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artemisrae · 6 years

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Stranger Things - For Laughs, For Luck, For the Unknown

Title: For Laughs, For Luck, For the Unknown

Rating: G

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Mike/Eleven

Word Count: 7,783

Summary:

“Take me with you. For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.” -The Last Unicorn

Mike goes away to college. El goes with him. Within a year she gains a new set of grandparents, a pet, a job, and enforces party rules.

Note: Future fic, featuring soooooooooooooooo many headcanons. Also, since it’s a fic about them moving away, OCs GALORE

AO3 Mirror

The move to Terre Haute was not without difficulties. Mike was barely speaking to his parents, who had made good on their threats and hadn't come down to the courthouse. Between Karen Wheeler and his nerves at starting college, Mike had become quiet and withdrawn, something that always made El feel uneasy and guilty - so much of Mike’s arguments with his parents in the last month had been about her, about them, their relationship, about how him going away to school and leaving her for Christmas and summers was simply not an option. He’d never turned it around on her, but as Hopper’s truck roared down the highway her stomach roiled, and it wasn’t from motion sickness.

Everything they owned was packed into the truck, and despite the fact that they owned next to nothing it was still a tight squeeze. Mike’s leg jiggled the entire ride. Hopper, who seemed to understand better than most when either needed to talk and when they needed space to process what they were thinking, kept the radio turned up for most of the ride.

He wasn’t any happier than the Wheelers, El could tell, but had learned long ago that standing his ground against El or any of her friends was a losing proposition. Best to enable them to succeed and let them figure it out, she’d heard him tell Joyce after the blow up with Mike’s parents. It’s already hard out there.

Hopper helped them build the single bed, got the couple stocked with canned soups and vegetables, and left after treating them to gyros from the little Greek place down the street. He left them with their bed, a mini fridge, a loveseat, a television stand and a promise to bring them a small TV as soon as possible.

That night they sat on their loveseat, facing each other and playing cards. Instead of feeling lonely the way she might have once feared, she was reminded of the blanket fort. Mike’s fidgeting made her remember how nervous he had been, having a girl in his basement, getting her warm clothes, and keeping her safe for the night.

Whatever was waiting for them in Terre Haute, they were going to be okay.

***

Mike started classes, and was ambitious enough to load up his schedule with 8 AM labs. It meant early mornings for El too, who would quietly slip out of bed and make them both coffee while Mike swore and hit snooze and then rushed through showering and getting dressed. They still didn’t have a TV, but the clock radio was a fine substitute for the time being, and she quickly found a station that played what she instinctively thought of as Hopper music - Croce, Creedence, and Dylan.

More than once Mike caught her bopping around the kitchen to Stuck in the Middle with You, and while it was embarrassing when it was Hopper, Mike never looked anything but pleased, even as he was running out the door to get to class on time.

They’d had an unseasonably warm fall that year, which gave her a chance to actually indulge in the two luxuries in their lives: the newspaper, and the tiny wrought iron balcony that hung off the kitchen. It was big enough for exactly one plastic chair - two, if Mike sat in the threshold to the kitchen. El spent most mornings sitting outside, drinking her coffee black (it had never occurred to Hopper to offer her milk or sugar) and reading the newspaper from front to back.

In all, it was a quiet, pleasant existence, and somehow two weeks managed to go by before El spoke to another person besides Mike.

One morning as she was taking a bag of garbage out to the little dumpster behind their building, she noticed the apartment beneath them for the first time. Since it was on the ground floor, it not only had the same wrought iron fencing marking off its patio, but it also had a solid square of actual land. Instead of grass it was packed with a tangle of tall plants. Upon closer examination El could see flashes of red, and recognized tomatoes, large and small, and peppers in varying shades of yellow and orange.

What had caught her eye, however, was the single flower left on the vines that wrapped around the black metal that made up the fencing. Most of other flowers had died - El could see some that had dried up and turned brown, and others that had lost their petals and had nothing left of the blossom but the green tubular filaments that jutted out like tiny unnatural explosions - but one last purple-pink flower was stubbornly standing up against the weak Indiana sun.

Old habits died hard as she reached out a shaking finger and whispered, “Pretty.”

“Clematis,” a voice answered, and El instinctively stiffened, eyes looking for an escape path. The old woman who had just popped up from amongst the plants offered El a tiny tomato. “End of season, but they come back. They all come back.”

She had a thick accent - Mike would tell her later that it was Italian, and then lose several hours explaining accents, which would culminate in a discussion of Italian food (“You like spaghetti.”) - and El had a moment of panic when she thought that she was being yelled at before she reached out and took the tomato. Instead of eating it, she examined it with the polite smile that she had learned worked wonders with adults.

“You garden?” the lady asked, and despite the fact that she had the words, El’s eyes flicked up to the tiny balcony above their heads.

The woman’s face blossomed in understanding. “You’re new!”

At El’s hesitant nod she reached out and clamped a hand on her wrist. Despite her age, her grip was strong. “Anna.” She nodded encouragingly at El. “And you? And husband?”

She had always hated this moment. Her mother had named her Jane, her papers said Jane, but Mike and Hopper had never called her anything but El, and the sense of security and home would never fade. Jane was a mystery, a gift from her broken mother, while Eleven was a curse, branded on her skin. El was something she had claimed for herself.

“Mike,” she said, pointing up, and then to herself, “El.”

“Ella! Ella, so lovely.” She dragged El to the latch at the gate. “Coffee?”

It was phrased as a question, but it wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a question the next day, or the day after that.

And that was how El made friends in Terre Haute before Mike did.

***

After it got too cold for her to enjoy her balcony properly, El started a new routine of taking her newspaper and coffee with Anna and her husband Marco. El liked them because they didn’t try to make her talk - Marco’s English was worse than Anna’s, and they traded the sections while Anna refilled their cups. Mostly he grumbled in Italian, and it was well over a month before El even realized that he liked her.

She missed a morning after getting a cold - Mike fussed and told her to stay in bed and left for class too late to be on time. Around lunchtime Marco appeared at the front door with a small container of homemade chicken soup. He stayed only long enough to convey the soup’s origins before he creaked back down the steps, but the next morning when she joined them again he cast an appraising eye over her.

“Better?” The newspaper covered the bottom half of his face, making him seem like a suspicious detective, rooting out a lie.

El nodded. “Good soup,” she answered, because even though she still had a runny nose the chicken soup had done something nice and warm in her chest. The canned soup had never done that.

The paper crackled as he lowered it. Marco grinned

“Best soup,” he answered. “Best medicine.”

Mike caught her cold; he couldn’t afford to skip class but as soon as he left El tromped downstairs and confidently said to Anna, “Mike is sick. Do you have soup?”

The smile Anna gave her in return was enormous and gratifying. She guided El into the kitchen, and to El’s surprise instead of offering her coffee, started to root in one of the cupboards under the counter, unearthing a pot that was so tall it came up to El’s knees.

She heaved it onto the stove, and then reached into their refrigerator and handed El a bunch of carrots.

“You peel,” Anna ordered gently. “While I shred chicken.”

El stared down at the carrots. When she looked back up at Anna, the question on her face must have been obvious.

“We make the soup,” Anna said firmly. “After we make the soup, you make the soup.”

In a flash, she remembered twelve year old Mike telling her what an amazing cook his mother was. Hopper could subsist on frozen dinners and canned vegetables until the end of time, but one summer Joyce had taken El under her wing and shown her the basics of a stove and an oven. She certainly wasn't an amazing cook - she wasn't even passable really, but she could fry eggs and make pancakes and grill burgers and if she could survive in the woods in an Indiana winter then her and Mike could survive on cheeseburgers and canned green beans.

It would be nice, she thought, to make something amazing for Mike.

As they're chopping vegetables together, Anna asked, "Your husband? Right?"

El blinked, trying to understand what she was asking. Anna had never referred to Mike as anything but her husband. "Yes, my husband."

"Not long, right? How long?" She was pouring stock into the pot and not looking at El, but she still felt unease curling in her chest. She wondered how long they would have to be married before that went away.

"Three months." El kept her eyes trained down, waiting for the hammer of judgement that inevitably fell when people learned that she and Mike were actually married. "Mike didn't want to live at school. The only way freshman can get out of it is if they're married. And I couldn't wait for him in Hawkins."

"Ah. 18?" Anna asked, cocking her head towards El. When she nodded, Anna smiled warmly. "Me and Marco too. 18 years old. My family was poor. His family was poor too, but not as poor as mine. They were going to send him to Palermo to work to get away from me."

She looked smug, and El couldn't help the smile that started to worm across her face. "We got married. His mother cried. Married 52 years now."

She put the knife down so she could poke El in the arm. "I could not wait in Pachino. You could not wait in Hawkins."

In a single swooping gesture, she picked up all of the chopped carrots and dumped them in the pot. “In 52 years, you make soup for Mike.”

El gave her a shy grin. Anna had been the first person who had learned that they were married who had offered congratulations without any qualifiers or questions. The Wheeler’s had lost their collective temper, Hopper had been visibly unhappy but ultimately supportive, and all of their friends had openly questioned Mike’s sanity until he’d lost his temper.

Of course, they’d all ended up coming to the courthouse, including Nancy, even though Mike’s parents hadn’t. All the same, it was nice to be celebrated without anyone asking are you sure or exclaiming how young first.

That evening, Mike made a bigger deal about the chicken soup than anything she'd ever done with her brain powers. The day after she relayed his reaction to her neighbors, Marco heaved a pot the same size as Anna's soup pot onto the kitchen table.

"What is this?" she asked, looking around it to make eye contact with Marco.

"For you. So you make soup," Marco said to the newspaper.

El tried to remember if she had ever told them that they didn't have the fully stocked kitchen that Anna clearly had - she and Mike had exactly one small frying pan and a small pot; enough to heat up two cans of soup, but not enough to make the gallons of soup that they had produced the day before. "Where did you get this?"

"Pah." Marco waved a hand. "I know a guy."

***

Just after Halloween, Mike brought home with him two young men that he had become friendly with in class and the library. Maurice and Roy were both computer science majors, while Mike was still intent on mechanical engineering, but they had somehow come to the realization that they were all interested in dungeons and dragons, and were discussing setting up a group on campus.

She came upstairs to find two strangers sitting on her loveseat.

They looked as equally surprised at her entrance as she felt.

Maurice elbowed Roy. "Mike lives with a woman."

"Oh, hey, I thought I heard you." Mike came up from behind, draping an arm over her shoulders. "Guys, this is my wife, El. El, this is Maurice and Roy."

Maurice elbowed Roy again. "Mike's married to a woman." he said in awed tone.

"Way to play it cool guys." Mike rolled his eyes. He was holding his game books.

She wouldn’t ever like them as much as Will and Dustin and Lucas, but Roy and Maurice ended up becoming her favorite of Mike's new friends. They spent a lot of time at the apartment, putting together their group and planning campaigns, and they never treated her with anything other than total deference.

At first she thought that maybe she had slipped up, slammed a door from across the room or something, but when she asked Mike he just laughed at her.

"They're like that with all women,” he told her. "In fact, they're probably better with you than anyone else because they know you're married and therefore not judging them as a potential mate."

"Mate?” she repeated, wrinkling her nose. She knew the word, but not in the context that Mike seemed to be using it.

"It's what men who are bad at talking to women call women because they think it makes them sound," he waved his hands, looking for the right word, “respectable."

"Oh." She thought about how Maurice and Roy seemed almost jumpy around her. "Does it work?"

"No,” Mike said firmly.

One night while they were working, El appeared to deliver a plate of sandwiches, courtesy of Anna, who was concerned about Mike's perpetually skinny frame, and Marco, who was grateful that they weren't throwing loud, drunk college parties.

Mike was sitting cross legged on the floor, balancing a binder in his lap. He was flipping through the pages, frowning.

Roy's face lit up when El entered the room. "Mike, you could help us out! How did you meet El?"

"I found her in the woods," Mike said impatiently. "El, do you have any idea why the Compendium would be missing my Dragonlance Appendix?"

She stopped and thought.

"You found her in the woods," Roy repeated in a flat, disbelieving tone.

El nodded at him. "It was raining." Then to Mike, she said, "Will took pages for drawing."

Mike threw his head back, letting out a tortured groan. "That's right, he needed sketch references for art class."

He snapped the binder shut and tossed it aside. "Sorry guys, I won't be able to get those pages back until Christmas break."

"You know, if you don't want to tell us that's okay, but you don't have to make something up," Maurice said.

He shrank back when El turned the full force of her Hopper-influenced frown on him. She had matured over the years, but she still lived by party rules.

"Friends don't lie," El told him sternly, and then the subject was dropped for the evening.

***

When school resumed in January Mike called it spring semester, though it truthfully felt anything but. Everything was cold - Indiana, their apartment, Mike’s demeanor, everything felt frozen solid. New classes brought a new set of stressors, and the struggle of commuting without a car in the winter made Mike miserable and El worry constantly.

They were both still recovering from the holidays - Christmas had been an unqualified disaster after they had tried to visit on Christmas Eve and Mike and his mother had fought yet again after he had caught her telling his aunt that he and El weren’t really married. The blow up had culminated in him dragging her out of the house, and Mike hadn’t spoken to his parents again the rest of the holiday break.

El felt guilty, even though Mike had never once blamed her or treated her any differently. It was still difficult watching him try to process his constant frustration with his parents, and it was a struggle not to offer apologies that he wouldn’t accept anyway.

One morning after she returned from her ritual breakfast coffee, she heard a weird noise coming from outside. It took her a few minutes to trace the noise to the balcony, but when she yanked back the curtain they’d hung to try and block the draft she was surprised to see a large orange cat looking expectantly up at her.

Her gut instinct was to recoil - she’d never forget the cat in Hawkins lab, and it seemed like any other one that she ran into, whether it be a stray or Dustin’s mom’s Tews, had the same reaction to her. She waited for the hissing to start -

But instead the cat made an odd trilling noise and cried out again. It was easily -10 outside, with the windchill. She had watched the weather report on their newly acquired TV the night before and the meteorologist had issued a stern warning to bring outdoor pets inside, lest they freeze to death, and so El slid open the door, and again waited for hissing.

The cat bussed up against her legs as he walked into the apartment like he owned the place.

She spent most of the day cautiously observing the cat, waiting for the moment it would turn on her. He was easily the largest cat she'd ever seen - when he stood he almost reached her knees - although it was hard to judge under all of his bulky orange fur.

In the early afternoon he started pacing, and crying. El opened the door to the balcony, thinking he wanted to go back outside, but he simply sat in the middle of the kitchen and meowed plaintively.

Mike found her sitting on the kitchen floor, an opened can of tuna licked clean, petting the cat that was now curled on her lap.

He stopped and stared.

The cat hissed at him. As soon as El touched the top of his head though he rolled out of her lap and onto his back, purring as he twisted on the linoleum.

"Where did this come from?" Mike asked. When El tilted her head up to look at him, his face was twisted in a disgusted grimace.

"Outside," El said simply, reaching out to run her fingertips through kitty's tail.

"Use your words El," Mike prompted. He hadn't even gotten his coat off and she could feel the cold radiating off of him. He must have been freezing.

"He came up the fire escape," she explained. "And he likes me."

"Well put him back outside," Mike said stubbornly. "He can go back down the fire escape."

El stood up, slipped her hands under his coat at the shoulders and helped him pull it off. She kissed him, chastely, and pressed warm fingers to his icy cheek. "Too cold. The news said to bring pets inside."

"We don't have any pets," Mike insisted. "We can barely afford to feed ourselves, let alone that horse over there."

"He's a cat,” she said, blithely smoothing over his protests. "And he likes me."

"He doesn't like me!" As if to prove his point, his foot strayed too close to the cat, and he was rewarded with a long, drawn out growl.

"It's too cold." She dropped her gaze and looked down at her feet. "Cats don't usually like me."

Mike sighed, and that was when El knew they were keeping him. He knew that El didn't like how animals avoided her - she had always felt that it singled her out as different, and that people would notice.

"Well." Mike wrapped an arm around her waist, and together they looked at the fluffy orange beast. He looked back up at them, nonplussed, as if he, too, knew El would be winning their debate. "If you're going to have a pet, you have to name him. What are you going to call him?"

It took a couple days before El found the perfect name in the newspaper comics.

That was how Garfield came to live with the Wheelers.

Having a pet, it turned out, was great for El. The short days during the winter made it seem like Mike was gone for much longer than he actually was, and Garfield was good company. He was attentive, and seemed to understand when El's mood was low or she wasn't feeling well, and despite Mike's pleas to keep cat hair out of their furniture, there was no keeping him from curling up between El's feet every night or on the loveseat every afternoon. His purring reminded her of the engine in Hopper’s truck, and he was a great comfort on the days when she missed the man so much she felt it like a physical ache.

Having a pet, it turned out, was not great for Mike. Garfield hated him, hissed at him anytime he came within a foot of him, and developed a habit of vomiting in his shoes. The feeling was clearly mutual - but it wasn’t just him that Garfield was threatened by. He growled at Marco, hissed at Roy, and once trapped Maurice in the bathroom for over half an hour before El could be summoned to rescue him.

He shredded the hems of Mike’s jeans and pulled the elastic out of his socks by swiping at him as he walked by, but Garfield had never so much as scratched El with a stray claw as he kneaded in her lap.

It was not long after that that the first check arrived.

***

“What the hell is this?” Mike was shouting into the phone, and El was growing concerned by the flush in his face.

The little slip of paper that had upset him so much had arrived by mail in a plain white envelope earlier in the day. All of the mail came addressed to Mike - still better to keep her off of paper as much as possible, Hopper had counseled - and so she hadn’t opened it when she’d collected it earlier in the day.

Therefore she’d had no idea what was in the envelope - nor been able to warn Mike before he’d ripped open the envelope and discovered a check from his father.

“Are you trying to bribe me or something? Because nothing is going to change!” El couldn’t hear Mr. Wheeler’s side of the conversation, but he was making a fatal mistake - letting Mike gather and focus all of his energy and get a full head of steam. She had long since learned that it was far better to try and distract him, redirect his anger elsewhere, or else it could be hours before he calmed himself down.

“Did Mom tell you to send this? Does she think this is going to change something? Because she owes me an apology, and that’s nothing compared to what she owes El!” Mike was so loud that she knew the neighbors could hear. Anna would want the whole story when she next saw them. She’d always been sympathetic when she’d described their difficulties with Mike’s parents.

Garfield had long since fled. He was hiding under their bed; El could see the tip of his fluffy tail poking out from under the sheets hanging near the floor.

El hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, biting her lip raw, trying to decide if she should interrupt or not. It appeared that Mike’s father had sent them money, and she wasn’t sure how to feel. Hopper certainly helped support them, but his support tended to come in the form of driving out and helping them with chores around the house, finding them furniture, and making sure they had groceries. If he had ever just opened his wallet and offered them money, El didn’t know about it and Mike had never said.

But that didn’t change the fact that they were just scraping by, and with Mike constantly stressed out about school, even something small would make a huge difference to them.

Strange that Mike’s father had reached out first. Most of the time when Mike talked about his parents he talked about his mom, and lumped his dad in with her. El had never seen them as anything but a united front. The only thing that El had ever associated with him alone was the recliner in the Wheeler’s living room.

“I’m ripping this up,” Mike declared. “I’m going to rip this up into a thousand pieces and -”

El cringed. Whatever Ted had interrupted Mike with, he’d reacted so violently it was almost a physical convulsion. He spun around and slapped his hand against the wall. “That is not an invitation to send another check! And don’t you dare sic Nancy on us either!”

With that, he slammed the phone back into the cradle, then picked it up and slammed it back down three more times.

She gave him a minute to gather his thoughts, for his heaving shoulders to settle back to normal. “Why did he send money?” she finally asked, when she thought Mike was calm enough to speak rationally.

Mike threw his hands up. “I don’t know. He spouted some bullshit about wanting to make sure our heat was turned on. He said Mom didn’t know about it.”

She reached out and delicately took the now crumpled check from his hands. It wasn’t anything flashy - plain green paper, the amount printed in neat text, above Ted Wheeler’s boring signature. The memo line was blank.

“I don’t know what he expected,” Mike fumed. “Did he think I was going to call and say -”

“Thank you?” she interjected. He gaped at her, and her stomach twisted as she considered if she’d said the right thing. So much of Mike’s strife with his parents was because of her, and it wouldn’t do to throw that back in his face, but all the same, she thought he’d be much happier if they could reach some sort of understanding.

And maybe this was just the first step.

Mike was silent, still processing what she’d said. El considered her words carefully. “He said your mom doesn’t know. Maybe he wants to help.”

“He wants -” Mike came in hot, and El cut him off again.

“I don’t care what he wants. We need it.” Whatever Ted had said about their heat wasn’t far from the truth.

Mike slumped. “You’re right.”

He held up an arm and she darted beneath it, wrapped her arms around his chest. He rubbed her back, kissed the top of her head, and then sighed. “I guess we can use it to buy cat food for that manticore in there.”

***

They were buried in snow even through March, when Mike and his friends holed up in their little apartment to study for midterms. Their newest acquisition was a spindly fold-up card table, gifted to them by Marco, who had refused to let El help carry it upstairs and was still huffing and puffing even as she gently assisted from the bottom of the steps using telekinesis.

(“Where did you get this?” she had asked him.

“I know a guy,” was all he would say, mopping his sweaty brow.)

El would lay on the loveseat, Garfield sprawled across her abdomen, reading while Mike and his friends spread their books across the table and worked on calculations together, cursing good naturedly.

Mike had been in a much better mood lately - a second check had arrived in February, and Mike had grumbled a bit, but when another had arrived this month, he'd simply cashed it without another word. She wasn't sure if Mike had talked to his father again since their argument over the phone. If they had talked he hadn't told her, and Mike told her pretty much everything.

It didn't matter to her whether he had or he hadn't - the fact was, Mike's spirits had improved considerably in the last month, and that alone made El feel better. She was aware (because she had been told) that what they were doing - getting married young, going away to college, living independently - was hard. While she loved Mike and the way he constantly stood up for her without a second thought, El thought anything that made this a little less hard was a good thing.

Separately, she hated the thought of Mike being estranged from his parents. She knew him well enough that she was positive he'd ignore them until he got his point across. It was humbling to have proof of how thoroughly he was committed to her, but at the same time El was acutely aware that she'd never had the same nuclear family that Mike had grown up with and couldn't shake the feeling that she was denying him still.

The extra money had also helped improve their meals - Anna had taken El under her wing, and expanded their menu. Besides the chicken soup, El had learned to make wedding soup, chili, beef stew, and ground meat spaghetti sauce, all from scratch. They’d never turn their nose up at Campbells, but making large batches meant that Mike could take better meals to campus, and that the two of them were fed leftovers for a week at a time.

One evening, Mike was drawing on a large piece of graphing paper, hunched over his work. His eyes darted between the textbook in his lap and the ruler he was trying to hold steady. Maurice and Roy were trading a single calculator and then complaining when their answers didn't match.

El was laying on the loveseat, Garfield's tail twitching contentedly against her thigh, reading a copy of The Last Unicorn that Maurice had lent her. She had been focused on the book until Roy’s raised voice had jarred her from her reverie.

“And then she began reading poetry?” His voice went shrill at the end of the word poetry, and El carefully balanced her book along the top of the cushions, not wanting to lose her place. “This bizarre poem, and she was looking at me and was like, really excited?”

Mike didn’t look up from what he was doing, but his head was tilted, and it was obvious he was listening. Maurice was still tapping on the calculator.

“Then when I said I didn’t think we’d work out she started crying, like, really loudly, in the middle of this restaurant!” Roy exclaimed. “And she was wearing all this makeup and it started running everywhere and all these people were looking at us and I looked like one of those assholes who takes a woman out in a public place to break up with her so she doesn’t make a scene.”

“You did take her out into a public place to break up with her,” Maurice pointed out.

“And she did make a scene,” Mike added. “I told you not to date an English major. My sisters an English major, I know what they’re like.”

“Well you’re no help!” Roy complained, throwing his pencil onto the table. The table wasn’t completely level; it immediately rolled back into his lap. “You’re already married! And you still won’t tell us how you picked up El anyway.”

“I told you,” Mike said dryly, head bent over his graphing paper again. “She was on the run from a shadowy government agency.”

“This story again.” Maurice rolled his eyes. He turned to look at El. “Have you heard the lies he tells about you?”

El raised an eyebrow. “I slept in a tent in his basement.”

Mike snorted.

“Really?” Roy asked rhetorically, huffing a sigh.

“Friends don’t lie,” she reminded them, and picked her book up again.

***

El was suffering from major cabin fever as spring rolled in - she was sick of the walk to and from campus, where she sometimes met Mike - and as a result took advantage of the more pleasant weather to walk around their neighborhood, to try and get fresh air in the afternoons.

She had walked down the little street, a block off of the busier part of the business district, a thousand times before she noticed the shop. It blended in with the brick shops on either side, so it took a crystal bird wing pendant, glinting in the sunlight, to catch her attention.

There wasn’t anything particularly special about it, other than she felt drawn to it. She didn’t wear much jewelry - the only thing she wore consistently day to day was the plain gold band on her left hand. Nancy had given her tons of costume jewelry that she didn’t wear anymore - faux pearls in different colors, gaudy gemstone earrings, bows and headbands to show off her curls - and when the occasion called for it El could get dressed up, but accessories weren’t something she sought out, or spent money on.

All the same, she stood and stared at it for several minutes, until a voice interrupted her. “Pretty, isn’t it? Have you been here before?”

El shook her head, finally tearing her eyes off of the pendant displayed in the window. The women standing next to her had a cigarette balanced delicately between two fingers, and was looking at her with one eyebrow cocked, as if she instantly knew all about El without even trying. Her dark hair was plaited into a braid, pulled over one shoulder draped over the scarves and chains that hung around her neck.

There was a ring of red lipstick around the filter of the cigarette. El caught a whiff of the stale smoke scent that clung to smokers, and felt an abrupt wave of homesickness as she was reminded of Hopper.

“Do you want to try it on?” the lady asked, and El practically recoiled from her. She liked to look in the windows, but avoided going into any stores, where she could be asked any questions she couldn’t answer or for money she couldn’t give.

“I can’t pay,” El explained, taking a step back. “I only have money for groceries.”

With a flick of her fingers, the cigarette went flying. “That’s okay, there’s no one else in the shop anyway. It’s been a slow day. And maybe you can come back when you do have money?”

She linked an arm with El, and turned to guide her into the shop. “Besides, I have a way of seeing these things. You’re supposed to be here.”

“What?” El asked, confused at how she could possibly know such a thing.

The shop was dimly lit, and smelled like dust and old smoke. There was something inherently comforting about it to El, who was reminded of Hopper’s cabin back in Hawkins.

“You’re in school?” the lady asked, leading El to the counter in the back. “Or are you working?”

“My husband is in school.” El found herself placed in front of a large mirror, watching as the delicate chain was looped around her neck. The bird wing settled low on her sternum, and El thought it looked good, even with the plain red tshirt she was wearing.

“Not working?”

“No,” El answered, picking up the pendant to examine it more closely.

“You want to?”

“What?” El stared.

The lady leaned against the counter and held out a hand expectantly. “Let me see your hand.”

El hesitated, and then cautiously offered her right hand. The lady took El’s hand in both of hers, rubbing gently with her thumbs. “I read palms out of the back parlor. Like I said, I’m good at seeing things.”

She leaned over the counter. El watched curiously as she looked - and then her eyebrows furrowed, and her face pulled into a look of surprise.

“You’re okay now, girl,” she finally said, deadly serious, and again El felt the urge to pull her hand away.

Instead she swallowed hard. “I am,” she confirmed. That statement had never been more true in her life; she was safe, and with Mike, and that was pretty much all her younger self had ever wanted. “You can tell?”

“Your fate line,” she confirmed. “And your sun line - they’re remarkable. And I’ve never seen travel lines like these before…”

“What does that mean?” El asked. Her hands were starting to sweat.

She was rewarded with a large, impressed grin. “It means your life was interrupted and… you’ve been rewarded for that.”

El thought of Mike, and their little apartment, of Anna and Marco downstairs and Garfield waiting for her. “I think that’s true.”

“So you want the job?”

“I’ve never had a job.” El’s hand curled in the woman’s, closing herself off. “Are you joking?”

“I don’t joke like that.” The lady leaned close, looking up into El’s eyes. “And I never lie.”

And that was when El knew they were going to be friends.

Her name was Claire, and she lived above the shop, and she paid under the table, which was an expression that El had never heard before and had needed explained.

Mike had protested, of course. El had arrived at the conclusion years ago that Mike’s general response to ideas he hadn’t come up with or hadn’t thought out was to protest them and then let himself be swayed by reasonable explanations.

This one had been a bit harder - and hadn’t been helped when Roy had described her as “That crazy lady in the curio shop” - but after Mike had met Claire he had conceded that even the couple hours per week at minimum wage could only help their finances. Not to mention that El was dead set on taking it - anything to get her out of the apartment and into the chilly springtime air.

Anything to help her feel like a normal person.

It was the easiest job in the world - El had always excelled at math, and therefore took to the register with no problems. Once she was trained up, she spent most afternoons reading at the counter, side-eying the college students who came in to snicker at Claire and the shop. She was unsurprisingly good at intimidating people without even saying a word to them.

Claire absolutely delighted in her. So many evenings El returned to the apartment with some kind of trinket that Claire had declared was meant to be with El, that Mike wondered out loud how she managed to keep the shop in business. Maurice pointed out that it was probably a way for her to unload stock that she didn’t think would sell, to which El had sternly told him to stop being mean about her.

She was an oddity in town, and El could understand that burden. The way Claire embraced it was inspiring.

And she liked most of the stuff Claire gave her, even if Mike complained about it. After a couple months, Marco met her one evening with a small cabinet, about waist high, with three shelves that opened with sliding glass doors.

“Needs redone,” he said, pointing out where the stain had been rubbed away. “But I’ll show you.”

“This is perfect!” she exclaimed, crouching down to look at it. It would fit right into a space in their tiny living room, and she could display all of the items that Claire passed onto her. “Where did you find it?”

“I know a guy.” He shrugged, and looked embarrassed when El hugged him in gratitude.

***

In late May, after Mike and the boys had survived finals and Mike had started working at his summer job at a landscaping company, the now customary monthly check from his dad arrived.

She was at the stove, heating up tomato soup and grilling cheese sandwiches for the two of them, when he heaved a huge sigh and asked, “Do you want to go home this summer?”

They had talked about it a little bit, but they had paid for a year’s lease and with his job - her job didn’t matter, Claire would give El time off if she asked - it seemed a bit silly to plan any extended time away. The two of them were settled, and happy.

“I thought we decided already,” she hedged, getting their two plates and their two bowls from the dry dish rack and plating their sandwiches.

“That was before my dad sent us this,” Mike answered, and El studied the check that he’d opened.

Unlike the previous months, this one was made out for double the usual amount. In the memo line, he’d written in his small, tidy script, 1 year.

“But we got married at the end of June,” El remarked, eyebrows crinkling. “How do you know what he means?”

“Because he wrote us a letter that basically says, happy anniversary, this will cover bus tickets home if you want.” Mike showed her. It was a short letter but she noticed it right when he pointed it out. “It’s addressed to both of us.”

Nothing was ever addressed to both of them, especially not from Mike’s parents. It hadn’t always been that way; they’d always been polite if not overly interested in her as Mike’s high school girlfriend, and had apparently been counting on college to give them the time apart so Mike could, in Karen’s words, get his head on straight.

After senior prom was when it had occurred to Karen that there might be adult consequences to their grade school romance - that Mike was searching for a way to make sure El wouldn’t feel abandoned, that Hopper, while unhappy, wasn’t going to try and stop them himself, that since El wasn’t going to college herself she had the freedom to follow Mike wherever he went. She had quickly soured on their relationship and on El in general, and that was when the fighting had started.

She thought about what Mike had asked. “I miss Hopper. And Joyce. And Holly.”

“I miss Holly too,” Mike muttered. Then, “You know, if we just go for a long weekend I could probably get the time off. And my mom might keep her mouth shut if she know’s we’re not going to be there long.”

“We can stay with Hopper,” El offered. He’d complain a bit, but he’d be secretly happy to have them home. If she could get Mike out of the house one night to see the boys, they might even be able to spend an evening in front of the TV with old movies and a bucket of candy, something they hadn’t been able to do last October. “If you want.”

“We’ll see,” Mike finally said, looking down at the check pensively.

El assumed that was the end of that debate, because they cashed the check, and instead of buying bus tickets she and Mike went out to dinner - nothing particularly fancy, but a restaurant where they sat down with cloth napkins was an unbelievable luxury to them. Claire had given El a new pair of ridiculously oversized beaded feather earrings, and Mike had gotten great enjoyment out of making fun of them. The joke had been on him though - the beads glowed in the dark.

It was a couple more weeks, well into June, before Mike brought it up again. He’d been able to coordinate with Lucas, who was home from Chicago for the summer, and their friends would finally be able to come out and visit them in Terre Haute, something they’d wanted for months now.

“So they’ll come visit for a couple days, and then I thought maybe we could ride back with Dustin and spend a couple days in Hawkins, if you still want to go?” He seemed unsure, as if waiting for her to protest. Instead she felt pride explode in her chest. Her boy had always been brave; it had been brave for him to leave his parents, to forge ahead without support from them, but it took just as much courage to go home and try to patch things up after his father’s olive branch.

It didn’t do to let wounds fester, she knew, and so she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek and told him, “Of course I want to go. I’ll call Hop.”

Will, Dustin, Lucas and Max all come to visit. To greet them, Anna presented them with a gigantic plate of fried dough, rolled in sugar; she particularly liked Will. “Eat more,” she told him. “You’re as skinny as Mike!”

Maurice and Roy were still in town, and Mike had spent days conceiving and planning an intense dungeons and dragons session that incorporated all of their characters. The main villain was loosely based on Garfield.

They splurged and ordered pizzas, and crammed in together around the card table. Dustin had managed to convince Steve to buy them beer, but with eight of them and twelve beers to go around, there was no chance of somebody getting drunk and sloppy. It was just enough to take the edge off, loosen everyone up, and smoothe over any awkward interactions while Mike and El introduced new friends to old ones.

El was trying to shoo Garfield away from the bathroom door so Lucas could use it when Roy asked.

“Hey! You guys would know. How did Mike and El meet? Everytime we ask Mike makes up some dumb story.”

“El?” Dustin answered, scratching the back of his head. “We found her one night in the woods.”

“Yeah,” Will picked up, looking at Mike for confirmation. “Didn’t she like, sleep in your basement?”

El turned back to them, smirking. Roy and Maurice looked as though a feather could knock them over. Maurice mouthed for words, while Roy was looking back and forth between Dustin and Mike, as if he were about to accuse them of rehearsing a story.

She cleared her throat, and when they both turned to look at her, she smirked.

“Party rules,” she said sternly. “Friends don’t lie.”

#stranger things: the fandom where my own upbringing in a white trashy small town is an advantage #shrugging emoji #my work #stranger things #mike wheeler #eleven #mike wheeler/eleven

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bucky-bear-barnes · 7 years

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My Little Hero (Bucky X Reader / Bucky X Reader’s daughter)

Title: My Little Hero ( Big Hero, Little Hero drabble series 1.0 )

Pairing: Bucky X Reader and Reader’s daughter

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Bucky stumbled upon a sweet young girl defending his honor. And finding out that her mom is the lovely single mom he always kind of liked.

Next parts: 2.0 Mini Winter Soldier || 3.0 Bucky’s Little Spy

MASTERLIST

The Smithsonian was swarming with people, as expected on a warm weekend. Bucky had a cap on his head, wearing a red henley that covered his arms and a pair of old washed jeans. He strolled around the exhibits with his hands in his pocket, rounding the Captain America exhibit.

This wasn’t his first visit there since leaving Hydra. The first was when Steve brought him to help him, them, find some comforting part of the 40s. There was even this little corner with some information about Bucky himself and his Howling Commandos comrades. He enjoyed spending his free afternoons in the museum, it was the closest thing to his home back in the 40s he had in this big new country.

Student groups came and went with their teachers, no one paid mind to Bucky; and he liked that, peace and quiet. He settled himself in front of Steve’s motorcycle. His lips turned slightly into a small smile thinking about just now much his best friend used to like that bike.

The silence he had in his mind was broken when he heard squabbling to his left. Turning to the direction, his eyes fell to a small group of pre-schoolers decked in blue. In the center of the group was a young girl and boy; the boy was holding his shin, a grimace on his face and the girl had an indignant look on hers, her tiny arms crossed in front of her.

“How dare you call the Winter Soldier a monster? The sergeant is a hero you hear me?” words tumbled out of the young girl, the frown on her face deepening. The boy looked up at her and sneered “How would you know? You’re just a girl.”

Before the girl could give him a piece of her mind, the teacher stepped between the two and demanded them both to apologize to each other. “You two will be on time out. Sit on the bench with Mrs. Mary and reflect. Both of your parents will pick you up when the tour for the rest of the class ends. No argument!” the teacher warned, voice stern and brows furrowed.

Bucky looked on as he saw the two children sat on the two furthest ends of the bench, the girl still had her arms crossed. He took a seat on the bench nearest to theirs and at that point, he’s decided he was going to watch over her till her parents came. Just in case the boy was to do anything sneaky.

At that thought, he chuckled at himself and thought since she was going to defend his honor, he shall do his part and be her guardian for that afternoon. It was probably one of the sweetest things anyone has done for him since the 40s. A tiny girl defending him when he couldn’t even bring himself to defend his own honor.

“I’ll have you know that my mom works with the Avengers and she knows the Winter Soldier and she says he’s a war hero. Without him, we’ll all probably be Hydra.” she huffed, side-eyeing the boy as her teacher stood a short distance away, probably calling their parents.

A short half hour later, a young woman hurried into the exhibition hall, her heels clicking away. She lowered herself to the height of the young girl and chastised lightly, her eyes betraying her true emotions. “I heard someone’s in trouble, young lady,” she said, bopping the little girl’s nose.

Straightening herself, she shook the hands of the teacher and after a short conversation turned to her daughter and said, “Young lady, you will apologize to Brian now and say you’re sorry for kicking him the shin. There’s no excuse good enough for hurting someone you hear me.” The young girl begrudgingly turned to the smug boy and muttered a half-hearted sorry.

“And you Brian. You will apologize to Poppy for saying she’s just a girl. And for calling someone you don’t know a monster. Poppy is a lovely girl who will turn out just as amazing as any boy like yourself. Bucky, Sergeant Barnes is a respectable hero for our country, alright?” she chastised, lowering herself to Brian’s height.

Brain’s smug grin fell, as he looked at Poppy and apologized. “Alright. Now the two of you are going to shake hands and make friends alright.” she instructed.

Her daughter’s teacher gave her a grateful smile and thanked her, “You’re a life saver (Y/N). You should’ve joined us as a parent volunteer.” “If I had the time I really wouldn’t mind but you know how it is over at Stark Industries.” she replied, a resigned smile on her face.

Hearing her name, Bucky perked up and narrowed his eyes to get a better look at her. (Y/N)? Stark Industries? Could it be Pepper’s PA? That (Y/N)? Bucky’s always paid extra attention to her. Despite no one noticing it. Or perhaps Nat knew but just didn’t want to call him out on it. She did always have this knowing smirk on her face. (Y/N) always had this lovely smile on her face that made her eyes disappear into a cute crescent.

People mostly left Bucky alone. But not (Y/N). If she baked during the weekends, she always made sure to give him a couple of the treats she made. If he was coming back from a mission, she would always be there waiting. Well, she may have been waiting for anyone. Nat. Wanda. Steve. Thor. God forbid, Sam. But it always warmed his heart a little seeing her tiny figure from afar.

He knew the (Y/N) was a single mom. Her bastard of a boyfriend left once he knew she was expecting. She also knew she had to juggle a lot, there were even a couple of times Nat helped pick her daughter from pre-school when she was occupied with work.

As Bucky looked over, he saw that (Y/N) was holding on to her daughter’s hand, arms swaying as they walked towards the exit. He didn’t know what came over him, his shy demeanour that he acquired over time, vanished as he took large steps to the pair.

(Y/N) noticed his figure and a look of shock appeared on her face when she figures out who it was. He gave her a shy smile as he kneeled next to Poppy.

“Hi. You’re Poppy, right? I’m Bucky. Your mom’s fr-“ Bucky started. Before he could continue, Poppy let out an excited squeal and jumped into his arms.

“You’re The Winter Soldier! Sergeant Barnes! Can I really call you Bucky?” she babbled on, her tiny arms wrapped around Bucky. He couldn’t help but let out a hearty chuckle at her excitement as he returned her hug light.

“Of course you can Pumpkin. Please feel free to call me anything,” he replied, eyes meeting (Y/N)’s, her smile evident on her face as she laughed at her daughter’s antics.

“Oooooooo. How about Buckaroo? Bucky Bear? Cuddly Bucky? Big Barnes?” she listed name off her head, still not letting Bucky go. An affectionate chuckle escaped Bucky, as he scooped the young girl up, Poppy still happily listing out nicknames for the super soldier.

“You heading back to the office? Do you mind if I carry her the way back?” Bucky asked softly, his cheeks, a faint red.

(Y/N) laughed softly and said, “I don’t think she’s going to let you go anytime soon. You’re her hero you know?”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed a deeper red, as he awkwardly scratches the back of his head.

“Well, she’s my hero.”

Tagging: @itsanerdlife @buckysmusculararm @klaus-is-king @callamint @dryerpet @katbird787

I know I haven’t written much or been on Tumblr much. I have been majorly busy with college and I’m so drained. It would mean the world to me if I could get some feedback on this. I hope everyone enjoys this!

For my other writings, search “Ting writes” on my Tumblr!”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #winter solider imagine #avengers fanfiction #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #avengers fan fiction #marvel fanfiction #ting writes

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boozedancing · 4 years

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The last time we tiki’d with you was way back in the frosty winter of 2018 when the pineapples were chilling and the orchids were hibernating. Yes, it gets a tad frosty in Redondo Beach, Bub. That was for Tiki 101 at Hudson House. A crash course in tiki with some hall-of-flame cocktails.

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A lot has happened since then…

We’ve gotten to know our own Tiki home much better in the Age of Coronavirus. Our hair has grown past our grass skirts, we have our own line of tiki-inspired masks (N95 filters not included), and we converted the Cal 20 sailboat in our backyard into a Bar & Grill as a home project. Come over sometime for a Mai Tai!

But way before we all started doing the Quarantiki Twist, Mrs. Satellite Engineer and I stepped up our tiki adventure ladder a few more rungs. Don’t look up my grass skirt, you Cads and Cadettes! The Missus is hell-bent on exploring the adventurous world of those tasty cocktails, and who am I to say “No!” to homemade cocktails? So last summer (hell, it could have been last week since we have zero idea how a calendar works anymore), we loaded up the truck and moved to San Diego for 3 days and 2 nights at Tiki Oasis in America’s Finest City, per the local tourist board. America’s Fish Taco Capital is just as good a moniker if you ask me, and would look equally nice on a plain white napkin which you’ll need as you suck down three grilled mahi-mahi tacos with crunchy purple cabbage and a tangy chipotle lime crema para un camión de tacos. But I digress.

Tiki Oasis 19 (yes, there have been eighteen previous ones for those keeping score at home) is quite possibly the country’s most famous tiki festival. I’m sure others will fight over the title, but tiki should bring souls together, not sprout fighting. No one likes to see sprouts fight. C’mon, People, there’s plenty of space on the island! Let’s hold hands and hum a few bars of Tiny Bubbles. Fighting aside, Tiki Oasis is one crazy 4 to 5-day experience. These noobie attendees were stunned by the sheer numbers descending on the Mission Valley Crown Plaza that seems made for the event with its coastal, tropical decor. 3,000+ attendees is the number we heard bandied about. That’s a lot of Hawaiian skirts and shirts!

DAY 1

We stayed across Interstate 8 at another hotel only a three-minute drive away from the craziness. There are plenty of hotels along the I-8 corridor for all the San Diego tourists to choose from as they bop around from the world-famous zoo to SeaWorld to Mission Bay. We chose semi-wisely, as our hotel was teeming with many families and noisy tots surely off to the aforementioned hot spots.

We had no desire to see lions, tigers, whales, or surfers. We were here to see the laid back world of Tiki. Music, cocktails, shopping, seminars, oh, my! And more! We didn’t know what “more” was but we were all for finding out. Walking into the Crown Plaza that Friday afternoon and seeing the crowd of tiki-ers of all ages was mind boggling. Throw in the explosion of colors from flowers, attire, tattoos, and decorations, and we knew we were in the right place.

The Tiki Oasis schedule is a complicated grid with activities starting when the sun is just waking up yet warm to the touch. We mapped out our day in light pencil and started with a quick recon mission of the island. It was almost too much to take in with live music at the pool and a scattering of vendor booths along the perimeter. Alcohol was definitely in the air along with sunscreen. Skin protection is almost as important as a well crafted jug o’ mai-tai.

The Crowne Plaza’s event center was home to our first seminar. Here was where the bulk of the vendors were selling their wares as well as registration to get our wristbands that “can’t be taken off for all of Tiki Oasis”, we were told pleasantly by the very friendly staff. You can buy virtually anything “Tiki” here. I think I was witness to a guy buying an unmarked island 1,200 nautical miles due east of Tahiti. Or you can buy a $50 handmade mug or the $25 version made in China. You pick. It was a mall of tiki. Serious business for an un-serious event.

The Harbor Lagoon room in the Grand Hanalei event center was the spot for our first seminar: “Create a World of Tiki in Your Home Bar” with Pam Kueber, a retro renovation expert (hence, her website retrorenovation.com). Her talk was sponsored by Licor 43. A booze sponsored home remodeling seminar? Count us in! Ms. Kueber got the creative juices flowing with her pitch on how to approach a home build of a tiki bar or room. The packed room listened attentively to her 7-point plan of attack that would work just as well if you decided to renovate your boring 1960’s bland tract home to a mid-18th century Middle Eastern palace style, or are just as excited to set up your autonomous nation-beach state under palm trees and keep below the radar:

What’s the goal?

Get in touch with your (Tiki) style. (Oh, yes, there are many.)

Plan the design considering the space.

Don’t forget to design in lights, sound, electric, plumbing, etc.

Consider structural issues.

Install your “canvas”, i.e., walls and ceilings.

Decorate to create intimacy

All this while learning to love the palette of “brown”. And NO WHITE WALLS! Or a television. Ms. Kueber is tough!

She showed various before and after photos of home tiki renovations from across the country including her own in New England. The crowd ooh’d, ahh’d, and drank Licor 43. This tiki reporter may have poured-his-own Bowmore Dorus Mor from his backpack. Only Mrs. Satellite Engineer (aka Gidget) knows for sure.

We walked out thinking that our own family room is a waste of a space for television watching and keyboard tapping. The doggy door is critical though. Could this be our own tiki room and bar? Hmmm. Stay tuned.

After sushi and cocktails in one of the hotel bars, more exploring led us to a whole fascinating world of the “unofficial” Tiki Oasis.

The room towers of the Crown Plaza were a vast unknown world for us to explore, one that didn’t seem to be mentioned much in all the Tiki Oasis literature. What’s to explore? They’re hotel rooms, right? Two words: hospitality suite. We saw “gig” flyers plastered on walls and pillars, bathroom mirrors and trash cans, elevator doors and elevator walls around the hotel, all for suite parties in the hotel towers. The parties were all sponsored by various producers of adult beverages. Are you seeing a theme? The daylight events were heavy on the cocktails and tastings. The nighttime ones were heavy on the cocktails, black lights, and music (more on this later). Our first stop was Room 1649 for booze tastings from SinShip Spirits Co. and 117° West Spirits, both local distilleries making rum. We were more than pleasantly surprised to find our dear old buddy Trent Tilton of San Diego Distillery helping his San Diego neighbors out by pouring their spirits. We would come across crazy Trent again pouring his own array in 1649 the next night. Mr. Tilton may well be the king of the San Diego distilling world with his hands-on creations. His bear hug greetings are always welcome and sure to put one into traction for 7-10 days.

Room 1649 was where we also met up with friends, Bartender Jessica Souza (of Hudson House) and Josh McLeod (founder of iconic electro analog band Fartbarf). We’re envious of these two tiki pros who built their own outdoor home bar. Cocktail maven + creative graphics artist = The Hoodoo Hut; which is available for private parties and cocktails-to-go! Book your holiday party now! We drank and explored with these two nuts who could tell you real from not real and cool from not cool on the shopping trail.

The rest of the afternoon was spent roaming the aforementioned vendors in the Hanalei building. The rabbit hole of tiki shopping is far, wide, and very deep. Be very careful! All major credit cards are accepted. Plus ApplePay. As we said before, it’s endless. Need an 8’ hand carved teak surfboard? How about a framed poster from How to Stuff a Wild Bikini? Maybe a Hawaiian shirt? Maybe a thousand Hawaiian shirts? Or a konacopia of tiki mugs that would stretch from downtown San Diego to Bora Bora? It was the ultimate marketplace of all things South Pacific. From classy to kitschy. Must-have to what the hell is that? From “whoaaa!” to “ewww, my eyes are bleeding, make it stop!”.

And the shopping fun continued around the pool. Various ground level guest rooms just spitting (pre-COVID) distance from the pool were transformed into hospitality suites with vendors using them as mini outlets offering plenty of space for drinks too. Come on in, grab a drink, check out our tiki mugs, shirts, sculptures, and dresses. Try something on in on changing room/bathroom. C’mon, you want to! And our friends from various adult beverages companies had their own kiosks stationed around the pool as well. It’s a veritable one-stop for all things tiki, including refreshments.

All the shopping and drinking with a tasty sushi lunch with cocktails in the hotel was just a lead up to the main stage. Literally.

MUSIC

Every year, Tiki Oasis has a theme. Just like you and me. Previous years’ themes included International Espionage, Monster Island, and Beatnik-Tiki. This year was Catch the New Wave which was an homage to ‘80s New Wave and Punk music. Now you’re talking our language!

Headliners included Orange County punk rock heroes, Agent Orange; Gerald Casale of Devo (now a noted Napa winemaker); Romeo Void’s Debora Iyall; Josie Cotton; Tim Polecat of the Polecats; and The Fleshtones. If you were anywhere within the broadcast range of KROQ or KXLU back in those days in Southern California, you heard all of these bands. Under the lights in front of standing and dancing crowds, the 80’s came alive. Maybe the throngs and thongs were just scared of the 20’ tiki to the right of the stage breathing smoke. Who knows?

But of course Tiki oozes music all its own and doesn’t need radio era music. Not a bit. Those exotic sounds from tiny islands with gentle breezes for background harmony or guitar heavy jangles are aplenty. And the other 20 or so bands took you from the beaches of Polynesian islands to the surf shacks of Hawaii.

To name just a few of the artists on the big stage and the poolside overlook one: The Insect Surfers who Gidget and I saw 25 years ago in a Manhattan Beach bar; The Hula Girls; Judd Finkelstein (owner of Judd’s Hill winery) & Tiny Bubbles; Drifting Sands; The Intoxicats; Jessica Von Rabbit; Joey and His Showmen; Los Tiki Phantoms; The Devil-Ettes; Tikitronic (who play an amazing version of “Bella Lugosi’s Dead”); The Surfragettes; and The Tikiyaki Orchestra. Plus, of course, El Vez, the Mexican Elvis, because, sure, why not?

Music, music, and more music.

The “more” music was later in those hospitality suites. As the sun settled down for the night into the Pacific horizon, the tunes ratcheted up – way up – in those suites. By day, these rooms were crazy but fun little parties for spirits companies to pour and chat up their offerings. Each room had some kind of theme. Ole Room 1649 was heavy on the fluorescent colors of those wild 80’s.

But once darkness descended, darkness truly descended.

The four-sided inside perimeter of the Crown Plaza tower is a long rectangular atrium with a serene stream and lush foliage on the ground floor. But above, the pathways of each floor were anything but serene at night. Long lines formed to get into each of the suites hosting parties. Doormen manned each party letting two partiers in as two partiers exited. The lines looked to be an hour or more long waits for free admission to…well, we had no idea what free got you exactly.

Black lights, strobe lights, no lights lit and unlit the hotel rooms that now had become mini concert venues with cocktail bars. Think about your last holiday trip at a hotel. Maybe it was a Crown Plaza a short drive from grandma’s house. Maybe you had the kids with you. And the dog too because you smartly (for a change) picked a pet friendly hotel even though the cleaning deposit was $1,000. Now imagine your pretty standard hotel room without any furniture, the windows covered completely with blackout curtains, the kitchen counter turned into a bar, the lights turned off aside from a strobe or two, and the wall – where the couch should be – has three guys dressed like Magnum P.I. except with masks playing surf versions of Danzig at a deafening volume or what sounds like Danzig if Danzig wore masks and were double parked so they had to play twice as fast so the van with the extra equipment wouldn’t get towed like the last time at the Holiday Inn off I-5 in Encinitas. Oh, yeah… imagine there’s a go-go dancer about 18” from the guitar player in a bikini in a “cage” showering beads of sweat on anyone in shower range (pre-COVID). The go-go dancer, not the guitar player, because him showering off beads of sweat would be gross. Now that’s a holiday trip, my friend. Call grandma, tell her one of the kids is vomiting so you’ll come by tomorrow. With bagels. Don’t tell her you were spritzed with go-go dancer flop perspiration while the Fink Bombs blew the f***ing door off the room. Yes, the Fink Bombs.

And that’s just one example of what those hospitality suites turn into come nightfall. We went to about half a dozen them. It was horrible. NOT! One suite had two different cover bands playing surf versions of your favorite 80’s hits. One of those bands had a Ramones look. Another party had a whole Bowie thing going. The party never stopped and the lines seemingly never ended.

We made it back to our humble chain hotel in one piece with a only bit of ringing in the ears. A final whisky nightcap then bed because Day Two was only hours away.

Day 2

After we had a decent Crown Plaza continental breakfast (you can make your own waffles!), the Better Half was off to an 80’s new wave make-up class. I passed on this – hot green eyeliner isn’t my thing – and instead strolled the grounds and found myself on Author’s Row in the events center. Authors and artists in the tiki world were set up behind tables selling books and chatting with the peoples. I was pleasantly shocked to find three superheroes there.

Martin and Rebecca Cate of Smugglers Cove bar and book fame gladly autographed their tiki bible to my wife (our second copy) as we chatted about a little of this and a little of that including how hard it is to find purple Hawaiian shirts. And the table next to them was another HOF’er, the one and only, Jeff “Beachbum” Berry. I picked up the classic “Sippin’ Safari” with the Man’s autograph Sharpied on the front page. Next time in New Orleans, post-pandemic, his Latitude 29 will be a must-do. A cool cat if there ever was one, Jeff was happy to spend a few minutes talking cocktail stuff. This little visit with these elites of the tiki community speaks volume of this little corner of the world. All of its denizens are just the friendliest folks you’ll ever find. All everyone wants there is only a little piece of an exotic far-off place and to share it with someone else looking for the same.

The next seminar was “Riffs & Spiffs: How to Craft Your Own Cocktail” with Tiki Lindy, a cocktail pro and nerdy pharmacist which entertained the satellite engineer to no end. And it was sponsored by Pusser’s Rum which entertained me to no end. Ms. Lindy walked and drank us through charts and spreadsheets on how to adapt, re-create, and make your tiki cocktails better. I feel like I need a refresher course in Excel though.

Our last “formal” event was a breezy rum tasting in a small event room. Various rum companies including Pussers, Clement, and Don Papa had booths and poured samples. Licor 43 made a cocktail with a popsicle, and even Monkey Shoulder whisky had a table. It was a nice event that gave us an air conditioned respite. With rum.

There were plenty more things to do and see over the weekend. A car show in the hotel parking lot with classic cars tikified. Food trucks. The Parade of Caftan adorned women through the parking lot. The midnight burlesque show… sorry, no kids allowed. But for the kids there was the Tiki Tween Party and the Tiki Tots Playroom. We got you covered, grommets.

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Another afternoon and evening of frolicking – yes, we frolicked and no one cared – of shopping, music, eating and cocktailing, and we were bushed. There was more to do on Sunday morning but we chose to head north on a leisurely drive home, or as leisurely as I-5 can be from San Diego.

It really does seem so long ago. Many cocktails under the suspension bridge since then. Tiki Oasis Arizona was scheduled for a few weeks ago. But instead of being at a hotel In Scottsdale, it was held virtually on Instagram and a few other online spots. Not exactly what anyone planned on months ago.

The beauty of Tiki Oasis is that it’s anti-social distancing. It’s a gathering of social closeness, meeting people, dancing, kibitzing, and doing what tiki folk do… have fun! Gidget and I planned to go to Tiki Oasis 20 this year in San Diego, again in August. But it’s anybody’s guess if it will be happen at Paradise Point in Mission Bay or in the comfort of our own home on a computer. COVID-19 has thrown Tiki Oasis-20 a 20’ wall of water. But it, like the rest of us, will ride it out because on the other side are warm breeze, cool drinks, and a sunset right out of a movie. A tad corny? Maybe, but the tiki crowd is always smiling no matter the surf conditions or the storm on the horizon. Tiki Oasis is that happy place to look forward to better tropical days.

The WCO (aka @AaronMKrouse) relives his experience at @tikioasis 2019 in #SanDiego, The World’s Biggest Island Lifestyle Festival! #Tiki The last time we tiki'd with you was way back in the frosty winter of 2018 when the pineapples were chilling and the orchids were hibernating.

#Cocktails #Events #Photography #Pictures #San Diego #Tiki #Tiki Oasis #Travel

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subaru wrx 2018 insurance

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subaru wrx 2018 insurance

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subaru wrx 2018 insurance

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