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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽𝚂 - chapter 10: all the love in the world. FINALE.

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 - the end is just the beginning.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - over 10k

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - SMUT (18+ only, I warned y'all from the beginning), emotions, angst, fluff, more stepcesty stuff, brief pregnancy mention/discussion, reader's mom gets a first name sorry if that breaks the illusion for anyone

(thank you to everyone who read this series, it's been such an adventure and I'm glad I could take you with me <3)

Eddie cleared his throat as he stood in front of the crowd gathered in the backyard— small, but still a crowd. "Well, um, hi," he waved at the seated guests, most of whom waved back. "Bet you never thought you'd see me in a suit, right?"

Scattered, polite laughs rippled through the group.

"Um, neither did I. And I never thought I'd see the day that my uncle got married, either, but here we are. Wayne's never had much luck with the ladies— I guess it's proof we're related, right?" he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck briefly. "Anyways— I knew something was different when he came home from dinner with a 'friend' —" Eddie gestured with dramatic air quotes— "and couldn't stop smiling. I've got some pretty great friends but, they don't make me smile like that."

He glanced at you, and you offered your best reassuring smile-and-thumbs-up combo.

"He told me a couple days later that he'd met this woman,” Eddie continued, glancing down at the cards again. “Apparently he helped her find something at the hardware store. I was so happy for him that I resisted the urge to make an insensitive joke about if he was going to 'nail' her."

You snorted out an embarrassed laugh, and you caught your mom’s expression: clearly a little shocked, but thankfully, amused.

"And, uh, I met her a couple weeks later, and she said she liked my hair,” Eddie recalled. “So I knew she was cool. But most of all, I knew she was right for my uncle. He's a pretty stoic guy— and I don't think I've ever seen him laugh in my entire life the way he can laugh in one night with Donna. They're so right for each other it's nuts. It hasn't been an easy road to today for either of them. I think some people think you can only love one person in your life, but they're wrong: you can have an amazing life, and an amazing family, and an amazing daughter with someone…"

Your heart was in your throat already.

"...and you can still find happiness with someone else down the line. And I can’t think of anyone more deserving of that than you, Donna."

Shit. You were worried about crying during your own speech. You hadn’t even considered that you might cry over Eddie’s.

"Donna, you're too nice for your own good. You took me in just because you love my uncle so much— and that says everything about the kind of person you are. You've given me a roof over my head, you've given me way more credit than I deserve, and you've given me a really cool sister. She's actually cooler than me, which is annoying."

You laughed a little, but bit your lip when a sob almost came out.

"Wayne— I won't say too much because I'm not about to cry in front of all these people. I think everything I really need to say, you already know. But in case you don't… you're more of a dad to me than my father’s even been. I’d be in the clink or in a ditch somewhere if you hadn’t been there to straighten me out. I know I didn’t always make it easy on you… actually, I almost never made it easy on you. You taught me almost everything I know, except the guitar— and I’m gonna need you to teach me how to find such an amazing lady, and how to make it last. Deal?”

Wayne nodded at him, and the guests clapped politely as Eddie left his place standing in front of them to give his uncle a hug and his new aunt-slash-mother-figure a kiss on the cheek. On shaky legs, you stood up and hoped you could find some way to follow that.

Your heart raced as you found yourself facing all those guests; last time you’d been standing in front of them all, you’d been behind your mother at the altar, so they were all looking at her. Now you were alone and had all their attention to yourself; Eddie took his seat and shot you a thumbs up before you started.

You glanced down at your notes, holding onto them for dear life. Thank everyone for coming & joke about beer, the first line of the first index card read.

“Well,” you began, feeling your heart rate pick up, “I’d like to begin by thanking you all for coming. It means so much to us that you’re here, and I know you all wouldn’t miss an opportunity for free beer.”

It was a safe joke, and it got a safe laugh, and you looked at the next line for guidance: When Mom first met Wayne…

“When Mom first met Wayne,” you repeated, “she… actually didn’t tell me.”

That seemed to surprise a few people.

“I guess she was afraid that I wouldn’t approve, either of him or of her dating again at all. Sadly, her fears weren’t… totally misplaced,” you admitted, cringing slightly. “But only because, when it comes to any man who wants to be in my mom’s life, I have incredibly high standards. And anyone who knew my father knows why.”

You flipped to the next card. DAD it said at the top, with more notes of the points you wanted to cover beneath. You froze, wondering if you had the strength to go on with what you’d written.

“Um… after my dad passed away…” you started, voice getting a bit weaker— they were all staring at you, that was something you hadn’t properly appreciated when you were preparing this speech, that they’d all be staring like this. “It was hard, obviously. It’s not easy for anyone to lose a partner, or a parent. I know it was harder on my mom than she let on— she was trying to be strong for me. And I was just trying to pretend like everything was fine. But it wasn’t, and we were both hurting a lot. Our family was… broken, it was missing something. And, of course, no one could fill the space my dad left behind— but I didn’t know someone could make my mom that happy again.”

Shakily, you put the card at the back of the stack and stared at the next heading: WAYNE. Hard working, compassionate and passionate, nicer than he looks.

“Wayne, though, is truly a special man. He’s hard-working, compassionate and passionate, and I’ve learned that he’s not as intimidating as he looks,” you smiled. “I wouldn’t have blamed him at all for basically ignoring me completely— he knows I’m not a kid anymore, and he knows he doesn’t exactly need my approval to be with my mom. But, he also knows how important we are to each other, and he’s been nothing but supportive of me. Congrats, Mom, you might’ve gotten one of the last good ones.”

Again, polite laughter for an easy joke— if perhaps a bit more feminist than your average piece of wedding-speech-humor— but when you glanced up, you caught a smirk on Eddie’s face.

You looked down at your cards again, turning to the next one. EDDIE it said at the top… but the rest was blank. Fuck, you’d been putting off this part to the very last second— and the last second passed about ten minutes ago. You let out a nervous “um” as you stalled, trying to imagine what the fuck you could possibly say about Eddie. “A-and, well,” you choked, “what could I say about Eddie… that hasn't already been said over police radios all across the county."

They laughed, but you only cared if Eddie laughed at that one, so you'd know if you'd gone too far. You heard his laugh first and loudest, and you smiled to yourself.

"But, in all seriousness: Eddie, you're…" you trailed off again. You looked at him, which was a huge mistake; the way he was looking at you was just overwhelming. You glanced down at your cards again quickly. "You're definitely one of a kind," you decided, "and I'm… really, really lucky to have you in my life."

The crowd was filled with awwws, but you refused to look up from that blank index card. It was your only protection now— you felt terribly vulnerable in front of everyone, admitting things you hadn't even admitted to yourself. You took a deep, but shaky, breath in and out.

"They say you can't choose your family," you continued. "And even in this case, when we're not actually related, it's true. But— but I'd choose you anyways."

For a second, you almost thought Eddie was tearing up, but he was looking down and it was dark out already, so you couldn’t quite tell. You flipped to your last index card. Close out.

“It’s so special to be with you all here tonight,” you nodded, “celebrating Mom and Wayne— the hottest couple in Hawkins. Cheers!”

Glasses raised and clinked, and you gave your mom and your new stepfather a hug on your way back to your own seat.

As the night progressed, dinner turned to dancing and slightly heavier drinking— although it turns out older crowds don’t go quite as bananas for free alcohol as high school and college students do, shockingly.

“Can I get you a drink?” Eddie asked you after finding you keeping mostly to yourself in the corner.

“I’m, uh, not much of a drinker,” you informed him.

“Will you come dance with me?” he asked next.

“I’m not much of a dancer, either,” you laughed.

“Neither am I,” he assured with a laugh, extending a hand out to you. “Just come with me.”

You gave him a look. “What’s with the insistence?”

“I want you to have fun, is that so terrible?” he pressed.

“Since when is dancing with you ‘fun’?” you noticed.

He gave you a wide grin as one song faded out, and the next one began: Into The Groove by Madonna, the one Eddie had heard you singing along to loudly in your room however long ago. “I know you dance to this one,” he smirked.

Groaning in defeat, but smiling a bit as the guilty pleasure song played, you took his hand and let him drag you to the middle of the yard. Of course, for a song like this, dancing together is more just dancing near each other, but he was right— it was fun.

“I’m tired of dancing here all by myself, tonight I wanna dance with someone else!” the lyrics announced as you and Eddie bounced around uncoordinatedly; maybe you looked sort of stupid, but hey, you already had the uncomfortable fluff of a Pepto Bismol pink dress on so it wasn’t like you were ever at risk of looking elegant or anything…

Thankfully the weather was nice and the dark evening was getting even cooler, so working up some heat dancing this way actually served as a protection from the chilly breeze— Eddie had a flush on his face by the time the song was almost over, a rosy tint over his nose and cheeks and the slightest shine on his forehead from the exertion.

In a few minutes, the music changed, from fast and upbeat to something slow and gentle— you recognized it as soon as that familiar voice began to croon: “I can hear so much in your sighs, and I can see so much in your eyes…”

You smiled a little, remembering singing along to The Beach Boys when Eddie was practicing his guitar. You thought instantly that this song would sound so much better if he were singing it instead, even if you loved the original.

Some people left the dance floor, some couples got up to dance, but everyone had stopped the energetic dancing and had begun to move much more slowly, holding each other… it was all very romantic, except that you were just standing there staring at Eddie as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“There are words we both could say…”

He cleared his throat, and when he opened his mouth, you were so afraid he was about to make an excuse to leave. I’m gonna get a beer, you want one? or I should check in on the happy couple or something— and, hoping to stop him, you suddenly put your hands on his shoulders.

Looking at you again, he blinked those brown eyes quickly but stepped closer to you anyways. Your hands were still on his shoulders, but you never actually found the strength to push him away, so he put his hands on your waist and suddenly you were slow dancing. “But don’t talk, put your head on my shoulder…”

Your breathing was shaky and you hoped he wouldn’t notice; his thumb moved slightly where it held your waist through your dress, and you felt every touch amplified by your anxiety-awakened skin.

“Come close, close your eyes and be still,” the gentle singing played from the speakers, “take my hand and let me hear your heartbeat.”

Hesitating at first, you leaned your head forward and let it rest on his chest; he tilted his head down to look at you, but you didn’t look back at him, you just couldn’t take that right now. You really could hear his heartbeat, even without pressing your ear right up to him, even through the white button-up dress shirt; it was strong and fast, and your eyes fell shut.

“Being here with you feels so right, we could live forever tonight,” the song continued, “let's not think about tomorrow and don't talk, put your head on my shoulder—”

Swaying together, you felt Eddie hold you a little tighter, but he could never hold you tight enough. He could never hold you long enough.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and you blinked your eyes quickly so you could lean back and look up at him.

“For what?” you wondered.

“Being nice to me,” he replied. “Just for tonight— you can be mean again tomorrow.”

You laughed a little, looking down at where his shiny black shoes stepped in time with your pink kitten heels. But then you felt his hand on your waist squeeze gently again and you sighed. Silence returned, but it wasn’t awkward, just… quiet. Except for, you know, the music, which went on as you danced together.

“Don’t talk, put your head on my shoulder…”

When the song ended all too soon, you stepped back slightly and looked up at Eddie, wondering if he could see everything in your eyes— it felt like he could, it looked like he could with the way he was looking back at you.

There was only a second of silence before the next song came on, and the melody played on plunky synths gave it away instantly as Take My Breath Away by Berlin. You exhaled a quick laugh and Eddie took his hands off your back. “I hate this song,” you announced.

“Me too,” he agreed, “so cheesy.”

You nodded and crossed one arm over your chest to hold the other nervously, starting to awkwardly glance around the reception.

“Wanna get out of here?” he offered, and you looked up at him.

“Eddie, we can’t leave,” you said when you realized what he was suggesting.

“Yeah we can,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, “just for a few minutes— they won’t even notice.”

You hesitated before nodding; “Y-yeah, sure…”

He grabbed your wrist and guided you across the yard to the fence, specifically the darkest corner of the fence where he took a cursory glance to make sure no one was looking before lacing his fingers together and holding them down for you. “Here,” he offered, tilting his head towards the fence.

You started to lift your foot before you put it on the ground again. “Wait. You’re not gonna look up my skirt, are you?”

He sighed. “Do you really think so little of me, sweetheart?”

Sufficiently guilted, you stepped on his hands and let him give you a lift up so you could grab the top of the fence, just barely getting the leverage you needed to pull one leg over.

“Ooh, cute lace,” he praised lasciviously.

“God damn it,” you hissed, flinging yourself over and managing to land upright on both feet on the other side— it was easier to get down this way because a hill was just starting and the ground was a bit higher. Eddie hauled himself up a moment later, jumping down onto the other side and dusting himself off afterwards.

You walked up the hill together as he promised to take you to some place he knew about— you just hoped it wasn’t too far, because these silken flats weren’t exactly built for distance.

It wasn’t far at all, actually; it was just past the treeline, over the highest point of the hill, and when Eddie guided you out to where he’d stopped, you gasped at the view. From here, you could see nearly all of Hawkins— twinkling lights in rows and columns, cars driving down streets, the old church, the town hall—

“Oh my god,” you breathed. “From here, it almost doesn’t look like the shittiest little town ever.”

He laughed. “I know, right?”

“When did you find this place?” you asked.

He sat down on the grass and patted beside him for you to sit, too. “Well,” he began as you tried to find a comfortable way to sit in the dress, “it must’ve been about a week after I moved in. I went on a walk and sorta just stumbled on it.”

You laughed and sighed simultaneously, shaking your head. “I’ve lived here for years, and never knew I was one hill away from the best view of the town; you’re here a week and you find this.”

“I think your problem is you have all these amazing things right in front of you,” he decided, “but you don’t know how to look for them.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?” you pressed.

He shrugged. “It’s just something I noticed.”

A long lull fell in the conversation while the two of you looked out over the lights of Hawkins. The music from the reception seemed to follow the wind, and with a gust of breeze, you heard guitars and melodic singing: Josie’s on a vacation far away, come around and talk it over…

You laughed, just to yourself, but then started to laugh harder until you were holding your stomach and falling back into the grass.

“What?” Eddie laughed with you. “What’s so funny?”

You tried to tell him, but you were laughing too hard to make sense.

“Come on,” he whined, and you composed yourself enough to string a sentence together.

“I hated you,” you laughed, “god, I hated you in high school! You were so… loud! And you didn’t care what anyone thought of you— and back then, I thought that was a bad thing, I thought it was impossible. And now— now that nothing can ever happen with us, of course that’s when I start falling for you.”

You didn’t even care that you’d said it, you didn’t even care that he was looking at you that way or that it felt like getting stabbed in the chest. Your laughter stopped, and you bit your lip to keep it from turning into tears.

“And I just think that’s funny,” you concluded.

“Yeah,” he smiled, looking down at the ground, “yeah, it is funny.”

You were looking out at the horizon, the lights all over Hawkins going out as stores closed and families went to bed and your sleepy little town really slept, when Eddie scooted a little closer to you.

“One question,” he requested. “Uh… remind me why nothing can ever happen with us?”

“‘Cause my mom, and your uncle,” you sighed. Your eyes glanced down at your legs, seeing his stretched out beside them, one ringed hand resting on his bent knee as the other kept him propped up in the grass. “They’re married, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “they really love each other, huh?”

You nodded.

“Wayne told me when he was gonna propose to your mom,” Eddie said suddenly. “I asked him what he was gonna say, and he said, ‘I’m just gonna tell her the truth.’”

You smiled. “That’s why they work. The truth is exactly what she needs.”

“What do you need?”

You looked down at the grass. “I… I don’t know.”

"Maybe," he whispered, "I could finally tell you the truth, too."

You gave him an expectant stare, and he coughed a bit, but continued.

“Okay, well, the truth is,” Eddie began, “I like who I am when I’m with you. I know you don’t, really, but… I do. And when I’m not with you, I’m usually thinking about you. ‘Usually’ as in, ‘always’.”

As he looked at you, searching your expression for some reaction, he leaned in a little closer.

“And I had a bit of a thing for you in high school— I mean, as much as I could, without ever talking to you,” he added. “Except that one time.”

You remembered it well, normally, but suddenly you forgot everything you ever knew as he moved even closer, his face right in front of yours, his eyes giving you a look that made you shiver.

“And I love you,” he leaned in to kiss your cheek, “I love you,” he kissed the other, “I love you.”

He kissed just beside your nose, and you whimpered: “Eddie—”

He held your face in both his hands, pulling back to look at you closely. “No, don’t break my heart just yet. Let me tell you one more time. I love you.”

You took a shaky breath. “I thought you hated me,” you whispered.

He looked hurt, and as a tear fell from your eye, he wiped it away with his thumb. “No, no baby— how could you think that?”

“Because…” you trailed off. “Because the way I love you makes me hate myself.”

With him giving you that devastated look, you figured you had to continue before you made it too much worse.

“You’re everything I wish I could be,” you explained, “you’re crazy and you’re confident and you’re free. You don’t care what people think. And I’m—”

“Uptight, self-conscious, and perfectionistic?” he finished, and you frowned.

“Hey…” you mumbled defensively, looking down, but he lifted your face again.

“Those are all the things I love about you,” he explained. “I love everything about you. I knew how you felt about me back then— it didn’t stop me from having a massive crush on you.”

“First it’s a ‘bit of a thing’, now it’s a ‘massive crush’?” you noticed with a raised eyebrow, and he laughed as his cheeks tinted.

“Can’t get anything past you, huh?” he sighed. “Yeah, I was really into you. I told myself that you were really this creative, passionate, wild-and-crazy sort of girl beneath the goody-two-shoes shell— that you were just waiting for someone to break you out of that prison you built for yourself. And I imagined that it was me, that one day you’d ask me for something and we would start talking and you would end up begging me to take you away from it all. To steal you from that asshole Gary and sweep you off your feet— and we would get in the van and leave it all behind. Fuck Hawkins, fuck high school, fuck everybody.”

You sniffled, clutching at his tuxedo jacket’s lapel. “Eddie…” you whispered, not sure how to say anything more than that.

“We’d find shitty jobs and a shitty apartment somewhere in the middle of a town that actually matters,” he continued, “and we’d sleep on the floor the first night because there wasn’t time to pick out a bed. I could play guitar on a street corner and buy you flowers with whatever coins people toss in the case, and you could take enough pictures to cover the walls so we don’t need wallpaper. And we’d find a stray cat in the rain and bring it inside and name it something metal like Sabbath or Zeppelin. And it would all be so stupid, so massively irresponsible, but it would be our stupid irresponsible little life together. And it would be fucking beautiful.”

Biting your lip, you still couldn’t stop yourself from crying as tears fell down your heated cheeks. “Eddie, that’s what I wanted,” you sighed. “I didn’t know it then, but that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then let’s do it,” he whispered, and it was you that closed the gap— it was you that kissed him, finally, holding on tighter to his jacket as you inhaled sharply and pressed your lips onto his.

They really were soft, just like you thought they’d be; but he tasted different than you expected, maybe because he hadn’t smoked recently. But he tasted like the way the air smells after it rains, and beer, and the leftover sweetness of wedding cake frosting. You breathed against his skin and tasted it more as he deepened the kiss, letting yourself really melt into it, letting him hold you tighter and move his lips with yours however he wanted.

His hand gently reached up to hold the back of your head; the other stroked your cheek one more time before drifting down to your waist.

It was surreal— it was hyperreal— it was Eddie, you were kissing Eddie. Eddie Munson, the freak, the loser, the delinquent; Eddie Munson, your technical-relative; Eddie Munson, that guy who wouldn’t sit still for the damn yearbook photo.

Somehow, thinking about it like that just made you smile a bit and kiss him harder.

What was originally gentle and comforting and sweet started to shift after a few moments, as he opened his mouth wider and gripped your waist harder and let you feel some of that hunger— god, you knew the feeling too well, and you scooted forward in the grass to press yourself to him a bit. He hummed, low and soft, and you whimpered in return as your noises were nearly lost in the kiss.

You held on tighter to his lapel, then reached up to squeeze his shoulders, and he groaned— fuck, it was the sexiest thing you’d heard since… no, actually, it was just the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

Gasping against his lips, you pushed him down roughly by those shoulders, pinning him to the grass as you swung your leg and straddled his lap. “Fuck,” he muttered, pulling you down to kiss him again.

It was shameless now, all lips and tongue and teeth— when he gently bit on your lower lip you thought you might really go actually crazy— as your hands gripped at his shirt to feel his chest while his touch ran down your back, up your legs, basically anywhere he could reach.

Just when you thought this was it, you were really going to get it over with right here and now after all these years, he broke away. “Baby, wait,” he choked out, shrinking back, and you froze as you pulled away by sitting up slightly.

“What?” you asked, terrified you were about to get your heart kicked back into its cage when you freed it for the first time in years.

“Th-this is a rental,” he blurted out, motioning slightly at the tux he had on.

After a moment’s pause, you started to laugh. And he laughed, too. You relaxed slightly and sat back on his thighs; he sat up and pulled you into a hug, kissing the side of your head while it was nearby. The laughter died down, and the moment passed, and you let each other out of the embrace.

“We should probably get back now,” he decided, and you nodded in agreement.

He took your hand and you ran together through the grass, back towards the sound of the backyard reception, back to the real world.

The whole crowd of guests stood out front and waved as Wayne and your mom drove away — for all the effort you put into getting a nice vintage Cadillac for the send-off, it looked pretty tacky with the streamers and cans tied to it, clanking as it drove down the cul-de-sac.

When they were out of sight, you and Eddie took one more deep breath before turning to the guests behind you. “Thank you all so much for coming!” you announced.

And that was basically what you did for the next fifteen minutes: shake a bunch of hands, wave goodbye, thank everyone for their attendance and gifts. When they left, the rest of your work was only beginning, and it was nearly midnight! Eddie offered to wash dishes and take out the trash while you took down decorations and paid the guys coming to take back the rented stereo equipment.

Thankfully, with the two of you, it went pretty quickly. There was more to do, but it could wait until the morning; it’s not like having tables and chairs set up in your backyard overnight is a crime or something.

When you were done with your tasks, you leaned up against the entryway to the kitchen, finding Eddie drying the last plate. He looked over his shoulder at you for a second, smiling, before drying his hands and setting it all down to face you: his jacket was long gone and his bowtie hung untied loosely around an unbuttoned collar that exposed a hint of clavicle and chest hair.

“So, house to ourselves,” he noticed, glancing around. “We throwin’ a rager or what?”

You smiled softly, glancing down.

He approached you slowly and carefully, reaching up to hold your shoulders when he was close enough. Even now you felt a little shaky, a little nervous to be this close to him even when you’d already kissed, but his gentle smile soothed you; so you did it, you stood up a bit taller and kissed him.

It wasn’t as sudden as the last one, so it wasn’t as rushed, and yet there was a creeping sense of urgency to it because you both realized it could go somewhere— maybe it didn’t have to, but with an empty house and no time limit or deadline coming up, anything could happen tonight.

As you clutched his shirt and pulled him closer with an inhale through your nose, feeling his hands take your waist and press you to him, you realized that you wanted it to go somewhere. Not just anywhere— you knew exactly where you wanted this to go.

“Bed,” you blurted out, pulling back to look up at him. “We— we should go to bed.”

“Okay,” he agreed, sounding a little breathless, “top or bottom?”

You laughed as he started guiding you with him already. “Mine, for sure,” you decided.

“Aw,” he pouted as you walked through the bedroom door, “I’ve been thinking about getting you in my bed for ages— not gonna let me have my fantasy, huh?”

As you fell back onto your bottom bunk, pulling him down with you, he got the angle wrong and smacked his forehead on the wood between the mattresses; you laughed, covering your mouth when you felt guilty for it, and he scrunched up his nose as he held his head for a second. “That was my fantasy,” you joked, and he laughed in return as he ducked a little too dramatically now to join you in the bed.

The lower bunk could feel a bit like a cave sometimes, in a cozy sort of way— but with Eddie on top of you, it was like it was all closing in on you as his weight dipped you both deeper into the mattress than ever. That probably sounds horribly claustrophobic, but it was actually nice. You felt safe and shockingly not-vulnerable considering the circumstances, even as he started to unzip the back of your dress while he kissed you again.

For your part, you were absolutely flying through his shirt’s buttons, sighing when it was opened and you could run your hands over his warm skin beneath. His tattoos looked better than ever peeking out from under a tuxedo shirt, though you only got a brief glimpse of him before his lips on your neck all but forced your head to tilt back.

“Sensitive,” he noticed with a whisper, but just one word said like that made you mewl and work harder to get his shirt off. But before you could get it all the way over his shoulders, he managed to get your dress down enough to expose your chest— and he hungrily sucked on your breasts as soon as he could.

“Oh god,” you whined, hips rocking up into nothing.

“Here too,” he laughed as he kissed from one to the other, looking up at you for a second. “Are you always this… responsive?”

You almost laughed imagining that Eddie really thought Gary had ever gotten this kind of reaction out of you. You bit your lip and shook your head, and a little snarl curled his lips as he growled at you.

“Just for me, then?” he assumed, and you nodded. “That’s so sexy— you’re so sexy…”

“You too,” you admitted as he suckled at your chest again. “I-I thought about this.”

“Yeah?” he breathed. “I thought about this, too— a lot.”

You smiled proudly, before he broke away and sat up slightly to tug your dress off down your legs. He purred again as he admired you laying there beneath him, naked spare for your panties, but he surprised you by coming back down to kiss your stomach— not exactly where you expected him to start, but okay— and beginning to move lower and lower…

Oh, fuck. He looked up at you as he kept making his way down, fingers tucking into your panties so he could slide them down your thighs.

Even obviously knowing what was coming, you gasped loudly when his lips latched onto your pussy. “F-fuck!” you choked as his tongue lapped at you eagerly, suction tugging on your clit until your insides throbbed helplessly.

He held onto your legs and pushed his face harder against you, sliding his tongue deeper inside you, shutting his eyes tight while he seemed to feed on your need until you had to grab on to the support beams on either side of your head. You felt him smile down there— cocky little shit— and go even harder.

The pleasure was heavy on your gut, like a weight keeping you pinned down, even though you longed so much to rock up into it for more. “I— oh my god…”

He moaned against you, the most perfect sound muffled by your body, his fingers digging a little harder into your soft skin. He was ruthless, and when you were nearly screaming, he just took it as a sign to go harder on you— he chased your pleasure fast enough that he had it captured in just a few minutes.

“I— I’m— oh god, Eddie,” you whined. “I’m… I’m so close…”

He nodded and hummed against you but refused to slow down for even a second, just shutting his eyes tighter as he focused all his strength into keeping your hips still so he had total control over the way his mouth took you apart piece by piece.

One of your hands shot down and took a tight hold on his hair, but his groan of pain actually sounded rather pleased. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged, “oh my god—”

Your neck craned back and your spine arched so hard you lifted off the bed for a second, and he just opened his mouth wide and left his tongue stuck out so you could ride it shamelessly, the fireworks going off behind your eyelids as your orgasm shook your body.

You said his name a few more times, not really meaning to but needing to, and his heavy breaths fanned over your flushed skin.

Only when you shakily sank back down into the bed, loosening your grip on his mane, did he break away and sit up to look down at you with a swallow and satisfied sigh.

“What’d you do that for?” you panted, unable to fight your own smile at the sight of his: wide and sparkling with slick that dripped down to his chin.

“‘Cause somebody oughta,” he explained, finally taking his shirt off all the way since you never actually got around to it.

“But I didn’t mean to come so fast…”

“It’s better this way— I already know I won’t be able to last long with you,” he admitted, leaning forward and capturing you in a messy kiss that tasted like— well, I bet you can guess what it tasted like. Wedding cake, of course!

His breathing was heavy, too, as he tried to divide his mental energy between kissing you and unbuttoning his tuxedo pants; once that was done he pushed them down his thighs just enough that he could guide your hand to his aching cock, and you let out a long whimper of a breath as you wrapped your fingers around it. God, it was literally hot, he must be burning up, and the drip of arousal running down made everything all smooth as you ran your fingers over the delicate skin.

“Put it in for me,” he instructed you under his breath, so as he lowered his hips down, you lifted your own a bit and guided him to your opening. He gasped before he was even inside, just feeling your heat on the very tip of his cock; and as he delicately slid in, you groaned and dropped your head back.

A deep satisfaction filled you— literally— when his hips were flush with yours, full to the brim and gasping as he laid down on top of you.

“So perfect,” he breathed as he brushed loose hair away from your face. “I love you so much.”

You really didn’t wanna cry right now, it would be stupid, right? It would be too weird. You reached up and grabbed onto the back of his neck to make him kiss you again. “I love you too,” you replied only when you were ready to say it without your voice breaking.

He started to move, careful and slow, and for some reason you just needed to say it again, mumbled into the kiss.

“I love you,” you repeated, reaching up to hold onto his back. He nodded against you with a sigh of his own.

“I know,” he promised, “I know…”

And even if he knew, it just felt good to finally say it, and not even feel bad about it— not a drop of guilt or regret or self-consciousness. That could wait for the morning.

Holding each other tightly, you found a steady pace— and then it was Eddie’s turn to hold onto one of the beams by your head as he buried his face in your neck. “God,” he grunted, “so fuckin’ wet— you’re dripping for me, sweetheart…”

Whimpering, you let your nails dig into his back and your legs wrap around his hips.

“Fuck,” he moaned, kissing your neck hungrily. The stretch inside you was pleasurable enough, but then with his lips and tongue and teeth on your pulse, a tingling feeling danced up your back and you nearly sobbed from how good it felt. And then he let go of the beam to toy with your hard nipple, and you thought you might lose your cool again right away. “Fuck!” he said again, louder, as he picked up his pace. “Y-you squeezed me so tight, baby, did you feel that? Oh my god…”

You hadn’t felt it, until he made you do it again, and you noticed that time with a wavering cry of his name.

“Promise me something,” he panted as he lifted his head to look down at our face. “Never stop saying my name like that.”

He kissed you before you could properly agree to it, slipping his hands under your back the next time it arched so he could hug you tightly as he thrusted much, much faster.

“Fuck, m’gonna come,” he whimpered, “I’m sorry— I really wanted to last longer, but god, you’re so— you— fuck!”

“S’okay,” you insisted, “just come— oh my god, Eddie, I want you to come—”

“Baby, baby,” he whined pleadingly as his head fell onto your shoulder, “don’t say that, I don’t want it to end so soon…”

“It doesn’t matter,” you promised, “just come, please, inside me—”

“Christ,” he blurted out, taking a tight hold of your hips and tossing his head back as his movements became a blur against your numbing, sticky walls. “I— fuck, you’re sure I don’t have to pull out?”

You nodded as you gripped his arms. “I’m sure, please please Eddie—!”

He gasped loudly and gave you an extra sudden, sharp thrust— and you started to feel it, his cock flexing in you, his heat flooding you, both of you panting as you started to still.

A long sigh accompanied his collapsing onto you, catching his breath between kisses all along your neck and face.

“I really, really tried not to come that fast,” he laughed breathlessly, and you just hugged onto his torso tighter.

“So did I,” you promised. “I-it’s fine, really… I’m definitely satisfied, I mean, fuck— that was… fuck.”

“Yeah…” he agreed.

And you both fell asleep in seconds. Because it was nearly two in the morning and you’d been working on the wedding shit all day and it was actually kind of a miracle you stayed awake long enough to do that in the first place!

You woke up hours later, the only light in the room just slivers of moonlight leaking through the window; he was behind you, holding you close, breathing on the back of your neck. You held on tighter to the arm in front of your chest, leaning your head back into his chest, not expecting him to stir and sleepily plant a kiss on your head.

“Are you awake?” you whispered so softly there was any noise, but he nodded.

“Barely,” he admitted. “You’re so warm…”

He hugged you tighter, then kissed you again— then lifted his head to kiss under your ear, by your jaw, just over your pulse…

You didn’t even mean to grind your ass into him, it was just that what he was doing made your back arch. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, and that made you even hotter. “I need you again.”

It was so easy to slide right in, your body still leaking his come from before, but even without that he could get you wet in seconds; you moaned lowly and tried to arch your back deeper to angle his cock just how you thought you wanted— but he grunted and pulled your back into his chest, wanting to feel as much of you as he could. It made the angle of his thrusts a bit less natural and yet it forced him to rub right against your spot, and you shut your sleepy eyes tighter at the feeling. “Fuck— like that, Eddie, just like that…”

He nodded in agreement and turned his gentle pecks on your shoulder into a full-on assault of tongue on anything he could reach, getting more desperate for you by the second.

That one lasted much longer— maybe hours, you were totally unable to keep track of time, but at some point he rolled you onto your stomach and rutted on top of you slowly. He never had to pick up his pace to send you right into your first orgasm… or the second.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, “I’ll come again, oh fuck—”

“Good,” he praised roughly right into your ear, voice gravelly from sleep, “good— keep coming. Don’t ever stop coming for me, baby, I love feeling it… I love hearing you, sound so fuckin’ pretty, sweetheart.”

You whined and bit your lip, reaching up to grab a handful of your pillow— but his hand reached over yours and interlaced his thick fingers with your shaking ones, soothing kisses trailing the side of your face as you sobbed softly. He kept praising you and you, following instructions, kept coming until it wasn’t really a matter of counting them anymore— it was just this never-ending feeling that swallowed you whole, which would be scary if you were alone. But he was right there with you, promising he’d never let you again.

It ended as gradually and softly as it started, and he hugged you into him for you to fall asleep again much more easily than you’d think after a wake-up like that. When you awoke for good, the sun was high in the sky. You couldn’t see the clock, because you were too busy looking up at his sleeping face, but you guessed it was at least nine or ten. It was the latest you’d slept in years.

You didn’t want to wake him up, but staring at him and playing with his hair didn’t satisfy you forever, so you started to plant tiny kisses on his chest, and that stirred him from sleep with a happy groan.

“Hey,” he greeted, and you weren’t ready to see his eyes again, in the light of the day, knowing how easily you’d given in to him after trying to resist for so many reasons for so long. You weren’t ready to wonder if this was just getting out some pent-up energy before parting for as long as you needed to be regular step-siblings.

You just shut your eyes and laid your head on his bicep as he sat up on his side to look at you.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, and you snorted.

“I mean, I slept great,” you smiled, “when I was sleeping.”

“Me too,” he agreed as he kissed your cheek. “Open your eyes, baby, I wanna see you.”

“Mmm…” you groaned in protest, burying your face in the pillow when he tried to hold it.

“C’mon,” he whined, “I miss you.”

“I’m right here!” you promised, but you gave in and let him turn your face towards him as your eyes blinked open. You were right— you weren’t ready. The way he was looking at you was impossible to ever move on from, and you’d never be able to do it if he asked you to.

“So, are we—?” he started.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, reaching up to lay a hand on his chest. “Don’t ask me what we are, okay? ‘Cause I don’t even know.”

“I… was just gonna ask if we were gonna go out for breakfast or cook ourselves,” he explained, and you felt a heat on your face in embarrassment. “I kinda worked up an appetite there, believe it or not.”

“Oh,” you sighed, “um, I can cook something.”

You made a move to get up and he pulled you back down. “N-no, wait,” he frowned.

“I thought you were hungry,” you noticed.

“Yeah… but I don’t want you to go,” he sighed, keeping you close. There was a brief pause as you laughed softly, his arm wrapping around you. “And also I wanna talk about that thing you don’t wanna talk about.”

“Ugh, Eddie,” you groaned, “can’t it wait a little longer?”

“Sure, but can I at least ask you to be my girlfriend first?” he requested.

“You know I can’t,” you sighed, “I’m already your stepsister.”

“See, here’s the thing— I was thinking about that earlier,” he explained, “and what I realized is that… I don’t actually… care, so—”

“What if I care?” you wondered.

“You can’t exactly make that argument when you’re naked in bed with me,” he noticed.

“Well, maybe it was—”

“Don’t tell me it was a mistake,” he interrupted firmly. “You’re not much of a liar— I was there, sweetheart, we both know that was the farthest thing from a mistake. All the time we spent not doing that was the mistake!”

You smiled, because you couldn’t deny that. Misguided? Sure. Poorly timed? Definitely. But nothing truly wrong could feel that right.

“We don’t have to call it, you know, that,” he offered, “boyfriend and girlfriend— if you don’t want to. As long as we’re together, it’ll be fine.”

“But people can’t know we’re together,” you insisted, “least of all Mom and Wayne.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“What are we gonna do when they get back?” you wondered.

“Guess I’m gonna have to go—” he reached up and knocked his fist on the slats above you— “back upstairs.”

“I’ll miss you,” you whined, cuddling harder into him.

“Okay, I’ll come down after they go to sleep,” he decided, hugging you tighter as well.

You spent the rest of your week alone together for the honeymoon very… similarly to a honeymoon, actually. Damn near every room in the house was defiled and you were so exhausted you ended up calling in sick to work most days. It was well worth it, obviously; Eddie had so much energy and lost time to make up for, meanwhile you were just happy to let him shower you in affection and bring you in an hour more pleasure than you’d had in the rest of your life combined.

“God, I can’t, I really really can’t,” he insisted as your lips latched onto his neck and your hips grinded in his lap.

“You said that last time,” you remembered.

“I know, but now I mean it!” he sighed, dropping his head onto the back of the couch. “What are you doin’ to me, woman? Trying to kill me?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, licking his neck and purring as you felt the muscles in it shift under your tongue. “Isn’t this how you always wanted to die?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but I can’t croak so soon— you’d miss me too much.”

For all his insistence that he couldn’t go again, that ten times in four days was too much, he was guiding your movements in his lap hardly ten minutes later, watching with heavy eyes as you sank down onto his cock over and over.

“Fuck, so pretty,” he breathed, biting his lip while he drank in the sight. Thick hands ran up your thighs as you bounced on him, slipping around to grab palmfuls of your ass while you rode, and you moaned happily.

It’s easy to guess that you got a bit spoiled by that week. Eddie had you addicted to him in moments and kept you around his finger (sometimes literally) so easily. As such, it made you dread even more each day that you got closer and closer to the return of the newlyweds. You couldn’t even imagine going back to normal after this— and what even was ‘normal’ before? You never really had one.

Even if it was just a matter of keeping it a secret, you knew it wouldn’t be easy. Maybe if it had been easier, the plan would’ve lasted a bit longer.

They returned from their trip on a Wednesday afternoon, and you all sat at the table together to talk about how much fun they had and all the fishing and hiking and relaxing they did. It was good to see them again, but even just sitting across the table from Eddie felt odd. Even just being apart that night while you and your mom went out for dinner alone felt odd. Even just sleeping in separate bunks, after you chickened out on sharing from the fear that someone would burst in and see your cuddling, felt odd.

Eddie got up first, but he went to the bathroom to shower and shave before you got up so you couldn’t even try to sneak in a quick good morning kiss. Instead, you started preparing breakfast in the kitchen, taking a break to brush your teeth when the bathroom was free and he was watching TV. Other than offering to make him a piece of toast, you didn’t say much, mainly because you were still kind of waking up.

While you were finishing breakfast preparations you heard Eddie come into the kitchen and step up behind you, but you didn’t say anything, and neither did he for a second— not until he was standing just a bit too close.

“This is way too hard,” he whispered.

“Hm?” you wondered, shivering when his lips gently brushed against your neck in the next moment. “E-Eddie, we can’t—”

“I know,” he agreed under his breath, “that’s what’s so hard. Not being able to touch you, or kiss you, or…”

You were trying to resist, really, but his fingers were just barely tickling your sides through your shirt while his tongue teased your ear and it made your knees a little weak. Okay, a lot weak; you just had to let him spin you around so he could kiss you on the mouth, hard and needy.

You were so caught up by it that you didn’t hear the sound of movement on the other side of the wall. You just reached up to wrap your arms together on top of his shoulders and let him deepen it, tilting your head a bit as you fought back a moan.

He started to guide you back, and you barely questioned it, and the two of you all but fell into the dining room, nearly colliding the table; and it was a good thing you didn’t, since that would’ve put Wayne’s coffee at risk of falling off the table— he, by the way, was sitting at the table next to your mom, something neither of you had taken the time to notice, until the man gruffly cleared his throat to get your attention.

You pulled away from each other with a gasp; Eddie coughed lightly while you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, wide-eyed as you took in the way the two of them were staring at you from their seats at the table.

“Good morning,” Wayne finally offered, and Eddie nodded with a nervous laugh as you tried to decide where to start.

“S-sorry,” you decided to say first, “we were— it’s not— he was just—”

He was just what, helping me decide if I should get a new flavor of toothpaste? He was just saying ‘good morning’ the European way? He was just helping me butter my toast? Oh god, that sounds even worse…

“Oh, you don’t need to act so shy about it,” your mom promised with a tilt of her head, which made you switch from shock to bewilderment. “I actually always thought it was strange you never kissed in front of us before now!”

Eddie raised one of his eyebrows as he looked at her in confusion. “Um… well, we never kissed at all before— before, you know, a couple days ago…”

“Wait, really?” she laughed. “That’s a little odd— being involved all this time and waiting so long to kiss?”

You blinked, choking as you tried to reply to that. “We— we weren’t involved! Until now!”

Wayne tried to cover his smile with his hand, but it couldn’t hide his laugh. Your mom looked at him and then back at you. “What?!” she yelped. “Wayne and I— we were so sure you two were—!”

“No!” you blurted out. “We weren’t… why would you think that?”

“Because it was obvious,” Wayne explained flatly. “We’re old, not stupid.”

“You were so clearly interested in each other!” she went on. “We figured you’d started dating and just didn’t tell us because— well, you didn’t need to! You really weren’t?”

“Of course not!” you insisted. “Mom, we’re— you know… related! Kind of. That doesn’t bother you?”

“It didn’t seem to bother either of you,” she noticed. “But, you’re both adults, you can do what you like. You were classmates long before Wayne and I ever met. People marry their high school sweethearts all the time.”

“O-okay, to be clear,” you stammered, “we went to high school together— but we were not sweethearts.”

Eddie gave you a look, crossing his arms as if he was amused by all this, and you shook your head.

“But— okay, well, thank you, I guess, for your… blessing,” you decided. “And we’ll… try not to kiss in the kitchen too often.”

That night, after saying goodnight to Mom and Wayne, Eddie followed you into your bedroom and shut the door behind you. He sat next to you on your bed, even though you kind of expected him to climb up to his own— but you didn’t have any complaints when he pulled you into a kiss that built quickly in intensity.

You brushed your fingers through his hair (as best you could with how tangled it was) and hummed as he gently held your waist, but when you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to control yourself if it went on much longer, you had to cut it short.

“Wait,” you gasped, pushing him back gently until he stopped and looked at you with big, wide eyes. “We can’t…”

“Why not?” he wondered.

“Because…” you trailed off, finishing your sentence by pointing in the other direction.

“Because…” he repeated, squinting his eyes as he looked where you were pointing. “Because, the wall? Aw, babe, I know I get a little carried away but I don’t think the walls are gonna collapse.”

“No, the other side of the wall,” you sighed.

“The bathroom?”

“The other side of that.”

“...the water heater?”

“Eddie!” you whined. “The other side of that!”

“The master bedroom, final answer,” he nodded. “What— Mr. and Mrs. Munson? What about ‘em?”

“Um, their… presence?” you clarified, not sure what he wasn’t getting.

“If they know we’re together then we don’t have to hide it,” he pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean I wanna fuck with them in the house,” you returned with a frown.

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” he smirked, “you know— if the bunk bed’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’ or something like that.”

“That’s… not a saying.”

“Okay, but, close enough,” he pouted.

“Still not having sex with you while our parents are home,” you insisted. He didn’t seem too disappointed, though— actually, a mischievous smile grew on his face as he looked at you.

“I noticed something,” he informed you. You raised your eyebrows and waited. “Your mom said people marry their high school sweethearts all the time. You said we weren’t sweethearts.”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“But you didn’t tell her we weren’t getting married.”

Your eyes went wide and you bit your lip; he looked way too fucking proud of himself as he leaned in closer and poked you teasingly in the stomach with his fingers. You tried to lean away or cover yourself with crossed arms but it wasn’t working, and neither were your attempts to stifle your laughter.

“You’re soooo into me,” he noticed in a playfully mocking voice. “You wanna get maaarriiieeeddd—”

“N-no, I don’t,” you denied with an eye roll, “I— I just didn’t notice she said that.”

“You wanna have my baaaabbiiieeesss,” he continued anyways, and you nearly choked on your own throat.

“E-Ed, we’re too young for any of that right now,” you insisted.

“Okay,” he nodded, pausing for a second. “How about now?”

You snorted, shaking your head at your own amusement with such a stupid joke. “No, I mean, like, the future.”

“Future,” he affirmed, “as in, tomorrow?”

“No!” you groaned. “Like, someday!”

“Sunday?”

You whined and dropped your head on Eddie’s shoulder in defeat, making him laugh and reach up to rub your back. “You’re horrible,” you mumbled.

“Mhm,” he agreed as he softly kissed the top of your head. “Just promise me something?”

You lifted your head to rest your chin on his shoulder so he could see your face; he reached up and held it gently, caressing the height of your cheek with his thumb.

“You tell me when it’s ‘someday’, okay?” he asked softly. “I don’t care if it’s ten days from now or ten years. You just say the word, and we’ll do all that boring grown up stuff we’re not old enough for yet. Deal?”

You smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

He hummed and kissed the tip of your nose before gently capturing your lips again, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh,” he said suddenly as he pulled back, “by the way— you can keep my ring you took.”

“I… thought you forgot about that,” you admitted sheepishly, and he grinned, shaking his head.

“Of course not,” he cooed, “but it’s better that you have it, since you wanna be the next Mrs. Munson so bad.”

“I don’t—!” you began to disagree, but he cut you off with another kiss.

Someday came January 19th, 1988. It was a quiet day, but otherwise typical for life in your little rental place up in North Hawkins by the lake, which was usually filled with Eddie's raucous practicing on the Warlock alongside the hand-me-down furniture and framed (award-winning) photos on the wall.

Nothing specific made you realize it— he was just laying back on the couch and fiddling around on his acoustic (specifically his new acoustic you'd gotten him for his most recent birthday) while you arranged and rearranged the magazine spread due in a few days— but you just… knew that it was time.

“Wanna get married?” you blurted out, and he looked at you with a tinge of shock on his face before he smiled.

“You know I do,” he grinned. “Hop in the van, we’ll go to the courthouse—”

You interrupted him with a laugh as he was sitting up and setting his guitar aside. “I figured we would just start, like, planning it…”

He groaned disappointedly as he flopped back onto the couch. “You make me wait this long and then you say we have to wait more?”

“You don’t want a wedding?!” you scoffed.

“I do, but I’d rather get married now and just do the wedding whenever we have the time,” he explained. “Doesn’t it sound fun?”

You smirked. “Well, I figured once we were married you’d want kids right away. And I’m not interested in a maternity-bridal gown.”

“Y’sure? I think you’d be real cute like that,” he cooed.

"I think you should keep dreamin', pretty boy," you winked in return.

He hopped up off the couch and crossed the room to kiss you suddenly— holding your face in his hands, keeping you close, saying so much with no words at all. You fell into it so quickly that you were the one leaning forward for more when he pulled back. He smirked at you proudly; "So, courthouse?"

You sighed. "How come you always get your way with me? Why is that?"

"'Cause you're just so wildly, stupidly, counter-intuitively in love with me," he answered confidently.

"Oh, right," you smiled. "I almost forgot."

Eddie cleared his throat as he stood before all your family and friends— Jonathan, the Hellfire club, your coworkers and colleagues, your mom and stepdad, and even Eddie's father who had been granted furlough so he could attend. A small gathering, but still a crowd. You could tell he was nervous; you were, too, of course, and you looked down at your white dress and your hands holding his to try to remind yourself that this was real.

"Well, um, hi," he addressed them before he began the vows he'd written and rehearsed a thousand times for today. "Bet you never thought you'd see me in a suit, right?"

THE END

#eddie munson x reader #stepbrother!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 7 days

Text

Surprise Visit Pt 2 (Thor X Son!Reader)

Characters: Thor Odinson X Son!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: None

Pt 1

Request: Hi, I'm just finish Poco's udon world, and right of the batch I thought what if Poco is Thor's son, Poco has some of his feature too and I remember your fic Surprise Visit. Can you please do a Part 2 of it?🥺 reader is like Thor but he quite shy and always bring with books that his mother read before bed they bonding by activities together Thor bring him to Asgard to meet his grandparents Loki read them books, tell them stories, show and teach them magic (Harry Potter) with Freyaa and all fluff❤

The first few days after finally meeting your dad had been awkward to say the least. You were spending almost every waking moment either with him, or your uncle. You had expected that Loki would be a lot more awkward with you- or straight up wouldn’t like you from the get go, but it ended up being kind of the opposite. Thor had been a bit too eager from the get go to play the fatherly role, and you found it unnerving, and when Thor realised that (with help from Clint and Steve pointing it out for him) he backed up and started to just try and get to know you, your interests, your dislikes, and take things a little slower. Loki, on the other hand, was nowhere near as pushy, gave you space, and didn’t force conversation on to you. Eventually though, you ended up finding something to bond with Loki over; Books.

You had been interested in the books he read, even if you couldn’t read the language, and worked up the courage to ask him about it, and after an explanation, he asked what kind of books you liked, and it was a start of an actual long and meaningful conversation. Loki took that, and hinted that Thor should look into those books. The next day, Thor showed up to your room with a pile of books in his arms and a grin on his face.

Things since then had got a lot better between you and your dad. Instead of forcing it, or acting the part for the sake of it, Thor had naturally fallen into the father role that made it a comfortable change for you. Thor had little interest in books, but you had the ritual with him now of him buying a book for you, you read it, and after every chapter, you give him a rundown of what happened in detail, and you’d discuss it. You’d opened up a bit with him over the weeks, about what your life was like growing up with mum, holidays, key memories for you, and the rituals you two had- including reading books before bed together, which was where your love for books came from. Thor soon got you some of the books you mentioned, so you could do it with him. You got into a nice rhythm of living with and being around your dad and uncle, to the point where you were expecting it when an advancement was suggested.

“How do you feel about going to Asgard with Loki and I, tomorrow?” Thor asked, as you were tidying up after another late night discussion about a book you had been reading- this one actually a recommendation from your Uncle Loki. You stopped what you were doing, and looked over at Thor, who waited patiently.

“Uh… sure. Okay.” You agreed hesitantly, and immediately his face lit up. You had long guessed this conversation would happen, so you had time to prepare for it, though you knew that was actually impossible. What could prepare you for going to the land of gods- where you know you didn’t belong, even if Thor was your father? “Do… Do they know about me?” You asked cautiously.

“Of course!” He immediately answered. “As soon as I returned to Agard after we met, I told mother and father about you, and my friends! I wanted to tell the entire kingdom, but mother- your grandmother, insisted we wait till you met them all first before telling the rest of Asgard. Freya, your grandmother, is the most eager to meet you.” He gushed to you. You’d heard a lot about your grandparents through both Thor and Loki. Admittedly, Thor was the only one who talked about Odin, and while Loki didn’t talk much about them, when he did, it was always about Freya, about how she was also a bit of a bookworm, and how she taught him magic.

You got up early the next morning, mostly due to struggling to sleep from the anticipation, and you didn’t have to wait for either your dad or uncle to be ready either, though you couldn’t tell if it was due to excitement or nerves, or maybe they were both feeling those things- your dad the excitement, and Loki the nerves. It didn’t help that your dad was a raving optimist, and your uncle was a pessimist, so you couldn’t tell who was feeling the right way, so you just adopted a bit of each of their emotions. Cautiously excited.

You honestly wasn’t sure what to expect when you actually got there, or even the process of getting there in the first place, but as soon as you left the Bifrost, you were in awe. Sure, they had told you all about Asguard- the rainbow path that led to it, the great kingdom, the beauty of it all, but none of that was in comparison to what you were actually seeing. You remained in stunned silence the entire walk up the bridge, actually entering into Asguard, past the several hundred people who came to welcome them back and ask about you, up until your father actually called for you, after seeing you distracted by something else further away. You turned, seeing several people stood with your father and uncle, looking at you smiling. “Y/N, these are my friends, Fandrall, Hogun, Volstagg, and Sif.” Your father introduced you.

“So this is the little prince?” Sif questioned with a smile.

“Little? Thor, you said he was a boy! Give it a few years and he’ll be ready to be king!” Volstagg laughed, though the mention of such a role made you look at Loki quickly, and then your dad.

“He is a boy! The very idea of being king is still a long way away- you make it sound like he’ll outlive me.” Thor defended.

“Speaking of Kings.” Loki spoke up, placing hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Right! Haven’t had the chance to introduce him to the rest of his family. We’ll pick this up later, promise.” Thor told them motioning you over, and guiding you deeper into the kingdom, down several expansive corridors, before you turned a corner, and spotted a group of women talking in the hallway ahead, and your father and uncle stopped. “Loki, stay here with Y/N.” Thor requested, before going towards the group, and you looked up at Loki confused, who patted you on the shoulder. You watched as your father approached the group, made some small talk, before all the women except one left down another hallway, and Thor stepped to the side, motioning the woman towards you and Loki, and you realised who she must be. Freya. Your grandmother.

As soon as she saw you properly, she smiled warmly, hands clasped and pressed against her chest with excitement, and any fear you had- fear of not being liked, or not meeting their standards, of being a disappointment, being looked down on for being half human- it all faded. You could feel the love and acceptance radiating off the woman as she reached out her hands, and took your own. “Y/N, words cannot describe the absolute joy I feel to finally be in your presence finally after all of Thor’s descriptions.” Freya told you, gently squeezing your hands, and you couldn’t help but smile too.

“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you too from dad and uncle Loki.” You told her, and her smile grew, before she pulled you closer and wrapped an arm around you.

“Thor- Loki, go tell your father that you’re here with Y/N- I’ll give Y/N a tour of the palace- we’ll be in the library when you’re done. We have a lot to talk about.” Freya decided, already walking away with you, and you didn’t fight it, leaving with her.

Thor and Loki did as ordered, finding their father, letting them know they’d also brought you, and after a bit of back and forth questioning where exactly you were, and Loki explaining their mother had already stolen you away herself, and Odin simply sighed, and got up to follow his sons to head to the Library.

By the time they met back up with you and Freya, you and her were already getting along like a house on fire- she’d asked about your mother, her health, your childhood, her own expieriences that related when raising Thor and Loki, and when she heard about your little tradition with Thor with books, she picked out a book for you to take home to read, and to keep. You felt comfortable enough with her to ask about Loki and Odin’s relationship, the comment Thor’s friends made about being King one day and how you weren’t big on the idea, and also how according to how your dad and Loki talked about Odin, you were much more worried about meeting him than her. Freya had answers your questions, reassured you of your worries, and promised Odin would be on his best behaviour, and she helped your first meeting with Odin a lot from the get go.

As soon as Freya saw her husband, she stood first, smiling. “Odin, thank you for joining us. I was just about to ask Y/N if they’d like a private family dinner. What do you think?” Freya asked him, wrapping an arm around you again, and you smiled nervously at your grandfather, who was a lot more intimidating than you had anticipated. Odin didn’t talk at first, stepping a little closer, and you panicked internally, not knowing what to do, if you were supposed to do something- but Freya had kept her arm around you, gently rubbing your arm in reassurance.

“That can certainly be arranged. It’ll let us get to know our grandson. Thor, will you come with me to make the arrangements?” He asked, of his oldest, who nodded. “See you at dinner, Y/N.” He told you, before making his leave, Thor smiling at you, before following after him.

“In the meantime.” Freya spoke up once the two were quite a distance away. “Y/N, want to learn some magic?” She asked.

“Mother, I don’t know about that…” Loki fussed.

“Just beginning spells, nothing serious… we’ll save that for later. Maybe you could mentor Y/N as well when back on Midgard.” She suggested, and you realised that maybe, just maybe… Loki got some of his mischief from his mother.

“Am I able to do magic? Since I’m half human?” You questioned.

“I believe so, it’s worth a try. You coming Loki?” Freya questioned her son, who simply sighed, and followed after, deciding to be apart of his mother’s antics, knowing that Thor might lose his mind when he finds out about this.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my Gif

TAGS: @insanityismysanity12345 @klanceiscannon14 @marvelhoeingismyhobby @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort @freyathehuntress @abbybills22-blog @mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @alicedanganh @sleutherclaw @sleepy-coffee-bean @stawwpp @rebellionofthecattle @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

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jewish-vents · 1 month

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My entire life, I've yearned for the kind of community the Jewish community and Judaism have provided me. I found out I had Jewish ancestry when I was a kid, I looked into it more later and realized my most recent Jewish ancestor (like three-ish generations back) was almost certainly forcibly converted out, and decided to convert to like. Make amends for that I guess and also because I really vibed with the holidays and how we turn up everywhere in history bc we keep doing cool stuff despite consistently shitty circumstances.

But I digress.

I have waited my WHOLE LIFE trying to experience the joy becoming Jewish has shown me, and that gets shit on constantly.

My sister has started making a truly obscene number of Jew jokes. My mom scoffs at all the 'nonsense rules' and has said repeatedly that she thinks choosing a 'restrictive' religion is dumb and I've made a mistake. She even said it's an insult to HER parenting skills that I would seek out religion after she tried to teach me to know better.

My dad is dead but I never ever in a million years would have told him even if he were alive, and my sister thinks it's funny to threaten to 'out' me as Jewish to his relatives even though they're basically KKK-adjacent so she actually enjoys threatening mg safety at this point. (Yay family right?)

My friends have turned everything into an Israel/Palestine discussion lately and I know damn well what they're doing when they start saying truly horrible shit about Israelis and looking at me. They get mad if I try to temper their extremism so I've given up. I barely talk to them anymore and I spend more and more time with other Jews from temple and I don't want to like. Isolate myself from all non-Jews I guess bc I've always felt like that leads to weirdness and perpetuates shit about Jews being unfriendly I guess idk?

Anyway I digress again. My point is I'm really sick of constantly being expected to tolerate it when people think I shouldn't be Jewish.

Other queer people think I'm somehow compromising my queer identity by being Jewish, leftists think I hunt Palestinian children for sport now apparently, right-wingers think I traffic good Christian babies for organ harvesting or some shit idfk, my friends think that if I'm not being more vitriolic in my hatred of Israel than they already are I'm some kind of secret rabid Netanyahu fan, my family think I've been recruited into a cult apparently and the only other people who show me even an ounce of compassion or regard are other Jews and Gd knows there's like ten of us and that number is unlikely to increase.

Just. Fuck. I've put blood, sweat, tears and money into this, I invested more time and emotional commitment into this than I have into going to college or choosing a career, I love it more than anything and have only loved it more the more I learned about it, and all I get when I express this or even just let slip that I am Jewish and chose to be, I get nothing but hatred. I will never understand how a religion that has spent all 5000 years of our existence minding our business and arguing about the same book over and over can possibly have offended this many people with our existence.

Dmn anon, that is a lot you're dealing with right now. I'm so sorry you're surrounded by people who clearly don't respect you. Because yes this is a lack of basic respect, and it is antisemitic. Now I don't know how old you are and how safe you are, but if you can safely do so, set very hard boundaries. Do not tolerate this amount of disrespect towards who you are. It is hard, and many of us have had to go through similar situations, as you can read all over this blog. But I think having to spend your life surrounded by people who make you feel unsafe and disrespected is worse. I know sometimes there are situations in which people cannot safely set these boundaries, I hope it's not your case, but if it is feel free to come here to vent again.

I know you don't want to isolate yourself from goyim. Many Jewish people don't want to. Sadly, when people disrespect us like this, they're the ones isolating us. It's not your fault. Seek people who love and accept you. Sadly, a good chunk of goyim won't - I'm not saying everyone, obviously, but a portion. Having a good Jewish support network seems to be more and more important, whether it's irl or online.

I hope you can soon be in an environment that's safer and more accepting

- 🐺

#jewish vents #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #jewish convert #i feel like i need to clarify #while i said that a good portion of goyim are disrespectful and antisemitic #i dont mean every goy is #so if someone is coming in the comments to call me goy-phobic i assure you i do not have the patience to deal with that #i mean what i said #thats not an attack on goyim #its just an observable truth stated by literally every jewish person I've ever spoken to #if you feel offended at being called antisemitic try not to be antisemitic #like im sorry i sound so mad but i am just very tired of seeing my community suffer while everyone else just looks the other way

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storiesbyjes2g · 4 months

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3.71 Derailed

When we got to Chi Chi's, Karmine hadn't gotten home yet, and I was relieved. She was a sweet kid and all, but man could she talk. I probably wouldn't have made it out once she cornered me. Ha, and now that she was a teenager, she probably had even more to say and gave Chi Chi a run for her money. Bless that child. I left from there and went immediately to Gilbert Gardens, feeling only 8% guilty that I didn't stop at Dad's. He would ask great questions and try to help me talk through it, but this was something I needed to do on my own. Sophia and I had many discussions about the future, and I sensed the urgency to seriously consider our next steps, especially since she had been prepared for quite some time. I was too, in theory, but that was the problem. My next move needed to come from the heart, not from panic or pressure. I wanted to make my request confidently, with a clear conscience and a pure heart.

A man I'd never seen before interrupted my thoughts. He looked pretty young, maybe fresh out of high school. His super light eyes struck me, and I halfway believed they were real. Gray wasn't an unusual color, but they seemed to glow against his dark skin.

"Excuse me," he said. "Sorry to bother you. I'm Wade."

"Luca. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, same here. Look, this is my first time here, and I have a few hours to kill. Would you mind suggesting a few things to do around here?"

Ah ha! He was a tourist. Of course, I didn't know everyone in San Sequoia, but I usually saw the same sims everywhere.

"It's your first time in San Sequoia?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Well, welcome. I love it here. Hoping to move back soon. But sure, I can help you out."

"Thanks! I appreciate that."

So much for my thoughtful walk. Did I really need it, though? I loved Sophia. Everyone loved Sophia, and I already considered her my family. When I thought about the future, she was all I saw. She and the rest of our family. What was there to think about? It's not like I needed to decide if I wanted to be with her forever. I just needed to do it. There was no such thing as the right time, and knowing Sophia, I didn't need to craft an elaborate plan. Just ask, and let the chips fall.

With that out of the way, my mind, and calendar, were free to help this guy. He was fortunate to approach me because he wouldn't find a bigger fan of San Sequoia.

"Actually, I have some time," I said. "I could show you a few of my favorite spots, if you want."

Those super bright eyes of his seemed to glow even brighter.

"Would you? That would be incredible!"

"Of course. How long are you here for?"

"Just for the day. Gotta catch the evening train."

"Where to?"

"Brindleton Bay."

"Oh, nice. I've never been, but my mom used to live there."

Wade shrugged dismissively.

"It's an okay place. I'm originally from Henford, and moving to BB had it's challenges. I posted a video about it on my SimTube channel."

"You're on SimTube? That's kinda crazy because I just started a channel. What are your videos about?"

"Some of them are personal vlogs, but I also do a series listing the top things to see in different towns. Maybe I'll do one about San Sequoia. What about you? What are your videos about?"

Wow, this guy seemed heavy into SimTube. He probably had thousands of followers and made all kinds of money. Maybe we could stay in touch, and he could teach me a thing or two about growing my channel.

"Uhh, heh, well, I've only done one so far, but I'm a yoga instructor. I do simple routines that anyone can follow and learn. So, I take it you travel a lot?"

"Not as much as I plan to. I've only covered Henford and Batuu so far. I'm currently working on one for Brindleton Bay, but like I said, the place is going to take some getting used to. The entire town smells like fish!"

"Eww. Really?"

Mama didn't talk about her single life much, but I think I'd remember her saying her city smelled like fish. I'd have to ask her about that.

"I think most places have their own set of challenges, though," I continued. "Like, I recently moved to Oasis springs. I love how it's warm all the time, but man is it dusty!"

He threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh.

"Dust might be just as bad as fish!"

"It might be! Which is worse: a constant bad smell or feeling like you're dirty all the time?"

Wade was so animated and fun to watch. My question made his face wrinkle up as if the whole world suddenly reeked of fish.

"Okay, you win! Filth is the absolute worst!"

His outfit was so sleek and fancy, it was clear he liked things neat. He also looked pretty fit, so I knew what our first activity had to be.

"You workout, Wade?"

"Most definitely! Gotta look good for the ladies, right?"

"Absolutely!"

We vibe'd well, and I liked him. I bet he'd be really fun to party with.

"Nah, but seriously," he said, "my dad's obsession with fitness has rubbed off on me. Oh, and you can call me Dub. Most sims do."

I grinned at the thought of us becoming friends.

"Okay, Dub. You ready for a scenic run?"

"I stay ready!"

Your eyes have not deceived you. THEE Wade "Dub" Banks from @mysimsloveaffair's The Banks Dynasty is in the building! Thanks so much for letting me borrow him and spark this amazing friendship.

If you don't know Dub, check out her story! It's one of my favorites.

Also...I guess him meeting Luca officially puts aDOLTing in the Pierson Cinematic Universe! Dub is Kai's oldest son, the one who climbed with Nate on Mt. Komorebi.

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #wade banks #banks crossover

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snowdice · 1 month

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Tales From Logan’s Office (Part 4) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Virgil

Characters: Logan, Virgil

Summary: Virgil invades Logan’s office. (Multiple times.)

This is a dealing with events set after my story Sometimes Labels Fail.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Virgil hesitated outside of Logan’s office door in a way he hadn’t done since the first summer he spent with him and Patton. He knew Logan was in there and probably just busy grading unless he’d already finished all of it. Logan was predictable like that.

Logan was… Logan was very predictable. So predictable that Virgil knew exactly what would happen if he knocked on that door and said what he’d come here to say.

And yet he hesitated.

It was like there were two Virgil’s in his head, at odds with one another. One Virgil knew everything was alright and was going to be alright and that Logan would help it feel alright much quicker. The other Virgil wanted to drop out of college, find a small space somewhere, and curl up into a ball while waiting to die. These two Virgil’s existed completely separate from one another, unable to affect each other or inspire Virgil to action, and left him rooted to the spot outside his dad’s office.

He was finally unfrozen when the door to Logan’s office swung open revealing Logan’s TA, Cas. “Oh, hi Virgil,” Cas said as though there wasn’t anything unusual about this, though for him there probably wasn’t.

Virgil swallowed down the go-cry-in-a-corner Virgil for a moment and said “Hey.”

Cas smiled and held the door open for him.

Well, Virgil supposed he didn’t have a choice now. (It was probably for the best.)

He walked through the door into Logan’s office, doing his best to not let Cas see his anxiety. The door closed behind him.

Logan glanced up at him briefly and seemed unconcerned when he saw it was him. “Hello, Virgil,” he said, turning back to his computer. “This isn’t the usual time you invade my office. Do you need something?”

Even if Virgil could think of words to say right now, they would probably have died in his throat. There were 3 seconds of silence, 4. After a 5 second pause, Logan looked back up at him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Virgil tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie and nodded. He had Logan’s full attention now and that was a relief for the rational part of him that had brought him here even while it made the anxious side of him squirm.

Logan stood up from his chair and rounded his desk. “Sit,” he told Virgil. Virgil sat.

He could feel Logan studying him but couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“Physical?” Logan asked. It was always the first thing Logan checked even though physical injury rarely put Virgil in this state. Virgil shook his head. “Social?” Virgil shook his head again. “Academic?” Virgil hesitated but then nodded.

“I see,” Logan said. “It is Thursday afternoon. Is anything past due, due tonight, or due tomorrow.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Okay. Then I will take you home tonight for the weekend.”

“I have class tomorrow,” Virgil managed to say, wringing his hands.

“You have class with Dr. Simmons,” Logan said. “She has mental health days in her syllabus for a reason. This is the reason.”

“I can go,” Virgil said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You certainly could,” Logan agreed. “You do not need to.”

Virgil felt a bit of the vice grip that had been squeezing his chest loosen. “I need to…” he tried tentatively.

“You need to pack an overnight bag while I teach my last class of the day,” Logan said, “and then sit on your bed watching whatever silly Youtube things you do while waiting for me to pick you up. We will discuss what needs to be done with your schoolwork tomorrow afternoon after you have had time to rest. You will have the entire weekend to complete whatever task is worrying you.”

“I shouldn’t skip class.”

Logan waved him off. “Do you know how many classes I skipped for worse reasons as a student?” he asked. “And now I’m a professor dealing with students skipping my courses for even worse reasons than that.”

“…Okay.”

“Good,” Logan said. “Now would you like a hug?” Despite everything, he couldn’t help but smile slightly at the business-like tone Logan took to ask. Maybe at one point he would have felt uncomfortable about it, but now he knew it was just Logan making sure he was comfortable with it before touching him.

Virgil nodded.

“Thank you,” Virgil said once Logan had reached forward to hug him.

“Anytime,” Logan said back. “My office is always open for you.”

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #platonic analogical #labeled universe #sometimes labels shift #adriana writes #not pieces fic

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slocumjoe · 1 year

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Hiiii this is my first time asking, but I love your writing! ♥

I was recently editing my FF where Hancock had to talk to Shaun about him and Sole being together (like when a step-parent has to get the green light from the kiddos, and I thought it was cute). It made me wonder...

How would you see the Companions handling this situation? Or being a "step-parent?"

Companions as step-parents

(Big distinction from having their own kid)

Cait; It takes multiple months to really figure things out with Shaun. She starts by mentioning one day, "By the way, yer ma/da and I are datin'. What do you want for dinner?" This is never brought up again. Shaun is fine, he's a smart lad. If ever asked to discipline, she's out the window and down the street. Not her kid, not her say. Cait has too many nerves to be Mean Mom. She's Fun Mom. She's Eat All This Candy Mom. She's kind of a disaster and Shaun finds her entertaining. Cait, for her part, is glad they don't have to go all sappy about it. Internally, always fretting and fussing about how she's doing as a parent. If anyone notices she quit the bottle, they can mind their own.

Curie; Long-winded discussion that bores Shaun half-to-death. She wants to talk mental health, healthy family dynamics, responsibilities...how its okay to feel what he feels, who to talk to about what, where do they go from here...Shaun nods along even if he's already adjusted to this being a reality. Curie wants to be the Model Mother with no shortcomings. Shaun just wants Curie, and Curie is already there. That's enough for him. Not many people can brag about their mom being an actual doctor with papers to prove it. (They're her Ms. Nanny 'adoption' papers.)

Danse; Similar to Curie, except Danse is freaking out, where Curie is cool as a cucumber. Danse is not a cucumber. He wants to win Shaun over so badly, but understands that kids are their own people, with opinions and shit. So, his speech is more along the lines of 'here's what to expect, and here's what is up to you.' Meanwhile Shaun is already thinking about Father's day...because Danse has been his dad from, like, minute one. You can't teach him science and garage stuff and not be Dad. That's like...first step to Being Shaun's Dad.

Deacon; would need his ass glued to a chair to keep him from trying to wrap it up prematurely. Can't stop making jokes but desperately wishes he could. Meanwhile, Shaun is Not Entirely Impressed. Deacon is a liar. He runs off. He changes his identity. Shaun isn't convinced he's not going to go get cigarettes one day and vanish. And having kids is a sore spot for Deacon. This is territory he paved over long ago. But he forces himself to take a pickaxe and start peeling back those layers, self-actualize. Shaun sees this and accepts Deacon as Dad. They go on What Trouble Can We Get Into Without Mom/Dad Finding Out adventures.

Gage; i really hope Gage can keep his temper in check here, because Shaun is not having this. Raider. Manipulative, probably also a liar, violent tendencies, lacks morals, etc etc etc. Will 100% bring up Nate/Nora. "Mom's/Dad's last partner was a war hero/civil rights lawyer. What do you do for work?" Gage might be more skittish than Deacon here. He was expected a geek kid. Not someone staring through his soul and tsking. Brings back little gadgets for Shaun as peace offerings, cleans up his act somewhat. Maybe starts cleaning himself more if Shaun comments on his hygiene. Look, he ain't running from Sole because of their, in all fairness, honest, objectively correct child. But he can't just butt heads with him all his damn life either. With enough time, Gage takes Shaun and tries to actually parent. Shows him survival tricks. How to skin an animal, fire-starting, whittling. Stuff his own family taught him. Shaun needs only a few good looks at Gage's soft side before he's on board.

Hancock; Shaun is. So torn. One hand, Hancock is fun and nice and really cares for his parent. On the other, Hancock is a chemhead from The Place Where Everyone Is High And Having Sex Constantly. He likes Hancock as a weird uncle. As a dad...hmm...he's suspicious. Is Hancock husband material? Hancock himself doesn't think so and will fully admit to Shaun "Hey, I've got shit to work on, and I'm working on it, because your mom/dad is everything to me, and we're not going to just leave you out to dry." Hancock wants Shaun to be better than him, to not feel too comfortable in places Hancock himself would call homely. Teaches him to value the freaks in the world, and his community, but understand that a fun hole six feet down is still a hole six feet down. If he ever realized he was the Rules Dad, would go on an Irresponsible Parent bender to correct. No one learns that Shaun got a flamethrower out of this until Its Too Late.

MacCready; Takes ten minutes and most of it is talking about having a brother. Raises Shaun like his own, Shaun calls him Dad the quickest. What? He's already a dad. MacCready needs no intro to parenthood. This just makes sense to everyone involved and there only hiccup is Shaun worrying about sharing a room. Not because jealousy or anything, but he has potentially flammable/electric gadgets he's working on, and Duncan is a curious boy.

Nick; Also needs no introduction beyond "Hey I know the synth thing is weird but you want mac and cheese for dinner?" This just. Makes. Sense. Honeslty, even if not romanced, Nick is still Dad. Come on. He just is. Nick himself will grapple with the horror of potentially outlining both Sole and their child, but Shaun is just excited to spend more time with his cool robot detective dad. Hey, how does your hand work? Can I see the joints? How do you smoke, can I see your lungs? Nick is the one who needs an adjustment period. Teaches Shaun snark and now no adult dare sass him.

Piper; Also no introduction. The only hiccup here is that Nat, previously Shaun's bestie, is now his aunt. And both of them are really weirded out by this. Nat isn't helping by insisting she has to start drinking wine. No, Natalie, that was just a quirk of Aunt Darcy, not a universal rule. Piper herself is Shaun's confidant, the one he goes to whenever he needs to talk. Why not Sole? Well, its just...Sole only ever responds 1 of 4 ways, and Shaun has developed a sixth sense to intuit those responses, so...when he needs someone normal, he goes to Piper. Piper is a wildcard and also, gives him candy.

Preston; I HC he's a middling child of a big, big family, with lots of relatives nearby, if not in the same house. So, Preston has this child raising shit on lock. Sits Shaun down, gives him a quick rundown of the basics, asks if he has any questions, and boom. Done. Preston would rather be a parent/guardian/trusted adult than he's going to be. Actions, not words. He's probably the most likely to sway Shaun from his science interests. Not intentionally, but its hard to look at Preston and Sole, hear their stories, and not want to follow your parents in their Minuteman ways. And if Sole leads the Institute? Shaun is set up to really change the wasteland.

X6-88; 400+ PowerPoint slide. The doors are locked. He provided refreshments. Shaun allows this because he understands that X6-88 needs this more than him. Sole might have some objections. X6-88 raises Shaun with education in mind. Shaun just keeps asking questions about what its like to be a courser. Excellent, questions like that are preludes to a brilliant mind. No one challenges Shaun to "my dad could beat your dad in a fight." Shaun, for his part, likes this killing machine fumble around domestic life. He's worse than Cait at it.

#fo4 #fallout 4 #paladin danse #preston garvey #piper wright #nick valentine #x6-88 #robert joseph maccready #companions react #hancock #porter gage

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moonchildreads · 11 months

Text

small town

Chapter 14 - Missing You

IN THIS CHAPTER: The meaning of flowers, homemade cake, and Maureen and Margaret become friends [6.0k]

WARNINGS: angst, discussions about dead parents (car accident/unspecified terminal illness), survivor's guilt, unprocessed grief - please heed my warnings. i'm currently grieving someone and this is very raw, proceed only if it won't hurt you

A/N: shout out to @duquesademiel and @justahappycloud for teaching me that it is okay to write as a form of therapy, and i'm sorry i keep sending you the sad bits of this fic only. i love you and i can't believe i get to call you my friends. also, big thank you to @boomhauer for letting me use her chosen name for eddie's dad - i admire you greatly and everyone should go and read disjointed as a thank you. we're so very lucky we have you in this fandom <3

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You had so much hope for a brighter day Why were you my flower plucked away?

Sunday, May 11th - 1986

“What on Earth are you doing?”

Mother’s Day had always been a weird day for Dottie. When she was a toddler, it was just another calm and quiet Sunday, albeit one where her Dad wanted more cuddles than usual, which, quite frankly, already were a lot. Still, she enjoyed the extra attention and he loved holding his little girl in his arms while she took a nap on his chest so there were no complaints to be heard from either side. When she was in kindergarten, her class spent an entire Friday making gifts for their Moms. Dottie came back home with a hopeful smile and gave her paper mache and macaroni flower to her Dad, asking if he could send it all the way up to Heaven for her. James had neer been happier about the fact that they now had separate bedrooms so she wouldn’t hear him sob clutching her handcraft to his chest while she slept. When she was around 8, she asked her Dad why couldn’t they simply celebrate Mother’s Day like everyone else in her class.

Margaret’s physical absence in her daughter’s life wasn’t an unusual topic in their home; in fact, a lot of teachers commented on it as Dottie grew up, praising James for keeping her memory alive and normalizing a sad situation so his kid wouldn’t suffer. James wasn’t sure why telling his daughter that she had been so very much loved by her dead parent was worthy of being praised, but as a single dad in the ‘70s, he took whatever kind words he could get. He made sure that Dottie understood she had a Mom, that she didn’t suddenly appear from thin air one day to change James’ life forever, that she’d been wanted and dreamed of by both parents. Margaret’s face was in countless pictures around their home, they stayed in her old bedroom whenever they visited her side of the family in Pennsylvania, they talked about what she’d say or what she’d do at all times. Margaret Burke was a constant presence in their lives despite her untimely death, and the fact that they celebrated that every day except during Mother’s Day didn’t feel right to her daughter.

That’s how Dottie found herself establishing little traditions that were still in place that Sunday afternoon when she opened her front door to find one of her best friends holding a small bouquet tied together with a big silver ribbon. Dressed in an all-black ensemble as he usually did, the lilac and white flowers sprinkled with greenery were the only pop of color in the foggy drizzly afternoon. Eddie was smiling wide despite the ugly weather, his dimples perfectly on display for the world to appreciate.

“Hey! This is for you,” Eddie thrust the flowers forward. “Actually, they are for your Mom but… yeah.”

“You bought my Mom flowers?” Dottie said, disbelief present in her tone as her fingers brushed against his chunky rings when she accepted the bouquet, skin bristling at the contact.

“Yeah, you like ‘em? The purple ones are rosemary and the white ones are, uh, bellflowers? The lady at the shop said there are, like, a million white flowers that look like bells so I picked the prettiest ones,” he dropped his backpack on the armchair in the living room and followed her to the kitchen.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you pick these?”

“Well, I kinda… borrowed your flower book?” he admitted, leaning on the kitchen island to watch her fill a glass vase and start arranging the flowers. “The one you and Jeff were talking about at lunch? It’s in my bag.”

“Wait, what? When did you grab it? I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

“Yesterday, when you left me alone in your room to go get snacks. D’you have any more of those strawberries? They were so good.”

“Yes, but you can’t eat them. We need them for the cake,” Dottie cut a few long stems until she was happy with how her vase looked and tied the silver ribbon that the bouquet had been bound with around the glass. “So if you stole my book, what do these mean?”

“I didn’t steal it, I was gonna give it back!” he said, faking being offended at her accusation before he dropped the act and stared down at his hands. “The, um- the rosemary is remembrance. The bell flowers are gratitude.”

“Gratitude? For my Mom?” she searched for his eyes with her own but he kept looking at his rings.

“Just wanted to thank her, y’know,” he looked up at her after a pause. “For giving me you.”

“Shit, Ed, you can’t say things like that without a warning, you’re gonna make me cry!” she fanned her face with her hand, voice playful but eyes full of very real tears. “Thank you, you’re… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he smiled shyly, reaching across the island to grab a flower out of the vase and bump her nose with it.

She giggled, taking the long stem from his fingers and setting it behind her right ear before turning around towards the counter where baking supplies were neatly laid out. She picked up two envelopes: one was the now familiar soft pink rectangle she had been carrying in her backpack all week but the other one was unassuming plain white. She slid the white one across the ceramic countertop; Eddie opened it to find a Garfield themed Mother’s Day card, the orange cat grinning on the front of the glossy paper. A pen entered his line of vision and he looked up to see Dottie nervously staring at him.

“I got you your own card,” she explained, clicking the pen and offering it to him. “Thought maybe you’d like to join my little ritual later.”

“Ritual?”

“I write down the things I want to say to my Mom and then I burn the card. It’s dumb, you know I don’t really believe in, like, the afterlife or whatever but… Dunno. Feels like the words reach her if I burn it.”

“No, I get it,” he reassured her. “So I can write whatever I want?”

“Yeah! I mostly just update mine on how everything’s going. About my Dad, and school, stuff like that. Like leaving a message on her answering machine.”

“Okay, I can do that,” he smiled. “I’ll join your ritual.”

“Yeah? Okay, cool! I’ll… I’ll get started on the cake while you do that then.”

Happy to have a task to focus on instead of staring at him for an hour, Dottie opened a bottom drawer and took out a dark green apron with a tiny lemon pattern, quickly tying it behind her back with a thin bow. Eddie watched her move around her kitchen with ease, measuring ingredients and lining up a cake pan with parchment paper like she’d done it a thousand times. He supposed she’d had; kids with hard childhoods always knew their way around ovens and knives. It was simply a matter of survival: sometimes you were hungry and there weren’t any adults around even if the grownups in your life weren’t neglectful, like Wayne or James. Eddie looked down at Garfield’s large face printed on the paper and began spilling everything that was rattling inside his brain through his pen. He wrote, and wrote, and wrote until the left side of the opened card was full and had no more space to write on, so he continued writing on the backside.

He told his Mom about Wayne while Dottie mixed flour, cornstarch, baking powder, and salt. He promised her he’d graduate this year while hearing the sounds of two eggs being cracked, the overwhelming sweetness of vanilla extract filling the air. He confided that he didn’t feel as lonely as before anymore, that he thought he finally had great friends, a club that looked up to him, a band that made him proud. He asked her not to worry about him anymore when Dottie poured the batter into a round pan and offered him the spoon to lick. And thus, Eddie wrote to her Mom about the girl he had a growing crush on, how he felt like he didn’t have to hide anything from her because she understood him in ways that other people had never understood, and how desperately he hoped she would look at him in the same way he saw her. If he had lifted his head up when he was putting the card back into the envelope, he would have seen Dottie sneaking glances at him while she cut strawberries and realized that he didn’t have to hope for anything anymore; Dottie already looked at him with stars in her eyes even if he didn’t think he was worthy of it yet.

With the cake baking in the oven for the next 30 minutes, all the strawberries cut in half, and the homemade jam finishing its 48 hour setting period in the fridge, both teens sat down on cushy stools at the kitchen island to finish the half-done homework they had abandoned on Saturday after it got dark. They could hear James pottering about upstairs, cleaning the bathroom while listening to the radio. He was singing along to West End Girls by the Pet Shop Boys - “the latest #1 on the Billboard Hot 100” the announcer had said. James didn’t really like the Pet Shop Boys, but he had heard it so much on the radio during the last couple of months that he couldn’t be blamed for knowing the lyrics by heart at that point.

“You done?” Eddie asked, gathering his stuff and shoving everything into his backpack.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m done,” Dottie said, moving to clear her stuff too. “Cake should be done in five, I think.”

“What’s next?”

“Wanna whip the cream while I do the glaze?”

“Sure. You’re gonna have to guide me though,” his face lit up in a mischievous smile. “And I’m gonna need one of those cute little aprons you’ve been hiding from me too.”

“You get plain dark blue,” she said, going through the drawer. “Or… I can offer you a “Kiss the Cook” apron with a big red heart on it?”

“Princess, you already know which one I want,” he batted his eyelashes at her. “Besides, it matches my scrunchie!”

Dottie tried to contain her giggles with no success when he tied his hair up into a bun with the red scrunchie that had found permanent residence in the depths of her empty fruit bowl, twirling around to show off his new hairdo. He bowed his head so she could slip the apron around his neck, leaving the tying up to him and fetching the ingredients for their next tasks. She separated them into two small piles, his ingredients to the right, hers to the left.

“To make whipped cream you put heavy cream in this,” she slid a bowl in front of him. “And you use the mixer to whisk it until it gets a bit bubbly. Then, you add the sugar and the vanilla extract, and you mix until it’s not runny anymore.”

“How much of everything?” he asked, pushing his sleeves to his elbows.

“One tablespoon of sugar and one teaspoon of vanilla extract.”

“The tablespoon is the big one, right?”

“Yes, chef,” she said, juicing a lemon for her glaze.

They worked together in relative silence, the loud sounds of the mixer drowning any words they could say. Eddie found out that he could draw on the cream when it got a bit more stiff, and quickly proceeded to spend the next few minutes drawing penis shape after penis shape into the mixture. He thought it was hilarious until Dottie unplugged the electric appliance, shaking her head at his antics. He got the cake out of the oven while she finished up her glaze, concentrating on not burning her concoction heating up on the stovetop.

“Do you always bake a cake for Mother’s Day?”

“Pretty much, yeah. It was my Mom’s favorite cake, it’s her recipe, so... Dunno, it feels nice. And I get to eat cake in the end so everything works out.”

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone make lemon glaze since I lived with my Grandma for three months,” he said, fanning the cake with a takeaway menu to cool it down.

“That sounds fun. How old were you?”

“Eight. Stayed with her the whole summer. She made awful lemon bars, I mean that shit tasted like fuckin’ cardboard,” Dottie snorted at his horrified expression. “But she made the best apple pie I’ve ever had. I think I gained like 10 pounds that summer.”

“Just from apple pie?” she asked, adding the last bit of the lemon juice to the pot.

“And ice cream,” he smiled. “Best summer of my life.”

“Eddie?” she said softly. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“How old were you when you moved in with Wayne?”

“After that summer. Actually,” he snorted bitterly. “The only reason I got to stay with my Grandma all those months was because my Dad got himself locked up and didn’t think it was important to mention he had a kid.”

“What?”

“They found out I existed when the school year started. A teacher asked me about my summer and called Social Services. When they came to see me, they said my Grandma was too old to raise me, so Wayne asked for custody. Been living with him since then.”

“What happened to your Dad?” she turned off the heat and turned to look at him.

“He’s still in prison. Won’t get out until I’m in my thirties as far as I know. He’s an asshole so… I don’t really care about him, and Wayne doesn’t either. Never went to visit him. Shit, I don’t think he even knows where they’ve got him, and that’s his little brother.”

“I mean, you just said he was an asshole so…”

“Yeah, I did,” he let out a wry chuckle.

“What’s his name? It isn’t Edward, right?”

“No, my Mom chose Edward. His name’s Wyatt.”

“Ah, that sucks,” she shook her head, moving past him to cut the cake in half to start assembling. He looked at her questioningly. “Wayne and Wyatt? ‘Cause you like alliteration?”

“Doesn’t ruin it for me. Actually, you might like this - you know what other two names start with the same letter?” he leaned onto the counter next to her. She was still wearing a sprig of rosemary in her hair.

“Bilbo and Baggins?” she joked.

“Maureen and Margaret.”

Dottie stopped cutting, knife halfway into the soft vanilla sponge, and stared at him. Eddie was looking at the two envelopes laying side by side next to the flower vase, right hand twirling the rings on his left hand. She remembered a conversation she’d had with Ms. Kelly early on in February after the excitement of being the new kid had died down and everyone had forgotten about her, going back to their cliques and usual groups of friends without sparing a single glance at her. If you want others to open up to you, you have to be open with them too, Ms. Kelly had said, in that gentle voice she always talked to troubled students with.

As much as Eddie wore his heart on his sleeve, he wasn’t keen on talking about his past. He rarely offered up pieces of important information about his childhood, choosing to only share the inconsequential parts instead. Everything else was locked up tight in his chest, just like Dottie did with her deepest memories. She wondered if the reason he was being candid with her now was because she’d let him peek behind her curtains first on Friday night at Lover’s Lake. A key exchanged for a key.

“Your mom’s name was Maureen?” Dottie asked, resuming her cutting.

“Yeah. Wayne says everyone called her Mo.”

“That’s a pretty name,” she smiled. “Mo and Maggie. Maybe they would’ve been friends.”

“Yeah. That would’ve been nice. We could have introduced them.”

“I don’t know if I’d be in Hawkins if my Mom was still here, though,” she said, sliding a big spatula under the first layer of cake to move it to a different plate. “Don’t think we would have moved out of New York.”

“Dunno if I’d be here either,” Eddie admitted, watching her spread the whipped cream he had made on the cake. “My Mom wasn’t from Hawkins. I don’t really know where she was from, I asked but Wayne doesn’t know either so… Said she didn’t like talking about it ‘cause her parents kicked her out when they found out she was pregnant.”

“That’s actually so wretched.”

“I know, right? Like, I know my Dad was always a fucking asshole but it wasn’t her fault, she was barely 17.”

“How did she meet your Dad then? If she wasn’t from Hawkins.”

“As far as I know, she worked at a diner my Dad stopped at on his route. Wayne got him a job as a trucker when he turned 18. So he met my Mom there, dated her for like, three months at the most, and then I showed up to ruin everything,” Dottie scoffed at him but he continued. “She dropped out of high school, he brought her to Hawkins and I was born here. They got married when she turned 18 a few months later. Actually, my Grandma kinda forced them to get married. She really liked my Mom and didn’t want people to treat her like shit ‘cause she had a bastard child.”

“God, people sucked back then.”

“It was the ‘60s, The Beatles were the biggest band in the world, everything sucked back then.”

“Say that again and I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she deadpanned and he let out a huge snort, enjoying how easy it was to rile her up. “You were saying, though.”

“Nah, it’s just… If they were married, it didn’t look like I was an unhappy accident, y’know?” Eddie got a bit more serious. “Anyway, Wyatt didn’t really want to be a dad. He would get in his truck and leave for days, and then when he came back he treated my Mom like shit. I don’t remember much but my Grandma told me once that he used to hit her a lot. I mean, I was his own personal punching bag so that shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does but still.”

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed out.

“It’s been ages since I’ve seen him and my Mom died when I was three, that’s why I don’t really remember anything,” he said, but he did. He remembered everything about Wyatt Munson; every hit, every insult, every scream. He cleared his throat. “After that, my Dad quit his job and started working at Brimborn before it closed down.”

“Brimborn… That’s the abandoned warehouse on Cherry Lane, right?”

“Cherry Oak Drive.”

“There’s like three different roads with “cherry” in their names in Hawkins, it’s so dumb.”

“Nobody said we were very original around here,” he chuckled.

Dottie moved around the kitchen to go find the strawberry jam she’d made a few days prior and found him still staring at the cards when she turned. He wasn’t crying at the memories, he didn’t even look sad. Just… resigned. Like he’d gotten used to things being shit all the time so it was a waste of time to get upset about them anymore. She left the jar on the counter and wrapped her arms around Eddie’s waist, her chest colliding with his back, her face buried between his shoulder blades.

“I’m so happy Wayne was there for you. He’s a great man.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft, hands curling around hers. “Sometimes… sometimes I used to wish he was my real Dad, y’know?”

“He is.”

They stayed like that in the middle of Dottie’s kitchen, a million different things running through their heads: the dead mothers that shared the first letter of their names, the men that had raised them, and the people who had cared for them along the way. There was love to be found here in this kitchen, they both knew it. Only time would tell what it could turn into - what it would turn into - but for now, this friendship that only seemed to grow stronger every day was more than they had dreamed of when they first met in that dark props room thanks to the one and only Dustin Henderson. Maybe a Thank You note was in order.

Eddie thought it was very fitting that there wasn’t a bit of sunshine to be found as they stepped out into the backyard to begin what Dottie kept calling her “little ritual”. He held their envelopes carefully, one on each hand, while he watched her shove bits of craft paper and small branches into an empty bucket of paint, a box of matches resting on the floor next to her sneakers. She grabbed one and lit it on fire, throwing it into the can that had been scrubbed clean of any traces of paint ages ago and was now used as a regular bucket of water to douse the embers whenever James felt like using the grill. Wordlessly, she took her envelope from him and knelt in front of the can with her eyes closed, pressing the paper to her chest for a few seconds before lifting it up to her lips for a quick kiss, letting it fall onto the flames. She watched how the fire consumed her written words for a moment and went back to stand next to her friend.

She didn’t give him any indications as to what to do, simply choosing to let her hands fall in front of her, right hand twirling the ring on her left middle finger, eyes never leaving the flames. Eddie took her solemn silence as permission to approach the metallic can, kneeling on one knee and dropping his card inside. It was a strange feeling, he reckoned, to be sharing such an intimate and private moment with Dottie, and yet knowing that his words would never be read by her or any other person. Whatever he’d said in his letter was between him and the wind that he hoped would reach his Mom’s ears. I guess that’s the point of the ritual, he thought, moving back to his spot next to the pensive girl.

“It’s my fault,” she mumbled, gaze still stuck to the orange dancing in front of them and yet so far away from what she was actually seeing. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”

He turned to look at her, eyebrows meeting in the middle. Eddie had never seen her look so defeated. He wondered how he’d never noticed it before: the weight of the guilt she was carrying on her shoulders, the deep seated shame in the pit of her stomach that felt all too familiar to him, the vacant space within her eyes. It was like looking into a mirror that he’d been trying to ignore for so long. He reached out to her, his right hand wrapping around her left, rings brushing against each other’s, and squeezed tightly.

“She knew she was sick while she was pregnant and delayed her treatment for me. I killed her.”

“Dot, you know that’s not right.”

“Isn’t it? She knew it was me or her, and she chose me,” she held on tighter to his hand. “Sometimes… god, sometimes I wish she’d chosen herself instead. And it’s not that I want to be dead, I swear it’s not about that, but… it wasn’t fair. Not to her, not to my Dad. And it wasn’t fair to me either.”

“It’s my fault my Mom’s dead,” Eddie said, moving his fingers to intertwine with hers. She turned to him, both sets of wet brown eyes finding each others’ in the backyard. “It was the last day of preschool before the Winter holidays and I wanted pizza, so she went out to go get it. A drunk guy ran her over. She never saw it coming. My Dad wasn’t even in town. She died alone on the side of the road and with a fucking 2x1 pizza coupon in her coat pocket.”

“Eddie, you couldn’t have known. That wasn’t your fault-”

“It wasn’t yours either but you’re still gonna blame yourself for the rest of your life, aren’t you?” his lower lip trembled and they both squeezed tighter. The skin stretching over their knuckles was as white as the bellflowers in the kitchen. “They were adults, they made their own choices but you’re always gonna think about what you could have done differently, even if you didn’t know how to wipe your own ass yet.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she insisted. “That drunk asshole should be to blame, not you.”

“It wasn’t your fault either,” he said, matching her intensity. “You didn’t make her sick, that just happens sometimes and it’s no one’s fault.”

“It is! It’s my fault she didn’t get the treatment she should have gotten!”

“And it’s my fault my Mom was out there that night because I wanted pizza,” he lifted the hand that wasn’t holding onto hers and cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing away an angry tear. “If you’re not gonna stop blaming yourself, then I won’t stop either. You can’t have it both ways, Dot. Either we both move on, or we stay here together because fuck if I know who else to talk about this shit with.”

“It’s not fair,” she pouted, head falling forward until it hit his chest, his hand sliding into her hair.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, taking a deep breath.

There was nothing else to be said, nothing left to clarify or explain. There were no words to soothe the pain, because it was so embedded into who they were as people that no amount of comfort would ever patch up the wounds that had healed badly and left deep scars that would never completely disappear. Margaret and Maureen were no longer there, and Eddie and Dottie had to move on. They weren’t sure how, and by God if they hadn’t tried to do so all these years, but it felt a lot easier to forgive yourself when someone else was walking down that road with you.

Dottie sobbed quietly against Eddie’s chest, head bowed with his right hand tangling into her curls, cupping the back of her head. Eddie let his own tears fall, his cheek pressed onto her crown, thumb brushing the exposed skin behind her ear. In the silence filled with paper and wood crackling inside the paint bucket, they thought about how much they longed for something they couldn’t even remember having, and how their rusty padlocks were starting to fall limp at their feet. How even when their brains were miles away from their bodies, they still anchored each other down, hearts beating in sync and hands holding hands, Eddie’s thick mood ring on his right hand clashing against Dottie’s only dainty band; her Mom’s engagement ring glinting on her left middle finger.

Suddenly, she startled him by laughing softly through her tears, bringing their joined hands between their chests. He peered at her face curiously, waiting for her to speak.

“She would have fucking loved you,” she said, looking up at him with a big smile and shining eyes.

“Yeah?” he smiled back.

“I told my Auntie Rachel about you, and she said that she wants to meet you. That you remind her of my Mom.”

“I do?”

“It’s because she was the glue. She was the one that introduced everyone in the group, they are all friends because of her. And that’s what you do for us with Hellfire. You’re our glue.”

“You know,” he stopped his sentence to chuckle. “Wayne said something like that about you too.”

“Yeah?”

“He said that you boss me around like my Mom did with him,” he laughed. “And that you always tidy up his coffee table like she did.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” she laughed with him.

“I think Wayne likes you more than he likes me,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But I know my Mom would have loved you too.”

“Eddie? If I wanted to get a tattoo to honor my Mom-”

“I’m taking you to get it when you turn 21. It’ll be your birthday present, I promise. Just… wait until you’re 21 so I can take you to a nice shop, because mine look really awesome but it’s honestly a miracle I’m not dead,” she snorted loudly. “I’m serious! I don’t think the guy washed his hands since he came back from Vietnam.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll wait. But you gotta promise we’ll still be friends in three years.”

“Oh, princess, I’m a ride or die. No getting rid of me now, sorry.”

“Good. Didn’t want to get rid of you anyways.”

While Dottie was inside setting up the TV to watch The Wizard of Oz, Eddie excused himself to the backyard for a smoke. He ran through everything that had happened between them that week, starting with their argument about his moldy ceiling all the way until the last ten minutes when she was still buried in his arms. Being vulnerable wasn’t something that came easy to Eddie; he was way too used to covering everything up in leather and sarcasm, but now that he’d started shedding the layers, it was surprisingly liberating to keep going, especially when he kept being rewarded by Dottie letting down her barriers too. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize James had slipped out into the backyard too and was walking towards him, glancing at the pile of ashes at the bottom of the metallic can.

“She got you to join her ritual?” James asked, coming to a stop next to the younger man who was smoking under the patio roof.

“It was interesting. I enjoyed it,” he said, the right corner of his lips twitching upwards into a soft smile. He offered his pack of cigs to James, who shook his head, hands in his pockets.

“No, thank you. Haven’t smoked in years.”

“I should probably stop smoking but it’s hard when my Uncle does it too.”

“I know what you mean, my parents are smokers,” James said, nodding. “I only stopped because Maggie got pregnant and she hated the smell on my clothes. Said it made her want to throw up.”

“Dot hates it too,” Eddie chuckled. “She’s always wrinkling her nose when we smoke near her.”

“She does it to my mother too, don’t take it personal.”

Eddie didn’t really know what else to say so he stayed quiet, busying himself with his cigarette. He knew Dottie hated the fact that he and Donny smoked, but despite that, she’d never told them to not do it. Instead, she moved around them to stand next to Gareth or Jeff, away from the wind that blew the smoke into her space until they were done indulging in their vices. She had never complained about the smell either; the only time they’d heard her say anything negative about it was when she said that her Grandma liked smoking inside her kitchen while sitting next to an opened window and that the smoke made her cough, so Eddie tried not to smoke in the van when he was driving her around. He tapped the butt to the sole of his boot and saved it in the little cardboard box, fully intending on throwing it in the trash when he came back inside when James cleared his throat.

“Eddie, do you mind if we have a talk? Man to man,” he said, his tone friendly but firm.

“Y-yeah, of course. Is there a problem, sir?” Eddie’s palms were sweating. He had seen this coming but didn’t think it would happen so soon.

“No, actually I wanted to thank you,” James began. “Dottie told me what you did for her on Friday, that was… very thoughtful of you.”

“Oh,” he was surprised. “I… You don’t have to thank me. I don’t know if she told you but… I haven’t been a very good friend lately and I wanted to apologize to her. That’s all.”

“Well, either way, thank you. Proms and school dances are… a touchy subject for her, you know? Not a lot of good memories. Just- thank you for making her senior prom special.”

“Of course,” Eddie said, scratching the skin under his watch. “We’ll make sure she has a good prom. And if- if you want us to bring her back at, like, a certain hour, we- we can totally do that too. We’ll look out for her.”

“I know,” the older man smiled at him, noticing how nervous he looked. Eddie might be almost 20 but he was still a little boy trying to impress the father of the girl he liked; James supposed he’d looked the same when he’d started dating Maggie. “You’re good kids, all of you. And Dottie’s never really had good friends before so… if she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“I’m glad. That’s she’s happy, I mean,” he hurried to say. “Not that she had bad friends before. That part sucks, she’s… she’s great and I’m glad I- glad we got to meet her and… stuff.”

“You all mean a lot to her, but you… You’re very important to her. You know that, don’t you, Eddie?” James said, and Eddie felt very much like he was being tested.

“She’s important to me too, sir.”

James smiled, satisfied with the boy’s answer. He understood now the glee his father-in-law felt whenever he made him squirm, it was very enjoyable. It was in good faith though, Roger had never outright disrespected him, and James didn’t intend on doing it to Eddie either, but he supposed it was his God given right to mess with the kid a little bit as the father of a teenage daughter. Maybe one day Eddie would understand it too.

“Everything alright?” Dottie said, popping her head out of the kitchen backdoor and looking at the two men standing on the grass with curiosity.

“Yeah, just two guys having a manly talk. You know, about sports and stuff,” James said.

“You only watch sports when the Olympics are on.”

“I also watch the Super Bowl,” he argued.

“You never watch the rest of the season, what’s the point?”

“It’s fun,” he said, turning to Eddie. “Right, Ed?”

“Only reason I watch is because Wayne makes the best spicy wings in Hawkins,” he grinned. “Sorry, sir.”

“You two are missing out,” James shook his head, jesting. “Gonna watch The Wizard of Oz?”

“Yeah, wanna join?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go lay down for a bit. I’ll take a piece of cake though.”

Later that day, when they were hanging out on the couch stuffing their faces full with vanilla sponge and strawberry jam while watching Judy Garland and her merry gang of new friends walk down the yellow brick road, Dottie eyed Eddie suspiciously until he turned to her, whipped cream staining his upper lip.

“Okay, spill.”

“Wha’?” he asked, cheeks full of cake.

“What were you and my Dad talking about outside?”

“Manly stuff,” he swallowed quickly. “Can’t tell you. If you knew, I’d have to kill you, it’s the law.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she giggled, stealing a strawberry from his plate.

He gasped in horror but still let her do it, because she was important to him and he’d do anything to keep that smile on her face, including tearing down the walls he’d carefully built around himself all throughout his life. And hopefully, by shedding that weight, she’d be able to get rid of hers too, and Mo and Maggie could be proud of them for finally moving on.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean

#bunny writes #small town fic #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn #baby's first fic

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mostly-mundane-atla · 2 years

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Moving on from yesterday's irritation at that awful anonymous message and discussing characters i'd hook up or do a scene with, i got a request at one point to talk about my grandma and the whole reincarnation through eskimo name experience. I think it'd be nice to talk about that instead of all the abuse and poverty i lived through.

I've mentioned before that Grandma would have been just a little girl when her whole village was made to relocate to a recently desegregated Nome. Alaska's BIA schools for Native Children varied and some teachers even found the suggested treatment of the children sent to them incredibly cruel and inhumane, so I can't speak to the exact details of the Nome school at the time my grandmother would have attended. The fact was, though, that Native children were punished, often physically, for not speaking English. This was deliberate. By taking children away from their families, making them speak in a new language their parents don't speak for eight hours a day, and making their first languages a source of shame and a sign of ignorance, you drive a wedge between generations and tell the younger one that the only way to success is abandoning their culture. What i can say about her time at school and how it affected her was that when she grew up, got married, and had kids of her own, she taught them as little Inupiaq as she could and treated "stupid" as a bad word. It would be about 40 years after she started school that her right to speak her language would be legally protected.

I don't know much about Grandma's upbringing other than that she was the second youngest of six kids, Inupiaq was her first language, and she wanted out of Nome from a young age. I don't even know if she had a high school education since at the time BIA schooling wasn't required to go that far and many high schools for Native Students were boarding schools, and we all know the dark history those have. I know she was a fan of Roy Orbison (the guy who sang Pretty Woman) and Elvis Presley. I've been told that she once met Elvis in an airport and was absolutely star struck the entire time. When she was growing up, cowboy boots were the hot fashion item among teens in Nome and she considered red nail polish salacious and scandalous.

My grandpa's mom was not happy about his relationship with Grandma. Grandpa's mom was a southern woman who didn't believe in race mixing, and refused to acknowledge their marriage, refering to Grandma as her son's "lady friend" long after they married and built a life together. She wouldn't budge from this until she succumbed to alzheimer's in her old age. Grandpa's dad, a WWII air force Veteran who was held as a prisoner of war by the Nazis, on the other hand, absolutely adored Grandma and was happy she married into the family. He thought she was incredibly cute (remember, she was under five feet tall and spoke with a heavy village accent) and would profusely apologize for eating stinky cheese or passing gas around her as she seemed so delicate a young lady to him. She considered this all quite endearing.

Grandma and Grandpa had four kids (my mom was also the second youngest, funnily enough) before medical issues prevented them from having more as Grandma would have wanted. Though she didn't teach anyone Inupiaq she'd still include Inupiaq words in her everyday speach, including calling black people "taaqsis" much to my mother's embarassment (the Inupiaq word for a black person is "taaqsipak" meaning "very dark" and is sometimes considered to have a negative connotation; though the word for a white person means "person of ignorance" which sounds much less neutral but isn't considered that negative; but at the same time it's not my place to say what is and isn't offensive to a group i don't belong to). She had to get her gallbladder removed and told her kids the scars were from when she got in a knife fight with a gang. It's been a while since my mom told me about this one, so i might be interpreting this wrong, but i think Grandma made a habit of going out to nightclubs with friends whenever she had a fight with Grandpa (who liked to start shit when he was bored so not that uncommon) and putting on her makeup in front of him before heading out to it to make him jealous. Healthy form of communication and conflict resolution? No. Funny to think about? Absolutely. Grandpa would say people only go to night clubs to "fuck or fight" and my mom shot back that Grandma was going out without him "because she doesn't want to fuck or fight" and she cracked up telling me this.

The thing that struck me most about what I've been told about Grandma, though, was how much other people liked to be around her. Not even just her peers in age, either. My mom's family was poor. The house was small, they didn't have cable, and ate what they could get on food stamps. It didn't sound like the most entertaining place to hang out, but in their teenage years my mom's friends and my uncles' friends loved visiting and staying as late as they could. Grandma was happy to see them and always managed to make them feel welcomed.

Grandma died in a pretty horrific car accident. I think my mom had graduated high school by then, but i don't know how old she was. It gave her a big scar on her jaw and a near death experience. She saw Heaven and from what she described, it sounds like the Ave Maria animation from Fantasia. Grandma was there; she was a light but my mom knew it was her, and she said to go back because it wasn't her time yet. One of my uncles was also in the car, just 14 at the time. Grandpa had to be pulled off the driver responsible for the wreck, who was also injured and in a hospital bed, so he wouldn't kill him.

I don't know how long after that i was born, but the first time my mom held me, she cried. Grandma had always teased her that she'd end up married to a white man and have blue-eyed babies. My dad is white (tho he wouldn't marry my mom until years later, in the living room, treating the lady who officiated it and the witnesses to a cigarette since we didn't even have a cake) and i have his blue eyes. I don't believe in fate, but i'd be lying if I said that didn't feel purposeful to me.

I got Grandma's eskimo name so she lives through me and my mom explained that to me since i was old enough to understand her words. We'd talk about her as if she was still alive -- and in a way, you could say she was -- but somewhere far away. My mom would always point out the ways i was like her. I was stubborn and sensitive like her, i drew eyes like her sometimes (a dot with a curved line through it), later on even little details like underwear preferences or a habit of drinking single serving coffee creamers like a shot, but it never felt like i was in anyone's shadow. It felt like i was loved for who i was and who I once was all at the same time. I'm trying to teach myself the language and every time I learn a new word or phrase, it feels familiar, like i'm pulling from inside and outside myself at the same time. Sometimes i tear up at it and a few times i've asked out loud "Grandma is that you?"

Sometimes I feel like the Woodsman from Over The Garden Wall, carrying a soul in a lantern. I wonder if she sees or feels through me. I'll think things like "we're still poor but fruit isn't a luxury anymore; isn't that neat, Grandma?" or "Do you like jasmine green tea, Grandma? I think it's exquisite," or "Grandma, this fall air is wonderful for walking in! Look at all the colors!"

It's like no matter how alone i am or feel, i'm always in good company. And i'm sure Grandma wouldn't want it any other way.

#eskimo on main #yes; inupiaq christianity has a peaceful afterlife and earthly reincarnation simultaneously; don't ask me how it logically works

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teukquila · 11 months

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Reflections on Maverick

A year ago, today, I watched Top Gun: Maverick in theatres for the first time. I’ve seen the first Top Gun before, sure, but anyone who knew me will tell you I was not someone with Tom Cruise posters on my wall or had any kind of interest in the United States Navy. Regardless, whatever demons compelled me were strong enough to move my legs to the living room, walk right up to my parents and say “let's go watch the new Top Gun movie tonight”— and we did.

What happened next can only be described as pivotal. In all seriousness, going to the movies has always been integral part of growing up in my family. I remember my mom telling me about her dad making sure he took her and her siblings out to the cinema at least once a week, a ritual my mom has attempted to keep up with me and my brothers. My grandfather’s promise resulted in my mom spoiling every Paul Newman picture I put on the television screen before I even hit play, but her ensuring I saw a 5’7 man from New Jersey scale the Burj Khalifa on the Big Screen makes up for it. My family even ventured out in the brief window of time when the theatres opened to see Tenet (back to the Movies indeed). But watching Maverick was another experience entirely. Every single seat in the theatre was filled, from the elderly couple in front of me to the kid behind me who loudly asked “is he dead?” when the Darkstar went down (everyone laughed, by the way). On the way out, I took a poster. It remains the only film poster I have taken from a theatre.

Maverick gave this audience a dose of something that we have all felt a severe deficiency of in recent years: sincerity. The film is sincere all the way through. It is sincere in its commitment to the genre and it is sincere in its presentation to the audience, even relegating a large part of its promotion to the sincerity of the In-Jet flight sequences. Before the film even begins there is a sincere form of gratitude that the lead actor and producer Tom Cruise gives the audience. This “thank you for coming to the movies” pre-show speech has been referenced to death and copied by a large portion of theatrical releases, but never done to the same effect as Cruise’s (for reasons I might discuss at another time). The genuine effort in the film was palpable, at no point did anyone in the theatre feel like they were failing a test because they did not do their Top Gun Lore homework, or that the filmmakers were patronizing them for even being there.

The film is more effective in its summer of ‘22 release than it would have been if it had come to us in a timeline where everything had not gone to shit in 2020. The constant trend of postmodern irony and self-reflective fourth wall-breaking deconstruction but never reconstruction that just leaves us standing anxious on a non-construction have left many tired, yearning for the strong foundations that modernist films did and did well. Nostalgia was at an all-time high and we all wanted to not be Here. We wanted an ideal world where sons reconcile with their father figures and the water is always the right temperature for beach football. Where the rules of a two-ball football game did not even exist but the sun was out, One Republic is playing, and we are all hot as hell so who even cares. Many have lamented that there is no villain in Top Gun: Maverick just because its not the one in the MIGs. The villain is the idea that those humans on the beach do not matter. The idea that after all their efforts, they don't deserve to come home to that beach and enjoy their nonsensical football game. Every time we enter a theatre, we sign a contract with the projector to inhabit whatever world they have prepared for us, and that world is our home for the next 2ish hours will be. Maverick teaches the Dagger Squad how to come home, Tom Cruise shows us what that home we deserve is. He filled the seats, turned the lights down, and showed us what his home for us will be for the next 2 hours. Our home had love, forgiveness, sincerity, and ambition, coupled with real planes, real G’s, the world’s tightest screenplay, and some real good sound. Maverick took you for a ride and kindly dropped you off as you exit the theatre with a Tony Scott sunset on the horizon.

#this is part of a larger thing I'm writing on what I call Internalized Cruisephobia #but I think its topical to post this part now #just so I can gush rn cuz im emotional damn it!!!#top gun maverick

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nehswritesstuffs · 1 year

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Getting the hang of things: 12, Clara and the kids try to take a normal human family vacation together and things don’t go as planned.

Happy Twelve Day, everyone! It’s still 12.12 where I am, so meh this is going up.

2190 words; one of my favorite inconsequential personal headcanons for Coal Hill if Clara continues teaching there is that the Eleven expy coworker eventually becomes headmaster, because why the fuck not; makes mention of the very angsty ch.33 (tumblr/FFN/AO3); sorry I’ve had severe OP brain rot the past half year please take this in penance (though I’ve got a lot more for it than DW coming sorry not sorry); friendly reminder to not interact with wildlife unless you are with an expert and the Doctor does not count as an expert; not really thoroughly beta’d, but if I find something egregious I’ll fix it for now I’m just tired

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

All Clara really wanted was to go to the seaside. Just a seaside holiday with her husband and children… was that too much to ask?

The first reason it was deemed unattainable, it was because she had her time off request denied. She went directly to the headmaster’s office, as she was not in the mood to do anything else, and confronted him directly. She had the available time, there was no testing or other things going on then, her husband already had his time approved at his work (though, she did not mention that his time was automatically approved being as one saved the ability to tell a minor cosmic deity “no” for special occasions), so what was the problem…?

“Sorry, Clara,” the headmaster apologized. “I thought you knew.”

“…knew what, Adrian?”

“That’s the week of the Year Sevens’ class trip.”

Everything came rushing back to her in a rush of mortification. Yes, the Thursday and Friday she requested was when the Grade Sevens were going to Loch Lomond for a camping and culture excursion. She even was going to chaperone, since her “step-children” were on the trip this year. How in the bloody hell did she forget…? Wracking her brain quick as she could, she tried to think about when she could have possibly volunteer and then immediately forget the entire thing…?

Oh.

“Did you get me to agree to this… say… late September, early October…?”

“October 3rd, actually. I’ve got the paperwork here.”

“Adrian… you know I’m out of sorts around then,” she groaned.

“I had to get the list of adults ready, you know that,” the headmaster defended gently. He was one of the few who knew of her… particular family situation and all the intergalactic implications involved, and had known from the start. “Any other empty long weekend is yours, no questions.”

“Then I guess I’ll talk with the Doctor when I get home,” she sighed. She rubbed her temples as she felt a headache coming on, her attention stolen when the headmaster placed a couple stacks of papers on his desk. “Adrian Thomas Davies, what the bloody hell is that?”

“Not much,” he shrugged. “Since you mentioned him, we do need to discuss the Doctor…”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The second reason that a regular family holiday was perfectly unattainable was due to the fact that… well… screw it, there was a lot of reasons, and they all kept piling up at a rapid pace.

Missing his tobacco habit for the first time in nearly two millennia, the Doctor stood surrounded by five dozen tweens who were wound up and excited for the fact they were on a trip away from home. He looked over at a pair of fathers who had also come along, envious at their excuse for a smoke break, the act of which brought them more than a few yards away at a designated stand at the edge of the carpark. It wasn’t even something he could magically pick up again for the duration of the trip, because one puff and Clara would be absolutely livid. Instead, he was surrounded by his children’s classmates, nearly all exuding a sort of energy he was not used to encountering, all because Clara accidentally volunteered him.

“Dad?” He glanced over and saw Alison staring up at him. “What's wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. What was wrong was that he was currently risking a lot in order to be there for the trip. He was still taking the time off at the end of the week, but at the same time, he was also currently at the office, helping disassemble some extraplanar tech thanks to the scientific wonder that was the TARDIS. “How’re you holding up, Aly? You and Jim alright?”

“Yeah—he’s over with Auntie Nellie and Mum,” the girl said, pointing vaguely behind him. He turned and saw Clara and an Osgood—the only reason he was able to get away with a normally-contract-breaching use of time travel—as they attempted to corral some of the more energetic students. Although there were still other adults there to help out, there was not much being done to help the general chaos of sixty London-raised children getting ready to spend a week camping in Scotland. James was almost clung to Clara, which made his father chuckle. There was so much happening that it was a bit scary even for him.

“Dr. Oswald-Smith?” The Doctor looked and saw one of the wee terrors staring at him curiously. “When did you move to London from Scotland?”

“I moved to London from Gallifrey about two thousand years ago, in 1963,” he grunted. The tween scowled and looked at Alison.

“Is he going to be like this the whole trip?”

“He gets better,” Alison assured. The student shrugged and went off to another cluster, allowing the girl to glare at her father. “Don’t ruin this for us!”

“Ruin what?”

“Friends!” At that, he knew precisely what it was she meant: they needed to be able to interact with their new peers with little judgement. They had not yet been with these classmates for a year—as “transfer students”, they were on thin ice. That explained her outburst and irritation.

“Don’t worry, kiddo—I’m not looking to ruin anything,” he assured. The Doctor watched as she stormed off and joined her classmates. A pang of guilt struck through him—she was embarrassed by him.

“I see that look on your face.” He glanced over and saw Clara standing there, having abandoned Osgood to be devoured by rabid tweens or whatever was going on over on the other side of the carpark. “Don’t act like you’re surprised or anything.”

“Some normal family holiday this is turning out to be,” he noted. She just shook her head and sighed. “That’s what we wanted, right?” He bent down and they pecked their lips together—can’t show too much affection, after all.

“For the time being, anyhow,” she replied. She handed him a copy of the itinerary; it was decidedly packed with activities for the kids, which meant few breaks for the adults. “Think you can handle our group for the time being?”

“If our group isn’t stolen by the meme master over there,” he said, gesturing over towards Osgood. She and a small child looked like they were having a dance-off, with other adults watching carefully on from a distance. Clara made a note to invite Osgood back if they were running short on chaperones in the future—she was surprisingly good with the kids. “Let’s just get this over with, and then we can go on as normal. It’s only fair.”

“…to whom…?”

“Neither of us, I can tell you that.” Something over on the other side of the carpark caught his eye and he groaned internally. “None of these pudding-brains should know what the mechanics for trimonoclyde fusion is, correct?”

“Considering I have no idea what you just said…?”

“I’ll be right back—watch Osgood’s pockets. I think we’ve got thieves in our midst.” The Doctor went off to where there were some children huddled around a rock in order to confiscate something.

This was going to be a ride, that was for certain.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As it turned out, camping with so many tweens was not a wise idea, both the Doctor and Clara found out. Their children? They weren’t being the best, but they were manageable. It was many of the rest of the children—not to mention a couple of the adults—that grated on their nerves. Between students attempting to run off into the woods and the adults’ inane banter and members of both groups attempting to wander off at different points to find a town (and therefore, wifi), things were beginning to get complicated.

“Remind me to throw your boss into a supernova when we get back,” the Doctor groused as he sat down next to Clara. The pair of them were taking the early watch in their half of the camp, making sure that no one decided to sneak off. All of the tents opened towards them, which admittedly was a big help, but it was still a two-person job at the very least. With the loch to their backs and the other watch pair further off, it could have nearly been considered private.

“You will not be doing anything to Adrian… and no calling in favors on him,” she warned. She poked the fire in front of them with a stick, agitating the logs so more could catch fire properly. “This part’s nice, at least.”

“I thought you hated bonfires.”

“I do—I’m talking about the quiet.” She leaned back and looked up at the stars, the fact they were even there an incredible thing to see for someone who normally lived in London. Smiling, Clara continued to stare as she leaned against the Doctor’s shoulder.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Stars.”

“You see them all the time when we’re out in the TARDIS.”

“True, but I don’t often get to see them while on Earth,” she reasoned. “Even now, the village is close enough that we don’t really see everything.”

“It’s a shame, because everything looks amazing from here.” She turned her head to see that he was looking directly at her, without any regard for the sky above or the tents they were supposed to be minding. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly before wrapping an arm around her and tucking her head under his chin. “We’ll have to do this on our own when we’re feeling up to camping.”

“A camping permit for just the four of us?”

“I was thinking a little something pre-permits.” Clara could then feel the Doctor tense. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“I think I saw something over by the back tents.”

“A wildcat, I bet.”

“Possibly, but let me see.” He grabbed a torch and stood, heading back over towards the rear of the encampment. Shining the torch around, he didn’t catch anything. “Huh. Nothing. I guess it was my imagin—”

At that, a wildcat did indeed jump out from behind a tent and hissed at the Doctor. The Time Lord stared at it, unimpressed.

“I’d change your attitude if I were you,” he said. “No one’s here to steal your kills.”

A yowl and a hiss escaped the cat, the hairs on its back standing on-end.

“They’re a bunch of kids—kittens, if you will—and although yes I admit some of them are losing that thing that makes them cool, most of them are rather brilliant.” The wildcat did not yield. “Aren’t you the pleasant one?”

“Doctor? Should I get Osgood?”

“Naw—it’s just a cat,” he said.

Soon as the words left his lips, the wildcat attacked. The feline jumped at him, meowing loudly. Other cats then started popping out from the wood, all of them attempting to climb at him and bite or swipe at his ankles and knees. He tried to shoo them away to no avail; they kept coming, somehow all swarming him. Students and other chaperones alike began poking their heads out of their tents to see what all the commotion was about.

“Dr. Oswald-Smith, are you alright?” one of the chaperones asked blearily. The wildcat nearest her hissed violently, forcing her to retreat back into the tent.

“It’s always you getting into trouble like this,” Clara groaned. She suddenly appeared at his side with the broom left to them by the parks people, trying to bat the wildcats away without hurting them. A few got the hint, but most kept attacking. The Doctor made a run for the loch, wading into the shallow bit before the cats began to rethink leaving him alone. One, however, lunged up and at him, knocking him fully over into the water. By now their entire side of the camp was awake and staring at the scene, along with some from the other half, with James and Alison looking on in horror.

“This is an absolute disaster,” James squeaked. The cat that knocked over his father jumped back to shore and bounded through camp and into the wood, disappearing as silently as it appeared.

“Disaster doesn’t even cover it,” Alison groaned. She looked at the three girls that she was sharing a tent with and scowled. “Would you believe me if I said this wasn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen happen to him?”

“I believe it, Ozsmith,” one of them replied. They watched as the Doctor dragged himself out of the loch, absolutely sopping wet. “Maybe that’s the story behind the monster up in Ness?”

“Knowing Dad? Probably had something to do with it.”

If they asked, then yes, of course he had something to do with the sensation up in Loch Ness. To be honest, he’d had Victoria and Jamie take turns recording the whole thing. Yet right now? In front of most of his children’s Human classmates? In the cold? Under the scrutiny of half a dozen torches? He was just lucky that the TARDIS was able to tone down his cursing over such a long distance.

#Whouffaldi #Whouffle #Clara Oswald #Twelfth Doctor #Aly Oswald Smith #Jim Oswald Smith #Petronella Osgood #she's featured anyhow #Adrian Davies #kinda #Doctor Who #fan fiction #replies #Greyface replies #idk if it's one of you or a bunch of you but i also got some persistent anoning that i am respectfully asking to chill lol

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