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hippiegoth97 · 3 months

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Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 14

Collage by me :)

Master List

Part 13

Tag List: @keikoraven @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @simp4eddie022 @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafescurtainbangz @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @espressomunson @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@voyeurmunson @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@mediocredreams @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @ali-r3n

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI:

Word Count: 6.2k

Divider by @strangergraphics

Part 14: Paint It Black

Friday, April 14th, 1989

"You ready, sweetheart?" Eddie asks as he buttons up the black dress shirt you packed for him. He tucks the tails into his dark jeans, looking you over once he's fully adjusted.

"Yeah." You say, finishing your light application of makeup. You tuck a loose strand of hair back into your simple updo, thankfully it covers your stitches without irritating them. You smooth your black dress down, tugging down the short sleeves to cover your shoulders properly.

"I know it's not a happy occasion, but you look absolutely gorgeous." He says through the reflection, his bruised eye is doing a lot better. He's just barely able to open it, and his lip has improved as well. You turn around to see him fully, walking across the room in your plain black heels.

"Thank you, Eddie. You look very handsome, too." You say quietly, setting his stiff collar straight. He's left the top two buttons open, keeping himself from feeling suffocated. Today is the day, George Henderson is being laid to rest at Roane Hill Cemetery.

You've decided to take Angie up on her offer, once she assured Jake and Polly will be somewhere else while you speak. You don't want them to hear what you intend to say, they're too young to understand what's going on anyway. Eddie helped you organize your thoughts, but he never told you anything you wanted to say was 'too much' or 'inappropriate'. He knows you have to do this your way, and he's done everything in his power to help you achieve that. "C'mon, angel. They're waiting for us outside." Eddie speaks gently, not wanting to send you into a fit of tears. You've had quite a few of those the last couple days, but he's held you in his warm embrace through every single one.

You grab your speech from the dresser, slipping it into your purse before Eddie leads you to the car. Mom and Dustin are already in their seats, also dressed in funeral attire. Eddie opens your door for you, and you slide in. He closes the door before jogging to the other side to get in. You click on your seatbelts, and Mom takes her time pulling out of the driveway. "Are you ready for this, sugarpuff? Angie said you can always change your mind." Mom says as her eyes flick to you in the rear view mirror.

"I'm ready, Mom. I need to do this...for me." You reply, reaching over for Eddie's hand. He glances at you, flashing a reassuring smile. You return it as best you can, holding back tears to preserve your makeup. You had a hell of a time earlier today during your last exam. You broke down multiple times. Your professor tried to convince you to come back another day to finish, but you refused to give up so easily. You soldiered on, finishing before everyone else and promptly leaving the room. A small amount of weight lifted off your shoulders when you left the school. But there's still a fair bulk of it lingering. You really hope the eulogy will absolve you of the pain and anguish you've had festering inside you for far too long.

It doesn't take long to reach the cemetery. Angie's talking to the pastor by the grave site. She notices your car pulling up the road to park in the gravel lot, waving to get your attention. Everyone waves back, waiting for Mom to park before stepping out into the afternoon sunshine. The air feels thick, like a fog creeping in to consume you. But the sky is clear, bright and blue without a cloud in sight. You tell yourself it's just nerves, and that you'll feel better once you say what you need to.

Angie makes her way over to give everybody hugs. You're on surprisingly good terms with her now. You figure the past can't be undone, the present is all you have control over. Why stay bitter? "Hey, kiddo! Are you ready to do this? I can still step in if you're not up for it." Angie says as she squeezes you tightly.

"I can do it. I have to." You reply, biting back the lump forming in your throat. She loosens her grip, and you notice her thick mascara has already left a few light tracks on her face. "Thank you for letting me do this. And I promise I made it as tame as I could." You say, and she laughs at your unintentional joke. You giggle with her, the dreariness of today breaking up slightly.

"Please, it's the least I could do. Like I said, you can say whatever you feel, Y/N." She pats your shoulders, sniffling to hold back another onslaught of tears. "Well, I'm gonna get the finishing touches together. The pastor will let you know when you're up, okay?"

"Yeah." You nod, letting her go about her business.

"You doin' alright, sweetheart?" Eddie asks. He'd been talking to Dustin a minute ago. But he wants to make sure you’re okay, that you're not gonna bolt at the last second or something.

"As alright as I can be." You let out a shuddering sigh. Eddie's face becomes more concerned, using a finger to lift your chin when it falls. "I'm fine, just...nervous." You explain, and he eases up a bit.

"I know, love. But once we get through this, it's smooth sailing for the summer." The thought of the funeral being the last difficult thing you have to do for a while definitely makes this a little easier. Just a little.

"I know, and I'm very excited about that." You smirk, picturing what Eddie might look like in a bathing suit. You don't even know if he likes swimming, but maybe you can convince him to take you to the pool sometime.

"You're tellin' me! I, for one, am highly interested in seeing how sexy you look in a bikini." He gives you a devilish stare, causing your cheeks to heat up. You swear you two share a special wavelength or something, and it never ceases to amaze you.

"Naughty boy." You playfully smack his chest, which draws a chuckle from his lips.

"You know you love it." He says lowly in your ear, sending a chill up your spine. You tense up, and Eddie steps back a second. He realizes he's being a little inappropriate. He clears his throat. "Sorry, baby. I'll keep it in my pants."

"It's fine, Eds. You're just uncomfortable, and looking for a way to cope with it." You take his hand, you understand this week hasn't been the most fun for him. It's definitely not great for you, either, but you have each other at least.

"C'mon, guys. They're getting ready to start." Dustin says, having been sent by Mom to summon you over to the group. You and Eddie slowly walk over, realizing just how many people have shown up for your dad. You recognize some of them, his old bowling buddies that came over sometimes for poker or to watch the game. A few others from his old office job, who gave you candies whenever you visited Dad at work. There's maybe thirty people in total, a lot of which you don't recognize. There's an elderly couple standing beside Angie, you imagine those are her parents.

You see the grave, Dad's casket suspended at the top of it until it's lowered at the end of the service. It's a metallic powder blue, with an arrangement of matching flowers and dark greenery laying atop it. A tidy mound of dirt covered by a patch of fake grass sits beside the metal frame surrounding the six-foot deep hole. There's a large picture of George sitting on a foldable stand, the bastard is smiling right at you. Did you miss me, pumpkin? The blown up image asks in his voice. He used to call you that all the time, because he always said you were sweet as pie. Your steps waver, the man in the photo is so familiar to you, and yet a total stranger. You stare to see if he'll say anything else. Thankfully, he doesn't.

"You okay, angel?" Eddie asks, stopping in his tracks to let you regain balance. Your heart is racing, your gaze never leaving the image of your father. Your breath comes out ragged, and Eddie figures out what's happening. He stands in front of you, blocking the grinning face from your view.

You meet Eddie's eyes. The concern you find there breaks you out of your anxious trance. "I'm okay." You huff, stepping off to the side with him until you calm down. Luckily, the pastor starts with his bit before he gives you the floor. You listen to his holy words, though you find no real meaning in them. Not just because they're probably the same generic words he uses at every funeral, but you've never been a very religious person. You have nothing against it, the concepts ring hollow to you for some reason. You've never found that to be a bad thing, it's just not meant for you.

"And now, Y/N Henderson will give the eulogy." The pastor says, gesturing at you to stand before everyone. You look at Eddie one last time, and he gives you an encouraging nod. You go to the thin podium that sits in front of your father's grave, taking a deep breath before looking at the crowd. Their eyes meet yours expectantly, letting you take your time. The ones you recognized earlier give you gentle smiles, which sends nostalgic pangs through your chest.

It's deathly quiet, no pun intended. The only sound being the breeze rustling through the trees. You reach into your purse, pulling out the paper you wrote your speech on. You open your mouth to begin, a shaky sigh rattling past your lips. "I just want to start by saying thank you to everyone that showed up today. If you don't know me, I'm Y/N, George's oldest daughter. And until a week ago, I was his only daughter. To my knowledge, anyway." You get a brief chuckle from a couple of the mourners, but they quickly quiet down to let you continue. "As I'm sure you all do know, George left Hawkins nine years ago. He left me, his wife, and his son. He ran off with that lovely woman over there, Angie, and started over." You point at her, all eyes shift in her direction for a moment. She gives a nervous wave, and you swallow hard to keep yourself going. "New wife, new house, new kids even. Meanwhile, me and my family had to glue ourselves back together after he smashed us to pieces."

You can't help stopping to gauge everyone's reaction. Their sullen faces staring back at you makes this all that much harder. But you look to your left, finding Mom, and Dustin, and Eddie nodding at you. They know you can do this. You nod back, looking back down at your paper. "I spent all this time in his absence, trying to figure out why. Why did he leave with this woman? Was my mother not good enough? Were me and my brother not good enough? I've puzzled it around in my head a thousand different ways, and I still don't have a real answer. And I probably never will, because he's no longer here to explain himself. I can only go off of Angie's word, and my own imagination. Neither of these things brings me or my family any sort of peace, but that's just life, I guess." Another light laugh, though you don't mean to be funny.

You're halfway done now, forcing yourself to carry on. "I'm told he wanted to see us again, but my mother didn't think he had any right to do so. I don't disagree with that, but I wish more than anything he was standing here now. Not to forgive him, nor to have a sappy little reunion." You shake your head to emphasize your point, feeling yourself becoming a little angry at this next part. You subdue it, just enough so everyone knows how you truly feel. "I want him to hear how hurt he made us all feel. How I spent so long closing myself off from the world, refusing to let anyone in if I could help it. Because the one person a little girl should be able to trust, above anyone else, is her dad. And he not only violated that trust, he left without even telling us a damn thing." The inflection in your voice raises. It's difficult to contain your rage. You glance at your little group in the corner again, finding the strength you need to cool down. You continue, much calmer this time. "But, with the help of a select few individuals, I've been gradually smashing those walls down despite him." Your eyes find Eddie at this thought, and you can't help smiling brightly at him.

You're in the home stretch now, your heart hammering in your chest. You've been able to keep your voice from shaking, which you're oh so grateful for. "I'll finish by saying this. I don't blame Angie, or her beautiful little kids that I suppose are my half-siblings now. She made the mistake of falling in love with a married man, but it was George that ultimately broke his sacred promise. I blame him for breaking our hearts. I blame him for acting on his own selfish urges. I blame him for never saying goodbye. So I'll do that for both of us." You turn to face that goddamn photo, no longer afraid of it. It can't hurt you anymore, he can't hurt you anymore. "Goodbye, George. I release the pain you've caused me, as I have no reason to hold onto it anymore. It belongs to you now, and may it lead the way on your lonely path to Hell." You face forward again, putting the paper back in your bag. "Thank you." You say awkwardly, scurrying back to Eddie's side. He wraps his arm around your waist when you return to him.

"You did so good, Y/N. I'm proud of you." Eddie whispers, and the remaining weight you've been carrying finally slips off your shoulders. Tears spring from your eyes, but they're not of sadness. Relief washes over you, and you're no longer tormented by the idea of dear old daddy abandoning you. "Hey, c'mere." He says, pulling you further into him as the pastor wraps this up.

The casket is lowered into the ground, and everyone takes turns tossing a handful of dirt from the pile over the big blue box. Eddie leads you to the grave, and you scoop a portion of the moist earth into your hand. You lean over the hole slightly, getting one last good look. Goodbye, Dad. You think to yourself, smirking as you release the soil. It hits the shiny coffin with a slight thud, spraying about as it crumbles apart. You move out of the way to let the next person go. You dust your palms off, effectively washing your hands of the issue. You and Eddie reconvene with Angie and the others, greeted with more hugs. "I'm so proud of you, sugarpuff." Mom says through her tears, holding you as tight as she can.

"I second that." Angie chimes in, tipping her head approvingly. The rest of the attendees gradually work their way to you. They wish you condolences, and tell you how moving your speech was. You're really glad you didn't piss anyone off. Everyone thankfully understands why you said those things. These people may have been George's friends and family, but they know what he did was wrong. Most of them had actually ceased contact with him after the initial incident. They only knew about the service when Angie reached out after his passing.

There's an after-burial gathering to be held at your house, Angie set it up last minute. She hired a fancy catering company and everything. Soon enough, everyone piles into their cars to drive over. You feel miles above how you did this morning. You turn in your seat, leaning on your hands to observe the scene shrinking from your view. Glancing out the back window to see your father's grave one last time brings you an odd sense of inner peace. You don't have to see or think about him ever again. You sit properly when Mom makes a right turn, sighing contentedly. "You okay, Y/N?" Eddie asks for the millionth time today.

You look him deep in the eyes. "More than okay, Eds." The remainder of the ride is quiet, which nobody seems to mind. You retreat to your room with Eddie once you walk through the door, ignoring the chafing dishes full of lasagna and eggplant parmesan. You pull your boyfriend down the hall with you, closing and locking the door. You need some time to breathe. Today has taken a lot out of you, regardless of how cathartic the experience has been.

"What's up, babydoll?" Eddie asks, sitting on your bed as you dig through your drawers. You don't answer right away. You're too busy searching for a certain object you've been wanting since you finished the eulogy. You fish out the little box, bringing it into view. Eddie's eyes widen. He wonders why you're choosing now to use his anniversary present. "Baby, are you sure that's a good idea right now? You haven't really gotten high before, I'd hate for you to do something stupid in front of all those people out there."

You ignore his protest, opening the lid anyways. You pull one of the joints out, inspecting it closely. You set the box back in your nightstand. He catches your eye again, and you sigh in frustration. "I know it's not very smart, Eddie. I just...I really want this right now." You don't have a specific reason why. Not one you can pinpoint, anyway. It's just been a rough day, and you want to make it better.

You two stay still, caught in a stalemate. Eddie considers the options, none of which are particularly good. He wants to back you up, but he's worried you might give yourself away. And then your mother will definitely throw him out on his ass. On the other hand, he'd love to see you fully relax for once. He knows you exist at a baseline of anxious energy, even when you're asleep. He bites his lip, hoping he won't regret this decision. "Okay, fine. But if we do this, you gotta play it cool. I know your mom will be pissed if she catches us." Eddie says, warning you respectfully.

"Thank you, baby. You're the best, you know that?" You sit beside him, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. You hand the joint off so he can show you what to do.

"You're damn right I am." Eddie grumbles, cursing his weakness as he can't bring himself to deny you. He pulls out his lighter, holding the blunt to his lips. It sizzles as he holds the flame to the tip, breathing deeply. The smell is cloying, so you crack a window to let the smoke disperse. You peek out of it to make sure none of the guests are hanging around outside, and the coast is clear. Eddie holds the smoke in for a moment, giving you the joint once you sit back down. He exhales, coughing slightly. "Okay, so you'll inhale like you would a cigarette. Take it easy, though, the taste is gonna be strong for you. And then you try to keep it in as long as you can, before letting it go. Got it?" He speaks softly, gently leading you in this new experience.

"Yeah, I think so." You bring the blunt to your mouth, making sure to heed his advice. He's right, the flavor is very intense. It's deep and herbal, stinging your throat a little as you take it in. You pull the joint away. You manage to hold the smoke for a good ten seconds before coughing violently. "Jesus." You struggle to regain control, almost gagging with how much you're gasping for air.

"That's alright, just relax. You'll be okay." Eddie coos, rubbing your back to calm you down. You hand the weed back over. He takes another hit. He makes it look so easy, though you suppose he's pretty experienced at it. "Here, give it another go. I promise, the second try is a lot easier." He smiles at you, encouraging you to have another turn. You love how patient he's being, given the fact he wasn't too keen on this idea initially.

"If you say so." You giggle, wondering if it's already going to your head. You doubt it, it's too soon. Right? You're really just going off what you've seen in movies. You inhale again, taking a risk by consuming more than the first time. You want to show him that you can handle it. He has no expectations of you, but you want this to be another thing you can share. You keep the smoke in much longer this time, easily blowing it forth in a billowing cloud.

"There you go! My turn now." He holds out his hand, and you two swap back and forth until it's all burned away. An indiscernible amount of time later, you begin to feel the effects. You're very floaty, the world around you becoming slightly dreamlike. You look at Eddie, who's observing you very closely. He has to keep an eye on you, ensuring you'll be at least semi-normal when you leave the room to eat and mingle. "How ya feelin', baby?" He asks, which makes you laugh. It isn't funny whatsoever, but Eddie's worried face is cracking you up right now.

"I'm amaaaazing, Eds." You lean forward a little too far, losing your balance and falling over his lap. You laugh again, rolling your body so your back lays on his thighs. You gaze up at him, poking a finger to his chin. "Boop." You say, laughing even harder.

"Jesus, Y/N. It's really hittin’ you hard." Eddie joins in your guffawing, finding your drug-addled state utterly adorable. You're a chronic giggler, his absolute favorite kind of stoned. He stares down at your cheerful expression, unable to stop staring at your lips. "I really wish I could kiss you right now. I've still got three more days in this damn cast." He practically whines, remembering now how good it feels to make out and fuck when one is high.

You sit up, scooting your legs to straddle him. "Aw, baby. I'm sorry. I wish you could, too. I've missed the feeling of your lips all over me, it's, like the best thing in the world." You speak softly, your eyes hooded as you hold the sides of his face in your hands. It's taking everything in you to not plant your lips on his, you quickly decide to kiss his neck before the impulse takes over. You feel like you're buzzing, savoring how soft his flesh is against your mouth. Your arms drape lazily over his shoulders, and you nibble his skin between your teeth.

"Fuck." Eddie groans, this is absolute torture for him. He wants to reciprocate so badly, but he can't unless he wants his nose to get all fucked up. "Ease up, baby. There's too many people here." He says breathlessly, unable to believe he's actually forcing you both to stop.

You let his neck go, pouting slightly when you look at him again. "I know, it's so unfair." You crawl off of his lap, sliding on your hands and knees to lay down on the bed. You could feel his erection rising underneath you, and you didn't even get a chance to grind against him. Good thing there's another joint for a later time, when you're both no longer injured or in a house packed with people.

"Extremely. But that's okay, we can just lay here and cuddle for a while. And then we'll get you something to eat once the munchies set in." Eddie flops down next to you, pulling you closer. Your head rests on his chest, your legs entangling with his. The sensation of your bare skin meeting his jeans is oddly satisfying. You proceed to rub your feet and knees and thighs against each other languidly. You keep up like this for what seems like hours, acting like a couple of horny crickets. Muted moans leave your mouths, you're relishing every last bit of friction you can get.

"I love you so much, Eddie. I appreciate you sticking with me through all of this." You say as you eventually lay still, tired from moving your legs so much. You nuzzle your head against him, humming lightly at how warm he is.

"I love you too, princess. And I'll always be here for you." His hand strokes your back mindlessly, slipping under your dress. The way he's doing it isn't suggestive, it's only meant to comfort you. It feels really good, though, given your current state.

"How are you doing, love? It's been all about me the last couple days. I hope you're not feeling neglected." You're not intending to put a damper on your blissful mood, but you worry about Eddie so much. Tuesday was really scary for him. Jason hurting him, hurting you. Then he got tackled by the cops, and cuffed to a chair for who knows how long. Not to mention the visual reminder of the whole ordeal that sits right in the middle of his face.

"I'm okay, sweetheart. I promise, I'm far from neglected." He says with a chuckle, referring to all the special attention you've been giving him lately. You're glad he's appreciative of it, but you want to have more to offer him than just sex.

"Okay. Just...please don't hesitate to tell me when I'm being selfish. Or that you need me to listen. You do so much for me, Eds. I want to do all that for you, too." You sniffle, fighting back a fresh wave of sadness. Way to harsh the mellow, Y/N.

Eddie's hand stills on your back, and he cranes his head to look at you. "Baby, there's no reason to be upset. You've been there for me in so many ways. You listened to me talk about my parents, and Wayne being an ass about money. You took care of me when I was sick, and you held me while I cried for hours on Tuesday. And that's not even the half of it. You're not selfish, Y/N. You're quite the opposite, actually."

"If you say so. Sorry to ruin the vibe...or whatever you call it." You mean to be apologetic. But the uncertainty in your knowledge of pothead lingo sends you both into another laughing fit.

"Shit, I'm gonna have to get you high more often!" Eddie taunts, his face going red from cackling so hard. His body shakes beneath you, the two of you jiggling slightly from the force.

"You certainly are. I finally see what all the fuss is about." You try to catch your breath, clinging to Eddie to ground yourself.

"Are you two okay in there? I fixed you both a plate, I was worried there wouldn't be any food left." Angie says from the other side of the door. The mention of dinner makes your stomach growl. You don't think you've ever been this hungry.

"We're fine, Ang'. We'll be out in a minute." You smack Eddie's chest as he keeps laughing silently. He's trying so hard to get himself together.

"Okay, Dustin saved you guys a seat by him. He insisted on it, actually." She leaves you alone, rejoining the roaring conversation in the living room.

You start to get up, but Eddie yanks you back down to him. "Baby, c'mon. Everyone's waiting." You try to protest, when his hand slides down your front to grope your chest. "Fuck." His touch is still massively amplified, successfully distracting you. You're so very tempted to give in, say 'fuck it' to interacting with any of the people gathered in the house. But you can't. You're too high to stay quiet, and it would be embarrassing to have everyone hear you two fucking the way you do. Not to mention, you're absolutely starving. You can smell the lasagna from here, which makes your mouth water. "Eddie, you're killing me." You whimper as he massages your tit, arching your back out of reflex.

His hand leaves your breast just as quickly as it came, sitting innocently at his side now. "I just wanted to give you a little payback, darling. But damn, I love hearing you whine for me." He taps your shoulder with his other hand, and you take the hint to get up.

"Goddamn tease." You joke, giggling helplessly as you shuffle to sit on the edge of the bed. Standing up proves rather difficult, you've been on your back for so long. You make slow movements, trying not to fall over when you put your weight on your feet. Eddie gets up with ease, staying close in case you need help. You manage to only slightly stumble, his arms reaching out in compulsive reflex. "I'm good, darling." You lean over to kiss his cheek.

"You ready? Play it cool. We'll sit with Dustin, eat our dinner, and try not to laugh at everything." You nod at his words, doing your best to lock them into your brain. Play it cool. Don't act like the stoned idiot you are. It's easy enough to act natural and take your seats, focusing your gaze on the steaming hot plates set before you. The scent of cheese and beef and tomato sauce wafts into your nostrils, sending your stomach into a frenzy. Angie was kind enough to get you a little bit of everything. Salad, eggplant, penne with vodka sauce, lasagna, of course. And on the very edge of the piled mess is a small slice of cheesecake. It's the most appetizing plate of food you've ever had the privilege of indulging in. Or at least the weed in your system thinks so.

"Hey, guys." Dustin pipes up, noting your widened pupils and stunned expressions. "You good?" He asks you and Eddie when you don't respond to his greeting.

Your eyes snap up, meeting his. This is going to be harder than you thought. "Uh, yeah. We're just tired, and hungry." You're not necessarily lying, you are absolutely starving. And you definitely need a nap once this shit is all over. But Dustin will probably snitch if he catches on to your antics. You look at Eddie, who isn't much better off than you. He's practically drooling as he admires his food. So much for more experience, huh? You doubt he's been consuming drugs as much now that you're around, perhaps his tolerance has dipped a little.

"Eddie, you alright, man?" Dustin pushes further, he hasn't seen Eddie space out like this in a while. A long while. Almost as long as he's been with you.

"Mmhmm." Eddie says without looking up. You nudge him with your elbow, and he glances at you. "Sorry. Like Y/N said, it's been a long day." He smiles dumbly, picking up his fork to dig in. You do the same, poking at the salad first. You bring a large bite to your lips, and you can't help the moan that escapes you at the tangy Caesar dressing meeting your needy taste buds. The lettuce is crisp and fresh, and the shreds of parmesan cheese add the perfect amount of saltiness.

"That good, huh?" Dustin asks, still highly suspicious of your behavior. He mulls this over in his mind, bringing his observations under a mental microscope. You’re spacing out, have delayed reactions, and food is making you exert borderline lewd noises. His eyes widen once he figures it out. You two are stoned out of your minds. "Are you two high right now?" He asks quietly with furrowed brows.

You gulp as you swallow. Shit. "Uh...no?" You don't mean for that to come out as a question. You're in for it now. Eddie's unbothered, not paying attention to the conversation. He's too busy stuffing his face with pasta.

"Look, it's fine. I'm not gonna say anything. Just don't let Mom find out, or she'll have a shit fit."

"I know, Dusty. I really appreciate you being cool about this." You smile kindly at him, which he returns.

"I'm not the best little brother in the world for nothing!" Dustin boasts, polishing off his own dinner. He leaves the table to put his dirty plate in one of the tubs by the buffet.

Mom walks over, noticing you ravenously devouring your food. "Doin' alright, sugarpuff?" She's been busy mingling with everyone this whole time, barely taking time to feed herself as she thanks everyone for coming. You recognize you've also inherited her incessant need to please others, even if it's detrimental to her own well-being.

"Yeah, I'm good, Mom. Did you eat?" You ask, noticing the bags under her eyes and the slight pallor of her complexion. She looks exhausted.

"Not much, I've got too much to do. The caterers need help tidying up and I've got to get everyone's plates when they're finished." She explains. She's running herself ragged, and you're not sure why.

"Mom, please. The caterers can handle themselves, that's what they're paid for. Just...eat something? It's really delicious, I'd hate for you to miss out." You insist she sit down and relax for a little while. She sighs, begrudgingly walking to the chafing dishes to pick through the scraps that remain within them. She returns to the table with a burnt end of the lasagna and a pile of dressing-soaked croutons with tiny shreds of lettuce stuck to them. Everything else is gone, and you feel terrible about it. "You want some of mine? I can't possibly eat all of this." You offer, but she just shakes her head.

"No, kiddo. I'll be alright." Mom replies in a huff, and you notice her inhaling sharply through her nose. Her head hangs low, and she shifts the food around on her plate with the tip of her fork. Her bottom lip trembles, and she drops the silverware. It chatters against the ceramic, and her head falls into her hands. She starts sobbing uncontrollably, and you stop eating. You get out of your chair, walking over to her.

"Mom, what's wrong?" You kneel next to her, wanting to help. You haven't seen her this upset in a very long time. She must have been holding this in all day, waiting to be alone to let it all flow out. But the dam couldn't keep the tears contained, leading to an absolute flood. The guests look over, wondering what's wrong as Claudia is practically wailing. Dustin and Angie deter them from staring, remarking that she'll be fine. Eddie snaps out of his food trance, standing up to help you and the others bring your mother to her room. You set her on the bed, taking places beside her or on the floor after closing the door.

"Claudia, what's the matter?" Angie asks, trying her best to comfort the sobbing woman before her.

It takes Mom a minute to compose herself, talking through hiccuping sobs. "I-I just-" She's struggling to speak, but you all wait patiently for her to keep going. "It's silly, really." She sniffs, taking the bandana Eddie hands her from his back pocket. She wipes her eyes with it, keeping a firm hold on the cloth as she'll probably need it again. "I spent so long thinking that George might come back. I know that's stupid, he clearly didn't want to be with me anymore. But I couldn't help wishing that one day, he'd wake up and realize the mistake he made." She gives Angie an apologetic look, but Angie isn't bothered by her words at all. She can see why Mom would feel this way. "And I guess now that we've had the funeral, and this little gathering is almost over, that's the end of it. He's gone, forever. There's nothing left. So, running around like a headless chicken was my way to delay the inevitable, I guess." She chuckles wryly at that thought, feeling like a fool.

"I'm sorry, Mom." You cover her in a tight hug, which she gladly accepts with all her might. The four of you stay with her for a while, hugging and crying in an awkward dog pile on the bed. Eddie included.

When you're all out of tears, Angie leaves to excuse the guests and pay the caterers as they depart. The rest of you join her to clean up any mess left behind, before she has to go pick her kids up from an old friend that babysat them all day.

Dustin leaves for the night to stay at Mike's place with his pals, desperate to get away from all the mourning. The clock strikes 8:00pm, and you, Mom, and Eddie are left alone in an all too quiet house. You unanimously decide you've had enough for one day, and retire to your rooms to finally get some well-earned rest.

To be continued...

#fanfiction #hippiegoth97 #smut #stranger things #eddie munson #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you

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devilcat3d · 11 months

Note

do you need the services of a hellhound??

why yes actually i do!!!! heres my hellhound application!!!! are you...

1: obedient

2: capable of warding off intruders

3: soft and pettable

4: big and scary

5: evil and malicious

6: able to bark on command

7: okay with being collared

8: cute and adorable

9: able to do tricks

10: capable of breathing fire

if you are most or all of these then i think we will get along great and id love to hire you on ;3

#hellhound application #devilposting #tgirlsummer

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sparkling-pink-lemonade · 7 months

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The "secret third thing" is also a bunch in the gut for for those who don't work, not only are people's types of entertainment under attack but also the very essence of being entertained and having a community if you dont also have a job and its draining

Yeah

Like, I'm a whole ass adult. I'm old enough to drink alcohol in the United States. I've got no job, being a student is my full time occupation right now. I don’t have time for a job. And I talk to a wide variety of people, diverse with many different origins and perspectives. But whenever I did have a (retail/food industry) job? I spent my time either too busy performing draining, repetitive tasks, engaging in shallow small talk with customers, or making idle chat with coworkers that was restricted by a layer of obligated professionalism.

Not to mention, the ableist/classist implications. Have a disability that makes you unable to work on your feet? There goes most job options. Hell, have a disability that means you can't drive? If you don't have a reliable chauffeur, or a job in walking distance, good luck. Chronic pain that leaves you bedridden during a flare-up? Fired for too many sick days. Prone to sensory overload? An 8 hour work day with minimal breaks is asking for a mental breakdown. Not from a well off family with connections? Sell your soul to a draining blue collar job that won't pay you enough to live. You really need a job that actually pays enough, so you go out job hunting? Enjoy getting 1 interview per 100 applications, only to be ghosted after the interview.

But I guess the opinions and passions of these people are "uncultured" and "detached from the real world" because they don't have a source of income. And having a job is the key component that determines if you are enlightened to some universal arbitrary list of what topics deserve our energy.

#proship #anti censorship #anti harassment #profic #ask

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ohtobearandomftblog · 1 year

Text

fear/trauma headcanons because i want them to suffer

gray and juvia have violent flashbacks whenever they see collars like what invel used

gray is far more violent than juvia

gray is more likely to attack anyone who tries to help him viciously unless its juvia but then hed think she was like the ur that neinhart summoned and will be cautious to the point of weak attacks meant to keep her away

juvia will lash out wildly but eventually will curl into a ball (as a human or as water depends on if she could hear gray) and simply cry. rain is summoned

canonically gajeel views crucification as his worst memories. headcanonically he gets shaky and stuttery and he cant tell if its a panic attack or not but he doesnt really tell anyone bc he thinks he deserves it for what he did to levy jet and droy

natsu gets very anxious around any flame

when natsu was with igneel he would have a complete meltdown whenever he saw fire. made it very difficult to learn yknow fire dragon slaying magic.

after natsu got to fairy tail he was mostly fine with his own flames but like. macao. noooooooo. hell even the fireplace. noooooo no no nonononono

he never knew why until he got some memories unlocked during the alvarez shit. then he still had a fear of uncontrolled fire/his fire becoming uncontrollable

wendy will stay awake all night sometimes, trying to find/cast enchantments that will protect her mind and body from ever being taken over/altered ever again

erza used to get angry whenever she saw any chains. even the tiny ones for a necklace. she got angry to cover her fear of them. a pickaxe also gets her angry

levy will avoid going near long pieces of anything hard. shes scared shell trip and fall and impale herself on them. jet and droy used to be like that but after the 7 years they just became super careful around it

lucy is so close to making a deal with the celestial spirit king to allow gate keys of all kinds to be requip-ible. she doesnt care what the price is she just wants to make sure she will never lose her friends again. unless the price is losing a friend again in which case she might just murder the fucking king

after the last acnologia thing at least gray lucy and happy are afraid of literally Everything when someone's behind them. if the person laughs if they talk if they walk if they trip if they do nothing. they think theyre either being attacked or kidnapped or killed

laxus and erik (maybe sting and rogue too) are scared of lacrima

when the communication lacrima, the only one they ever bothered with, was big enough that youd have trouble carrying it with both hands, they were mostly okay. just had to have it across the room with no one else in the room

after the com lacrima became tiny phones they just. never use it. or if they are forced to then its as far from them as possible. they wont hold it. its great bc if the phone is close to their ear then its way too loud but its terrible bc they have to yell responses unless its another slayer

pantherlily will not go near laxus. if someones holding him and they go to walk past laxus he will get out of their hold and fly in a big circle around him before going back to the persons arms/shoulder/whatever. he knows logically that laxus wont summon thunder just bc lily got close but also big boom noise reminds him of far too many awful things from edolas

carla happy frosch and lector are also scared of thunder. all exceeds are. those four have just been on earth land long enough to know itll most likely be okay. happy has been near laxus enough to know hell just absorb it if it gets close to the guild

cana hates hospitals. even a medical area or something where the injured/sick rest. too many bad experiences there. too much death. it doesnt help that her fortune telling is itching to show how people will be affected by what ails them

all of the dragon slayers have a fear of abandonment. be it their first human families, the dragons (if applicable), the second families (again if applicable), the guilds, the exceeds (you get the gist), friends, whatever. they have been left too often to expect people to stay for any amount of time, but by the gods does it burn when anyone leaves even for a moment

mystogan and porlyusica feared an anima would drag them back to edolas every single fucking day.

now porlyusica fears it, even after they all reassured her mystogan took care of them all.

and mystogan fears that he didnt stop the animas, and hell suddenly have a lacrima of his family back on his doorstep

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vodika-vibes · 7 months

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Fox can’t resist PA we all knew that 😏

He can not. He's a little pathetic when it comes to them. But that's okay because every strong man needs someone they're a little pathetic about.

It must be a kind of funny thing to see, Fox decides after the first few interviewees look between him and Yuu in absolute bewilderment. Yuu, after all, it tiny. The top of their head reaches his collar bone, and he knows they come by it honestly because Yuu's dad barely comes up to his chin. They're just a petite family. But with Yuu sitting on his knees and dealing with the majority of the interviewing, he has to wonder if the men and women that are being interviews think that Yuu is their boss rather than him. Stars, he hopes so. He doesn't need more people to manage. "What do you think, little bird? Anyone catch your eye?" Fox asks during a short break while they wait for the next batch of applicants to arrive. "Mm. They're all very...young." They say slowly. Fox releases a laugh, "Says the person who became the most influential person on Coruscant when they were 18." "Yeah, but..." There's a line between their brows, "My job isn't dangerous, all things considered. This is." Fox reaches up and lightly rubs the line off of their brow with his thumb, "It's not like they're going to be out there on their own. They're going to be working with some of my brothers." "...Mm...that's true..." Yuu pauses, "Honestly, I'm more concerned by the fact that not a single one of them has questioned that I'm the one doing the interviews." Fox grimaces, "I don't mind if they think you're in charge, because you are. I answer directly to you and no one else, but-" "But there's a difference to you calling me a 1 am because you need me to deal with a problem, and one of them calling me because they don't know the chain of command." Yuu finishes. Fox opens his mouth to reply, but stops when the door clicks open and an older man walks into the room. He pauses, looks at Yuu, and then at Fox, and then at Yuu again. He's a human man, probably in his early 40s, with his hair starting to gray, "Good morning," He says slowly, "My name is Robert Dayne. I was told that all current Fire Captains need to speak with the new Commander." His gaze flickers over to Fox, "That would be you, sir?" Yuu and Fox share a look, "That would be me, yes." Fox says, "You're the first Captain to come and visit, Captain Dayne." "Yes Sir, Today's my day off." "Ah, apologies then." Fox replies, "Yuu-" "Mm...Maybe virtual interviews?" They offer, "I'll think on it." "Have a seat captain," Fox says as Yuu hands him his resume, "I just have a few questions. You needn't worry, this isn't an interview, it's just me making sure I know the men who do work under me." Captain Dayne relaxes, "Yes sir."

#star wars #star wars au #PA AU #Yuu gave Fox so much work #lol

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evecolourshock · 8 days

Text

@betasuppe @rinzler-smoocher Continuing from here because Nok's angst is always delicious, but buddy you know I fight the narrative for happiness' sake :3

Dyson curls into a fitful ball, glad Flint's removed the code making him a walking security breach but so guilty too. He's a Monitor, damnit, or he was. He should have realised he was compromised, should have sucked up his own stupid fears and let Flint look, should have stayed in quarantine where he was frightened and lonely but not a traitor twice over-

Flint has to leave the healing chamber to calm him down, to stop Dyson from marching right back and offering himself in trade. Tron wouldn't like it, and that's the only argument Dyson listens to.

Neither of them really notice when Beck abruptly stops pacing and stalks off.

Dyson's been learning shortcuts. No doubt Clu has too, through him.

Flint's the only one who knows Beck's mastered them. And right now, there might be barriers up to stop a User breaching where Tron is...

...but those barriers are not enough to keep out a vicious, determined, royally pissed off beta Mechanic, and his growing collection of equally dangerous friends.

Beck grins sharply when he grabs a detachable helmet, tossing it hand to hand before slipping it on. It hisses a little when it connects, sealing to the collar of his suit. His circuits flicker. Spasm. Reconfigure.

It's not as clean a disguise as the white Renegade suit, a little less anonymous and a lot more cumbersome. But Delta slips into Purgos with a fixed fanged grin and a mission.

Beck isn't sure if he should thank Paige for the idea or not. He'd needed something to do on an evening when not out and about, and while dropping by Paige's concerts every now and again was at least an activity he found there was something... missing. Bounce. Vibrancy. Life. The whole thing felt flat.

So he... may have taken a look at her setup. May have seen a dozen different ways he would have done it differently. May have got challenged (and slapped) by an offended Paige, and dared to do better.

And did.

Purgos doesn't like outsiders. Especially now, but never has, and a soft, weak, bleeding-heart Argonaut like Beck is one of the people most likely to be chewed up and maybe spat back out - in less than a dozen pieces if he's lucky.

But Delta isn't from anywhere, and if there's one kind of person Purgos appreciates it's the ones that disrespect all authority. Delta's underground raves (and frequent clashes with anyone stupid enough to try to shut them down) have earned him no few supporters.

Supporters with more than a few major grievances with the Occupation and Clu specifically. Supporters with illegal weapons and even more training. Supporters with bombs and firelighters and a handful of tanks Delta pretends to know nothing about.

Tron did ask him to make interesting friends, for whenever the coming conflict arrives. Beck's pretty sure he's succeeded.

All Delta has to do is ask for an audience with Wraith, and he's got a strike force for the low price of two raves and a few key bits of information about some of Wraith's rivals. And... well. Delta's helmet has big audio sensor arrays for a reason.

Sneaking in to where Clu has Tron held is the easy part. Beck can do that by himself - knows it's a trap, because Clu's expecting someone to try and probably expects them to all just walk right in...

Getting an insensate, drugged, battered Tron out requires a liberal application of tank fire and far more derezolutions than Beck's actually comfortable with. Someone at minimum wings Clu with a grenade, and he'll celebrate that later. Whatever the soldiers here were expecting, it wasn't who Beck brought.

He's not unscathed, covered in soot from sensor tips to boots and nicked by shrapnel - is kind of thankful Tron's too out of it to notice much because he'd be in so much trouble for his language - but he gets out. They both get out. The motley crew assembled on a promise and a wish and what feels like so little reward jeer and fire another round before taking off for home.

Delta jets off after them, lightcycle roaring and Tron pinned to his back by the canopy. The smash and grab trick isn't likely to work twice, but it's so bold and brazen it's beyond unexpected this time. He veers away at Purgos' border - they have their secrets, and he has his - calling a thanks and that he'll be in touch with Wraith soon about the next rave.

Flint scolds him before he's even in the door, fretting and frightened. "Where have you been?" The User demands, before noticing Beck's state and the exhausted but triumphant grin when he takes off his Delta helmet. "Beck, what happened?"

"Would you believe I was out with some friends?" Beck chirps. "Also somewhat relatedly, I need gift ideas for a dozen pyromaniacs."

"Beck-" Flint quiets, wide-eyed, when Beck carefully hoists Tron into his arms and takes the first of many steps for the healing chamber.

"We're not alone." Beck murmurs. "It's time we stopped acting like it."

#i was listening to deadmau5 and thought beck would love making music from an engineering perspective. so beck has a deadmau5 helmet now.#nok i love you and that's why i give happy endings to things #beck has interesting friends #tronfic

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brooklynislandgirl · 4 months

Text

Lola hurtles across the Arizona desert like she’s a reflection of a comet streaking across the night sky. Her treads belch orange flame, though the burning tires seem never to melt away, nor produce any toxic fume to endanger her occupants, as she speeds well in excess of any limit a vehicle of her type and capacity is bound by law – perhaps also by physics – to travel. Her interior is the least offensive feature she expresses, a housing that while pitch black does not retain the heat which it ought capture and suffocate its occupants with. The air within is clean and warm, bearing the oddest combination of scents for being a vehicle on fire: the salty bite of sea breeze, the soothing scent of massage oils, and… if one’s nose were sensitive enough… the sweetness of citrus, berries, and tropical flowers.

But occasionally, that calming bouquet is abruptly pierced by the acrid punctuation of antiseptic cleansers.

The driver is aflame, though he doesn’t cry out as his skull burns endlessly. His empty-eyed gaze is fixed on his destination, perhaps not even seeing that Lola is not astride a path… or not caring. His means is as the crow flies. He has a death grip on the wheel, as though willing his scorched chariot to remain steady for the rail-thin passenger across the backseat, huddled beneath the blanket he had draped across her. And Lola obeys that bid, her shock absorbers bearing every burden beneath her wheels without so much as transmitting a single stone’s intrusion upon their improvised road.

His foot depresses the brake pedal, and that application seems to not just slow their velocity, but also the intensity of the flame surrounding both the vehicle and himself. Within moments, Lola is slowed to a speed more customary to highways, and a nudging course correction brings her onto the shoulder of a road cutting across the dark waste. By the time she aligns fully with the westbound lane, she bears no trace of flame or soot… and neither does her driver, whose features return to him beneath the cold light of the moon.

Five minutes later, when a cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette arrives at a nondescript motel smack in the middle of nowhere, not a soul on Earth could rightly say where the car had come from… nor that the bored and exhausted owner of the establishment cared one whit, as long as they were paying customers. A handful of cash identifies those customers as Mr. and Mrs. Smith, though the proprietor never lays eyes on the missus. Neither will he lay eyes on the mister again after giving him the room key.

Phil returns to Lola moments later, opening the driver’s door and leaning in. His voice is no more ravaged by the flame that had consumed his head than his features are. “We’re here. I’m going to carry you inside now.”

He does exactly that, bearing Beth up in his arms with no effort whatsoever… considering her obvious malnourishment, by this point, the suppressing collar about her neck might weigh more than she herself does. And he carries her to the door of their room, on the other side of the lot from the attendant’s station.

It’s the closest he has ever come, in his entire existence, to performing the bridal carry. A tradition of questionable morality – ancient Roman, because of course – but one of its inspirations seems especially pertinent now. Perhaps evil spirits will be disinterested in crossing this threshold if they’re forbidden from entering through Beth’s bare feet… though she need only be released from that damnable collar to attend to that matter herself.

When the door closes behind them, he shifts his hold about her, bringing her to the edge of the bed – of course there’s only one, because for a mister and missus, why should there be two? Are they Ricky and Lucy? – so that he can set her down.

But it’s in that moment that her arms snake about his neck and constrict him like a boa. He can feel the hiccupping breaths she draws, her chest stuttering against his as much as her breath issues in staccato against his ear.

He can do nothing but wrap his arms about her in turn. If they are all they have now… then this is more important than anything in the world. And he gives her perhaps the last iota of comfort he has left to give.

“I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The last hours have been a series of blurry snap-shots. Fire consuming down to the bone but encapsulating her with warmth. Something cracking open inside of her chest after incredible atrophy and the pained relief comes pouring out of her in tears. In terror. In clinging like a frail vine on a trellis. Her ears ring occasionally, alternating between piercing shrieks and emptiness, more pressure than sound that she can only associate with the sensation of numbness. Light and dark and abruptly cut off screams, shearing metal, burning...flesh, sickening her further with a sense of hunger. All stitched together with lancing pain and waves of nausea, ameliorated with the mercy of silent darkness that comes when she drifts to unconsciousness. She doesn't know how she arrives in the car, nor is she fully awake to register the sharper visuals of Lola's race through the night. She breathes in shallowly at first then deeper drafts when there's a noticible lack of sterile, desiccated air. Now and again she thinks she might be hallucinating in an attempt to self soothe from the misery of her new reality. Of course it would explain Phil in such a monstrous guise. His protective nature, his willingness to give up everything he holds dear to protect someone he considers his own. Her mind filters in the smell of hibiscus and plumeria, pikake, but also paper flower, orchid, and ginger. Scents common in her islands but also... They don't talk about that place, she doesn't know it and Phil never really wanted to dredge up that particular point of his past. It was the first steps toward truly learning to trust one another. She clings to the trade-wind brine. Slowly she registers the futility of this fantasy but still finds herself needing to hold onto it, to let it provide a buffer for what she will suffer when the dream ends. That moment comes sooner than she would like it to though at first its only the second hand sensory input that dulls until it fades into obscurity. Other noises that don't belong in her carefully spun delusion grab her and drag her toward wakefulness systematically even when she fights and fails. Eventually she gives up trying, she doesn't have the stamina for it. The first thing that comes to mind is a shock of shivering cold. Goose-flesh ~chicken skin, as she's always know it to be called~ prickles her skin and jars her body with the slightest movement. Beth groans into the dark but the sound doesn't reach anyone's ears but her own. She doesn't try to lift her head. It feels too heavy and in danger of floating away if she does, a dichotomy she cannot resolve in her current state. Then that calm, familiar voice sweeps in around her. She pries her eyes open and her lashes are spiky with dried tears and dusts. The darkness she's always been afraid of is suddenly soothing while her throat, stiff and raw from lack of regular use and liquids, seems to crack when she gasps. "Phil? Are you....real?" She isn't sure if he's putting off answering that or if he didn't actually hear her when he scoops her up into his arms. His familiar scent envelopes her. As does the sound of his heartbeat. The aura of calm that she's rarely seen ruffled feels like a salve to sun ravaged skin. She murmurs slurred apologies about being a burden even as she presses her face to the side of his neck, feeling a faint hint of stubble against the tip of her nose. Otherwise she remains surprisingly docile as he carries her into a room. It isn't the dated Seventies decor, and cut off from her spheres, Beth is spared the knowledge of what might live in the carpet ~orange, patterned but clean enough looking~ or what fluids might have irrevocably stained the covers on the bed, that truly snares her attention. It's the solid feel of him, the cumulative reward of her faith that though the world might have ended, Phil would still survive it. It means that in spite of everything she didn't betray him. Arms wrapped around his neck, she shakes as tears spill freely down her cheeks. Her breath hitches and she swallows against the cold, heavy weight around her throat. She tries to pull herself together. "You've got to be so tired. Tell me you're not hurt. That the monster didn't find you and hurt you."

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e350tb · 1 year

Text

Gravity Falls - The Matchmabel - Chapter VII

Chapter VII: Date Night

“So while I was out with Ford and Wendy, you were setting me up on a blind date?”

Dipper and Mabel sat in the golf cart, bouncing along as they headed down the road into town. Dipper had been half-forced to change into a nice shirt and jacket, and was now fidgeting at his collar as they headed towards Greasy’s.

“Of course!” replied Mabel. “That’s the best kind of date! Love is blind, after all.”

“Look, Mabel, I’m flattered, but I’ve really gotta get back to my college application,” said Dipper. “Besides, whoever this is, I’m not sure I really want to date them, you know?”

Mabel shot him a knowing grin. “Don’t be so sure!”

They pulled into the Diner parking lot. Mabel checked her phone - 5.55. Perfect.

“Alright!” she said. “Let’s get you set up!”

“Set up?” Dipper quizzed.

Mabel ran around the cart and yanked him out of the passenger seat.

“You’ve gotta nail this, Dipper!” she exclaimed. “Your future is at stake!”

“I-is it?”

Mabel opened the door, revealing a decidedly dolled up Greasy’s Diner. Gone were the usual tables and chairs - they’d been cleared off for a single table, set up with a white tablecloth and a vase full of wild flowers in the middle. The number of forks provided for each of the two chairs was, to put it mildly, excessive. The ceiling and walls were decorated with pink bunting, and the entire other half of the diner was set up as a large dancefloor, with a big stereo set sitting next to it.

“Geez,” said Dipper, taking a seat. “Who’re you trying to set me up with here?”

He took a seat and picked up one of the napkins, turning it over.

“Oh god.”

Sewn onto the other side of the napkin were the words ‘Dipper heart Pacifica.’

“Mabel,” said Dipper, adjusting his collar. “We need to talk about this…”

“Can’t hear you, Dipper, gotta head out!” Mabel marched out the door. “Bye-eee!”

Dipper sat in silence for a few moments - the only sound being a soft, tinny eighties love song playing on the diner’s speaker system. After a few seconds, he shifted on his seat, looking for the fire exit - he might have a moment to get out of here before…

The door opened.

Pacifica stepped inside - she was wearing a pink dress and heels, and carried a small handbag over her shoulder. Her face fell the instant she saw Dipper.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

“Yyyyep,” replied Dipper, letting the last letter pop.

Pacifica sat down across from him - she picked up the napkin and winced.

“This is… a lot,” she said flatly.

“Honestly I thought it was gonna be Grenda,” Dipper shrugged. “She’s the only one of Mabel’s friends she hasn’t tried to set me up with.”

He scratched his chin.

“But she is with Marius, so… um… who did you think you’d be dating?”

There was a long, awkward silence.

“Sooooo…” Dipper rapped his fingers on the table.

“Hmm…” Pacifica stared at the wall. “Yeah…”

“How’s… being rich?” asked Dipper.

“It’s good,” replied Pacifica. “It’s… it’s good.”

“Cool, cool,” Dipper nodded.

“Good evening, sir and/or madam!”

Stan slipped into view, carrying a couple of glasses of water.

“Would sir and his very rich date like some water?” he asked, grinning a little bit too wide.

“What’re you doing here, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper asked flatly.

“What? Can’t your old Grunkle moonlight as a waiter?” demanded Stan. “You offend me!”

“How much did she offer you?” asked Dipper.

“Twenty bucks.”

“I’ll give you a hundred if you don’t talk to me for the rest of the night,” said Pacifica, producing the note from her bag.

“Done and done, and I mean done!”

Stan put down the glasses and walked off.

Another very long awkward silence ensued.

“So,” asked Pacifica. “How’s being… uh… poor?”

“Well, I, uh, don’t have much money,” replied Dipper. “So that’s… that’s a thing that I, uh, have to deal with.”

“Very unfortunate.”

“Yeah.”

Before long, Stan came back - in each hand he held a bowl of soup, which he laid out in front of the two patrons. Dipper frowned as he looked at his bowl.

“I think you forgot to heat this up,” said Dipper.

“It’s gazpacho,” said Pacifica, “It’s…”

“Could you maybe put it in the microwave or something?”

Stan gazed down at the bowl.

“Yeah,” he replied, picking it up. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get onto that…”

He took the bowl away.

“Thank you!” Dipper called back.

He turned back to see Pacifica pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What? It was cold.”

-----

“He wants it heated up?” asked Soos.

“Yep,” replied Stan.

“Does he know it’s meant to be served cold?”

“Nope.”

“Does Pacifica know it’s meant to be served cold?”

“Yep.”

Abuelita tsked and shook her head from the other side of the kitchen.

“This date is over,” she said sadly.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” asked Soos.

“Careers have been ended over this, Soos,” replied Abuelita.

Soos and Stan exchanged glances.

“Maybe we should call Mabel,” suggested Soos.

“No, no, the enchiladas are gonna save this one,” replied Stan. “I’m sure of it!”

“They’ll have to be powerful enchiladas,” mused Soos.

Abeulita walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“They will be.”

-----

Dipper put down his knife and one of his forks.

“Well, those were powerful enchiladas,” he said.

Pacifica dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I’ve actually never had anything like this. Mom says it’s bad for my figure.”

“Yeah, parents say stuff like that,” Dipper sighed. “It’s because they care…”

“Do they though?”

Pacifica twirled her fork around her empty bowl of rice.

“I mean, they say they want what’s best for you,” she mused. “But is it actually what’s best for them? Like, they have this picture of what you should be in their mind, and they’re so focused on it that they can’t see the real you?”

Dipper looked down at his empty plate.

“I guess,” he replied. “But they still want you to be successful, right? So you can be happy?”

Pacifica frowned.

“You really think your parents want that?”

“Well… yeah.” Dipped shrugged.

Pacifica sighed.

“Then you’re pretty lucky, Dipper,” she replied. “You’re…”

The lights suddenly shut off, and both their eyes turned to the dance floor. Disco lights were swirling around, and the opening instrumental to a song played loudly. There was a prominent flute.

“Alright!” They heard Candy somewhere in the darkness. “Give it up for the main couple as they have their first dance!”

A bright spotlight switched on, shining on both of them as the song began.

Every night in a dream,

I see you, I hear you,

I know you will continue…

…less

Dipper and Pacifica gazed at each other - Dipper was visibly cringing.

“Uh…” Pacifica rubbed the back of her head.

And the distance between us,

He came to see…

Near, far, everywhere,

I believe that the heart rules.

But open the door again,

And you are in my heart,

My heart is going…

“Yeeeeaaaaah.” Dipper swallowed, his eyes darting around to avoid looking Pacifica in the eye again. “This is… a lot.”

“Mmm… hm, yeah.” Pacifica gazed down at her empty plates, her face turning bright red.

Love can only touch us once,

And it lasts a lifetime.

We won't leave until we leave…

“Yeah,” said Pacifica, standing up. “On that note…”

-----

About fifteen minutes later, Mabel stood outside the door of Greasy’s Diner, half the town gathered around her. She was just about bouncing in excitement - she had promised the whole assembly that ‘Gravity Falls’ Sweetest Couple’ would be emerging from the Diner any second now, and she couldn’t wait for the moment to finally happen. She’d managed to whip excitement in the crowd, too - there was an old lady who’d proclaimed she’d die of sadness if she didn’t see a happy couple tonight (and that one doctor who always followed her around had confirmed that this would happen.)

The doorknob turned. Mabel’s grin widened. This was it!

The door opened.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the happy couple emerged. Mabel did not join them.

“Oh, uh, thanks dudes!”

Soos and Melody, blushing somewhat, bowed to the crowd.

“Aw yeah, I’ve always shipped them two,” said Deputy Durland.

“Heh! They’re delightful!” added Sheriff Blubs.

“Well, that was fun!” declared Tyler. “Same time next week?”

The crowd dispersed, leaving Mabel alone, jaw dropped, as Stan, Candy and Grenda followed Soos and Melody out.

“Wh-what is this?” demanded Mabel. “Where’s Dipper and Pacifica?”

The group exchanged glances.

“They went home,” replied Grenda.

“But… but… you let them out?” exclaimed Mabel.

Candy shook her head solemnly.

“It wasn’t working,” she replied sadly.

“It was really awkward,” added Melody.

“Soos’ grandma was right,” said Stan. “It was over the moment he asked for the gazpacho soup heated up.”

“But… they have chemistry!” Mabel paced back and forth, clutching her head. “They’re compatible! They like each other! They-they even called the ghost hunting thing tomorrow a date! They… I…”

Soos shrugged.

“I think they’re just friends, dude.”

Mabel hobbled over to the side of the parking lot, sitting down on the curb and rubbing her head.

“I… I put in all this effort, though,” she said. “W-we all did.”

Melody sat down beside her.

“Sometimes these things don’t work out, Mabel,” she replied.

“But… I really, really wanted it to be Pacifica.” Mabel’s voice wobbled.

Melody put an arm over her shoulder.

“I know, Mabel,” she replied soothingly. “I know…”

“No!” Mabel stood up, jogging to the golf cart. “Dipper doesn’t know what he’s throwing away! I need to talk sense into him!”

She jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off, leaving skid marks on the car park behind.

-----

Dipper sighed as he trudged towards the back of the Mystery Shack. He’d found this shortcut through the woods a while ago, and it really saved time in getting back from town. It hadn’t been a particularly good evening, he thought (although the enchiladas were incredible), and he really needed to get back to his application, but he supposed it could have been worse.

He emerged from the trees at the back of the Shack, and stopped as he noticed a large pit behind the building - and not the Bottomless Pit, that was over to the left somewhere. This one was filled with ashes - had Stan been burning profit ledgers again?

He stepped closer, and noticed what looked like the charred remains of a chunk of cardboard at the bottom of the pit. Next to it, slightly buffeted by the wind, was a small scrap of… was it paper? Dipper jumped down and picked it up.

In the dim moonlight, he could see the remains of a burned photograph. All that remained was just under half of a picture of Wendy Corduroy.

#gravity falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #pacifica northwest #soos ramirez #grunkle stan #abuelita ramirez #candy chiu #grenda grendinator #melody gravity falls #sheriff blubs #deputy durland #tyler cutebiker #dipcifica #OR IS IT?#THE MOMENT OF TRUTH #writing

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 2 years

Photo

Foto: Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Cathedral and Place of the Parliament (by tap5a)

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange

Chapter 24: Holy Night

At 6:45 p.m., Jamie, Claire and Fergus returned home. There the small group was already expected by Mrs. Curtius and then also warmly welcomed. "Hmmmm, I can already smell the roast goose!" But before Fergus, who had announced this enthusiastic news, could run into the dining room, Jamie held him by his shirt collar. "Not so hasty, Fraser Junior! Shoes off and slippers on!" "Yeheeess, Papa." The boy rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "And even after we all put on our slippers, we'll go wash our hands first, won't we?" "Yeheees ...." Fraser gently pushed the boy toward the small room to the right of the front door, which contained a bathroom with a toilet and shower. Shortly after, they reappeared in the hall. But still he held the boy with him. "Now, for now, we'll give Claire time to wash her hands, and when she gets back here, we'll wait until we're called in." Fergus let out another loud sigh, but Jamie called him to silence with a loving, serious look. A moment later Claire had rejoined them, and then Mrs. Curtius opened the large door to the dining room, smiling: "Come in, all you hungry souls!" "Oh!" was all Fergus could say now when he saw the festively set table.

Picture by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

After they were seated, Jamie placed a napkin around Fergus. At that moment, Mrs. Curtius appeared and first served a light soup of broth, vegetables, and egg drop. Then she brought steaming mushroom dumplings, wonderfully spicy smelling red cabbage with apple slices, and lastly the crispy roasted goose.

Jamie poured red wine for himself and Claire, and Fergus got red grape juice. Then Fraser set about serving the goose. Claire was surprised at how deft he was with the poultry knife. Just a few minutes later, Fergus and Fraser's plates each had a leg of goose on them. Claire got a nice piece from the goose breast. Fraser then handed Claire the bowl of red cabbage while he filled Fergus and himself with dumplings on their plates. By the time they got to dessert after the main course, baked apples with custard, they were actually quite full, but ... well, there's always room for something sweet in a person's stomach. Claire enjoyed the meal, trying to watch Jamie and Fergus as unobtrusively as possible. The boy, who had been quite excited at the beginning of the meal, had visibly calmed down in the meantime. The good food had certainly contributed to this. When everyone had finished their dessert, Claire looked at "the men": "Now, gentlemen. You two will now help Mrs. Curtius clear the table. While you do that, I will prepare the presents. You will then please wait here until the bell rings and I open the door to the living room." Claire didn't know whether "the men" simply surrendered to their fate or whether the wonderful Christmas meal had put them in a state that made it too difficult to resist. But that was not important now. She got up and left the room. Shortly after, she unlocked the door that led from the hall into the living room. Everything was already prepared there. First she lit the candles, which stood in their large lanterns at various places in the room. Then she lit the fire in the incense figurines. She was delighted when they began to give off their Christmas scent. When the candles on the “Schwippbogen” and behind the front of the Christmas light houses in front of the fireplace were also lit, she turned her attention to the Christmas tree. Now she would have to accomplish the most difficult task and light all the candles on it. When that was also done, Claire looked around once more. Now she was sure that everything was according to her ideas and wishes. She took another deep breath and then turned off the artificial light. Immediately the whole room was completely immersed in the warm glow of the many candles. Claire couldn't help it, she too smiled radiantly. With all her heart she hoped that the other members of the Fraser household could also feel the joy that filled her.

She reached for the small bell that was ready and rang it. She then stepped to the double door that separated the dining room from the living room and turned the key in the lock. As the doors shifted to the right and left, revealing the living room and, in particular, the glowing Christmas tree, a unanimous, amazed "Ohhh!" rang out from four mouths. Claire was pleased to see the surprise on the faces of Fergus, Jamie, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Curtius. But now she must rouse the small group from their surprise. "Fergus?" He boy looked at her and knew immediately what was to come now. They had discussed it some time ago and rehearsed it several times. Claire asked those present to come into the room, where they took seats on the sofas. Fergus then handed everyone a folded A4 sheet that contained the lyrics to some Christmas carols.

Claire reached for the remote control and turned on the Christmas CD that had been inserted earlier. Together they sang the first song: "Macht hoch die Tür, das Tor macht weit". Again, Jamie was surprised at how well Fergus not only knew the words, but could hold the tune. As the song faded away, Claire, who had settled into an armchair on the sofa across from the small group, reached for a book. She waited a moment, then began to read the story of the birth of Christ as told by the doctor Luke in his Gospel.

Picture by Jessica Fadel on Unsplash

She then reached for the remote again. She smiled at Fergus, a broad smile flitting across his face. "Now we're going to sing 'Am Weihnachtsbaum, die Lichter brennen,’" he announced like a master of ceremonies who had done nothing but announce Christmas carols his whole life. They sang the verses of the song and as the last words faded, Claire approached a small table next to the Christmas tree on which were some packages wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper. "I'm not Santa Claus," she said with a mischievous smile, "but I'm still going to be in charge of distributing the presents now. Fergus, will you come, please?" As Fergus stepped up beside her, she handed the boy three small packages and whispered something to him. The boy nodded, then went first to Jamie, then to Mr. and Mrs. Curtius. Each of the three people received one of his packages, accompanied by the wish, "Merry Christmas!" He also pressed a kiss to his father's cheek and whispered, "I love you, Dad!" As the adults unwrapped their packages, round wooden disks appeared inside, with something burned onto them with a children's handwriting. Mr. Curtius received a disk with a locomotive on it. Above it was written - in somewhat scrawly children's writing - "Zugführer". On the back of the wooden disc was a double-sided tape to attach it. "This is for your train room, Mr. Curtius," Fergus said. The addressed, pulled the boy to him and gave him a hearty squeeze. "Thank you, Fergus! That's a great gift. I'll put the disc on the door to the room the next time you come to check the trains with me!" On the wooden disc from Mrs. Curtius was a large soup tureen. Underneath it read, "Five are invited, ten have come, pour water to the soup, welcome all!" There was also double-sided tape on the back of this wooden disc. "Oh, how beautiful. I'll put that on the door of my storageroom," Mrs. Curtius says delightedly, and she too gives Fergus a warm hug. When Jamie unwraps the wooden disc Fergus handed him, he sees his family's coat of arms on it and the words "Je suis prest!" underneath. Fraser had to pull himself together or he would have had tears in his eyes again in a moment. His voice failed, so he just pulled Fergus to him and gave him a warm, long hug. Then he whispered: "Thank you Fergus, thank you very much. I love you very, very much too."

Picture by Andréas BRUN on Unsplash

Fergus responded with another kiss on Jamie's cheek. Then he turned to Mr. and Mrs. Curtius: "Claire has been very helpful in helping me make these gifts for you." Claire blushed a little, and to distract herself from her own excitement, she called Fergus to her again. Then she handed him several packages wrapped in wrapping paper and decorated with red and green bows. And then Fergus's patience, which he had admirably maintained for so long, was completely over. He quickly tore open the wrapping paper and when he saw the special locomotive he had long wanted, he was unstoppable. He fell around Claire's neck and before she knew it, both of her cheeks were covered in kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" whispered Fergus in her ear. "Didn't I promise you that you'd get a very special gift if you did a good job helping to make the party already? You've been great, Fergus!" The rest of the evening went more quietly. Jamie and Mr. and Mrs. Curtius also presented Fergus with their gifts. Jamie had picked out a large model of the Wartburg for him, which they planned to assemble over the next few days. He also got some knight figurines, a toy figure with a quill and a book, which represented Martin Luther, and a female toy figure that was clearly recognizable as Elizabeth of Hungary. "As a reminder of our wonderful trip to Thuringia," said Jamie, who was visibly pleased with the boy's enthusiasm.

From Mr. and Mrs. Curtius there was a big coloring book, which of course was also about knights and castles, an audio book CD called "The three ??? and the missing dinosaur" and of course some sweets. Fergus was busy with his presents and immersed in his own world, while Claire and Jamie gave presents to Mr. and Mrs. Curtius and were also given presents by them. Jamie opened a bottle of wine and Claire spread some bowls of pastries, nuts and fruit on the coffee table. Together they all sat on the sofa for another hour, talking and enjoying the evening. Now and then Fergus appeared, helped himself to the cookies, snatched some nuts or helped himself to the tangerines. Afterwards he disappeared again almost silently in the direction of the winter garden, where he devoted himself to his (new!) locomotive and his other gifts.

Incense Men (burner) for Christmastime * Picture by André Karwath aka Aka - Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6832555

Around 10:00 p.m., as one candle after another slowly went out on the Christmas tree, the Curtius couple said their goodbyes. Jamie looked questioningly at Claire. Did she want another glass of wine? No, she declined with thanks. Jamie stood up and took a few steps towards the conservatory. There Fergus was lying next to his train, surrounded on the right and left by his presents and - asleep. "Claire!" whispered Jamie softly, but clearly. She stood up and when she saw the sleeping boy, she shook her head with a smile. "Christmas is very tiring," she whispered softly. "Shall we ..." Jamie looked at her questioningly. "Yeah, take him. Let's put him to bed. I'll take the presents." And so it happened. Jamie gently took the boy into his arms. Claire grabbed some of the smaller gifts the boy had received and together they took Fergus upstairs to his room. There, the exhausted knight-locomotive-guide-burgomaster woke up once again, but not properly. Together, Claire and Jamie helped him put on his pajamas. As Jamie tucked him in, the boy murmured: "Thank you for a lovely party." But before any of the adults could say anything back, he had fallen asleep. They looked at each other and smiled. "Christmas is really very stressful," Jamie whispered again. Then they carefully slipped out of the room.

A Playmobil figure representing Martin Luther photographed inside Turku Cathedral in Finland * Picture by Niera - Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=98755117

They went back down to the living room. Claire immediately set about cleaning up. She didn't notice Jamie taking a small rectangular package from the living room closet. Jamie watched as, after arranging a few things in the living room, she went into the conservatory. There, she created order in Fergus’ play corner with just a few moves. Fraser took another breath, then followed her. As he entered the conservatory, he saw her standing at the large window looking out into the garden, where electric candles still glowed on a fir tree and on the small light other plants she had provided. Carefully he approached her, hoping not to startle her. "Claire?" he said softly. "Yes?" She turned and looked in amazement at the gift Jamie held out to her. "It's not so much a Christmas present ... Than a thank you ... For everything you've done for us this year, especially ... For this wonderful Christmas." Claire accepted the package and removed first the bow, then the paper. A gray package emerged from underneath. On it was imprinted a gold-colored diamond and below that the name of a well-known Berlin jeweler. With trembling hands, she opened the package. On the black velvet display lay a slender gold bracelet with amethysts set in the shape of small Scottish thistles. "Oh, how beautiful!" From Claire's eyes, Jamie could tell she really felt the way she said it. He took the little box from her hand and puts the bracelet on her. Then, without her really noticing, he leads her back into the living room. Still puzzled, Claire looks at the bracelet on her wrist. "But..." she says suddenly, searching for words. But Jamie interrupted her. "No buts!" A moment of silence fell. Then Jamie gathered all his courage: "Claire, you don't even know what you've done for us. Last year ... that was no Christmas. I just came from a business trip .... I ... I had given Mr. and Mrs. Curtius time off and they had gone to visit relatives for Christmas. Of course, I had a Christmas present for Fergus, I ... I gave him the train set and a book and... Candy. But we didn't have a Christmas tree or .... candles or... well. We didn't have Christmas dinner either, I ordered pizzas, made sandwiches and .... The other days we ... ate out."

Picture byJohn Matychuk on Unsplash He sighed. "I tried ..." "You did what you could do at the time. And more important than anything, you gave Fergus a home. You can't devalue what you did either. Fergus loves you. Do you think he would if he wasn't comfortable with you and trusted you?"

She saw how his eyes slowly filled with water. He wanted to turn away, didn't want her to see his tears. But she reached for him and held him back. Then she embraced him. He also put his arms around her, then squeezed her tightly. When they broke away from each other again, he smiled at her. "I'm so grateful we can do all this for Fergus." "Me, too," she replied, and then she turned and pulled a flat, A-4-sized gift from behind the Christmas tree and held it out to him. "Merry Christmas!" Jamie took the package, smiled at her, and then said jokingly: "But ..." Before he knew it she gave him a light poke in the ribs. "Oof!" "Yeah, oof! And, no buts!" They laugh briefly, then head back to the sofa. After they sat down, Jamie opened the present. Out came a photo album Claire had designed herself. She had been taking pictures with her smartphone almost every day since she moved to Potsdam. Her pictures showed Fergus - in the garden, with his train, eating ice cream, on the way to school, together with Mr. or Mrs. Curtius. There were quite a few pictures showing Fergus with Jamie and also one together with Matthieu von Klarenberg. At the end of the album, Jamie found photos of Fergus sleeping in the car on the way to Wartburg Castle and pictures of Fergus and him at the castle. All the photos had been lovingly assembled, pasted and labeled. "Claire, I don't even know ... it's beautiful ... such a wonderful ... Collection of beautiful memories." Again, his eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, thank you so much!"

Picture by Bruno /Germany on Pixabay

They had sat together for some more time, looking at individual pictures and sharing when they had been taken and the story associated with them. Some memories made them laugh together. Sometime after midnight, they too were exhausted from the wonderful day. They rose and took the elevator first to the second floor. There Jamie had said goodbye to Claire and gotten off. Claire had continued on and gotten off in front of her apartment. As she slid under her covers ten minutes later, she glanced again at the bracelet that had been placed on her nightstand. The last thing she thought before falling asleep was: "That man ..." As Claire slipped gently into the land of smiles, Jamie once again quietly opened the door to Fergus' room. The boy was sleeping peacefully in his bed. Once again, feelings of great contentment and gratitude ran through his entire body. What a wonderful day, what a wonderful celebration! Carefully he closed the door, then went to his bedroom. Ten minutes later, as he sat on his bed in his pajamas, he once again reached for the photo album that Claire had designed for him and that he had placed on his nightstand. When he saw the funny picture showing Fergus and Claire eating ice cream, he thought: "That woman ..." Then he too slipped under his covers and turned out the light. Before he fell asleep, a crazy wish crossed his mind: "Christmas," he said aloud to himself, "should be at least once a month."

#Outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #Jamie Fraser #Fergus Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Berlin #Potsdam #Germany #Modern AU #Holy Night #christmas #We only do this for Fergus

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