thinks every pretty colour is Purple.

- MJ see's Noir/Peter as a brother and he see's MJ as a sister in turn. There is no romantic attraction at all. Yeah, this means MJ see's Aunt May as a nice Aunt Figure she can go to and talk to about things.

Now onto some of my own headcanons- or some that I don't see mentioned a ton. These have probably been said before but oh well, these are just what I like and my brain go BRRR

- Felicia is taller then Noir. (For those unfamiliar, Felicia is a character from the comic.) Yes that'd probably make her freakishly tall based on how tall Noir is in the movie, but that comic panel of when he first meets her rots in my brain.

- Felicia still has her mask from her ordeals. However, unlike how she pushes away Peter, they actually become friends again. Comfort each other. They swore they'd never be in a relationship again.

- Noir is a combo of both his OG comics personality and 2020's comics personality. I see movie noir as anywhere between 19 - 21. He's learning and developing as a human still. He's calmer and kinder and resembles how his personality is in the newer comics, however, based on this deleted scene LOL, makes me think he looses his shit easily and goes actually feral.

(here's the link to where I found the video BC I actually saved the link lol yeah it's reblogged by yours truly, but the full post is there.)

- Oh yeah, Noir most definitely adopted Ding Ding btw. He probably is nearly at the newer comics stage of his life, being a private eye and such, drinking his fucking egg creams like newer comics noir SBSBBS So he found and adopted Ding Ding.

- Despite being young (19 - 21) he has serious eyebags man, dudes sleep deprived 😔 I'm also heavy on the Spiderverse portrait of him unmasked that I don't really draw/see him with facial scars but he could totally have them after the shit he went through 💀

- Noir is a part-time singer. I will not elaborate.

There's so many other things I wrote down that I want to share, but they're on my computer 😭 so you get these for now hhhh

Sorry if they're half-assed, it's 10:30 pm, I am tired

#spider noir #spiderman noir #peni parker #felicia hardy #ding ding #spiderman noir ding ding #marvel #doodles #headcanon #random thought...#hobie brown #rip hobie i forgot to include you up with the others #anyways yeah theres might be edits #my art #my spidernoir au art

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adamharkus · 21 days

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Can I Teach Myself How To Play Guitar?

By Shawn Leonhardt for Guitar Tricks and 30 Day Singer Of course, you can! Many musicians have learned to play guitar and other instruments without formal guitar lessons. However, music is mimicry so we need some sort of guidance to make sure we are going in the right direction. Thanks to modern social media and technology it is possible to study music all on your own. Here are some tips and…

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#30 Day Singer #Guitar #guitar lesson #Guitar Tricks #Learn Guitar #Self-taught guitar #Shawn Leonhardt

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signed-loni · 1 year

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Hi!! Hope ur having a good day so far loni ^^

Anyways I would like to request just some simple headcanons with Sal Todd Larry and Ash with a s/o that likes to crochet and makes them stuff as little gifts :>

AHHH OFC!! This is so cute i cant take it😭 tysm for requesting and i hope u enjoy :))

(Credits to@paoartworks on ig!)

Sal

First time u give him something: Oh man, its to cute for him when you give him your first gift on valentines. A cute little crocheted mini teddy bear. He MELTS.

Asks to watch you: he just wants to know how pretty you look doing what you love. Watching the way your hands move with the hook your using, currently making a simple bee. He’s so in love with you omg.

Someone making fun of you : oh no, he will not have it. Nope. If someones gonna do that, best believe they’re getting a death glare. Even if they don’t say anything to you, but are visibly judging you while you do it, he’s chewing them up with his death glare.

( @plusvanity )

Larry

First time u give him something: you give him a little electric guitar, and he immediately starts playing it. He makes little “neowr neowr” sounds when he pretend to play it🥹

Asks to watch you: he cant help it! You’re just so calm and he likes to sit you on his laps and watch you do ur handy work. Helps him relax. And when you talk about your day with him while you crochet, OMG his butterflies bro

Someone making fun of you : they’re done. Nope, you cant say anything to stop him from doing something. He’s matching right up to them and punching their nose, possibly breaking it. Larry will not let bullying slide, especially when it’s towards you

(Idk who the artist is, if anyone does, lmk so i can credit them!)

Ash

First time u give her something: omg. The compliments. The credits. The “this is so cute”s. She IS PRAISING U LIKE A MF. You gifted her a crochet heart, she kept thanking you for it like 30 billion times. She literally loves it :)

Asks to watch you: she wants to watch so she can learn, she wants to make you stuff in return so she doesn’t feel like she cant repay you. And she wont take no for an answer when she hands u something.

Someone making fun of you: she teels you to ignore them at first. Id they keep it up, shes giving them a piece of her mind, and boy do they not want to see that

(Idk who the artist is, if anyone does, lmk so i can credit them!)

Todd

When you first give him something: he thanks you, and gives you a little kiss. You gifted him a mini fish and it now lays on the front of his desk, right next to a picture of both of you

Asks to watch you: he wants to know how u do it. How you make something like that out of yarn and a needle. It fascinates him.

Someone making fun of you: doesn’t get himself involved. Knows you can handle yourself, but if it gets out of hand, he’ll say some shit to them, not a lot, but enough to make them leave you alone. Probably something abt their grades💀

#sally face #sal fisher x reader #sally face x reader #sal fisher #sally face hcs #larry johnson #ash campbell #ashley campbell #ashley campbell x reader #todd morrison #todd morrison hcs #todd morrison x reader

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hellfirenacht · 8 months

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Wingman Part 2

No beta, we die like men and edit in post.

Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Part 1

Steve learned more in the next half hour about Eddie Munson than he ever wanted to know. Eddie had been in a band since middle school, and he played guitar. Eddie hadn’t started the Hellfire Club, but had taken it over three years ago and had been the designated DM ever since. Eddie probably sold drugs, but wouldn’t sell to freshmen. Eddie had picked out Dustin and Mike in the lunchroom after they had been banished from every other table. Eddie knew everything about metal music and sometimes skipped class to sleep in his van. Eddie lived in a trailer with his uncle Wayne and was probably going to graduate this year. Eddie was just so cool and Dustin clearly looked up to him.

Eddie also had long hair. Well, at least that was something you had been specific about.

“Do you think he’d be interested in going on a date with her?” Steve asked after Dustin had finished gushing about Eddie.

“Maybe?” Dustin said. “He doesn’t talk about his dating life much. We mostly just talk about music and D&D.”

Steve could have strangled him. “Dustin, you just spent the past half hour talking about him, knowing that this was to help her get a date. What do you mean ‘maybe’?”

“Look, I’m just giving you the information I have.” Dustin said. “If you want you could come to a Hellfire meeting and bring her along to meet him.” Once again he had a shit-eating grin that Steve was quickly losing tolerance for.

“We don’t go there anymore, we’re not gonna be allowed on campus.” Steve said. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, help set up some sort of meeting outside of school?”

Dustin thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Sidequest day!” he said.

“Side- what?”

“Sidequest day! Sometimes Hellfire Club will meet up at the arcade to play games. Eddie will sometimes give buffs or inspiration for the game if we win tickets or get a high score.” Dustin explained.

“You’re speaking an alien language, Henderson.” Steve sighed.

“Just come to the arcade next Saturday and bring her.” Dustin instructed. “We can introduce them, and you can try and play matchmaker.”

It was as good a plan as any, and more importantly it was convenient. It would probably mean skipping out on a potential date but you’d already done so much for him that he’d be willing to give up a Saturday night to help you. He just needed to get you one date, and if that happened to be with Eddie Munson of all people then so be it.

“Fine, we’ll be there.” Steve agreed.

“Good!” Dustin smiled. “Now, about the campaign he’s running-”

Steve would let Dustin ramble for the rest of the shift about the campaign until you came out to politely kick Dustin out when you and Steve closed.

Going out on a Saturday night proved to be more tricky than expected. You were the only one who could reliably work on Saturday nights, being the only one willing to do so. It had taken a lot of pushing and some bribery to have Keith agree to take your shift for the night. He owed you anyway for all the times you had covered for him.

Steve hadn’t told you the full truth about what the plan was. He had only said that since you were a weirdo, he’d take you to the arcade where other weirdos might be. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to you since you’d been to the arcade plenty of times and it was mostly kids there. It didn’t seem like the ideal spot to flirt with guys, but he knew more about this stuff than you did.

He told you to meet him outside the arcade at 6:30, and to look good. You had insisted that you always looked good, but you at least made sure to wear something that made you feel confident and followed up the same with your hair and make up. When was the last time you had an excuse to really put in effort? You looked presentable at work, but this was different. Your reflection in the mirror after you had put yourself together made you feel good. Even if tonight was a total bust on the flirting front, at least you knew you looked good.

It was 6:20 when you showed up at the arcade, and Steve showed up at 6:35. The past fifteen minutes had you watching excited kids and tired parents and disgruntled older siblings enter the building. If you were going to be completely honest, this didn’t seem very promising.

“So, I’m going to be frank with you, everyone here looks either way too young or too old for me.” you said as you both made your way inside. “The only person I’ve seen close to my age hanging around here is Keith and, Harrington, I swear if your end of the bargain is making me go on a date with him, I am firing you on the spot.”

“You can’t fire me.” Steve snorted.

“I can set you on fire.”

“I’m not setting you up with Keith!” he promised, holding his hands up. “I just think that this is a place where a lot of weirdos could hang out. And hey, if there’s no one here that’s interesting we could at least play some games or something.”

“Steve, I have a very serious question for you.” You turned to look him dead in the eyes. “This isn’t you trying to be my date, right? I know you’ve been overloading on romcoms with all the dates you’ve been going on. Please tell me this isn’t some sort of half-ass way to take me on an arcade date so you can say you got me a date.”

“What? No. You’re the one watching too many romcoms here.” Steve accused. “You turned me down, I get it, you have terrible taste. I accept this about you- ow!”

Steve winced as you smacked the back of his head. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure. Let’s just play some games for now, I’m really not seeing anyone our age around here.”

As the two of you made your way around the arcade, Steve kept an eye on the time. Dustin had told Steve that ‘Sidequest Day’ (whatever that meant) would be starting at 7:00. He just needed to keep you entertained for a half hour and then the club would show up.

Lucky for him, you were actually very easy to keep entertained. You bounced around from game to game, with eager enthusiasm often getting distracted by the many blinking lights and sounds from all the machines. You didn’t even notice it when a group of guys walked in all wearing the same shirt.

Steve noticed though.

“Henderson!” He called out, casually.

“Steve!” Dustin walked up to him. “What a surprise, I did not expect to see you at the arcade tonight!”

You looked up from a cabinet that you were considering playing, that was a weird tone of voice Dustin had used. One that seemed- no it was suspicious. Steve and Dustin had definitely planned on meeting here tonight. They really were not as smooth as they thought they were. But who were you to spoil a plan? You decided to roll with it.

“Hey, Dustin!” You said walking over to the pair. “Good to see you again.”

“They let you leave the Family Video?” Dustin asked. “The way Steve talked, you’d think they kept you chained to the front desk.”

“Union rules say that they have to let me leave at least once a week for mandatory enrichment time.” you joked. “Somehow I got lucky and got a Saturday off.”

You looked over Dustin, and his bright open button up on top of his Hellfire Club shirt. You had vague memories about that club in high school.

“Hellfire Club... I remember that from when I was in school.” you said after a moment. “Yeah, wasn’t it Chris Morrison that ran it?” You turned towards Steve.

“How would I know? I was popular.” Steve said.

“Yeah, I think he was the leader until he graduated and then Eddie took over.” Dustin said, looking down at his shirt. “I think he said that the club was a lot smaller back then.”

“Yeah well Chris was a dick who didn’t actually want anyone joining his super secret club.” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Wait, you knew him?” Dustin’s eyes widened.

“That’s a strong word, but we were in the same grade. I tried to ask him about the club once but he blew me off and told me I wasn’t smart enough to understand the game. So I got a copy of the rule book and spent the next few weeks memorizing it out of spite.” you snorted.

Steve looked at you like you had lost your mind (fair), and Dustin looked like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said (impressed).

“...Anyway, I see a lot of the same shirt running around now. I take it that Hellfire isn’t as closed off now?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah!” Dustin said. “The new leader- Eddie- he’s a lot more open to people joining. He’s the one who invited me and Mike to join.”

You looked over at where Mike was leaning over a cabinet in concentration. He didn’t come into Family Video as often as Dustin did to bother Steve, but he had come in enough for you to witness the kid shoot up about a foot in the past few months.

“It’s alarming how fast he’s growing.” you said. “Well, I’m glad that it’s more open now and that you’re having fun with it.”

“Yeah, Eddie’s great, you should meet him!” Dustin said.

You stared at him, and slowly looked over to Steve whos’ face had met his palm.

“Steve.” you said slowly. “Did you bring me to the arcade to meet a highschooler?”

“He’s twenty!” Both Dustin and Steve said in unison. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You knew that the dating pool would be limited for you, but you didn’t think it would be that narrow. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and if Dustin and Steve both vouched for this guy it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Oh boy.” you sighed. “Alright, I’ll play along. Does this guy know I’m supposed to be meeting him?”

“Nope!” Dustin said. “He doesn’t have a clue.”

“Wait, did you tell Dustin about our deal, Steve?” you asked.

“I needed help and he happened to have a new older male friend that happens to be a freak.” Steve said nonchalantly. Well, this was going to be a very interesting night.

“He’s more than just a freak, you know.” frowned Dustin.

You racked your brain trying to think back to your time in high school, trying to remember if you knew any Eddie’s. In all honesty, you never were good at noticing people outside of your own circle of friends. How some people seemed to know everyone's full name and popularity rank was beyond you. Hawkins High had 2000 students, like how did people even know that much? Who had the time? Who cared?

While Dustin and Steve continued their odd squabble, you looked around the arcade for this mystery person. Nope, still nothing but not-age-appropriate high schoolers. Oh well, the Q*bert cabinet was free, and playing a round was better than standing around nervously to meet someone who had no idea they were being set up to meet you.

Damn, poor guy had no idea what he was getting himself into tonight. You felt a little bad that you were potentially crashing his club’s night out. If this went bad, you were putting Steve on backroom duty for a month.

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked as you walked off.

“I’m gonna play a game,” you said, putting your quarter in the machine. “Let me know when this guy shows up because I cannot take the suspense.”

“You know, this is why it’s hard to get you a date. You keep saying you’re interested and then the second you have a chance to meet someone you change the subject.” Steve sighs, leaning against the machine.

“Who are you, my therapist?” You asked, focusing on the game. “I know you’re right. If I’m going to be completely honest with you I am actually nervous about meeting someone. I’m sure that it’ll be fine and I have no real expectations but it’s still hard to put yourself out there.”

“I’ve been putting myself out there for months and had a two month dry streak.” he pointed out as Dustin stepped behind you and watched you play.

“You’re King Steve. People will like you no matter if they date you or not. You’re popular, as you love to keep reminding me.” You didn’t take your eyes from the screen.

“Yeah, well I was also a total dick in high school.” Steve admitted. “I fucked up a lot and pissed a lot of people off because I thought I was hot shit. If you want the honest truth, I’d probably be a better person if I hadn’t tried so hard to be popular. It took getting my ass kicked for me to realize that.”

“It’s true, he got his ass beat a lot this summer.” Dustin piped up which earned a glare from Steve.

You thought this over, the movement of the character on screen helping you think. “If I wasn’t enough for anyone in Hellfire when I was a junior, if I wasn’t enough for the freaks when I was a weirdo in school, why would I be now?”

“Because Chris Morrison was a dick!” Dustin yelled out, far louder than he really should have.

“Jesus, Dustin we are right here!” you said, shaking your head.

“Henderson is right.” a new voice said from behind you. “Morrison was the biggest asshole that Hellfire has ever seen. Worst DM too.”

The voice was lower in tone than Steve’s, and there was an energy to it that made everything else background noise. This new person was very sure of themselves, and you had a very bad feeling of who was going to be standing behind you as soon as you turned around.

You focused even harder on the game.

“I had one conversation with him in Junior year and promised myself to never talk to him again.” you said, trying to calm yourself. He definitely did not sound like a high schooler, which was a good sign. You risked a glance at Steve who looked like he didn’t know what to make of the newcomer. That was a bad sign. Maybe.

“Yeah well I wouldn’t have kept talking to him if I could have helped it.” This voice- you were going to just assume it was Eddie, said. “I didn’t think you were the type to hang out at the arcade, Harrington.”

“I’m not.” Steve said. “I am only here for a friend.” Steve gestured to you, smacking your hand on ‘accident’ and making you die. “Whoops.”

It was clear he had done that completely on purpose. Backroom duty for a week.

“Thanks, Steve.” you said and turned around slowly to face this new person.

Oh, you were going to murder Steve Harrington into the ground dead. The man before you- and he was definitely a man- was unfortunately for you, completely your type. Long wavy brown hair fell just past his shoulders onto a denim vest covered in buttons and patches over a leader jacket. He was also wearing a Hellfire Club t-shirt and you glanced a quick look at his ripped jeans and wallet chain.

You wished that you would have warned Steve that you were never your types’ type. This was doomed before it even started. But that was a freeing thought in a way, you weren’t going to be this guy's type so that meant you didn’t have to try. If Steve could hear your thoughts, he’d probably get pissed at you for already giving up, but that was fine.

“Oh uh, Eddie, this is Steve and his co-worker.” Dustin said, introducing you by your name and title. “They both went to Hawkins High.”

“Nice to meet you.” you reached out and offered your hand, and he took it. Eddie’s hand was warm and you got a glance at chunky silver rings on his fingers. There was an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite read; he was smiling but also seemed to be studying you.

“I know who King Steve is.” Eddie said in a way that made Steve roll his eyes. “When did you go to school?” he asked.

“I graduated in ‘83.” you said, looking at him. His eyes were very round and expressive, and he was still studying you. There was something familiar about him that you couldn’t place your finger on. Then again, he was only a little younger than you so you probably saw him in school.

That was good enough for Eddie as he dropped your hand and turned back to Dustin. “So, Henderson. Are you going to keep standing there talking, or are you going to earn that magic dice roll you’ve been talking about all week?”

You’d never seen Henderson look nervous around Steve, but there was tension in Dustin’s shoulders as Eddie talked to him. But you didn’t get the sense that it was a bad thing, Eddie seemed... intense. With Steve, Dustin was always ready to bicker with and defy. With Eddie, he was ready to hop to it, whatever it was.

Geeze, no wonder Steve was jealous.

“Yup!” Dustin said quickly. “I’m just gonna go, go over there and find something to play.” He glanced at you pointedly before hurrying off in Mike’s direction.

“So, my friend here actually had an interest in Hellfire Club back in the day.” Steve said before Eddie could turn and leave. Eddie looked at you in surprise.

No one would find Steve’s body after you were done with it.

“Really?” Eddie said. “And what about our little club was so interesting to you?”

You didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes glanced at Steve. That was a look you understood all too well, it was one you’d given many a popular kid back in the day. Eddie thought Steve was being a dick, and for good reason. That was the look you’d given when someone came up to you and said ‘my friend thinks you’re cute’. Except now you were the friend.

There was no going back now, you couldn’t let that tension be his first impression of you. Steve had set you up to be honest and vulnerable right off the bat. Great.

“Yeah, I asked Chris about joining back then.” you said honestly. “I’d had an interest in D&D, but never had a chance to play. But he shot me down pretty hard, so I... didn’t.”

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed as he looked down at you. “That doesn’t surprise me.” he said. “He was a bigger cynic than I am, and wouldn’t give anyone outside Hellfire the time of day. He didn’t even talk to anyone after he graduated.”

His gaze didn’t leave yours and it almost felt like there was a spotlight on you. Or maybe one of those lamps that you’d see in movies when someone was being interrogated. Eddie might have relaxed but you had a feeling that Steve being here wasn’t exactly winning you points. But Steve was also your friend, which made things a bit complicated.

Damn, why did you always have to be the one to bend over backwards to impress a guy? This is why you stopped dating in high school. Oh wait, this guy didn’t even know he was supposed to be making an impression. Looks like you were going to have to be the one to take the lead on this one.

Not that it mattered, because as previously stated, this was already dead on arrival.

The conversation immediately stagnated, as anything interesting you could have possibly said died in your throat. You could feel Steve’s gaze boring into your skull now, willing you to say something.

“Yeah, he wasn’t really social.” you managed to force out.

The sound of a game machine and hyped yelling suddenly echoed through the arcade and the three of you looked up to see the whole club huddled around a basketball game, cheering one of their friends on.

Eddie took that as his sign to remove himself from the conversation and made his way towards the game without so much as a goodbye.

“Seriously?” Steve asked when Eddie was out of earshot. “I hand you a conversation topic on a plate and you fumble it that badly?”

“I couldn’t think of anything to say!” you groaned. “Gossiping about Chris Morrison isn’t exactly the juicy conversation topic you think it is.”

“You were supposed to talk about your nerd shit, not about Chris!” he shot back.

“He thought we were making fun of him, Steve.” you said, watching as Eddie stood with his arms crossed as his club cheered over the game they were playing. Two members flanked him on each side, and even if you didn’t know that he was in charge, it was clear that he held power over these kids.

“Making fun of him? How the hell did you get that idea?” Steve was gawking at you. “I told him you were interested in his weird club!”

“Steve, I get that you were popular in high school. But you know that popular kids are dicks right? That popular kids will say things that sound nice, but are clearly making fun of whatever it is they’re talking about? That’s what he thought was happening.” You sighed.

“That’s not- I didn’t-” He was at a loss for words for a moment. “Shit. Did it really sound like that?”

“With the way he looked at me? Yeah, he thought so.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment, and you leaned against the arcade cabinet again as you contemplated what the next move would be. Maybe you’d just adopt a cat or twelve instead.

“I knew people did that.” Steve admitted after a while. “I hated it, but I went along with that shit because my shit friends told me it was fine and cool.”

“Steve, while I always appreciate that you are always learning and growing, let’s save the character development for later.” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Now, are you gonna help me talk to this guy or what?”

That snapped him out of his pity party. “You’re right, tonight isn’t about me. I’m sorry.” He looked at the club who was moving away from the hoops game and was spreading out again. You noticed that it was Lucas who they had been cheering for, Mike and Dustin were clapping him on the shoulder in congratulations. It was nice seeing the three hanging out together again.

“So you are interested in him” Steve said suddenly, looking at you with wide eyes. “That conversation was so dry I thought you weren’t actually interested.”

You glanced down at the obnoxiously colored carpet with mild embarrassment. “Steve, I’ll be frank with you-”

“Hi, Frank.”

That cut the tension and the two of you found yourself laughing- it wasn’t even funny but it was an inside joke that you two had shared over the past four months. It reminded you that despite how different you two were, he was still your friend.

“Shut the actual fuck up, Harrington.” you laughed. “I’m serious.”

“I thought you were Frank.”

“Shut up.” you gasped out. It really was not funny and yet the two of you couldn’t stop laughing. You two must have looked like idiots to anyone who was passing by you, and you were. You were both idiots.

When the laughter finally subsided, you looked over at Steve. “Steve, I think he’s attractive.”

“I do not see the appeal, but I still accept you have weird taste- don’t hit me again!” He lifted his hands as you raised your own.

You lowered your arm and looked around the arcade until your gaze fell on Eddie again.

"It's pissing me off because I swear I should know him, but I can't put my finger on it." You said as he put a quarter in a machine to play. "I mean, yeah we went to the same school but I feel like there's something else."

"I'm surprised you two didn't know each other." Steve said. "He's the freak of Hawkins and you're weird. Shouldn't you two have crossed paths before?"

"Maybe?" You shrugged. "I was oblivious in school. I only knew your name because being called 'the hair' is objectively funny."

"Ha ha. Super funny."

You kept Steve talking as you tried to figure out your next move. Him and Dustin had gone out of their way to try and introduce you to someone, and you didn't want to have those efforts wasted.

"That'll work" you said, interrupting whatever Steve was saying. You grabbed his hand and dragging him over to the air hockey table where Mike and Dustin were in the middle of an intense game.

You put two quarters down on the edge of the table as the puck whizzed by your fingers, hurdling towards Mike's goal. There was a loud and satisfying clack as Mike pushed it towards Dustin.

"I'm playing the winner." You said firmly.

Another satisfying clack echoed as Dustin pushed the puck back.

"I'll be more than happy to play you when I kick Mike's ass." Dustin said, not looking up.

"You're two points down, there's no way you're beating me!" Mike shot back with his words and puck.

"You've never beat me at air hockey before and I'm not letting you start now!"

You pulled your hands back from the edge of the table as the two friends trash talked each other. Steve moved to Dustin's side while you drifted closer to Mike, an unspoken rivalry brewing between the four of you.

Well, unspoken til you opened your mouth.

"Kick his ass, Mike." You said, watching as the puck shot back and forth between the boys.

"That's what I'm doing!" The gangly teen responded as the clack of the game echoed through the arcade.

Steve, shook his head. "I thought you said you had a plan?"

"My idea was I wanted to play air hockey." You said. "I never said it had anything to do with anything else."

Dustin looked up from the table as the puck shot through the goal on Mike's side, with a triumphant grin.

"See? I was going easy on you, Mike!" He said.

Mike groaned "You're still a point behind and I need a point to win." He said, setting the puck back out.

"I've beat you under worse conditions. Plus El isn't here to help you." Dustin shot back.

"She doesn't help!" Mike said defensively.

"Oh, and I am supposed to believe that the pink was just sent flying like that because you're so strong last time?"

"Yes! Exactly! Now shut up!" Mike said, giving Dustin a glare that clearly told him to shut up. You looked at Steve for clarification, but he was decidedly not looking at you.

Weird.

The game continued between the two boys, with you and Steve each cheering on your respective freshmen. Mike had the reach, but Dustin had the brain.

"Just give it up, Henderson- I'm gonna win and get that advantage in the next session." Whatever this rivalry was, you were now living for it. You had spent so long in a work-home-work rut, and this was way more entertaining than hearing about Steve's love life.

"Yeah? What are you gonna use it for? Another failed summoning spell?" Dustin laughed.

"It would have worked if it wasn't for Eddie's stupid rule about-"

"Stupid? Oh, I'm sure he'd love to hear more about your idea of how he should have let you cheat. HEY, EDDIE! MIKE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU."

Both you and Mike visibly tensed as Dustin yelled out for the whole arcade to hear. You gave Steve a panicked look that mirrored Mike's so perfectly that Steve had to laugh.

Backroom duty for a month.

Eddie appeared again, standing on the opposite side of the table of you and Steve, looking at his freshmen.

"Oh really? And what could Mike Wheeler want to speak to me about?" He asked.

You didn't miss the way his eyes glanced over to you and Steve for a split second. There was an air about him that you were trying to put your finger on. The best way would be to say that he was 'on'. Right now, he was in charge of his club, and he didn't seem excited that a former popular basketball player and a background character were crashing what was supposed to be his night out.

You were starting to regret this meetcute.

“Nothing!” Mike said, his voice cracking as he barely managed to block the puck from going into the goal. It was a tense game now, and it was clear that Dustin had put Mike into a disadvantage by bringing Eddie into this.

Steve made eye contact with you and gave you a shit eating grin. Oh no, no he wasn’t going to-

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Steve waved and quickly made an exit.

Two months in the backrooms.Plus bathroom duty.

It was clear why he ditched you with the way Eddie’s eyes darted as he left. There was a hint of distrust, one that you couldn’t blame him for. The only way you could possibly get an in with this guy would be if Steve wasn’t there waving his popularity flag.

Eddie glanced back over to you for just a split second before turning back to Mike.

“You sure about that, Wheeler?” He asked, an amused edge in his voice. “Because Henderson over here seems to think you have something you wanna say to me.”

“I don’t have anything to say!” The panic in Mike’s voice was evident, and Dustin just barely missed getting into the goal. “Nothing! We’re all good here- shit”

The puck, which had been flying between the two teens so fast now you could hardly keep up, had been caught on Mike’s- Clacker? Paddle? (Did that thing even have a word?). It had been caught between that and the corner, sending the puck flying upwards and flying straight towards your face. By some miracle, you managed to catch it, clapping it between your hands before it made contact with your nose. It probably wouldn’t have hurt, but you still weren’t interested in finding out.

“Holy shit.” you said with a laugh as the three guys looked at you in surprise. Mike looked embarrassed, and Dustin looked impressed.

“Nice reflexes!” he laughed.

“Damn, Mike you almost killed me! I know you’re still pissed I wouldn’t let you rent an R rated movie, but assassination is a bit overkill, don’t you think?” you asked.

“Shit, sorry.” Mike said, reaching for the puck again. You pulled it back and shook your head.

“Final round, sudden death.” you said.

“Seriously?! He’s still a point behind me!” Mike protested.

“Nu-uh. Almost killing me loses you a point.”

“I think that’s gotta be up to Eddie.” Dustin pointed out. “I mean, he’s the one in charge tonight.”

Oh, right. Oops. For a second you had actually forgotten that you were the one crashing the party here and that you didn’t have the same sway over the kids when not at work or when Steve wasn’t here.

You looked up at the man in front of you, pushing away any nerves and bottling them up to deal with later or never. What the hell did you have to prove to him anyway? Nothing. God, you were so bad at this, Steve was going to have an aneurysm trying to help you kick start a love life.

“What say you, Eddie of Hellfire?” you asked, offering him the puck as an act of goodwill.

His hand reached out, taking it as he considered you. You held your ground and met his eyes, not daring to give him any reason you had anything against him.

Eddie’s eyes moved between Mike’s panicked face and Dustin’s eager one. It was so funny how the two had zero problems bullying Steve but they made damn sure not to piss Eddie off. Well, at least too much if Dustin’s shit-eating grin was anything to go by.

A large grim broke out on Eddie’s face as he held the puck over the center of the table.

“Sudden death it is.” He said, staring directly at you as the puck dropped on the table.

Next Chapter

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Tag list: @ali-r3n , @mxchese, @josephquinncore , @gagasbee, @peaches-roses-sins , @witchwolflea , @vintagehellfire , @royale1803 , @cumslutforaemond ,@prestinalove , @browneyedgirly93 , @hellfiredarling @crocwork-clockodile

#nacht fic #wing man #eddie munson x reader

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songforeddiemunson · 3 months

Text

Morning Melodies

Eddie Munson header edit created by and used with permission from the incomparable @somnambulic-thing

For the @stcreators Event 04: Music

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (description vague apart from AFAB) Summary: Eddie and Reader engage in some romantic morning sex. Warnings/Tropes: Established relationship, pure romantic smut (fingering, oral, fem receiving, p in v sex) Note: I love guys who can play the piano. I think it's sexy as hell. Guitars are great, don't get me wrong, but imagine if Eddie could play the piano too? This is purely self-indulgent. Word Count: 1300

You opened your eyes and stretched languidly as wakefulness overtook you. The morning sun streamed in through the windows, and a faint summer breeze stirred the white sheer curtains. You glanced at the bedside clock; it was almost 8:30 am. Eddie was gone; he must have let you sleep in. You pouted slightly; you so enjoyed being able to wake up beside him, and the mornings when you could lounge in bed together were too few. Eddie had been on tour the last several months, and you only were able to see him a few times. You always missed him terribly when he was away.

As you sat up, the faint sound of piano music drifted to your ears. It was Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, an achingly beautiful, soft melody. You closed your eyes and smiled; soaking it in. You loved to hear him play.

You slid out of bed naked and put on a discarded white button up shirt that Eddie had worn the night before. You took a moment to breathe his scent; after all this time, he still intoxicated you.

You padded downstairs and around the corner to the sitting room where Eddie played. You leaned against the door frame for a moment before entering; watching him. He was dressed only in red plaid boxers with his long hair cascading around his shoulders. His dark curls glinted with hints of chestnut in the morning sun, and he looked as if he strolled out of a Botticelli painting. A beautiful, dark angel.

You moved quietly toward him, not wanting to interrupt the beautiful music he was making and ruin the moment. Once you reached him, however, you couldn’t help but touch him; if only to remind yourself that he was real. You stepped behind him and snaked your arm over his left shoulder, around to his chest. You bent to press a kiss on the spot where his neck met his left shoulder; one of your favorite places in the world.

He didn't move or stop playing, but you felt him smile. "Good morning," he said. "I hope I didn’t wake you."

"You know I love to hear you play," you breathed into his neck, and kissed it again. "Good morning."

He chuckled. "Damn, you're learning all of my tricks."

You came around to face him, leaning on the edge of the piano, but careful not to get in his way. "Don’t change your ways on my account."

He smiled at you beatifically. When the sun caught his eyes just right, you thought they looked like honey; a glimpse into the sweetness within that he reserved only for you.

You stuck out your lower lip in a mock pout. "I was sad not to see you in bed with me when I woke up. You know how I like to wake up slowly with you, and, um…acclimate each other to the new day." You sighed, and smiled. "This does make up for it though."

You walked around to the back of the piano, and climbed on top of it. He watched you with a cocked eyebrow but said nothing. You walked slowly down the length of the instrument, almost to the flow of the music, and stopped at the edge, looking down on him. Carefully, you lowered yourself down to a sitting position; legs crossed. His expression took on an intensity that made goosebumps prickle along your skin.

Carefully, so as not to interrupt him, you placed each foot on one of his shoulders. He turned his head and kissed your left ankle, then gave the skin of your calf a little nibble. You gasped, your breathing picking up pace. You slowly unbuttoned the shirt, his shirt, fully exposing yourself. You loved hearing him play, but you needed him to touch you. You bit your lip in anticipation.

You tilted your pelvis so as to make yourself more accessible, and without missing a note, he rose up from the bench and leaned forward. You felt his warm, silken tongue draw up the length of your slit, and you moaned. He licked your entrance for a moment, and then his mouth closed to suckle on your clit. Your legs shuddered with the pleasure of it, and you fought to remain upright. He alternated between sucking and licking, sending you into paroxysms of ecstasy. You felt your climax building, but suddenly his mouth was gone, leaving your heat aching with the need for release.

He stopped playing and stood up, eyes blazing. He stared at you hungrily as you lifted one bare foot and touched his bulge with your toes. You drew your foot slowly up his length, and his head fell back as he groaned. He reached down and pulled the band of his boxers down just enough to release his cock. You smiled at the perfect sight of him; his tatted and toned torso visible through his unbuttoned shirt, his impressive length standing at full attention.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you to the very edge of the piano, and gently entwined the fingers of one hand into your hair. He slid two long, skilled fingers into your heat, pushing them in as far as they would go. He probed and hooked his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right places, and you gasped and moaned, hips squirming. He could obviously tell by your wetness that you needed no further preparation, and after a few moments, he withdrew his digits. He grasped his cock, and pushed the tip into your entrance. “Yes,” you moaned breathlessly. "Please Eddie.“

He thrust his hips forward, sinking the full length of him into your depths in one, deliberate movement. He kept one hand in your hair, holding you still as he thrust into you languidly at first, gradually picking up speed. You attempted to moan his name, but all that came out was an ecstatic cry. Your skin slapped audibly as he pounded into you; one foot slipped off his hips and smashed the piano keys, creating a cacophony that made Eddie chuckle despite his efforts. This carried on for several minutes; your mingled breathing punctuated with the occasional sour note caused by your foot hitting the keys as Eddie fucked you. It wasn’t long before a powerful orgasm washed over you; your walls tightening on his cock. The force of the climax was unrelenting, and your hips bucked as the waves of ecstasy washed over you again and again. You cried out; it was as if your very skin was on fire, and your mound tingled with a new sensitivity.

"God...fuck..." he panted, and his teeth clamped down onto your left ear as he climaxed, grinding his pelvis into yours as he pumped his release into you.

He kissed you deeply before gently untwining his fingers from your hair, and braced himself with his hands on the piano, catching his breath. You stroked the curls that framed his face. "I've missed you Eddie,“ you said softly.

"I missed you too babe. Enormously." He gave you another peck on the lips before withdrawing and pulling up his boxers with a snap. "You didn’t let me finish the song," he said with a wink.

You laughed and hopped off of the piano. "There will be time for that later. First, coffee."

"Nope," he grinned at you, shaking his head. "First shower. Then coffee."

And so the melody continued, and the mingled sounds of your love and joy was a special kind of music indeed. 🖤

Thank you for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of all fic writers. Please show us some love! :)

MASTERLIST

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: A series of mishaps has you and Eddie (and Grandma and Harris) in the same place at the same time, leading Eddie to let his guard down a bit. That is, until a secret is spilled.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, injuries (nothing bloody or gory), mostly set in a hospital, mentions of Eddie's dad, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 6k

Chapter 3/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“Har-Bear?” Eddie calls out from the bedroom, pinning his nametag to his shirt. “You tie your sneakers yet?” His son had insisted that he didn’t need help with the laces, that he could do it on his own, but he’d be late for work if he waited any longer.

“Not…yet!” the tiny voice yells back, and Eddie can sense the frustration in his voice. “I think they’re broken.”

“Broken, huh?” Eddie laughs to himself as he walks out to the living room, where Harris is sitting in front of the door. Sure enough, his shoelaces remain untied, and tears roll down his cheeks. “C’mere, bud. It’s okay. I can tie ‘em for you this time.”

Harris shakes his head, brown curls bouncing on his scalp. He mumbles something unintelligible, and when Eddie bends down to help him, he pushes his hands away.

“Harris, enough!” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, taking the laces and tying them quickly. “You know that you have school and Daddy has work.”

“B-b-but I’m the only one!” Harris wails, kicking his shoes off defiantly. Eddie picks them up with one hand and scoops up his son in the other, tipping towards the couch and hooking his pinky around Harris’s little backpack. He doesn’t have any time to waste; shoes will have to be put on at school.

Maybe Ms. Sweetheart will have better luck with him, Eddie thinks wryly, wrangling a screaming Harris down the stairwell.

“The only one what?” Eddie asks once the crying starts to subside.

“I’m the only–sniff–one at school who–hic–can’t tie my shoes!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose as he places a shoe-less Harris in his carseat. “I’m sure there are other kids who are still learning how to tie their shoes.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, straining against the seatbelt. “All the other kids tie their own shoes, but Ms. Sweetheart or Mr. Will have to tie mine.”

Eddie’s heart sinks as he thinks of his son being the outcast as the freak, the rest of his friends flying past him as he gets left behind. “Tell ya what,” he says finally, mustering up a smile, “I’ll teach you, and you’ll be able to tie them in no time.”

His offer placates Harris, who spends the rest of the time singing along to the radio. Eddie wishes it could always be like this; happy and carefree, just driving and listening to his favorite metal station with his mini-me. Maybe one day it’ll happen, but the fleeting sense of hope disappears as quickly as it comes. His time with Harris might be limited if he doesn’t get his shit together.

The job was a start; he was lucky that the hours coincided with school drop-off and pick-up so he didn’t have to reach out to Wayne. He’d been working at Rock Records for about a week, and while it was a far cry from the stardom he’d once dreamed of, it was paying the bills and still allowed him to spend his time around music. And when his manager–a twenty-year-old named Ash who used her phone line to talk to friends rather than answer store calls–heard that he plays guitar, she’d all but insisted that he give lessons. If he could get Wayne to watch Harris a few days after school, that would be even more money in his pocket.

But, first, he actually has to start talking to his uncle again.

He pulls into the preschool parking lot, killing the engine and hopping out to help Harris from his carseat. When he opens Harris’s door, he immediately deflates.

“Harris, where is your jacket?” Eddie asks, heaving an exasperated sigh.

The little boy just shrugs. “I dunno. At home?” It’s not his fault; the chilly early October air just began settling in, and he’s not accustomed to including his jacket into his morning routine. A look of realization creases his brows, another tantrum on the horizon. “Now I won’t be able to go out for recess!”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says reassuringly, shrugging off his own denim, patch-riddled jacket, “you can take mine.” It’s comically oversized on Harris’s tiny body, but the smile on his face is enough to distract Eddie from the chill settling on his own arms.

“Daddy, now I’m just like you!” Harris sticks out his tongue and makes the ‘rock-and-roll’ symbol with his pointer and pinky fingers, scrunching his big brown eyes shut.

Eddie laughs, taking his son’s hand as they cross the parking lot. The way he copies him is adorable, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he pictures Harris actually following in his footsteps.

As soon as he enters the school, Harris lets go of his father’s hand and bounds into the classroom, the jacket dragging on the ground like a regal cloak. “Ms. Sweetheart, look at my jacket!” he proudly announces, twirling around on one leg. “It’s my daddy’s!”

You smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you shake your head teasingly. “Harris, is daddy wearing your jacket?”

“Nooooo,” he says, jutting out his chin and giggling. “It’s too small, silly!”

Eddie shuffles in behind him; after a month of drop-offs, he’s realized that he’s never going to win the battle of getting Harris to walk beside him in the hallway. “Don’t forget your backpack, little dude,” he reminds him, handing him his bag and motioning towards the row of cubbies.

Nodding, Harris hangs it up on the hook, along with Eddie’s jacket. He starts to run towards the toy area, stopping when he hears you call out, “Harris…”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He flashes that innocent smile, slowing his pace to a walk.

You shake your head knowingly, grabbing the clipboard with the sign-in sheet from your desk. Wordlessly, you give it to Eddie, who takes it with a sigh. This is how it goes most mornings: he drops off Harris, scribbles his signature, and stalks off without so much as a “good morning.” It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the barrage of insults and snide comments that he seemed to prefer to greet you with.

He drops the clipboard on top of the cubbies with a clatter, turning to the door, but the sound of a child shrieking stops him in his tracks before he can leave.

“Harris, no!”

Eddie’s stomach turns at the way the little girl angrily shouts his son’s name. Harris is frozen in place, holding a weird contraption that Eddie doesn’t recognize. The boy’s lower lip trembles, and all Eddie wants to do is pick him up and yell at the other kid for making him cry, but you get to the scene first.

“Abby, Harris, what happened?” you ask, crouching down to their eye-level. There’s no accusations, just a soothing tone to de-escalate the situation.

“He took my Bop-It!” Abby pouts, stamping her foot in frustration. “He stole it from me!”

Eddie feels his fists clench involuntarily at the word stole. Harris would never steal. He was a good kid, and having the Munson name didn’t automatically make him a thief. He tries to send a telepathic message to Harris, willing him to stand up for himself, but it doesn’t work.

You eye the toy in Harris’s hand–the Bop-It in question, you assume–and meet his shy gaze. “Did you take Abby’s toy?” Again, your voice is free of judgment, and Eddie allows himself to relax ever-so slightly when you don’t automatically take the girl’s side.

“I just wanted to see it real quick!” Harris mumbles, shoulders slumping. “I was gonna give it back.”

“What should you do when someone has something that you want to see?” you prompt him gently, feeling Eddie’s eyes scrutinizing you, analyzing your every move you make to see how you’re treating his son.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, eyes wide and misty.

“You have to ask them and then wait for them to say yes,” you say, and he nods as you swivel to face Abby Carver. “Abby, if someone forgets to ask to see your toy, you can remind them nicely. With an inside voice.”

“But he didn’t even say sorry for stealing!” she whines.

“It was an accident,” Harris rebuts, scrunching up his nose, “an’ I didn’t steal it!”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you turn back to him to end the argument before it can really start. Hell hath no fury like a preschooler scorned. “Saying ‘sorry’ is important, even when we accidentally make someone feel sad or mad,” you tell him.

“‘M sorry, Abby,” he says, handing her back the Bop-It. You can’t help but notice the way that he tucks his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, just like Eddie does when he’s anxious.

“It’s okay, Harris,” Abby says flatly, eager to flounce off to her friends and show them her toy, as Harris quietly joins some of the other boys to play with building blocks.

You press on your knees and stand up, finally allowing yourself to glance over at Eddie. He gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment; so subtle that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. You’re not exactly sure what it means–thanks or good job or simply I’ll be back for pick-up–but he’s out the door before you can think about it further.

You really should have seen it coming. Should’ve listened to the proverbial alarm bells ringing when you’d heard the shower running. But you were exhausted from a long day at work; the Bop-It situation having kicked off a series of arguments between various groups of kids. At one point, you and Will had given up on storytime and basically played referee, just trying to keep the peace between tiny feuding humans.

You’re scraping the last bits of unfinished mashed potatoes into the garbage when you hear the crash. There’s a clatter of bottles and the pop pop pop of the shower curtain ripping off of its rings. Your blood runs cold and you nearly drop the plate you’re holding, palms suddenly slick with sweat.

“Grandma?” Your voice catches in your throat, a hoarse whisper, and you clear it and try again as you fly towards the bathroom. “Grandma?!”

There’s no answer; between the steady pounding of the shower and her own declining hearing, you expected just as much. You push open the door that she thankfully left unlocked to find her laying in the tub, tears mixing with the stream of water. She cradles her left wrist in her right hand, mumbling inaudibly to herself between heaving sobs.

“Grandma, what happened?” you ask, leaning over to finagle the knob to the “OFF” position.

She looks up as if she’s just realized you’re standing there, too disoriented and focused on the pain to take in any of her surroundings. “I fell.”

You reach for the powder blue towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pluck it off of its hook. “Here,” you say, draping it over her shoulders, “let me cover you and I’ll help you up.” It seems absurd to worry about modesty, given the urgency of the situation, but you can tell based on her sheepish demeanor that the small part of her that still feels shame is pinging in her brain. You tuck your hands under her arms, lifting with your knees and hoisting her to her feet. “Grab the bar,” you instruct her, nodding your head towards the silver safety bar lining the shower wall.

“Can I dry you off?” She gives a small nod, letting go to hold her swelling wrist. “Keep holding onto the bar. I don’t want you to slip and fall again.”

“But it hurts,” she whimpers, and you know this will be a losing battle. Even if she does agree to grab onto it again, she’ll almost certainly forget, and you'll have to start the whole process over. Instead, you carefully run the towel over her, watching as the cloth soaks up droplets and trying not to think about how backwards this all seems. There was a time where she was the one drying you off, lifting you out of your little bath seat in the kitchen sink and cooing at her beloved baby granddaughter, hope and joy filling her eyes. A time where life seemed limitless, and maybe she’d started to slow down, but she’d sworn that she’d always remember this moment. She couldn’t even imagine forgetting you.

Grabbing the pile of clothes from their spot on the tiled floor, you find her shirt and offer it to her. “I can help you put it on,” you tell her, toeing the line of preventing another fall and respecting her dignity.

Grandma’s lips curl into a frown and she shakes her head. “Those are dirty,” she protests.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to grasp onto the last bit of patience you have left. The words, You didn’t even go anywhere today rests on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down, force a smile, and say, “Okay. Let’s get you to your bed so you can sit down, and we’ll pick out new ones.”

She reluctantly agrees to this, and you slowly walk her to the bedroom and grab the first of everything you can find. A fuschia t-shirt and green sweatpants might not be her best look, but you’re not trying to style her for a runway show. After sliding her fluffy pink slippers over her feet, you help her up and guide her to the door, where she stops in her tracks.

“Can’t wear these outside,” she says simply, pointing to the slippers.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, grabbing your keys from the small table tucked in the corner. “You can wear them outside this time.”

She doesn’t budge. “No, I need my other ones.” Her gaze lands on the pair of white Reeboks resting on the shoe rack. She starts to lean over to take them, but she’s still unsteady on her feet, and you wrap your arm around her torso before she can wobble.

“Just…just sit,” you mutter, feeling anger rise in your chest like a thundercloud. It wasn’t her fault that she was being stubborn, but it didn’t quell the burning frustration. You toss her rejected footwear to the side, silently reminding yourself to pick it up later, and shimmy her feet into the sneakers. You tie the laces into a double knot, pulling nice and tight, determined to keep it from unraveling.

Eddie’s day at work wasn’t much better than yours. After dropping Harris off at school, his first customer had been a middle-aged woman who claimed that a record had been scratched when she’d bought it a few weeks ago, insisting that Eddie had sold it to her that way. Which could have been the case, except he’d only started the job earlier that week.

All he wants now is a nice cold beer, but he has to wait until Harris goes to sleep. Years of watching his own father guzzle down Johnnie Walker until he fell into a drunken stupor led him to promise never to drink in front of his son.

“Bedtime, buddy!” he announces. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be excited; the second Harris dozes off, he’s going to crack open that Coors Light and watch the most mind-numbing show on TV.

Harris throws his head back in exasperation. “But Daaaaadyyyy, I’m not even tired!” His whine pierces Eddie’s eardrum, making him grimace.

“It’s 7:30, and it’s a school night,” he tells him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “But tomorrow is Friday, so you can stay up a little later then.” He walks over to the tiny dresser pushed up against the wall, pulling out the bottom drawer and taking out a pair of dinosaur-print pajamas. “C’mon, let’s go. Pajamas, pee, and brush those teeth.”

“I’m…not…tired!” Harris screams at the top of his lungs. His cheeks flush beet-red, and spit gathers at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie clenches his fist around the pajamas, feeling his fingernails dig into the soft cotton. He inhales for three, then exhales for three, feeling the oxygen flow through his lungs. “Harris,” he manages through gritted teeth, “I’m going to count to five. And when I’m done, I want you doing your bedtime routine, or you’ll go to bed early tomorrow.” He takes one more deep breath, getting to two before Harris angrily snatches the pajamas from his grip and stomps off to the bathroom.

The boy only brushes his teeth for a grand total of ten seconds, but Eddie doesn’t have the stamina to argue about oral hygiene tonight. Tucking Harris into bed, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, but he’s met with the back of his head.

Logically, he knows that there will come a time where Harris won’t want a kiss good night, won’t need his dad to help him into bed. Eddie just hadn’t planned on it being tonight.

“I hate you.” Harris’s voice is muffled from his lips being smushed into the pillow, but Eddie received the message loud and clear. It reverberates in his brain like an echo in a tunnel: I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Eddie backs out of the room slowly, flicking off the light and closing the door. He forgoes the shitty TV and sits in silence as he sips on his beer, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue before he swallows.

The venom in Harris’s voice was unmistakable. Eddie knew all too well how it felt to hate a parent. That raw anger swelled within him each time his father got them thrown out of another apartment, or conveniently forgot to pick up groceries (but always managed to remember his booze and drugs), or put his hands on Eddie.

My son hates me, Eddie thinks, taking a last swig of his drink and absentmindedly wiping the foam from his lips. I’m a shit dad, and my son hates me.

He’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts, leaving the sound of squeaking bed springs unnoticed until a loud thud followed immediately by the sound of Harris’s distraught wail snaps him to attention.

“Daddy!” Harris cries out, and Eddie’s sprinting to the bedroom before he can even finish the second syllable.

“What happened?” His voice is louder than he intends from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it only makes Harris cry harder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he says, softening his tone as he flicks on the light. His eyes widen when he sees the way his son’s arm is twisted.

“I couldn’t—sniffle—sleep, s-so I—sniffle—t-tried to j-jump my awake out,” Harris explains through hiccuping sobs. “An’ I h-hurted—sniffle—my arm.”

“C’mere, sshh, ‘s okay.” Eddie reassures him as he scoops him up, carefully avoiding his injury. “We gotta get you to the hospital so the doctors can fix it.”

Harris’s lower lip trembles again. “Are th-they gonna g-give me a sh-shot?”

“Nah, they’ll just have to do an x-ray,” he says, grimacing when he thinks of how much it’ll cost, even after Medicaid kicks in. “But those don’t hurt.”

Harris gives a tiny nod, still ambivalent as he nestles his head into the crook of his father’s neck. His curls tickle Eddie, who presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead and murmurs, “Daddy’s here, okay? I got you.” He feels Harris’s uninjured hand grab onto him a bit tighter as he brings him to the car.

“Can we go home now?”

You breathe out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in the chair and bouncing your leg anxiously. Hawkins General Hospital wasn’t crowded, and you and Grandma were taken to a room fairly quickly, but it still isn’t fast enough for an elderly woman who has no idea why she’s here.

“We have to wait a little longer for the doctor to see us,” you explain for the fourth time in as many minutes. “They have to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” Your answer seems to placate her, at least until she asks again within the next sixty seconds, as she hums her acknowledgment.

There’a a soft knock on the door, and a perky blonde nurse pokes her head in the room as soon as you give her permission to enter. “Hi, I’m Chrissy; I’ll be your nurse,” she says, looking at your grandmother. “What brings you in to see us tonight?”

“I’m just here with her,” Grandma shrugs, pointing to you.

“She slipped and fell in the shower,” you explain patiently. “I know she hurt her wrist, but I’m not sure if she hit her head, and she has Alzheimer’s…” You glance at her uneasily. “She doesn’t even remember falling.”

Chrissy nods understandingly, offering a sympathetic smile as she makes a note on her chart. “I can take you in for an x-ray of your wrist, and then we’ll run some tests to rule out a head injury as best as we can, okay, Mrs…” Her gaze shifts back to the chart before she brings her attention back to you. “Do you teach at Hawkins Preschool, by any chance?”

“Guilty as charged,” you give the best semblance of a laugh you can muster.

“I recognized your last name,” she says as she helps Grandma off of the examination table. “My daughter is in your class. Abigail Carver? She absolutely adores you.”

The compliment buzzes in your chest as your smile becomes more genuine. “Well, thank you. That means a lot. And she’s a great kid, too.” Except when she’s screeching at her friends, you think, but you keep that tidbit to yourself.

“I work nights, so my husband handles the school stuff,” Chrissy explains. “But I’m glad we finally got to meet, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

She hooks her arm through Grandma’s, who promptly shakes her off. “Let go of me!” the older woman snarls, shuffling back towards you. She may not know exactly who you are, but there’s at least a level of familiarity that brings her some comfort.

“I’ll walk with you,” you offer, and Chrissy agrees gratefully as the three of you gradually make your way down the starch-white hallway.

Unbeknownst to you, in a room just across the hall, Harris Munson is showing his dad how he can hop up and down on one leg without losing his balance.

Jesus H. Christ; does this kid ever run out of energy? Eddie silently wonders, but he plasters a smile on his face. “That’s really cool, Har-Bear. Just, uh, sit down before you hurt yourself even more.”

Harris is about to pout when a nurse enters the room. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, Eddie surmises, with brown hair that’s streaked gray and pulled back in a low bun.

“Harris Munson?” she asks shortly, and Eddie points to the little jumping bean standing next to him. “Come with me to the x-ray room.” She doesn’t offer her name, but Eddie catches a glimpse of the badge on her scrubs pocket that reads “Anna.”

Anna has Harris place his arm on the table, gingerly moving it to take x-rays from different angles. Standing in the doorway, Eddie winces at the tiny yelps his son lets out with each minimal adjustment. “You’re hurting him,” he manages through a bone-dry throat.

“If there is a break or sprain, we need to ensure that we find it,” she explains impatiently, retreating back to the room where she snaps a few more images before bringing them back to the room.

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sleepy now.” Harris punctuates his statement with a yawn, laying back on the examination table and dozing off just moments later.

Eddie takes his jacket–the same one that Harris wore at school that day–and places it over the boy’s sleeping body in a makeshift blanket. By the time the radiologist comes in to deliver the results, Eddie’s struggling to keep his own eyes open.

“How’re we doing in here?” she says, watching as Harris stirs, stretches his little legs, and promptly falls asleep again. “Is it past someone’s bedtime?”

“His and mine,” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes and sitting up straighter. There’s a pinch in his lower back from slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and he grimaces as he tries to massage the sore spot.

“Well, you’ll be out of here soon. It looks like Harris did break his wrist, so we’ll need to get a cast on it, but we can discharge him as soon as it’s done.”

“Brilliant.” Eddie presses on his knees as he stands up to gently shake his son awake. “Hey, bud. It’s time to wake up so you can get a super cool cast.”

“Mmph,” Harris grunts, throwing his good arm over his eyes dramatically.

Eddie just laughs, not catching the concerned look on the doctor’s face as she flips through Harris’s chart. “C’mon, I’ll carry you, but you gotta help me out here.” Harris begrudgingly complies, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist and holding onto him as tightly as he can.

“It’ll only take about fifteen minutes,” the doctor explains, rubbing Harris’s back for good measure. “You can drop him off in this room, Mr. Munson. One of our nurses needs to speak with you.”

He doesn’t like the look on her face; the one that simultaneously gives away nothing and too much. Her lips press together in a thin smile, one that’s obviously forced, as an orthopedic technician guides Eddie into the next room.

The unfriendly nurse from earlier, Anna, is waiting for him outside the door.

“Mr. Munson, could I speak to you privately?” Eddie nods wordlessly, traipsing behind her back to the room where Harris had just been sleeping.

“Mr. Munson,” Anna begins, and Eddie swears he’ll punch a hole through the hospital’s wall if she keeps speaking in that condescending tone, “as you know, ensuring the safety and wellbeing of our patients, particularly our pediatric ones, is our top priority here at Hawkins General.” She pauses, as though he’s supposed to have some response to that, but he remains silent. “Given the nature of your son’s injury, coupled with the report that a nurse smelled alcohol on your breath when you entered our facility, we have to report this incident to Child Protective Services.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head; his fists clench involuntarily, and he has to remind himself to steady his breathing. In for three, out for three. “There–there must be some mistake,” he stammers. “I had one beer after Harris went to bed–well, he was supposed to be in bed–and I was well under the legal limit when I brought him here.”

Anna cocks her head, and rage surges through Eddie’s bloodstream at her subtle gesture of disbelief. He didn’t even drink when his son was awake, let alone drive drunk. And the thought of him hurting Harris, whether under the influence of alcohol or not, was enough to turn his stomach. For fuck’s sake, he felt guilty if he accidentally stepped on the kid’s toes.

“Be that as it may,” the nurse continues, and Eddie swears she’s trying to suppress an eyeroll, “I also see that there was a previous report from 1992–”

“When he was born?” Eddie sputters. “That–that had nothing to do with me. His mom…”

Anna glances back down at Harris’s chart and frowns. “It looks like both you and Harris’s mother were listed in that report.” She looks up at Eddie again. “This is out of our hands now. CPS will take over from here and determine the next steps to take.” With that, she walks away, leaving Eddie leaning against the door with tears in his eyes.

All he can think about are the custody papers Wayne gave him. The way he’d angrily torn them up, taking them as a threat, rather than an offer to help. The way he’d blamed Wayne for his life going to shit.

I hate you, Harris had said earlier that evening.

Maybe Wayne was right. Maybe Harris was better off without his dad around to fuck up everything in his path.

You’re waiting at the front desk for Grandma’s discharge papers when you hear an excited voice call out your name; rather, his nickname for you.

“Ms. Sweetheart!”

You turn around to see Harris Munson running towards you, sporting a bright orange cast on his wrist. “What happened to you?” you ask with a smile–a genuine one, this time. That little boy always manages to cheer you up.

“I was trying to jump my awake out and I breaked my wrist,” he says. “So then my daddy taked me here and I got this cast. See?” He holds out his arm two inches from your eyes, as though the neon color wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

“That is the coolest cast I’ve ever seen,” you tell him. “I broke my leg once, and I just got a boring white one.” You pout your lips exaggeratedly, making Harris laugh. “I bet all the kids in school will wanna sign it tomorrow.”

Harris breaks out into a giant grin. “They can sign it?”

“Sure can!”

He thinks for a moment and asks, “Will you sign my cast, Ms. Sweetheart?” He looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, and you feel yourself start to melt.

Before you can answer him, your Grandma speaks up. “I’m leaving,” she declares, already trying to take off the sling that the nurse gave her for her sprained wrist.

“I just need to sign you out, Grandma,” you explain. “And remember, you need to keep the sling on so your wrist can heal.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” she hisses. “I hate you.”

Your face heats up, embarrassed at her outburst and at the fact that it happened in front of a student and his parent. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, though you’re unsure if you’re apologizing more to Eddie or to Harris. “She has Alzheimer’s…she doesn’t know…”

You expect Eddie to laugh at your misfortune, but when your eyes flicker to his face, you only see sympathy.

“‘S okay,” he says softly, putting a ringed hand on Harris’s shoulder. “I feel like swearing, too, after the night we’ve had.”

You offer a weak smile, still processing the unfamiliar kindness that he’s showing. “Thanks,” you manage, just as the receptionist hands you the discharge paperwork. “I’ll see you both at school tomorrow?”

“And you can sign my cast!” Harris exclaims, flashing a toothy grin. “Promise?”

“Promise.” You ruffle his hair, leading Grandma out to the car before she can conjure up another slew of swear words.

Eddie wakes up the next morning still exhausted. He rolls over, catching a glimpse of Harris still sleeping soundly in his racecar bed. He’s tempted to let him sleep in a bit, maybe take the day off from school, but he knows how badly he wants Ms. Sweetheart to sign his cast.

Ms. Sweetheart.

He’d been thinking about you all night. The way your calm, confident demeanor had faltered when your grandma cursed at you and said she hated you. The way you caved in a bit, as though her words had punctured you.

You hadn’t reacted like that when Eddie called you a bitch; you’d simply carried on as though the words meant nothing to you.

Because they did mean nothing to you. Because he meant nothing to you. He was just another drop in the douchebag bucket, and once you’d gotten over the initial sting of rejection, you’d moved on. And so had he.

Right?

He tries to shake these thoughts from his mind as he gets Harris ready for school, but it’s nearly impossible when all the kid can talk about is how he saw Ms. Sweetheart at the hospital and how she’s going to sign his cast today.

“She’s the bestest teacher I’ve ever had,” Harris tells Eddie, shoving a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

“She’s the only teacher you’ve ever had, buddy,” Eddie reminds him, but Harris remains unfazed.

Sure enough, you’re waiting outside the classroom door, black Sharpie in hand. Harris’s eyes light up when he spots you.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered,” you say, uncapping the marker and crouching down to his level. Both Eddie and Harris watch intently as you write your signature, complete with a little heart.

Ms. Sweetheart ♡

“Go ahead and unpack,” you tell Harris. “Once you finish your morning routine, we can have your friends sign it, too.”

“Okay!” He starts to run, but crawls to a stop. “Gotta use my walking feet in the classroom.”

You give him a thumbs-up, turning back to hand Eddie the sign-in sheet.

“I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. “I’ve been trying to get that kid to slow down since he learned how to run. Swear to God, he skipped right over the ‘walking’ stage and went straight to sprinting.”

You laugh at his remark, taking the clipboard back from him. “Try the walking feet trick. I’ll let you borrow it, free of charge.”

“Much appreciated.” He starts to leave, but stops before he can fully turn his back to you. “How’s your grandma, by the way?”

His kind gesture catches you off-guard, but you recover quickly. “Already giving me a hard time about the sling, but that’s the home health aid’s problem until I get back.”

Eddie steps forward, awkwardly resting his hand on your upper arm for just a second. He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, or why, but it felt like the right move. “Well, uh, good luck. With the whole ‘sling’ fiasco.”

“I’ll need it.”

He smiles, and you easily return it. It’s an olive branch, one that you eagerly reach out and take. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you.

Eddie’s walking back down the hallway, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of his overburdened shoulders, when he hears it:

“...reported to CPS. Apparently, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

No. No. There’s no way that they could be talking about him.

He rounds the corner towards the school lobby to see Carol Perkins talking to Steve Harrington, her hushed whisper not soft enough to prevent other people from hearing.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Yup,” Carol nods. “Something about when he was born? Like, how bad of a parent do you have to be to get reported to CPS as soon as your kid is born?”

Eddie feels the bile rise in his throat. His suspicions are further confirmed when she adds, “And get this–he was drinking when he brought Harris to the hospital. That’s why I’ll never let Frankie play at his house.”

There’s no way he can just walk past them and act like he hadn’t heard anything, so he decides to wait until they finish their conversation. They made him sound like some sort of neglectful alcoholic who disregards his son’s safety. They made him sound like his dad.

As Steve and Carol say their goodbyes, Eddie takes one last glance back towards the classroom. You’re cheerfully greeting an adoring student, ruffling her hair like you did to Harris at the hospital last night.

Eddie sucks in a quick breath. You were there last night. You were also in the orthopedic wing, as evidenced by your grandma’s injury. You had been humiliated in front of him for the second time; the first was when Eddie hadn’t called you after the one-night stand. And now you wanted revenge.

No wonder you were so friendly this morning. This whole time, you were just waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to have his moment of weakness. Now he knows better than to trust you. He won’t make that mistake again.

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