#this was wholly unplanned

[ohforficsakelibrary]

Woodsmoke

masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Gender Neutral Reader. No physical descriptions of reader beyond having hair. Reader has a cat. Established but new-ish, implied long-distance-ish relationship.

Summary: Life has been running you ragged lately, but someone is waiting for you when you get home. For a moment, you don't have to be strong.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of difficult family life, attending therapy, absent parents, wounded inner child, loneliness as a general theme. If I've missed anything, please do tell me.

Word Count: ~1.6K

Rating: General? Two curse words and some kissin'. The remainder of my work is 18+ / minors DNI.

A/N: I do not know about y'all but I have been going through it lately. And Frankie Morales is my comfort character. This is not along the lines of my usual writing, and for that reason, I haven't tagged anyone. But I'm sharing it on the off chance that you, like me, just need a hug. I know this time of year isn't the easiest for a lot of us, and I hope maybe this gives you a little comfort. Comfort!Frankie, if you will. Please heed the warnings and read with care.

You are worthy of love.

You don’t have time to cry.

Not right now, on this highway, snowflakes flying towards you like crystalline stars at a speed twenty miles per hour slower than the speed you’d be moving at if they weren’t.

You can’t see the lines on the road even without tears in your eyes.

One thing at a time.

Like everything lately.

Just follow the tracks of the car in front of you until it gets you home.

Home to your house that’s empty save for a grumpy tabby cat.

Most days you swear your existence hinges on his.

He’s been your thing to look forward to for the last fifteen years.

Well, and Frankie is visiting this week. 

Provided that this storm doesn’t shut the airport down.

Fuck.

It’s not that you hadn’t been doing well without him. 

It’s that you hadn’t been doing well.

Too long without a mental break. Exhaustion that seeps with the cold into your bones.

Too many things on a to-do list that you can’t bring yourself to do on the weekends because it’s too long and your own time is so short.

Maybe it’s some malefic arrangement of stars and planets, perhaps.

You haven’t even started buying holiday gifts. 

And it sends you face-first into the dread of making a trip back home.

The place that was supposed to be your home.

And dread is the correct word, even if your therapist says you're making real progress. 

See, the thing is, your therapist doesn’t have to sit in the contents of the box of shit you dug out from the corner of your brain and emptied all over the floor of your mind.

She only helps you sort through it every other Tuesday.

It was in the box for a reason.

It was easier to carry that way.

_____

When finally you pull into your driveway and step out into fresh snow, it’s the smell that hits you first.

Woodsmoke.

Someone has started up the wood stove so that you don’t go cold, but you hadn’t been expecting company. You figure it’s your best friend who has a key and a standing invitation, and you’re not necessarily opposed to them being here. 

Sharing a bottle of wine would probably do you some good.

You stomp snow from your shoes and step inside to offer your layers to the hooks on the wall of the mudroom before you catch sight of the boots in the tray as you toe yours off.

“Frankie?!”

“One sec, babe!”

Frankie.

You wrench open the door that leads through to the kitchen and catch sight of him in front of the sink where he’s draining steaming water from a pot of pasta.

He looks up at you across the kitchen and winks.

“Frankie,” you breathe and he quickly pops the pot back onto a dead burner, slinging oven mitts off a fraction of a second before you collide with his chest.

“Baby,” he whispers, locking you in with an arm around the small of your back and the other at the nape of your neck. 

He smells of woodsmoke and cedar and Frankie.

Smells like home.

“You weren’t supposed to be here for another two days,” you pull back and look up into brown eyes framed by mirth-filled creases.

“I was keeping an eye on the weather,” he urges you against him again to nuzzle into your hair, “didn’t want to wait. There’s another front coming behind this one. Took an Uber from the airport. Got in about an hour ago.”

Pilots and their forecasts.

“I’m glad you didn’t wait.”

“So am I,” he tilts your chin up and presses his lips to yours. Soft and sweet. Perfect.

“I made pasta, thought you’d be hungry when you got in.” He grins against your mouth before turning back to the stove to stir tomato sauce. “There wasn’t much in the fridge, but there’s plenty for tonight.” Frankie turns off the burner.

And it’s so new, having a man in your kitchen. 

Making you dinner.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I haven’t had the chance to go to the store,” you rake a hand through your hair as he winds a corkscrew into a bottle of wine.

So new, having arms to fall into.

“Don't apologize, babe. We’ll go tomorrow,” he sneaks another kiss as he fills your glass, one hand absently rubbing your back as he does. “Oh, I also fed the cat,” he points to stacked tins of cat food near the fridge, “from that, hope that was okay,” he fills his own glass. “He was hungry and he was insisting on spaghetti but I figured that’s not…”

“Thank you.”

It’s not more than a trembling whisper.

Because you’re fighting back tears.

This man warmed your house and poured you wine and fed your cat and made you a meal.

Because he cares.

Someone cares.

For you.

“Oh, hey no no no, cariño, what’s wrong?” He replaces his glass on the counter and cups your face in one massive palm.

Soothing with a gentle thumb over your cheekbone.

“This is so nice,” you breathe and the tears finally blur his face. “I just—no one has ever done this for me before.” 

It leaves your mouth slowly, like you're not even sure if you can say it.

If you're allowed.

Your view is quickly replaced by the grey and red of his sweater.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do, baby.”

And it makes your chest heave with the sobs you can’t hold in any longer as you wrap your arms around his waist, sinking into the way he presses you tighter against his heart.

The wool of his jumper eager to collect all of the tears you haven’t had time to cry. 

Because time stands still here, wrapped tight in his embrace.

And Francisco isn’t afraid of your mess.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t ask.

Instead, he tiptoes around the debris of that box to where you weep in the center of the chaos.

To where the child sits with hot tears streaming down their face.

And he looks straight into the heart of you with eyes as soft as the toy you clutch to your chest for comfort.

And offers himself instead.

He offers the breadth of his chest and the strong panes of his back. The vice grip of his arms and the gentle soothing of a palm.

He offers his whole self.

In the stead of the affection you were never given and so learned too well to do without.

In the stead of the wire-framed mother.

In the stead of the shell that should have been a father.

In the stead of all of the unkind words you clung to in the belief that they must be true.

For why else would they not love a child in the way that a child needs love?

For why else were you left lonely for so long?

And the back of your throat goes sore with the burn of his kindness.

Kindness that you still don’t believe you deserve.

“Put it down, baby. Let it go.”

Where Life asked you to soothe yourself.

“I’m here.”

Life offers him to you now. 

For Life, it seems, has taken pity on you.

Or perhaps It grew weary of how your grief made It ache.

“I’m here now.”

And so It proffered this apology.

One that you accept in the form of skin and muscle. Bones and blood.

A soft-hearted one with big kind eyes.

And Frankie holds you until the sobbing eases.

And thumbs the tears from your lashes.

Plush lips soften into a crooked smile.

"Are you hungry, cariño?" Whispered softly.

"Yeah," you murmur because you suppose you are.

"Can we sit by the wood stove?" He turns you towards the living room and lays a kiss at the crown of your head.

"Yeah, yeah of course."

"Good, because it's fucking freezing." And that finally pulls a laugh from your throat. "Go on," he smacks you lightly on the bum, "I'll bring you a plate."

You grab both glasses of wine and toss a few throw pillows on the floor before Frankie settles next to you with two shallow bowls heaped with pasta.

_____

When you've finished dinner, plates stacked on the coffee table, cat napping on a throw pillow near the pair of you, Frankie sits back against the sofa and pulls you to sit at his side.

"I'm sorry that I..."

"No," Frankie cuts you off and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Don't ever apologize to me for feeling, baby."

And you stare down into the dregs of your wine.

"Promise," he prompts with a nudge of his arm.

You look up at him through tired, but grateful eyes. "I promise, Frankie."

"Good," and he kisses you slowly, all warm lips and soft moans.

He regales you with stories from his latest trip until you settle in against him, head tucked under his chin. Lulled by the rise and fall of his breath.

You let him hold you here, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders.

Safe by the gentle heat of a dying fire.

You'll be yourself again tomorrow.

But tonight you allow yourself this.

Frankie kisses into your hairline as you drift between this word and sleep. Your weight against him is soothing as he finishes the last of the wine, eyes trained on the windows beyond, tracking the path of snowflakes on their way to meet the earth again.

"Te comprendo, cariño," he murmurs, resting his cheek against your crown.

"Y creo que te amo."

[goofytrait]

hahahah babe you remember how we joked about having more kids?

[mermaidsirennikita]

I'm sorry, and I say this as someone who loves a lot of books with an accidental pregnancy in them, but like...

If you're writing a contemporary romance set in the now times, and your heroine gets knocked up in like a one night stand, and she isn't like, specifically crazy and attempting to get pregnant by a random, if she's genuinely not at all trying to get pregnant or planning on a pregnancy...

I'm not saying you have to have her consider an abortion, but the idea of her being like "this is all hunky-dory", even if she wants a baby in the long term, is INSANE

Like... in this economy? In this current world? In a reality wherein even if you don't typically support abortion, you know you can't have one even if it threatens your life depending on where you live? Not second-guessing your accidental pregnancy or having negative feelings at all is INSANE and to me it makes your heroine unrelatable, even if she was knocked up by a random billionaire who later swoops in and takes care of her

I mean, I know someone who recently got pregnant by accident, and she was with a man she was planning on marrying and kids with in the long term, they lived together, they had a dog together, the proposal was discussed and right around the corner... and she wasn't happy and she wasn't immediately sure she was going to have it. She decided to in the long term, but she was like, SOBBING when she found out. Because it's a big deal and even if, after some contemplation, you're super happy about having the kid, it's at min OVERWHELMING.

idk I just... that's bad writing imo.

[abibliophobiaa]

Epilogue: Golden, Like Daylight

summary: everything falls into place (4.2k)

warnings: mention of birth, allusions to sex.

eddie munson x pregnant!reader || strangers to friends to lovers, unplanned pregnancy, and then they were roommates, forced proximity.

masterlist || previous chapter

——

Elena Munson was born on June twenty-eighth, on what would be one of the warmest days the month had seen so far. Fitting, for a little girl who brought the sun along with her, filling the bustling hospital room with overwhelming love and light as she was lowered against her mother’s chest.

It was a swift labor, but he cheered you on and held your hand throughout the whole thing (only groaning when you nearly broke one finger), and Eddie Munson had decided he’d never seen anything more incredible than watching the woman he loved bring his daughter — his daughter — into the world. Kissed your sweat-slicked forehead as his hand raised to cradle the tiny, wailing body against you, both your tear-streaked faces upturned with the widest of smiles.

Eddie was certain the two of you cried more than your new daughter, his body crowded over yours, the two of you tangled up on that narrow hospital bed, peering down at the face both of you had dreamed of for months. Pouty lips, those perfect little cheeks, a curly head of hair that impressed the doctor, and ten tiny fingers and ten little toes.

Perfect, by every standard. In every single way. Completely and wholly yours, knitted together in love.

And later, after the nurses had cleaned the baby and done their routine checks and you were allotted time to enjoy the joy of being a family, both of you watched Elena take in the world with new eyes. Merely looked on at her in awe, neither of you wanting to let a moment pass by lest you miss anything. Concentrated wholly on her little wrinkly forehead, the furrow of her brow, fingers resting against her father’s clavicle from where she rested in the crook of his elbow.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” you asked, marveling at the beautiful human you carried within for nine months.

“Her mother is beautiful, I’m not surprised,” he teased, rocking Elena when she mewled a bit. “Thank you.”

For loving him. For giving him this moment.

“We did it,” you told him. “She’s finally here.”

He leaned down then, kissing her brow, those mystified eyes of her’s closing. “I love you so much,” he told her, the first of the promised many to come. You snuggled in closer, body still sore and tired from exertion, head resting on the other side of his chest. Then he leaned down, lips soft against yours, grinning into your skin, both of you still on cloud nine. Whispered, “And I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your thumb reached over to brush over the curve of Elena’s cheek, her head stirring, but not waking her from her slumber. “We are the luckiest girls in the world. Aren’t we, Elena?”

——

Welcoming a new baby into the home was an adjustment, to say the least. Your nights had definitely changed, both of you quickly growing accustomed to a lack of sleep with a crying newborn keeping you up all night. But Eddie helped out as much as he possibly could, feeding the baby to allow you extra sleep, changing diapers, and he always was excited to do it.

Seeing him become a father made you love him more, if that were even possible. He doted on his little girl all hours of the day, singing to her, talking to her, simply looking at her like she was the greatest treasure he’d ever stumbled upon. And she loved him back, always wide-eyed and cooing at him once she was old enough to do so.

Soon enough, you’d fallen into a routine. He worked during the day while you stayed with the baby, and when he got home you spent time together as a family. Often just laying on your bed like you were right now, staring down at your daughter as she kicked her feet and waved her hands in the air, oblivious to just how loved she was.

“I want another one,” Eddie mused to himself, blowing a raspberry on Elena’s chubby cheek, ringed fingers splayed over her abdomen, giving her a tiny wiggle. At your horrified expression, he added with a laugh, “Not right now. I just…didn’t think I’d love being a dad so much.”

“I was going to say that’s easy for you to say when you didn’t have to push her out of your body two months ago. But Eddie, you’re doing a great job. Really.”

Those first days and weeks had been trying. Eddie often felt helpless initially when Elena would wake, screaming bloody murder, unable to do much since she really needed you. And though that was true to an extent because of obvious reasons, he’d gone above and beyond in other ways, if only to make sure your burden was lessened. Cleaning around the house, cooking for the two of you, making sure you could get in a shower and nap when needed.

You knew that insecurity was brought on by years of neglect due to his father, but Eddie would never follow in that man’s footsteps. His heart was too big, his love too deep for his family. Eddie had taken to fatherhood in stride and an eagerness to make sure Elena knew he’d move the mountains for her every single day.

“I’ll think about it,” you mused, leaning down to give Elena another kiss. “I think I wanna steal your last name first, though.”

It was a newer development. Talks about marriage. He’d brought it up a few days after Elena had been born, wanting to ease you into the idea of forever, to see if it would be on the table. And you’d surprised yourself with an immediate ‘yes,’ fully believing that all that you’d gone through was meant to bring you to where you were now, with this man.

He proved to you every day that your initial fears were for naught, trust for the love he bore you running deep, his soul a security you’d never known before.

Eddie rolled onto his side, head propped up against his palm, elbow rumpling the comforter near Elena’s hip. “Yeah?”

You nodded, rolling onto your side, nose pressing into Elena’s cheek, grinning as her gummy mouth turned to seek you out. “I am the only non-Munson in this bedroom.”

“You’re a Munson. You know that,” he said, leaning over to kiss your furrowed brow, “but one day soon…officially.”

“Soon, huh?” Your nose grazed his cheek, lips barely touching his, relishing in his contented hum.

“Can’t be giving away all my secrets now,” he whispered, nosing along your jaw, mouth dancing at your pulse point. “I want it to be a surprise.”

——

That surprise came a week before Eddie was set to leave on tour. Months had flashed before your eyes, your newborn suddenly six months old and more vibrant than ever. Constantly smiling and babbling. Your home was filled with laughter — yours, her’s and her father’s, the two of them the brightest lights in your life.

That same father stood in the kitchen, bobbing his head to a song as Elena sat in her baby chair, blinking up at the fan circling up above. It was her newest fascination — watching the blades spin around and around and around, like it was the most entertaining thing on earth.

“Eddie, I just finished washing the rest of your clothes. They’re just out to hang dry on the line now,” you told him, slipping your arms around him from behind, hugging him close. Could feel his heat through your sweater, sighed into it. “What if I just hold onto you so you can’t get onto the tour bus? Cling to your ankles?”

Eddie turned off the sink, wiped his hands on a towel, and spun around. Shifted you so now his arms curled around your waist, sliding beneath the fabric of your sweater, calloused fingers dragging along your skin. You’d never tire of him in this way; his hands on your body, his form against yours, his lips, times — though understandably less frequent now — when he’d have you under him or over him in whatever way you’d liked, crying his name like a song.

“We’re going to miss you.” You pouted, pressing your ear to his sternum.

“You’re going to be at the first few shows,” he murmured against the top of your head, swaying you back and forth, “but I’m going to miss you both more. You better take pictures every day. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Every day, I promise.” Something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. A tiny little box nestled in Elena’s fist, hand waving it back and forth in front of her face. “Hey baby girl, what do you have? Can Mommy see?”

Legs kicked, kicked, kicked in her cozy little sleeper, her happy cooing sounds growing louder the closer you got. And then you dropped down onto the floor, leaning over to give her a giant smooch on the cheek, prying those pinchy fingertips from around the box, and replaced it with a rattle toy so she didn’t end up bawling.

Once Elena was satisfied, you lowered yourself down onto your bottom, thumb brushing over the velvet material. Eddie’s voice was warm behind you, “Open it, Buttercup.”

“Eddie…”

“Told you I couldn’t tell you all my secrets.”

Too stunned to do much of anything, much less speak, Eddie joined you on the ground, hand curling around Elena’s foot as she continued to huff and kick, the only sounds in your home her rattle and the clanging of your heart in your chest. Eddie took it upon himself to take the box from you, flipping the lid open to reveal a solitaire diamond on a thin gold band. Your hands cupped your mouth, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you choked out a sob.

“A little over a year ago I fell in love with a woman in a Princess Buttercup costume. You quickly became everything to me, even when you didn’t know it. There is no doubt in my mind that I wa —”

“Yes,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks now, Elena’s rattle growing louder with the fury of her movements.

“I didn’t finish,” Eddie laughed, grabbing your left hand in his, plucking the ring out of the box. It hovered over your finger for a moment as he continued, “You are my best friend, the mother of my child, and the love of my life. And I’d be a really lucky guy if you’d become my wife too.”

Your reply was a nodded cry of ‘yes’ and he pushed the ring up onto your finger, sliding it flush against the knuckle. It was a perfect fit. Arms circled his neck as you practically leaped onto his lap, giggling as his arms wound right around your waist and tugged you flush against him, lips sliding over yours.

Elena, seemingly unhappy with not being the main focus of all her parent’s attention, tossed the rattle onto the ground and cried. Pouty bottom lip wobbling as tears spilled down plush cheeks, her father was there to the rescue as you shifted off him to unbuckle her and pull the baby onto his lap, bouncing her until she giggled again.

“Someone was a little jealous,” you teased her, poking at her belly, “he was mine first, little missy, so you’re going to have to get used to sharing.”

He was yours. And you were his. From that very moment on Halloween, even if you hadn’t known it back then.

Eddie pretended to chomp on her baby cheeks, earning a loud, bursting round of giggles from his daughter. “Your mommy said she’d marry me. How does that sound, Elena?”

She shoved her fingers into her gummy mouth.

“I guess she’s happy,” you laughed, lifting her up onto your hip, clambering onto your feet. You held aloft your left hand, wiggling the glittering diamond as Eddie appeared at your side with a hand at your waist. “I love you and I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you.”

——

After a conversation later that night spent tangled in bedsheets, you quickly realized neither of you wanted to wait to get married. In a spur of the moment decision, you’d suggested a trip to get a marriage license that next morning, and that same day you were given the green light to go ahead with your nuptials at the local courthouse.

In the end, it had been a private affair just a few days later. Wayne was there as a witness, standing with your daughter in his arms as you and Eddie recited vows to one another. Made promises to uphold for the rest of your lives, in sickness and in health, until death did you part. You cried as Eddie breathed life into those words, as he declared those promises, and he silently cried as you echoed them back, sliding a simple gold band onto his ring finger.

Mr. and Mrs. Munson.

Later, you arrived at home to find all your closest friends packed within, there to celebrate the newly wedded couple. Chrissy, finally showing with her second baby, had gone all out and decorated as much as she could, and Robin directed the flow of traffic to the food buffet table.

Everyone took turns toasting to the Munson’s, reminiscing on memories they had about the two of you, both alone and together, and celebrating love. The room was full of it. All glowing faces under candlelight, friends and family alike enjoying the closeness and community.

Every so often you snuck glances over at your new husband, bent in conversation with one of his bandmates, his fingers wiggling in a wave your way.

Husband. It sounded so crazy to think after all this time that was what he was. You’d chosen one another now and forever. Decided that you were going to nurture and grow this relationship for the rest of your lives.

Your family.

That night, after your guests left and Steve and Chrissy took Elena for the evening, Eddie loved you gently in the dim light of your bedroom. Tenderly. Fingers curled with yours against your pillow, the room filled with soft sighs and rolling hips seeking the pinnacle of pleasure. He kissed you slowly, held you tightly as you shattered around him, tucked you away from the rest of the world. Whispered he loved you, punctuated kisses against your face and shoulders with sweet nothings.

Head nuzzling your neck as you both drifted back to earth, he asked, “How does it feel finally being Mrs. Munson?”

Right.

It felt right.

——

Two and a half years later…

——

The stage was bathed in dark shades of maroon and red, the anticipation on eager faces awaiting the last song of a sold out concert a ripple that rose with every passing second. Hands reached out to touch him and his bandmates, a sea of screaming fans huddled before him, and yet his heart only searched out one face. Fingers pressed against strings, the feeling familiar, so practiced, a part of him just as simple as breathing.

A spotlight drifted toward center stage, illuminating his bandmates. His friends. His family. Jeff passed him a knowing smile, Gareth grinned devilishly, and Murphy nodded his head. He’d never be here, standing on this stage, in a crowd of tens of thousands were it not for them — for the years of blood, sweat, and tears. The sacrifices made.

And then, as the room rose in volume, cheering grew louder and louder, Eddie’s eyes drifted off toward the side of the stage. Found you there, his wife, the love of his life, glowing with your support of him as always, lips tugged into the proudest of grins. You were beautiful, wearing his Corroded Coffin band logo across your chest, with a floral skirt fluttering with your every movement falling against your thighs.

In your arms, against your hip, you bounced his newest little. Benjamin Munson, nearly four months old now, with a giant pair of headphones atop his curly head of hair. You swayed him back and forth, one hand curled around his tiny fist like you were dancing, the baby’s eyes transfixed on the stage.

To your right, playing furious air guitar, head banging in all her curly headed glory with a matching pair of headphones to her baby brother, stood his now three-year-old, Elena. His first baby, the one who made him a father, the second love of his life, one of the pieces of his heart. You reached down to brush your fingers over her head, Elena’s head tipping upward just enough, eyes twinkling and dimples that mirrored Eddie’s as she looked across the stage and saw her father standing there with a broad smile on his face.

She smiled back in wonder, always so full of love. He never understood it — how much he could love someone who was a part of him, someone who he’d had a hand in creating, how much they could love him back. How his daughter looked to him like he was her whole world, her hero. But he lived every day trying to be worthy of it, knowing he was.

The first notes of his guitar rang out onto the stage, head bowing, eyes closed. He pictured your smiling face, sitting there in that darkened bar on Halloween. Could see you, just as the crowd roared to life, pulling out a stool and joining him at that table. It was easy to do so, being back in the city where he first fell in love with you tonight. You’d smiled at him, and it had been all over for him, from that very moment.

It was that same smile he saw when his head lifted and he looked your way once more, your beaming face, love and support grounding him in this moment, doing the thing he loved most with the people he loved most.

And as the final note rang out, clear and true into the magnetic energy of the crowd, surrounded by all the people he loved, his dreams now his real life — he knew he’d do it all over again, if only to end up right here in this moment.

Infinite.

——

You left the concert with the promise that Eddie would meet you and the kids back at the hotel once he’d signed endless autographs and merchandise to make his hands hurt. By the time he slipped into the hotel room, you were propped up beside Elena in bed, her eyes locked on whatever cartoon you managed to find on the television.

Ben rested in the crook of your arms, hand against your chest, freshly fed and looking like he’d fall asleep at any moment. Eddie always pleaded with him to stay up so he could wish him goodnight. Not that the baby understood, merely blinking at his goofy dad in reply.

You watched a smile stretch across your husband’s features when he noted the long lashes that fluttered against the tiny face that was shaped so much like his fathers, you’d jokingly cried, “Figures I do all the work and you look like your dad” in the hospital the day he was born as they’d laid him in your arms.

While Ben was serene and serious faced most of the time, Elena was still your giggly and boisterous little girl. Eddie’s twin in every way personality wise, though her features screamed you.

Said little girl hopped up onto the bed despite you telling her she shouldn’t be jumping on it. Ben stirred in your arms as Eddie dropped his things at the door and held his arms up like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, growling, “Daddysaurus is hungry and demands kisses.”

A routine. This had become a routine for them the past few weeks after Elena decided she loved everything dinosaur related. Eddie, wanting to encourage her desires wherever they lay, bought her countless dinosaur toys, books and stuffed animals to engage her curious mind. And then “Daddysaurus” became a thing and you were sure your daughter loved her father even more because of it.

Your big, lovable dork of a husband leaned down and wrapped his arms around his daughter’s middle, flipping her up onto his shoulder, their laughter echoing in the hotel room. Elena squealed in her excitement, hair spilling across his shoulders as she dangled upside down, his fingers wiggling at her sides.

Once properly tickled, he dropped her down onto his hip and kissed her cheek, beaming as her little hand settled against his chest and her head leaned onto his shoulder. “Miss you, Daddy.”

“I’m here now,” he reassured her, “it’s your bedtime though. How about you go potty and we’ll come help you get ready for bed, okay?”

“Do I hav’ta?” she whined, fingers twined in his curls, pouting when you nodded. God, your heart swelled every time she did that. “Benny sleeps too?”

“Yeah, baby, Ben is going to sleep too,” Eddie told her, lowering her down onto the bed.

Elena, still having no perception of how chaotic she could often be, jumped down to the ground and stirred Ben from the half-slumber he’d found himself in, before running off into the bathroom and slamming the door a little too loudly.

Chuckling, you handed Benjamin to Eddie, “You were amazing tonight. As usual.”

He grinned, arms coming up to cradle the baby in his arms, rocking him back and forth to soothe. “Helps that I had my biggest fans in the crowd. Hottest one, too. Wanted to flip her skirt up after the show in the green room.” He added that with a wink.

“Not while the kids are around,” you hissed, but heat still burned low in your belly all the same, craving the next time you’d be able to have some alone time. Luckily that would be tomorrow, when Micah and Jeremiah took them for a few hours so you could explore the city you’d fallen in love in years ago. “He did really well for his first concert.”

Eddie tugged the baby closer, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Is that right, Benny Boy? Just wait — in a year or so I’ll teach you how to play too. Just like your sister. We can start our own band.”

“Don’t tell the guys that they’re getting replaced,” you laughed, palm curling up and over his broad shoulder as he settled down beside you on the bed. Cuddled up to his side and staring down at your sweet baby boy, you added, “Robin and Vickie called. Chrissy and Steve had another girl.”

“Poor guy is in trouble. Three girls.” Eddie whistled, running his index finger along Ben’s slackened bottom lip, little sighs falling from the baby.

“Heard from my publisher too. We finally solidified the release date on my next book.”

He leaned over and kissed you, forehead resting against yours. “I’m so proud of you, Buttercup.”

All your dreams were coming true — together.

Every day you loved him a little more than the one that came before.

You had your two beautiful babies.

Your family.

Your friends.

Life was good.

“How about you put him down for the night and I go check on our girl?” you asked, just as Ben finally slackened in his father’s arms, lost to the waking world.

Eddie nodded, happy to do so, whispering sweet words to his littlest love as you made your way over to the bathroom, peeking in to find Elena already finishing up pulling on her pajamas. “Look at you. Such a big girl. How about we go lay down and get ready for a bedtime story? I bet if you ask Daddy real nice he’ll tell you a good one.”

A tiny fist came up to rub at adorable doe-eyes as you carried your daughter back to the bedroom, finding Eddie sprawled out on the bed, the comforter drawn back to make room for the two of you to scramble on in.

Elena, naturally, untangled herself from you and rushed past in her hurry to plaster herself to her father like a starfish. Limbs all sprawled across his form, trying to be as close as possible. His hand slid up and over her back, locking her against his chest. After brushing a final kiss to Ben’s forehead and wrapping him within a blanket from where he lay in his portable crib, you tucked against Eddie’s opposite side, head over where his heart thumped steadily within.

“Missed my favorite girls,” Eddie said, kissing the tops of both your heads.

Your fingers stretched across his chest to tangle with Elena’s, giving her a little squeeze as she sleepily asked, “Story now?”

His laugh rumbled beneath your ear. “Yeah, what kind of story tonight? The one about the bears maybe — or the one about Mr. Turtle?”

“New one please?” She shrugged, nuzzling further into Eddie’s chest.

“How about I tell you the story about the day your Mommy and Daddy met?”

Her eyes sparkled in the darkened hotel room, head rising and falling rapidly.

“Once upon a time, there was a giant Halloween party in a beautiful…uh, castle. A traveling minstrel — which is a fancy word for a musician — looked across the room and spotted the most beautiful princess in all the land…”

He told her the story of Halloween.

He told her the story of where it all began.

He told her the story of your love.

——

well, this is the end. thank you so so much everyone for all of your lovely comments every week, all of our conversations and just generally thank you for loving this story as much as i have. cannot wait to share the next eddie stories i have planned with you all. and please please — if you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know. it means the world to content creators, and i love getting to chat with you all. until next time, xoxo - luna. 🩷🩷

[writeyouin]

Can we have some fluff and angst with V x reader cause the reader is on her period and V never being around women much has no idea how to handle all the anger, food cravings, sadness and horniness 😂😂😂

V X Reader – Prepared For Anything

A/N – I was gonna make this a fem reader, but then I remembered there are other peeps with uterus’ and that’s cool too, so this is completely gender-neutral. Happy Bonfire Night. Also, just in time before the night is over.

Warnings – Slight NSFW

Rating – T

Throughout his life, or at least what little he could remember of it, V had accomplished a great deal. He had survived Larkhill. He had caused the explosion that had allowed his escape, working meticulously for months to coerce Doctor Delia Sturridge to give him everything he needed to do so. He had singlehandedly dug out the collapsed tunnels of the London Underground to create a base of operations. He had robbed, pilfered, and burgled everything that he could from Sutler and his so-called government, always stealthy and vigilant against anyone who might try to stop him.

One thing he hadn’t done was spend time around someone on their menstrual cycle… Until now.

There was a time that V had thought himself prepared for anything, but this was something else. It had started just a few days prior when you as his protégé had gone alone on a mission to rob a supply train heading straight to parliament. Normally, V didn’t mind where you went or what you did, respecting you as a fellow anarchist, but you had acted recklessly, and that was something he couldn’t have.

V was chaotic, but he was an organised chaos, like a storm in a teacup, waiting for the perfect moment to be unleashed unto an unsuspecting attendee of his tea party. Everything was timed perfectly. Normally, you respected that. Yet, only a few days ago, you made an unplanned attack that you weren’t wholly prepared for and although you weren’t caught, you had failed to exit the train properly and had come back crying with a dislocated shoulder.

After V had set your shoulder back into place and you had settled down, he had asked you why you had gone through with the robbery without planning it carefully. It was with a sheepish expression that you admitted that you just needed some things; things that V didn’t have. He pressed you further, and you had snapped at him, yelling that he didn’t get to know everything about you, and then you had started crying, frustrated that you couldn’t properly articulate what you meant before stomping away like a moody teenager.

To say V was surprised was an understatement, but he didn’t think much of it past the fact that perhaps you weren’t like him. There weren’t many humans who could survive the isolation of the Shadow Gallery without going mad, missing out on a regular life offered in the world above.

Later, V decided to see if you were okay. He found you in the kitchen hurriedly scarfing down chocolate at an ungodly rate. Although he was curious by the unusual breach of etiquette, V knew that was a battle that he didn’t wish to engage in, and so he backed away slowly, unnoticed by you.

Recklessness. Raging emotions. Intense cravings. If V didn’t know any better, he would have guessed that you were pregnant, but that wasn’t possible. Although he didn’t monitor your comings and goings from the Shadow Gallery, he knew that you hadn’t been fraternising with anyone; or at least he hoped you hadn’t. It wasn’t that he had any claim over you, but lately there had been stirrings of feelings in his chest; feelings that weren’t anger and hatred.

Shaking his head, V decided that whatever was going on with you would likely wear off or you would open-up to him about your feelings when you were ready.

Later that night, he opted to read Don Quixote, finding the titular character endearing on his quest to restore chivalry, though less relatable than he would have liked, seeing as V was anything but a hero. He was an anarchist full of hatred, wishing to free the people from their oppressors. V regularly thought himself to be a necessary monster masquerading as a man. However, one similarity between him and everyone else was that he too needed rest, and as he read further on, tiredness overcame him and he fell asleep on the small settee, the book resting on his chest.

Having been traversing the Shadow Gallery restlessly, the pain in your back and stomach easing for the first time in three days, you stumbled upon V, finding him in an unusually vulnerable position. You stalked over to him, drawn like a moth to a flame. He looked beautiful.

You knelt down on the floor next to him, taking your time to admire the scene. At any other time, you might have found it romantic, but now, you wanted more. How would it feel to be pinned under him? You could wear a mask so as not to risk seeing what he so carefully hid. It would be worth it to have him do as he pleased with you, using you for his needs until you were both exhausted and-

“(Y/N)?” V stated your name, apparently startled.

It was such a difference from his normally self-assured tone that you were certain that he saw exactly what you were thinking in your eyes; the windows to the soul always gave away secrets to those astute enough to decipher their messages.

Well, so be it. In for a penny, in for a pound, You thought haphazardly, before voicing a question you might never have asked under normal circumstances, though any circumstance concerning V was far from normal anyway.

“V, Do you want me the same way that I want you?”

V’s breath seemed to catch in his throat. He cleared it and sat up, staring at you through his grinning Guy Fawkes mask. “(Y/N), please tell me… What has changed between us of late?”

“Hormones.” You laughed drily, the only one to find the joke funny.

V nodded, taking your answer at face value.

“I see,” He said after a minute.

Then he stood up, finding that there was much to think about now that you had raised such a serious question, over something as simple and mundane as your monthly cycle. Ever reasonable, V opted to let you decipher your emotions once your hormones no longer had such a chokehold over you.

“Then please, if you feel the same in a week, ask me again then. I am certain that your feelings might have changed by then, and if they haven’t…” He paused ominously, walking to the door as he did so. “We may discuss the matter properly.” After that, he was gone, leaving the Shadow Gallery for the free space on the roof. While he was alone in the rain, worried about what an attachment to you could mean, you were alone in his library, feeling foolish and crying, before your more primal needs took over and you were merely hungry and frustrated once again.

Periods really were a bitch.

Like My Work? Buy Me A Ko-Fi @ https://ko-fi.com/writeyouin or Tip Me on Tumblr

[unsoundedcomic]

In terms of writing, it seems to me that you are closer to an outliner than a seat-of-the-pants writer. Would you say that's accurate? Do you think that the webcomic format necessitates more planning than just writing prose?

Yes, outlining is crucial. I don't know how anyone could write a complex high fantasy story with set-ups and pay-offs without planning.

But there are all kinds of comics. People do seat-of-the-pants comics for 24-hour Comic Day every year, and they're exactly that.

Broadly, I think comics have less in common with prose than with film, and films have elaborate outlining and planning stages that are similar to comics. Comic pages are frequently thumbnailed first similarly to the storyboards of films. Their characters and locations need to be designed; the props, the vehicles, and about a hundred more things if it's a high fantasy world. Planning out a comic and then never actually starting to draw that comic is so common it's a trope! :)

A WEBcomic makes this a thousand times harder because one can't go back and change one's mind. I can't go rewrite or redraw chapter 2. There's a tiny horse in chapter 3 and there it shall remain for all time. The story is published, it'd done, it's out there. If I think of something better? Too bad. If I realise I made a mistake? Tough titties, better think up a work-around and start calling that horse a weird dog.

Imagine, writers, trying to do that without planning. Imagine if you had to publish your work as you're making it, one page at a time - imagine that page of prose going out - and you can never go back and change it once it's released! That's it. It's done. It's in stone!

There are plenty of comics and webcomics (and a few giant film franchises like Star Wars, which blows my mind) that are NOT planned, and you can always tell. Many of the webcomics just throw up their hands and stop updating when the creator realises they're stuck. Hayao Miyazaki stopped writing scripts for his later movies and you can tell. His storyboards are completely seat-of-his-pants and since the films began animating before the boards were even done, the stories are a mess with rushed final acts. But we still love them, the sloppy narratives are part of their charm.

There aren't too many narrative mediums where that seat-of-the-pants method is wholly successful. Prose, poetry, straight ahead animation... maaaaybe certain film genres but even those are taking their unplanned footage and carefully editing it afterwards.

[pentecostwaite]

Last Sunday, by luck, the caretaker of the 1757 Harpswell Meetinghouse in Harpswell, Maine offered to let us in. I’ve wanted to see inside it for years but it’s never been open.

Outside, to the west, the meetinghouse has a beautifully restored graveyard. I’ve spent a lot of time in this graveyard. It sometimes looks like the headstones are parishioners leaning in towards the meetinghouse, listening to a sermon.

Inside at last, it was wholly breathtaking. There was the eerie feeling that the past was suddenly very close by.

The old 18th-century Communion rail was still there by the pulpit. You could see where the folded hands of hundreds of communicants wore the paint from the rail as they knelt to receive.

The caretaker pulled out a powder keg from under one of the seats and told us to look inside. There was still powder within. The keg was found in the attic, supposedly a relic from the American Revolution.

But the reason I’ve wanted to see inside the meetinghouse for so long, is that a 19th-century book about the history of the area claims that seats in the balcony of this very building were set apart for the enslaved. In 1765, a census shows there were 14 people of color living in Harpswell.

New England still struggles with its history of enslavement and racism. You have to look hard to see any remaining traces of that shameful history in the New England landscape. People have tried to forget.

I wanted to go upstairs. I wanted to see what was hidden.

The handrail on the stairs leading to the balcony was worn smooth.

The view of the pulpit was stunning from this height.

The caretaker led us into the northwest corner of the balcony, beyond the box pews the wealthy white parishioners paid dearly for.

There, behind a jumble of ancient pew doors he showed us a bench with a rough, unplaned edge. There had originally been at least two benches there, anchored to the floor, unable to be moved from their spot.

My heart began to hammer. The caretaker told us he couldn’t imagine who would have sat in those rough seats. But I knew who sat there.

These were the seats set aside for people of color.

I’ve begun research to learn the names of the people who sat in these seats. They deserve to be remembered.

I’ll let you know what I find out.

[anonymous-user-a]

Took you long enough. Don't ever scare me again.

- 🧬

In my defence, the fright was wholly unplanned. How did you all survive three-hundred and five years?

[nancydrewwouldnever]

That vulture interview is … something.

If I’m honest I’m just so shocked that it was published. Surely she’d had enough media training by that point to know what a bad idea it was? And how did Chris’ team let it happen?! The whole thing baffles me.

You know, I don't even know if Megan et al understood that's what that article was going to be. They probably replied with "no comment" when the reporter called with rebuttal, and didn't think about it. He had already done his Esquire cover interview where he point blank refused to talk about it.

And then this dropped like a bomb, a day after his casting in Red Sea Diving Resort was announced. She completely trounced on his thunder and stole all the discussion everywhere. I think the whole thing was her being crazy like a fox; she knows how to play this strange combination of naivety and wide-eyed wonder that makes everything look wholly unplanned. But I definitely think there was a plan behind this interview.

[thessaliah]

lev and goetia saved olga? what???

I interpreted as Goetia's attempts to harm Olga by using Lev to emotionally manipulate her and isolate her backfired and made it so that he created a humanity guardian simultaneously as he was incinerating humanity. I get the impression it was wholly unplanned of his (or the 72 demon gods' part) because Lev's feelings for Olga got called a "miracle." He doesn't elaborate further, but it seems the reason why Olga's still remains at all and is a Humanity Guardian is because Lev cared for her. Until we have more info, I assume that Lev's personal attachment with Chaldea incidentally ruined Goetia's plans first (he did it by glitching the whole I-want-to-Save-Mash stuff which was due to Lev), and now Marisbury's. 

Basically, IMO, I think the idea Nasu might go is that Lev’s basic human compassion to help Olga and Mash, even after being connected to the demon god hive, is what derailed the grand plans born from misguided love toward humanity that trampled people.

This is the sequence:

It's weird Daybit knows/remembers this with his condition and doesn't seem to have high EQ, maybe Kirschtaria is the one who told him. But he weirdly “knows” things sometimes since he’s got an inhuman perspective.

We have no idea what Lev did. But Nasu's pushed this "He antagonizes because he cares" as part of his contradictory nature of personal human emotions when he shouldn't have any as a demon god pillar when Time Temple dropped for some reason (and how he refused to give up after the Temple - weird), kind of thing which sometimes is manifested in saying the opposite of what he feels. Olga in Lostroom remembers the pain of being experimented on, and U Olga remembers that too, but neither recalls any agony of "dying all over again" as Flauros claimed she'll experience. So was he just lying?

[kings-of-newyork]

Personally, I like ralbert because they're best friends who happen to be dating. They don't really know when they started loving each other and they don't really know if they'll ever stop. They started dating because it felt right and it's either a massive reveal or something they've both been waiting for. For Years. They're reckless and impulsive to the core but know their limit. They stay up all night watching shitty movies and arguing about which High School Musical movie is the best because they can't sleep. They have unplanned dates at four am that consist of Race dunking chicken nuggets in Albert's milkshake whilst parked in a field listening to the one CD in Albert's truck (and it's Ariana Grande). They take dumb trips to another state that nobody believes actually happened until they see the photos. They wear silly matching couples costumes that make sense only to them. They have inside jokes and endless stories. They would get married in Vegas because they just so happen to be passing through Vegas one time randomly and, 'Hey, Racer, you know what'd be fucking hysterical?'. They get divorced for fun three years later. They know each other inside out but fuck if Race can tell you Albert's middle name and vice versa. They send each other dumb shit at 5am captioned 'us' and get a 'yeah' back. When they're around each other, Albert softens and Race quiets. They wholly, fully, completely and recklessly love each other.

And Sprace is cool too.

So real of you to say this. I am posing you a question, is ABBA featured in their "music for drives" rotation?

[abibliophobiaa]

Chapter Eight: Feels Like

summary: in the aftermath, revelations are made (7k words).

warnings: allusions to sex, medical complications.

eddie munson x pregnant!reader || strangers to friends to lovers, unplanned pregnancy, and then they were roommates, forced proximity.

masterlist | previous chapter, next chapter

——

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Three words. Three simple words — and yet the most terrifying ones. The ones that changed everything. That marked a turning point, a declaration, a fork in the road. On one side, turn back — run to safety, to what you knew, the easier route. On the other, push onwards, accept change — take a flying leap into the air with nothing but faith to catch you.

And the look, the look on Eddie’s face. The pure, unadulterated fear at the way your features couldn’t dare to hide the swimming emotions that choked off your airway. The face that had betrayed you as he cupped your cheeks in his hands and captured your tears with his thumbs — as his brows furrowed at the pout of your bottom lip.

“Sweetheart…”

But it was too late. Caught up in the moment or not, caught up in the bliss of a post-sex haze — he’d said the words and they were there now. Out in the open. He couldn’t just will them away, couldn’t pretend he’d never said them, couldn’t turn back the very hands of time.

“You love me?”

You whimpered. Felt your heart cleave down the center at the way his mouth mashed against your forehead, those broad arms of his curling you against his chest, right where you could feel his form trembling down to the bone marrow. Could hear the thunderous beat of his heart clamoring through the tee shirt your fingers bunched up within your palm.

“I —”

His mouth opened. Shut again. Opened once more to speak, to say something, to hopefully quell your screaming fears tumbling one after the other within your mind, but as he did so the doorbell rang. A resounding ring that offered the distraction you needed to drown out the disquiet in your soul.

You dressed in the silence that echoed within the room. Donned a pair of sleep shorts and pulled on your too-big hoodie. Padded down the hall with Eddie on your heels, slipper-covered feet clapping against the floor.

Before your fingers met the handle on the front door, Eddie called your name. Frowned softly as you whirled around to look at him, those lips of his marred by hurt you'd put there. Had never meant to — had never wanted to, but it happened all the same. With a slow exhale, you leaned up onto your toes and pressed the softest of kisses to his lips. Caught the hitched breath in the back of his throat.

As you pulled back, your resolve shattered at the brokenness there. At the way he regarded you like you were already distancing away from him — or maybe it was him distancing himself from you. Either way, you could see those walls building up behind his eyes. Watched as he erected the surface brick by brick to protect himself. Couldn’t even blame him, because you knew you’d done the same for months now.

Eddie went and opened the door at the second ring. Lingered behind as you shrieked when, there on the front step of your home, stood none other than Micah and Jeremiah, their bags in hand and car parked on the curb, seemingly packed for a day or two.

You were all a blur of limbs and tear-streaked cheeks, your arms looped around Micah’s neck, her arms around your waist. Her hand pressed to your belly when you stepped back, jumping up and down excitedly when Elena made her presence known. “There’s really a baby in there! Still can’t get over it.” She nearly squealed, as Jeremiah looped an arm around your shoulder and Eddie’s and tugged you both in close.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, not complaining, definitely not at all complaining. And even so, it was wholly unexpected. The last time you’d spoken with the girl, she’d been uncertain of if or when she’d be able to make it into town.

“Eddie invited us to stay with you two, actually. Wanted it to be a surprise,” Jeremiah said, clapping the man you’d been living with for months now on the shoulder gleefully. “Got yourself a good one here.”

I love you, Eddie had said. The words and the timbre of them, the way they sounded on his lips, filled your ears once again. Silenced everything else around you as Eddie helped lead your best friends further into his home and gave them a tour. You remained at Micah’s side, mind far away as you followed along with them, drawing comfort from the way Elena pushed at the palm you kept positioned over your midsection.

“You okay, babe?” Micah asked as you all settled down in the living room and the guys opened up cans of beer, sleep suddenly a thought pushed far away from your fatigued mind.

“Just in shock,” you muttered, far away, watching Eddie’s profile as he laughed at something your best friend’s boyfriend had shared. Eddie’s dark eyes met yours, and you heard it again: I love you. A mantra, a steady beat, a promise. “I just…can’t believe you’re here.”

Not a lie. Not quite, at least. And yet, Micah frowned. Reached over and laced her fingers within your own. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Not really. No. Not at all. You held your breath as Eddie offered you a weak smile — as you smiled back, knowing you needed a moment with him, and yet also acknowledging that now wasn’t the time. Not with your company for the next few days.

I love you.

His words screamed into that faraway, tucked-into-the-shadows shard of your heart. The place where the idea of ‘love’ had gone and ceased to be. The place where hurt had watered the seeds of resentment over the mere concept of it.

“No…no, it’s fine.” You assured her, and she seemed to accept the words, knowing better than to push you for answers. “Do you want to see what Eddie did with Elena’s room?”

A distraction.

You needed a distraction.

“Sure, babe,” Micah whispered, squeezing your hand tight as you excused yourselves from the room.

She didn’t press you any further.

——

May morning light streamed in through Eddie’s bedroom window. After hours of chatting with friends, you’d both made your way into the bedroom in silence, freshly washed faces and brushed teeth gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the gently parted curtains.

Neither brought up Eddie’s words. You wondered if it was for your benefit, or to protect his own heart. Like he couldn’t fathom seeing the look on your face once more, and the answer you’d unwittingly given by not saying anything at all. And even if you wanted to talk about it, you didn’t know how to bring it up now. The moment had passed, the harm was done, and the guilt that filled your heart overwhelmed every other thought you might have had in your mind. Because Eddie had gone and invited your best friends to Hawkins. He’d wanted to give you a slice of your home away from home, before your lives completely changed from what you once knew.

Even now, he held you close. The nearness of his body against your spine a comfort, a warmth you’d grown accustomed to, his breath dancing along the slope of your shoulder, where the strap of your nightgown had slipped down a bit. One of his broad hands rested against the curve of your hip, always seeking you out, always seeking touch — even in your sleep. When it happened, the endless need for close proximity, for touch, you weren’t certain, but it became familiar. As simple as breathing, even when love was not.

His other hand lay sprawled over the curve of your midsection. Rumpled up the silky fabric of your dress, edging the lace up higher on your thigh. Most mornings, he’d rouse you with kisses against every inch of you he could reach until you hummed into him, the press of him, hot and hard at your backside. Often you’d roll over, and then onto him, watching his umber eyes blow out dark, nearly black, with the rising sun as you sunk down onto him and rolled your hips over his. Other mornings, he’d wake you with his head between your thighs, or your mouth on him, a previously spoken agreement between both of you.

Today wasn’t like that. There were no long, drawn out languid kisses and wandering hands. No sighs as he inched his mouth along your throat, the huffs of his stuttering breath as your fingers slid beneath the band of his sweats, no pleas for more as his guitar string calloused fingers teased at your center.

Instead you were met with silence and persistent heartache over the memory of the flicker of pain that crossed Eddie’s features the night before.

Later, after an awkward exchange in bed wherein Eddie grumbled to himself he’d make everyone breakfast, you found yourself cornered at a local spa by your three best friends, their introductions full of giggling and excited energy. You were hardly surprised — Micah and Chrissy were very similar, two kindred souls, and Robin loved Micah from the moment they’d all met.

Still, it brought you joy knowing they all got along, their conversation easy as you all slipped into fluffy robes and sat around as massage therapists rubbed at your shoulders, eyes nearly closed from the bliss of it. Eddie had arranged the whole thing; a morning out with your closest girlfriends, getting your nails done, massages to follow. You’d gone with a pale pink on your fingers and a matching shade on your toes, similar to that of your daughter’s bedroom.

Eddie, who always went above and beyond to make you smile. Had given up room in his home, had been there for you the moment you told him you were having his baby, had stepped up in ways you’d never thought imaginable. Eddie, who loved giving the most of himself, had always done so for as long as you’d known him, who was still doing that now.

Elena was a lucky little girl. You both were. And it hurt you to dwell on it — the realization he’d done this, had planned it some time ago.

“We need to have an intervention,” Chrissy stated when you later arrived at a restaurant for an early lunch, her palms splayed over the table. “You’ve been in your head all morning. And don’t say you haven’t been, you have that little forehead wrinkle —”

“She does get a forehead wrinkle when she’s overthinking,” Micah added, nodding as she sipped at her mimosa. “I knew something was up last night. She’s been all giggly over the moon because of all the sex she’s been having, and suddenly it’s all grumbles and sad looks —”

“Well this just got interesting,” Robin mused, leaning back against her chair. “You didn’t tell us you and Eddie were christening his household.”

“You two are his best friends. I — it’s weird. And that’s…that’s not important,” you said hurriedly, tossing a french fry into your mouth. “I’m just…he just…hetoldmehelovedme.”

“I’m going to need you to take a deep breath and say that slower,” Chrissy said with an uneasy giggle, “because it sounded like you spoke another language for a second there.”

“He told me he loved me,” you told them, sipping at your cup of seltzer water, shrugging like you hadn’t just dropped a major declaration on them.

“Okaaaay, and?” Micah urged, waving a hand in front of her face impatiently.

Robin frowned. A soft and impossibly understanding looking thing that had her reaching across the table when your lips twitched downward. “Honey…”

“I didn’t say anything at all,” you admitted, fighting the urge to cry. Swallowed the watery sob that tickled the back of your throat. “He told me he loved me and I just…I sat there. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak — but it was too late. He looked so sad. And I feel terrible; I am terrible.”

When no one said anything, all around the table giving you looks with varying degrees of pity behind them, you continued, “I was scared. I'm still scared. What if he wakes up one day and decides I’m not what he wants anymore? What if he realizes he made a mistake?”

Chrissy exhaled, clambering up and off her chair to move to your side, arm looped around your shoulder. “Can we play the tape forward again?” She glanced at your friends, asking, “Don’t you think we should play the tape forward?” Micah nodded, Robin agreeing with a squeeze to your palm still curled within her own.

“Scenario one,” you said, exhaling shakily, “We continue this, he realizes this isn’t really what he signed up for, and he goes on his merry way. I have to watch him date other people, bring them around our daughter, and move on without me.”

Scenario one was always the negative route, and Chrissy nodded as you finished, offering you a comforting nod. “Okay, now scenario two,” she said, knowing it was her turn for her little exercise. “What if you two are it for each other? You raise Elena together, go on the road together, make new memories, fall deeper in love. You watch that little girl one day go off to college and start her own life, and you’re still just as in love, and maybe you’ve gone through some trials in your relationship since then, but doesn’t everyone? Isn’t every relationship worth fighting for? And you’re happy. Both of you are genuinely and completely happy and you’re together.”

“Also, Eddie isn't like those in your past. He’s not your family that walked away, not your friends who have come and gone, he’s not all those heartbreaks that have come before,” Micah added, offering you a kind smile. “I mean, he did all of this to make you happy. The man put together our whole outing and made sure Jeremiah and I had a place to stay while we were here. I think anyone who spent two minutes with you two could see how much that man loves you and your little girl…who isn’t even here yet.”

“Love shows up,” Chrissy said, “let Eddie show that he will.”

“Dingus Two found his girl,” Robin mused, poking fun at Chrissy’s husband with a cheeky grin. “But here’s the big question: do you love him?”

There it was. The question that had been plaguing you for weeks now. Did you love him? Did you love Eddie Munson? The easy answer, the one that came to your mind swiftly, was yes. A simple word, but along with it the heaviest of weights. You loved him — truly and deeply loved him. It had only taken a matter of weeks to fall for him, only a matter of weeks to solidify just what he’d meant to you, and a matter of weeks to realize what was at stake if you ever lost him.

“There’s your answer,” Robin teased, pointing at the small smile gracing your lips.

“God, I’m so stupid,” you groaned, curling a palm over your forehead.

“You’re not stupid,” Micah argued, running around the table to curl you and Chrissy into her embrace. “You just needed some time. You deserve this. You’re worthy of this. And I’m so proud of you, babe.”

Chrissy practically squealed as she rubbed at the tears collecting on your bottom lashes, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes. “I love you so so much,” she enthused, giggling brightly, “but…today isn’t over yet, and we’re on a time restraint. Eddie’s next request on your day of pampering is to find a dress, any dress, for dinner at my place.”

Your brows arched. “I have dresses back at our place —”

“He wanted you to pick out a new one,” Micah said, teasingly wagging her brows.

So with a renewed hope burning in your gut, your friends and you finished lunch, gathered your things, and headed to the department store where they tossed you dozens of dresses in search of the perfect one. And finally, as you laid a long black dress with daisies along the fabric along your form, you stepped out into the waiting area of the fitting room to three beaming faces, all of which cheering on your choice, your mind still whirling with the knowledge that Eddie had done all of this because he loved you.

And you loved him.

——

“No way…”

The words died on your lips as you walked out into the backyard after your girl friends and saw the array of people seated and chatting around the tables set out across the Harrington’s backyard lawn. There, along the interior of a tent set up above a table positively overflowing with baby gifts, was an archway of pink balloons, and against the table a hanging sign that said baby girl in pretty block letters.

And there, organizing packages against the table that partygoers handed him, was the man who was responsible for all of this. For your friends being here in Hawkins, for the evening you had with them at the spa and out for lunch, for the baby shower you’d just stumbled into.

Beside you, Robin, Chrissy and Micah were all glowing smiles. Little cheers and clapping hands as you took in your surroundings, from Steve and Jeremiah at the grill, to “the kids” seated around a table, waving as you entered, friends from work, Joyce and Hopper who you’d become friends with over the weeks, Wayne, who tipped a beer in your direction with a smile that crinkled at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

Eddie turned then, looking handsome as ever in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a black tee shirt that showed all of the tattoos you’d trailed your fingers over these last few weeks. He’d tied his hair back, little curled tendrils falling around the sides of his face, swaying in the gentle breeze as he walked your way and leaned down to kiss your forehead. Forehead, you noticed, with a pang of disappointment.

Still, your fingers curled in the front of his shirt, sandaled feet wiggling against the grass as you whispered, “Was this your doing?”

“Chrissy helped,” he said, gesturing to the blonde who merely mouthed that she loved you at Eddie’s words. “We invited all of the family.”

All of the family. Because when you glanced around the party parameters, family was all you saw. People who had been strangers months ago, and were now the ones you leaned on, the ones who loved unabashedly, the ones who had been there when no one else was. The ones you chose, and the ones who made you realize that, in a world of frequent hurt, there were people who would always walk beside you no matter what.

These people. And at the center of all of that — Eddie Munson.

“You didn’t have to do all of this —”

“I wanted to,” he said, brushing another kiss along your forehead. “We all did.”

“Now come on,” Chrissy said, practically bouncing on her toes as she rushed over to clasp your hand in hers, “there are guests to greet, and a special chair with your name on it for the mom-to-be. Let us spoil you!”

The evening passed in hazy pastel pinks that mirrored the sunset against the sky. Lilac purples as you pulled out baby girl outfit after outfit. Pretty olive greens on little sleepers and baby blankets. In dusty oranges, like the colors of the rainbow binkies, bibs and bottle tops you received.

Micah sat beside you writing down the endless things you got, while Chrissy and Robin giggled conspiratorially to themselves as they plastered the endless ribbons and bows on packages to a makeshift hat that you definitely knew would be atrocious by the end result.

Eddie lingered by Steve and Jeremiah at a lone table, his legs kicked out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, a smile plastered on his face. It made your heart skip in your chest, watching him watch you. Made you want to run over and tell him the three words that rattled around in your brain all afternoon with every new gift opened.

You loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

Later, as Eddie pushed the gifted stroller you got, filled to the brim with packages, into his home you thought about telling him. The words bubbled up on your lips as he and Steve worked on unloading everything into Elena’s room. As you started to put away the things you knew you could, while you tossed all her new clothes into a hamper to be washed before she arrived.

Steve leaned over to give you a hug before he announced he was heading out for the evening, and Eddie thanked him with a clap against his back and a tight squeeze, before the man wished you both goodnight and offered a final congratulations for the little girl everyone had celebrated that evening.

You slipped into your shared bedroom in uncomfortable silence, Micah and Jeremiah driving back home to the city and leaving you with a quiet home once more. It had been a tearful goodbye, your hands on her cheeks and hers on your midsection as she promised she’d be back as soon as possible to meet Elena. Jeremiah had even whispered in your ear he’d gotten Micah a ring and, after you demanded him to show you, thanked him for being the best brother by choice one could have, and a loving soon-to-be uncle.

“I’m going to spend the night at my uncle’s…” Eddie announced as you clambered up and onto the bed, blankets tugged high against your thighs.

“What?” Your head tilted to the side, not quite understanding, even as Eddie grabbed a few of his things and began tossing them into a backpack.

“I just…I think I need a minute?” He swallowed thickly, and your heart ached with it. With the understanding of what he was saying. “Just — just need to, ah, clear my head, you know?”

“Eddie, I…”

But you understood. Had seen the look on his face clear as day — the hurt there. He’d laid his heart out for you, gave you the power to do with it as you would, and you’d remained quiet. In your silence, he’d gotten his perceived answer.

“Just for the night,” he stated, a pair of his sweats tossed into the bag with a ratty old band tank top. “I’ll see you when I get off from work tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay…” You said, even thought it was far from okay.

None of this was okay.

You wanted to scream, to cry, to shout that you loved him. And even so, you knew now wasn’t the time. Not when he’d already made up his mind, stewed in his hurt, and ached with the full force of it. He was allowed all of what he was feeling — deserved to sit in his emotions and their fullness.

Still, it did nothing for the sting of rejection in your gut as you followed him down the hall, watching his backpack thump against his narrow back. Did nothing to quell the ache in your chest when he turned around and cupped your cheek in his palm, eyes dark and focused on yours, full of love and sadness all the same. Leaning up onto your toes, you brushed your lips against his, the barest of touches, a shuddered breath falling from your softly parted lips.

For a moment his resolve wavered, hands pulling you closer, breathing a little ragged. Flickered across his features as he leaned back down and kissed you again. But your fingers reached up and gently rubbed along his sternum, forehead nuzzling against his, and he took a step back, fingers curling around the front door handle.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, night pouring into the home, anguish seeping into your blood.

“See you tomorrow,” you muttered back a little brokenly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he slipped out and shut the door behind him. “I love you.”

A whisper, a little too late, but not at all untrue.

And then, without Eddie’s laughter and voice to fill the home, silence.

——

Something wasn’t right.

Then again, a lot hadn’t been right since Eddie walked out last night to spend the rest of his evening at Wayne’s. Waking up had been miserable with the lack of Eddie’s warmth along your back. That and you missed the sound of his voice, that first slow breath he always let out when he leaned over and kissed you long and gently, like he’d poured all of the time he’d spent missing you in his dreams along with it, overflowing with emotion.

But this wasn’t just the persistent ache in your chest that had been there since Eddie closed the door behind him. This was a cramping feeling that throbbed low against your stomach, like your menstrual cramps but stronger. Breath falling from you in a groan, you walked over to the front desk library check out area, hand on your back, your coworker, Holly’s, eyes nervously fixed on your face.

“That’s five,” she pointed out, sliding out a chair and rolling it over for you to sit down on. Once seated, her hand curled around your shoulder, a contemplative look on her features, “I think you need to get out of here and go to the hospital. I’ll take care of everything —”

“I can’t,” you gritted out through clenched teeth, wincing at the pain, “It’s too early. I'm only thirty weeks.”

“Exactly why you need to go,” she said, and you nodded because you knew. “Please, just…get checked out. We can take care of everything around here.”

You tried calling Eddie at the nurses office, but the phone only continued to ring, the guys likely in the back working. Tried again when Steve popped his head in and said Chrissy would take you to the hospital, hugging you when you’d whimpered you were scared. Tried a final time when you got to the hospital, terrified when you were immediately hooked up to various monitors and pricked with what felt like dozens of needles.

“It’s going to be okay,” Chrissy reassured you, when the doctor’s said they needed to keep you there to try and stop what looked to be preterm labor. Words that terrified you, because they were the ones that immediately dropped like lead in your stomach, worry for Elena tightening your chest. Choked off your breathing. “And he’ll be here soon, okay? Robin raced over there to get him. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

Her fingers swept back and forth over your knuckles, words a comforting whisper that quelled the frantic beat of your heart in your ribcage.

Mind whirling with thoughts, you closed your eyes and tipped your head to the ceiling, trying to breathe deep. Elena would be okay — she wouldn’t come today. Everything would be absolutely okay. The doctor’s were going to do their best to make sure of it. Chrissy was here, you weren’t alone, everything was fine, and Eddie would be here soon.

——

To say Eddie Munson hated hospitals was an understatement. The last time he’d been here, him and his mother had gone in, and only one of them made it out. This time, the two most important people in his life were here, one of which was likely scared out of their mind and he’d been gone. He’d left and something had gone wrong; he’d left and regretted it from the moment he’d closed the door. Had almost turned back around and rushed back into the house, claiming your lips with his, wanting you laying prettily against a mountain of pillows on his bed so he could whisper he loved you into your mouth once more.

But he hadn’t. He’d driven away and watched his house grow smaller in the distance, slept at his uncle’s, and missed your phone calls when you’d needed him the most. Had nearly shit himself when Robin rushed in without warning, earning the attention of all his coworkers, and said you were in the hospital.

“I need —” Eddie rasped out through frantic breaths as he greeted the front desk worker, chest rising and falling rapidly. He gave your name, at which the woman asked who he was to you, and he quickly added, “Husband. I’m her husband.”

The walk down the hall seemingly shaved years off of his life. Heart thundering away along the pale walled hallway, shoes tapping against the floor. He hadn’t had a chance to change, hair still pulled back, jumpsuit still on. Oil stained his fingers black, despite the hard scrub he’d given them before leaving for the hospital.

As he entered, his heart squeezed at the sight of you in a gown, an IV in one hand, a cuff around the other bicep, all teary eyed as he appeared in the doorway.

You’d barely managed to open your arms fully to him when he rushed forward and curled you into his arms, hand cupped around the neck to draw you into the safety of his chest, rocking you back and forth as you weeped into the fabric of his tattered jumpsuit.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Chrissy murmured, backing up out of the room, “I’m going to call Steve and Robin. They’ll want an update.”

As soon as she left, Eddie pulled back a bit and cupped your face in his hands. Brushed a kiss to either side of your cheek and rubbed at the tears that had spilled down your face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re here now,” you whispered, leaning your forehead against his.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promised, his kiss on your lips bruising, and yet you sighed into it all the same, urging him onward. Gripped him tighter, his tee shirt hidden beneath his jumpsuit fisted in your palm. “Never again. I promise. I love you, I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry and I’m so —”

“I love you, too,” you whimpered into his neck. He pulled back, hearing the hitched breath you let out. The sob that followed. “I’m scared out of my mind, because of what you mean to me, but I’m going to be brave because this is worth it — and I love you. I wanted to tell you yesterday but —”

He kissed you again, urgent and searing. Felt you melt into his frame, arms looping around his neck, curling into the hairs at the back of his head. The heart monitor near the hospital bed spiked, and he grinned to himself against your lips, feeling your chuckles against his skin. Your sides shaking where he cupped them in his palms, the sides of his thighs pressed against yours, body leaning as much as he could over yours with the elevated bed.

“You love me?”

“Yes,” you giggled brightly, your smile splintering his heart into a million shining pieces, “I love you, you dork.”

God, he could stay like this forever. Pressed his forehead against yours, fingers laced with yours in your lap, breathing in the space between you two. Relishing in the comfort of the newness of love — basking in it. But a knock sounded at the door and Eddie was reminded of why you were here. Fear had him shifting on the bed, his mouth pressed to your knuckles as the doctor explained their course of treatment. You’d be staying under observation, medicine already ran through your IV in hopes of stopping things from progressing any further. Prognosis looked good, which had Eddie and you beside him exhaling deeply in relief. Otherwise, outside of the scare, Elena looked perfect.

He remained at your side for the next twenty four hours, only stepping away when nurses came in to check yours and Elena’s vitals every so often. Chrissy and Steve popped in to check on the both of you, offering to bring in food or a change of clothes or whatever else you needed.

Even Wayne and the kids had stepped in, running over to Eddie’s to clean up the place so that when you went home, you’d be able to get to rest.

Bed rest, that was. For the next few weeks, however long Elena decided to stay put, you were on ordered bed rest. Eddie thought your pouting adorable when the doctor had told you all the things you wouldn’t be able to do. Had held your hand when you whined about it after, not wanting to cut out of work just before the school year had ended (you’d grown fond of the kids). You’d also gone on to grumble about how you weren’t allowed any strenuous activity, head pressed against the dashboard in his car when you’d later come to realize that also included any sexual activity as well.

“It’ll be okay. It’s only a couple of weeks,” Eddie said, running a hand along your back when he pulled up in front of his house, kiss after kiss dropped against your temple. “Come on now, got to get you into bed. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“You’re not getting rid of me,” he promised, opening his car door and rushing around to greet you on the other side. “Except for when I have to work, but then Chrissy and Robin and the kids will be taking shifts.”

“You all really don’t have to do this,” you said, easing yourself down onto the ground, squeezing Eddie’s hand in yours. “I’ll be okay on my own for a bit.”

“I know that, but you don’t have to be. We want to help; we love you.” He laughed, coaxing you in front of him along the walkway. “Plus, you need to slow down. The doctor said so.”

Inside, Eddie watched your face light up as you walked down the hall and slipped inside his bedroom. He peeled back the comforter and tucked it around your hips once you settled down, before rushing around the other side and slipping in beside you.

His hand glided up and over your hip as you shifted to face him, along the curve of your waist, across the span of your arm, and then rested on the hinge of your jaw. Warmth seeped into his fingers, your lips soft against his when you leaned over to kiss him. As if you still couldn’t believe he was there, like you expected him to vanish, like you hadn’t fully realized he’d be yours forever if you’d let him.

And then, as your eyes started to droop in tiredness, you asked, “You love me, Eddie?”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”

The other cheek. “I love you.”

Your forehead. “I love you.”

Your chin, where you giggled. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispered, running his nose down the length of yours.

He’d reassure you every day if he had to, helping to heal your heart piece by piece — to prove to you that people stayed.

That people still chose love everyday and meant it.

Stay, when his father hadn’t.

Stay, when his mother hadn’t been able to.

He’d do it all just to have you here, like this.

——

Late June, Six Weeks Later…

——

“Why the pout?” Eddie asked, wandering into the living room where you were presently wrapped up in a blanket, thankful for the AC blowing frigid air into the heated home.

“I tried to go for a walk and couldn’t see my feet. I called Chrissy to see if she’d be able to help me, but then we ended up making ice cream sundaes instead.”

“Baby, you haven’t seen your feet in weeks,” Eddie said, dropping down onto the couch beside you, palm running over the hill of your midsection, still in awe as ever that he’d be meeting his daughter in just a few weeks.

“That’s mean.” You pouted.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, a gentle kiss brushed against your lips, “Also, it sounds like your day was better than mine.”

“Hardly,” you huffed out, snuggling into his side, “it’s the same as the past six weeks. I wake up, I say goodbye to you, someone comes to visit, I walk to the bathroom to pee seventy five times, I go to bed.”

“Only a little while longer now,” Eddie promised.

But he knew it had been hard. The initial days were an adjustment. For someone who’d been used to doing all the time, you’d had a hard time adjusting to being unable to do many of the things you’d done before the scare.

It helped that Micah and Jeremiah got engaged soon thereafter; gave you something to focus on, something to be excited about. After that, you enjoyed the company of the kids. Mike, El and Will would come over and play cards with you. Dustin and Suzie would bring board games, and you’d argue with Dustin when he assumed you were cheating (bedrest had just made you really good at board games). Max and Lucas checked in, back in town on a visit. Joyce and Hopper brought food. Steve and Chrissy popped in with Melody. Robin came with Vickie, always with new gifts for their new niece (no matter how often you reminded them she had enough clothes).

Soon enough, you became stir crazy. Resorted to working on puzzles, coloring in coloring books, watching your favorite movies over and over again. Walks were limited — not more than a few minutes allotted, just to make sure you didn’t overexert. That, and Eddie watched you like a hawk. Wanted to make sure you were okay at all times.

Part of you wanted to find it annoying, but it only endeared you to him further. Being in love with Eddie was easy. So easy you wondered why you’d feared it at all in the first place. He was attentive and doting, affectionate and patient, hilarity ensued and yet grave when he needed to be.

As much as you hated being stuck inside for the past six weeks, you’d loved that intimate time spent with Eddie, enjoying the fullness of your relationship before Elena’s arrival.

“Come on, let’s get in bed,” Eddie mused, climbing up off the couch, extending a hand your way.

“I need a solid cuddle,” you grumbled, hand on your lower back as he helped you up on wobbly feet. “My back is all crampy today.”

“You’re cramping?” he asked, sounding a little worried, his voice growing softer.

“It’s nothing,” you reassured him, rubbing at the place that twinged once more, “Just discomfort of being a million weeks pregnant with your restless kid.”

“Oh, so she’s my kid now?”

“She is when she stomps on my bladder like she’s at one of your metal shows,” you teased, slipping beneath the covers of the bed. “Can you believe we’re the same two people who met on Halloween?”

“Honestly?” He crawled in next to you, fingers trailing along your temple. A light kiss pressed against your lips. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you, Buttercup. Maybe we skipped a couple of steps along the way, but I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“I wouldn’t either.” And it was true. All the imperfections, the hurdles, the joy and laughter, the good and bad — you’d do it all again to get to this point. “I love you, Eddie.”

You said it all the time now. Randomly throughout the day, over dinner, in the morning, cleaning dishes in the afternoon. The words were still new, still so precious to you. Just as the man who held them near to his heart was.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

It was a whisper against the crown of your head as you rolled over, smiling at the familiarity of his arm slinging around your form, his chest against your back. Your anchor, for months now, as you slipped into rest.

Hours later, however, you woke to the bed feeling wet, Eddie’s hand against your shoulder, your head spinning from the pain that ached low, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the bedroom lamp being turned on abruptly.

You winced, and Eddie ghosted a kiss against your temple. “Eddie…” The searing pain followed, cutting off the rest of your statement.

“You think it’s time?” he asked, swallowing back the groan forming in the back of his throat as your fingers curled around his fingers and squeezed hard, the bones sliding together painfully. “Right — right, dumb question. Ow. Let me grab the hospital bag. You stay there, don’t move.”

It wasn’t like you wanted to anyway.

Panicking, he rushed around the room gathering your things. Tossed the hospital bag onto the bed, along with your slippers. He traded his sweats for a pair of jeans and pulled his hair back, as you slipped on a hoodie over your sleep shorts. When another pain lanced through you, you hunched over the bed a bit, gripping Eddie’s forearm as he appeared at your side.

“You have everything?” you asked through gritted teeth, straightening as the pain started to subside.

“Diaper bag, change of clothes for us, car seat…” he rambled off, coaxing you to walk down the hall, “the woman I love —”

“That was corny,” you laughed, sniffling at the tears that formed in your eyes when he opened your car door for you once outside.

His thumb brushed at your cheek. “Just trying to keep a smile on that face, Buttercup.”

As you buckled yourself in, he rushed around the back, clipping in the car seat like Steve had shown him a couple weeks ago. The hospital bag was tossed in beside it and the door shut, your eyes following his form as he darted around the vehicle and got in your front driver’s side. He still hadn’t fixed his van, so your car would be the baby mobile for a bit.

As he settled down, a kiss was dropped to your forehead and a palm cupped your cheek, those dark eyes of his searching your weary, fear-stricken face. “Ready to meet our girl?”

“I’m ready.”

——

our happiest little epilogue is next. thanks for being patient, i have been having a hard time again health wise, but you all make it less daunting. 🥹🩷

[logan-jones]

"do you ever get a little bit tired of life?"

logan's full backstory (child neglect tw, alcoholism tw, violence tw)

logan ashley jones was born on june 15th, 1994 in manchester, the united kingdom, to parents who were less than prepared to become parents. her parents were the ripe ages of 18 and 19 when they brought a child into this world, whose birth was wholly unplanned. a rundown one bedroom apartment became more cramped than it already was with the new addition, hardly enough space for two people, let alone a baby on top of that.

by the time logan was 5, her parents’ relationship had rapidly deteriorated. what were once high school sweethearts became people who bickered incessantly over the smallest of things. whether it was the sink being full of dirty dishes, laundry not being folded, or a toilet left unflushed, it seemed like anything could start a fight. as a child, logan tried to distract herself with her toys while mom and dad argued in the background, isolating in a world of her own. at least in her imaginary world there wasn’t constant yelling. she quickly created worlds that were an escape for her mind, coming up with elaborate plots in an effort to distract herself from what was going on.

when she finally started school, it was a relief to have time outside of the house. in the confines of a school building, she could focus on learning, leaving all thoughts of her homelife behind. but, it was a different story when she returned home, often dreading the thought of having to return to it. after a few failed attempts at trying to get help with her homework, logan had to rely on herself when it came to figuring out her work. dictionaries and calculators were newfound friends, as her own parents were seemingly incapable of teaching her. 

it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she came home one day and her mother was nowhere to be found. logan’s dad was passed out on the couch, likely from intoxication if the beer cans surrounding him were any indication. this was a situation that wasn’t new to her, having learned to cook basic meals by the age of 8, or else she would go hungry. so, logan cooked herself some mac and cheese on the stove and waited for either her dad to wake up or her mom to come home. it wasn’t uncommon for her mom to be leave sometimes, but it had been hours and she still hadn’t returned. it took logan 3 weeks to come to terms with the fact that her mother was never returning and in an unfortunate turn of events, her dad decided to cope with the loss by drinking himself  blind every night.

she was 10 years old when her school finally noticed that logan had been showing up to school in dirty, smelly clothing. she had lost weight and perpetually had dark circles under her eyes, which anyone could tell was odd for a child. with her dad’s constant state of inebriation, she had no idea how to work the washer and she had no means of getting food for herself once it ran out at home. when her father was awake, it seemed that his anger hadn’t dissipated with the absence of her mother. instead, this anger was turned on logan, with her being yelled at for making a small mistake. if a pan was dropped, she was yelled at. if a dish had a dirty spot that she missed when cleaning it, she was yelled at. after months of this going on, she was pulled to the side by a teacher and was asked what was going on, the truth came spilling out. she couldn’t pretend that she was okay any longer. the department of child and family services was called and logan’s father soon lost custody of her after seeing the extent of her neglect.

when she was 15 years old she was in the foster system and had already been placed with 4 different families. the first couple already had 5 kids and shouldn’t have taken on another one in the first place, she was only there for 6 months before she had been pulled out. the second family seemed fine to begin with but it quickly became evident that they were unloving people, only giving their children as much attention as needed. the third household she was placed in genuinely did seem to care for her, but when it came to going through with adoption they couldn’t come up with the finances for it. and finally, with the fourth family, she entirely blamed herself for not being wanted by them. logan’s emotions were becoming unstable and she didn’t know why, she would go through intense mood swings and wasn’t able to control what came out of her mouth. sometimes she would be found sobbing in her room, unable to express what it was that got her so upset, other times she would fly into a rage with little to no provocation. after only two months, she had to be reassigned once again.

throughout high school, logan was primarily housed in group homes, with the odd foster family placement every now and then. at this point, she wasn’t trying to even get the families to like her anymore, these stays only lasted for 6-9 months at most. in her eyes, no one wanted the ‘problem child’, the kid who got into fights at school and got detention at least once a week.  her only solace was shop class, where she found a love for mechanics and immediately excelled. despite her outbursts at school, she was actually a very good student, proving to have a strong inclination for math and science classes. her personal favorite subject was physics  because it challenged her ways of thinking and the projects required her to be creative, thinking outside of the box.  in the group homes, logan found that she still didn’t have much peace outside of school. the homes were often crowded with as many as 8-10 kids, with several of them to one room. she remembered meeting a little boy about 8 years younger than her when she was 17, he had just been taken out of the care of his parents. he looked so scared, the image of his wide eyes and shaking frame was forever burned into her memory. in that moment, logan decided that she was going to protect him and care for him, help him get acclimated to the scary new environment. the two formed a close bond, even after she aged out of the foster care system she came to visit him regularly, she had accepted him as her adoptive brother.

at the age of 21, logan had long since aged out of foster care, having left the group home the very night she turned 18. while she would miss her little brother and some other kids she had befriended, she was looking forward to starting a life of her own. in the coming years she established herself at a local auto shop, having impressed the owner enough with the skills she learned from shop class to get a job there. she still didn’t have a ton of control over her emotional outbursts, but she was slowly finding ways to cope and even started therapy, which provided her with a prescription to medication that helped regulate her moods. although her outlets weren’t the healthiest at times, logan had finally found a way to deal with the hand life had dealt her, which one diagnosed turned out to be borderline personality disorder. in her head, it felt good to finally have an answer to why she acted the way she did. what aggression she did still have ended up being directed towards boxing and fight clubs, where she gained skills in hand to hand combat and built up strength.

when she turned 25 years old, she had saved enough money to achieve her dream. logan applied to a nearby college to pursue an engineering degree, she wanted to eventually work for nasa. she felt that at this point in her life she had enough stability to make this possible. granted, she couldn’t afford a full tuition and only attended school part-time, but it was a start. one day, she received a call from her little brother, who was ecstatic to tell her that a family was interested in adopting him, something he had been dreaming of for years. that night she decided to visit him and take him out for dinner to celebrate the news, absolutely overjoyed for him. even though he was getting something that she never had, she couldn’t be happier for him. he had come a long ways from that scared little boy she met in a group home. 

logan was 28 years old when her life was turned upside down again. she had been bitten by a werewolf and to make matters worse, the person was a friend of hers and someone she had come to trust. it wasn’t even common knowledge to her that werewolves were something that actually existed, so she was completely blindsided by the illness that came shortly after the bite. she locked herself in her apartment and was subjected to a high fever, violent shaking, and barely being able to keep anything down. luckily, one of her coworkers at the auto shop was a friend, so they were able to cover for her and pass on the news that she was sick. she didn’t share anything further about the incident, passing it off as a nasty bout of flu and expressing that she hoped to be back at work soon. but, she had greatly downplayed the severity of her sickness, she was barely able to get out of bed most days, eating seemed impossible when her stomach betrayed her every time she tried to get nutrition. logan was convinced that this would be the end of her, but just as quickly as she had gotten sick, the symptoms began to disappear. soon, she was back to a somewhat normal state, but she noticed that her emotions that had been in check had reverted to a more volatile state. it was like high school all over again, the control she had gained over the years was now barely there. 

she ended up losing her job at the shop and being kicked out of the college she was attending due to her outbursts.  then, the first full moon after her being bitten happened and it shook her to her core. suddenly she had transformed into a violent monster, acting no better than a wild animal. in her uncontrollable state, she almost attacked strangers that she had ran into on the street, but managed to stop herself before it was almost too late. when logan returned to her human form, she only had hazy memories of what had happened.

over the next two months, logan spent her time working odd jobs and researching what she was going through, as well as the supernatural in general. she found that fenrirs wood was located in her country, thankfully, and from what she could tell had a decent supernatural population. so, once she had saved enough money to do so, she moved to fenrirs wood and started her life from scratch. although it’s been less than a year in the new city, she’s slowly been getting used to being a werewolf and hopes to rebuild in this new place.

[maytheoddshq]

Phoenix Cullinan (she/her). D8 Mentor. 100th Victor. Twenty-nine. Lady Gaga.

Panem was not kind to those less fortunate than the elite. 

Phoenix Velour was born into a poor family, factory workers in District Eight who left home when it was still dark out, and came back so late that she was usually already asleep. The loving hands tucking her in at night, the gentle voice speaking, telling stories until she could slip into a deep slumber did not belong to her mother or her father, but instead to her older brother, Rayon. Thirteen years younger than her brother, Phoenix had been an unplanned addition to an already struggling family, barely enough money but four stomachs that had to be filled, hollowing out Dotty and Rufus’ pockets.

Dotty and Rufus had been in the factory, one working the day shift, one just coming in for the night, when the accident had happened. Phoenix had been five, Rayon barely eighteen when the explosion and the crackling flames made them orphans. With no bodies left for a funeral, only haphazardly constructed sticks marked the honorary graves in their garden.

Rayon dropped out of school to take up a job for himself. Phoenix clung to his leg, begged him not to leave whenever it would be time for him to go to work, terrified he wouldn’t return one day. Forced to fall asleep on her own, her slumber was fitful and nightmare filled.

It was easier to feed two people than four, but to go a little less hungry, there was no money left to send Phoenix to school. Rayon simply repurposed his own acquired knowledge to teach his little sister whenever he was at home. 

And then one day, her brother introduced his girlfriend, Laine. There was a wedding, small but nonetheless joyous. It did not take long for Laine to become pregnant and nine months later, Serge was born. For a while, they were a proper family. Then not long after, Laine was no longer in the picture. “Laine had to leave for a while,” her brother had said, and it was obvious he wasn’t being quite honest with her. Serge’s mother had never returned. 

Growing up, the factories had frightened Phoenix more than the Hunger Games had. The Games were something she saw on TV, knew it was something to fear, but her own name was not in the bowl yet, and Rayon never outwardly showed fear of being reaped himself, even if, by the time he was twenty-five, his name was in the reaping bowl 52 times. He was counting on his luck, to be aged out soon and not allowing Phoenix to take up any Tesserae for herself. 

Phoenix’s first reaping happened at the fourth Quarter Quell. The crowd waited, quiet in their spots as the President was projected on screen in Eight’s square. To commemorate the 100th Hunger Games, there would be a twist to the reaping. There were two bowls on the stage. One bowl, the one with the least amount, contained the names of the youngest, newly eligible tributes. The other, the one halfway filled, held the names of those who were in the reaping for the very last time. 

Rayon’s name was drawn first. Phoenix’s second.

Her brother was panicking as they were led into the government building for the goodbyes. Not for himself, however. For her, and for his five year old son.

The journey to the Capitol, the city and people themselves were wholly overwhelming. Glitz and glamour, over the top fashion and strange body modifications, Phoenix was wide eyed as her brother pulled her along. The Tower wasn’t far away from the train station, but the amount of people gawking at them, yelling and cheering slowed them down considerably. Phoenix had never seen so many people at once before. It continued like this, throughout being scrubbed down and lathered in lotions. Hair rid of knotting, split ends now silky to the touch. She enjoyed feeling taken care of, but she didn’t enjoy the looks, the barely concealed whispers. Twelve children, twelve grown-ups. Phoenix heard the stylists pity the children as though they were already dead. 

During training, Phoenix found herself most capable at climbing. Scaling up the fake rock wall, pulling herself up on the net spanned across one side of the training centre. Some of her fellow tributes, other twelve year olds from the outer districts, oh’d and ah’d at her while most of the older tributes simply sneered or smiled indulgently. With her climbing skills, Phoenix scored a three during the private training presentations.

There was heavy focus on honor and sacrifice and representing the country in this historic edition of the Hunger Games. The big 100, fourth Quarter Quell, a reminder of the rebellion that had been squashed. Phoenix just thought it was terrifying as she spoke to Calix Crystal, thought it still when she left the interview stage and was ushered back up to the eighth floor to prepare for launch the next day. Unable to sleep, she found her brother in the living quarters, staring out the window at this strange and gigantic city, buildings so high they seemed to pierce the sky with their pointy roofs. 

Phoenix had asked him if he was scared. Rayon smiled at her with a touch of sadness. He didn’t answer her. “Are you scared?” he returned the question instead, beckoning her closer. “Yes,” she’d admitted in a whisper. Rayon had immediately pulled her into his embrace tighter. Much to their escort’s dismay, they’d both fallen asleep on the common room sofa that night. 

They were launched into a dimly lit, circular room. A pile of boxes in the middle as the countdown flashed on top. Phoenix felt herself shaking in her thick jacket, boots to match and a fuzzy neckline that almost swallowed her. Instead of running for the boxes, she ran the opposite direction, down one of the tunnels that lead away from the fight. Behind her, there was screaming, thuds and angry words, echoing even louder in the circular tunnels. At some point, she stopped at an indent in the concrete wall, cowering into it in the darkness. Rayon found her there, lucky that no one else had been quicker. One of his hands held a box, the other a knife, blood staining the side of his jacket. Rayon had quickly reassured her that the blood was not his. 

Together, they ventured into the tunnel, a light at the end. It turned out, each of those tunnels led to a different laboratory, shiny equipment, elaborate notes and sterile lighting. The room they’d been launched into, where fights over boxes had taken place, was repurposed into standard living quarters. Cots and thin blankets, uncomfortable mattresses encased in a squeaky metal frame. The puddles of blood on the concrete ground remained. Outside the facility, a snowstorm raged.

They braved Gamemaker events together, blearing alarms, terrifying cracks in the windows that let in some of the cold air, a loudly broadcast advertisement of the developments the laboratory had made before it was seemingly abruptly abandoned. Mutts with longer teeth, more venom, curved claws and spiked, razor sharp fur. Details of what this venom could do to those affected by it; hallucinations, rage, immense pain. All a preparation for what would come later.

On their third day, Phoenix finally found out how sponsor gifts were delivered in this place. Right outside the door to the research lab they were staying in, a box unceremoniously dropped into the snow. Rayon braved the journey, trudging through the icy cold after they had unsealed the door. It closed behind him. Phoenix could still see him through the round, slightly fogged window in the metal door. He retrieved the box, and just as he turned, there was a flash of something dark. It collided with her brother, biting and scratching. Phoenix screamed as she watched from behind the door. Rayon was different, when he had reached her again, erratic, bloodshot eyes and a crazed look. For the first time, Phoenix was terrified of her brother. He yelled through the door, dull but nonetheless piercing, obscenities and insults as he begged. She didn’t let him back in.

Some of the younger outer district tributes found her there, shivering and crying. She stuck to them afterwards. Together they took out an older tribute, no match for a swarm of twelve year olds. Phoenix was hardened by the loss of her brother and it carried through all the way to the end. For the grand finale, the mutts outside the facility busted open the previously sealed doors, chasing all remaining tributes into the centre of the facility. After a week of the Arena, those in charge seemed desperate to see it end.

As one of the last few remaining, Phoenix was chased by a particularly nasty looking wolf, spiked fur and dripping teeth. He toppled her, teeth sinking into her leg as she cried out in pain. Things from then on were a blur. Phoenix wouldn’t truly come back to herself until later, surrounded by beeping machines and diligent nurses. When she was more stable again, she found out what had happened. The older tribute from Three had been devoured by a modified polar bear. When the hallucinogenic poison had spread through Phoenix’s system, she’d attacked the younger girl from Six, who had become a friend to her in their alliance.

Delirious, thrashing and in pain, Phoenix had been lifted out of the Arena, crowned victor of the fourth Quarter Quell. 

Phoenix wasn’t alone when she returned to District Eight. At twelve years old, without a legal guardian, the Capitol provided one for her. Berenice Merope was stylish and eager to raise a victor, but the longer she lived in Eight instead of in the Capitol, the more the woman softened.

Panem wasn’t very kind to its elite either, she found. 

Phoenix had been asking to see Serge once she’d returned, but she’d been denied. “Don’t be ridiculous,” her governess had said. “How could a child take care of another child?” Phoenix had retaliated and pushed back. In the end, she wouldn’t see Serge again until she was eighteen and Berenice had finished her duties as governess and left to return to the Capitol. Suddenly, she was no longer chaperoned wherever she went, be it the Tower to act as a perfunctory mentor, or back at home in her mansion. Suddenly, she had more money than she could ever hope to spend. 

She started by finding her nephew. Pulling out all the stops, Phoenix didn’t rest until Serge, now eleven years old, had been returned to her. 

Then, she turned towards fashion. Berenice had brought mountains of shiny fashion magazines from the Capitol while she had stayed at the mansion, and Phoenix had occupied herself with going through them, page by page. Wide eyed at some of the more outlandish designs, amazed at the gorgeous ones. Phoenix gradually began to fit into the circles in the nation's capital, dressing the part, but just the right amount of foreign to remain interesting beyond her status. 

She wasn’t the best mentor, had never particularly been taught how, but she still tried to lift her tributes up, give them as much hope as they could before most of them would eventually go on to perish awfully early, or last long, but not quite long enough. It brought her no joy to send off tribute after tribute into the Arena, but she did her part when she had to, and turned to other matters when she could. 

At twenty-seven, Phoenix met Olivier Cullinan. Charming owner of the most expensive hotel in the city, knowing just the right things to say to get her to fall for him, made her feel like this was finally her chance at a family of her own. A whirlwind romance and a lavish wedding later, those things were said fewer and farther in-between. Love dwindled when there was no longer the chase, the thrill of the conquest. Just like that, Phoenix was alone again. Not in name, but in every other aspect.

( + ) resilient, adaptable, extroverted ( – ) stubborn, materialistic, paranoid

PENNED BY: Leo

[dreadsuitsamus]

Another set questions that just came to me is how did Vegeta and reader meet in Lost? Like did they meet as kids or as adults? We’re they rivals to lovers? Childhood best friends? We’re they put into an arrange marriage? How did they interact with each other before they got together? Did Vegeta have to deal with any suitors that wanted reader’s hand in marriage and vice versa? Did Vegeta and reader only wanted one kid or did they plan to have more before Planet Vegeta was destroyed?

1.) it's mentioned a few times, but they were betrothed as kids :) i mention it in some flashbacks and in little tidbits throughout the story, i believe part 4 has the majority of that background expansion. vegeta was a little snot in his very first interaction with reader and she punched him in the face, and from that day on he was wholly hers. they weren't in love immediately (obviously, as they were kids) but they were close as friends even with their arranged marriage. when they became teenagers was when they became attracted to each other and actually fell in love.

2.) they planned to have several children! i would estimate they would've stopped at four, but then end up having an unplanned fifth child

[waltzofphoenix]

"What is that?" It wasn't meat. Tofu? Still, Thoma would pull himself back, acting like he'd already been too upfront. "Sorry. You know I mean no disrespect, Milord, but...you went all the way to Wangshuu Inn and this is what you brought back? I thought Liyue cuisine was usually seafood and spices?" [ Thoma to Ayato cause I needed to <3 ]

❍°˖ — Ayato just barely manages to hold back an amused chuckle at Thoma's initial outburst of confusion and surprise. Even though it's pretty much exactly the reaction he expected, it's... still enjoyable to get his retainer to slip up and drop the formalities once in a while.

"Yes, well... There's quite an interesting story behind this, but the short of it is that I had a friend's reputation to protect and... While eating this humble dish, I couldn't help but think of you."

He offers Thoma a soft smile.

"I know you enjoy our cuisine, but... In Mondstadt, don't most people prefer milder fare? I would have brought you something a bit more traditional, but... I was short on time. Even the meetup I had with my friend was wholly unplanned and unexpected, but a welcome diversion nonetheless."

He brings his hand up to stroke his chin, his smile shifting into a slightly mischievous smirk.

"Of course, if you would prefer something spicy... I'm sure I can find something to add to it..."