#child!eddie munson x child!reader

[leasstories]

Lea’s advent calendar day 8 – The snow battle

@writerthreads writing prompt for Christmas (2022), prompt 25:

[playing in the snow]

Child Eddie Munson x Child!reader (gn)

No trigger warning.

WC: ≈1K

December 1978,

You and Eddie met a year ago when he moved in with his uncle. Since then, even if you aren’t in the same grade as you are 10 and he is 12, you’ve been attached to the hip. Creating a fantasy universe in which you’re the protagonists together, playing hide and seek in the trailer park every single day. Eddie also always shows you when he learn a new song on his acoustic guitar. He told you everything that happened with his old man. For the first time in his life, he can be himself and vulnerable with someone. At school, you spend your playtime together and eat your lunch together.

As you both live in the trailer parks, you both have poor families, but you always share your lunches with each other even if you don’t have much. You love playing with Eddie and now that it’s winter break Eddie and you spend all day together. When you woke up this morning, you were excited to see that it is snowing! You ask your dad, because you live alone with him, if yo can go to Eddie’s and spend the day with him. Your dad knows Eddie’s uncle, Wayne really well, they went to High School together, he already knew Al, Eddie’s dad.

And even if this Eddie kids seems way better than his dad, your dad still worries for you. He knows Wayne wouldn’t let Eddie hurt or manipulate you and Eddie has been nothing but kind with you and really polite with your dad, but still, he doesn’t want to see his precious child be dragged in illegal activities or hurt.

You beg your dad, doing your puppy dog eyes and he ends up accepting. You rush to your room to put warm clothes on, take the last drawing you made for Eddie. It is the both of you, trying to defeat a dragon, you put it in your coat pocket, closing it so the drawing doesn’t get soaked and gets out of the trailer, excited, after kissing your dad’s cheek.

You run to the Munson trailer and knock like if your life depended on it. Wayne wakes up and get up from the folding bed he sleeps in, groan and open the door. When he sees it’s you, he forces a smile while rubbing your eyes.

“My boy is still sleeping, but come in, I can fix you a breakfast” Wayne always does that for you. He knows your old dad can’t afford the tree meals a day, so you’ve always skipped breakfast, except when you were at the Munson’s.

You sit on the kitchen counter; Wayne helps you climb the bar stool before preparing you some hot cocoa and a bowl of cereals.

“How are you? He asks while fixing your breakfast.

“I’m amazing Mr Munson what about you? Look, it’s snowing !!!” You tell him excitedly.

Wayne chuckles at your excitement, he is really fond of you and happy his nephew found someone like you.

“I saw sweetie. You and Eddie are going to make a mess of yourselves, won’t you?”

You chuckle. “Maybe”. You start eating your breakfast when a half-asleep Eddie comes out f his bedroom, he stirs and groans “What time is it?”

“It’s 9am son.” Wayne answers.

He starts saying “Way too early for…” When he spots you eating breakfast on the counter. “Hey Sweetheart” he says with a huge smile.

“My Eddie bear!” you say while hopping off the stool, you fall and make Eddie fall with you, the both of you laughing. Eddie gets up and helps you up. “What are you doing here so early?” he asks in a dramatic voice.

You look at Eddie pouting “Not happy to see me?”

“’m always happy to see you” he answers.

“Then grab your coat and boots! It’s snowing Eds!” you say excitedly.

Eddie finds you adorable, he takes a piece of toast, quickly shove it into his mouth before going back to his bedroom. He puts on a jean, a plain back t-shirt, and the only hoodie he owns, way too big for him. He comes back in the living room, steals Wayne’s leather jacket, also way too big for him and runs outside with you. Eddie and you run outside, trying to find a calm spot, once you found one you say.

“We have this huge monster to kill!” you say pointing at a very scary tree and starting to make snowballs. Eddie, follow you lead, and you keep throwing snowballs at the tree, imagining it’s a big bad monster. You do that until Eddie throws one at you. Once he does this you look at him with a dramatic expression. “You traitor! The monster manipulated you!” You say while throwing a snowball at Eddie, and that’s how the first ever battle against each other in your adventures started. Eddie pretends to be controlled by the big bad and you have the biggest snowball fight of your life.

When the biggest snowball you’ve ever did hit Eddie, he dramatically falls to the ground, pretending to be wounded. You know its part of your game, but you still run towards him. He held his hand out and whispers. “You freed me from the monster’s control.”

You then lay on the snow right next to Eddie. For once, you both lay down next to one another in silence. Well, the silence doesn’t last long because you suddenly have an idea.

“Let’s make snow angels!” you say, rubbing your legs and arms on the snow. Eddie mimics you and then gets up, he helps you get up, careful of not ruining your snow angels. Eddie can see you’re shivering, he takes off the leather jacket, put it on your shoulders. It’s even bigger on you, you hold hands and make a run for the Munson’s trailer where hot cocoa is waiting for you. Before taking your coat off, you take the drawing out and hand it to Eddie. He smiles at the drawing and hug you tight. “Thank you,” Eddie says all emotional. Eddie isn’t used to small attentions like that.

“I love you Eddie bear,” you tell him.

“I love you too Sweetheart.” He answers.

Then you drink hot cocoa and Eddie spends the afternoon trying to teach you guitar in the small but homey Munson trailer.

[djarintreble]

Two Lines || e. munson

pairing: dad!eddie x fem!reader

tags: part of my dad!eddie series, arwen munson asks all the right questions, pregnancy test + positive results, repair shop eddie canon, so much fluff i could cry, eddie being the best dad + husband

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hi friends, it’s been so long! i see all your requests and im working on them slowly but surely! i couldn’t find the post that requested this but it was along the lines of “GIVE ARWEN A BABY BROTHER!” so surprise! the munson family is growing!! ✨✨

_____________________________________________

Arwen was always a chatty baby. Taking from her father, she made her presence known anywhere you went. The grocery stores, libraries, you name it. You loved that about her. Eddie always encouraged her and would follow along with her antics creating endless entertainment for you. She was also a smart child. Your husband claims that's a trait she could only carry from you. The combination of both traits created a curious baby who, when words could be articulated, would question everything around her.

At the age of two, she was able to comprehend the fact that she could ask for a sibling. As if that’s all it took to have one. That grocery trip was very memorable. Eddie began to drive away from the store when Arwen asked "Where's my baby?"

Now as she turned five, her observant nature continued to create milestones as she asked yet again, "How much longer until I can have my baby?"

You were brushing out her hair, helping her get ready for her second week of kindergarten. She asked while looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. Her beautiful brown eyes wide as she tapped her legs at a steady tempo, fighting the urge to move as you fixed her hair.

"What do you mean, sweetie?" You asked with a slight smile.

"You've been sick. Heather's mommy said she was very sick when Heather had her baby brother."

You've yet again been left speechless. You have in fact not felt well the past few days. Something was off. They say children and animals know first...

"Well, uh, Arwen... As soon as mommy knows she's having a baby, I'll be sure to tell you. But you can also get very sick for other reasons too. Like eating too much sweets after dinner." You nudged her, giving a knowing look in the mirror. She gave a nervous smile. She's been caught.

"But daddy said I could have them." Your change in topic worked well as you finished putting her curly hair into a loose ponytail.

"Of course he did. It's alright. As long as dad or me say you can. Maybe that's why I haven't been feeling well."

"Eating too much sweets?"

"Eating too much sweets.” You confirmed. “Now let's go. You don't need to start your tardy record this early on in your academic career."

•••••••••••••

You got back into your car after dropping Arwen off for school. Her words seemed to haunt you as you began your trek to the general store.

This trip was originally suppose to be to pick up a few items needed to make dinner and more toilet paper. Now you couldn’t help but steer into the aisle that held the item that might confirm or deny the lingering question in your head. “Was Arwen right about me being pregnant?”

Aimlessly walking through the aisles, you kept thinking through the ‘what if’ questions in case the test does come back positive.

What will eddie say? are we ready? is arwen really at the age to handle a sibling? do we need to move into a bigger house?

The one thing that you didn’t necessarily care about in Hawkins was that everyone talked. You knew that if you were picking up a test and anyone saw you checking out with it, people would talk. Not that you cared, it came with the territory, but it made it real. You grew up here along with Eddie. Eddie was always the talk of the school. Apart of you was always scared, despite being out of high school, of anything causing Eddie or his family to be in the center of the towns gossip.

You picked the most discreet package and quickly checked out with the cashier you knew the least. It felt stupid, but you always wanted to do what you could to keep your life more private in the drama filled town called Hawkins.

With groceries for dinner, toilet paper, chocolate and a pregnancy test, you left bradley’s big buy and headed to the house.

••••• | | ••••••

Two lines.

You couldn’t believe it.

Two lines.

You were expecting another child. Joy clearly painted on your face as your mind raced off all the ways to tell your husband. All the jokes of starting a family band. All the times Arwen asked for sibling.

After pacing the bathroom over ways to tell Eddie, you finally figured it out. Eddie would pick Arwen up from school and they’d both be home in about an hour. It was perfect.

••••••••••

The door opened and you could hear your daughter running into the house as her sneakers squeaks through the halls.

“Hi mommy, we’re home!” she yelled.

You were in the kitchen starting the preparations for dinner. You listened out for Eddie as you continued to hum to yourself, cutting up some carrots. You couldn’t hide the smile that came from the anticipation of sharing the news to your husband and daughter.

“Hey sweetheart,” Eddie entered the kitchen and went straight to wrap his arms around you. You continued to cut up the vegetables. “How was your day?”

Your husband smelled like fuel, forest mint shampoo and a touch of cigarettes. It was a scent you became familiar with and it suited him. He worked at the local repair shop and the fumes always seemed to linger home with him. You didn’t mind it though, it was your Eddie.

You put your knife down to turn around in his arms and look at him. He had his typical messy work ponytail, the coveralls were unbuttoned and rolled to his waist so he was left in a white t-shirt that had some grease stains and his guitar pick necklace laid over the shirt. You could never get over how beautiful your husband was. Sure you agreed to other words, but beautiful was what came to mind in that moment. Maybe it was the hormones.

“Well hello to you,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “Better now that you’re here.” You smiled.

“You know flattery gets me.” He smirked, giving you another peck before letting go and heading toward your room. “I’m going to get a shower real quick. I’ll be right out.”

While he showered you finished putting your dish together to cook in the oven for an hour. This was all the time you needed to share the news.

“Hi mommy.” Arwen said, following you into the living room.

“How was school, sweet girl?” You asked, hoping she’d ignore the guitar case that was randomly on the coffee table.

“Good.” she shrugged. “Ms. Jones said we’re doing a concert for veterinarian day.” Arwen smiled wide, showing off her new missing tooth.

“Veterinarian day?” You puzzled.

“Yeah! Where we sing for the soldiers of America.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Do you mean ‘Veteran’s day’?” You pondered.

“That’s what I said! Veterinar-ran’s day.” Her furrowed eyebrows in confusion made you laugh even more as she didn’t see a difference in her words.

“Well that sounds like fun! Did you tell daddy?” You brushed back Arwen’s fly away hairs as she bent down to sit against the coffee table. Some of her coloring books laid open from her previous drawing session and she continued where she left off, clueless to the guitar case still.

“Yeah he said I’m going to get a solo.” She shrugged again so nonchalantly as she colored it amazed you the amount of confidence one 5 year old have. Well imagine having two.

That reminds you.

“Hey, Arwen, sweetie.” Your daughter looked up at you. “Would you wanna help me keep a big secret? I’m gonna surprise daddy in a second and I need your help.” You whispered. She jumped up and dropped her crayons with a big nod.

“Okay!” The giddiness expressed on her face was enough to make you cry. She scurried over to put herself between your legs as she leaned in to hear the secret.

“Remember you asked me earlier if I had a baby in my tummy?” Her eager nods almost hit your head before you leaned back a bit. You pulled out the test and showed her. “I went and got a test that tells me if you were right. Look, it has one line for no baby and two lines for yes baby. Can you count with me?”

Arwen was learning her numbers so it was important to find any chance to have her count. This seemed like a fun moment to remember. She stuck out her finger and pointed in the air as she counted out loud.

“One… Two… There’s two.” She smiled at the accomplishment of counting properly. By then, she realized just what the two lines meant. With a shriek that could alarm the neighbors, Arwen jumped into your arms and gave you the biggest hug. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She repeated.

“Thank you?” you laughed. Those were not the words you were expecting.

“I wanted a baby sister for so long.” She beamed.

“Well I can’t promise a sister but we will see! Now listen, I want to surprise daddy but I promised I’d tell you as soon as I knew. When he gets out of the shower, can you keep a secret while I’ll tell him?” You made a shushing sound as you quietly put the test inside the guitar case. When Arwen realized what you were doing, she snickered to herself, covering her mouth with her tiny hands.

“Was that Arwen?” You heard Eddie say from across the house. Arwen looked at you with wide eyes and tan back to the other side of the coffee table to resume her coloring as you sat, pretending to open the guitar case.

“Yeah… She was showing me how she was going to audition for that solo you promised her.” You looked up at your husband who was now fashioning a pair of black lounge pants, a faded band tee and he was scrunching his wet hair with his towel.

“If that’s how you’re gonna sing I might need to take that back.” Eddie laughed. “Is something wrong?” He grew more suspicious. With hearing Arwen scream from his shower and then you messing with his guitar case, he was nothing but skeptical.

Your eyes grew wide as you noticed his eyebrows begin to bunch up the same way Arwen’s did just moments ago. “Yes, Arwen told me she put a toy in your case but I can’t seem to open it to get it out, can you try?”

Eddie looked over at Arwen in a slight disappointment of messing with his guitar case but you reassured her she was okay with a quick wink.

After sitting down beside you, Eddie gave your leg a pat and pulled the guitar case closer to him.

“Let’s see what toy you got stuck this time. If it’s Ozzy Osbear, we’re going to have to have a word.”

As soon as he said that, the clicks of the guitar latches undid and you sucked in a breath. The case opened and you could hear Arwen begin to giggle next to you but to you were too busy looking at your husbands reaction.

Eddie’s face was blank as he stares at the positive test sitting in his guitar case. The quietly controlled giggles from your daughter turned into a fit of laughter and cheers. She jumped up from the coffee table once more and wrapped her arms around your neck as you both waited for Eddie’s reaction.

He hasn’t moved since he opened the case, staring at what signified a new chapter in the book you called life. This was the exact opposite reaction he had when you shared you were expecting Arwen. Then, it was so sudden. You woke up one morning sick as a dog and Eddie suggested you took a test as a joke. When it was ruled positive, it was you that was silent. Eddie was ecstatic, jumping around your bedroom with hoots and hollers before smothering you in kisses.

Now he just stared.

“Eddie, you okay?” You finally asked. He finally turned to face you with an uncertain face.

“We need to move the band equipment to the garage.” He said, randomly.

“What?” you giggled. “We don’t have a garage.”

“Oh.” Your husband responded, contemplating. “Then I need to sell some of it or see if Gareth could hold some of it. We need a house with a garage.”

“Is daddy okay?” Arwen let out. She was just as confused as you were.

“Let him think it out, Ari.”

“Do we need a bigger car? I knew it was stupid to get rid of the van. Maybe a mini van?” Eddie continued.

“Eddie-“

“Did we get rid of all of Arwen’s baby clothes? Maybe we could reuse them to save-“

“Eddie!!” You caught his attention. “Hey, stop that smart brain of yours for one second.” You placed a hand on his cheek to which he had no choice but to lean into.

“You’re pregnant.” He said quietly.

“Yes, I am. And we’re going to have another baby.” Saying it out loud made it a reality and suddenly you couldn’t hold back the tears. “And you’re an amazing father because before anything you’re first priority was to provide. We don’t need a new house or a new car. You’re all this baby,” you pointed down to your stomach, “Arwen and I need. I am so thankful for you.”

Without another word, Eddie pulled you into a deep kiss. One that confirmed with you that he was just as happy as the day you found out you were pregnant with Arwen. It just caught him by surprise.

“We’re having another baby.” He repeated.

“I’m having a baby sister!” Arwen exclaimed. This caught the three of you in a laughing fit. Eddie leaned into you, wrapping his arms around you as he nudged his head between your neck and shoulder.

“Or baby brother.” You responded to which Arwen gave a grimaced look.

“No. A sister.” She shrugged.

“Whatever it is,” Eddie started. He pulled back to place a hand on your stomach, “Welcome to the Munson family band, kid.” He kissed your stomach and pushed back up to kiss you again. “I love you, sweetheart. You’re amazing.” He then jumped up to grab Arwen. “Let’s go, Princess. It’s time to celebrate! MOMMY IS HAVING A BABY WHOOO!” He ran across the house holding Arwen upside down. Her giggles faded as Eddie ventured to the kitchen for a celebratory dessert.

You took the test out of the case and followed after them. If this is what life was like with Eddie and your kiddos, you could totally see having more. Maybe it’s the high of the celebration or the deep love you had for your husband. Either way, it clicked…

You really did new house with a garage because your family, both chosen and given, was getting bigger no matter what.

—

series taglist: @geekmom3 @ruinedbythehobbit @dark-academia-slut

honorable tags I think would enjoy this story based on previous interaction (I love your comments on the last stories so hi ily): @aesthetic-lyssa @yodelingtea @wintermunsonreads @lovelyladymayyy

eddie munson taglist thread: @catpjimin @senthiasworld @foxsmvlder @a-lil-pr1ncess @cryuki-patootie

[blueywrites]

turtle dove and the crow, part four

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

chapter tags: please heed this warning and decide if you are prepared to read this chapter, which includes scenes of harsh but period-accurate parental abuse against an 18-year old child. this includes emotional and mental abuse in the form of 'discipline' and depictions of physical punishment. these methods are always harmful and never appropriate. they do not represent the views of the author. avoiding tw/cw's? read the part four summary instead

masterlist | part one | part two | part three | interlude | part four | part five | part six | epilogue | playlist

PART FOUR: THE WEIGHT BENEATH THE SUN (8.6K)

It’s hard to make the moment last

Hard to keep the dreams you have

Hard to let the love inside your heart

The guards are always at the gates

Turning everyone away

But you got through

Didn’t you?

You’re the One I Want — Chris and Thomas

When you were six— two years before Edward Munson became the new boy next door— your mother still hosted garden parties during the warm months. Pa would arrange the iron furniture into a pleasing configuration, ensuring the grass was level and dry beneath the table's heavy feet. The stiff-backed chairs would be spaced precisely from its wrought edges, far enough for ease of entry but close enough that the ladies would not have to stretch their arms too far to reach the cucumber sandwiches. Those Mama would assemble in careful layers, laying them out on a ceramic platter decorated with filigree. Mama's finest pitcher, made of delicate glass and attractive curves, would be used to serve fresh-squeezed lemonade. She'd garnish the sweet drink with muddled mint leaves plucked from the small personal garden she carefully maintains against the backyard fence. A generous spray of flowers would finish the trio of treasures awaiting the town's ladies, invited by your mother for an afternoon of light refreshments and genteel socializing.

Your sister, Virginia, has the supreme honor of being allowed to join the garden party for the first time this year. She is five years your senior in age and ten your superior in manner, evident in the graceful way she smooths the skirt of her shiny pink dress, perching herself with impeccable posture on the very edge of the iron chair situated to your mother’s right side. Poised and prim, Virginia accepts a glass of lemonade, taking a tiny sip before placing the china delicately to the right of her plate. Ever observant, her eyes dart around the table, absorbing gestures with ease; she follows her sip quickly with a dab of her napkin before arranging it dutifully on her lap again. She is rewarded for this, as the ladies generously indulge her presence among them.

You would be jealous of your sister's invitation if you gave a hoot about such things, but you are entirely disinterested in all of it. You care not for hushed titters floating from beneath their sunbonnets and the passing of cucumber sandwiches, which are nibbled little by little and then chewed behind demure palms as gossip is exchanged. Instead, you've happily plopped yourself behind the apple tree, back to rough bark and short legs spread wide in the ticklish grass. 

Methodically, one by one, you have been picking the delicate yellow petals off the heads of dandelion weeds, dropping each one to collect in the basin of the sunbonnet cradled between your thighs. It's painstaking work and nonsensical, perhaps, but it serves to satisfy some innate curiosity inside you. The purpose of this is unclear; your actions are confusing, the way children's play is often confusing to everyone but the child. But since you are quietly occupying yourself, and your mother and sister are busy socializing, they are happy to leave you to your own devices.

They are happy, that is, until your eye is caught by something much more exciting than plucking weeds.

Your neighbor down the lane has just finished imparting some succulent gossip to the gathering, and her lips are pursed against a grin as she relishes the reaction to her news. Her revelation has the intended effect: shock ripples around the table, but it is mixed with the suppressed delight of knowing a new, tantalizing secret. The party-goers exchange glances, searching for cues in one another, all wanting to know more but reluctant to appear too eager.

"Oh, my goodness." Mama places her hand over her heart as if in regret, but her eyes are gleaming. Interest thrums within the hush of her voice as she begins to ask, "And what d'you suppose he might now do, on account of—?"

"Mama!"

Her question is interrupted by your delighted cry. She turns to see you holding aloft that which made you abandon your collection. Back by the tree, those petals have spilled from the tipped sunbonnet to scatter heedlessly across the grass. "Look't what I caught!" you squeak, eyes alight with eager, innocent delight. "It's a big one, too!"

Despite your excitement, you cradle the large bullfrog gently in your hands, mindful of its comfort as you present it to your mother. You considered it quite the feat to catch the frog without causing it alarm, and when its strong legs twitch against your palm without attempting to flee, pride glows beneath the dirt streaks on your round cheeks.

Your mother does not share your sentiment. 

The way her expression contorts is so opposite what you expected that she may as well have smacked you across the face. Your earlier excitement is smothered like water douses a match, and promptly, you drop the frog. 

You drop it as if by acting quickly, you can undo whatever has caused your Mama offense. But it is not enough. Your mother stares at you, and though the look in her eyes is one you are too young to fully decipher, a parent's disapproval is sensed innately, and felt deeply.

One year after you drop the bullfrog, Mama will sell the garden furniture to purchase seeds and stock in preparation for the coming hardship, and the garden parties would end. Two years after you drop the bullfrog, Eddie will roll in like a summer storm to join his uncle in the red house next door. Seven years after you drop the bullfrog, Virginia will establish a nest of her own, leaving you as the only unwed daughter left in your parents' roost. But no matter how many years pass, you will never forget how your mother's stare made you feel. In the garden, a heavy stone sank in your gut, sickeningly leaden, steadily crushing your delicate insides with each second you spent pinned by her furious stare.

This moment in the hayloft reminds you of that. But there is no stone of lead in your stomach this time. This time, with the salt tang of Eddie's seed still lingering on your lips, your entire body turns to solid, petrified rock. 

Your mother stares up at you from the barn floor. Her face is contorted, screwed up tight with shock and rage, but her eyes are wide, wide enough to swallow you up entirely like a sinkhole would. She traps you. And you remain there, locked tight until the seethe of her voice boils hot from between her lips, blistering the ruddy flesh on its path to you.

"Git. Down. Here."

Each word is a spitfire bullet, enunciated so precisely so as not to be misconstrued. The burn rushes down your spine to melt your solid rock into magma. 

Your muscles are clenched tight, but the warm pulse once stoked between your legs has deadened. You're thrumming instead with horror, with deep, all-consuming dread. Where one moment ago you were heavy as a sinking stone, now you are unsteady, shaky like the first time Eddie coaxed you into a rowboat. 

You can't grab hold of his rough, broad palm to settle yourself this time, and you don't dare risk a glance at the man still nestled in that soft bed of hay. To catch his eye would be torture of a different kind. Instead, you rush to obey your mother's command. Your knee scrapes raw against old, splintery wood as you scramble around and dip one foot to catch the rung of the ladder. 

It's a sturdy old thing, that ladder. Good thing, too, because it holds fast as you cling to it with shuddering fingers and legs so wobbly, they clatter against its rungs with each step toward the perilous ground. By the time you reach the floor, the knee you'd scraped has gone numb. You want to turn your chin down and see if your dress has bloomed a crimson flower of blood, but your neck is unyielding. It's hard enough to step back from the security the ladder provides. All the will your spirit possesses must be channeled into facing the woman looming like a cloud of miasma behind you.

There is no time to brace for a confrontation, but you force your face into as docile an expression as possible before you meet your Mama head-on. She is short and portly, hunched up in such a way as to make her smaller in theory, though, in reality, the sight is only more imposing to you. You expect to meet her piercing stare again, but she isn't looking at you. Instead, she's got one eye hooked on the edge of the hayloft and her lip caught in a sneer so deep it's almost a snarl. 

"You too, Edward," she spits, and your throat dries to dust. "Don't think I'm ignorant of your bein' up there with'r."

The silence that follows is stifling, crowding in on you from all sides. The pressure doesn't ease even as that pregnant pause turns to the creaking and groaning of wood, which protests as the weight of an unseen body shifts toward the hayloft's edge. The thud of booted feet that replaces the wood's cry is little consolation; your heart kicks up at the steady plod that commences, matching it in rhythm but pounding twice as fast. You don't dare to turn and look or even to fiddle with your skirt nervously. Your hands remain still at your sides as your mother stares above your head, watching Eddie climb down from the hayloft. Her eyes dip slowly and steadily along with the thumping of those booted feet until her gaze is even with your face. The final step down behind you is quieter than the rest, and your throat tightens as you sense Eddie's hesitance in the sound. 

As he alights on the ground, Mama's eyes suddenly shift. Where once she had been staring almost uncannily in your direction, as if she may or may not have been trying to look you in the eye, a sudden cut and glint make it abundantly clear that now— now— your mother is gazing directly at you. 

It's all you can do to keep from trembling.

You vaguely hear the shuffle-scrape of Eddie's footsteps and feel the warmth of his body as he comes to stand beside you. The tiniest glance reveals the extent of his mortification: his pale cheeks are beet red with a flush that creeps down his throbbing neck, and his eyes are squinched half-shut as if bracing for a blow. His adam's apple bobs, and unconsciously, you swallow at the same time.

When Eddie finally opens his mouth, all that eeks out is the briefest croak before your mother interrupts coldly. "You best be gettin' home to your uncle now, Edward."

While the words don't drip with venom, the mention of Wayne is nothing if not a threat, and Eddie recognizes it as so. You would never expect him to argue; in fact, you'd be dismayed if he had, but the thought of facing your mother's wrath alone covers the frozen dread inside you with a fine layer of poignant sorrow. You are heavy, but now you are empty, too. 

Weakly, Eddie clears his throat to rasp, "Yes, ma'am." Your chin trembles at the sound of his voice, but your eyes only begin to sting when you feel the soft, subtle draw of his fingers across the small of your back as he passes by you to disappear out of sight beyond the barn doors. The touch is one last offering of comfort from your beloved before you both must face the consequence of your transgressions.

In the kitchen, Mama takes you apart.

The way she lashes you with her tongue is harsh and unforgiving. Each word darts across the kitchen counter, catches you with its claws, and burrows beneath your tender skin, sinking deep to carve into your marrow. 

"How dare you." Her voice quivers with the force of her rage. "How dare you bring such disgrace upon our family. You know darn well that we forbade you from seeing that boy, yet you went behind our backs anyway. And now, to make matters worse, I find you been carryin' on like a," her lips twist up to spit a sharper barb, "hussy up in the hayloft. What kind of a girl do you think that makes you, y/n?"

She pauses long enough to make you question whether she expects an answer, but she carries on without you. Her eyes dart along the cabinets, unseeing as she chuckles mirthlessly. "And, oh. M'blood could just boil thinkin' how that boy could set there at his dinner table and talk about how good we raised our daughter, only for you two t'turn around and… and…." 

She stutters off, wild eyes rolling as she works herself up. The deepening of her wince uglies her visage, so that lines crease at the corners of her mouth where before there were none. And oh, how foolish you were to think the sight of her bulging eyes would be in any way gratifying. How deeply, utterly stupid of you to think such a thing.

"What you done is unspeakable. How'm I supposed to show my face in town, knowing what you been up to right underneath my nose? It turns my stomach just to think about what y'were doin' up there w'him." 

Each word sinks deep inside you. It’s a barrage of all you deserve because it's the truth. And this is just the beginning. Because there's disgust there, in Mama's screwed-up face, and there's fury, too. But beneath those, there's also hurt— the evidence of a deep wound torn open by your impropriety. It's a hurt you aren't sure you can mend. 

At that realization, fat, hot tears begin to roll unimpeded down your cheeks. They drip from your quivering chin, which tightens with the occasional sniffle as you try to keep yourself from collapsing to the floor, wrapping your arms around your mother’s skirt, and pressing yourself to her shins in pitiful supplication. 

Though Mama is looking at you, she doesn't seem to register that you've started to cry. "I just can't understand it." Mama's fingers press divots into her temples, and her head wags absently as if in subconscious denial. "Virginia was your age when she married her Lawrence. She knew the way of things. And now look at 'er— got her own home and three children to raise." Her hands drop sharply, and a flash of judgment returns. "She's a proper lady. And then what d'we have? You. I never thought I'd see the day when a daughter of mine would behave like this." 

The burrs stick sharply, coating you in a prickly sadness that only intensifies when your Mama's plump arms tighten to her sides, crossing beneath her bosom, cinching in tight as she presses a fist to her lips. 

"Lord help me— what'm I gonna do with you now?" 

It's so much quieter than all else she's said, so much duller, and yet all the more painful for it.

Her name on your lips is a whimper, a sob, a plea all at once. "Mama—" You suddenly feel no more than six years old with dirt streaked on your shameful cheeks, filled with the crushing sense of all you've done wrong.

"Don't." She cuts you off firmly. Your teeth click together painfully as your jaw snaps closed. She stares at you for a long moment. "Th'last thing I wanna do is talk about what was goin' on up there, but clearly…" 

You read the intention in your mother's restless shifting, the discomfited rocking of her heels. Heat floods up your throat, a sickly blaze of shame. "Well," she continues stiffly, "I know y'had your mouth on him, and that's… that's one thing. But I need to know." Her fist drops to reveal a stiff upper lip, but her voice quavers slightly as she asks a question that doesn't stick like burrs or burrow beneath your skin. Instead, it pierces straight through the center of you. 

"Have you had relations with Edward?"

Your shock is like the firm twist of a leaky spigot. The steady flow of your tears ceases so abruptly that it's nearly enough to distract from the question itself.

Nearly enough. Not quite enough.

Horrified panic surges up as the question sinks in: Mama's askin' me if I had sex with Eddie. The feeling claws its way past your stomach, past your heart, past the heat in your throat, and straight up to your head. It rushes there, leaving you dizzy. Black fuzz spreads across your vision. 

And the lie springs up, ready and poised behind your teeth. It's a denial borne of fear, desperation, and the deep ache beating in the child's heart still nestled within your grown one. That tiny heart flutters against your ribs, recalling the plink of music box drift-offs and gentle John the Rabbit wake-ups; the balm of kisses pressed to scraped knees and hurt feelings wrung out with tight hugs; the roundness of laughing cheeks streaked with flour and little hands cradled in large palms, guided to knead love into dough, right here, in this room, all those years ago.

Could you survive the loss that would come with confession? Could you bear to see the lingering light— the final vestige of a mother's regard for her child— die behind her eyes? 

Led by a child's heart and a mind seized by panic, the choice you make is not a choice, but an inevitability.

"No," you whimper, and such sincerity pools within your eyes that even one who knows better might be convinced you believe that. "No, I din't lay with him, Mama. I swear it."

The softening of her features, fractional though it is, brings you such tender relief that tears spring anew at the corners of your lashes. 

"Well, all right," she says finally, and while her voice isn't quite fond, you can see the creases around her mouth ease, fading from deep crevices back to the faint lines you're familiar with. It's a gift you wouldn't dare waste. "Y'know what needs to be done, then."

Without a hint of protest, you retrieve the wooden spoon from the crock on the counter, passing it into your mother's waiting hand and presenting your backside to her. 

With balled fists and a rigid spine, you take your punishment. You press your lips flat to keep all your noises in as Mama spanks you with the rounded back of the wooden spoon. The even raps— ten against your clothed buttocks— smart and sting, but they do not ache. Her actions are not hesitant or reluctant, but they aren’t gluttonous either. Your mother does not grow fat feasting on your pain; she is merely obliged to provide it.

You are braced for another impact when you hear the spoon clatter back into the crock. When you realize another blow will not come, you face her again. Silence reigns the room as you take stock of yourself: warm, stinging skin, pressure in your cheeks, nose, and forehead from crying, and a new, yawning hollowness inside.

"M'sorry, Mama," you sniffle, throat thick with remorse, "M'sorry for disobeying you, a-and bringin' shame on the family. I— I jus'..." You choke and try again. "I—"

There is only one justification, however inadequate it might seem to your mother. It's spoken in the misery of your crumpled brow, in the glaze of your big wet eyes, in the copper of your lower lip where you've worried the spot Eddie's kisses still sweetly linger.

I love him.

"I know." Mama replies as if you'd said it aloud, and her voice is tight, tight with what she is trying to suppress. "I know you do." Her bosom heaves with a heavy, bracing sigh. "But y'know what your Pa said." She doesn’t seem to feel the need to be more specific, and you muster a smidgeon of gratitude for that.

"I know," you echo her, and your voice is tiny and broken. You are tiny and broken. And tired. You realize all at once that you are so tired, it's a labor just to keep from lying down right here on the floor. "R'you gonna tell 'im what I did?"

A jerky nod confirms it, and you think you'd feel more afraid if you could feel anything at all. "I'll speak with your Pa when he gets home," Mama tells you. "Now go'n up to your room. Don't expect you'll get any supper tonight." 

You stare at her, solemn and unresisting, and in that stillness, you can see the moment she hesitates. The flicker that passes across her crinkled eyes is brief, but you see it, and the hush of her voice tells a story all its own. "Don't come down for nothin'," she murmurs intently. "No matter what y'hear. Just stay in your room 'til the morning. Hear me?" 

You can feel yourself wilt further into exhaustion with each passing moment. "Yes, Mama," you croak in dutiful agreement.

The press of her cool palm against your warm, sticky cheek is brief. It lingers only long enough for you to barely realize it has been offered. But that fleeting sensation keeps you alert enough to drag yourself up to your bedroom, softly shut the door, strip off your dress and chemise, and pull on your thin nightgown before relinquishing yourself to the sunken mattress. At that point, you cease to tick, like the final tines have plinked within a wound music box. You have landed on your back atop the covers, and there you will stay until you can summon the strength to turn onto your side.

Though you are tired, sleep does not come to offer a reprieve. Instead, though your eyes begin to strain, you stare at the crack in the plaster above your head. It's the same one you traced while waiting for your crow to land on your windowsill yesterday, yesterday, yesterday. Yesterday beats in the useless yearning of your heart, trailing down your temples to pool in the hollows of your ears.

Yesterday, Eddie held you in your bed until you fell asleep. Today, he never would again.

Heavy footsteps rouse you, and you jolt awake. 

At some point in the afternoon, outside your conscious memory, the slow leaking of your eyes had finally ceased. Blearily, you curled into yourself, tucking your wrists beneath your chin and finally drifting off into unconsciousness. Now, your bedroom is not the way you remember it. It's dizzying at first when your eyes pop open not to the crack in white plaster you'd expected but instead to the sight of your bedroom window. The outside is dark beyond the gauze curtains. The air now hums with the dusk song of cicadas. 

You have little time to orient yourself before the heavy footsteps that woke you yield to the squeal of a door hinge. Your neck is stiff when you lift your head, attempting to blink the strain from your eyes.

Cast in dimness, Pa looms over you like the shadow of death.

Your father is typically imposing, but his visage is made even more severe by the lack of light. His long face appears to be carved with crags, which harshen the snarl of his brow and turn the wrinkles of his sneer into jagged gashes lining his thin lips. What little light remains glints off the bony line of his nose and the flash of his hard, unyielding eyes. He stands unmoving as if etched from obsidian; the only feature to betray him as man and not stone is the ticking of his square jaw. A muscle there jumps erratically, twitching out its silent fury.

Eyes wide, heart fluttering, breath quick and shallow, you lay still as a prey animal hoping to escape a predator's sight. That is no use. Quick as a rattler, Pa's hand strikes out, and the yawning hollowness inside you becomes an uproar of fear flooding your throat.

He takes firm hold of your arm, thick fingers like a vice pinching your skin. When he tugs at you roughly, you let him maneuver you to the edge of the bed. You keep yourself limp and unresisting because, now that you've been caught in his jaws, you know he'll only bite down harder if you don't. And you even shimmy to assist him, fingers twisted tight in the hem of your nightgown to keep it from dragging up your legs. Preoccupied with maintaining your modesty, you're unprepared to be dragged beyond the footboard; you lurch off the bed in an ungainly slump, and your knees clunk painfully to the hardwood floor. 

A shock of pain shoots up both of your legs, and you muffle your reaction with lips pressed tight, following the silent command of your father's grip as he insists you turn to face the mattress. He drops you only once you're kneeling how he wants you, and the loss of his clamped fingers is a relief. Feeling begins to return to your arm as blood flows freely again, and a dull throb starts up in the place he'd gripped you. 

Yet that's nothing compared to what you know is coming when you hear the metallic clink of a buckle. It's followed by the unthreading of his belt, which shicks through the loops of his blue jeans with a drag of denim and a snap of leather breaking free. 

Moments pass in agonizing silence as you wait for the first crack of the belt. Everything inside you tightens in preparation for the pain to come— your muscles, your bones, your heart, and your spirit. You brace yourself, thighs quivering as you hold so perfectly still despite how your skin has begun to dew with nervous sweat. As you hold that stillness, you can even detect the sting of your mother's milder punishment throbbing in time with the pulse that thrums within your tense body. 

Your head has just begun to sag when Pa's voice grates loudly like the grinding of stone, gruff and hoarse. "Y'pologized to your Mama for your behavior?" 

You rush to answer. "Yes, sir." 

"Y'ever gonna dare sneakin' around under my roof again?" 

"No, sir." 

A grunt follows your reply. It sounds satisfied enough to untwist a little of the fear inside you. "Y'ashamed of yourself for what you done with that piece of trash? You regret lettin' him," he pauses so the spit of his words might sting you worse, "ruin you with his filthy hands?" 

Unbidden, Eddie's face blooms in your mind's eye: wild curls of soft dark frizz, crinkled eyes lightened to amber in the sunshine, soft nose dusted with cinnamon freckles, pink lips stretched wide in a smile that makes your heart squeeze even in your memory. You see him there, your beloved crow, and your chin trembles with the truth. You manage to steady it so that your second lie of the day can come out strong. "Yes, sir." 

But perhaps, in your remembering, you hesitate a second too long, because your answer is quickly followed by fire cracking across the crease of your thigh and cheek. 

You yelp with shock and pain, reeling as the contact burns through you, beginning as a white-hot ache before dulling to a throb. You tremble, breathing shakily as your father mutters, "I'll make damn sure of that."

Pa belts you across your buttocks and thighs, attempting to scald that shame into you with the cruelty he wields by his hand. But the whip of the belt is not the same as the lashing of your mother's words in the kitchen; it could never be. Not when Eddie's face has bloomed before you, bathed in summer sunshine. Not in this place, where the bunching of your fingers in the bedspread only makes you think about strong arms around your middle, soft breath on your cheek, and the tickle of wild curls against your shoulder. 

Your father feasts on the cries he draws from you. He takes them as evidence of your guilt and shame. But you're fortified by the memory of Eddie's strong body cradling you in this bed, the breadth of his wide palm on your mound as he brings you to the pinnacle of pleasure, holding you snugly against him when you fall into surrender.

Harshness could never drive out reverence. Pain could never drive out love.

Pa might leave you welted and whimpering against the footboard, but he can never make you waver in your devotion to Edward Munson.

That's not, of course, due to a lack of trying. Because try he does. Pa efforts to cleave you from Eddie in any way he knows how. He begins with a belting and continues the next morning with a visit to your neighbor, Mr. Wayne.

He's over there 'til midday, which you know because you do not rouse from your bed until he returns. You'd lain there on your side for the entirety of the morning, wrists again tucked beneath your chin, but legs straight since curling them made the throbbing in your bottom and thighs sharpen to a burning ache. Throughout the morning, you stared out the window, watching the light crawl steadily up the red siding of the house next door. 

You stirred only when Mama came to tend you. She didn't speak, but you could sense her sentiment in the mild soap and damp cloth she used to wash you, in the gentle pat of a soft towel against your cleansed skin, in the earthy spice of the calendula salve she dabbed on your welts. After she was done, your nightgown fluttered back into place around your hip and flank with the lightest touch. You nibbled on the toast sweetened with butter and honey she left for you on the bedside table, but you did not quit your bed.

This was not the first time Pa had taken the belt to you for some indiscretion, but it was by far the harshest. That's evident as the painful throbbing in your lower half intensifies when you prop yourself up on a palm, testing how it feels to sit up. Your father finds you in the midst of this endeavor: leaning gingerly on one flank, your lips pressed tight and pale. 

You glance toward him warily as he bullies open your bedroom door, and he squints back but doesn't acknowledge your pained expression. "Get y'rself presentable," he grunts. "You're comin' with me next door."

Humiliation, it seems, is the next tool Pa has decided to use to cleave you from Eddie. You know it isn't unreasonable to ask you to apologize to Mr. Wayne for your inappropriate behavior. In fact, now that you've had time to reflect on your actions, you even want to apologize to your neighbor. You cannot— will not— denounce your devotion to Eddie, but you do regret disrespecting Mr. Wayne. He's a man who has been nothing but kind and patient with you and his nephew throughout all the years you've known him, and to think you'd wounded him with your actions makes your throat thicken with genuine regret. 

So you dress hastily in your loosest, lightest frock and spend the majority of the time Pa affords you sitting at your writing desk, crafting a missive of carefully-chosen words you hope will convey to Wayne the depth of your sincere contrition. It takes some scratch-outs and restarts, but by the time Pa returns to retrieve you, you feel satisfied with what you've written.

You expect to apologize to Mr. Wayne for the offence you have caused him, and you expect to make the apology in person, so you don’t hesitate as you follow your father into the red house. It is also unsurprising that Pa would watch you deliver that apology. Knowing his nature, it's expected that he'd want to ensure your efforts are satisfactory. But you do not anticipate the way Pa ushers you through your neighbors' house, one palm pressed flat to your back to keep you from retreating when you see Eddie sitting next to Wayne at the dining room table.

Eddie doesn't look any worse for wear, not in the way you feel after enduring Pa's punishment last night, but he isn't unaffected by yesterday's events. He's wilted like a shade plant left too long in the hot sun: limp curls clumped at the ends, broad shoulders slumped, pink lips sagging at the corners. His umber eyes are smudged with purple in the hollows of their sockets as he stares down at the table. He doesn't look up as Pa urges you forward. 

Your heart seizes at the sight of him, stalling as familiar, hungry want mixes with poignant, thrumming sadness. The impulse to rush to the table and throw your arms around him, to bury your fingers in his curls and cradle his face to your breast, to feel his hot arms crush you against him— all comfort, all sweetness, all desperate relief— is nearly overwhelming. 

To resist is worse agony than any strike of leather, but resist you must. Pa's firm hand on your back demands you stand behind the chair across from Mr. Wayne; all the while as he maneuvers you, you will your crow to look up. He doesn't, though you can tell he now knows you're here. You see it in the tightening of his brow and the twist of his plush lips, which pinch with the effort to keep himself at bay. 

Pa scrapes a chair out, settling himself heavily down into its seat. Standing beside him, you fidget with the crisply-folded letter, pinched fingertips crawling slowly along its edges as you pour all your will and longing into a stare that Eddie refuses to return. 

The stalemate ends as Pa clears his throat loudly, growing impatient. "Go'n, now," he prompts, crossing his arms and kicking his feet out under the table in a scuff and thump of heavy boots.

You steal one more lingering glance at Eddie before dropping your eyes to your hands and unfolding your letter. It is silent at the table as you turn it right-side up to read from. You lick your lips and take a breath to steady your nerves before beginning.

"Dear Mr. Wayne," you begin, reading in a cadence reminiscent of your schoolteachers' voices— melodic, perhaps too overly-expressive. "I want to tell you that I am so very sorry—" 

A lump rises suddenly in your throat, and you falter; you begin again, speaking a little faster, though you can't disguise the tiny tremble that has emerged. "I am so very sorry for what I've done to disrespect you. I have been carrying on in a shameful manner…."

The apology becomes a blur as you race to complete it before losing your composure. As you express your remorse and acknowledge your wrongdoing, the shaking of your voice only worsens; by the end, your chin is wobbling hard enough that your teeth start chattering.

"Tha's all right, dear," Wayne interjects, gruff but not unkind. Never unkind. "I kin what you're tryin' to express. 'ppreciate your apology."

You nod jerkily, accepting the reprieve gratefully. You fold your letter back up with trembling fingers and pass it over the table to your neighbor, who tucks it away in his pocket.

With a jut of his chin, Pa motions to Eddie. "S'your turn now, boy," he says, and there's enough vitriol roiling there beneath the surface to more than compensate for Wayne's lack. Pa's shrewd eyes dart to you. "Sit down now."

You don't dare disobey, though your stiffness and pinched expression bely your discomfort as you perch gingerly on the edge of the chair. Eddie rises sharply, and your gaze catches on the clench of his broad fist at his side, how his ruddy knuckles have blanched with the force of his grip. You know they'd tightened at the sight of your pain, and a sudden surge of longing nearly leaves you breathless.

You'd urged Eddie to look up at you when he'd been seated, but now you know why he didn't because neither can you, now that the positions are reversed. You can't look up at his face and see the expression there. It's hard enough to hear his voice as he apologizes to your father for touching you without his permission, for the deep offense of wanting you when he'd expressly been told he wasn't allowed because he was too wild and frivolous, and that he'd proven himself as such for what he'd done with you in the hayloft. 

At the end of Eddie's apology, Pa grunts his acceptance. Then, he informs you in no uncertain terms what now will happen. It is the result of his lengthy discussion with Wayne this morning; in the end, they both agreed on certain truths moving forward, and they share those with you now.

They tell you that you and Eddie have been stripped of your freedoms and grounded for further notice. That you aren't to attempt to see or speak with one another. That you should begin thinking about your separate futures and leave this silly summer romance behind. That you are both lucky they are benevolent enough to allow you to continue living side-by-side without sending one or both of you away. 

You are bidden to acknowledge the rules, and you intone your obedience, as does Eddie. And when Pa is satisfied that you have been sufficiently cleaved from the boy across the table, you are herded back around the tall fence and deposited onto your property.

Having seen the defeat written across your miserable face, Pa leaves you to your own devices. You choose to sit beneath the apple tree, hissing at the lance of pain that races up your buttocks and into your spine as you thump down into the grass. Stubbornly, you ignore the low throbbing in favor of deciphering the storm inside you.

Under the apple tree, a billow of emotion spreads within, complex and layered, filled with contradictions. Because what you've done is indeed wrong, and you know that. But to take the depth of your relationship with Eddie and reduce it to an indiscreet romp, a careless mistake, an insignificant dalliance chalked up to the folly of youthful impulse… 

Well, you know this also. Down to your core, you know that that isn't right. And no one rivals you in conviction once your mind is set.

Twelve days ago, the intimacy you shared with your crow came to fruition in a wondrous way. As you pass your days in solitude within your roost, that wonder begins to transform you. It starts with a letter. 

Though the tall fence running the length of your adjoining properties keeps you apart from Eddie, and your parents' watchful eyes prevent any wandering from your front porch, one minor breach remains in those steadfast defenses. It's the tree stump rotted straight through, the only place where the grass of your backyards mingles to become one. Secrets are concealed there, announced by the innocuous song of two woodland birds: the turtle dove and the crow.

You don't hear the call the day following your public apologies, or even the day after that. It comes on the third day while you're sat on a stool in the goat pen, working down the nanny's final teat with one hand. Milking her has been slow and steady work, impeded because her kid is leaning against your flank, content so long as you keep one hand on his small bristly side. His tiny tail beats rhythmically against your skirt as her milk rains hollowly into the metal bucket with each pull of your pinched fingers. And when the stream has turned to a dribble, you hear that unmistakable sound: a deep, harsh 'kaa-kaa-kaa' that has your heart pattering instantly against your ribs as your head whips of its own accord toward the fence. You strain to see Eddie through those tiny gaps, but you're too far away for the gesture to mean much. Your eyes dip to second best— that familiar stump, gnarled and weathered gray, splintered but surprisingly soft and spongy to the touch as if it would give way under a heavy hand or foot. You cannot see into the dark crevice at its base, but you know what now awaits you there.

You want to throw yourself to the ground and reach elbow-deep into that damp space, dirt and dress be damned. But you know the second you leave the bucket unattended, all the milk you'd painstakingly gathered would be claimed by the kid. You squeeze out the teet a few more times— perhaps a bit too hastily, since the nanny flicks her ears at you— before snatching up the bucket, bringing it to the kitchen to strain with cheesecloth and tuck into the icebox, leaving the bucket and soiled cloth in the sink out of sight. I'll wash it right quick as soon as I check the stump, you assure yourself. You couldn't possibly wait another moment longer to see what Eddie has left for you to find.

You're thrumming with impatience and excitement as you pop the screen door back open, struggling not to rush toward your prize and draw suspicion from anyone who may see you. Thankfully, a furtive glance around the yard ensures you are alone, and with nothing else to impede you, you quickly gather up your dress and kneel before the stump to claim your offering. 

You reach past the blanket of fertile green moss that skirts the stump's base, mind flicking through the possibilities of what you might find in there. It will surely be a scrap of paper, but what will its few words convey? Will Eddie beg you to join him at the creek one last time? Tell you he's enlisted someone's help, an emissary of sorts, to go between you so you can speak again? Will he express his longing for your body's closeness? His pain at your separation? 

A fluttering thrill blooms low inside you, cautious and sweet, fearful in its intensity. Because another wondering crosses your mind before you have the good sense to prevent it, and that wondering is this:

With an acknowledgment, perhaps, of how unideal the timing and the method is… will Eddie finally put words to the truth you see in that soft expression that graces his features, the one that's only come out for you, only you, only ever you?

Your fingertips graze thin smooth paper nested in a cradle of grass. As you pull your arm out of the stump, you can imagine it so plainly, written in that familiar scrawl: three words to turn a scrap into the most precious of treasures.

But the paper that comes out is not torn hastily from the corner of a brown paper bag as it usually is. Instead, you’re holding a folded piece of stationary, lightweight and crisp white, though its edges have soaked up some dirty dampness from where it has been hiding.

You don't have the luxury of time needed to examine the emotions that stir at this unexpected sight; you need to get to safety first. You tuck the letter beneath the band of your pocketless apron, fumbling with the bow at the small of your back to tighten it. There the paper stays, pressed against your stomach as you return to the kitchen to wash the bucket and cheesecloth. You lay them out to dry, then pass by your mother in a brush of fabric down the narrow hallway. Lightheaded, heart thumping, you creak up the stairs to your bedroom, closing your door and releasing a woosh of held breath. You sink to the floor in front of it, pressing your back to the wood. In lieu of true privacy, this position keeps someone from bursting suddenly in on you before you can conceal what you're doing. With that assurance, you shift forward, untying that tight bow and letting the apron fall across your legs, revealing a flutter of crisp white.

That stirring of emotions returns full force as you run your thumb along the bottom edge of the paper, wiping the collected dirt absently on the hem of your dress. As you unfold it and Eddie's penciled scrawl is revealed, the first wave of your emotion crests to sting sweetly in the corners of your eyes.

The letter isn't particularly long. It doesn't wax poetic about your grace and charm or meander through the hills and valleys of your shared story. It little matters when you can hear Eddie's teasing rasp in every sentence, see his wild beauty in every word, and feel his firm touch in each uneven scratch of letters into the page.

My Dove, Eddie murmurs against your temple, and you sigh, melting with the sticky sweet honey as he voices his claim on you. His Dove. That's what you are. 

"Yes, Eddie," you whisper into the stillness of your empty bedroom, lids low, lashes heavy as you read the next line. 

First things first. Don't you even think about writin' me back. You hear me? Plush lips curl as your besotted expression falls into a pout, and you hear the rasp of his laugh as he cradles your face in his broad, rough palms. S'not that I don't wanna get a letter from you, you know. I just can't have you in any more trouble. It nearly killed me to see how you were hurtin' on account of me. Umber eyes crinkle, and his thumb brushes the corner of your lip. Promise me you'll listen for once. 

You regard him sullenly for a moment. "Fine," you grump, and the crooked smile you're rewarded with softens the edge of your frustration. 

Eddie regards you fondly. I know you don't wanna. But you will anyway, 'cause y'can't help but do what I say now that you're all gooey over me.

You flush with heat, bashful but pleased, twisting your lips against the dopey smile that wants to come out for him. Now that that's settled, he snarks, making you yearn to kiss the knowing tilt right off his lips, I want you to know that… well, I really am sorry for makin' a mess of things for us. Maybe if I'd done different, we wouldn't be where we are right now. No use dwellin' on it or nothin', because what's past is past. But I screwed it up for us, and I don't know what to do to fix it, and I'm just sorry, Dove. I really am. 

"Oh, Eddie—" His name is a soft, feminine sigh of anguish as the sting returns full force, burning insistently behind your eyes. You grab up his hands, squeezing them tight; the paper wrinkles in your grip. "Eddie, you didn't make a mess of anything. It's not your fault at all, what's happened."

He stares at you mournfully, dark eyes heavy and sad, continuing as if you hadn't spoken. And I know it's only been a few days since I seen you, but I miss you something fierce. S'like my arm's been cut clean off. His lips quirk up just slightly in the corners. And you'll say that's just me bein' dramatic as always, but I mean it. It really does hurt me that much to be away from you.

Eddie's curls brush your cheeks as he gathers you close to him, pressing his nose to the top of your hair. Wish I could hold you. Be there for you, take care of you. But I guess this's all I can do for now. He breathes in deep, and your heart twists sweetly in your chest at the feeling of his breath there— a cool inhale, and then warmth puffing in short bursts when he murmurs, You know you're my best friend, but you're so much more than that. Y'always have been. I told you I'd never let anyone take you from me, and I intend to keep my word, no matter how long I gotta wait.

Your first tear falls, and Eddie's arms tighten around you. He presses a kiss to your hair. In the meantime, he rasps, quiet but sure and brash as always, if you find yourself missin' me, or if you're havin' a hard go of it, or if you just wanna remind yourself where I am. All you gotta do is call for me, Turtle Dove. And when I call back, what I'm really sayin' is, 'I'm here. I'm here, and I ain't goin' nowhere.'

On the page, there's a gap of space and a scratched-out word, and you can feel Eddie's adam's apple bob in a gulp. And if I'm missin' you, or… or if I'm havin' a hard go of it. If you still want me the way that I want you.

The final line of the letter begins to fuzz while you stare down at it, expanding in a bloom of dark-on-white as more tears flood your eyes. But you don't need to see it; the words have already been etched into your heart. 

Will you call back to me? So I know you're here, and you ain't goin' anywhere?

Those two questions close the letter; there is no signature. After all, when two like souls flutter their wings and settle themselves to perch together on a shared wire, names become nothing more than an afterthought. 

Paper flattens to the wooden floor. It crinkles as you press against it with your palm, leveraging yourself up to your feet blindly as your stirrings finally overtake you in a rush of tears. They flow over as you lurch around the footboard to the windowsill, pushing the gauzy curtains heedlessly aside; they catch the corners of your lips as your fingers twist the stiff window hinge, and your smile stretches in time with the window's jerky progress up the frame. 

September air floods in, ruffling gauze and soothing over your forehead and cheeks. The humid heat of summer has finally broken, leaving mugginess a thing of the past. And it's into that air, scented with crisp wind and the first dry musk of fading leaves, that you call for your crow. 

Your first coo isn't as graceful as usual because your voice is choked by sorrow and joy combined. But you do not let that stop you. You call out your bedroom window again and again, as loud as you've ever been, eyes fixed on the stoop at the back of the red house. You call and call until the door springs open there, and a crow hops out onto the stoop. As you look down upon him, tears run in trails that drip off your chin, and your cheeks begin to ache with the force of your smile. You cup your small hands around your mouth and call again. 

'Turr-turr-turr,' you sing, mimicking the melodic trill of the turtle dove.

This moment will not quell your stirrings. As more days pass, they will billow ever more intensely and change ever more quickly as the transformation continues inside you. Your bitterness and your temper are still to come; you have not seen the last of your aching. 

But, for right now, this is all that matters. A pale face tipped up toward the sun, a cloud of dark curls tossing wild and untamed, a boyish whoop of relief and adoration, and the love that swells within you— still unspoken, but no less true.

[londonfog-chan]

Good morning bad children it’s time for my Eddie x Reader Stranger Things Ramblings feat. Chrissy Cunningham

I don’t know who needs to hear this early in the morning, but Chrissy Fucking Cunningham would 100% be your ride or die in Stranger Things. You’d have an unlikely friendship, and she’s going to be fiercely protective of you if you decide to date Eddie. Once he’s on her good side however she will hype you up and give you advice on how to attract his attention.

MAKEOVERS. Except she helps you achieve that Mötley Crüe groupie look that you want and she is so goddamned proud of you when she sees Eddie can’t keep his hands off his metalhead wet dream (you).

We need more fucking fics of Chrissy being your wingwoman. I’m sorry.

[pollenallergie]

Thinking about you pulling out child!best friend!Eddie’s loose tooth for him in the third or fourth grade because he was too scared to do it himself. You get home later that night and tell your mom you saved your best friend’s life today. Meanwhile, Eddie gets home and tells Wayne that he pulled it out all by himself. He’s like, “Yeah, it's no big deal, Uncle Wayne. I just pulled it out during math class because I got bored.” Cut to you comfortingly rubbing your sobbing, scaredy-cat friend’s arm at recess as you count down from ten to help him mentally prepare for you to yank his loose front tooth out of his gums.

[farfaras]

why is it so hard to find reader fics that are PLATONIC. like ... please !! i don't wanna fUCK these fictional bitches, i wanna be their b e s t i e ! ! ! :( :( is that too much to ask :( :( does no one else feel this way? am I GONNA have to write them mySeLF? goddammit

[fanfictionvibes]

𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌 ❤️

Steddie x child reader

Words: 1k

Summary: Steve & Eddie go back to the upside down after they defeated vecna only weeks later. Of course they went reluctantly but anyways do to the gang hearing little child whimpers over a walkie-talkie (that's what I call it) that has been stuck in the upside down ever since

__

It was finally over. Vecna was gone. Upside down was gone. Things started to go back to semi- normal in Hawkins. The cracks from the earthquake the upside down cause still linger but many people volunteer to cover up the cracks. If only that was said to peoples mental states. Everyone tried to move on in which a lot of people did leave Hawkins but a good amount stayed. Especially the Hawkins gang.

" I'm telling you I heard something on there!" Dustin said franticly telling everyone in what it looks like emergency meeting in his basement. Everyone looks at Dustin confused written on their faces as Dustin was explaining to them that he heard something on the walkie-talkie.

" How is that possible?, we left it in the upside down? " Steve said crossing his arms, leaning on the entrance of the basement doorway.

" I'm sure your just hearing things Henderson, Its long gone." Eddie said cutting into the conversation. Eddie wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's waist firmly. If this wasn't serious Steve would have melted in his hold.

" I'm telling you g— ummhu " Everyones eyes darted to the walk-talkie on the coffee table

" Did the walk-talkie just whimper?" Max questioned to make sure she wasn't hearing things. The radio whimpered again not to long after making everyone confirm there something or someone on the other side.

__

That's how Steve & Eddie got in this position to go back into the upside down, of course unintentionally. As they went into the oh so familiar portal, nervousness started to settle in, into the two boys. When coming out of it it, it the same as they left it.

The skies were still red, abandoned homes and land everywhere, the air was still with a heavy atmosphere all around, thunder was as loud as ever, shrieking of demo bats were heard farther away but that still made Eddie hold on to Steve's hand even tighter, Steve grip match with Eddie's.

Steve and Eddie started walking hand in hand carefully and quietly to where they left the walk-talkie. It felt like a century before they finally arrived to the destination.

" let's find this thing and get the hell out of here" Eddie said now speed walking to skull rock with Steve trailing behind him.

" ...ummhu.... "  Steve & Eddie eyes narrowed in on a smaller bolder that's a few feet away. There minds now racing with theories about what is behind that rock. What if its a demo dog? a demo bat? Or worse a full adult Demogoron. Steve & Eddie took out there weapons and slowly walked towards it making sure to be as quit as possible.

Eddie's narrowed his eyes clocked on the rock now in front of them prepared, Ready to fight for his life. The boys looked at each other and counted down to 3 together. Once they got to 1 they both made loud battle cry's and weapons swinging high like maniacs.

Before they could do anymore damage a high pitched whimper was let out. Steve opened his eyes even though he swear he didn’t close them. His eyes widened little by little as he focuses in on the thing or should I say child sitting in front of them hands over there head in fear.

“ Stop eddie…STOP “ Steve raised his voice hitting Eddie’s arm demanding his attention. Eddie also had his eyes closed, arms whipping in the air with his nail covered shield in any and every possible direction. Eddie opened his eyes at Steve’s demanding h̶o̶t̶ voice and looked straight at the child.

The child though they left do to no more screaming battle calls and what is consider “ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴs “ swing around. The child lowered their arms and took a look.

They both were staring back at them

The child try to hide again

“ Hey, HEY it's ok were not monsters.. Were like you.. “ Steve said softly kneeling down on your level, looking you in the eyes. Eddie not long after. The child took another look and slowly put there arms down and stare at them.

" What's your name? " Eddie said softly

The child took a minute to answer

" Y/n.. " The child answers almost in a whisper but Steve and Eddie hear it

“ Y/n.. that’s a nice name “ Eddie complimented with a lip tight smile. Eddie and Steve looked at each other in a sense were not knowing where to go from here. Eddie's eyes pulled away from Steve's onto the child in front of them.

" We're are your parents y/n? "

" Gone."

The boys looked at each other in disbelief, that is just ..wrong. Who would leave their child in a place such as this? What kind of parents dose that. Without wasting a second Eddie picked Y/n up and put them on his hip. Startling her first then became stiff. Eddie started walking.

" Ywu dowing?! "

" Eddie don't tell me what your doing is what I think your doing." Steve said speed walking to catch up

" I'm taking her with us " Eddie stated still walking

" but we- " " No buts Harrington!, this child is here left to die, I will not just leave knowing that we just killed a kid HELL a baby at most?!" Eddie turned to meet Steve's eyes

Y/n finally relaxes in his hold leaning against his shoulder. Eyes dropping shut tiredly do to the warmth and protection you felt.

Both boys were still looking at each other almost telepathically talking to each other. Steve was the first one to look away. He sighed and rubbed his eyes in frustration to try to finger out what to do. Not long after, Steve walk past Eddie to the direction of the portal.

Eddie wiped his head around, hair flowing behind him. Steve stops walking and turns around

" You coming or what smart guy " Steve turned back with a little smile and continued to walk closer to the portal. With big smile on Eddie's face he followed Steve with a kick in his step. Grinning like a fool.

The child in Eddie's arms unconsciously grinned the same way in their sleep. Not knowing that they'll finally have the life they deserve.

Steve and Eddie only had one thing on there minds

Y/n, it's ok now. We are all safe.

.

.

𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓸𝓴 ❤️

[writingsonsaturn]

| writingsonsaturn’s milky way |

hiii !!

requests are: OPEN

masterlist || characters i write for || my do’s and do not’s

all nsfw content is marked as 18+ please do not interact with nsfw content if you are a minor.

[streets-in-paradise]

Horror Characters Preference - How they celebrate Christmas with you

Happy Holydays! This is a little gift i wrote for you all :)

 I wished I could have added more characters and some escenarios ended up a bit short, but this is the best i got in the few writing time i had in between holyday preparations. 

Fandoms incluided: Chucky, The Walking Dead and Stranger Things.

tags: @losersclubisms @helie-brain ( i added Daryl for you) @richiethedigidestine ( i remember how much you like Carl)

Chucky

Andy Barclay

-Only after growing tired of hearing you sing ' You are a mean one, Mr Grinch' he ends up confessing why he hates Christmas. 

- Andy is the sort of person who would give speeches about consumerism and children being brainwashed by commercials. It is a very important topic for him because it ruined his life, over the years he blamed himself a lot about wanting a Good Guy for his birthday when he was 6 and manipulative advertisement played a big role on that. 

- He is the least materialistic person you have ever met. Although he has a hard time expressing what he wants or needs you have clear that he prefers people over things. 

- If it would depend on him, he would spend Christmas like a regular day, but he has you and Kyle getting him out to get things and do holiday stuff. 

- Decorating the tree was easier to convince him about, you made the cabin look like a home and he couldn't complain of that. 

- It made him feel a bit fuzzy inside. His place would not be a prison or an Isolation spot anymore. You wanted to stay with him and turn it into a home, your home. 

Junior Wheeler

- Christmas is Bree's favorite holiday and she is your favorite of your boyfriend's parents, so you are there to celebrate. 

- You also want to support Junior because you know Logan has a way of always ruining his mood somehow. He would never let him be happy, not at least in his own way. 

- For so, you were there to do it. Perfectly aware of his musical inclinations, you encouraged him to sing Christmas songs with you for the little kids in the party. Junior knows that you like that and only you could have convinced him of joining.

 - People are shocked, Logan receives tons of compliments and advice coming even from some of his friends regarding the unexpectedly discovered talent of his son. 

- You casually mention that you play piano, a subtle act of support in that context. 

- Junior is so happy that, if there weren't formal appearances to keep, he would have kissed you ríght there.

Jake Wheeler

-Christmas is a hard time for him. He used to love it as a kid but since his mom died nothing is the same. The season reminds him so much of her and his father is not a good source of support. Lucas gets even worse around the holydays and Jake has to either avoid him or babysit his drunk ass.

 - One of his saddest memories involves him having to decorate the tree alone, feeling the loose even harder' because the season makes him feel like he is alone in the world. 

- That's precisely why it meant so much to see you at his doorstep visiting to help him with the decorations. You even brought some yourself along with some other Christmas plans. 

- He almost cried while eating your gingerbread cookies, that's how strongly emotional you got him with such simple acts. 

- Lucas gave you the side eye as he was passing by. He knows who you are and he is not supportive of your relationship, but that time you didn't mind in the slightest. 

- In fact, you previously fought the urge of bringing a mistletoe just to not get Jake in trouble. 

- You love your boyfriend and wouldn't let the assholeness of his father get in between your chances to give him happiness.

Bonus

Chucky

- He is the gift for one of the kids on your family gathering.

-Switched the original gift for a box containing him, actually. 

- Good luck surviving his holyday fun.

The Walking Dead

Daryl Dixon

- Celebrating anything is complicated in the world you live in, almost impossible for most people. When you were freshly arrived the Alexandria people were trying to push parties down your throats and Daryl had the worse reactions to that. 

- He hates to be pushed into anything, even more when it is about a celebration he wasn't a fan of before the apocalypse. 

- One thing was for sure, his reactions of discomfort were quite adorable to you. At some point of the party he got tired of giving deathly stares so he wouldn't be bothered and he stayed outside. He was out in the front not only refusing to participate, but to even be present.

- Of course, you followed to make him company and make sure he wouldn't freeze. After all, If both of you wanted, that party could be just the two of you.

Carl Grimes

- If he gets the chance to celebrate, he wants to make it nice for his little sister. Carl feels he was fortunate because he got to experience a real Christmas and she will never have that. 

- Even if she is too little to remember, he wants to make it special for her and you help with whatever you can. Sacavange for things, arts and crafts, whatever necessary to get some nice decorations and presents.  

- Your determination on the topic ends up convincing Rick of accepting the idea. As soon as he heard your reasons, even Daryl was up to participate. He has a soft spot for the little girl and Carl is doing so much for her. 

- When the time comes, all the people you consider family are there. It's your first truly felt Christmas since the end of the world.

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

- He doesn't get much comfort and family at home, but since he has you and his little friends he found a family where he belongs and that manifests on his attitude around the holidays. 

- His gifts are super thoughtful. Everyone knows he is gonna surprise and that makes you nervous. You fear he would give you the most perfect gift and yours for him wouldn't be as good enough in comparison. 

- Meanwhile, Steve stresses more about what to get for Dustin, considering how far he is from his peculiar likes and interests, than what he planned for you. 

- For Christmas Eve he gets invited to dinner by the Hendersons and that means you also got invited. Dustin loves you both and wants you to be there with him and his mom. 

- When you arrive the boy is watching ' Silent Night, Deathly Night'. 

- " No horror movies tonight." You commented to him. " It's our first Christmas together. We have to make it nice. " 

" But it counts as a Christmas movie!" He playfully complained. " It's an open film subgenre." 

- Steve laughed and messed with his hair, loving to hear him being himself and you trying to make things the normal way. 

- You both in your different ways make him insanely happy.

Eddie Munson

-I get the feeling that his celebrations are the closest to how It's used to celebrate where i live. 

- Loudest Christmas ever, it's 6 pm of Christmas Eve and Eddie is already blasting music. He is a happy and unapologetical dude and that's how cheer hits him.

- You are neighbors, so you are constantly crossing over trailers to see how each other is going as you await for the night. You have to get reminded to get back whenever someone needs any of you for something on your preparations. 

- Eddie and Wayne end up joining you. Your family is on good terms with them and getting all together is better than having to stand how you and Eddie leave out of sudden to see each other. 

- At some point of the night, once you have enough time to dedicate to your families, you follow him into the next step of your celebrations. 

- Surprisingly crashing late at Dustin's and pumping up the party. 

- Steve mocked you for showing up late, he and Eddie have a secret war going on over who amazes Dustin the most.

Bonus

Billy Hargrove

- You have been dating for a while and your mom suggested you could invite him to your Christmas party. 

- Everything goes fine when you are introducing him to your parents but, as soon as he saw him, your little brother reacted as if he would have seen the reaper. He clumsily tried to dissimulate, but you know him well enough to notice he is terrified. 

- That’s how you find out that the dude you were seeing was also your brother’s bully, the nameless guy he would always complain about everytime he came back home made a scared mess. 

- You dump his ass without hesitation. He may be charming and super hot, but he showed his true colours messing with a little boy, with your family.

- Nothing can excuse that. 

[thefuseoftemptation]

What type of hugger do you think Eddie is?

Oh, he full on hugs you. Just pulls you into him and holds you. Eddie’s the type to put everything into the hug, he won’t let go until you do and even then he doesn’t feel like pulling back because m’sure he likes and needs it just as much as you.

Expect times where he surges to you suddenly and just pulls you into him—wherever you guys are at. It happens plenty when you guys are together and he hasn’t seen you in a while. And by a while, I mean it could’ve been just a few hours.

“Eddie,” you breathe out. “We just saw the other…” you speak rubbing his back.

“I know.” It’s mumbled but you hear.

Expect too, behind the back hugs. Do it to him and that’s it—he’s gone. He just melts.

(That’s all if he knows you).

But if you guys haven’t known the other for much time, m’sure he’ll still be the type to hug you because whether he knows it or not—he revels the feeling.

Though, there are times where if he’s not expecting it and it suddenly happens—there’s a brief second of him not knowing how to even take to it. Like he’ll just sort of be there with his arms up to the side before he sighs and leans into it. He won’t be sure of himself for a few but he’ll get used it in no time.

. . .

[djarintreble]

Dad Eddie where daughter starts giving people at school the finger because she’s seen her dad do it

anon, so I totally went all out on this one. bringing an unexpected cameo haha than you for this request! I hope this is what you wanted! xx

pairing: dad!Eddie Munson x wife!reader tags: part of my dad!Eddie series, this takes place 1997, Arwen Munson getting in trouble at school, no mention of baby brother but he's alive and probably at daycare (Steve), we're in the principals office oh no, Eddie standing up for his daughter, not so nice teachers, typical Eddie and Arwen behavior, we are fully supportive. word count: 1.7k oops a/n: I have more requests incoming :)

When you swung open the school’s front door, the smells of childhood filled your senses. Did every elementary school smell the same way? Was that a good thing? Whatever the case, the smells of crayons, cleaning supplies and germs was not how you envisioned your morning. 

Your boss was annoyed at your sudden need to leave work at the demand of Arwen’s principal. His tone only meant she had done bad and a parent conference was due. Eddie was on his way from work to meet you as well and together you would both tackle your first (and hopefully last) time sitting in an office due to your daughter's behavior. 

“Hi,” You attempted a smile at the receptionist. “I am here for a meeting with the Principal? I’m Arwen Munson’s mom.” 

“Ah yes, wait right here.” The woman led you to a row of chairs and you waited patiently.

Arwen was a good kid. She would never do anything maliciously. It was inconvenient that they didn’t explain the reason over the phone, making the dramatics of having you come in. Arwen was in 3rd grade, she was raised to use her words and to be respectful. There was no way she got into a fight or bullied someone. There was no way she’d find herself in those situations. And if she did… You prayed it didn’t come to that. 

You couldn’t help but feel that you were in trouble. In middle school, you only had to come to the principal’s office once because of a miscommunication.  Eddie always teases you for your good record and how you’d never do anything bad. In high school, he’d call you adorable for it. 

The other side of you were nervous for how this would look as Arwen is the daughter of Eddie Munson. What if she really didn’t do anything wrong but because of her dad, the veteran teachers who once taught her dad are now treating her like they wish they did him. That was unfair. Especially since Eddie was a kid who acted out as a mask. A defense for how he really viewed himself. If only these schools recognized that earlier instead of showing him he wasn’t worth two cents. 

The front doors barged open and you heard “I’m here! I’m here! Sorry I’m late. Was stuck under a car for 3 hours.”

“And you are?” The secretary asked nonchalantly. Close to the way the secretary at Hawkins High would sound when she heard a younger Munson run in tardy. 

“Oh-” You could hear the surprise in your husband’s voice. “Right, Eddie Munson. Father of Arwen Munson.” 

“Your wife is around the corner, you can wait for Arwen and Principal Jenkins there.” 

Your husband wrapped around the corner and gave you a smirk when he saw you. He threw a red and black flannel over his work shirt and jeans. A few rings helped make him look more put together and not as if he just came from the repair shop. 

“Well well well, I’m getting flashbacks.” He said as he slumped down into the chair next to you. “How are you?” He asked, leaning over to give you a quick kiss as a greeting. 

“I was doing good until I got this call.”

“It’s probably nothing.” Eddie reassured.

“If it was nothing, we wouldn’t get called up here. I’m just scared how this will affect her school life from now on.”

“I highly doubt it will, sweetheart. Besides, we don’t know what she did. Maybe this is a good thing! Maybe she got an award!” As he gave your lap a quick pat, you sighed.

“Maybe. Just the tone they gave makes me scared she's in trouble.”

“Mom?” You heard your daughter ask across the office. She stood there with her lunch bag which showed she was pulled from the cafeteria. Her hair was fashioned into a high ponytail after seeing DJ from Full House wear it that way. Her overalls unclasped from one side revealing an old faded band t-shirt that has shrunken from Eddie’s collection. When you locked eyes, she immediately looked away embarrassed of whatever she did.

“Hey, sweet girl.” You smiled. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Munson?” You heard someone call from behind you. Principal Jenkins was standing outside her door with a slight smile. 

“That’s us.” Eddie responded. 

“Come on in.” She walked into her room, inviting you to come inside. Arwen ran over and gave you and Eddie a quick hug before going inside with you. “Please sit.” 

The three of you sat in the chairs lined up on the other side of her desk. Arwen sitting between you and Eddie. You rubbed Arwen's back consolingly before facing the principal. 

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She started. Another set of smiles were sent her way despite you both being annoyed you had to leave work. “I wanted to start off by saying I am very proud of Arwen’s academics. She has complete excellence in all her studies and her special area classes. I wanted to ask if she would be considered for our gifted program.” 

Relief ran over you as the good news was delivered. You looked over at Eddie who showed nothing but a proud face. He gently shook your daughter’s shoulders. 

“That’s my girl! Yes, that would be amazing.” You noticed Arwen’s lack of enthusiasm and patted her leg.

“Is that something you’d want to do?” You asked. 

“There is one thing though.” The principal started. 

Oh no.

“It seems this morning Arwen decided to effect that perfect citizenship grade by an act of throwing a middle finger at her substitute teacher as well as some of her students.” 

“What?” you asked, baffled.

“I bring this up as a concern because that would affect the final process of the gifted program application. Her homeroom teacher must approve that she is capable of maintaining good citizenship when brought into the gifted classes.” The principal didn’t seem too happy. 

“Arwen, baby, why did you do that?” Disappointment settled in as your daughter sat quietly, kicking her feet slightly under her chair. 

“Sweetheart, you know that’s not appropriate to do.” Eddie added, yet his face seemed more worried. 

“I didn’t mean to. I just got really mad.” She admitted. 

“What happened?” You asked. 

“Mrs. O’Donnell saw my last name and asked if you were my dad.” She looked toward Eddie. The name rang the bell as your old English teacher from Hawkins High. Guess her retirement meant coming to torment 8 year olds. “I said yes and she said she hopes I don’t turn out like you. That she didn’t like the Munson kids. So I just did it.” Eddie sighed, knowing she didn’t know of the things he went through in school. Including the time he gave Hawkins high Principal and Mrs. O'Donnell the bird as he got his diploma...

Sure she knew he was a bit of a troublemaker but you didn’t tell her specifics. That was unfair of O’Donnell to say that to her but not okay to respond that way, especially with her presumption of Eddie’s children. 

“Yes, we are taking care of Mrs. O’Donnell’s behavior but it was not okay to do that on Arwen’s part especially toward her fellow students.” 

“They were laughing at me instead of standing up for me!” She exclaimed. 

“I can’t take away the mark on her citizenship for that as it is still behavior we do not allow.” The principal added.

“How does that affect her ability to do the gifted program?” You asked. 

“Her homeroom teacher has to approve that she is able to show good conduct in difficult situations.” 

“I promise, this was a one time thing.” Eddie reassured.

“I do hope so, Mr. Munson. I’m only concerned about how she has learned that behavior.” Her tone showed a hint of judgment. 

Your eyes widened, knowing this was a trigger for Eddie. 

“My daughter is nothing like me. She is more than I could ever be. I will not tolerate teachers having assumptions of her due to the mistakes I made when I was in school. This gifted program is an amazing opportunity for her and I don’t want that to be affected by anything other than her own accomplishments. We will make sure she does nothing like that again. But she deserves this.” 

You’ve never heard Eddie like that before. Prompted by his own past and his defense for your daughter, he truly has shown his growth. You didn’t think you could love him anymore but here you were, smiling wide at him as he stood up for your daughter. 

“Thanks, dad.” Arwen smiled. 

“We will put it into consideration, thank you for coming in.” Principal Jenkins was lost for words. The three of you stood up and left the office. 

“How do you feel about getting checked out and getting some dessert?” Eddie asked Arwen, giving her shoulders a tight squeeze as he led her to the front of the school. 

“Eddie…” You whispered.

“It’s okay I need to talk to her about a few things.” You simply nodded, trusting his judgment. “Go grab you stuff from your class, I’ll be checking you out.” 

“Okay!” Arwen smiled and ventured toward her class.

You and Eddie walked back toward the front where the secretary you greeted earlier sat.

“Hi, we’re going to check out Arwen Munson for the day.” 

“Alright, her class is at a special area class so she will be brought up with her teacher. Wait right here.”

Eddie put his arm around you and you wrapped yours around his waist in response.

“Are you okay?” You asked. 

“I’m doing great.” He responded. 

“Mr. Munson.” You heard. Turning around, you saw Arwen being brought to the front by Mrs. O’Donnell. This is why he checked her out…

“Ah Mrs. O’Donnell. Missed me so much you came out of retirement to see my daughter.” 

“Eddie!” You lightly smacked his back. 

“Yes, she is wonderful.” Mrs. O’Donnell deadpanned.

“Oh and thank you for those kind words you said today about me. Always a pleasure knowing you think so highly of me. Have a good one.” He said as Arwen walked toward the two of you. He wrapped her around and led the both of you out of the school.

“But she didn’t, dad.” She looked up at your husband.

“I know,” he said as he shut the door. “and so does she.” He said before quickly flipping off the school and running to his car laughing with Arwen.

So that’s where she learned it from… 

Looks like you had to be the one to get onto the both of them but you couldn’t help but be proud of the way they defended each other. 

--------

thanks for reading!!

more dad!Eddie can be found here -> Dad!Eddie Series Masterlist

series taglist: @geekmom3 @ruinedbythehobbit @dark-academia-slut

honorable tags I think would enjoy this story based on previous interaction (I love your comments on the last stories so hi ily): @aesthetic-lyssa @yodelingtea @wintermunsonreads @lovelyladymayyy @

eddie munson taglist thread: @catpjimin @senthiasworld @foxsmvlder @a-lil-pr1ncess @cryuki-patootie

[urhoneycombwitch]

tw: abortion

trying to gauge interest levels for a hurt/comfort abortion fic, Eddie x reader. I feel like it’s kind of a taboo in fic sometimes yanno? Id like to write it as a respectful best-option for the two of them, while still dealing w/ that stigma of the 80s rhetoric.

[jokenotfunny]

i'm backkkkkk 😄😄😄😄

and finally have enough free time to upload chapters !

i've just published a heavily edited version of our favorite eddie and steve x platonic!experiment!reader story to wattpad under it's new official title : atychiphobia (007) a stranger things story by the name of @jokenotfunnyy !!

i'll still be uploading on here!! but i will also be utilizing ao3 and wattpad under the same username!! with possibly more detailed chapters ! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️🩷

if you guys are still interested in the story i'd love if you read it and tell me what you think!! 🩷🩷🩷

[greenishghostey]

These are mostly sad tbh. I thought about Eddie’s mum and got SAD

EDIT: I’ve now seen how horribly this is formatted on mobile. I am so sorry oh my god

tw: mention of death, unstable family life, neglect (to an extent), parent death

Eddie was best friends with his mom before she died. Her name was Jennifer and she was the best mom she could be. She worked two jobs, cashier at the grocery store in the mornings and bartending at night to make ends meet because her husband certainly wasn’t going to do it. The constant stress and responsibility of being the backbone and provider for her family made her tired and she fell asleep at the wheel of her car on her way home one night. Eddie was six years old when his mom died and sometimes he worries that it was his fault. He remembers how tired she always looked when she was home and she tried to be home a lot for him. 

Eddie’s dad wasn’t necessarily a “bad guy”, he never raised a hand to his son or his wife or anything like that. Harvey Munson was a spineless coward through and through. He was a pushover when it came to the wrong people and he became a petty criminal as a result. Theft, fraud, gambling, Harvey did it all thinking that he would strike gold and then Jenny wouldn’t need to work anymore. Honestly, he did like Eddie but he had never really wanted a kid, but having Eddie around was helpful when he needed smaller hands and someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions. 

Eddie’s parents had only been together for a short period of time when they found out they were going to have a child. They had a very quick wedding. Jennifer was over the moon that she was going to have her own family. 

Eddie makes sure to never forget what his mom’s voice sounded like. It’s the voice he tries to replicate for female characters when he is DM-ing - slightly raspy but with a distinct warmness that was soothing to listen to as a little boy.

Eddie looks exactly like his mom and bares very little resemblance to any of the Munson side of his family. He’s actually kind of glad that he doesn’t look like his dad because his mom was beautiful so maybe he is too.

[unfortunate-brat]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄

(LOVE WILL TEAR US APART BLURB)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Latina!Reader, Elijah Munson x Latina!Reader

W/C: 1.1k

Summary: Eddie reflects on how you were never really meant to be his.

Warnings: 18+, Child Abuse, Slight Jealousy, Bullying, Depression, Heavy Angst

A/N: @munsonsbelova got mad at me for this one but its worth reading i promise. and i’m open to blurb suggestions and questions in my inbox !!

You watch him mingle with the cheerleader, strawberry blonde hair bouncing off her shoulders as she tosses her head back with a laugh. Sure, he’s funny but never that funny.

Nevertheless, it makes your lips turn into a frown. Should you stare longer, today’s breakfast might try to escape in an unpleasant manner. So with a slightly harsh swing, you shut your locker and head out into the parking lot. Missing the way his eyes follow your frame before returning back to the other girl before him. Truthfully, he wanted to pull you back into a tight embrace, kiss you all over and make things right but there was no way to make those words from a week ago disappear. You had every right to be upset, hell he was too after arriving home.

“ I was thinking we could go to the drive in? Halloween is around the corner and they’re putting Alfred Hitchcock movies on!” You didn’t want to rent it out from Steve’s job, not when sitting next to Eddie in his van, munching down on snacks and making jokes about the other people around watching the movie was much more entertaining.

“I can’t.” Was his response, and just as your heart sank, he decided to add more weight. “ In fact, I can’t hang out with you anymore.”

At this point, he had stopped at a red light and it was taking forever to turn green. Which this street was always guilty of but Eddie felt like this time was on purpose. “ Despite seeing what he does to me, how he treats my friends and everyone else he doesn’t like, you still choose to talk to my brother. You wear his jacket at parties and his games. You do study dates and probably make out in private. You continue to tolerate someone who’s done nothing but make my life hell. I can’t continue to act like its fine. You even stood me up multiple times for my performances when you promised you’d go. But where do you decide to go instead?” Eddie pauses, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Sure, he’s implying something and yes it hurts saying these things but it does bug him. It seemed like it was getting to a point where the only way you’d ever understand is by pure honesty on his end. And he didn’t wanna spill at first but you need to get the message that he can’t be around anymore.

“ So, go ahead and cancel any plans or ideas for us to hang out.”

Now it was your turn to speak, a part of him hopes that you’ll fight back and realize that he is worth more than his preppy brother. Its quite selfish but Eddie has never been good at anything, not even coming up to second best.

You simply remain silent, grabbing your bag and opening the door. Not really caring that the light was now green and you could get hit. Feet hitting the ground, you slam the door shut and head towards the sidewalk. How you managed to keep your cool till you got home was a mystery. But you had ignored Eddie’s shouts to get back in and that he can still drive you home.

Since then, Eddie knew the bond had been severed. This is what he wanted to do anyways right?

He had hoped that in his speech, you’d find that Elijah was truly the antagonist and cut him off completely. Though if anything, its made your bond to his twin stronger. Just at lunch, he caught the pair of you sitting together at the popular table. You sporting a smile and laughing at something, wearing his jacket once again. Funny how life continues to work against him.

Doesn’t make things better when Chrissy is the one to tell him that Elijah was gonna plan to introduce her to his father. Eddie would claim that its their father but that old man never liked how Eddie resembled his mother growing up. Kicking him out and stating that he can’t come back.

Poor Wayne, he didn’t have to take in the 8 year old covered in bruises and a buzzed head sleeping on his doorstep. He could have kicked him to the curb too, just like his own brother. However, Wayne knew what it felt like being the black sheep of the family and made Eddie know he wasn’t alone.

It took Eddie five months to talk about what happened that night, and a whole year to accept that he was worthy of love. Doesn’t mean he didn’t struggle sometimes to this day, but tries hard not to.

And though his father hasn’t spoken to him in years, never called or said happy birthday, nor cared to be a good parent, he had cornered Eddie in the parking lot and said that Elijah was his only and favorite child. So whatever opportunities he had, whatever his most treasured son wanted, he would receive, and that included you.

“ Remember Edward, you are nothing. You ought to know better than to go after my son’s girl. You’ll only corrupt her with that satanic bullshit and antichrist mindset.” His meaty finger had pushed into Eddie’s chest, sending the younger male back a few inches. “ Stay the fuck away.”

And as much as Eddie wanted to stand up to his old man, he stayed quiet. Kept telling himself that he was worthy of your time and you’d never become Elijah’s girl. Maybe instead of you having to accept certain facts, its time he accepts these ones instead.

Chrissy squeezes his hand. “ Don’t get lost in those thoughts, it’ll only hurt more.” In the years she’s known the Munson twins, the realization as to why they despised each other came to light little by little. Chrissy would like nothing more than to go back in time and take them to Wayne’s together to grow up in a non toxic home.

“ You know what’s funny, Blondie? I’m the fucking oldest. I have the same exact face, I have the same DNA, same everything and somehow I’m entitled to being treated like shit. Old man thought my brother was perfect when he came out and just tossed me to my mother to handle. How do you choose a favorite seconds after one is born?” He can sense the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes but Eddie continues to hold them off.

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[wintrrrsoldier]

sooo i don’t write fics but i sure as hell love to daydream and i was thinking about the scene where steve is asking eddie where’d he’d learn to hot wire a car and eddie finishes the explanation by saying he’s “really living up to the munson name” or something like that right?

now i’m just sitting here thinking about eddie taking his significant others last name when they decide to get married cause he likes it better than his own and i just 😫😫

if anyone feels like writing a blurb or something that’s like this i’d literally combust. like full imma give them a smooch cause i feel like this would heal my soul