#still alive and working on the new chapter
Text
Vitality | 3
Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home.
Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you.
All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever.
content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, found family LoV, mdni
wc: 4.8k | prev | chapter 4 | m. list | read on ao3
Sometimes days can pass by pretty slowly in the League. It takes time for a good plan to come together.
Today is one of those days.
You’re sitting at the bar, fiddling with your given phone and customizing the home screen when someone slaps a paper down on the counter, startling you from your task.
You glance up and of course, it’s Shigaraki. It’s hard to fight the eye roll, loaded and ready, but you do — the photo on the paper catches your eye instantly.
All too familiar eyes meet yours.
Same hair, same nose, same mouth.
It’s you.
Your eyes widen as you glide over the words printed above your photo.
Missing Person.
You feel the pricks of panic trail its way up your spine as you read the words below your photo.
Have you seen me?
There was no way.
“Where did you get this?” Your voice feels foreign as you fall into the sinking feeling in your chest, the anxiety is beginning to spread throughout your mind and it is taking a lot to remain still. Even though it feels like an impossible task, you try to calm your rapid breathing, hoping that this was some kind of sick joke.
Shigaraki just shrugs, watching your every move as he takes his own seat in the barstool next to you. “All over. These posters are everywhere right now.”
You couldn’t believe your ears. “What…”
“I didn’t know your father was the lead detective over the city.” His tone is light and airy as he taps at his phone. Shigaraki’s concentration is deep in the search, but his movements are relaxed — too relaxed for your liking. “That’s impressive.”
Shigaraki seems to find what he is looking for as he turns the phone in your direction. A news article with your face below the headline.
“He’s staging it as a break and enter gone wrong,” he continues, “said they knocked him out and took you away. He’s been in the hospital recovering for a few weeks now.”
You are rendered speechless. He is not dead. Your father is alive and well and he is looking for you.
“Wanna see the press conference?” Shigaraki’s question rings in your ears as he holds the screen up to your face, pinky and index fingers extended as the others clutch the device.
You don’t, but you can’t bring yourself to speak, nor could you shake your head and deny. A morbid curiosity within you wants to see though. It wants to know everything happening outside of these walls.
Shigaraki is pulling the screen up before you could refuse — taking your shell shocked silence as permission.
(Maybe he knew, deep down, that you wanted to see, to know your reality in its entirety.)
Sure enough, there was your father — bandages wrapped around his head and in his detective uniform you knew so well. He stood at a podium, two of his colleagues beside him as he read off of a paper in front of him.
Your father speaks of criminals and senseless violence, he speaks of the injustice done to him and his family and how he will work day and night to make sure those responsible will pay and that you will be brought home safe and sound.
It’s so heartfelt you almost believe it.
If it weren't complete bullshit.
You knew the truth. You know exactly what happened that night and how it all went down.
He is a monster in his own right. One that puts on a front of the caring guardian, but you know so much better.
The truth of it all makes you nauseous.
“And to my precious daughter,” his voice rings through the speakers of the phone, “We will find you and we will bring you home. That’s a promise.”
The video ends there and the screen goes black, revealing your own troubled reflection in the glass.
“He’s going to find me,” your voice shakes as Shigaraki locks the phone and slides it back into his pocket, “I don't have long.”
“He won’t.” Shigaraki is unbothered, crossing his arms with a tilt of his head.
You shake your head, knowing your father all too well.
He is thorough in everything he does and he would leave no stone unturned until he finds you and brings you home. That cursed home you would never set foot in again. The one that haunts your dreams.
There's heat burning at your eyes and you realize it's the sting of tears. You couldn’t cry here, not in front of villains — in front of your leader of all people. It's humiliating.
“He will! It's only a matter of time.” Bringing a hand to your chest, you fist the fabric of your shirt, wishing it could be your heart, open and able to be ripped out of your chest just so you could stop the rapid beating—
“Let them look, but they won't find you.” His voice is calm, rational. It's certain in ways you weren't sure you could believe. “You’re with the league now — we won't let anything happen to you.”
It’s hard to believe when your face is plastered on everything. When a huge search and rescue effort is being made and for all the public knows, you were being held somewhere against your will, subject to all kinds of torture.
It couldn’t be further from the truth.
You can only watch as Shigaraki stands from his seat, exhaling sigh on his lips as he waves you off. Clearly he had other places to be and other things to do.
“It’s getting late, you should get some rest.” he offers, and you note that it's barely nightfall, but say nothing. Lost in a daze as you stare at your feet, tears threatening to fall and humiliate you further.
“Kurogiri.” Shigaraki commands and the apparition nods, opening a warp gate. You can tell by the familiar bedding beyond the portal that it leads to your room.
“We will keep an eye on the situation and make further plans tomorrow.” He announces passively as he walks off, passing by the warp gate and leaving through the door.
The gate will save you a trip of walking through the borderline endless tunnels, and you’re grateful. All you wanted was the safety of your room.
You waste no time walking through and sighing in relief as the portal closes behind you.
There was no chance of anyone coming into your room here, but you move to lock your door anyway — the extra layer of security makes you feel safe.
Your mind swam in the overwhelming feelings, drowning your thoughts in fear and anxiety.
It just couldn’t be. The idea of killing your father was beginning to sound much more manageable than the reality.
And his press conference?
The bed greets you with its comfort and you bury your face into your hands, tears finally escaping and sobs fighting their way through your staggered breaths.
It was all bullshit.
The break and enter, the kidnapping and the promise of finding you.
He wants you back, but not for a friendly reunion. No, the day he finds you again will be the day you are better off dead.
Everything else said is just fluff for the media and crowd.
But you knew better. It is an intimidation tactic for you.
A way to weed out the possibilities of hiding with a good civilian. Any good civilian would take their chance to bring you back to your seemingly loving home and surely loving father. It was a chance for an ordinary person to be a hero and reunite family together from a tragic event.
Bullshit.
The man is abusive. In every way possible and he will take advantage of any benefit given to him. He was nothing more than a shady cop who just so happened to play his cards right and work his way to the top of the food chain.
The idea of someone so cruel being on a team of detectives makes your stomach curl as the sobs you so desperately held tight echo throughout your small room.
It's just not fair.
Why should you have to pay the price for wanting freedom?
The question haunts you as you lie your head down onto the pillows, quiet gasps of your easing sobs filling the room. Your new blankets have always seemed warmer than the ones from your old home. You hold them tight and pray that Shigaraki is good on his word and strong in his promises.
If they cannot find the most wanted criminal in the country then there was no doubt they would not find a missing girl.
You would have to place your faith into this group. It’s the only thing you can do for now and the uncertainty of it all only makes you feel worse.
The uncertainty of it all weighs on your mind as you pray your troubled thoughts won’t catch up to you in the form of nightmares.
———
The meeting of the day is brief and to the point.
Since the media is plastering your face everywhere, it is best for you to stay back at the base. It's not much different from what you had been doing, but still informative for the other members around you.
However, after the meeting you run into a small problem.
A small, blonde and enthusiastic problem.
“Just come with me, please!” Toga is loud as she bounces in place with her fists clenched in excitement. The wild smile on her face makes you take a small step back from her. “It won't take long!”
She was so young, but so… odd. You weren't sure what to make of her. “They just told us I can’t leave.”
“It’s not out in the open! Let me show you!”
You sigh and look around, no one is paying any attention to this scene Toga is causing, which leads you to believe that this must be a common occurrence for her.
Even Shigaraki gives no reaction, only focused on his newspaper and you assume it must not be much of a problem if he doesn’t care.
Well, if he doesn’t see a problem in Toga dragging you around, then you suppose it can’t be that bad. Reluctantly, you shrug and agree.
Toga does not hide her excitement, cheering and waving to Kurogiri.
“Kurogiri! Will you do the honors, please?” She asks the man behind the counter and he agrees, opening a gate and Toga wastes no time grabbing your hand, pulling you through.
The gate leads you to an empty field. So much for not being out in the open.
There’s a sinking feeling of unease making itself present as Toga lets your hand go.
It lingers as she walks on, fully expecting you to follow her along to wherever she deemed so important to show you. Against your better judgment, you follow her, believing in your heart that you were both in the League so there was no reason not to trust her.
But…
The entire situation is odd. Even as you look around the field and see that it is as vast as it is empty, you know that something is off. The girl only hums a tune, completely content with leading you nowhere.
“Hey, healer,” Toga starts, continuing her pace ahead as you begin to lag behind — your thoughts catching up with you and making you slow.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever dream?”
The question makes your brows furrow as you watch from a distance. She seemed so carefree.
It makes you ponder as you find the words to respond, “No, not really. If I do, I won’t remember them.”
You may not dream, but you do have nightmares from time to time.
They haunt you when you least expect it, but you would rather not share that with a girl who made venomous snakes look good on a bad day. Instead you try to focus on what’s around you. The field is as green as it is empty, and it only makes you wonder more why you were brought out here — wherever ‘here’ even was in the first place.
It’s all unusual.
You look back at the girl and notice she’s stopped walking, causing you to catch up with her.
“Hey, Toga, where are we going anyw—“
Your words are cut short as she turns on you, the silver gleam of a knife in her hand now against your throat.
“I dream, too! But I remember mine,” Her eyes are glassy as she smiles in delight, the look on her face makes you more on edge than the knife against your throat. “I dream of a world I can live freely in. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
The question sounds rhetorical but you bring yourself to nod anyway, swallowing your fear and you can't help but wonder what deity you’ve pissed off to have ended up in this situation.
She pulls the knife back and it feels like you can breathe again, only to be put back on edge as she lunges towards you.
It’s a reflex, the way you squeeze your eyes shut and bring your arms up to defend yourself from an oncoming attack, but you do. Only to be met with nothingness.
Toga presses a hand to your shoulder, using the momentum she gained to jump up and over your head.
The action makes you pause, but you don’t get any time to question as the swift print of a shoe kicks you right in the back, making you fall to your knees onto the ground.
You feel it then, the unease you’ve noticed since walking through the warp gate.
You are weak.
You are small and fragile and it burns at your throat as you grit your teeth in frustration. The idea of being taken down by a child is so fucking frustrating it makes you sick.
The press of Toga's shoe against your back feels like it holds the weight of the world within it.
Every ounce of inadequacy falls upon your back as you curse under your breath. But just as soon as the weight is there, it is gone. Lifted away as she comes to stand in front of you — extending a hand with a smile no longer wicked, but warm.
“Living in this world is hard, you know? It looks like it’s been hard for you too.”
Her words make you still, your eyes meeting Toga’s hand and then dragging up to meet her eyes as well. You decide to take her hand in yours, allowing her to help you to your feet, even though you are still wary of her movements.
“To me, you’re like… a caged bird.” She continues, making a point to keep your hand in hers. “But now you’ve opened the cage and you still won’t fly! That just won’t do.”
It’s difficult to place this feeling in your chest, this string tugging at your heart as you purse your lips, unable to speak as she goes on.
“I love the league. It’s my home. The one place where I can truly be free and do whatever I want.” She looks far away as she speaks, eyes staring off at the now setting sun, illuminating the field in orange and pink hues as she smiles fondly. “I love Jin and Dabi and even Tomura! They’re my friends.”
Her attention is back on you as she brings her hands to your face, cradling your cheeks in her small palms like you were the one needing comfort and not the other way around.
“And I love you, too, little bird!” Toga pulls you into a hug then and it is as warm as it is strange. The action shocks you still, you can’t recall the last time you had been hugged. “I’ll help you fight.”
Toga’s voice is soft as she continues, words dripping with honesty, “The League will help you spread your wings. You’ll fly with us.”
You lean into her touch and think maybe, just maybe, you’re right where you need to be.
———
The scene to greet you both at the bar is a strange one. It makes you raise a questioning brow as you walk through the warp gates.
A rare sight of Spinner and Shigaraki, in a deep discussion, that is somewhat shy of an argument over what seemed to be a video game.
“No, no, no! He is not the best at that! It’s Little Mac!” Spinner is at the counter of the bar, seated next to Shigaraki, his scaled fingers jabbing into the counter beside them.
Shigaraki seems unbothered, an assessment you can only make by the posture he held and relaxed form. You couldn’t make out any kind of expression behind the hand covering his face.
“That’s dumb. He’s easily countered by Ness.” He supplies and this answer only seems to frustrate Spinner more. The latter groaning and desperately pleading his case.
You can’t help the way a smile tugs at your lips as you walk towards the counter yourself, hoping Kurogiri would supply you with more of that fizzy clear soda you enjoyed.
“Hey, healer!” Spinner calls, making you snap your head towards him. “Tell him! Little Mac could beat any competitor with no trouble if you’re skilled enough at playing him!”
You fight the frown making its way onto your face. “Um…” This was about a game, you’re sure but the name of it eludes you. “Is this that fighting game that came out a while ago?”
Spinner is enthusiastic as he nods, just happy you recognize it. “Yes!”
“Oh, um,” your brows furrow as you try to remember the details of it, but it’s fuzzy in your mind. “I don’t really remember much, but I always played as the character with the blue dress. My father said games like that rot your brain, though, so he took the console before I could really get good at it, sorry.”
The memory makes you huff a bitter laugh, mood souring at the idea of a fun game potentially ruining your young mind. “Gotta make sure dad’s keep their daughters’ undivided attention at all times, right?”
The comment was more towards yourself — thinking out loud, really. But the feeling of all eyes on you makes you look up.
You feel like you’ve said something wrong with the way you feel the eyes on you. Even when you let out a small awkward laugh to break the tension it remains. It makes your stomach turn as you are constantly reminded of your unusual upbringing.
Spinner speaks first, with a look of genuine worry on his face. “That’s… not normal. Why would he do that?”
“Um, I’m not sure.” You walk past the group, forgoing the soda and instead choosing to head straight for the tunnels, eager to get out of there and more than ready to shower and go to bed. “But I think I’ll head in for the night.”
It’s a feeling you can’t outrun, you realize as you sit in the shower of the bathroom — allowing the water to run over your body and you watch as it flows down the drain.
You wish so badly things were different. That you could have been a normal child with a normal upbringing and a normal life.
But that just hadn’t been in the cards for you.
You tuck your head down into your hands as your thoughts spun around you. Toga's words invade your mind, swimming around in your head and you agree with them.
You were just like a caged bird.
And even though that door is open, you know exactly what lies outside of it. You know exactly who is watching and waiting for you to take the bait, to come out and risk capture again. The repercussions of escape this time may be much more dire than before and you just couldn’t take that chance.
The warm water of the shower masked the tears running down your face, but nothing could cover the burn of them. The way they sting at your eyes as you fight to maintain composure.
You know exactly why your father took the console from you. Some shitty reasoning lying beneath the real issue of how much attention you were putting towards it instead of towards him.
It was bullshit.
It makes you feel sick.
—------------
Everything feels more peaceful at night.
It’s a comfort you didn’t expect to find here in the league but it is a welcomed one.
The days can feel long but the nights are calm. Even though more than a few of the members are working throughout the night, you are safe to relax and enjoy them. You’ve even started filling your bookshelves. It’s only three books for now but they keep you entertained.
Even when your leader pays you a visit, you don't feel afraid.
Tonight Shigaraki is your patient and he is as quiet as the night. The lack of disembodied hand daunting his face is obvious as the pale moonlight lit the room — bathing his natural features in a soft light.
You’ve learned that there seems to be more than meets the eye when it comes to Shigaraki.
He never asked more than he needed to know, his eyes never lingered.
Tomura Shigaraki had goals and his focus was undoubtedly on them at all times. It made you feel… safe. Like you weren’t a burden indebted to him. Like you had autonomy.
Never anything you had at home.
No one in the league really bothered you or impeded into your space. It was refreshing. It’s why you feel the boldness within you that gives you the strength to ask,
“Why did you send Toga to train me?”
The question breaks through the stillness of the room, catching Shigaraki by surprise, but his expression stays neutral — only opting to raise his eyes from the ground and meeting yours.
The question seems to pull him from his own deep thoughts. His eyes were carmine red and they seemed to glow in the light of the moon. The intensity of them makes you want to shy away.
“She seemed like a good fit.”
“Is it because she’s a girl?” You feel emboldened in the space of your room. The door, forever cracked, allows more light to bleed into the area.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s because she can fight.”
Silence.
You move to heal the next area, a cut along his arm. He went out into the field today and didn’t come back unscathed.
“Does that bother you?” His question surprises you and it shows on your face.
You shake your head, it doesn’t. “No, it’s fine.”
He hums in acknowledgment. There’s an awkward air to the space now, but you’re sure it’s only on your end. Your nerves prickle as you work on his arm, past his deadly palms.
“She did pull a knife on me though.”
“That damn brat.” He huffs a little sigh. “She wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Yeah, I figured that out after. Shook me a little though.” You pause taking in the calm of the room. “Thank you.”
He looks surprised, the small tick of his brow giving the expression away.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said… and my father.” You look down, focusing your gaze along the arm you’re healing. His skin is so pale. You were so close. “I never thought I would get the chance to stand against him, or even fight him. But… I want to be able to if it comes down to that.”
Shigaraki says nothing and you aren’t sure he’s even heard you, yet you go on, speaking the most you have since you’ve gotten here. “I think in any situation, I want to be strong. I want to try to stand on my own. Working with Toga is a good choice, I believe.”
You swallow, nerves catching up to you and it’s a wonder you’ve said this much. You don’t know where these words are coming from, but you can’t help but wonder if you should have probably kept them to yourself.
“That’s good to know.”
His voice surprises you, causing your eyes to look up and meet vermillion. It sends heat spreading along your face and you feel stuck — frozen in place as his gaze locks you into a trance.
Shigaraki is not bad to look at once he no longer had his face fully covered. You can’t help but wonder if it’s inappropriate to think of your leader as cute. Handsome, even.
Lately he has shown you something akin to kindness, but you know better than to let your guard down. He is still a villain. A villain with goals of taking down society.
But…
He could be kind. You feel desperate to find some kind of connection in this new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re not sure what pulls you towards your leader — be it the promise of safety or guidance it just does.
You break out of the trance you’d found yourself in moving along to the battered bruises along his upper arm.
“Also… is Spinner always like that?” The question falls and the corner of your mouth ticks up in a small smile.
This piques his interest. “Like what?”
“Nerdy. Ecstatic about video games.”
Shigaraki huffs a laugh, barely there and light. A blow of air from his nose and nothing more. “Yeah. He’s kind of a weirdo.”
You laugh at this, words falling before your brain can catch them. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
You instantly regret it, freezing your motions and wondering if you’ve made a mistake.
Shigaraki actually laughs. It’s short and shallow and rings in your ears. You decide you like it and would do anything to hear more of it. “Yeah, well, it takes one to know one.”
It’s silly, really. The way you would take any crumbs of generosity after years of the opposite. Years of violation and violence can never compare to consistent kindness and respect.
When you feel your cheeks flush at the sound of Shigaraki’s laugh you feel strange. The feeling makes you remember a quote you had read from one of your mother’s old poetry books.
Something about silver spoons and knives.
But still, you want to indulge the feeling.
“Hey, Shigaraki?”
He hums in acknowledgment, eyes meeting yours again. It makes you focus on anything else, the ground is your subject for now.
“Do you think the investigation will go anywhere?”
“No, they have nothing in their corner.” He’s confident, and continues, “guys like that are full of shit.”
The bluntness surprises you, though it's not unwelcome. “You think so?”
He scoffs at this, “Yeah, it’s all for show. There are no criminals and he’s hiding something deeper behind the pretense of you going missing. If they dug closer into the issue, they would find his lies. He wouldn’t want that.”
You nod in agreement, and for the first time you feel yourself relax a little. Shigaraki was not only sure, but he had the reasoning to back it up. The confidence made you feel warm — glad you were not in this alone.
“Got anything else for me?” You ask, the hint of a smile sneaking onto your lips as you finish your healing. Shigaraki shrugs, shaking his head as he moves to stand.
You don’t know how you hadn’t seen it before but there’s a bandage around his hand. Wrapped tight and kind of sloppy, you reach for it before you think about it, your innate need to help bleeding through at the worst times.
This was perhaps the first mistake you’ve made since joining the league.
Shigaraki’s reaction tells it all. His movements are fast and sharp.
The way he recoils from your touch makes you think you’ve burned him. Shigaraki is on his feet in an instant, knocking the chair he previously sat on backwards and sending it tumbling to the ground.
Your eyes widen in shock as you try to reach out again, an apology quick on your lips, but he’s far away from you now — more than an arms length away and ready to put more distance between you two.
“Don’t,” his voice is low and his glare is sharp, if you didn’t know any better you would think the rise and fall of his chest was from panic instead of anger. “Don’t touch me.”
It hits you then and you curse your carelessness.
His hands.
You almost touched his hands, without a care in the world — just wanting to help your leader out and fully heal whatever you could.
You were so close to danger, so careless.
“Shigaraki, I—” You don’t get to finish your thoughts, already lost to the open and slam of your bedroom door. The air of the room is quiet and still, the only reminder of his presence being the overturned chair left behind.
The silence rings in your ears as the distressed expression on Shigaraki’s face replays in your mind. For someone supposedly so cold to react so strongly to the smallest possibility of accidentally activating his quirk makes you wonder what else lies beneath your leader's layers.
It makes you wonder just who Tomura Shigaraki is.
#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#tomura x reader#shigaraki tomura x you#shigaraki tomura#shigaraki#my works#mha x reader#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#mha fanfiction#tomura shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x you
59 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guardian Angel
Chapter 10: MacGyver
Summary: Wanda and Monica hurry to Rome to save the team from San Castillo's catacombs while you anxiously wait for news about Wanda and your newfound family.
Warnings: Mentions of injury, asthma, anxiety
Word Count: 8k
A/N: The latest chapter of Guardian Angel is the longest yet. Thanks to everyone who's reading! I'm excited about where the story is headed, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Guardian Angel Masterlist
Tony slowly opened his eyes, but all he could see was darkness. The faceplate of his Iron Man helmet slid open, and he heard the dripping sound of condensation. The only indication that he was still alive.
Steve stirred next, feeling the damp air and touching the hard stone floor. He started crawling on all fours and ripped off his oxygen mask, coughing as small pebbles from the drop scraped against his skin.
“Buck, come on. There you go.” Steve tapped his friend's cheek as he started to come around. “Wow,” Barnes gasped as he looked back up at the height of the drop.
Yelena crawled towards Natasha, her face and arms stained with dirt and blood. Despite the pain in her wrist, she began moving the small pile of rubble that had buried her older sister's lower body.
“Are you okay, sestra?” Her voice was muffled under the oxygen mask, but she managed to ask.
Nat slowly sat up and let out a hiss as the pain in her right leg began to hit her. Looking down, she noticed a gash spanning the length of her lower leg, visible through her suit. Although the cut wasn't deep, it was enough to cause her discomfort.
All around them, there was an eerie silence that sent shivers down their spines. The darkness was so thick they could barely see anything beyond a few feet.
Carol quickly sprang into action, helping Peter and Kate to their feet, while Sam and Clint sputtered and coughed as they crawled out from behind a chunk of stone slab covered in a cracked fresco painting that had fallen along with them. The sound of the debris crashing against each other had been deafening, and it had taken them a few moments to get their bearings.
Thor was the last to appear, tossing rubble and rocks aside like Legos. His strength and determination were evident as he worked to clear the wreckage.
“Is everyone alright?” Steve asked the team.
A smattering of grunts and mumbles floated out of the team in response. Everyone was nursing a modicum of injuries, but somehow, all were alive.
"FRIDAY, can you give me an IR scan of the space?" Tony's voice echoed through the underground catacombs.
FRIDAY's response was unexpected. "This is not part of the previously mapped subterranean pathway, boss."
Tony's curiosity was piqued. "What do you mean? Are there any air currents?"
"This catacomb is not accessible to the general public. Therefore, no air currents were constructed at this depth," FRIDAY replied.
Steve had a sudden realization, "How much oxygen is left in the masks?"
"Undeterminable, Captain,” FRIDAY said.
Panic set in as the realization hit them - they were running out of oxygen. "Maria, can you hear me?" Nat urgently called out through her comms, hoping for a response. But all she got was static. "Is comms working for anyone?" she asked, looking around for a glimmer of hope, but no one could get through.
Not waiting for further instruction, Carol swiftly flew up the shaft. The team could hear the distant sound of energy blasts as scattered debris and water droplets fell from above. She returned shortly after, displaying an air of calm anxiety similar to Natasha's.
"We fell at least one hundred feet," Carol reported, removing her oxygen mask. "The top of the shaft narrows, and the passage is blocked by rubble from the fall."
Thor looked around in frustration, "This is ridiculous," he lamented. "I'm getting us the hell out of here," he declared as he started to spin Mjölnir.
But Bruce quickly stopped him. "No, don't you remember what Friday said before the fall?" he said, grabbing Thor's forearm. A core reactor holds the tunnel together. We have no idea what is behind the energy surges. Introducing thunder into the mix could collapse the entire catacomb."
Thor's face contorted in exasperation, "So what do we do now?" he asked, the tension rising.
*^~^*
“How far out are we?" Wanda inquired.
The low and gentle hum emanating from the Quinjet reverberated through the atmosphere as it soared through the endless expanse of the bright blue sky.
"Just a few minutes. Their trackers are still active, but I can't say how long they'll stay online," Monica replied, glancing down at the GPS display.
Wanda wasn't sure what to say. This was the first time she and Monica had been alone together since the events in Westview. Despite the hug they had shared on the loading dock, Wanda wasn't sure where they stood. However, she couldn't bear to dwell on what they might find when they arrived in Rome. She needed a distraction.
"So... how have you been since, well, since..." Wanda began.
"Since you trapped Westview, New Jersey in an idyllic suburban illusion of your grief and turned me into a photon," Monica finished for her, raising an eyebrow.
Wanda buried her face in her hands, feeling embarrassed. "In a manner of speaking, yes," she mumbled.
"I've been okay. After the Hex was dismantled, Fury sent for me. I was recruited into S.A.B.E.R. I've been shuttling back and forth between Earth and the space station for the last year," Monica explained.
Wanda nodded in understanding, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions as she absorbed Monica's words. After a moment, she turned to face her. "Listen, I-"
"You don't need to say anything, Wanda. You already apologized, and I meant what I said that day. I understood how you felt, and given the circumstances and your powers, I would have tried to bring my mom back, too," Monica said, her voice filled with empathy.
Wanda nodded in recognition and gratitude, feeling a weight lifted off her shoulders.
"Now, I have a question for you," Monica said. "What's the deal with you and Y/N?"
"Our meeting was pure luck, and now... now I can't imagine my life without Y/N. Losing Vis was a turning point in my life. The world around me crumbled, leaving me and my boys vulnerable and exposed. But I had to be strong and protect them, even if it meant building a fortress around my heart. But Y/N, she shattered the fortress the moment our eyes met. It's weird; sometimes it feels like Vision sent Y/N to me, you know? Like she's my guardian angel."
"That's amazing, Wanda. I'm so happy for you,” Monica declared.
"Approaching target landing zone. Cloaking technology initiated," FRIDAY announced.
*^~^*
Darcy seemed to have an unmatched familiarity with the Overwatch system—she navigated through it with precision and ease, almost as if she had designed and constructed it. You couldn't help but notice how meticulously she calibrated her equipment, making every adjustment with utmost care and attention to detail.
“What kind of data were you seeing before the fall?” Darcy asked.
“Mostly thermostats,” Maria said. “A core reactor holds together the stabilization of the tunnel structure.”
At this point, they could have been speaking a foreign language. You were having difficulty washing off the shock of the last few hours. You were also worried about Wanda putting herself in danger to rescue everyone.
“Why were they all on this mission, anyway?” Darcy continued. “Jack Sparrow doesn't usually push all his Poker chips into the middle of the table for surveillance.”
Maria pulled up the mission file on the screen, "In the city of Rome, there are more than sixty catacombs composed of miles of underground tunnels in which thousands of tombs are found. Currently, only 5 of them are open to the public. For the last month, we have received some unusual readings from the Catacombs of San Callisto. It spans five floors and more than 12 miles in length,” Maria continued. “Despite our best intelligence, we were unsure about what we were walking into because it wasn't publicly accessible. Fury wanted us to be prepared for any contingency."
Darcy caught sight of your zoned-out expression. “Hey, Y/N, you okay over there?”
“Yeah, I just,” you trailed off. “I mean, I make candy for a living. The most dangerous thing I encounter in my day is Harper forgetting to turn off the stove,” you said, starting to get worked up.”
“Y/N,” Maria said, seeing your anxiety rising.
“I just watched the Avengers fall to God knows where, and my girlfriend just left to try and rescue them with her magical powers…. What the hell is my life?”
“Y/N, it’s going to be okay,” Maria repeated as she and Darcy approached you.
“How can you possibly know that? This is fucking terrifying!” You shouted. “What if we never see any of them again?”
As you were spiraling into a state of panic, Darcy's hand came down hard and made contact with your cheek, jolting you back into the present moment.
“You were spiraling,” Darcy said, patting you on the back with a smile. “All good now.”
Y/N," Maria said as she placed her hands on your shoulders and looked you in the eyes while you rubbed your cheek. "Everything will be alright. Their trackers are still sending signals, and I just received an update on everyone's vital signs. They're in distress, but they're still stable. Wanda and Monica will find them.”
After a deep breath, you said, "I'm sorry, Maria. I don't know how you guys do this every day,” wiping your hand across your face. “With Natasha down there, I don't know how you're holding it together."
“I’ve been doing this for a long time, and if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Nat doesn’t give up. If anything, this entire ordeal has pissed her off, and she’s even more of a fighter when she’s angry,” Maria said.
You glanced at your watch. "Shoot,” you sighed. It's almost 3 p.m. I have to go pick up Billy and Tommy from school. Please call me as soon as you know anything.”
*^~^*
As you arrived at the boys' school, a sense of nervousness washed over you. You had only met Billy and Tommy once before, and you weren't quite sure what to say to them. You remembered Wanda’s request not to go into detail about the reason for her unplanned departure, so you were hesitant about how to approach the conversation.
Within just a few minutes of your arrival, the sixth-grade class began to come out of the building. It didn't take long for you to spot the twins, carrying their backpacks and books, scanning their surroundings for you.
You called out, "Boys, over here!" Billy and Tommy ran towards you.
“Hi, Y/N, how come you’re picking us up today?” Tommy asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Yeah, where’s our mom?” Billy added, looking a bit confused.
“Your mom had to go on a last-minute mission with the rest of the team,” you said, trying not to go into too much detail. “So, she asked me to look after you boys until she gets back. Is that okay with you?”
Billy and Tommy looked at each other, seemingly communicating a message without words, and then turned back to you with a nod. You couldn't help but wonder if they had some secret twin language that only they knew. Either way, you were relieved they seemed alright with you taking care of them.
It felt odd stepping foot in Wanda’s home without her. It was your first time there, and the absence of her presence made the atmosphere feel eerie. However, you took a deep breath and tried to shake off the feeling, reminding yourself to focus on Billy and Tommy.
Once settled, you asked, “Okay, so what do you guys usually do first when you get home from school?”
Tommy and Billy stood in the kitchen, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. "Well," Tommy began tentatively, "Mom usually lets us play video games after school."
Billy nodded eagerly, adding, "And then we have ice cream. It's our favorite snack."
You couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm. "I see," you said, playing along with their little routine. "And after video games and ice cream, you'll probably get started on your homework, right?"
At this, Tommy's face fell. "We don't have any homework," he admitted sheepishly.
You chuckled, leaning back against the counter. "Listen, boys," you said, adopting a more earnest tone. I know we don't know each other very well yet, and you're probably thinking this is a free-for-all. But you should know I invented the 'I don't have any homework' line," you said, placing your hand on your chest. "I was a kid once, too, you know."
“It was worth a shot,” Billy said.
Why don't you two bring your homework out here, and I’ll fix us a snack in the meantime?” You suggested.
“Okay,” they said in unison before clambering down the hall.
You shook your head at their cheekiness and set about preparing a snack. You sliced up some crisp apples, added a dollop of creamy peanut butter, and poured some refreshing lemonade.
After spending some time helping the boys with their homework, which turned out to be more challenging than you remembered, you decided to tidy up around the house. As you walked into the living room, your attention was immediately drawn to the family photo on the wall. Vision stood tall and robust, with Wanda's arm around him, while Billy and Tommy grinned from ear to ear. The image was a gentle reminder of her life before you. Rather than jealousy, you felt a deep empathy and sorrow for all the hardships and heartbreaks she had endured.
You couldn't help but wonder if Wanda was okay right now. If they were all okay.
*^~^*
As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, a soft glow began to spread across the ancient cobblestones of the Appian Way. The air was still and quiet, and the only sound that could be heard was the distant chirping of birds. The surrounding landscape was bathed in a golden light, casting long shadows stretching across the fields and trees. Amidst this stillness, the Quinjet lay concealed in a nearby field. Wanda and Monica walked down the cobblestone path and made their way through the Arch of Dursus, their footsteps echoing in the quietness of the night. The entrance of the San Callisto catacombs suddenly materialized, rising from the ground like an ominous apparition.
The iron gate had been meticulously re-welded shut—Tony’s standard attempt at not drawing suspicion after they entered. Wanda’s hand began to swirl in red.
“I got it,” Monica said, breaking the lock with electrifying blue energy.
The two women donned oxygen masks and walked down the stone stairs into the catacombs, their communications and body cameras crackling to life.
As they descended the steps, their feet moved steadily, one after the other. The count of each step eluded them as they were fully immersed in descending. As they reached the end of the stairs, the first of the tombs revealed itself, emerging from the darkness before them.
Do you feel anything?” Monica asked, “Anyone?”
Wanda shook her head, “Not yet.”
“We’re looking at 90 acres of catacombs to search, ladies,” Maria said over the comms.
“So, you know, it may take a minute,” Darcy added.
*^~^*
Yelena frustratingly turned to Tony, "Can't you fly us out of here? I thought Iron Man could do anything?"
Tony snapped, "Oh gee, I hadn't thought of that blondie. Thank God you finally mentioned it after five hours!"
Natasha intervened, "Take it down a notch, Tony."
Tony sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Don't you think if I could have flown us out of here, I would have done it by now? The energy surges compromised the calibration of the thrusters. FRIDAY is down, too.”
Sam nodded in agreement, "Same here. It's a complete multisystem failure."
Suddenly, Kate's voice echoed off the stone, "Help!!"
Peter dropped from the wall onto the floor, webbing still hanging loosely from the rocks. "I couldn't find any other openings."
Bucky added with a hint of sarcasm, "Terrific. Well, Steve, we died once; looks like it's going to stick this time," he lamented, as he pulled a small flask from inside his leather jacket and removed his oxygen mask.
“Bucky, stop,” Steve sighed.
Clint chimed in, "Hey, give me some of that," as he took a swig out of the flask.
The archer passed the flask to Thor, who reluctantly sipped,” Your human alcohol is so weak.”
Natasha stood and hobbled over to Bruce, the cut on her leg now causing her more significant discomfort.
“Do you want me to look at your leg?” Bruce cautiously asked.
“No,” Nat said, ripping off her oxygen mask. “I want you to get your green ass off that rock and go MacGyver something with Stark to get us the fuck out of here!”
“What’s a MacGyver?” Peter asked.
“It's not a what, it's a who,” Kate responded.
“I've never heard of him,” Peter continued.
“MacGyver is amazing!" exclaimed Kate, her excitement bubbling over. "He’s a super resourceful secret agent who uses his vast scientific knowledge to escape dangerous situations. He uses everyday items like matchsticks, paper clips, and rubber bands to complete his missions.”
Nat's voice echoed through the cramped quarters as she shouted, "Knock it off!" The two young Avengers quieted down immediately, their eyes fixed on her.
Steve took a deep breath and scanned the room, his eyes settling on each of his teammates in turn. "Look," he said, getting everyone's attention. "We don't know how long Wanda and Maria will take to find us, but we must assume they're close. That means we need to stay calm and do everything we can to conserve oxygen in this tiny space and our masks. We don't know what will happen next, but we're in this together, and we're going to make it through."
*^~^*
It had been an hour since the boys had gone to bed. Now that you were finally alone with your thoughts, you couldn't hold back the tears. Your mind was consumed with worry and fear, and you had not received any updates from Maria and Darcy. The silence was deafening, and the longer it persisted, the more scared and anxious you became.
You gazed at your phone, considering calling them, but decided against it. Instead, you wiped your eyes and scrolled through your camera roll, looking at pictures of you and Wanda that reminded youof your favorite memories together.
You suddenly felt like someone was watching you. You looked up and saw Billy poking his head around the corner.
"Hey, Billy. You okay?" you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Are you?" the young boy asked in return, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your thoughts are really loud."
It took you a moment to realize what he meant, but then it hit you. Of course, like his mom, Billy could hear other people's thoughts. You wondered how often he had to deal with that and how overwhelming it must be.
"I'm sorry, Billy," you said, trying to keep your thoughts in check. "I didn't mean to be so loud."
"It's okay," he said with a shrug as he joined you on the couch. "I'm used to it.”
You sat in silence for a few moments, unsure of what to say next. Then, you remembered why you were there in the first place.
"I'm just excited for your mom to come home," you said, trying to inject some positivity into the conversation.
"Same," he said, his face lighting up a little. He scooted closer to you on the couch. It was a small gesture, but it made you feel like maybe you were doing something right.
"You and Tommy love your mom a lot, don't you?" you asked, trying to start a conversation.
"Yeah, she's amazing. She's always there for us," he explained with a smile.
"I can tell," you said, pulling a soft blanket off the back of the couch and placing it over Billy. "She talks about you and Tommy all the time. She's so proud of both of you."
"Really? What does she say?" Billy asked curiously, his eyes widening with interest.
"Well," you began, "she says you're both brilliant, funny, and sweet young men. She admires your sense of humor and your kindness towards others. Tommy is a great athlete, and you like to draw. She thinks you're a very talented artist."
"Mom told you that?" he said, surprised. "I didn't know she talked about us so much."
"Yes, she does. She loves you two very much," you replied, smiling at him warmly.
You followed Billy’s eyes as he stared at the family photograph you admired earlier. "I miss Dad," he said. "Tommy does, too."
"I know you do," you replied. “I’m sorry.”
"We were happy in Westview," Billy said, fidgeting with his hands just like Wanda. "Then, one day, we woke up, and Dad was gone and Mom said we had to go."
"That must have been difficult," you said softly.
"Yeah, at first it was tough," Billy continued, "but then we came here. Mom got Uncle Tony to build us this cool house, and we have a lot of fun.”
You couldn't help but smile as he talked about Wanda. "Your mom is the coolest person I know," you said, and Billy beamed with pride.
"You miss her too, don't you?" he asked, and you felt a pang of longing in your heart.
"You're good, kid," you said with a smirk as you ruffled his hair. "Yes, I miss your mom very much."
“She talks about you too, you know,” Billy mentioned.
Your surprise showed on your face. "Really?" you asked.
"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly. "She says you make her happy, and you make the best chocolate in the world."
You giggled at the compliment, but then you noticed the time. It was almost 2 a.m. "I think we both could use some shut-eye, Billy. We want to be well-rested when your mom gets home."
"Okay," he agreed, climbing off the couch.
But before he left, you had an idea. "Hey, what do you say you and I and Tommy make brownies tomorrow as a treat for everyone when they get home?"
Billy's eyes lit up. "That would be awesome!"
"I think so, too," you said with a smile. "Okay, now, bedtime. Off you go."
Unexpectedly, the young boy hugged you goodnight, and you felt a warmth in your heart. "Thank you, Y/N. Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight, Billy," you said.
*^~^*
Meanwhile, half a world away, Wanda and Monica ventured through the dark and musty catacombs. The eerie silence was only broken by the echo of their footsteps. They had been walking for hours with no sign of anyone. Suddenly, Maria's voice broke through their comms, sending chills down their spine.
“Our last point of contact was down this secondary tunnel just ahead,” she said.
Wanda's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the area. "Watch your step," she warned. "If this is near where they dropped, we're on unstable ground."
As they continued, the walls around them became adorned with ancient symbols and paintings, marking Papal tombs. But their peaceful exploration was abruptly interrupted when Monica came to a sudden halt. "Stop," she said, sensing a change in the electromagnetic spectrum.
Wanda spun around to face her. "What is it?" She asked, her anxiety rising.
Before Monica could answer, the ground began to shake violently, throwing both women to the ground.
As the ceiling crumbled, debris rained down onthe two women. Acting quickly, Wanda summoned her powers to redirect the falling fragments away from them.
“Are you two okay?” Maria asked nervously.
“Yeah, we're okay,” Wanda said as she helped Monica to her feet. “What was that?”
Take a look around," Darcy pointed out. "Do you see those fissures along the walls? Someone is utilizing the catacombs as a natural storage space for geothermal energy. But there is something wrong with the core reactor. It's causing the structure to become destabilized.
Monica's voice trailed off as she tried to put her thoughts into words. "So, in other words, we're..." she hesitated, unsure.
Darcy picked up on Monica's hesitation and completed her thought. "Walking on eggshells. You need to find them, and soon.”
*^~^*
Clint, feeling a tad bit drunk from sipping from Bucky’s flask for the last few hours, began singing to himself, “Nobody knows the troubles I've seen.”
“No, we need to find some physical conductor for the thrusters! We can't use Thor or Danvers down here,” Bruce exasperated.
Clint, not paying attention to the conversation, continued his solo performance, “Nobody knows my sorrows.”
Tony suggested, “We could use Barnes’s arm,” side-eying the super soldier sitting against the wall.
Bruce momentarily thought about it and responded, “That could work. We could use the vibranium and cybernetic implant to hot wire the thrusters”.
“Nobody knows the troubles I've seen,” Clint shamelessly continued.
Bucky, who had been quietly listening, pulled down his oxygen mask so that only his eyes were visible and said, “Come try to take it; I dare you.”
“No one at all!” Clint finally finished singing. Natasha gently coaxed her best friend back into a sitting position beside her and Carol.
Nearby, Yelena, Peter, and Kate sat on the ground. Kate’s head rested in Yelena’s lap, doing her best to clean the cut on the young archer’s forehead.
"Ouch!" exclaimed Kate, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
Yelena had attended to Nat's leg gash and now turned to the cut on Kate's forehead. She took out a disinfectant wipe from her vest pocket and dabbed the wound gently.
“Stop moving, and it won't hurt so much, Kate Bishop,” Yelena said, trying to hold her still.
Suddenly, the sound of Peter wheezing broke the blonde's concentration away from Kate's forehead.
"Woah, are you okay, spider?" Her voice was filled with concern as the boy tore off his oxygen mask.
Peter gasped between every word and said, "I don't know, I can't,” he sputtered. “Catch my breath."
Kate sat up nervously, "Hey, what's happening? Where is your inhaler, Peter?"
Peter's voice strained, and his breaths became shorter as he said, "On the jet."
Bruce took charge of the situation, moving Peter into a sitting position against the wall. He placed an ear to his chest and frowned at the raspy, short breaths.
"Peter, look at me," Bruce said gently as he held the boy's face. "Are you certain that you don't have a rescue inhaler with you?"
He shook his head, his eyes filled with fear as each breath became more labored.
Tony quickly turned to Steve and said, "Help me out of the suit."
Steve was confused and asked, "What?"
"FRIDAY is down. I need you to get it off me, do it!" Tony's voice exclaimed anxiously.
Steve found the central seam of the Iron Man suit and tried to pull the chest plate apart, but it wouldn't budge.
"Buck, Thor, help me!" Steve shouted.
The sound of Peter's shallow breaths was drowned out by the metal bending as Bucky and Thor worked to free Tony from his suit.
"It's going to be okay, Peter. Stay with us," Sam said, as he and Carol did their best to keep him calm.
Peter's vision began to blur as his breathing was reduced to a squeak.
"Shit!" Bruce exclaimed, realizing the gravity of the situation.
Tony quickly stepped out of the broken pieces of his suit just as Peter was about to lose consciousness. He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a rescue inhaler. He shook it several times before removing the cap as Nat lowered Peter’s head into her lap. Tony tilted the puffer slightly, angling it down his throat as he gave two puffs into his mouth.
"Slowly breathe in, kid," Tony instructed. "One, two, three, four, five."
Tony administered two more puffs of the inhaler before Bruce listened to Peter's chest and confirmed his breathing had improved.
"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Peter whispered as his lungs began to open up. "Where did you get that inhaler?"
From Aunt Mae. It was one of her conditions for you to join the team. I always have it on me," Tony explained.
"You broke your suit," Peter realized.
"It's an easy fix, kid. You're not," Tony smirked.
Peter continued to use the inhaler as Tony kissed his forehead and walked away, his hands trembling.
Kate and Yelena comforted Peter while Bruce examined him.
"You're okay, Peter," Bruce said. "Continue using the inhaler, and when you feel up to it, put your oxygen mask back on." He picked up Peter’s mask, but his eyes widened with anxiety. The gauge was empty, and the light had turned red.
"What's wrong?" Steve asked.
"The mask is out of oxygen," Bruce whispered.
"I'll give you mine," Carol offered, taking off her mask and giving it to Peter.
"Thanks, Carol," Peter said as he continued to use the inhaler.
Steve pulled Bruce to one side. “Be honest with me, Bruce. How much time do we have left?”
"It's hard to say. With Peter's preexisting medical condition, he may have been using more oxygen than the rest of us. I'll check the other masks, but with so many people in this small space—”
“Bruce,” Steve said solemnly.
“An hour. Maybe,” Banner conceded.
*^~^*
Instantly, an avalanche of disordered thoughts rushed into Wanda's mind, emanating from Peter. The intensity of his anxiety was so profound that Wanda had to cling to the wall of the tunnel to steady herself. Overwhelmed with relief and anguish, she burst into tears. It was as if Peter's distress was contagious, and his emotions threatened to engulf Wanda's consciousness. His mind was a chaotic maze of thoughts, all leading to the same inescapable conclusion: they were all going to die.
Monica's voice interrupted her thoughts, "Wanda, what is it?"
Wanda had to grab the side of the wall for support. "Peter. I can feel him; he's close."
It was as if Peter’s thoughts broke the dam, and one by one, the desperation and fear of her teammates came through. But soon, it was replaced with something else entirely: acceptance. They seemed resigned to their fate, and Wanda couldn't help but feel a sense of dread.
“This way,” Wanda said as the two women doubled back.
A dark tunnel forced the two women to duck as they crawled through it. As they forced their way through the ancient passage, they were relieved when it opened into a larger space—rubble scattered everywhere and the feeling of uneven ground underneath their feet.
Maria's voice echoed through the comms, "What do see?"
Monica took a deep breath and replied, "It's much cooler in here." The air around them was refreshing, starkly contrasting the humid air in the rest of the catacomb.
Wanda knelt and placed her hand on the ground, feeling the dampness seeping through her fingers. "The ground is damp, too," she added.
Darcy's ears perked up at their report, and her eyes widened. “This is it! If the water sinks into the ground, it's coming out somewhere.”
Monica took notice of the uneven gravel. “Don’t move,” she said as she phased through the ground, leaving Wanda alone with the team’s thoughts in her head.
*^~^*
Bruce, true to his word, carefully examined all the oxygen in the ten remaining masks. Unfortunately, five more had depleted, leaving the group with only five masks to share. They sat in a circle and passed the masks around, agreeing on five-minute turns, but the adults made sure Yelena, Kate, and Peter had the masks on for a bit longer without saying anything.
As they breathed heavily and coughed occasionally, it became apparent that the air was running out. Suddenly, a low rumbling sound made everyone scramble to the walls. Yelena instinctively reached out for Natasha, who was struggling to stand on what was now most likely an infected cut in her leg.
"Cover your head!" Steve shouted, not sure if it was another energy surge or if the catacombs were finally caving in.
Suddenly, Monica dropped through the stone ceiling and landed on Carol, causing her to grunt in pain. Monica quickly stood up, dusting herself off and helping Carol to her feet.
Kate screamed in relief, "Oh my God, it's Monica!!" and hugged her. Yelena tried to pry Kate off Monica while everyone else watched in surprise.
"You found us," Carol said, hugging her next.
"Actually, Wanda found you,” Monica said as she held Carol. “She heard Peter's thoughts," turning to the young Avenger.
"Thank you for having asthma, you wonderful little arachnid!" Clint said, kissing Peter on the cheek.
"Umm, you're welcome," Peter replied.
"Wanda is here?" Steve asked.
"I knew she could do it," Natasha said under her breath, recalling the day Wanda returned to the compound.
"Wanda," Monica said, pressing her comms closer to her ear. "You were right, they're down here."
"Are they alright?" Wanda asked, her voice a mix of anxiety and relief.
"More or less," Monica responded, looking around at the sweaty, exhausted, and dirt-covered group. "When I give the word, you do your thing."
"Got it," Wanda replied.
"Everyone move away from the center," she instructed.
After ensuring that everyone was safe, she issued the command, "Alright, Wanda. Now.”
The redhead stood still, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Her hands and eyes began to emit a bright red glow, almost like they were on fire. As she closed her eyes, your words echoed in her mind.
“The magic that courses through you is the true measure of who you are, Wanda. Don't let a single mistake define you or your legacy."
She focused her energy and channeled her magic to lift the endless amount of heavy rubble that blocked the narrow shaft. As she lifted the debris, the sound of rocks and debris tumbling down from above echoed through the small space. The team looked up as they saw a faint ray of light piercing through the small opening over a hundred feet above them.
Wanda's heart pounded as she floated down, eager to reunite with her family. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Natasha enveloped her in a warm embrace. "No arm tied behind your back anymore," she whispered, her words full of relief.
Tears filled Wanda's eyes as she nodded, overwhelmed with emotion. Then, Tony stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "I can't even tell you how happy I am to see you, Red," he said, his voice filled with genuine joy.
"Same here, Tony," Wanda replied, a smile spreading across her face.
But their reunion was cut short by Maria's voice crackling over the comms. "You can all exchange pleasantries on the way home; time to rejoin the above-ground dwellers," she said briskly.
Wanda quickly wiped away her tears and, with a wave of her hand, conjured a ladder leading out of the shaft.
After Wanda and Monica checked the stability of the ladder, Bucky, Clint, Sam, Thor, and Carol led the way up. Monica offered her assistance to anyone who needed it.
"Does anyone need a lift?" Monica asked, glancing around at the group.
Tony immediately pointed to Peter, who quickly protested, "What? No, not necessary, Mr. Stark. I'm fine."
However, Tony was quick to dismiss Peter's objections. "Nice try, kid. Your asthma almost killed you. Let the Photon carry you. That's an order," he said, picking up the broken chest plate of his suit and ascending the ladder.
Peter reluctantly acquiesced. "Fine," he grumbled, "but no one tells MJ.”
Monica picked Peter up bridal-style and flew up the shaft, ensuring that he made it to the top safely.
Natasha leaned on Yelena and Kate for support as she hobbled toward the ladder.
"May I offer you a lift?" Wanda asked with a smirk, knowing that Nat would be hesitant to accept help from anyone.
"Do I look like Peter?" Nat replied sarcastically, trying to shrug off the offer.
Wanda's smirk turned into a concerned expression as she noticed the pain she was in. "No, but your leg looks pretty bad, and I have someone on the line who wants to speak with you," she explained, handing Nat her comms earpiece.
Nat begrudgingly grabbed it, knowing precisely who would be on the other end. She put it on and said, "Hi, Maria.”
Maria's voice echoed through the earpiece. "Natalia Alianovna Romanoff! I can see your leg on their body cameras. Let Wanda help you, or I swear to God, you are sleeping on the couch until it heals," she shouted in a stern tone.
Natasha let out a frustrated sigh, knowing that Maria was right. She reluctantly handed her earpiece back to Wanda and nodded in agreement.
"Have a nice conversation, did you?" Wanda teased, noticing the annoyed expression on Natasha's face.
"Shut up, and get me out of here," the Black Widow grumbled.
"Good choice," the redhead said with a smile as she used her magic to lift Natasha out of the shaft. She then turned her attention to Yelena and Kate and gestured for them to follow. "After you."
The last one to leave, Steve smiled broadly at Wanda, his dirt and blood-covered face unable to conceal his immense pride in her.
“Are you going to give me some big hero speech, Cap?” Wanda asked, half-joking.
"Maybe later," Steve replied with a sigh. "But for now, all I want to do is this." He wrapped his arms around Wanda, pulling her close. "Welcome back, Wanda," he said, his voice filled with warmth.
Night had descended upon Rome by the time the team finally boarded the Quinjet. Monica took control of the jet and put it on autopilot, allowing her and Wanda to attend to everyone's injuries. The mood was somber as they tended to the team.
"No more underground missions!" Sam declared loudly, wincing in pain as Wanda wrapped his shoulder. "I mean it. If we need to go underground, Fury can send in the incredible shrinking Scott or use Red Wing. I was chasing ghosts down there, and we still don't know what the hell was going on."
Monica tried to reassure him. "You were probably just hallucinating from a lack of oxygen," she said.
Ha! Probably!" Sam responded, his tone skeptical. "See, that's not exactly comforting. Steve, I need you to make sure this is included in the mission report. We can't afford to overlook any potential threats."
Looking around at the team, Steve agreed with Sam. "I think we could all use some rest first though," he suggested. "We can reconvene in the morning and go over everything in more detail.”
*^~^*
The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the coffee table. You had decided to sleep on the couch after Billy went back to bed, in case either of the boys woke up again. As you picked up the phone and saw Maria's name on the screen, your heart skipped a beat.
Anxious and nervous, you answered the call, "Maria? Have you heard anything?”
Maria's response brought tears to your eyes, "They're all safe. A bit bruised and battered, but alive. ETA is about 2 hours."
Relieved and grateful, you could feel a weight lifted off your chest. "Oh, thank God… and Wanda?"
"She was amazing, Y/N. You would’ve been so proud," Maria's voice was filled with admiration.
You couldn't help the tears that fell down your cheeks. You asked, "So, what happens now?" while looking around the corner to make sure Billy and Tommy were still asleep.
"Well, they'll have a short debrief when they get back and presumably a visit to the med bay. But I know Wanda will want to see you and the boys ASAP," Maria explained.
You nodded, even though she couldn't see you, "Okay," you said while running your hand through your hair and looking at the clock. "We'll be there."
"Good, see you in a bit, Y/N," Maria said.
"Bye, Maria," you replied before hanging up the phone.
As you were putting the couch back together, Billy and Tommy, still in their pajamas, walked into the kitchen. You greeted them with a warm smile and said, "Good morning, boys! I have some good news for you - your mom is on her way home."
Tommy's face lit up with delight as he exclaimed, "Yes!"
Billy looked at you with curiosity and asked, "When will she be here?"
You checked your watch and replied, "In a couple of hours. I was thinking we could all meet her at the compound. What do you think?"
Both boys nodded eagerly, thrilled at the prospect of seeing their mother again.
Then, you added, "Cool! So, I was thinking, would you like to help me make some brownies to bring as a welcome-home treat for everyone? It's a very special recipe from The Candy Bar."
You raised an eyebrow, waiting for their response. The boys looked at each other, then back at you, with wide grins on their faces. "Yes, please!" they exclaimed in unison.
As you stepped into the kitchen, you were struck by the state-of-the-art sound system that Tony had built into the house. You paired your phone with it and turned on your “Baking playlist” to set the mood for your baking session. Billy and Tommy sat at the kitchen island, eagerly awaiting their tasks. You laid out all the ingredients for your fudgy chocolate brownies on the sleek granite countertop, admiring how they gleamed under the overhead lights.
“Okay,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Tommy, you mix the dry ingredients, and Billy, you mix the wet ingredients.”
You couldn't help but grin as the boys rolled up their sleeves and got to work, their eyes fixed on the recipe book as they measured each ingredient with utmost care.
While the brownies were baking to perfection, you whipped up a decadent chocolate frosting that would add an extra layer of sweetness to the treat. The smooth, velvety texture of the frosting was the perfect complement to the chewy, chocolatey goodness of the brownies.
Once you finished frosting the brownies and placing them in the refrigerator, you checked the clock and said, "Okay, why don't you guys get showered and dressed? You want to look your best for your mom."
In perfect unison, they responded, "Okay." That's when Tommy suddenly zipped away and returned in a split second, ready to go.
"Whoa! That was fast," you said, impressed.
"I know, right? I have super speed, just like our Uncle Pietro!" Tommy proudly announced.
"Ah, your mom has told me a bit about him," you replied, nodding in understanding.
"Well, that's why I'm so awesome at sports!" Tommy exclaimed with a huge grin.
"Actually, that's not true," Billy interjected. "Mom doesn't want him to use his powers while playing."
"Ugh, don't listen to him. Sometimes I use them when she isn't looking," Tommy said, a mischievous look creeping across his face.
"What?! I'm going to tell Mom!" Billy shouted, looking outraged.
"You will not!" Tommy said, pushing his brother playfully.
"Hey, hey, hey!" You stepped between them, breaking up their squabble. "Billy, you can go get ready, and Tommy, how about you help me pack the brownies?"
"Fine," Billy grumbled.
"Okay," Tommy said with a nod.
*^~^*
As you entered the compound, you were informed that the team had already finished their debriefing and were receiving post-mission examinations and oxygen treatments in the med bay, as per Fury's orders. You and the boys patiently waited outside the medical facility, observing as doctors and nurses went in and out.
After what felt like an eternity, you finally caught a glimpse of Wanda. The sight of her filled you with joy, and you couldn't help but smile. Wanda was scanning the room before her eyes landed on you and the boys. The twins' excitement was palpable as they ran towards Wanda with unbridled enthusiasm.
Wanda hugged Billy and Tommy tightly, kissing the tops of their heads. You hung back, holding the Tupperware full of brownies, not wanting to impose on their family reunion.
“I missed you boys so much!” Wanda said, kneeling to hug them.
“We missed you too,” Tommy replied.
“Yeah,” Billy agreed, “but we had a great time with Y/N. She's so much fun, and we made brownies for everyone, see?” pointing back at you.
Wanda glanced back at you, and her eyes lit up with joy upon seeing you standing there. “Hello, my love. I missed you too," she said, pulling you into a warm embrace, and giving you a soft kiss on the lips, which made you blush.
“You brought everyone home,” you said, repeating the words you spoke to her before she left. “I knew you could do it,” you said, as you both tried to hold back tears in the middle of the med bay.
Lost in the moment, Tony's voice brought you back to reality. "Aww! Look at the lovebirds," he exclaimed. You saw Stark walking towards you, holding Pepper’s and Morgan’s hands. He looked a bit worse for wear than the last time you saw him, with a limp, butterfly stitches above his eyebrow, and a cut on his cheek.
You hugged all three of them. "Mmmm, what do we have here?" Tony asked. "Very nice! I don't remember you making brownies for me when I came home from a mission,” turning to his wife.
Pepper shot back, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm a little busy running your entire company. If you want brownies, make them yourself."
Natasha appeared next, being pushed in a wheelchair by Maria, followed by Yelena and Kate. Natasha's lower right leg was heavily bandaged, "Oh, Nat, are you okay?" you asked.
"I'm fine," she said, reassuringly smiling as you leaned down to embrace her. "This is all just precautionary."
Maria chimed in, "Right, that’s why Dr. Cho also gave us precautionary antibiotics," doing air quotes, and you couldn't help but laugh at her comment.
"My sister has always been stubborn," Yelena said as she and Kate joined the group. The blonde adjusted the brace on her wrist before hugging you and grabbing two brownies.
"Yeah, you should have seen her down there," Kate added. "It was like the Black Widow on steroids," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around you.
"What was that, Bishop?" Nat asked, giving Kate a suspicious look.
"Nothing," Kate responded nervously. "Would you like a brownie?"
"Mmhm, that's what I thought you said," Nat smirked as she took the brownie.
*^~^*
You joined the team for dinner but retired early to your room, wanting to give the group some space to decompress after a traumatic mission. While resting on your bed, a knock on your door caught your attention, and Wanda poked her head inside.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Were you sleeping?” she asked.
“No, just resting my eyes,” you replied as you sat up with a yawn.
Wanda joined you on the bed, giggling. “Yeah, that's how I usually feel at the end of the day with the boys, too.”
You wrapped your arms around her and kissed her cheek. “The boys were great. It was nice to spend more time with them.”
“They feel the same way, love. To quote them, Y/N is super cool,” Wanda smirked.
“Super cool. I should put that on my business card,” you joked.
“Seriously, Y/N. Thank you. I know two 11-year-old boys are a handful, and I put you in a challenging position, but it means so much to me that I can trust you.”
As soon as the word "trust" was uttered, memories of your parents' dubious actions over the remains of Sokovia and your conversation with Tony flooded your mind. The weight of the past seemed to take its toll on you, and your anxiety was on full display, which the redhead must have picked up on.
Wanda glanced at you with concern etched on her face. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice laced with tenderness and care.
You tried your best to put on a reassuring smile and push the nagging thoughts out of your mind. "I am now that you're home," you replied softly.
Taglist: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @bibliophilicbi @darkstar225
#guardian angel#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maxmoff x y/n#natasha romanoff#maria hill#darcy lewis#billy maximoff#tommy maximoff#tony stark#steve rogers#thor odinson#clint barton#kate bishop#yelena boleva#carol danvers#sam wilson#bucky barnes#monica rambeau#bruce banner#mcu#the avengers#fluff#angst with a happy ending
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
From Depths Unknown ; Part 5
Part 1 ⚜️ Part 2 ⚜️ Part 3 ⚜️ Part 4 ⚜️ Read on Ao3
Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.
Rating: E
Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Injury (including burns, broken bones and scars), child injury, alcohol consumption and baudy yet shanty tunes.
Chapter Summary:
It was over, but there was a trail of tragedies written in the dust on the road to get there. Everyday Tav wondered if her and her friends were going to join them.
Tav’s powers had sometimes been unpredictable in her childhood.
A zap on accident when someone touched her in passing, the boom of thunder knocking things off walls when she lost her temper or sometimes a rain cloud that soaked her and her little sister’s shared bedroom in a fit of teenage angst. Other than the occasional embarrassing magical slip up, she lived a pretty average life.
Her family’s pub and inn lay at the edge of the coast, right on the dock of a small village that only grew when wayward adventurers with nowhere else to go sought out a peaceful retirement. Tav’s mother was one of them. She fell in love with Tav’s father, grew tired of the constant trek and risking of her life. She settled down and ran an inn for weary travelers with him, relieving any wanderlust through the stories of her patrons.
If a story was good enough, Tatianna Caradine would provide a round of drinks on the house.
Her father was less of a wanderer, preferring the simplicity of his life and his work. He had watched his own father set off on too many adventures for months at a time, seen him come back with too many new scars and a haunted look in his eye. He built the inn for people like his father, who needed a safe place to lay their head on the road.
Tav loved the stories told at the pub. She would listen with stars in her eyes as sailors recounted the wonders at sea, and rangers gush about the mysticism in the wilds. Her and Lottie would act out their mother’s adventures for patrons and when her grandfather was still alive she’d sit on his lap as he regaled tale after tale to the gathered crowds.
When a ship of sailing adventurers docked at their humble town, they made it no further than the inn. The youngest recruit, encouraged by the wide eyed gaze of the innkeeper’s daughter, puffed out his chest over a mug of ale and a braggadocious claim that he and his crew bested a kraken. Tav had not understood the teasing of his crew mates, or the sarcastic rolls of their eyes. She was smitten, and naive. Tav was only fourteen, and while the sailor was very young, he was still old enough to drink and set off on his own.
Her father had insisted she was too young for him but Tav hardly cared. She fancied herself in love; he never looked at her like the innkeeper’s little daughter, he told her she would make a great adventurer — complimented her on her abilities instead of warning her to keep them in check.
They made a plan: he would sneak her onto the ship, she could hide as a stowaway until they were too far out to bring her back and she would be with him on his adventures.
Her mother caught her sneaking out of her shared room with Lottie after everyone went to sleep. Tatianna had let her climb out of the window, shuffle awkwardly down the side of the building and take a few steps before she revealed herself. Tav had been a maelstrom of emotions. She loved her jolly sailor and he loved her and they were going to see the world together — she was certain of it. Her mother simply stood by calmly, letting her child thrash and rage while she stood steadfast in her decision. Tav was too young to be setting off alone, let alone running away with some boy who she had known all of two days.
In a fit of hormonal rage, Tav’s powers slipped out of control. With little to no warning, lightning struck the inn and a fire broke out. Her mother had rushed in, screaming to wake up the patrons as she ran through the small hallways. At some point her father had woken, helping clear the building. And Tav just watched.
People ran out, coughing and hacking as the fire spread and smoke billowed out of the open windows and doors. At some point, a crowd had gathered from the village as well, people attempting to help and heal. More and more people filed out until there was a long stretch where no one else exited the building to safety. But neither her mother, father or her little sister had come out yet.
Tav was convinced she was dreaming. Any moment she would wake up, and be able to move her limbs again instead of standing frozen to the spot in shock and confusion. The heat from the burning wood made her sweat and the light of it blazing against the night sky hurt her eyes to look at, and the smoke that rose up into the air filled up her senses. Do something, anything, she told herself. Yet she couldn’t move.
Finally, her mother had stumbled out of the building with Lottie in her arms. She laid the little girl down and immediately ran back into the building, a few people following after her with warning screams that the building would not last much longer. Lottie looked like she was asleep, except she was covered in soot and her skin was charred and bubbled in spots. Her tiny leg was bent wrong, bright white bone showing through broken skin.
It took two people to carry her father out. Her mothers arms were red and angry, her father’s entire body was so badly burned that Tav felt sick at the smell of charred flesh that filled her nose when he was placed on the remains of the dock. He was unrecognizable.
Tatianna was permanently scarred, her forearms and hands taking the brunt of it but her neck had a sprawling mark where the flames had caught her clothes. She had destroyed the skin when lifting a burning beam of wood that had fallen on Lottie. It broke the little girl’s leg badly enough that it had to be amputated, and she would live the rest of her life with scars on the lower half of her body. Tav’s father succumbed to his wounds a few days after the fire.
The woman at the bottom of the stairs certainly looked a bit like Tav, and the teenager next to her could have easily passed for a younger version of his hero. As the older woman impatiently read a small letter in her hand, the young girl’s eyes seemed to take in the store with quiet wonder. Rolan made his way down, cautious and ready to send them away but somehow nervous. Historically, Rolan knew he wasn’t very good at first impressions and if this was Tav’s mother he didn’t want her to think he was an ass.
With his shoulders back, his chin up high, he greeted the two newcomers.
“I’m the master of this tower,” he said evenly, “I’m told you are looking for one of the ‘Saviors of the Gate.’”
“Tav,” the woman nodded her head once, “she goes by Tav. I’m her mother, I have proof.”
She handed him a letter. Addressed to Tatianna Caradine from one Tav C. The woman’s name matched the letter Tav had written just a day ago, now on its way to an empty home.
“I sent off a letter to you on Tav’s behalf just yesterday, Mrs. Caradine,” Rolan smiled a little. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“So she is here?” Tatianna asked urgently, grabbing his arm. “She’s alright?”
“Yes,” Rolan replied, not entirely sure what to do with the contact. “I saw her just yesterday, she’s fine.”
Tatianna looked close to tears. “Thank the Gods,” she breathed.
“Mama,” the young girl touched her shoulder, but the woman was trying to regain her composure.
“You must be Tav’s sister,” Rolan commented, trying to give Tatianna a moment.
“Yeah, I’m Lottie,” she said with a little smile.
“Rolan.”
“Are you really the master of this place?”
“I am,” he said.
“You’re younger than I thought an archmage would be,” Lottie tilted her head a little.
“Am I?” It was a dumb response, but it seemed better than admitting he was not quite qualified to be the owner of the tower.
“Unless you use magic to look younger,” she raised her eyebrows.
“I assure you I don’t,” he replied
“I don’t believe you.”
“Lottie, stop,” Tatianna waved her hand. “Where is she?”
“She should be out with her party working on rebuilding efforts,” he said. “They’re staying at the Elfsong Tavern. I could escort you there?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Please.”
The walk would have been awkward in its silence, but Tatianna had a steadfast focus on her task that made it less so. Lottie had a slight limp in her gait, which her mother seemed to naturally accommodate in her speed but Rolan had to adjust his long strided pace for.
“How did you get into the city?” Rolan finally asked. The gate had still been closed, only opening for supply deliveries and for refugees to leave if they wished.
“I have an old acquaintance here in the city,” Tatianna said cryptically. “They got us in.”
“They snuck us in. They were a Harper or something,” Lottie added.
“Lotaryne,” Tatianna scolded, the use of the girl’s full name making her clamp her mouth shut.
Rolan stifled a smile. “I'm sure there’s no harm done. The head of the Harper’s is one of Tav’s traveling companions.”
“Jaheira? The Jaheira?” Tatianna asked in disbelief.
“The very same.”
“So it’s true, what they’re saying?” Lottie asked him. “About mind flayers taking over?”
“Yes,” Rolan replied, “I’m sure the stories are wildly embezzled, but I saw it myself.”
There was a pause before Lottie said, “our Tav? saved the whole city?”
“The world, really,” Rolan corrected. “An Elderbrain with an army of that size would not have stopped with Baldur’s Gate.”
“So when do I get to go on an adventure to save the world ,” Lottie asked her mother.
“Never. I’m locking you in the pub until you die.” Tatianna said grouchily. “My nerves can’t take any more heroes for daughters, I’ve aged twenty years since I got your sister’s letter.”
“Rolan can you teach you a spell to hide your gray hairs,” Lottie joked.
Rolan snorted.
“Don’t laugh, wizard,” Tatianna snapped.
“Apologies, ma’am.”
By the time they made it to the Elfsong, most people in the city were either done with their work for the day or taking a break for a hot meal. As one of the few bars still standing, it was crowded, people spilling out into the streets with their food and drinks. Inside, he looked around to find the group. Their usual spot was in a mostly secluded corner at the end of the room, close enough for Lakrissa to join them and listen to Alfira’s performances. He heard Minsc’s voice over the din of the crowd, and spotted Halsin’s broad frame sitting next to —
“Tavryna!” Tatianna shouted, breaking off into the crowd with Lottie not far behind.
At first Rolan was a bit shocked. He had just learned Tav’s last name a day or so ago when he sent off her letter. It never occurred to him that ‘Tav’ was short for anything. But he brought up the rear, as Tatianna made her way through the crowd. Another loud yell of Tav’s full name had her looking up in bewilderment.
“Mama?”
After her father’s funeral, the pub had been rebuilt and Lottie had been fitted for a fine prosthetic leg that cost nearly everything they had left. Tatianna never outright said she was scared of Tav’s magic, but she made it very clear that it needed to be controlled. Wizards, sorcerers and any magically inclined patron was offered a free stay for a passing lesson or word of advice when it came to wielding magic like hers. There was talk of sending her to an academy in Silvrymoon that specifically taught sorcerers, but tuition and travel would have been more than they could ever afford.
So Tav took what meager advice and one time lessons she could get. She learned how it felt when her magic was clawing at the surface, how to live in the eye of the storm that raged inside of her instead of being swept away by it. She was never perfect at it, but above everything else she never wanted to hurt anyone with her powers again unless she meant to. That was enough drive for her to keep it under control until it was a second nature to her, until her magic was an extension of herself and not a constant force chewing at her insides to be let out.
Her mother never blamed her, which only made Tav more inclined to do whatever she could to make up for the fact she'd made her a widow. She couldn’t be her father but she could step in to help raise Lottie, and keep the pub running. Her life in the village was one of piteous stares and a constant need to show that she was helpful and not a threat, but that wasn’t what mattered. Her mother and sister were all that mattered: if it meant the rest of her life would be dedicated to atonement, then so be it.
Once she was sure of her ability to control her magic and old enough to feel comfortable on her own, Tav left their village at the behest of her mother. To see what was out there before she settled down to live and die in the same place she was born. Tav had been away for two months when she got kidnapped in Baldur’s Gate by mind flayers. By the time she saved the city it had been nearly a year since she saw her mother and sister.
—
Tav was almost sure it was a trick. Maybe the tadpole wasn’t gone, and the Emperor was hiding in the corners of her mind and wanted revenge. But her mother was there in front of her, coming around the table and pulling her out of her seat.
“I could throttle you,” Tatianna said fiercely. “A note and some gold coins? ‘If I don’t make it home, please know I love you both’ — what kind of message is that!
“I wanted to —“ Tav was cut off by seeing her sister come up, followed by Rolan. Lottie was at least an inch taller than when she left home.
She was overcome with emotion. The last thing she expected was her mother to follow her to Baldur’s Gate. Tav wrapped her arms around her, and Tatianna kissed her hair before holding her like she thought Tav may slip away forever. The only time she broke away was to grab her little sister and hug her as well, nearly knocking her off balance. She looked to Rolan quizzically over their shoulders.
“They showed up on my doorstep asking for the Savior of the Gate,” he smiled.
“Oh gods, you know about that?”
“I don’t know nearly enough,” Tatianna hissed. “Explain. Now.”
Tav took the time to introduce her friends to her family, and with their help explained the last handful of months. Her mother looked horrified the entire time, and Lottie was on the edge of her seat. By the end of it, Tatianna had requested someone grab her a large glass of whiskey.
“Tav was leading you this entire time?” Lottie piped up disbelieving. “How are you all not dead?”
“Excuse you,” Tav balked. “You are so rude!”
“It’s an honest question!”
“You’ve been here for five minutes! It only took you five minutes to be a little shit!” Tav said. “I literally saved the world, you know, you could be nicer to me.”
“It’s been way longer than five minutes, first of all,” Lottie said, “and second, I still don’t understand how the world didn’t end.”
“You’re such a —,” Tav retorted.
“Girls! Please!” Tatianna broke it up immediately.
Despite the flash of irritation, it was such a mundane interaction that Tav realized how much she had missed them. There was never any time to linger on it, if she did she probably would have crumbled under the weight of it. It was the only way to survive, putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to wonder if their shared hug when she left to go on a small tour of Faerûn was going to be the last time she ever saw them. But they were there now, and for the first time Tav saw her mother starstruck when she introduced her to Jaheira and Minsc.
At the end of the night, after most of her friends had gone up to the suite and the tieflings all left for the night, the Elfsong was quiet. Even Alan was in the back with his remaining crew to clean up and prepare for the next day. Lottie had fallen asleep, face pressed into her folded arms on the table as Tav rubbed her back absently while she talked to her mother.
“I’m sorry I didn’t write earlier,” Tav said. “I had no idea where we were, all the towns in every direction were razed to the ground. The moment we made it to Rivington I headed to the post.”
“One of your wizard friends needs to teach you Sending,” Tatianna said. “It was invaluable in my adventures.”
“I’ll ask one of them,” she smiled.
There was a quiet moment, filled only by dishes being moved and cleaned in the other room. It was strangely nostalgic. There were countless nights they had all three done the same back home after all the patrons left or went to their rooms. It was the same and yet she was so far from her home.
“Darling,“ Tatianna touched the side of her face. “I am so proud of you.
Tav shrugged, looking to the back of Lottie’s head to avoid eye contact. “All of this — there was no choice. I had to do it.”
“There was a choice,” Tatianna gently turned her head to meet her eyes. “There were hundreds of choices on the road to where you are now. And you did it. Nothing I taught you could have prepared you for this.”
Tav suddenly felt her emotions bubble up to the surface. What praise was she deserving of? She had taken more lives than she could count at that point, met new people and watched them die within weeks, and she had failed to make good on her promises to so many others. To top it all off, every step of this journey had been a struggle. The entire time she was certain she would fail at any moment.
“Mama,” she choked. “I was so scared.”
In the Shadowcursed Lands she felt like a little girl hiding from monsters under her bed. In the Bhaalist Temple, seeing Yenna suspended over an altar of blood, for a moment she had felt like the same teenager who stood frozen in shock while her little sister lay broken on the ground. The burnt bodies on the beach when she emerged from the nautiloid, finding Arabella’s parents dead in the House of Healing, the caravan of tieflings leaving a trail of bodies to the Last Light Inn, Karlach and Wyll jumping through a portal to the hells –
It was over, but there was a trail of tragedies written in the dust on the road to get there. Everyday Tav wondered if her and her friends were going to join them.
Tatianna’s eyes welled up and all she did was pull Tav into her chest, kissing the top of her head. Tav cried, clawing at the worn cloth of her mother’s traveling coat in one hand. Her hand steady on her little sister’s back with the other. It didn’t matter if the setting of an empty pub at night with her family was familiar. It didn’t even matter if Tav went back home or not, she was never going to be the same person she was when she left.
She’s never had a moment to mourn her.
Tatianna and Lottie stayed for a while. Alan needed the help at the Elfsong with so many new patrons and hungry displaced families to feed. The two easily managed to fall into step with the hectic pace. In fact, Tatianna’s sharp smiles and ability to bully even the most belligerent patrons into submission was an entertainment Rolan hardly expected. Alan would not allow someone as young as Lottie to serve drinks regardless if that was what they allowed back at their own establishment but she was more than happy to pester Chef Roveer in the back and run out food orders.
Very slowly, Baldur’s Gate was beginning to be a city again. Commerce was slow to start, but it was happening, and Rolan could start running Sorcerer’s Sundries as a shop rather than a triage center. There was still a lot to be done, sometimes he felt the work would never cease, but at the very least they had a small bit of time for their own personal lives again.
As usual, Rolan got no chance to speak to Tav alone. He had even invited Lottie and Tatianna to come have a tour of the tower, in an attempt to get even a minute with her. At some point, Cal’s excitement to show their new home encouraged Lottie and the two ran off to see the tower’s defense mechanisms. Tav followed after them, not fully convinced the two wouldn’t set the cannon off.
It left Rolan alone with Tatianna.
“My brother is… excitable,” Rolan said in an apology.
“Lottie’s never seen anywhere but the village she grew up in,” Tatianna said with a fond smile. “I know she’ll appreciate getting to see some wonders.” After a moment, she looked at him, “be a good host and offer me some tea.”
“Apologies, I’m still — “ he started an explanation. He’d never had the means to be a host to anyone. He was still getting used to it. “Would you like some tea, Mrs. Caradine?”
“Yes,” she said gratefully. “But you don’t have to call me Mrs. Caradine. Tatianna is more than fine.”
They made their way to the kitchen, and Rolan prepared them both tea. Tatianna was good at making conversation, so even Rolan’s awkwardness did not put her off. To his surprise, it was never forced or uncomfortable, and despite his nerves each conversation went better than he could have hoped for. She asked questions if it ever got too quiet, mostly about the tower, the progress in rebuilding the city. At the mention of Jaheira and the newly elected Duchess Florrick, Tatianna scoffed.
“Florrick is the one we met just yesterday? The one who invited us to a coronation ball?”
“Yes,” Rolan nodded. “She’ll do well, I think. Duke Ravenguard was a staple in the city, but his kidnapping by the cultists has the people doubting his strength. Florrick has been involved in stamping it out since the beginning and has been investing in the lower city. Not to mention her close relationship to the ‘Saviors of the Gate’,” he rolled his eyes fondly, “if anyone could take his place, it’ll be her.”
“I have little interest in politics, so I'll take your word for it,” she scrunched up her nose. “I'm just wrapping my head around my girl being invited to coronation balls, and hanging around with archmages.” She shook her head, “I watch her and she’s … well, she’s very good at all of this.”
“Infuriatingly good, in fact,” Rolan smiled a little.
“She says you weren’t her biggest fan at first,” Tatianna smiled behind a cup of tea. “What about my daughter did you find wanting?”
Shit. “Erm - nothing,” he swallowed down some tea for time to think. “Quite the opposite, she was seemingly perfect in every way imaginable.”
“How annoying of her,” Tatianna quipped.
“You have no idea,” Rolan chuckled. “She convinced my siblings and I to stay and fight with our caravan from Elturel when we were faced with Goblin hordes. Cal and Lia got into some trouble on the road and I… didn’t handle it well, blamed Tav even – but,” he cleared his throat roughly, “I would have neither them nor this tower if it weren’t for her. She is… a very dear friend to me.”
Tatianna narrowed her eyes at him, and he dreaded what she was thinking. He had to be even redder, and his whole body tensed up. He wondered if Tav had told her mother about all of their encounters: the selfish cowardly instinct to leave the caravan behind, the drunken raging at her expense in the Last Light Inn or the way he had so rudely stood her up when she asked him to join her for a drink the first time. Tav was a special kind of genuinely kind to have seen past all of that herself, there was no way he would be lucky enough to overcome that bad of an impression on her mother.
“Were you an archmage in Elturel?”
“No, I was self-taught. The former master of this tower took me on as an apprentice.”
“And he retired?”
“Not willingly,” Rolan shifted uncomfortably. “He was after one of Tav’s friends. An aasimar. He was trying to capture her to siphon off her immortality. Tav and her friends stepped in.”
Tatianna blinked at him a couple times. “Well,” she said with eyebrows raised, “congratulations on your promotion.”
“Thank you.” After a long silence stretched out and Rolan began to feel restless, he asked, “how far is your village from here?”
“It takes about three weeks to get back and forth on the road,” she informed him.
Rolan felt his stomach drop. “When Tav is ready to go back I’m sure we can arrange a portal for you all.”
“What makes you think she wants to go back?” Tatianna questioned.
“She’s said as much,” Rolan told her. She was drunk. She was beside herself. But she has said that was where she was meant to be.
“My Tavryna?”
“The very same.”
Tatianna took a sip of tea. “She doesn’t want to go back.”
Rolan had no response to it. Tatianna was , as he was learning, somehow more willful than Tav.
“I convinced her to go see the world a little, it’s what she always wanted. And I know this isn’t what I had in mind,” she laughed, “but it’s not hard to see that she wanted an out.”
“Perhaps being on the road has changed her mind.”
“No,” Tatianna shook her head. “It hasn’t. Any commitment she had for our home was only out of obligation. When her father died, she felt responsible. Tav has lived her entire life like she owes us something.”
Rolan rolled that over in his mind. It explained a lot about Tav. Her instinct to jump up and offer services for little to nothing in return, the pressure she put on herself to stretch as far as possible to accommodate and save people. Like everything he felt for Lia and Cal but exacerbated to the point of insanity, extending to everyone she met.
“I can understand the impulse,” he said. “Everything I’ve done has been for my family.”
“It’s more than that,” Tatianna seemed to be working something out, piecing things together. “It’s not just about loyalty and family. It’s about atonement.”
“What could she have to atone for to her family?”
Tatianna seemed unsure if she should speak. “Tav’s powers were sometimes… wild. It’s my fault really. I came in contact with a very old, very tricky elemental during one of my adventures. I went from no magical abilities besides very shotty summoning of familiars to having it at my fingertips, not very strongly, mind you. But it was there.” She shook her head, “after Tav was born it was just gone. And then one day little rain clouds used to form over her bassinet when she would cry. If a doorknob was too high for her to reach she’d pound on the door and it would feel like thunder was shaking the whole building —“ she broke off into a half laugh. “But as she grew older… well, it grew more powerful. There was an accident, and her father didn’t make it.”
Rolan felt the frown forming on his face.
“All of this is to say,” She fixed him with a stern look, “I don’t know what’s between you two, she won’t say what it is. But I need someone besides me to tell her that if she wants to stay here, she can, and we will be fine if she does.”
Rolan was clinging to the spark of hope that Tav may have wanted to stay until her family showed up. The last time she spoke of them she seemed so desperate to get back home, but now her own mother was looking him in the eye and giving him something to hold onto. She may just want to stay.
“I see where she gets her meddlesome tendencies,” he said.
“I run a pub,” she smirked, “everyone’s business is my business.”
Cal and Lottie were getting along so well, Tav found herself hard pressed to end the tour of the tower. She knew Alan would need Lottie and her mother’s help for the night shift, but the excitement on her little sister’s face was hard to deny. Cal kept pointing out the few highlights of the city that were still standing, sharing what little tidbits of Baldur’s Gate he had discovered.
Finally Rolan and her mother appeared. The sun was coming down and it was time for the dinner rush at the Elfsong. It was routine now for everyone to gather there, and Rolan needed help shutting down the tower for the night before they joined them.
Tav had been feeling a familiar sense of guilt and uncertainty. Each day the city was in better shape, at some point the recovery efforts would no longer need her. It was strange, being the city’s hero, but a part of her felt like the new beginning of the city could also be her own. However, Halsin started planning the trek towards Reithwin with Shadowheart, Gale was coming closer to find the Netherese Crown to return to Mystra so he and Astarion could head back to Waterdeep — Tav was beginning to realize that she had a choice to make.
She could stay. She could even go with any of them if she wanted. She had enough friends now to start a life wherever. But her mother and sister working at the Elfsong to help out Alan was a reminder of what she took from them. Suddenly she felt like she needed some air.
Excusing herself, she made her way out of the bar, ready to take a stroll just around the block so she wouldn’t be missed. Just enough to clear her head so she wasn’t bad company. As she left the door, Cal, Lia and Rolan were arriving for the night.
“Where are you off to?” Lia asked.
“Need some air,” Tav said. “It's as loud as ever tonight.”
“I’ll join you,” Rolan offered quickly.
“Okay,” Tav breathed. She had wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but she found herself very amenable to his company.
“Lottie’s meat pies go quick, I’m not missing out today, I’m starving,” Cal went past them.
“I have to make sure he doesn’t eat away our new fortune,” Lia smiled, but it was a little too mischievous for Tav to feel like she was telling the whole truth. “Enjoy your moonlit stroll!”
“Are you alright?” Rolan asked as they began their slow walk.
“Fine,” Tav said. “Just thinking too much.”
It was companionable, the quiet between them. The streets were still riddled with potholes made by nautiloid blasts in some places, rubble still pushed aside to be repurposed, but the bones of the city were still there. Kids played in the streets after their meal, anyone not at a pub could be seen gathered in front of broken homes. Despite all the carnage, people were getting along, helping each other out and nourishing what was left of their communities.
“Cal and Lottie have become quick friends,” Rolan said, a playful smile on his lips.
“Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Tav smiled back. “They nearly set off the defense canons today.”
“We should maybe hire a nanny.”
“Even with the tower’s impressive coffers, I doubt we could pay someone enough for that job.”
Rolan laughed. “As if you’re one to talk, I recall you and Astarion breaking into a highly dangerous vault in the tower.”
“Ugh, my hair smelt for weeks after that one.”
They stopped at a spot Tav had found. Mostly secluded between the graveyard and a set of stone steps going towards another block of currently abandoned shops. At the landing was a stone bench, and from that spot you could see the docks, full of ships with supplies for the rebuilding efforts.
After a while, Rolan pulled out his spellbook.
“Am I that boring? You’re going to study?”
“Boring is far from the word,” he snorted. He fiddled with the book for a moment and then held out his hand.
Her necklace was nestled safely there.
It’s not as if she had forgotten it. Many times her fingers would come to her chest, seeking its familiar presence as a comfort. She had been actively avoiding asking for it back; saving it as an excuse to drop by the tower, or to get any moment with him. Even after the fall of the Absolute she had been so busy, and he had been around so often she was keeping it in his possession as a last resort.
“You kept it with your spellbook?”
Tav was no wizard, but she saw the way Gale protected his own spellbook. He didn’t need it very often, but he always had it tucked away safely. Even Minsc had mentioned the importance of Grimoire’s to wychlarans.
“Safest place I could think of,” he said bashfully, avoiding her gaze. “Except maybe the vaults but it seemed better to have it where I could see it.”
“Thank you.” She reached out to take it, but bit her lip in reconsideration and asked, “help me put it on?”
Rolan’s eyes met hers, and he licked his lips. “Must I do everything for you?” He teased slightly.
“I know. I ask so much of you,” she smiled back.
“Turn around,” he rolled his eyes.
Stifling a giddy little giggle that was not becoming of a battle tested hero, Tav turned. She felt his warmth at her back before she saw his hands come around to wrap the chain around her neck. His fingers were deft, the practiced hands of spellwork, so it didn’t take long but she felt him trace a finger down the nape of her neck, nails scratching gently leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“There, happy now?”
“I am,” she turned abruptly. “Thank you for keeping it safe. I don’t think I would have been able to dive for it in the Chionthar. Mama will be happy to know it’s safe.”
“Your mother had mentioned his passing,” Rolan said gently. “I understand its significance to you now. Almost enough to justify your diving into undead infested waters to find it.”
He was teasing but her stomach turned over uncomfortably. “What did she tell you about it?” She asked quickly, “why would she even mention that?”
Rolan seemed a little taken aback by the shift. “She mentioned an accident. Tav?”
Tav had turned away from him. She felt herself closing off. The only other person in her new life that had known was Gale. He had been thrown on accident by a thunder wave spell, and after making a not unwarranted comment about her aim when she was fussing over him the tadpole connection had spilled her secret. To her surprise, Gale had been incredibly understanding, and when she unintentionally started to cry at his kindness, had offered to help her hone her power — from that moment on he had been one of her closest friends in decades.
But they had the tadpoles, he wasn’t just told of her life’s greatest mistake, he had experienced it as if it was his own. The same way she had experienced his folly with the Netherese Weave in order to appease Mystra. It was different than just telling someone and expecting them to still see her as more than a stupid girl who couldn’t control her own magic. A girl whose stupidity had been dangerous and fatal.
“I was young and stupid,” she explained shortly. “I lost control.” She bit the inside of her cheek, letting the pain anchor her, “lightning struck the inn and a fire started, Mama was scarred for life, Lottie almost didn’t make it — lost her leg — and my papa.” She shook her head, “she’s never forgiven me. I know it. Why else would she tell you about —“
Tav huffed a breath. Her chest felt too tight, her mind reeled as to why her mother would expose her to this kind of judgment. Especially to him, who Tav so fondly spoke about and admitted her feelings for. If she couldn’t tell her mother about them, who could she tell?
“I won’t pretend to know your mother well,” he said thoughtfully, “but nothing about what she said felt like blame, Tav. It was an accident.”
All anger seemed to rush out of her. It was complicated, as always. Tav was never sure whether her mother’s resentment was real or imagined. Sometimes she thought it was a projection of her own shame, a lack of understanding why her mother didn’t blame her for it. By all accounts, Tav deserved it. Someone had to hold her accountable for what she’d done, even if it was just herself.
“It’s not how I wanted you to find out,” Tav said simply, playing with the necklace. “I can save the world but I can’t take that moment back.”
Rolan was quiet for a while. Tav thought bitterly that she could have seen this coming. Everyone’s hero had their failings, had a reality to them that made them disappointing somehow. She thought the night on the roof of the Elfsong would have been hers, at least for him. Yet he never treated her any differently. This revelation might just have been the last straw.
She felt his warmth at her shoulder almost touching but not quite, he was facing the view in front of them. Only risking looking at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw the familiar pull of his face into a deep frown.
“My father hit my mother,” Rolan spoke evenly, almost thoughtfully. “More often than not, it was because she took the blame for something I did.”
“Rolan, you don’t have to —“ she started.
“After she died, he turned his anger on to me,” Rolan continued on. “I was never strong enough to fight back, not until I used magic. One day I walked out, showed up on Cal and Lia’s doorstep and just never left. Their mum — our mum was everything to me. When she passed I promised I’d take care of them, it was the least I could do, after all she’d done for me.”
Tav swallowed past a lump in her throat. “And you have. You’ve done so well – .”
“Sometimes when I lash out,” he started quickly, “like I did back at Last Light, I feel like I’m no better than him. I look at myself in the mirror and sometimes I see him.”
“You aren’t him,” she insisted, “you aren’t, Rolan.”
“Even now you offer me comfort, despite having laid bare your worst shame,” Rolan took a deep breath. “I’m only telling you this because you saw the worst possible version of me in that moment and thought me worth saving, worth helping.” Cautiously, he met her eye, unwavering in the truthfulness of his gaze. “There is nothing that would change how I see you. Not the Savior of the Gate. You.”
There was nothing for her to say to that. The lump in her throat threatened to crack any sound she tried to make. She had spent so much time crying in the wake of the battle, she felt spent of tears, despite how moved she was. Too much heaviness in the air, she felt the usual need to break the tension.
She bumped him with her shoulder, but didn’t move to recreate the distance that kept them from touching. “You’re maddeningly sweet sometimes, you know that?”
“Don’t tell anyone,” his smile was evident in his voice, “I’ve a reputation to uphold.”
When she looked at him, he was smiling at her. This was it. She could feel it. The electric tension that always stood between them could crest at any moment. Not like her magic, but its own special spark that she only ever seemed to feel with him. He was leaning down, tilting his head, and she could just lift her face up and meet him. He whispered her name, and she swallowed hard, her mouth dry and her whole body thrumming with heat.
“The wind won’t move, without the Bitch Queen’s will!”
The sound of drunken singing snapped them out of the moment. Both of their bodies turned toward the sound, jumping and readying for an attack. Coming up the steps was a pair of people, a tall half-orc and a human, arm in arm as they staggered up the steps, singing in unison.
“We’ll wait gladly, years and days, til the Bitch Queen brings the waves!”
“Hey! Ho! She told us so!” The human sang.
“Hey!” The half-orc yelled, catching sight of the two of them. “Didn’t know our spot had been found out!”
“Oops,” the human hiccuped.
Rolan let out a scoff, and Tav sighed at the realization that they were not being ambushed. There was no threat but she felt the adrenaline dump take hold.
“Wait,” the half-orc wobbled closer, “I know you,” he pointed at Tav. “They drew you taller in the Gazette.”
“Ah,” Tav shifted awkwardly, “did they?”
The Human peered with barely open eyes, as if seeing them for the first time, “you’re the Savior of the Gate!” He gestured widely, “and you’re that new wizard what lives up in the tower.”
“Indeed,” Rolan said stiffly.
“We bow to your greatness,” the half-orc laughed, nearly falling over in an exaggerated bow.
Tav couldn’t help but laugh with him, “no bowing necessary. Please, take your spot, we were just leaving.” She pushed at Rolan, “and keep singing! It's one of my favorites!”
“Hey! Ho! She told us so!” The pair of drunks screamed, rather than sang as she ushered Rolan away.
Half-giddy due to the adrenaline and amusement she felt at their collective jumpiness, Tav was laughing the entire way back to the Elfsong, singing the Bitch Queen’s shanty the entire way. The moment had passed, but she had grabbed his hand in hers to hold on the walk back. Eventually she made Rolan begrudgingly laugh by intensifying the drama in her performance of the song, swinging his arm widely back and forth.
“You enjoyed that attention entirely too much.”
“No,” she grinned, “I enjoyed the shade of scarlet you turned when you thought we had been caught.”
“I do not turn scarlet, I am scarlet,” he protested.
“You're more a crimson,” Tav said, “you turn scarlet when you blush.”
“I think I know the shade of red of my own skin, thank you. And the Master of Ramazith’s Tower does not blush.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Master Rolan.”
If possible he turned even more scarlet than before.
Thank you for reading!
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
TCW gave me just a HINT of what Ahsoka and Maul could be, if they were allowed to simply annoy the shit out of each other. TDYK is just that. Just more of that. Also, Obi-Wan is there.
Ahsoka doesn't even pretend to get whatever's going on between Ben and Maul, but since there hasn't been any attempted murder just yet, she's trying to be supportive
alas, living up to the family legacy, she is incapable of being supportive without also being kind of an asshole
#fic art#Darth Maul#Maul#Ahsoka Tano#Ahsoka#Obi-Wan#Obi-Wan Kenobi#The Devil You Know#obimaul#still alive and working on the new chapter#slowly but surely
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
I think I cried harder today over my dad's jackets than I did at his deathbed. That was a miserable time of course, a memory that will likely be seared into my brain until I die, but I cried... I think a normal amount, all things considered. More than I ever usually do of course, but I typically don't cry At All. All this free crying is certainly surreal.
The jackets, though. I was put in charge of doing his laundry, because we don't want to pack up dirty clothes. I was expecting it to be unpleasant bc my dad's dirty clothes - gross. But really, it was much more unpleasant in that... those were his. It felt wrong to touch them. Felt wrong to treat his jackets as gross. Because they were just his jackets. They weren't even in the hamper. And then I was remembering him wearing them, and then I was crying. Again. And again. Weeping over these damn jackets.
Then I found a shirt on his bed that still smelled like him. It smelled like a Hug From Dad. And that set me off crying even harder.
In total, I think I cried like 6 times within 40 minutes. It took me that long to finish sorting the damn clothes bc I just. Was a wreck. Like, what are you supposed to do when you're living life like normal, vaguely hopeful bc you're taking steps to secure your own happiness, and then 4 days later you're sorting your dad's laundry because he fucking died. Suddenly. Without a goodbye.
And you have to worry about his lack of a will (even under an ideal situation, only 2 heirs and no conflicts between us, probate's a fucking Bitch), and arranging the funeral, and prepping his obituary, and picking out pictures, and writing a speech bc you want to talk at his funeral, of Course you want to talk at his funeral, but even just thinking about anecdotes you could share has you crying yet again.
I've cried more times in the past 3 days than likely the entirety of last YEAR. And that's WITH my cat, and uncle, and family friend dying. Those all hurt, my uncle most of all, & I was real fucked up over it. But this? This was my Dad. Likely the person I'd have named 2nd closest to me in my life, second only to my sister. He wasn't perfect, but he did so much for me throughout my entire life. All he wanted was to raise us to be happy and independent. And he accomplished it, we're getting by without him, but we still wanted several more decades with him. He was only 57. We should've gotten several more decades with him.
But here we are now. Playing investigators to his life, digging into all his shit, trying to find documents and take inventory of all his things, and learning Many things about him in the process. In his lockbox of sensitive documents, like his SSN and birth certificate and all that stuff, we found an old letter. About a decade old now, written in my hand. Right at the very top, we found that he'd kept the letter I wrote to him telling him frankly about my struggles and the things I wanted him to do better. He kept it. He tried to take it to heart. He looked at it again, sometime more recently than all the rest of the documents. That was on top.
His love for us is evident everywhere. The pictures he has hanging up all over the place, majority of them with us in them. The old fathers day cards placed on display in his bedroom bookshelf. The gifts we gave him, even stupid little knick knacks, placed around his apartment with pride. I wish we'd taken more videos of him. I don't want to forget the sound of his voice. I don't want to forget his smell either, the smell of a Hug From Dad, but I still tossed that shirt into the wash even though it felt like saying yet another goodbye.
It's the suddenness that hurts the most, I think. We were planning on having him help me finally get my license this year. My final words to him, the last thing he would've seen from me, were messages asking up on whether he'd called his car insurance company to make sure there wouldn't be problems. I should've called him more. I don't know if I'm going to learn from this.
I cut my 2 weeks off early to have time to grieve and to work on things for the funeral and settling the estate. The last thing I'd wanna do right now is selling fucking bubble tea in a job I already decided to leave. So here I am without a job, though with potentially two life insurance policy payouts to come. Inheriting half his 401k. Inheriting couches, knickknacks, keepsakes, paintings, art pieces, maybe even his guitar and other furniture if we can figure out what to do about space (I don't have room for this furniture, I don't know if I even have room for the couches, but God do I want to keep so much of this furniture). It has me even considering keeping one of his guns, just one. A tiny little revolver, it sits so comfortably in my hand. I don't even want to use it for anything. I just want to have it, keep it stored in a drawer with its ammo kept separate. I don't like guns, but this is a part of him. He loved collecting guns. He was about as responsible with them as someone can be, keeping them locked in a lockbox and impressing upon his children the importance of gun safety (I've known the basic gun safety rules ever since I was a little kid. Of course, of course, of course.) It reminds me of him. It's horrifically easy to have a gun in Indiana. I apparently don't even need a permit to carry anymore. (I have no intention to ever carry this in public.)
It's all a cycle. Business, grief, thoughts about my future. Round and round, like the most nauseating carousel in existence. I don't know how I'm still so functional. My skills with compartmentalization have been my lifesaver.
And im just thinking about the story my dad's best friend shared today. About a friend of theirs who lost her father. She reached out after hearing about my dad to share his words with her: "it's okay to grieve, but don't make his death your life".
He explicitly referenced himself in this, saying if he were to die suddenly that he wouldn't want us to define ourselves by it. Grief is expected, but he wants us to be able to move on. He's always wanted us to establish ourselves and make ourselves happy. He wouldn't want to be a weight holding us back from that.
So every time I start to feel guilty for thinking about having nicer furniture or using his life insurance payout to fund the rest of my college, I remind myself of that. Thinking about the material isn't a bad thing. I'm only human. And in the end, he'd Want me to be thinking about it. He never intended to die, certainly not without warning like this, so he would've only encouraged me being pragmatic about it all.
He only ever wanted us to be happy. So I need to do what I can to live up to that.
I love him. I miss him already.
#speculation nation#negative/#this got really long on accident. but i think typing this out was really helpful for me.#getting the thoughts out. processing. the works.#nearly cried several times just from writing this.#...and honestly i might reference this again when i start seriously writing my eulogy.#things suck a Lot right now. and i really wish they were different.#feels like i picked a bad choice in a video game and am now seeing the Bad Ending or whatever#all i need to do is reload a previous save. it's all still there. perfectly preserved in my memories.#but... that's all gone. as suddenly and unfair as it is ive been thrust into a new chapter of my life so thoroughly.#it's not all bad though. he wasnt prepared for dying so it's been hell to prepare for him#we dont know if we'll even be able to get into his fucking iphone. stupid piece of shit.#but he had life insurance. he had a union job. and That comes with benefits#(something about a year's salary going to the family. aka half a year's salary to Me. and isnt That mind boggling.)#as much as it hurts im going to be realistic about it. im going to do what i need to finish my education.#and im going to use it as a springboard for finally becoming a 'proper adult'.#the kind who could own a nice kitchen fridge. one with an ice machine on the front of the door#and freezers in the drawers.#maybe then i could think about getting motorcyle lessons. not from my dad as i originally wanted#but i wanna keep the family biker spirit alive. i wanted it even before he died. and now i want it even more.#ive had so so many thoughts. it's only been 3 days. ive had to emotionally numb myself several times just to Get Through It.#everything is exacerbated. my mom wants to go to the funeral. we will have to fight her on this. my dad Hated her.#and i certainly dont fucking want her around either. not then. not when im talking about my dad.#(my dad. my Dad. i saw him die. i felt him cold. i do not regret it. it still hurts me.)#it's overwhelming. i loved him so fucking much. even with his flaws he was truly an amazing father.#i'll... shut up now. if you read this far. well. hug your loved ones a little tighter. you never know when youll lose them.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
tired girl hours i’m just ranting bcos i don’t have enough time to cry
#tw rant#studying med is no joke. ik it was gonna be a commitment n that it wasnt gonna be easy n i thought i was prepared but im not#its my passion. i love what im studying and ive dedicated myself to this path but i just. its so hard n i just want to cry. everyday feels#so tiring. morning to night classes. when i get home i have to read 4 chapters MINIMUM n the books are so thick + exams almost everyday#i feel worse knowing there’s this 1 girl in my friend group that cant decide whether she likes me or not. one moment shes complimenting me#n asking where i get my outfits or my nails done or my earrings or whatever then praising me that i probably study the least out of everyone#yet still reach high student rankings but its not that im lazy im just so exhausted n its hard to have motivation... lowkey envy how my#friends study minimum 4 hours a day. we’re all tired n sleep deprived. even taking 30mins to eat makes me feel guilty. cant even watch 1 ep#of an anime bcos ill be thinking about the amount of work to do. and i have sm plans. i wanna be more active and have a healthier lifestyle#but i cant find it in me to wake up every 5am to go to the gym when i just wanna get as much sleep when im lucky to finish my studies today#i also dont see my bestest friends everyday anymore. some of us move to diff unis or some in diff majors. i just miss them so bad it hurts#and i miss the girl i used to be when i still had time and energy to indulge in my hobbies. i miss playing genshin and writing fics#just when i got back to writing and enjoyed it LOVED IT i had to go back to uni. i feel terribly lonely even when im always with people#im afraid ill completely lose grasp of the little things that make me happy bcos the weight of my responsibilities are heavier#im afraid ill be too focused on success again like i was when i was 17 and forget that its okay to relax too but idk#and i wanna meet more people make more friends have new experiences. i wanna feel alive again. and theres sm i wanna talk to or get to know#but im so afraid of people hurting me or disappointing me or people getting to know me only for the friendships to fail or we’ll dislike eac#h other. i wanna date and fall in love again and experience the romance my peers have. i wanna have someone to call my own person but the fe#ar of having someone only to lose them someday scares the hell outta me. im not ready for another heartbreak so i isolate myself and watch#people from afar. uni gives me sm freedom to do everything else and form my own identity but i dont wanna be Perceived. I wanna be heard and#seen n connect with people. but w my curreny state idt i can handle being vulnerable with others. it feels so lonely that the things i want#are out of my rrach but idt i can manage my time to meet new people and make new memories. i console myself by shopping a lot and going to#spas to relax yet i still find it hard to sleep. im afraid im wasting my time. im not as brave as i used to be. im not as efficient as i was#i get older and more tired and while i never questioned if studying med was the path i want i do question what will happen next#“is this all im ever going to be?” im good at what i do but day by day i lose sight of tje girl who knew how to laugh n smile. ik what makes#me happy but i rarely smile genuinely anymore. im so tired and want to sleep for a long time but i dont wanna fail. i dont wanna be NOT good#but it makes me cry when i know i can do many great things but i dont feel loved. people compliment me but dont approach me bcos they say im#intimidating or that im too quiet in class. i wish i could tell them i wanna join their parties too or i wanna meet their friends n hangout#but what if it doesnt work out? what if i wasted my time getting to know someone id eventually regret? what if im the disappointing one?#the days are getting shorter but it always feels like a long day. im ashamed to admit i want someone to hold me yet refuse to have anyone
19 notes
·
View notes
Note
Has Aspen watched Wolfwalkers before? I think he would absolutely love that movie :)
YESSSS YES YES ASPEN FUCKING LOVESSSSSS THAT MOVIEEE
AND SO DO I!!!!!!! like i’ve never seen that movie before but i’ve wanted to watch it for a long time and this ask FINALLY made me watch it and oh my god HOLY SHIT IT’S ONE OF MY FAVORITE MOVIES NOW. i literally JUST finished it and i don’t even know what to say besides this
i need everyone to watch this clip in particular because holy shit i cried during it /pos. like i can’t even describe how much i love this movie and how much it means to me just wow WOW it’s absolutely fucking amazing and i definitely recommend it to everyone. the animation is stunning i love the main characters and everything is just so EXPRESSIVE and the COLORS ANR AHHHH THE WOLVESSSS
Aspen loves it. it’s one of his favorite movies now too (maybe his favorite idk i’ll have to think of what other movies he likes) but guys i don’t even know what to sayyyy that movie is sooo good
thank you so much for sending this ask because wow i don’t know what it is with me and wolves now but wolves are COOL and i LOVE this movie i’m so happy i finally watched it!!! :D
#i was screaming at the tv during the super intense parts like wow WOW this movie was amazing#imagining Aspen running through the woods as a wolf being so so so happy#i’m so happy i got the idea to turn him into a werewolf later on in the story so he can finally truly live#like Aspen turning into a werewolf marks the end of Silas feeding on him i think. it’s a brand new beginning. he’s truly alive and free now#and i love that so much#i’m so happy#i’ve gotta write down everything i’ve been coming up with for silas and aspen because it’s a lot and some people might be outta the loop#but basically after a very long time of being Silas’s bloodbag Aspen befriends a werewolf and gets turned#Silas was pissed because werewolf blood is kinda gross and Aspen now smells like wet dog and he’s overall less appealing#and Aspen is over the moon when he gets turned because he’s a wolf therian (otherkin) and he basically just got everything he’s ever wanted#and by then he already got closure for some stuff in his past (relating to how he originally died and one of his friends and ghosts)#so like he’s Happy. he’s so fucking happy. he’s the happiest person you’ve ever met by then#and also that is past the point where Silas eventually warms up to him (because aspen is literally a delight to be around#even to people as cold and heartless as silas) he still kills aspen for fun though. aspen is used to it and honestly doesn’t mind anymore#their dynamic is just sooo fun.#and i love werewolf aspen so much and need to talk about him because he’s all i’ve been thinking about and drawing#like Aspen is a bloodthristy werewolf who doesn’t know anything about his powers and Silas begrudgingly helps him because he’s Involved now#lots more happens in the story after this. it’s gonna take forever to actually get there tho like im a slow writer and haven’t even finishe#the first chapter. but yeah i love werewolf aspen and the werewolf who turned him is very cool too. don’t know anything abt them yet but im#working on it. anyway i love wolfwalkers u all should watch it because it’s amazing#ask#aspen oc#silas oc#brc ask#blood runs cold
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
No chapter today because I GRADUATED!!!
I will now please be addressed as Kaputt BA (Hons), thank you!!!
#looking forward to being able to tell my readers that the chapter was so long i went out and got a whole ass degree before i finished it#status: still alive#fic: between the sheets#i also got a special nerd prize for scoring the highest in arts and humanities#if that sounds like bragging thats because it is#i worked so fucking hard guys#anyway new chap should be out sat or sun#love you guys
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
trying not to b a whiny bitch abt it cause ik i haven't been active in the bsd fandom since the beginning of this year but this was such a horrible ending like. LIKE IT SUCKS THAT IT WAS EVERYTHING THAT THE FANDOM PREDICTED.
#Listen as much as i enjoy seeing skk working side by side and all#this was all just so (again) predictable and i was honestly expecting something more#(bro why am i even taking this so seriously)#k anyways. i hope the new chapter isn't what they showed in the anime and even if it was i just hope it wasn't rushed.#AND LIKE. DOESN'T AKUTAGAWA STILL HAVE HIS SICKNESS 😭#or did turning into a vampire make it better or something#AND FYODOR DID NKT FUCKING DESERVE THAT ENDING. HE'S STILL ALIVE THERE'S NO WAY. THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY.#HOW DID HE NOT SEE THAT COMING WHAT.#literally sobbing with my head in my hands.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Last year I wrote about what happened at Pride when a couple of kids didn't understand why us older folx were so bitter about Reagan.
This year, I have something a little softer.
Someone who looked a little older than me came up to the booth wearing a pink t-shirt proclaiming him one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, San Francisco chapter. As I was ringing him up, I asked if he'd been involved for a while.
"Yes," he said, "for a bit," in that way us middle-aged people do when we're sort of wincing and feeling old.
"Okay, well," I said, sitting at my register in my queer booth full of queer clothes and patches and pins, topless in public for the first time. (I had pasties on for my own comfort bc I was working, but I live in the city of the Naked Bike Ride, and I took full advantage). My baby brother and both of my partners ran around behind me, my brother wearing a loose tank top that makes his scars visible.
"I need to tell you that you all helped keep me alive."
He blinked at me as I continued, "I was a kid in high school in the early 90s. I lived in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, and what you all were doing was so loud and so out there that even I heard about your work. It was one of the things that kept me alive. So thank you, and please thank the rest of the Sisters."
I heard about them through people in my parents' church complaining about them, and then I sought more information through the beginning of the internet, through newspapers, through anything I could find. I found the cover of Newsweek that one of the Sisters was on. I read about their "exorcism" of fundamentalist preachers whose books sat on the shelf in my parents' basement and probably still do. I saw how loud and colorful and unapologetically queer they were.
The knowledge that someone was out there, so full of defiant joy, refusing the shame that people kept trying to put on them? Oh, that kept me alive. I saw them, and I knew I could make it through. I wrapped my hands around that knowledge, and I held on so tight.
It took me a long time - a long, long time - to unwind most of it for myself and get to the point where my fat butch ass was sitting bare-chested in the July breeze, looking up at him as he held out his arms and said "you're actually giving me chills." I answered, "I mean every word. You helped keep me alive. So thank you."
I never know what to say when people come up to me in public and tell me that I helped them or changed their life in some way. I appreciate it, and I genuinely love the people who apologized for "fanpersoning" at me last weekend, I just never know what to say. I'm incredibly grateful that the Sister I spoke to was incredibly gracious, saying "usually we give blessings, but I feel like you blessed me." Another member of the party let me pet their tiny dog, who was not very interested in me, and that's okay. It was an overwhelming day. Then, they moved on.
Me? I'm still sitting with the fact that I looked last weekend into the faces of people who didn't know they were holding my head above water, and that I got to tell them the work they do matters. It's a rare thing to get to tell someone, "You saved me," and I'm treasuring it.
Last weekend, I wore my new battle vest with nothing underneath it, unless it was too hot, and then I just sat in my chair, chatting and ringing ppl out with my skin free to the air. I decided last year that top surgery isn't for me, but that also I'm going to love this body unapologetically, and it's no less a transmasculine body because the soft new dark hair on my belly isn't accompanied by pink scars along my ribs.
I didn't get here on my own. I got here because someone else cut through the undergrowth ahead of me so I could take another step forward. Here I am, decades later, still taking step after step, one at a time, and trying to lay paving stones behind me.
Last weekend was another step along that way, another step through unwinding the fear and shame and sadness that my parents and their church built into me. Another step out of hating myself for hiding parts of myself for so long, for acting out in other ways to distract people from my queerness, for feeling so much guilt when other people tell me I'm brave, because I know how much of myself I hid for how long because I was a coward, because I was afraid.
Another step into expiating stigmatic guilt.
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
carmen 'carmy' berzatto masterlist
Thee Carmy x Reader 'Make My Heart Surrender' Universe (In Chronological Order):
comfort & chaos (prequel to make my heart surrender)
a series of vignettes: the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you. (completed)
october 2019 | covid & carbonara | heat waves | 2/22/22** | called you again | home**
the phone call (blurb - the phone call that gets reader to chicago in the first place)
make my heart surrender
after quitting your job at the restaurant you both used to work at, carmy asks you to come in and work with his pastry chef at his new spot, the bear. only, the longer you stick around, it becomes clear that you have unfinished business. will one week in chicago change your life, and his, forever? (completed)
tuesday | wednesday | thursday | friday (**18+ for smut) | saturday/sunday | monday | tuesday, again | the playlist
home (final chapter from comfort & chaos - **smut)
try a little tenderness (fluff & angst blurb)
cigarettes & coffee (fluffy blurb)
strawberries & cigarettes (fluffy blurb)
j is for james beard... and for jealousy (**smut oneshot | 18+ only)
your past and mine are parallel lines (fluff oneshot)
pov: carmy makes people magazine's sexiest chef alive list (fluff blurb)
bad moon rising (what if/angst-shot -- guest starring mikey berzatto)
sister-in-law (fluff oneshot -- guest starring natalie berzatto)
still into you (sequel to make my heart surrender)
you, syd, marcus, and carmy return to where it all began: new york city, prompting you and carmy to think a lot about your past... and your future together. (completed)
thursday | **bonus smut scene | friday | saturday | sunday | it's perfect, chef (**bonus smut scene)
don't want to walk alone
the long awaited wedding fic for carmy x reader in the make my heart surrender universe. this six part series chronicles the wedding planning, your (not) bachelorette party, the wedding, and the honeymoon as you build a life with your husband-to-be. (completed)
june/july | august | september | the honeymoon pt 1 | the honeymoon pt 2 | epilogue: november
granola blurb
carmy as your baby daddy
a social media au & headcanon series detailing your first pregnancy with carmy. created for the make my heart surrender universe, but can be read as a standalone work. this has been created in collaboration with @carmensberzattos & @allthefandomstogether , the graphic goddess. (completed)
part one | part two | part three | part four | give you my wild, give you a child (**smut-shot) | part five | part six | part seven
extras/moodboards/headcanons/imagines:
your life as a pastry chef in chicago while dating carmy (moodboard & headcanon)
meeting mikey in another lifetime (headcanon)
pov: you're marrying carmen berzatto (moodboard)
honeymoon lingerie moodboard
christmas with carmy moodboard & blurb
The Bear: Unrelated to Make My Heart Surrender:
(nothing here YET but working on it)
so my darling | sydney adamu x male!chef oc
jealous!carmy & jealous!luca headcanon
stargazing with marcus brooks (blurb)
sneaking around with carmy (blurb)
#nolita fairytale's masterlist#carmen berzatto x you#carmy berzatto#carmy x oc#the bear hulu#the bear fx#jeremy allen white#carmen 'carmy' berzatto#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto headcanon#the bear headcanon#carmy berzatto imagines#carmy berzatto fluff#comfort and chaos#still into you#make my heart surrender#carmen berzatto smut#carmy smut#carmy berzatto smut
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
my take for the chapter 3 is probably faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar away from what we're gonna get, but since Catnap was made using a literal 7 years old, i like to think in the posibility of the other critters also be made with other children from the kindergarden, and their relation with Catnap.
if you want to see me talking about what's basically 7 ocs i created in less that a day, be my guest
tw: illness and death of children in really sad ways
1-Dogday - Nell Grambell (13 y/o)
yup, you read that right, He's the older brother of Theodore/Catnap, but since he was too old to be manipulated by Playtime Co. He was used to create Dogday just 3 months after arrive to the Playcare, leaving his younger brother suddenly alone (nobody explained to Theodore what happened to his brother, just telling him he was ''sick'').
His personality is the typical protective older brother, specially since they both come from a bad background (abusive parents), Nell was a really caring and loving brother, and that personality is still present in his new body.
2-CraftyCorn - Alba Guzman (15 y/o)
Unlike Nell, Alba was taked by playtime Co when she was 8, but made it till 15 'cause The Doctor realised that she was good to keep younger children under control by making art crafts with them, the girl was really passive and calm, but after reach puberty she started to become hostile to the caretakers, so she was taked to the laboratory were later was used to create CraftyCorn. She also meet Nell and Theodore before this, but the last time Nell saw her was when he was take to the laboratory, and she wasn't exactly alive...
3-Kickinchicken - Callem Jones (12 y/s)
The kid was lucky, since his caretaker (the employer that legally adopt him for the company) was really interesed in take care of him, so he was one of the lucky kid to be taked care a lot, have his hair styled, learn things from outside the playcare (like skating and surfing), and even leave from time to time Playtime Co with them. The employer was really considering taking him from all this madness and make him their irl son, BUT before it could happen they were killed by Huggy Wuggy, and soon after that poor Callem was taked to the laboratory.
4- Hoppy Hopscotch - Nicole Robinson (9 y/o)
She was adopted for a specific reason: as a child with leukemia, Playtime Co. was really interesed in see if their experiments could health such kind of illness, so they stopped all kind of common treatment on Nicole and started a ''Poppy treatment'' on her, but it wasn't working. The poor ill child was a fighter, and even when she was weak she tried to fight each caretaker that tried to inject her the poppy serum, even when knowing she could died, she didn't care 'cause she wasn't feeling well either. After 5 months, Nicole died in her sleep, and her bodies was used to create Hoppy.
5- PickyPiggy - Samina (9 y/o)
Be in the system since she was 1 y/o and taked by Playtime Co. 1 years later, Samina only knew what the company teach her, and she was a really good kid that followed rules, specially the ones make by Bron, her favorite Toy, to the point that she dreamed to become as tall as him. Sadly, her own love end up killing her, since one day she make it to Bron's statue and, thinking in how would the world look like from up there, she climb the statue, but end up falling midterm, ending in a coma after hitting her head in the fall. Since she was already in that state, The Doctor decided to take the oportunnity and use her to create Picky.
6- Bubba Bubbaphant - Charlie (7 y/o)
Intelligent and attentive, Charlie was a truly prodigue that Playtime Co. was proud of get their hands on, the kids was already at the same academic level of the +12 y/o, and The Doctor was excited to use him in the future when his mind developed a lil' more. But the plan had to start early since Charlie end up getting a bad case of pneumonia, and fearing that the child wouldn't make it, he was send to the laboratory to start the work on him.
7- Bobby BearHug - Amara (4 y/o)
The lil toodler was a love to be around, giving hugs and lil' kisses to all the caretakers, this 'cause the kid was also lucky enough to be adopted by a employer that take good care of her since practically birth. But she was also really naive and innocent (of course, she was a baby), so she usually was the hitting bag of a lot of other children that wished to have the love her caretaker give her. One day it goes to far, be that a group of children take her from the lil' kids room and put her in a locker, something that scare Amara 'cause the child was claustrophobic, to the point that before a caretaker could find her, Amara end up suffering a panic attack and dying of asphyxiation. Her caretaker end up resigning after that, and the body was used to create Bobby.
#poppy playtime#smiling critters ARG#poppy playtime chapter 3#poppy playtime smiling critters#smiling critters#catnap#dogday#hoppy hopscotch#craftycorn#bubba bubbaphant#bobby bearhug#kickinchicken#pickypiggy#ocs#nova say
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Daisy
........................
Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader
........................
Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.
But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...
........................
[4k words]
🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼
Chapter 1 "The Savior"
Since the day you were born, there was something horribly wrong with you.
You had no immune system, your skin was paper-thin, you couldn’t exercise without collapsing, and every nerve in your body was in constant pain. There was no use for you aside from being a measly archive keeper and book transcriber. Your father was a weak man, despite your disabilities and how costly it was for the rest of your Vault, he kept you alive, consumed by the idea of finally finding a cure for his little girl.
Every single moment since your birth, you had spent in this squeaky clean, insanity-inducing, paper-ridden medical room. Everything was plagued by the stench of medicine and spirit, disinfected down to the core. The floor and walls and even the ceiling were covered in a leather cushioned layer to prevent any injuries, sparkling white, of course. Who needed color when the stench of new paint might cause you a migraine?
In honesty, you’d give away half of your miserable life just to see color outside of the packaged book covers stacked neatly on the floor. You built a makeshift city out of them, following the pictures drawn in an old magazine you’d read ages ago and kept hidden under your pillow. With time, you learned how to make paper flowers out of some stray files that nobody would miss. You had to find some solace, something to keep you from crying your delicate heart out every night because this was no way for anyone to live.
You weren’t just isolated from the world above, but from everything, only getting glimpses of the bright metal vault corridor and bustling dwellers whenever your father would open that wretched vacuum-sealed door to give you medicine. You knew people’s names and faces, everyone in your vault was memorized to the letter, but you’d never met them and probably never would.
You were never given your own Pip-boy, never assigned as a potential marriage candidate, and you’d never have children or any family once your parents passed away. A small part of you knew that you wouldn’t even outlive them, frail and genetically inferior as you were. You’d die within the next few years and you’d take the burden of your existence off the shoulders of everyone who worked tirelessly to find a solution to your illness.
You waited for that day with hope, dreaming of the end of the torture and solitude.
You had pleaded with your father that night with angry tears in your eyes to at least bring you coloring pencils or crayons or a radio to chat with the rest of the residents and make friends. But, as usual, he had refused gently while rocking you in his arms, cooing at you with a regretful tone and pain carving deep wrinkles in his features. Then he’d smiled at you, melting away your worry and frustration and misery, and he’d kissed your forehead tenderly. He still treated you like a little girl and to him, you’d always be one. He wiped your tears away and hope shone in his eyes, they looked exactly like yours, that was the only thing you’d taken from him. Everything else was a gift from your mother and you often looked in the mirror just to remember what she resembled.
She’d stopped visiting a long time ago, months, maybe even years, you weren’t sure. The passing of time was a fickle matter when you were caged in a cushioned prison every single day.
Your father hummed softly, lulling you while he gently tucked you into the nursing bed and secured the oxygen mask over your mouth. He was your angel, your only salvation, your only source of conversation and comfort and interaction and love. He adjusted the catheter back into your vein before fluffing up your pillow.
“This might be it, Sweetheart.” he whispered while watching you doze off slowly, his gaze held such affection for you. He placed a new IV bag to drain into your arm, one you’d not seen before, but you trusted him. This was nothing new. He came up with a new medicine recipe every month, without fail. “This might just be the cure. You’ll tell me how you feel tomorrow.”
You can only sigh and give your best smile, unable to share his enthusiasm after so many failed attempts. He rubbed a thumb over your sickly-colored cheek, his skin like sandpaper against yours, worn and calloused from spending a lifetime in the vault’s field.
“Have some faith in your old man.”
“I do, dad…I’m just so tired of this…”you bite into your tongue to keep more tears from spilling, and your bottom lip trembles despite your best efforts to tame it. Watching his face falter breaks your heart and you suck it up, push your tantrum down and pout instead. “And you’re not old.”
He laughs at your whiney remark, the first laugh he’d had in a long time, and he slicks back your hair, taking note that he needed to trim it soon before it got too long. Maybe when he had the energy, he’d sit down for more than a few minutes and braid it like he used to when you were just a child.
“I know you are, Baby girl, I know.” he shushes you with the utmost care and stands. “Just a little longer and you’ll be strong enough to help your pop pick out the tatoes. Get your pretty hands all dirty and then have a big plate of spam for a job well done.” he gazed at you, masking his sorrow and bitterness at the cruelty life had forced upon you. His hand hovered over the lamp switch and he glanced one last time at the brand-new IV bag slowly emptying in your bloodstream. “Night, Sweetheart. Love you.”
Too stricken with grief over your miserable lifestyle, you didn’t return his tender words, hoping he understood and knew that you loved him just as much if not more. When the lights went out, your eyelids closed, squeezing out a few lonely tears in the darkness before you begrudgingly drifted off to sleep. A dreamless slumber when you were gently rocked through the foggy confines of your subconsciousness.
Your one wish was to see the world outside, uncaring if it were a wasteland or a paradise, ignorant of the dangers and naïve towards the people who potentially lived up there. You just wanted to be free, even if it would cost you your life, you wanted to see the sky just once, wanted to prove to yourself that no, it looked better than any picture your father had shown you. You wanted to swim in the ocean and see fishes and see a whale, a creature so big it was unfathomable to imagine, you wanted to taste the salty sea water and become sick and just be happy to be alive for once. You wanted to feel the grass beneath your feet, to touch snow and dance in the rain until you slipped and fell in a puddle only to splash in it because you’d never seen or felt any nature.
You just wanted to live…
The hours ticked by in a hazy blur as you lay lifelessly on your bed. Your room was partly sound-proof, you heard nothing of the ruckus slowly brewing beyond your medicinal prison. Sleepy soundly, you didn’t hear the slaughter, the begging and pleading voice on the brink of crying before the sickening cracks of broken bones. You didn’t hear the crazed ramblings of the raiders stalking your fellow vault dwellers like it was a game of cat and mouse. Your vault was slowly succumbing to chaos and rampage and it was only when the electricity went out and your door unlatched that you were startled awake.
You bolt up with wide eyes and in a panic, gaze averting to the door and heart skipping a beat when you realize it’s open. With a small grunt and a relieved inhale once the oxygen mask is ripped from your face and tossed on your pillow, you scramble to stand. The IV is disconnected from your arm with an expert touch, replaced by a cotton ball to obscure any heavy bleeding from the open puncture wound. Your bare feet shuffle over the soft floor, slippery against the white leather because you’d unknowingly started to sweat from anticipation.
Was this just another cruel dream?
You walked to the exit with timid footsteps before opening the door wide enough to stick your head out. An incessant voice kept repeating how disappointed your father would be if he saw you sticking your nose out and potentially catching an infection from the unsterile air. That voice was dismissed promptly, this was your first chance at seeing anything beyond the medical room and you’d rather die than miss it.
Had the power gone out? But that was impossible. The power never went out, there had always been a steady flow of electricity for as long as you could remember.
The lights flickered, most were broken, letting the eerie darkness overwhelm all corridors except for one.
“Hello?” you call out hesitantly, shaky voice hoarse with sleep and anxiety both. Looking around, you couldn’t see much, there wasn’t a soul in sight and the silence was deafening. “Dad?”
Nothing. Nothing and no one.
A hand clutched at the door to support your buckling knees and you breathed deeply, encouraging yourself to be brave, that this was your chance. After dutifully gnawing on the inside of your cheek you stepped forth into the crossroads of corridors, letting go of the door and leaving everything familiar and safe behind. Your head whirled so much your neck popped multiple times as you frantically looked around in the scarce light and as terrifying as all of this was, it was also heaven unknown. You had never seen so many things – plant pots, plants, all bright green and juicy, you’d stuck your nail in a particular one only to feel a strange gooey discharge on your finger. It was a succulent, you’d read about those somewhere, very sturdy indeed, very pretty, but had no smell. You liked them already.
The further you went, the more a nagging thought kept creeping up your spine like a chill.
Where was everybody?
You kept looking, following the corridor and under the guidance of blinking lamps. You knew the Vault like the back of your hand after spending countless hours studying its diagrams, having nothing better to do. Now you were experiencing it in person. No longer needing to strain your imagination to picture every nook and cranny, you could see it with your own eyes. The floor was so cold under your feet, but you didn’t care, too high on adrenaline and pure joy to notice such a small inconvenience. A hand glided absentmindedly against the wall, tracing over pipes and posters and glass windows until you prickled your finger on a jagged edge and winced away.
You stuck the winger in your mouth with a pained scowl and glared up, searching for the source of your misfortune.
You froze.
Blood, everywhere, oozing down the wide hole in the window and silently gushing out of the disemboweled corpse of a human being, still warm. And even through the liters of blood and the sickening feeling of nausea that had your eyes dart to the floor, you immediately noticed the dark blue suit they were wearing. A dead vault dweller tossed through the window so hard they’d broken through and gotten impaled on the glass.
A vault dweller.
Dead…
DEAD!!!
You stumbled back and wretched, stuffing your mouth in the crook of your elbow and sputtering saliva as your stomach churned with bile. You bumped into a metal cabinet in your stupor, scraping for purchase as your legs lost all function, knocking over a clock and a radio that came to life as soon as it hit the floor. The sound echoed through the Vault, like a haunting melody to the arrival of a new victim, lured out and ready for slaughter. You.
Horror. A massacre, as the light flickered your eyes feasted on more marred flesh and ripped skin and so much blood. Crimson splatter and trails of handprints were strewn over the walls, the echoes of an dire struggle which ended in vein, trails of violence were etched into the hallway. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, you threw up, clutching at your stomach as you let out the traumatizing sight the only way your body knew how. Doubled over and twitching as the shock was replaced by such a raw feeling that you nearly lost your mind.
Corpses littered the floor beyond, caked in their own entrails, skulls bashed in, unrecognizable and still and…
“Hi there, Princess.”
A chill went up your spine as you realized that the frilly white dress you wore wasn’t enough to keep you warm beyond your room. Your skin littered with goosebumps, thin hairs standing up in fear as you stiffly craned your neck and looked back to the other end of the corridor. What little color was left in your face dissipated at the sight.
A man, disfigured and disgusting, with wild hair and wilder eyes and a grin that shook you to the bone stood there. He was shirtless, showing off a large hairy belly and covered in stick-poke tattoos, one of his legs was replaced by what you made out was a metal stick of sorts. He was three times your size…and he looked at you with such perverse intent that you nearly screamed. A vile creature, not even human anymore.
“Don’t be scared, Pretty.” he leered, chapped lips and rotting teeth and a foul blackened tongue, and raised a large palm in front of him to halt you from moving. “It’s okay…Come here. Come to me.”
Instinct took over and you automatically stepped back, not daring to take your eyes off him.
“Ah, don’t do that now.” he warned sweetly and slowly began walking towards you, creeping closer every time the lights flickered off. “You’ll just make this harder for you, yeah? Come to Eddie, Sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”
Everything about him screamed evil. He looked deranged and capable of things you’d never even begin to imagine.
A surface dweller. A survivor. A killer. A monster.
The moment his boot sunk in a pool of blood and squeaked against the floor realization hit you like a speeding truck. The grim expression should have been his sign to catch you, but you were already leaping over corpses with a blood-curdling screech. Your mind raced as you tried to orientate yourself through the corridors, bolting over shattered glass and spoiled food and so many dead bodies.
You needed to get out. Leave. Escape.
OUT!
His hollars bellowed behind you, alerting the rest of his friends because of course there were more and now they were aware of you and hunting you down like a deer in the forest. You let the tears run down your cheeks, forced the questions of your parents’ whereabouts and health because you already knew the answers, but you let them sink you’d end up like them or worse.
A horde of footsteps nipped at your bare heels and you sprinted and begged your weak little legs to go faster. Sucking in air as adrenaline pumped through your veins like poison, you jumped and ducked and whirled and assured yourself that you had the upper hand here, you knew the vault better than them. You stood a chance, you’d survive.
When the elevator came into view after you rounded a corner you nearly cried out in delirium. A roar nearly deafened you and you flinched, but your pace only increased as you pleaded and struggled not to trip over your feet. They were desperate, clawing at the air to try and reach you before it was too late. Your lungs burned with strain, your muscles felt like they’d tear any moment, but you kept pushing, high on horror and anger and a newfound zest for self-preservation
Salvation. Your only chance to live.
Your shoulder screamed in pain when you slammed against the metal walls of the elevator and thrusted your fist against the button vigorously.
“Come on. Come on. COME ON!”
“Get back here you little whore!”
“Please!” you wailed, screaming and stumbling back when a rusty axe collided with the shutting doors and made sparks fly with an ear-piercing screech. A hand flew up to cover your squinted eyes, sneering and sobbing as the raiders banged on the outside of the elevator and shot conniving curses at your crumbling form. You were slammed down on your arse by gravity as the elevator finally moved, taking you away from certain death as a slew of grim promises were expelled at you from below.
They’d find you, rip you apart, and make you wish you’d just died like the rest of your pathetic vault dwellers. You balled your eyes out, choking on spit and tears and gulping down air as your body shook violently. Clutching at your face, you stared down at your bloody feet with wide, unblinking eyes.
What was this nightmare…
When the elevator came to a halt and the doors reopened you barely managed to stand, the numbness in your limbs proving too much to handle and your upset stomach only contributing. But you had to keep moving, you had to run.
“Daddy…”
With ugly sobs and meek noises of strain and discomfort and utter distaste for your cruel fate, you tumbled towards the ajar vault entrance. Pressing down the button timidly before taking the discarded Pip-boy from the severed hand, you lock your tormentors into their grave and hurriedly tread towards the slowly closing vault exit.
The sun nearly blinds you and the hot desert sun knocks you to your knees as your hands sink to the wrists in sand. You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking rapidly and shielding your sensitive pupils from the blaring light.
It’s…barren.
A desert, stretching as far as your sight could reach, heated enough for the air to wiggle and dance in the distance, a decrepit city can be seen nestled not too far. A plethora of buildings crumbled to their bases hide away the sealed entrance to your vault, bones are scattered through the coarse sand, human shapes frozen in time, hinting towards a previous era of life on Earth, an era you’d only read about. Again, there wasn’t a soul around no matter how many times you circled your vision.
A wasteland. Painted yellow and orange and contrasting so beautifully with the clear blue sky.
You wanted to marvel and swoon and you would have given any other circumstance, but now, after everything you’d seen, after your mind had been so brutally defiled with images of slaughter, you were incapable. You stood, resisting the harsh breeze and angry sun, clad in nothing but a Pip-boy and a thin summer dress that was everything but white.
You had to walk, seek help, do…something. Anything.
And so you did. Trudging through the sea of sand and stepping hastily as the heat beneath your delicate feet nipped uncomfortably at your skin. Sweat clung to you like a protective layer, washing away any trace of the sensitive lavender shampoo you had used the previous night. Strands of hair clung to your flushed face as you fought a silent and unfair battle against the burning sunrays, one step at a time, with the wind as your only companion. Your nostrils struggled to breathe in enough air, but you didn’t dare open your mouth despite the temptation, fearing dehydration and death as it loomed over you like a shadow.
You walked for what felt like miles, accompanied by your thoughts and nothing else, until the Vault was hidden behind the golden dunes and your feet felt raw. The city was so close now, yet you were so tired, sucked dry by a heat you’d never experienced before, if it hadn’t been for your Pip-boy crackling to life you would have collapsed, too burdened and weak to continue.
You raised your wrist and looked down and were met by a familiar meter.
Radiation.
Something around you was radioactive enough for the device to pick up easily, but there was nothing but waves of yellow hell and you doubted the ground itself was emitting it. Then you heard it. That strange, high-pitched chirping, an alien sound that made your skin crawl and scraped at the back of your head tauntingly.
A scream loud enough to shatter glass ripped through your throat as a sharp sting pierced your ankle. You hit the soft sand with a whimper and rushed to turn on your back before kicking blindly at your assaultant. An ambush from below. Blood trickled from the gash, painting your skin a deep ruby red and spilling over the ground, luring out your predators like moths to a flame.
Insects, roaches too big to be real and too much for your fickle mind to comprehend crawled out of the sand. You’d fallen right into their trap, an unsuspecting victim, a banquet they’d probably not seen since they’d hatched.
Your heart pounded frantically, pulse thumping in the side of your neck as you flailed and screeched, chucking sand at them as they circled you. You wanted to run, every cell in your body fought for you to stand, but you couldn’t, you had no fight left. You’d die here, alone in this decrepit desert and eaten by giant cockroaches and this was going to be the story of your life. You sobbed so pitifully, so angry and bitter and bratty that after everything, this was to be your end. The world spun painfully fast and you wanted to vomit, but your stomach was empty and you only gagged.
With one last scream, you curled in a ball, covering your head with your arms and your legs protecting your belly, as one of the insects lunged forward.
When the gunshot rang in your ears you froze in place and time stopped. The roach flew back, slimy green entrails covering your form like a canvas. The other two hissed and you revolted at the noise, but they were shot a second later, blown to bits, dainty skittish legs twitching as the last few beats of life escaped them. The shadow of your savior dwarfed you completely, giving you respite from the cruel sun.
You roll over and sit up on your knees within a blink only to be met with the barrel of a gun too ratchet and rusted to belong to anyone but a wastelander. You recoil and blink through tear-heavy lashes before roughly adjusting your dress to try and cover your bare thighs from what you presumed was another man. The tip of the gun slid under your chin and guided your eyes up to feast upon your hero. You gulped and whimpered.
He was grotesque, like a man skinned alive and somehow survived, melted skin deformed his features and you’d bet your dinner there wasn’t a strand of hair under that worn cowboy hat. He had no nose, no eyebrows or even lashes, not a spec of hair. He grinned something awful down at you, looking at you like you were a fresh piece of meat, a delicacy among a table covered with rotten food. His stance was wide, torn dark cloth swaying dangerously in the breeze, he seemed almost aetherial in his own twisted and rugged way. You mewled softly as he turned your head from side to side with his gun, gently, mockingly, drinking you in from every angle as if you’d disappear if he so much as blinked.
Your hands clutched at the edge of your dress when he finally spoke and his voice made you inhale sharply and clench your jaw in anticipation.
“Well…Aren’t you a pretty little thing…”
(Listen, it's 7AM and I need sleep, but this mother trucker didn't want to leave me alone so have a chapter from my hastily strewn-together upcoming story. I'll post it on AO3 and probably here if it even happens. I'll fix mistakes later, don't eat me please.)
Chapter 2 >>>
🌼 Masterlist 🌼
#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv series#the ghoul fanfic#cooper howard#wtf am i doing with my life#x reader#the ghoul
626 notes
·
View notes
Text
somewhere to run | 10. austin
Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader
Chapter Summary: You and Joel travel to Austin to meet with a lawyer.
Chapter Warnings: language, angst, hurt/comfort, flirting, sexual tension, emotional abuse, infidelity, some recapping of DV and SA situations but nothing new, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected (reader previously mentions she's on bc) piv sex
WC: 6.6K
A/N: I have started a notification blog - @punkshort-notifs if you are interested in following for fic updates (but I will be keeping the tag list for this series until it is over)
Series Masterlist
One Month Later
Life carried on the way it always does. Without permission, regardless of any pain or suffering, it always remained a constant. Whether you were present or not, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or hide from it, it didn't matter, because life always carried on.
The first week was the worst. A week of what you could only describe as depression. A week of being alone. Safe, but terribly alone. Going to work helped distract you, until he came in for lunch like always and it felt like your heart was being torn in two all over again. And you could tell it hurt him, too, but you both seemed willing to withstand the pain over not seeing each other at all. Because even though it hurt, it was a reminder you were alive. A reminder that you could still care enough about somebody else, despite everything.
The second week was when you could no longer smell him in your bed. You woke up one morning, eyes barely even open as you searched around the pillowcase, then the sheets, grabbing and pulling at the fabric, desperate to seek out his scent to no avail.
The third week was when you finally didn't have to fight the urge to call or text him, even though he said you could, you knew it would just make things harder. And he must have agreed because he didn't reach out, either.
The fourth week was when you began to feel like you were finally coming out of your slump. You could go to the grocery store or pharmacy and didn't feel your heart skip a beat, you didn't scan the parking lot for his truck in the hopes of running into him. You didn't stop thinking about him, but it just hurt less. That is, until you ran into Hailey coming back from work one evening.
She was out on the sidewalk, cleaning up some garbage from the picnic tables in front of the pizzeria when you waved and caught her eye. You could immediately tell something was wrong by the pained smile she gave you.
"Hey," she said, the smile not reaching her eyes as she leaned up against her broom.
"What's going on?" you asked her. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah, I know, sorry. Work's been-" she waved in the direction of the propped open door and shook her head. "But I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Oh?"
"It's about book club," she said, dropping her gaze to the ground. "And I just want to let you know, I voted against it-"
"They don't want me back, do they?" you offered, trying to make it easier for her. She sighed and shook her head.
"It's all so stupid, I'm sorry," she said, looking up at you again. "Nikki's got all those old ladies wrapped around her finger and they're just pissed Joel dumped her for... well, y'know."
"They know we aren't together, right? I mean, I'm married..." you trailed off, not wishing to go into too much detail when you knew eventually when you went to court, all your dirty laundry would be aired.
"Yeah, they do. Still, they blame you, and it's stupid, like I said. They should be mad at Joel, it's not like it's your fault, and I swear I tried explaining that-"
"It's okay," you said, holding up your hand and giving her a sad smile. "I appreciate it, but it's fine. I have a lot coming up, anyway. I won't find that much time to read."
"But we can still hang out! Do you wanna go get drinks this weekend? Or maybe see a movie?" Hailey asked, and you could tell she genuinely felt bad.
"Yeah, either of those sound great," you said. "I'll text you and we can figure something out."
You made a hasty exit and dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment. Even though you probably wouldn't have continued to go, the rejection still stung.
For a while, the silence was deafening. Without a TV to even distract you, leaving you with endless amounts of time to overthink, you were worried you were going insane. You lucked out recently and found a decent TV at a thrift store, so you at least had something to occupy your time, although you knew it would be short lived. In a couple days, you had an appointment to meet with a law firm in Austin. An appointment Joel had set up and offered to attend with you, and at the time, you were so desperate for anything to do with him, you agreed, but now you were wondering if that was a bad idea. Almost two hours in the car alone with Joel? No, that didn't seem like a good idea at all.
"Whadd'ya mean, you wanna drive separate?" Joel asked as you refilled his coffee. "That doesn't make any sense. Waste of gas."
"Yeah, but I was thinking of staying an extra day. Check out the city," you lied, turning your back to him so he wouldn't be able to see through you.
"Alone?"
You cringed at the word, but nodded. The little dinner bell rang in the window and your eyes jumped up just in time to see Thor put Joel's sandwich on the small shelf. You grabbed the plate and set it down in front of him, his eyes still boring into you, waiting for a better explanation.
"I think it'll just be easier," you said quietly, the words only meant for his ears. When he connected the dots, he leaned back in his chair and nodded.
"Oh," he said, gaze drifting down to his food. "That's a shame. I was lookin' forward to it."
"I'm sorry," you told him, grabbing a rag and pretending to wipe down the counter so your conversation didn't invite gossip and speculation. "So was I. That's the problem."
"And if I promise to behave myself, would you reconsider?" he teased, finally making you smile a little.
"I think you're incapable of behaving yourself, Sheriff," you replied, making him chuckle.
This was what your relationship had been reduced to: quick, flirty exchanges over coffee and turkey clubs. You supposed it was better than nothing.
"C'mon, it's just a couple hours. If you want, you can nap or listen to music," he said, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.
"Fine," you relented, but only because once you offered taking two cars out loud, you realized how stupid it sounded.
"Pick you up at 7?" he asked around a mouth full of food.
"Sure. Do I need to prepare anything? I've never gotten this far in the process before," you told him, suddenly feeling nervous.
"Nope. Helen already sent over all the reports and once the process gets started, they'll reach out to whatever hospital you went to back in Philly to get your emergency room medical reports," he explained, and you nodded along, feeling fidgety. "I'm sure they'll do some more digging while they're at it. Reach out to his police captain and all that."
"Right," you said, biting your nail.
"One step at a time, alright?" he told you softly, picking up on your nerves. "You already did your part, now let the lawyers do theirs."
"But I'll have to testify," you reminded him, and he slowly nodded.
"Most likely, yes. You don't have to, but it'll help your case if you do."
"And he'll be there?" you asked, wringing the towel between your hands.
"Yeah, he'll be there," Joel said, watching your face fall. "But I'll be there, too. You just look at me when the time comes, don't look at him."
"Okay," you said, taking a deep breath. You knew this would be hard, but you also knew it was necessary. "And this lawyer - they can help me get a divorce?"
"Yeah," he said with a nod, and you breathed a sigh of relief.
"Okay," you said again. You forced yourself to smile even though the anxiety was already creeping up. "I can do this," you told him, trying to sound confident.
"Hell yes, you can do this," he replied. "That's my girl," he added, picking up his sandwich then pausing before taking a bite. He glanced up at you and gave you half a smirk when he noticed the look on your face at the term of endearment. "Sorry, I'll behave."
You had initially dreaded waking up so early, but after the restless night's sleep you ended up having, it turned out it didn't make much of a difference. Your appointment was at 9:30 and it took about two hours to get to Austin, so Joel arriving at 7am gave you a decent cushion in case there was traffic.
Already two cups of coffee down, you poured the rest into a travel thermos and grabbed your purse before jogging lightly down your stairs. You locked your door and turned towards the street to find Joel's truck parked right out front. Glancing around, you noticed it was fairly quiet still, which was a relief. Joel didn't have to take you to see a lawyer. His job was technically done until the trial. He was doing this for you, to give you some support and advice and it would be ideal if you could keep people from gossiping about it for as long as possible.
"Mornin'," he greeted you with a lazy smile, which perked right up when you handed him the thermos. "Oh, you're an angel, baby," he murmured, taking a sip with an appreciative groan. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on your seatbelt. Less than two minutes and he already had you squirming in your seat.
The first hour of the trip actually turned out to be relatively quiet. You sat in a comfortable silence, listening to the radio while Joel hummed along and tapped the steering wheel and if you closed your eyes, you could imagine the scene just a little differently. Instead of Joel taking you to see a lawyer in Austin so you could press charges and divorce your abusive husband, you imagined you were taking a road trip together. Maybe with no destination in mind: just the two of you and the open road, stopping whenever you saw fit to explore and staying at roadside motels with stiff sheets and shag carpets, limbs tangled together as you panted into each other's mouths. No secrets. No drama. You smiled to yourself, the fantasy giving you a pleasant reminder of what you could have if you just stayed strong.
"What're you smilin' for?" he asked, and your eyes opened to look at him.
"Nothing," you said, and he clicked his tongue against his teeth. God, you missed that tongue and what it could do.
"When all this is over, do you think we can take a road trip together?" you asked him, and his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Yeah, 'course we can," he replied, glancing over at you briefly before looking back at the road. "Where did you wanna go?"
"Doesn't matter," you said, rolling the back of your head against the seat. "Just wanna be with you," you added, softer this time. He looked over at you again, examining your face quickly before focusing back on the road.
"Me too, baby," he said, just as softly.
Joel stopped at a gas station just outside the city to fuel up and stretch your legs. After using the restroom, you wandered up and down the aisles while Joel pumped gas just outside. You were the only one in the store, aside from the sleazy cashier with greasy hair and nicotine stained teeth leering at you every time you crossed his field of vision.
You decided on a couple waters and some sugary pastries and made your way up to the front, forcing a polite smile for the cashier, whose eyes were greedily raking up and down your frame as you approached. You were wearing a modest dress with a cardigan, doing your best to look put together for your appointment, but that didn't stop the cashier's eyes from roaming.
"That all?" he asked as he began to ring you up. You nodded and hummed before glancing out the window, watching as Joel replaced the nozzle on the pump.
"$8.32," he told you, his eyes dropping to your chest as you pulled out a ten dollar bill from your wallet and handed it to him. Your fingertips tapped impatiently on the counter as he slowly counted out your change, clearly trying to prolong the interaction longer than necessary. When it appeared he was ready to hand over the money, you held your hand out, but he pulled your change back a bit and leaned forward.
"You from 'round here?"
"No, just passing through," you said, lifting your hand again, but he clenched your change in his fist.
"What's a pretty girl like you doin' out here all by yourself?" he sneered, his hand dropping below the counter to not so subtly adjust himself in his pants. You made a disgusted face and he smirked.
"She ain't alone," Joel's deep voice rang out from behind you. The cashier's eyes drifted over your shoulder and looked like he was about to make a snide comment when you felt Joel's hand around your waist. His eyes fell to Joel's belt and saw the badge and gun and the smirk he was sporting a moment ago vanished. He quickly handed you back your change and busied himself with organizing the cigarettes while Joel tugged on your waist, urging you to back towards the parking lot.
"And you wanted to drive separate," Joel teased as he led you towards his truck. He opened the passenger door and stepped back so you could get in but you paused and looked up at him. His forehead crinkled as he grinned, his eyes squinting in the sun and all you wanted to do was kiss him and never stop.
"What?" he finally asked when you didn't make a move to get into the car.
"I really want to kiss you right now," you murmured, and you watched the grin slip from his face and his eyes flick down to your mouth.
"We can't," he replied, his voice pained as his gaze continued to drift from your eyes to your lips.
"I know," you sighed. Instead, you stood on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering a moment longer than you should have before climbing into his truck. His breathing stuttered, the feeling of your lips on his skin again sending him into a tailspin. He took a deep breath and looked up at you in the cab, putting on your seatbelt.
"Soon," he told you, giving your leg a squeeze before closing the door.
"So you mentioned you know some of these lawyers?" you asked him as he drove through downtown Austin.
"Yeah, I've dealt with this law firm a lot on some cases over the years. They're good people, as far as lawyers go," he joked before making a right hand turn. "I asked to meet with one of the women. Her name's Madeline. She's nice. Been there a real long time. Thought you'd feel more comfortable with that," he said, and you nodded.
"Thank you," you told him for maybe the twentieth time that day. You were convinced if not for Joel, you never would have made it this far. You would have had no idea where to even begin, but he knew the answers to all those questions and helped give you the confidence you so desperately needed.
Your hands began to shake and your stomach felt like it was in knots as the two of you walked up to the front doors of the impressive four-story building. Men and women streamed in and out of the doors, most dressed in suits and pencil skirts and talking on their phones hurriedly. You swallowed the lump in your throat once you got to the front of the building, but Joel held the door open for you with a reassuring smile.
"Don't be nervous, it'll be alright," he murmured as you walked up to the large receptionist desk that housed two women with headsets on, typing furiously into their computers. One looked up and caught your eye, giving you a friendly smile.
"Mornin'," Joel said, telling the young woman your name and appointment time. She glanced at her computer and nodded before looking back up at you both with another smile.
"I'll let her know you're here, you can take a seat. It shouldn't be very long," the woman said, casting Joel one more admiring glance before she turned back to her phone and dialed a number.
Joel led you over to some plush couches and chairs and you nervously picked up an old magazine. You skimmed through it, just looking for something to occupy your hands as you waited. He sat down next to you, then inched closer so he could rest his arm along the back of the couch. It felt like he was wrapping his arms around you without actually touching you, and it gave you a temporary sense of peace.
After a few minutes of listening to the receptionists answer the phones and transfer calls, you finally heard your name and Joel's. You both looked up to find a thin, middle aged woman with short, blonde hair and glasses and a kind smile waiting for you.
"Maddy," Joel said warmly, and the hairs on the back of your neck went up. He wouldn't have asked an ex-girlfriend to represent you, would he?
"Joel, long time no see," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before introducing herself to you and shaking your hand.
"That's usually a good thing," he reminded her as the two of you followed her down a long hallway, passing by a few empty conference rooms and closed doors that presumably lead to offices.
"Yes, very true," she agreed with a chuckle before stopping in front of her office. She extended an arm, inviting the two of you to enter first before she followed and closed the door behind her.
"How's Tracy?" Joel asked, glancing at a photo on her desk as you sat down.
"She's great. It's our ten year anniversary this summer. We're planning a cruise," she said, settling into her desk chair and shooting you a smile.
Okay, so probably not an ex.
"Alright, let's not waste any time. I know you drove a long way to get here," Madeline said, clasping her hands together on her desk and giving you another smile. She gave off a positive energy, and you could feel yourself loosening up. "I read over everything Joel sent over so I know the basics, and I am so sorry for everything you've had to endure," she said, her eyes softening. "But can you explain to me why you've never tried to come forward before? Trust me, his lawyer will bring it up."
"Well, I have tried," you began, your fingers tangling together in your lap. "I've gone to the police a handful of times but every time I thought I was making progress, Patrick would do something - call in a favor, I don't know," you said with a shrug. "And my police reports magically disappeared. I've gone to the hospital on several occasions-"
"That's right, I did read that. Which hospital?" she asked, picking up a pen, the tip hovering over a legal pad.
"There were a few different ones," you said, then rattled off the names and approximate dates you visited each hospital.
"Okay. We'll reach out and get copies of those records for the trial," she said, dropping the pen and looking at you to continue.
You went on to tell her about your experience with the police back in Philadelphia and how angry Patrick would get after those visits. You told her about his disappearances for days at a time and how he would come home in a haze, no doubt with alcohol and some type of drug in his veins, how those were the times he hurt you the most.
By the time you got to the part in your story where you packed a bag and left Philadelphia during one of Patrick's benders, you felt a lot more at ease. Your nerves were gone and Madeline's comforting gaze made it so much easier to tell her everything.
"So the next step in the process is discovery. Our team here is going to be digging up dirt back in Philly, and I am sure Patrick's lawyer is already doing the same thing," she said, putting down her pen and looking at you over her glasses. "That being said: is there anything I need to know? I don't like surprises in court. I don't care if you ever smoked weed or pushed him back, I just need to know so I can get ahead of it." You quickly shook your head.
"No, I've never tried drugs and I never hit him back." You glanced over at Joel for the first time and found him staring at you with a look in his eye that made you believe you were thinking about the same thing. After a moment, you turned back to Madeline, about to open your mouth to speak when Joel cut you off.
"There's one more thing," he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. She looked at him curiously, clearly not expecting him to have anything to add. "We, uh," he cleared his throat and glanced over at you. "We had a brief, personal relationship," he said. Madeline sat back in her chair and you could have sworn she was glaring at him. "It's over. It was just once," he continued, and you nodded quickly, trying to help him out.
"Nobody knows, either," you told her, drawing her gaze back onto you. "Patrick had his suspicions, but he also accused me of sleeping with two cooks from work, which is untrue," you clarified, "he's just jealous and angry."
"How can you be sure nobody knows?" she asked, and you paused.
"W-well, nobody..." you trailed off, looking at Joel for help.
"It's a small town, Maddy. If people knew, they'd be talkin'. Trust me," he said, rolling his eyes. "The most anyone knows is I had a little crush on her, but nothin' more."
"Besides. Patrick's cheated on me for years. I'm not an idiot, I could smell the perfume on his jacket and found the condom wrappers in his pants pocket," you told her, but she shook her head.
"This is a little different, hun," she said, leaning forward. "Joel's the town sheriff. He arrested Patrick and broke his nose. It's going to look like he had ulterior motives," she said, lifting up a piece of paper in front of her to double check her notes.
"I didn't break his nose, the table broke his nose. It was self-defense. The guy's got nothin'," Joel scoffed.
"Yeah you're probably right, but he's still going to make your life a living hell in court," Madeline said. "You looking for representation, too?"
"What?!" you exclaimed, turning in your seat to look at Joel. "He's suing you?"
"Yeah, it's no big deal. Happens from time to time, nothin' ever comes from it," he said casually.
"Why didn't you tell me?" you asked, your voice softening.
"Didn't wanna worry you. You gotta focus on this," he said, pointing to Madeline. "The other shit doesn't matter."
You wanted to argue with him but you knew your time was running short, so you let it go.
"Well at least you had the good sense not to take her statement," she said, glancing down at the papers before her. "Let's just hope it doesn't come up, and if it does, I'll be prepared," she said, making a note to herself before giving you her attention again. "I'll do my best to fast track this and set a court date. I'll have my team call his superior officer and we'll run some checks on him, call the hospitals, and start building your case. I'll be in touch soon about any potential witnesses you can bring to the stand that you trust. Anybody who might have witnessed Patrick abusing you, even if he was just yelling or twisting your arm. People you confided in. Anybody you might think can help, start thinking about it now and gathering contact info, okay?"
"Okay," you said firmly. You were starting to feel better, like this was the beginning of the end. And you had the feeling that Madeline was the right person to fight for you. She seemed honest and straight forward, understanding yet tough. This was someone who would give you your freedom back.
"And I can get a divorce?" you asked, and she nodded.
"Yes, I'm going to file the petition this afternoon and he will be served the papers," she explained. "If he contests it, we can cross that bridge when we come to it, but I'm hoping with all the fire we're throwing at him, he won't want to put up a fight."
"Thank you," you breathed, feeling even more at ease now that something was actually happening today. Any amount of progress at this point made you feel good.
You stayed another hour to review an endless amount of paperwork: the contract with the law firm, reviewing your statement for any inaccuracies, initialing and dating next to so many paragraphs on the petition to be filed that your eyes were going blurry by the end.
As you both stood up to follow Madeline out of her office, you stopped short.
"Wait, what about payment? I don't think we discussed legal fees in the contract," you said, frowning as you pulled your copy of the contract out from under your arm.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought Joel already told you," she said, glancing over at Joel, who dropped his gaze to his shoes. "The partners picked your case pro bono. The firm has to do a certain number each year and Joel suggested to a few of the right people that your case should be considered."
Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.
"Are you kidding me?" you whispered in shock, trying to fight the tears that were beginning to spring up. You looked at Joel but he averted his gaze before awkwardly clearing his throat.
"It's no big deal-" he began, but you cut him off.
"No, it is a big deal," you told him, and he clamped his mouth shut. Madeline's eyes flicked between the two of you for a moment, watching as you tried and failed to come up with the right words to convey your gratitude.
"The firm is happy to represent you, hun," Madeline said, breaking the silence. "We're gonna make sure this guy gets what's coming to him, understand?"
You tore your eyes away from Joel, who was finding it difficult to look anywhere but the floor.
"Thank you. Thank you so much," you told her, and she smiled before extending her arm towards the door.
As you walked towards the lobby, she was reminding you to expect a call in a few days with an update and to have a list of contacts ready for her, but you just nodded along numbly, barely listening.
Joel had already gone above and beyond by finding you a good lawyer and coming with you for support, but to also convince them to handle your legal fees? He didn't have to do any of this, but he did, and he didn't expect anything in return. Nobody had ever expressed so much concern about you before. And as you walked in silence towards the parking garage, you realized there could only be one explanation. There could only be one reason why he would do so much, and the thought had your heart pounding in your chest.
You drove in silence for a while, the atmosphere in the truck tense. He tried putting music on but you couldn't focus on anything other than everything that happened in the past few hours. Then you started to go back even further: cleaning your apartment and finding you furniture after Patrick vandalized it, walking you home during a rain storm, fixing your fucking sink when you had barely spoken two sentences to him. You rolled your head to the side, watching him as he focused on the freeway, his grip tight around the steering wheel.
"Look at me," you said quietly, and you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. After too long of a pause, he just said one word.
"Can't."
"Why not?"
"I'm drivin'."
"Bullshit," you said, and watched his throat bob as he swallowed nervously. You continued to stare him down, willing him to look at you, needing to see into his eyes to confirm your suspicion.
"Please, Joel," you finally said, your voice small. You could see the conflict in his face. The way his lips formed a hard line and his brows pinched together as he fought the urge, but once again he found he couldn't say no.
Slowly, he pulled his gaze off the road and forced himself to look at you. Your lips parted as you looked right through him and he knew right then and there he was fucked.
"Pull over," you mumbled, and he just nodded. He could feel the heat of your gaze on him as he took the nearest exit and pulled into a parking lot of what appeared to be an abandoned department store.
He didn't need to ask and you didn't bother to explain.
Once he parked, doing his best to choose a secluded spot, you each ripped off your seatbelts. He reached down to pull the lever below his seat and slid it back as far as it would go and in broad daylight, you climbed over the console to straddle his lap. His hands flew to your hips as you gripped the sides of his face, searching his eyes frantically before your mouth crashed down over his with a moan.
Joel was normally a strong man, but something about you always made him so weak. Weak and selfish and desperate and he wouldn't have it any other way. That's why, even though he knew it was a mistake, he kissed you back. Your tongues tangled together and when your hands slid up to his hair, he was done for. You were too warm and tasted too sweet and felt too fucking good, it was a miracle he came to his senses when your hand dropped down between you to land on his belt and he managed to pull away.
"That's not why I did all this," he said, each of you panting for air. "I didn't do it so I could fuck you."
"I know," you assured him, cupping the back of his neck. "I know why you did it."
He gazed up at you and slowly nodded.
"Reckon it's pretty obvious, huh?" he said softly, toying with the hem of your dress.
You didn't say anything in return. Instead, you lowered your mouth hungrily over his and he happily obliged. And when your hand drifted back down to his belt, he didn't stop you. He couldn't deny it any longer. He tried, he really did, but it was hopeless.
He wouldn't say the words out loud, and you were grateful. Because if he had, you weren't sure you would be able to convince yourself this was a one-time thing. Madeline's disapproving glare was seared into the back of your mind, her comments about Joel's own lawsuit still very much a concern, but when you lowered yourself onto him, each of you groaning your need into each other's mouths as you stretched around him, it all became a distant memory.
"Missed you so much," you mumbled against his skin as your mouth dragged down his jaw. You rolled your hips, slowly at first, but picked up the pace when you remembered you were in the middle of a parking lot and didn't have much time. "You feel so good," you continued, feeling his arms tense around you as he tried to hold himself back. "Think about you all the time. Especially in bed - ah!" you cried out when he began bucking up into you.
"Yeah? You touch yourself when you think about me?" he grunted in your ear, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you nodded. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements up and down while his mouth ghosted over your chest, wishing more than ever he could glide his tongue over your nipples, but he was too aware of where you were. He settled for yanking the sleeve of your dress down, exposing your shoulder so his teeth and facial hair could leave little red marks, hidden from view.
"Can't get enough of you, can't fuckin' stay away," he groaned, watching as you circled your hips, greedily chasing your own pleasure. Your arm shot out to the side, seeking leverage against the now foggy window, your fingers leaving telltale streaks as your hand slowly dragged downwards so when he got into his truck the next morning, he would see the ghost of your hand in the early morning dew.
"Joel," you whined, tossing your head back while you began to bounce, your ass accidentally beeping the horn and making you both laugh. Nothing could harm you here. Not when you had each other. Not when you had the feel of his rough hands over your skin and his soft lips against your mouth.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "C'mon, baby. Want you to feel me tomorrow," he said, lifting his hips up to meet yours, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
You gasped as your body went rigid, a white hot heat ripping through you while your legs began to shake and you whimpered his name over and over. You heard Joel groan and say something, probably a warning he was close, but you couldn't be sure. You nodded and mumbled some encouragement but your mind was still too fuzzy and your ears were practically ringing from the force of your orgasm. But when his teeth sunk into your shoulder, the slight pain snapped you out of it. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you down firmly onto his lap until his body stilled and he grunted into your skin.
You rested your cheek on the top of his head while his face stayed buried in your chest, both of you fighting for air as reality slowly began to sink in.
"Guess I didn't behave myself," he finally said with a chuckle. You grinned and lazily raised your head up so you could look at him.
"I think I'll take the blame for this one," you said before lifting off of him with a little gasp and moving your underwear back in place. You were about to swing your leg back over to your seat when he stopped you.
"Just another minute," he said, his hands mindlessly sliding up and down your thighs, and you draped your arms around his neck.
"We shouldn't do this again," you finally said, breaking the spell. He sighed and nodded but his hands continued to glide up and down your legs.
"I know."
You cupped his face and tilted his chin up to look at you. Your thumbs brushed over his cheeks as you stared into his eyes, still seeing everything he didn't have the courage to say. Leaning down, you pressed a tender kiss against his lips, then rested your foreheads together.
"Thank you, Joel."
"You're welcome, baby."
As promised, a few days later, Madeline's secretary reached out for a list of contacts that could be called upon to support your case. You didn't have many people in your corner, but you gave her your cousin's information back in Philadelphia, an old co-worker who you had partially confided in when the abuse started, a few friends who had noticed bruises but you had made up excuses for them at the time, and you reluctantly gave your mother's information, with the note to discuss with you first before contacting her.
You had hoped Madeline wouldn't want to call on your mother to testify. You hadn't spoken to her since you ran away to Texas, and given the way she responded when you told her what Patrick was doing, you weren't confident she would be a good witness. But it was still someone from your past who you confided in, and that was what Madeline was looking for: a trail of evidence, cries for help, anything to prove the most recent incident was not a one off situation.
"Madeline called me today," you told Joel after picking up his empty plate.
"Oh, yeah?" he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"She reviewed all the contacts I gave to her secretary and she scheduled another appointment for next week."
"Great, what day?" he asked, pulling out his phone.
"Tuesday," you said, replacing his coffee with a glass of ice water. He glanced up at you and quirked an eyebrow. "You drink too much caffeine," you explained, and he grinned.
"Ah, shit. I have a thing at Sarah's school that day. Lemme see if I can reschedule it-"
"No, go to Sarah's school, I wasn't telling you so you would come with me, I was just... letting you know," you said with a shrug.
"You sure?" he questioned, and you nodded.
"I'm sure. I know how to get there now and I feel comfortable with Madeline. I swear, I'll be fine," you told him. He put his phone down on the counter and thought for a moment before leaning forward and lowering his voice.
"This ain't 'bout what happened last time, is it?"
"No!" you said in surprise, and he looked relieved. "Not at all. I'm just trying to... I don't know, take control of my life, I guess?" He nodded but he still looked confused. "What I mean is, I think it's important I do some things for myself. Not that I don't appreciate-"
"I get it," he said with a chuckle as he stood up from his stool. "You just let me know if you change your mind."
"Okay," you replied with a smile, but stopped him when you realized he hadn't touched his water. You held the glass out to him and he stared at it, then looked at you with a sigh before plucking it from your grip and downing the whole thing in one gulp.
"Happy?"
"Very," you said with a grin, and watched him as he walked towards the front door, stopping briefly to chat with Maria before heading back to work.
Joel shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants as he walked back to the station, nodding to a few people along the way. He couldn't stop his gaze from traveling up to the window above the pizza place every time he walked by, smiling to himself when he noticed a new plant in your window.
The bullpen sounded quiet as Joel made his way back to his office. He liked quiet days. That was always a good day, in his book. He sat down in his chair with a huff, the little orange light on his desk phone blinking angrily at him, indicating a voicemail. He picked up the phone and punched in his passcode. He was reaching for a pen when the voice on the other end of the phone made him freeze.
"Joel, it's Maddy. Give me a call back when you get this, it's urgent."
Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77@nandan11@anoverwhelmingdin@fandomscollide@survivingandenduring@honeyedmiller@pedropascalsbbg@southernbe@pedrosfanny@gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts@missladym1981@spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85@maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie @sawymredfox@gobaaby-blog-blog@stevie75@mxtokko@sleepylunarwolf@lizzie-cakes@laurrrra@annieispunk@here4thedilfs @navystandardheatingoilcap @slugz-writes-shit@devilbat@ashleyfilm@scp116@tragerlover@iveseenstrangerthings50 @yvonneeeee @brittmb115@lulawantmula@abbysgirlll@ro-nahime-things@whxtedreams@ashhlsstuff@little-pookie@serenadingtigers@paleidiot@ashy-kit@lizlil@detectivejuliuspepperwood@buckyispunk @fckinel @sarahhxx03 @krispeenuggiez @flippittygibbitts@picketniffler@pedroslittlelady
Please follow @punkshort-notifs for fic updates
#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel the last of us#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller series#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal#the last of us hbo#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us#sheriff!joel#waitress reader#STR fic
599 notes
·
View notes
Text
Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)
♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)
♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)
♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.
chapter one: room for one more
It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall.
The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.
The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place.
It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long.
The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train.
Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive.
The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.
You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles.
Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus.
Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice.
“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear.
They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business.
Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories.
Ping ping ping ping!
Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk.
“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.
“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?”
“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone?
He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.
You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence.
He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape.
“Fifteen.”
The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”
Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.
The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93.
“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.”
Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin.
“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar.
He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two.
After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors.
Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.
You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work?
That was sure to go over well.
To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.
What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.
Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift.
Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils.
Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.
With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.
Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.
You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar.
Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility.
“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.
“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”
He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one.
“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.
I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”
His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier.
“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn.
Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire.
“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”
“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”
Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase.
It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet.
Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot.
“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile.
The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you.
Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you.
“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended.
The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back.
He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.”
You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line.
If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it.
Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.
You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you. Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.
Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again.
You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied.
The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions.
It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again.
Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?
Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.
--
taglist:
@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin
#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#fanfic#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things#lam
701 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | An apology is definitely at hand, and Eddie cements it when he drunkenly appears at your house despite your clear disdain.
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, descriptions of depression, self-deprecating thoughts, alcohol consumption, driving while intoxicated, mentions of neglectful parents, mentions of childhood abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, brief allusions to eating disorders, and brief mentions of predatory behavior.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | So sorry for the confusion, I was simply updating the color scheme of this chapter when an error was found in my tag list, which I had to edit. I had to remove the tag list, but everyone who was already in the list or asked to be will still continue to be tagged as new chapters are released.
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭
You stayed in your bedroom. Not studying. Not reading. Not eating. Barely even moving. The concavity of teals and pastels with trinkets and knick-knacks that constituted the room you found solace in for the last twelve years of your life had swallowed you whole. The bookcase. The vanity. The dying plants begging for life in a personified reflection to your state. Your knees. Your fingers. Your sullen face in the smudged mirror. You listened to the sounds around you. The cars. The birds. The buzzing bees of the blistering spring. So lively, not you. Your father, the whirring indication of the coffee machine that kept him alive, the clearing of his throat, and the crinkle of his newspaper, as if he didn’t proclaim the nastiest words of failure and disappointment against the child he fathered neglectfully. But you had everything—food, a roof, money—who were you to complain, right? Your bladder is full, it hurts, yet you don’t dare to move. You suck in a breath, forgetting to do so innately. Everything has become manual. Your breathing, your thinking, your will.
You’re eighteen, a senior in high school, and you want to go to college. Which one? The farthest one. You’re merely a girl, a teenage girl, a teenage girl deemed a slut because you were nice to a boy. Nothing more, nothing less. Until the next day, where you would be deduced to a whore, because that was the inevitable step for a teenage girl who was nice to a boy. And that’s all you think of. All you repeat. Because you don’t want to remember more. You just want to wait. For what? You don’t know. So you think, you sit, and you wait. Just waiting until there’s nothing more to wait for.
Maybe when you learn to let go, you’ll finally be free.
-
Perhaps it was the jocular facet of Wayne Munson’s personality that humored the struggling reality of his life, or maybe it was as superficial as he liked to quip an occasional joke here or there, either way, the same teasing line declaring his rambunctious nephew to be the cause of his exceeding aging—the one that always got a good chuckle out of his buddies while sharing a beer or a shy giggle from the tired waitress who worked the overnight shift just to serve him his coffee in the early hours of the morning—was vastly proving to be a coping mechanism, because Wayne Munson swore he could feel a new wrinkle brandishing his forehead as his nephew was on the verge of getting suspended… and failing… and arrested.
Eddie Munson truly did age the poor man into oblivion.
“…Twenty-two tardies, fourteen absences, thirteen detentions…”
Wayne briefly freed the indented grays of his head from one of his many beloved trucker hats before securing it back on. His calloused fingers splayed against his stressed eyebrows at an attempt to alleviate the impending pain with a heavy sigh. It was midday. He should be resting for his coming shift at the plant. But here he was, having a parent meeting with the principal for his twenty-year-old boy.
“…Persistent insubordination, frequent public outbursts, and repeated offense of inappropriate comments made against staff…”
That one made Eddie giggle. Oh, Mrs. O’Donell.
“Okay, okay,” Wayne politely interjected with a tight-lipped smile, “I think I get the picture here.”
Principal Higgins scoffed incredulously, as he dropped the particularly heavy file of Eddie’s extensive high school record. “Respectfully, I don’t think you do, sir.” Eddie rolled his eyes, as he apathetically slumped in the chair. “Your nephew has been tormenting the sanctity of my establishment for six years, six years, sir, and he’s in for a seventh after assaulting a fellow student on school grounds!”
“Oh, please, Carver deserved it-”
“Ed.” Wayne gritted with sternness.
“Mr. Munson, I specifically warned you of the potential consequences of another detention or suspension, and you went ahead and disobeyed my word! Now, charges are being threatened! This is monstrous! Vile, even! Blasphemous-”
“I told you, that jockstrap deserved it!” Eddie sat up to defend his stance, blatantly ignoring his uncle's plea to calm down. “Why aren’t you getting him in trouble, huh?! He’s the one that started all this shit! Going around and spreading lies about Y/N!”
And maybe this is when Eddie should have shut up, because the way Principal Higgins eyes bulged at the revelation honestly kinda freaked Eddie out a bit.
“Ms. Y/L/N?!” Higgins spit odiously. “This is about Ms. Y/L/N?!”
Wayne blinked between both men. “Who’s Y/N Y/L/N?”
The poor man’s presence had long been disregarded. Once again, this had been extrapolated into a battle between Higgins and Munson, a long six year war that seemed to have no ending. And you, well, you fell victim in the crossfire, left unaided, to die, vulnerable to the vultures of Hawkins High that got to pick you apart free of consequences. Because that was human nature for a small town that capitalized the American Dream with infiltrations of conservatism and conformity for the need to prioritize normalcy. And Eddie Munson was not normal, therefore you were not normal. Because you took his fucking picture.
“In my years of administration, I have never, and I mean never, have had this much havoc from two students!” It became quite astounding how much a single vein could protrude from a reddening forehead of a forty-seven-year-old man.
“This isn’t her fault!” Eddie burdened to emphasize. “Why are you always blaming her?! You used to love parading her achievements around as if they were yours, and now that she’s friends with me,” you weren’t friends with him, “you suddenly got your little feelings hurt?! You’re unbelievable!” Eddie sneered with a heavy breath and condescending laugh.
Now, Higgins had been far too familiar with Eddie’s bite, but the abrupt revelation had the man searching for words that would excuse his exaggerating behavior. “I-I, uh, well, I… t-this- this isn’t about Ms. Y/L/N, this is about you, Mr. Munson, and what you did!”
Wayne had reached his wits end, “Alright, alr-”
“What? Rightfully put Carver in his place? Yeah, I did-”
“Alright.” Wayne’s jaw was heavy with tension as a stern scrape of his teeth was gritted to end the commotion. “Look, I truly do not have the time to be doin’ this, so we’re gonna run this quickly.” He sighed with a hand massaging his stubble. “I’ll have Ed apologize.”
Eddie made his annoyance evident with a loud groan and scoff, as he waved his uncle off.
“But,” Wayne interjected, knowing his nephew would spew out more words that would worsen his consequence, “you said it yourself, sir, that Ed’s been “disrupting” your school for a couple years now, so I don’t think another repeated year would do anyone any good. Right?”
“I- I… well, I, uh, I suppose so…” Higgins mumbled.
“Perfect.” Wayne perched out of his chair with a groan from his aching back. “I think a… sincere, heartfelt apology will teach my boy a valuable lesson here.” He patted Eddie on the shoulder before yanking on his denim vest to pull him from his seat. “So, no detention, no suspension, that way Ed will get to graduate, he’ll be out of your hair, and all’s good in life.”
“I, well, I think we’re being a little too lenient-”
Wayne shoved his working hand in front of Higgins. “I appreciate your understanding, and I’m glad we were able to come to a consensus.” Dumbfoundedly, Higgins shook the man’s hand trying to process everything. “Now, I’ll get in touch with the other boy’s parents, hopefully talk them out of charges, and Ed and I will have a long talk as to why we shouldn’t hit people. Right, Ed?”
“U-um, uh, yeah- yes, sir, I’m so sorry.” Eddie nodded, faux guilt casting his face, as he pressed his lips in and threw his round eyes of disappointment to the ground.
“Well, then” Wayne sighed, “I better get going, sleep’s not gonna catch itself.”
“Mr. Munson, uh, sir-”
“Again, thank you for understanding.” Wayne shoved Eddie past the office door, before sending a polite wave to Higgins, left speechless and open-mouthed, yet no protest could be formulated, as the Munson men were out quick with a slam to the door.
Upon reaching the empty halls of the school, Wayne wondered how ethical it would be to lean against the cold, metal lockers and light a cigarette, because he had no willpower to wait until he was outside. Wayne Munson loved Eddie, he truly did. It may not have been affectionately shown for the majority of his guardianship, but it was there; through every cracked joke, every greasy late-night dinner shared, and every moment when he would miss work, because Eddie always waited last minute to finish the algebra homework that he knew he struggled with, and Wayne was there to help.
But parenthood, itself, was a troubling journey, and when abruptly placed onto a man who had no desire to ever have kids of his own, it became devastatingly unfathomable. It became worse when the kid in question knew nothing but abuse, no hugs no kisses, simply fists and swears to condition his mind with the wrongful notions as to how to express his emotions. It was grueling.
Wayne cleared his throat. “Ed.”
“I know, I know,” Eddie was quick to explain, “but I swear, it really wasn’t my fault.” His eyes pleaded to avoid the wave of disappointment he knew he brought to everyone in Hawkins.
“Boy, if this Carver kid and that girl, Y/N, are giving you trouble-”
“No, no, she’s not!” Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat, and huffed. “I-I mean, he is, yeah, but it’s nothing I’m not used to, so it doesn’t matter. But her, she, uh, she didn’t- I, fuck, look this is all stupid! He’s stupid, she’s stupid- I, no, she’s not stupid-”
“Eddie.” Wayne was seeing the younger boy Eddie had once been. Struggling with emotions, struggling with words, unable to process and formulate because he was scared.
“She fucking hates me, alright!” Eddie heaved. “All of this is stupid, and it doesn’t matter, because she fucking hates me! And I can’t even blame her, because I’m an awful fucking person!”
“You’re not awful-”
“I am!’ Eddie sighed to catch his breath. “C’mon, Wayne, you know I am. I nearly fucking failed for the third time in a row, because I have no self-control and apparently no fucking emotional intelligence, and now I may end up getting arrested in the middle of the fucking school day. And she fucking hates me, Wayne, she hates me!”
The quietness of the hall became deafening after Eddie’s tangent. He knew his uncle didn’t understand half of what he just uttered, but it sure as hell felt good getting it off his chest. And by now, a cigarette was looking real good to the older gentleman.
“I- shit, I’m sorry, just forget all of that.” Eddie groaned, a tense hand running through his tangled hair.
“No, no,” Wayne shook his head, “say what you need to say. It’ll do you some good.”
Eddie suspired. “Look, Jason was saying some really gross shit about Y/N that wasn’t true, and the only reason why they said all that shit was because she added me- uh, Hellfire to the yearbook.” Wayne raised an eyebrow. “I know, don’t give me that look, like I said, this is all fucking stupid. Anyways, I felt bad, he was literally causing a scene in the middle of lunch, and well, I punched him-”
“Well, see, you’re not an awful person.” Wayne pointed.
“You didn’t let me finish.” Eddie, now highlighted with genuine guilt, casted down to the floor. “When she first took our picture, I kinda yelled at her, because I thought she was just being some two-faced cheerleader, which she wasn’t, but, uh, after the whole cafeteria scene, well, she told me to just leave her alone, and um, I got defensive and called her… a sl- look, I just really fucked up, alright.”
Wayne puffed out a big breath of air. “Okay.” He really didn’t remember high school being this cursory, granted it was over thirty years ago for him. “Uh, well, did you at least apologize to her?” He truly didn’t know how else to approach this problem.
“Well, no, she got suspended yesterday because of the whole yearbook thing. Highly doubt I’ll get a chance.”
“Well, make a chance.” Wayne waved off simply.
“What?”
“You care that much about what she thinks of you, make the chance happen. Don’t just sit around, do something. And if you really don’t care, then just let it go and focus on graduating and not getting in trouble.” Wayne pulled out his pack of Camels. “Either way, I need sleep and you need to get to class.”
“It’s lunch time.”
“Then eat.” Wayne sighed, as he began walking away. “Just stay out of trouble, because there’s only so many free car repairs I’m willing to offer in order to keep your ass out of jail, boy.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”
-
“I can’t believe this! I totally don’t look like this!” Dustin shrieked. “This is a terrible angle! And I specifically told the guy to get my good side!”
Mike laughed with a mouth full of greasy pizza. “You look like the orcs from our campaign.”
“Who looks like the orcs from our campaign?” Eddie announced his arrival, as he took a seat at the head of the table.
“Dustin!” Gareth guffawed.
“But, hey, if you really wanna feel better, take a look at Stanley Godwin who literally sneezed in the middle of his picture.” Jeff stole the yearbook from Dustin’s grabby hands. “Poor kid and his sinuses.”
But before Jeff could thumb through to find the sneezing sophomore, Eddie had forcefully yanked the brand new book from his friend. “Where the hell did you get this?!”
“I bought it.” Dustin answered. “The Yearbook Committee is already selling them. But, if you want my advice, don’t bother asking Nancy for a family discount.”
“You’re not family.” Mike sneered with a playful shove.
And in true Dustin Henderson fashion, the boy audibly gasped. “Have the last ten years meant nothing to you?”
“Is our picture still in here?” Eddie interrupted.
“Yup!” Gareth smirked. “Front and center.”
Eddie flipped through the extracurriculars, filtering through the numerous clubs before his eyes bestowed upon their photo. There they were. All of them. Their faces and names representing the Hellfire title.
“Hey, how’d the meeting with Higgins go?” Jeff snapped Eddie’s attention. “Your uncle dish one out to ya?”
“Uh, no, actually.” Eddie signed. “Got let off the hook.”
“Wait, Higgins isn’t suspending you?” Mike questioned, and Eddie merely shook his head in confirmation.
“Wow, you’d think punching his precious star athlete would get you expelled.” Dustin laughed. “I mean, even Y/N got suspended for something less. Wish she was here, so I could thank her for the photo.”
Your name had sparked something within Eddie. He quickly turned the pages to reach the senior class of 1986, and flipped until he found your face. Your fucking beautiful face. So pretty and proper, dressed in your best clothing, pearls shining around your neck, eyes glinting with perfection. You were perfect. Perfect. Down to the last minute detail. Your teeth, your lips, your skin.
Make a chance.
Eddie tore the page with much fervor in mind.
“Hey, what the hell?!” Dustin whined. “That cost me forty-five bucks!”
“Sorry, kid.” Eddie muttered, as he stood from his chair, stuffing the torn page into the leather pocket of his worn jacket.
“Where are you going?” Jeff catechized. “We’re in the middle of lunch.”
“To find Chrissy Cunningham.”
-
Chrissy Cunningham was a lot harder to find than Eddie had expected. She had been in the same lunch period with him for the entirety of the semester, but the one instance he actually needed to speak to her, she wasn’t sitting with the gaggle of cheerleaders and jocks that claimed the best seats in the lunchroom. The girls’ bathroom had been his best option, now he obviously didn’t enter, but after he begrudgingly called out her name through the doorway, he felt like a creep and left rather quickly. The gym was his backup, but after peering through the small windows of the double doors, all he saw was Coach Monaghan loudly instructing scrawny freshmen through enervating suicide drills for the sake of physical education. And the health room was no luck, as the guidance counselor was enforcing teaching the importance of abstinence to a group of girls—only girls—for the sake of sexual education. More like purity culture. Eddie was running out of luck. His watch indicated the mere five minutes he had left before he’d be obligated to endure Mrs. O’Donell. But, by the grace of whatever god may or may not be out there, Eddie caught sight of the strawberry blonde sitting alone upon the writhing wood of an old picnic table just outside of the cafeteria. He walked all around, just for her to be a couple yards from where he originally was. Sometimes Eddie could only scoff at himself.
Appearing to be caught up in her own world, Eddie’s heavy footsteps went unnoticed, until he materialized into her peripheral, a startled shriek making him surrender with hands up in the air.
“Woah, hey, sorry.” He raucously chuckled, looking around to make sure no one could fabricate some false story of harassment against a cheerleader. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
But his words brought no ease to her- clearly, it was just yesterday she was cleaning up her boyfriend’s lip, because of Eddie. “I, uh, I- well, if it’s alright with you, I, um, liked to talk- well, ask you for something.” He softly assured, as she eyed him timidly.
“Um, a-about what?” Her voice could barely be picked up by the breeze of the afternoon.
Eddie took it as an invitation to sit down across from her with a tight-lipped smile. It was awkward. He took notice of her uneaten lunch, merely picked apart but not savored—well, as savored as school lunch could be. “So, uh, what brings you out here?” Perhaps an attempt at conversation with someone he never even spoke to was too bad of an idea, but he simply chose the politeness path, as he ask was pretty hefty. “Finally got tired of Jessica’s big mouth?” He laughed.
Chrissy didn’t. Jessica had made a comment, one that sounded too much like her mother’s own words.
So when Chrissy sadly shrugged, he dropped the small talk and diverted the conversation.
“Okay, look, I’m just gonna be up front.” Eddie sighed. “I need you to give me Y/N’s phone number and address.”
Her thinly groomed eyebrows creased her forehead in confusion. “Um, what?”
“Look, it’s a simple ask, alright, I just need her phone number and address.”
“No, I hear you, Eddie, I just- well, I just don’t know if she would want me to-”
“No, and I understand that, I just really need to talk to her.” Eddie pleaded. “And obviously I can’t do that at school.” Chrissy stayed quiet with contemplation. “C’mon, you guys are friends- or were friends, right? I really just want to make it up to her after all the bullshit she’s been through. Us being partially at fault because of it, y’know.”
Chrissy’s guilty round eyes met his. “I just don’t want her to hate me more.” she whispered.
Eddie’s mouth fell slightly agape, not knowing how to comfort. See, lying and saying all was good and merry between you and Chrissy in order to get what he wanted would have been his first solution—the asshole way of thinking. But being that Eddie being an asshole was the start of all your misery in the first place, he fought the urge to choose the easy way out and rubbed his face with agony.
“Yeah, no, I, uh, get it.” He huffed. “And if it’s any consolation, she fucking hates me, too. Probably more than she hates you.” He smiled. And luckily, a sadden smile curled her lips, which was a start. “And I mean, rightfully so, we were jackasses to her.” He laughed.
“I should have stuck up for her.” Chrissy sighed. “She always has for me. I mean, she’s been my best friend for four years. But Jason, he just gets so far into this idea of what people will say and think, and he doesn’t want me or him hurting from others' judgment.”
“So you judged her instead?” He couldn’t really be one to speak on the morals of virtue, as he judged, too.
“I know, it’s so stupid.” She dropped her head into her palms with shame. “And I’m not trying to excuse it, I just want her to know I’m so sorry, but I haven’t had the courage to tell her.” She groaned. “Plus, her dad is really strict and really hard on her to be so successful, that I doubt he’ll want me over after she got suspended.”
Chrissy drowned with dejection. Four years of the purest bond between young girls had been cemented into a cascade of hateful rumors and a lack of clear discernment that severed their loving connection that persevered them through the pinnacle of teenage years. As naive fourteen-year-olds, you both had stolen the locked up booze from your father’s office, and cheered one another on as you took a sip, to ensure you both appeared to know what you were doing when you arrived to Bradly Leminski’s party. Turns out, you both had accidentally drank too much in the comfort of your bedroom and missed out. You’d even watched giddily, as Jason Carver asked Chrissy out, after you ran him through the basis of what she loves, because he was determined to get her on a date. But through the woes of boys and high school parties, you’d both been there for one another through the deepest of tribulations, like when Chrissy called you bawling, because her mother’s words manipulated the way she saw herself in the beautiful dress she’d been so excited to wear for the winter formal. Or when she held you tightly after saving you from the harsh grasp of a senior, Jimmy Saunters, who forcefully shoved multiple shots of tequila down your throat, and attempted to drag you into his friend’s bedroom when you were merely a baby freshman.
Her comfort had saved you, just as yours did to her.
“Well, I mean, you can’t just not try.” Eddie reasoned. “Look, I fucking hate that she hates me, and I want to at least try to apologize to her, too, which is why I at least need her number and address, please. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you, too, whenever you get the chance.”
The school bell that Eddie had been all too familiar with screeched for the coming of class, and he jumped in hurry. “C’mon, Chrissy, please, you gotta help me out here.” The desperation became palpable. Chrissy turned and watched numerous students flood into the halls through the glass doors of the building. Caving in quickly, she rummaged through her backpack for a pink pen she’d nearly worn through after the excessive notes from her third period. But she simply grabbed Eddie’s jacket sleeve, and utilized the back of his veiny hand as a canvas for her information.
He’d ache his neck with a contorted twist of his head to watch the fading ink print what he wanted. A seven digit number lined the back of his hands, a small smile consuming his face, but then Chrissy started capping her pen away. “W-wait, uh, her address, too.”
“Um…”
“Please, I swear, if she asks, I won’t say it was you.” Eddie rushed.
Chrissy sighed, before quickly scribbling the number and street name of your home. Eddie cursed under his breath. “Christ, Pinecrest Acres? I got hired to mow some dude’s lawn in that neighborhood one summer, and some prick called the cops on me for trespassing.” He scoffed, and poor Chrissy didn’t know how to respond at the irrelevance of his news besides with an awkward chuckle. “But, anyways, thank you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” Eddie saluted, as he headed towards the door.
But then he abruptly turned. “Wait! Uh, tell your boyfriend I’m sorry for the, uh, whole, y’know…” And Eddie laughed, as he mimicked the shocking punch that loosened Jason Carver’s front teeth.
The entire reason why he hadn’t showed up to school that day.
“Um, don’t you want to tell him yourself?” Chrissy sweetly proffered. “I’m sure it’ll mean more.”
Eddie could roll his eyes. It was Jason Carver. Nothing Eddie did could mean shit to him.
He winced with a hiss. “Yeah, see, I totally would,” no, he wouldn’t, “but since he’s not here, and you’re the next best thing, I trust that you’ll pass on the message for me.” He smiled so sickly, Chrissy couldn’t see the drenching lies of his words.
“Oh, okay.” She agreed.
“Oh!” Eddie perked. “If Higgin’s asks, I totally did apologize to Carver, okay?” Well, maybe there was still a little asshole left in Eddie, but at least he wasn’t actively hurting anyone. Yet.
“Uh, o-okay.” She hesitantly smiled.
“Thanks, Chrissy.” He lifted his balled fist to bump with hers. It was telling of the fact that Eddie Munson had little interactions with girls his own age- or any girls for that matter. But she hesitantly bumped him back, nonetheless. “Y’know, you’re a really cool person, you should get better friends.” He affirmed, before waving a goodbye.
“Th-thanks.” She meekly watched him enter the school building.
While uncomfortable at first, the overall start of the budding friendship between Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson was one to look forward to. While they evidently had nothing in common, it was quite comical actually, they could find reassurance in one another that improvements needed to be made within themselves in order to speak to the one person they both genuinely cared for. You. They at least had that in common. And luckily for Eddie, in six hours, Chrissy Cunningham would confide to Jason Carver to drop any potential charges, and he would listen, because he loved her.
-
“Fuck.” Eddie mumbled under his breath. He shook the nerves from his hands, and rolled his neck in preparation. “C’mon, you can do this.”
“So, uh,” Wayne snapped Eddie’s attention. His uncle was staring at him circumspectly, as he shrugged on his jacket, “you preparin’ for a marathon, or somethin’?”
“What?” Eddie blinked through his messy bangs. “No, I’m about to make a phone call.”
“Right.” Wayne cleared his throat, studying the newfound nervousness of his nephew’s demeanor, which he hadn’t seen in- well, ever. “Ima head out to work, see ya tomorrow morning.” It was clear Eddie was waiting for his uncle to leave, as Wayne caught sight of how quickly Eddie grabbed the handle of the phone as Wayne, himself, grabbed the doorknob. “Is this about that Y/N girl?”
Eddie’s shoulder’s dropped. “Shouldn’t you be heading off to work by now?”
“Alright, alright,” Wayne mumbled, “just askin’. Be sure to eat dinner.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I mean it, Ed. Eat.”
Eddie, in fact, did not eat.
In order to not succumb to the nauseating feeling that was churning in the pit of his tummy, he came to the concurrence that a cold beer would extenuate the ferment that made his heart skip a beat every ten seconds. Now, in typical sense, Eddie had consumed enough beer in his lifetime, that a single one shouldn’t have affected him to the extent at which this one did. But see, Eddie didn’t listen to the wise words of Wayne Munson, and his gurgling, empty stomach rocked him to the edge of tipsiness far quicker than he was used to.
And before he knew it, his cold fingertips were jamming the buttons to the sequence of Chrissy’s faded pink handwriting, and soon it began ringing- shit, the phone was ringing! Eddie began panicking in place, wavering between hanging up and bringing the phone back to his ear. He hadn’t even planned out what he would say to you. Well, he technically did, it was all that he could think about for the entire day, but each idea seemed unworthy to the standards you deserved, so he’d move on to the next thought, but then suddenly every thought was determined unfit by Eddie. Should he apologize? Fuck, of course, he should apologize, but for what first? Calling you a miserable bitch? An attention-seeking slut? Making a scene in the cafeteria? Yelling in your face? Making you cry? Jesus Christ, thinking it out loud, why on Earth would you ever accept his apology?! He should just hang up before it’s too late-
“Hello?”
Eddie Munson’s knees buckled.
He carelessly gripped the edge of his wooden table, and slowly steadied himself into the chair below. He should speak, but no words were coming out. His knuckle flew into his mouth, where his teeth brandished the tender skin with harsh indents. It was painful, but he couldn’t stop.
You spoke so featherly soft, too delicate for his usual orotund tone. The one he’d use to berate you. “Um, hello?”
“H-Hi…” He pierced out, immediately cringing at the sudden loudness he uncontrollably spoke in. “It’s, uh- well, it’s me, um… Eddie.”
It was dead quiet for what felt like an eternity.
No word, no squeak, no air. You were obviously holding your breath, and the mere thought was tearing at Eddie’s heart. “Please.” It came out so weak. “Please, Eddie, I don’t wanna start anything.”
His stomach dropped, and his hands shook with how scared you sounded. You were scared of him. In the couple of instances he interacted with you, he scared you. Because to you, he brought harm. It may not have been physical, but it was detrimental, nonetheless. And you were scared. He was becoming the sole person he did not want to become, because he knew what it was like to be scared.
“No, no, sweetheart,” he let out a shaky sigh, “I’m not gonna do anything. I promise.” He wanted to profusely vomit. It was the same words his dad had uttered to his bruised mom in order to sweet talk her out of leaving.
“I told you to leave me alone, Eddie.” You choked quietly. It was dinner. Your father was downstairs enjoying his takeout. Not yours. He stopped caring to ask the minute you refused to leave your bedroom. “I don’t even care how you got my number, but I need you to not call-”
“No, I know, sweetheart, but I really just need to talk to you.” His knuckles were casting white upon the tight grip he clutched the phone, as his lips brushed the bottom speaker in whispers. His other hand began insistently picking at the old wood of the kitchen table. Wayne would have a word with him about that. “I- what I did, I really need to tell that I’m sorry, because I truly am sor-”
“Eddie,” You gently interrupted, no energy to scream at him like your mind was begging you to do, “I don’t want your apology.” You sniffled. “If it really meant that much to you, you would have never done it to begin with, because I- I would have never done this to you. I would have never done this to you.”
His eyes clenched shut to mitigate the profound stinging of his eyes from the welling of tears his heart was urging to spill for you. He knew the probability of you accepting his apology was low, but his mother always seemed to accept his father’s after he sweet talked his way out of a domestic abuse charge. This is what was supposed to happen, right? You should be loving his words and running to forgive him, right? It was what he saw. It was what he experienced. It was what he was conditioned to believe. But you weren’t his mother. And he’d desperately do anything to not be his father. Yet everyday, the image in the mirror was sneering back that sickening smile that destroyed Eddie’s childhood. So you weren’t going to run in his arms. You were going to stand your ground, just like he wished his mother had done to his father.
“Please, sweetheart.” A gritted through his tense jaw, as a tear stained his reddening cheek. “Please.”
“I don’t want anything to do with you, Eddie.” There was no admonish to your words, in fact, you were so demure, holding back tears of your own, because he knew the ugly truth that you were well aware of the fact that if you screamed, he’d scream. And you’d, once again, be scared. “Just let me be, please. I don’t want you near me.”
The buzzing of the cutting line shot his bullet in his heart.
Your voice was gone, and yet, the phone stayed glued to his ear in hopes that he was just imagining it all. You didn’t hang up. You were still on the line. You would take back your words. You would accept his apology. But your euphonious voice never appeared again, and Eddie aggressively slammed the phone back on the hook with a grunt of frustration. The heel of his palms stabbed into his weeping eyes, as his shoulders assertively shook with every choke of his tightening breath. Rejection, heartache, vexation, and patheticism rampaged his mind from any calamity, and before he knew it, the characteristics he so badly hated about himself were being proffered up to the surface of his being.
In truth, this was the scary aspect of Eddie Munson that resembled the harm he was verbally and physically ingrained with as a tragic child who knew of no hope. All rationale was gone, and wrongful devotion rooted in his deepest fear of being neglected with disregard had overtook his judgment. Standing with all fury, his finger’s strained through the excessive flexing of joints before his balled fist broke through the drywall of his trailer. His knuckles split with blood, but it felt deserving to him. Who was Eddie Munson without the infliction of pain? Absolutely nobody, he affirmed in his mind. He was meant to suffer.
Chest heaving, beads of sweat pebbled his forehead, and the fridge door broke open. His truculent, battered hand grappled onto the torn yokes of the remaining three beers, hauling them, as his other hand reached for the keys to his van.
Eddie Munson was about to cause more harm.
-
“Please, jus hol’ on f’me…” His drenched lips slurred with beer, as his hand crushed the empty can he haphazardly threw into the passenger seat, where his growing collection stacked.
In the grand scheme of things, Eddie knew he was attesting to the predisposition of his role in this town, but he couldn’t help it. A lowlife, criminal, an irascible danger to society. Would you actually accept him? No, you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t blame you. But he couldn’t stand the pre-conceived notion he’d confirmed about himself to you, and he was in desperation to speak to you. Unfortunately, Eddie had panicked, and this was happening in the ugliest, most horrifying and sinister state he’d ever been in. And you would see it all.
As lucky as one can be under the influence while driving, the cracked roads had fortunately been desolate, as nuclear families gathered around their pristine tables to lavish in the draining emotional labor of home cooked meals by their underappreciated wives. He rejected all red lights and street signs, stampeding through neighborhoods, drifting past turns, and steadily accelerating until he’d approached the spotlighted sign of Pinecrest Acres. The affluence—actually the beer and sharp curves—made his stomach turn in disgust. The aristocrats of Hawkins housed together, where they frolicked with no worries in the prolific assortment of two-stories, pool houses, parterres, and vintage cars, all while the struggling families of Forest Hills had to huddle with worn blankets to survive the blistering winters of Indiana. Ronald Reagan’s conservatism sure had an ascendancy on this place. He came to an abrupt stop after his headlights reflected the engraved 630 of your mailbox. “6… 3… 0 Pinecrest fucking Acres.” He mumbled.
His tire ran over the curb of your street before he pulled the keys from the ignition. For a second, he stopped. His breathing was becoming suffocating, as his chest fervently raised with each depth of an inhale. His hand found the door handle faster than his mind could process, and soon he was stumbling on inebriated legs to the front lawn of your house. Honestly, if your dad had found him, he would have shot him, but the man had driven himself into bed after downing the entirety of his rum.
Eddie’s eyes scaled the height of the house. “Fuck me.” Maybe he shouldn’t have chugged four beers. He cleared his throat. His joints echoed in a rhythmic sequence of pops, as he pressed and twisted his fingers to loosen up. A guttural groan escaped as his neck was next, snapping it left to right to ease out any crooks. His breaths stammered in unprecedented waverness, as his ears ached through the thudding sounds of his beating heart that seemed to be amplified in his mind. Jaw ticking. Hands shaking. Mouth dried. Body sweating. What the hell were you going to do when he’d shown up without your consent? In fact, you explicitly said to leave you alone. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie wanted to cry. Should he knock? No, your dad would call the cops. Would you call the cops? He sure as hell would if a drunk man harassed his yard.
But then, his stomach sank to his ass.
The one room that had been illuminated by the glowing overhead light had accentuated your silhouette. You. It was fucking you. In your room. Where you stayed, where you studied, where you slept, where you’d been crying and chose stoicism to numb the pain of everything around. But everything had happened quickly, and soon, you were gone with a sharp close of your curtains.
Eddie’s legs began working without thought, and he’d swiftly aligned himself with the window to your room, tramping the trimmed garden of crumpled rose bushes beneath his dirty sneakers. Your house had been complemented by the standing trellis that had been wrapped by vines of delicate nature. If there was any sign of either moving forward or leaving, the intricate trimming of your house perfectly starting where your trellis ended meaning Eddie had leeway to make it to your window, meaning Eddie’s intoxicated mind saw it was a passage to see you. “Jus do it f’her, do it f’her…” Regrettably, the rational part of his brain had fallen under the influence, which was screaming at him to just leave you alone.
As stealthy as a drunk man could, Eddie prayed the trellis could hold his weight, as he began scaling the flimsy wood against your wall. All he could think about was you. Every step was for you. Every splinter was for you. Every stumble was for you. Yet his clouded judgment could not process the fact that you didn’t want any of this. But the bottom of his shoe was already scuffing the white trimming of your house, and he was hoisting himself to stand upon the hipped edge roof. Crouched and begging his intoxication didn’t drop him from the second story, he quietly approached the dormer of your window.
His fingertips gently caressed the glass with great scrutiny. It was now just dawning on him as to what he’s just done. The danger he’s put himself and others in. The disrespect he’s inflicted upon you. The hurt. The knock was soft, barely comprehensible. You had ignored it, there was always noise. You tightly cuddled a bundle of your duvet, sinking yourself into the wallow of your bed in hopes of willing yourself to a serious need of sleep. But the noise continued. More apparent. More concerning.
You jolted at the clearest indication of a set of knocks cascading against your window.
Your heart began racing beyond compare, as the noise followed just outside. It was night, no one should be coming to your house, let alone your window at 9:27 p.m. And the one man you should have had full reliance on was currently passed out in his locked bedroom, where you knew awakening him would lead to a revile of the burden you’d become in his life. He said it when you were nine, and he’d freely say it again if you gave him a headache from his usual hangover.
But suddenly, the trembling of your body succumbed when you heard it.
“H-hello…”
Blindsided by the simple greeting, you stumbled out of bed with stupefaction that he would actually show up. Eddie. You ran to your window, swinging the curtains open to reveal him. Round, reddened eyes oozing with plead, as his hand pressed against your window. His heart sank at the look of disgust that his face garnered from you. He hated it. He hates your disheveled hair, your bagging pajamas, your wobbling lip. He hates you. He hates how perfect you were. Why the fuck were you so fucking perfect?
You made out the shaky “please” that left his mouth.
Opening the window swiftly, the cold breeze of the night engulfed you, as he helped you lift. “What are you doing here?!” You were quick to spit with spite.
“I-I,” upon seeing you, his eyes had an instant reaction to start welling for the shit he was putting you through, because he knew what he was wreaking was pure havoc in the normalcy of your life, “I just really needed to t-talk to you.” He managed to choke out.
His hot breath hit you like a truck, proffering memories of what a humid house party smelt like. “Are you drunk right now?!” He could only shamefully nod with closed eyes. “And you drove here?!” Another disgrace to his character. “Are you insane?!”
“M’so sorry… M’so fucking sorry, please, I-I jus- I jus-”
“You could have hurt somebody, Eddie!” Though whispered, it carried all the beratement of your anger. “You could have killed yourself!”
“I know!” He wailed with guilt. “I jus- I feel like m’losing my mind, because I need to fucking fix what I did. What I did to you! M’so sorry.” Your hands caught your head in anguish. You hated him, every being in your body wanted to shout at him, and yet, your heart was tormenting at the state he was in. And you fucking hated that you couldn’t hate him how you wanted- how you deserved. “M’sorry, I-I can leave and I swear I won-”
“You’re not fucking leaving like this, Eddie, you’re gonna get hurt.” You began tearing in frustration.
“Nonono, p-please don’t cry-”
He tried to reach out to you, but you slapped his comforting hands away, forcing him to lose his balance, before you had to steady him yourself. “You’re just saying that because you know you’re the cause.” You mumbled far too low for his drunk brain to process, while you held a tight grip around his wrist.
At an attempt to pull him in, his heavy, limp body contorted trying to bypass your window alcove, brandishing it with the streaks of his dirty shoes, and it took all your strength to stumble him onto your bed with a huff. Having him sit in place, you kneeled in front of him to get a good look at his face through the peering moonlight. He looked beyond exhausted, a testament to the agony of contrition he’s been eaten by for what he’s done to you. His eyes wholly swollen with irritation and tears that stained his flushed cheeks, as everything around him felt like it was burning hot. You couldn’t yell at him. At this state, ambushing him with an onslaught of curses and shouts would only project him into a disposition of vindication in order to protect himself. And that side of Eddie Munson was scary.
“Eddie,” you sighed, as his hanging head managed to meet your round eyes and quivering lips. “You cannot do this again. Do you hear me? You’re scaring me.” He vehemently shook his head, as his hands were quick to cover his face with shame to shield from the embarrassment he was consumed by. You pulled his arms away. “No, Eddie, I need you to say it; that you won’t do this to me again.”
“I-I… I won’t do this to you a-again- m’sorry. I won’t touch you, I promise, M’not my dad.” He sobbed.
You sighed in defeat. “What- why would you even do this in the first place? What are you talking about?” You pleaded to understand, as tears constricted your eyes.
There’s so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. “I fucking need to fix what I did to you. I didn’t mean it, any of the shit I said to you. Being around is just so nice that I get afraid. I don’t want to lose you… a-as a friend, because- because nice things don’t happen to me, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost-” His breath had caught up to him, making him retch on nothing but tears and snot.
“Breathe, okay, Eddie, just breathe.” You quietly instructed, as he endeavored to follow suit. Your hands softly took hold of his, trying to ameliorate the violent shakes of his stiffening body, fingers delicately locking to find solace within his. And he held back so tightly.
“Nobody- nobody’s ever cared like you have.” He whimpered.
“So why treat me like this?” You mewled, sinking your teeth to discontinue the incoming sobs that stung your throat.
“Because I don’t fucking deserve you-” You were quick to immediately shush him, as your father was merely a couple doors down. “Sorry, but I can’t fucking like you, Y/N.” He murmured through a quivering lip. His mind was spewing his feelings, the one he so badly wanted to ignore, but alas, his intoxicated state was regrettably telling all. “I can’t, it hurts too much. Knowing- knowing you don’t belong with me, I-I can’t fucking hold you, hug you, I c-can’t.”
“Eddie, you could have just talked to me.” You softly cried.
“No.” He looked so terrified. “I can’t fucking hear you ignore me. I-I know you don’t like me-”
“You don’t know that-”
“Fucking look at me, Y/N.” He bawled. “Look at what I’m doing to you. You don’t fucking deserve this. M’not a good person. I hurt you. I fucking hurt you.”
“I just wished you would have given me a chance, and talked to me, Eddie.” You squeezed his hands.
“No, I don’t want to burden you.” He cried with heavy breaths. “There’s things I wanna say to you- do with you, but I should just be letting you live free from me. No one cares about what I have to say, and you know it.” He begged for you to get it. “All that bullshit about communication doesn’t mean anything when it comes to me. No one wants to hear me. No one wants me.”
Your heart shattered at the revelation because it was beyond the definitions of truth. From childhood, Eddie Munson knew he was nothing if not a punching bag to his father, a therapist to his mother, an obligation to his uncle, and a burden to everyone. It became unwarrantedly embedded into a six-year-old boy and vandalized into his twenty-year-old self. He recognized it. Everyone affirmed it.
You raked your hands from his hold, choosing to sit next to him on your bed, where your arms inundated him into a hug he had not received in years. The last close touch given to Eddie Munson left him weeping with a broken nose. He immediately fell into your embrace, shoving his head in the comfort of your neck, where his cries only amplified with the desperation of being touched lovingly. Your own tears had dampened his unruly head of hair, as you caved into him. His heavy arms constricted you tightly.
At this moment, you were not scared of Eddie Munson. You’d seen his reasoning and you understood. Not excused, but understood. A lot of people had simply scared him first.
“I hear you, Eddie. I want to keep hearing you.”
-
“Eddie?” You whispered into his curls.
It’d been an hour of nonstop wails of distress, years of pent up emotions, and the realization that his being could be accepted. Even if it was just for tonight. His eyes had endured a rollercoaster of feelings, and they soon gave up on holding him awake. You didn’t move. He didn’t move. A tight hug that was necessary for both of you after heavy stoicism from neglect in your own unique ways.
You caressed his head. “Eddie?”
He was out. You let out a shaky breath of relief. Carefully maneuvering his body, you gently laid his head onto your pillow, prying his strong arms from your waist where they refused to let go, bunching the fabric of your sweater. But you managed to escape his needy hold. Huffing lightly, you carried his legs onto your bed, deciding to let his shoes dirty your clean blankets. His arms had subconsciously gotten comfortable, splaying out against your mattress, where he fell into deep relaxation in comparison to the lumpy bed he’d succumb to back home. You took sight of the fading ink across his hand, your information decorating his alabaster skin with the all too familiar pink of Chrissy Cunningham’s pen. You wondered how the hell that conversation had gone down. You tenderly eased his arms from the malaise of his jacket, bringing the denim and leather infused with cheap cologne and cigarettes up to your nose. It was Eddie. Soothing the beloved jacket against the back of your desk chair, a small paper had dropped from the nearly torn pocket. Reaching out, you picked up the torn page from Dustin Henderson’s yearbook.
Though, no other student could be seen. It was ripped haphazardly to only focus on your picture.
You.
Eddie Munson had now seen you, as you had now seen him.
Softly placing the photo back, you rummaged through your closet to retrieve another set of duvets and blankets, where you preciously placed them onto the floor of your bedroom. Your bed had now been stolen, but you weren’t complaining—that much, at least. You’d quietly taken another pillow from your bed, placing it onto your newfound cushion of the floor. There was a reason why you shoved this particular blanket into the closet, it made your skin itch uncomfortably, but you’d withstand the terrible material of the woven covers if it meant that Eddie could get the peace he needed.
Because if Eddie was okay, you’d be okay.
Because similarly to Eddie, who were you if not catering to the needs of others in order to keep sanity in your life. You just wanted stability. True stability.
Cuddling into your blankets, you heard the snores of the past out man next to you. You sighed. In the mere three days of knowing Eddie Munson, you accepted the emotional labor that came with his damaged self. But that was okay. Because Eddie Munson seemed ready to do the same for you. Accept you.
But how willing were you to tolerate the impulsivity of Eddie Munson who knew nothing of stability?
𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Again, there was an error in my tag list, which led me to removing it. Luckily, it’s been a couple days, so I believe most who wished to be tagged already read this chapter. My tag list will continue, I just simply had to remove it for this chapter in particular. I’m terribly sorry for any confusion.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson angst#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff#mean!eddie munson#the yearbook: club pictures
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
travellingarsonist
"you say something reasonable only about once a month"
sidekidzz
sidekid
thesilveredviridian
TheSilveredViridian