Debbie and Fester Addams
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven
Rick and Evelyn O'Connell
One | Two | Three
Harley Quinn
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
10th Doctor and Rose
One | Two
Scooby Gang
One
Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum)
One | Two
Queen Clarisse Renaldi
One | Two | Three | Four
Leverage Crew
One | Two (you're here!)
It's me, ya girl, back again with another part to a niche au you never knew you needed
Anyway, as always, if you see any typos no you didn't :^)
--
For his first three months at Nana's, Steve observed. He was good at figuring out expectations and hierarchies from body language. Hardison was the top-dog, and a girl named Monica came in second. Both were older and helped contribute the most to the house.
Hardison's help was legally dubious. Nana tight expression, somewhere between fond and exasperated, when he told her bills had been paid or extra groceries had been bought were evidence of that. She never asked questions, though. Steve figured she preferred not knowing.
The kids who most struggled to adjust were the ones like Steve. They came from more affluent backgrounds, were used to more…everything, really. The other foster kids expected Steve to be the same. They seemed particularly relieved when he wasn't.
On his fourth month, Steve decided to help. He had to, right? How else could he be useful? He couldn't laze around all day if he wanted to stay.
And Steve did want to stay. He liked it there. He liked Nana and enjoyed helping in the kitchen. He liked never feeling alone and abandoned in the house. He liked getting a fresh start at a school where nobody expected anything from him.
So, Steve decided to help the only way he knew how: by being rich.
Or, well, pretending to be.
The places Steve could go and the things Steve could do with the right clothes and attitude were endless. Steve had spent most of his life being rich and still had some of the clothes. All he had to do was show up when and where the rich people gathered.
For two months, he smooth-talked his way into country clubs, art galas, high-class weddings, and one birthday party for someone's pet tortoise. He took party favors, pocketed silverware, accepted gifts from drunk seniors who wanted him to meet their granddaughters. He smiled and took, and then he pawned each item at different stores until he was flush with cash to replaces shoes or cover field trips or pay off school lunch debts.
He was caught by Hardison, which he should have seen coming. Nothing could happen in Nana's house without Hardison knowing about it.
He sat Steve down the night of a movie premiere (the after-party was Steve's hunting ground for the night) and asked, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Steve didn't bother trying to lie. "Izumi needs braces and Dennis broke his glasses. I'm taking care of it."
"Are you out of your damn mind? Do you know what Nana's gonna do if she catches you?"
"Hit me?"
"Worse. She'll say she's disappointed in you."
Oh. That was worse. Unlike his attitude toward his parents, Steve actually gave a shit about what Nana thought of him. He frowned and looked away, nervously smoothing down his hair. "But I want to keep helping."
Hardison stared at him long enough that Steve almost wondered if he'd lost his train of thought. "Okay," he finally said.
"Okay?"
"Okay. But you're gonna be smarter about it. We're working together so you don't get caught."
"What are you gonna do?" Steve asked, looking Hardison up and down. "You don't know how to be rich. You'd get caught right away."
Hardison scoffed, rolled his eyes. "Haven't you seen all those heist movies? You're the front man, Steve. I'm the guy in the chair."
"Okay. What's the plan?"
````````
"There is no plan."
"What do you mean there's no plan?"
"He means we haven't decided how to approach this one yet."
Steve looks between Hardison and Nate, eyes narrowed. "Aren't you always on top of this shit? What happened?"
"The details became…," Nate trails off, searching for the right word.
"Complicated," Sophie offers.
Nate nods. "Exactly. Complicated."
A moment of silence passes before Steve turns to Parker. She hasn't lied to him before; she won't start now. "What's the problem?"
"It involves your dad. You know, the shitty one."
"He's only ever had the one, Parker," Eliot says, rolling his eyes when she simply shrugs in response.
"Oh," Steve says. Everyone's hesitation makes more sense now. They didn't need to, though.
When Steve thinks of his father, he feels nothing. Maybe, years ago, he'd have felt anger or a deep-seated desire to gain the man's approval. But now? After growing up with Nana and understanding how a parental figure should actually act? Steve doesn't care.
"Doesn't that make things easier?" Steve asks.
Nate and Sophie share a look, and while they're distracted by each other, Steve and Eliot share a look of their own. They'll stop dancing around each other eventually, but that doesn't seem to be any time soon.
"Theoretically," Nate says, looking back at Steve. "As long as you're okay with being around the guy."
"How come he's never this caring when it comes to us?" Parker asks.
"Cuz we're adults," Hardison says.
"Hey, I'm 23," Steve says.
"And I pay income taxes for at least a hundred different aliases," Hardison shoots back. "Talk to me when you can match that."
Steve rolls his eyes. "Yes," he says, returning his attention to Nate. "I can be around him. Why? How is he related to all this?"
"Your sperm donor got released a few months back," Hardison says, swiping the screen of his tablet. A photo of Richard Harrington appears on the screen grid on the wall. "He laid low for a bit, but then started moving. He and a few buddies set up a charity. One of those Make-A-Wish clones."
"Apparently, they scam both donors and the families they grant wishes for," Sophie says, frowning as she crosses her arms. "Wishes are granted, all seemingly for free, but then the families are charged thousands a few weeks later. If they can't pay, their belongings are repossessed and they're hounded by collection agencies. Your father and his friends get away with it by sneaking fine print into supposed liability waivers."
Steve's nose wrinkles in disgust, suddenly remembering a federal agent trying to explain the concept of embezzlement and different types of corporate fraud. Most of it went over Steve's head at the time, but he understands it all now. Even after spending time behind bars, his father hasn't changed.
"What's the plan, then?"
"You're the plan," Nate says.
"Are we running a Lost Heir?" Parker asks, her eyes brightening some.
"Sort of," Sophie replies, finger tapping her chin as she studies the photo of Richard Harrington. "I get the feeling we have to approach this carefully. This can't be a loving reunion."
"He'd suspect me right away," Steve says, running a hand through his hair. "But I can't be totally apathetic to him, either. I need to want something, and part of that has to be his approval."
"More like a Prodigal Son, then," Eliot says.
"A healthy mix of the two," Sophie decides, turning to Steve with a smile. "Let's take you back to your roots, Steve, dear."
````````
Steve doesn't spare the server a glance as he takes a canape from their tray. He pops it into his mouth and drops the used napkin back in its place. The food slides heavily down his throat as the server walks away without him offering so much as a 'thank you' in response. "Man, I hate this," he mutters, looking around the room.
"Don't worry about it," Hardison says, his voice clear in Steve's ear. "I'm already depositing very generous tips in the waitstaff's accounts."
"Save that for later, Hardison," Nate says.
Steve spots him across the room. In the crowd of fancy dresses and suits, Nate sticks out like a sore thumb. His suit is fancy, sure, but the way he's styled himself, from his hair to the cuff links on his sleeves, screams new money and desperation. If Steve were casing this party out, Nate is an easy mark he'd keep an eye on.
But Steve isn't here for that. He scans the room again, gaze drifting over the art on the walls and the people pretending to know anything about it. Finally, he spots Richard Harrington. The man is above the crowd, leaning over the railing of a second-story walkway.
"I'm going in," he murmurs, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing server as he makes his way through the crowd.
"Remember, Steve, you're reconnecting because you want something. He's going to want to see someone he can mold into himself, a protege that he can take advantage of," Sophie says.
It takes all of Steve's will to not roll his eyes. "Trust me, Sophie," he says, voice low and lips near still despite his speaking, "I know how to approach my father."
Once he reaches the second floor walkway, Steve downs half of his champagne. The warm, bubbly feeling in his stomach gives him the momentum he needs to approach Richard Harrington.
"So, what do you do if someone figures out the art is fake?" he asks, standing a step behind his father and to the right.
He watches as Richard Harrington stiffens and turns around. Whatever the man was about to say dies on his lips as he gets a good look at Steve. Despite the roiling champagne in his stomach as he realizes how much he looks like his father, Steve flashes an easy, confident smile.
"Long time, no see, old man."
Shock, interest, and amusement pass over Richard's face before he finally settles on a neutral smile that once made Steve want to curl in on himself. "Steven," he says, one hand pushed into the pocket of his slacks as he looks Steve up and down. "It's like looking in a mirror."
Yeah, Steve really wants to throw up now. "Guess I lucked out then."
"You know, plastic surgery is an option," Parker says in his ear, "If you wanna look less like him, I mean."
"What are you doing here? Last I heard, you'd been given to the state. That doesn't look like the suit of someone given to the state," Richard says, eyebrow raised.
Steve huffs out a laugh, looking away as he takes a sip from his glass. "I wasn't living the way I wanted with the state. Decided to change that, pull myself up by other people's bootstraps."
"I know you, and I still want to punch you," Eliot says, his voice low like he's sliding past people as he speaks.
Richard Harrington's smile turns a little more genuine, a little more interested. "And you came looking for me?" he asks.
Here it is. Steve hums, mirrors his father's posture by slipping a hand into his pocket, and flashes a smile he remembers from his childhood. It's smarmy, oily, speaks of getting what he wants and making people think he's doing them a favor in the process.
"Ugh. Now that is a rich asshole smile," Hardison says, and Steve almost nods in agreement with the disgust in his voice.
"I got far by myself," Steve says, using the hand holding his champagne flute to gesture to his suit and then the party. "But I want more. Figured you're the expert in getting it. You know, when you're not getting caught and jailed."
"Uh, Steve? Maybe don't remind him of that," Parker suggests.
He can see why she'd be worried, but Steve knows he's made the right call when his father barks out a laugh and finally removes his hand from his pocket. He steps close and claps Steve's shoulder, a cocky, self-satisfied grin tugging at his lips. "I always knew you'd be a chip off the old block, son," he says, maneuvering Steve so they're standing side-by-side at the railing. "Here, let me catch you up on my new business."
----
Tag List (there's room, so let me know if you'd like to be added!)
Corroded coffin, 80s and 90s metal legend band is seeing a wild resurgence of popularity due to a tik tok trend/ a song of theirs being in a movie/ etc.
This means young people are obsessed with Eddie again. Young people, his og fans. His name is trending on Twitter again. Steve is so happy for him.
One tweet, had 4 photos of Steve and Eddie. One old photo Steve had posted for their 35 year (who could believe that!) anniversary on Facebook of the two of them back in ‘86, one of them in ‘95 from the Grammys, one of them from ‘11 from their wedding, and one of them from a few weeks ago from robins Instagram which Eddie had shared to his story.
The caption reads “who was going to tell me that THIS is who EDDIE MUNSON is married to? He’s literally JUST SOME GUY oh my god this is hilarious this dude could be my English teacher how the fuck did these two even meet” and Eddie thinks it’s so funny, so he retweets it with the caption “high school sweethearts-ish. He’s a social worker BTW, close enough :)”
“No! No water!” Steve practically shouted, grabbing the pot and holding it high above his head so Joyce couldn’t reach it, “Joyce, we’ve talked about this,”
She rolled her eyes, putting the measuring cup on the counter and sighing. Robin and the kids giggled from their spot in the living room, the parade turned down low so they could hear every bit of the clownery going on in the kitchen. Steve turned the evil eye on them and put one hand on his hip.
“And, peanut gallery, if you want to have food, you’ll want to keep your snark at bay. Unless you want to be the ones in here helping me make an entire Thanksgiving meal for fourteen.”
“Always the mom,” Max sighed, patting her stomach, “I’ll have you know if we’re not eating by five o’clock sharp, Nugget here will be making Lucas drive us to McDonalds,”
Steve waved her off and turned back to the stove, placing down the pot and stirring his perfectly prepared potatoes. It felt kind of weird to keep thinking of them as kids now that they were all graduating from college. But, to Steve, they would always be kids. No matter how tall, how old, how many nuggets of their own they had, those seven little kids would always be the stupid pre-teens that had given him his life.
“Now, it’s important to remember to continue to whisk, or else they’ll get clumpy.” Steve instructed in a no nonsense tone. He had eaten enough of her radioactive cooking to know where she would start to lose sight of the final product.
“Are you torturing my wife?” Hopper asked as he entered into the fray, grabbing another round of beers for him and the boys. Steve could just catch the sound of Jonathan and Wayne yelling at the TV in the bedroom upstairs, calling the referee out on some bullshit play.
“This is the real question, Hop. Is your wife torturing my husband?” A voice came from behind him, soft and buttery. A voice Steve had desperately missed, even though this trip had only been a short few weeks.
Steve hummed, leaning back into Eddie’s arms and letting his eyes slip shut for a second. Eddie had only been in Chicago for three weeks to re-record something for his newest album, but to Steve it was always too long. Warm pale arms littered with scars came up around him, fingers playing with the silver chain around his neck. No government would ever recognize it, they couldn’t really tell the world, but the ring on that chain was everything to Steve, just like the man who had given it to him.
“She is,” Steve fake-whispered into Eddie’s ear, “She’s trying to poison us all with liquid potatoes,”
“Lucky for us, we have you,” Eddie whispered back, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek from behind, “God bless you, Mr. Potato Man.”
Steve snickered, turning around so he could fully face his partner. Eddie’s hair was shorter now than it was when they were young and stupid, and he was starting to get crows feet in the corner of his eyes.
He was more beautiful every time Steve saw him.
“Quick! Eddie distract him while I put water in the potatoes!” Joyce cried. Eddie immediately went along with it, yanking Steve away from the stove and ignoring his protests as she began to experiment. Steve conceded defeat the second the paprika was pulled out of the cupboard. Some things would just never change.
Eddie dragged him into the hallway, hiding them ever so slightly from the rest.
“Glad to be home,” He murmured, hugging Steve close and resting their foreheads together.
Home. The home Eddie had bought him all those years ago. The carpet in the living room was a soft cream now instead of gaudy orange, and there were boxes filled with mums in each window. The mold problem had been fully eradicated, but the screen door still swung open and shut in the wind.
Steve didn’t mind it anymore. It was just a part of the charm of their house.
Their house. Even now it made his heart fill to the bursting to think of it. Their house.
Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He’s a little surprised, honestly, since he had his heart set on first anniversary morning sex. Though, based on the smells wafting through their apartment, Steve’s making breakfast, which is an acceptable alternative (plus, if he has it his way, they aren’t leaving the bed again today).
The digital alarm clock on his bedside table is obscured by a Composition Book he doesn’t remember bringing to bed. He reaches for it before his brain registers the red ink dragon sketched on the cover. His hands tremble as he flips it open, but the first few pages are written in his own scrawl. Steve’s handwriting doesn’t appear until 10 pages in and Eddie’s heart stutters at the sight.
March 28, 1986
God, Eddie, I’m so sorry. So, so fucking sorry. I can’t— I’m sorry. I should have been there, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve kept you safe.
You wouldn’t be part of this if it weren’t for me. Robin and Dustin keep telling me that's not true, that Chrissy was already cursed but. Robin is here because of me. Erica-fucking Sinclair is here because of me. And now you. And you’re dying. And it’s my fault.
I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, but I can’t just sit and wait, I’d lose my mind. Anyway. You left this notebook in my trunk, and I hope you don’t mind that I’m using it.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life, Eds.
Please don’t die on me. I can’t live in this world without you.
March 29, 1986
Hey Eds
You made it through the night. I can’t fucking believe it. I ripped Robin’s shirt when the doctor came in to tell us that you were out of surgery and stable, and then he dropped the bomb that your chance of surviving the night was 40%. Forty-fucking-percent. I guess you beat the odds, babylove.
I’m with Uncle Wayne at your bedside. He threw a fit to make sure I could be here whenever I wanted, and that everyone could visit.
You’ve missed some wild shit, Munson, you’re going to be so mad when you wake up.
Come back to me, sweet boy. I can’t take this.
March 30, 1986
Made it through a second night, babe.
I hope you wake up soon.
Miss you like crazy.
I keep looking at you in this hospital bed, and you look so fucking small. I hate it. You’re the loudest voice in the room. You don’t just take up space, you demand it. It’s killing me that I haven’t heard your voice in days. And my brain, it keeps filling in things you would say, and I wait for you to speak up, but of course you don’t. It’s a kick to the balls every single time.
The thing is.
The thing is that I need you to wake up, Eddie. You can’t leave me. I made up my mind a long time ago, we’re spending our lives together. And it can’t fucking end now. It can’t end because of this.
And I need you to open your goddamn beautiful eyes so I can tell you how much I love you. You don’t get to go before you hear me say it, do you understand?
I love you. You’re it for me. I’ve never wanted a forever as much as I want one with you. So, you have to wake up, yeah? You have to wake up so we can grow up, have a family, have a life together.
Promise you won’t leave me, Eds.
March 31, 1986
You woke up, you motherfucker. The doctors kicked me out to look you over and I cried so hard in the bathroom that Robin made El break down the door with her powers.
Thank you for coming back. I won’t ever let you go again.
April 7, 1987
I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m giving this to you, babylove. It’s been a year. Look how far we’ve come.
✏️✏️✏️✏️
September 18, 2015
It’s way too fucking early for Eddie to even be awake and he has the day off. Steve asked him to take vacation months ago, didn’t say why, and now that fucker has the audacity to not even be in the house. And like, sure, they’ve been together for close to thirty years, and Eddie knows that Steve goes for a run at the ass crack of dawn.
Still pisses him off, though.
Eddie huffs down to the kitchen to get coffee started, doing a double take when he sees a familiar black Composition Book with red dragon on the cover.
He walks towards it slowly because this has been framed on the wall since their first anniversary, way back in ’87, and Steve isn’t home.
Eddie opens it, re-reads the panicked, lovesick notes Steve wrote in the hospital, doesn't bother to fight back the tears. He gets to the last letter and the paper is stiff and wrinkled, like it took water damage. Eddie flips the page, grief already pumping through his veins.
What he sees instead is college-ruled notebook paper, glued in place. It reads:
“I fucking hate this class.”
“Tell me about it.”
“trig. You?”
“Algebra 2 :(”
A sound escapes his mouth, something between a laugh and a sob.
“Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me...”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of beautiful, Munson?”
“Watch. The. Movie. This is the last time we get high first if this is how you behave.”
“What are you gonna win me at the fair, Harrington?”
“If you’re nice to me, probably something cute.”
“Eddie…I think I really like you
You’re my favorite person in the entire world
Some days you’re the only thing I can think about
I want to wake up in bed with you everyday
I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you
Do you like me? Yes or No”
“What are you doing about Hellfire?”
“Huh?”
“If the game is Friday. Lucas can’t do both.”
“He made his choice.”
“You ever been in love?”
No, but I think I’m falling”
“I love you, Eddie”
All the sketches of the sailor boy and the rockstar are there, even the one Eddie stuck to the poster in his room, though how Steve managed to get that is anyone’s guess.
There are pictures too, Eddie and Max still recuperating in the hospital; Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout; them holding the keys to the bar, Steve shirtless and hammering something while Eddie looks on, with the increasingly popular bands Eddie booked to play their must-see Friday night slots; Steve on his first day of college and one of him jumping into Eddie’s arms in his graduation gown, mortar board slipping off his head; In the hospital cradling their twin girls with Max giving a weary thumbs-up between them. Shot after shot of their family, their life, their dreams coming true. A scrapbook of their lives together, big moments and small; good and bad.
Eddie’s crying freely as he flips through the rest of the book, still fucking astounded that Steve is the love of his life, that they’re making a forever together.
Eddie flips to the last page. Stops dead.
In Steve’s looped handwriting, unchanged since high school, it says:
“Eddie,
Will you marry me?”
“What the fuck?” He yelps, standing up fast enough that his chair crashes to the floor.
He turns and Steve— his reason for being, the man that brought him back from the dead—Steve Harrington, is down on one knee, something silver glinting in his outstretched hand.
“Eddie,” he says, his voice a wreck. “Marry me?”
Eddie crashes to his knees, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”
Steve laughs. “Is that a yes?”
Eddie laughs too, but it quickly morphs into a sob, “Of course it’s a yes, Steve. Of course.”
Hands trembling, Steve slips the ring onto Eddie’s hand. It’s a thin silver band with skeletal hands contorted into an infinity symbol.
They fall into a kiss that rips the breath from Eddie’s lungs, but then that’s nothing new. When they finally pull apart Eddie asks, “why today?”
Steve blushes and grabs at the back of his neck. “Thirty-one years ago, I walked into Mundy’s class and found a note on the window ledge.”
“What the fuck.” Eddie’s mouth drops, his heart stuttering. This man.
“Once I figured out you leaving that note was going to be one of the most important moments of my life? I made sure to never forget.”
“Baby.” Eddie pulls Steve in for another kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
Steve tugs at Eddie’s hand. “C’mon.”
“Where we going?”
“The girls will be here in a couple hours, and I have some things I want to do to you before they’re home.”
“The GIRLS?” Eddie shrieks. “How the hell long have you been planning this? Did they KNOW?”
“Since the end of June,” Steve answers without missing a beat. “And of course they know. Everyone knows. I asked Wayne for his blessing.”
Eddie can’t speak, his heart crashing in his chest as he, once again, thanks whatever entity made it possible for him to have this.
“I’ve been in love with you for over half my life, Eds. I wanted to do this right. You deserve it. We deserve it.”
He pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clack, but neither of them care.
✏️✏️✏️✏️
When they come home from dinner, as Steve reaches in his pocket for his keys to let the entire family in the house to celebrate their engagement, he finds a gum wrapper tucked in with the metal. He unfolds it, the words within unfurling in his heart, his soul.
"Thank you for giving me forever, sweetheart."
Edited: check out the full version on ao3!
This is officially the end! I hope you enjoyed this little (long) bonus part. Thanks for reading! 💜💜💜
severe head trauma can cause memory problems, steve knows this. he knows that he shouldn't be getting upset that at 30 years old, he can't remember his teachers' names from elementary school. he shouldn't be confused as to why he doesn't remember any of his birthday parties that happened before 1983. he shouldn't cry fat ugly tears as he tries so hard to think back to what his field trip to dc was like or how it felt to win that swim meet in middle school or what his first kiss was like.
he knows why. it doesn't make it easier, the knowing why. in fact, it almost makes it worse. he used to be the person that remembered everyone's name or birthday or favorite color but now he considers himself lucky if he can remember his own. steve thinks sometimes in the sad, angry place in his mind that he wishes he could go back in time. if only he'd been more careful or hadn't gotten mixed up with nancy wheeler or-
but that's not it, is it? because if he hadn't gone to jonathan's to apologize, he wouldn't have gotten robin or dustin or max or nancy or eddie, and that would have been much worse, wouldn't it?
he wouldn't be curled up now on his lumpy couch with eddie singing something a little off key in the kitchen as he makes them pancakes for dinner. he wouldn't have their stray cat that somehow migrated to being a spoiled indoor cat purring next to him while he grades papers. he wouldn't have a rolodex full of phone numbers that span across the united states of people he can call when he needs help remembering the fuzzy things. he wouldn't have a family to call his own.
More wifeguy Eddie fics please, I want him obsessed with talking about his husband when interviewers are trying to ask him about his band and his music, they want to know what inspires him and he just wants to gush about his husband who he finally convinced to come on tour with him.
I've been stuck with the random urge to imagine Steve and Eddie's children/future for some reason. These are written with them both being cis but can be adjusted accordingly if you want one or both of them to be trans.
Steve and Eddie both end up being teachers and end up settling in Chicago using government hush money to buy a nice duplex with Robin and her partner( when people ask how they can afford it they just shrug and say that Steve had Rich parents). I fell in love with Jewish eddie so the kids grow up celebrating both Christian and Jewish holidies.
They all have Eddie's last name because I love the idea of Steve not wanting oto taint something as precious as his children with everything the Harrington name represents or contribute to his Dad having any sort of legacy. Does that make sense logistically I don't know and I don't have any particular urge to figure that out at the moment so 🤷♀️
Sarah Munson
Born May 11th 1995( did I make their eldest born in 95 because that was the year I was born, yes yes I did)
Born via a surrogate with eddies DNA and a doner egg
Named after the protagonist in The Labyrinth( Steve and Eddie went to see it on their first date)
Lesbian
she/they
Dark curly hair and big brown doe eyes like Eddie but tan skin and a fuller figure from her bio mom
5' 7"
Whether it's nature or nurture she ends up taking after Eddie loving all things fantasy and Dungeons & Dragons. She also falls in love with alt music/style but ends up going more of a punk/Riot grrrl direction much to Eddie's horror( to be clear I don't think Eddie would super buy into the punk metal rivalry but I love the idea of them getting into albeit friendly arguments about the merits of each genre)
Anthropology PhD student(studying the effect of American mass media on global cultures) and activist
ADHD/Autistic but doesn't struggle in school the same way Eddie did because he and Steve pushed to get her diagnosed when she's little so she has an IEP from kindergarten( to be clear I also think Eddie is ADHD autistic and that's why he struggled so much in school)
Daniel "Danny"Munson
Born july 2nd 1998
Born via a surrogate and a donor egg like Sarah but with Steve's DNA this time
Named for Danny Zuko( I have completely fallen in love with the idea that Steve loves Grease)
arro ace
He/him
Ends up looking like a near carbon copy of Steve except for with black hair and gray eyes from his bio mom
5' 11"
Is athletic like Steve but also follows in his aunt Robin's footsteps and joins the marching band so he only plays sports that don't conflict. Despite for taking in to school activities that put him in a bit of a spotlight he's actually rather shy and soft spoken often having to have his big sister stand up for him. Struggles with reading but still loves discussing books with Eddie and his aunt Nancy. Pretty simple style-wise jeans and a t-shirt kind of guy.
Started a program abused neglected under privileged children both to teach them practical life skills like cooking in taxes and applying for a job but also to offer a warm supportive environment( inspired by learning about how his dads grew up)
Dyslexic; was also diagnosed Young
Charlotte and James Munson
Twins born January 31st 2000
Adopted after a younger coworker got pregnant unexpectedly and realized that she couldn't mentally be a mother but wanted them to go to a good home( birth mom is still heavily involved but fills more of an aunt role)
Named my their birth mom
Both Bi( had a crush on the same guy once it was a problem until they realize he wasn't interested in either of them)
she/her and they/them
Both have red hair and freckles( their aunt Max is delighted to have more redheads and the weird family all the upside down crew have formed over the years) but Charlotte has green eyes and James has brown
5'2" and 5'6"
both theater kids( once try to switch rules before realizing that only works with identical twins) and mischievous( yes they've been compared to the Weasley twins yes they were devastated when they found out what happened to Fred) Charlotte falls in love with Fiber Arts after helping their Middle School Drama teacher create the costumes for one of their plays. Mostly designs sew and clothing but and also knit sew and embroider. James is a writer. The twins used to put on little plays and he'd write the scripts but mostly sticks to poetry and prose as he gets older. James is an ideas guy where is Charlotte is more practical and helps him bring the ideas to life. James is more spontaneous where as Charlotte likes to stick with a routine. Charlotte style is rather eclectic and tends to shift around is mostly comprised of clothing she made or altered herself. James is one of those people that went full vintage day to day he looks like he stepped straight out of the 1920s
costume designer( Charlotte) Author/retail until his career takes off
I considered adding two more kids but I figured four was a big family while being a bit more manageable then six. However the absolutely do road trip like Steve was imagining. I could probably do a bit more to separate the twins but to avoid cliche I didn't want to make them complete opposites or exactly the same so I tried to balance the two.
Also none of them are straight because that's just how I roll is it statistically likely no do I care also no.
