#(from an outside pov)

[franklespine]

So I get it, House is a pretty messed up guy. Old news. I already knew that coming in to the show. But nothing prepared me for how genuinely batshit insane Wilson is. He offers to pay back a patients loan on his house because he got a diagnosis wrong. He donated a piece of his liver to his patient who was only a vague friend who he doesn't even seem to enjoy hanging out with that much. He noticed his patient had depression purely because he didn't talk about his grandkids. He was going to jeopardise his entire career to make a euthanasia speech because one of his patients suffered all the way to his death. He drove a patient home, did her groceries, cleaned her house and then slept with her. Not to mention he like is the only one who can actually mess back with House with his crazy manipulation tactics, like he can fr be an incredibly manipulative schemer if he thinks its for House's (or occasionally someone else's) benefit.

Just damn. He is crazy.

........there is no way this guy had a healthy relationship with his parents.

#House md #James Wilson #what a silly guy #just watched 6.10 if you couldn't tell #he is fr out of his mind #also love how that episode shows how whack the diagnostics team must look from an outsider POV LMAO

[bloodydeanwinchester]

DESTIEL IN EVERY EPISODE → 5x04 the end

dean immediately clocking 2014!dean's jealousy like "what could this mean???"

#this is another episode where there were sooooo many scenes i could have chosen from! #but like...this scene is dean perceiving destiel for the first time from an outsiders pov!! and BOY is there something to see there or what #also yes i know they changed it to say like instead of love but also i dont care<3 #destieleveryepisode #spn 5x04 #destieledit #spnedit #cowboycoven #spn #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #altarofrowena

[riality-check]

This is not how Wayne was expecting to come home from work.

He had expected, as usual, that Eddie would be asleep, and he’d be free to watch the 5:00 AM news. He’d have a bowl of cereal for dinner (or was it breakfast at that point?), and then he’d be out like a light while Eddie did whatever it was he did before noon. Usually, that was sleep.

The exact opposite of what Wayne was expecting is happening right now. 

He didn’t even get his keys out of his pocket before Eddie whips the door open. He looks a mess: hair tied back loosely, pajamas off kilter, panic mixed with exhaustion on his face.

“Oh, thank Christ,” he croaks. “Wayne, I need your help. I have no idea what to do.”

Wayne can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Eddie panic like this. He shoulders past him into the trailer and is greeted with the sight of Steve Harrington standing in the middle of his living room.

“What on God’s green earth,” he murmurs. He blinks, then blinks again, but Harrington is still there, in pajamas, the tire iron Eddie still keeps under his bed in his hands. He’s breathing real heavy, and he stares out the window, stock-still.

“The hell happened?” Wayne asks, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Eddie whispers desperately. “I don’t know what happened, but he got up and grabbed the iron and just stood here-”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

Wayne doesn’t like where this is going. “Has he responded to you at all?”

“No-”

Shit.

“-but I can try again?”

Wayne eyes the white-knuckled grip Harrington has on the tire iron. He’s ready to swing, and Wayne knows he’ll swing hard if given the chance.

No way he’s risking Eddie. No way he’s risking Harrington. Wayne doesn’t know him well, only met him a few times in passing, but he knows he’d never forgive himself if he hurt Eddie.

“No. Don’t try again.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Didn’t ask you to. All I’m saying is don’t go near.”

Eddie is very good at following instructions to the letter and to the letter only, much to Wayne’s fond annoyance. So, he doesn’t go near.

Instead, he says, voice strangely soft, “Stevie, sweetheart.”

Harrington doesn’t respond, but he turns a little in the direction of Eddie’s voice. Wayne takes that as a good sign, even if he can see the tension on his face now.

“Will you come back to sleep? Please?” Wayne hates hearing Eddie’s voice crack the way it is right now.

Harrington faces them a little better, and Wayne sees what he was expecting.

He’s staring through them, not at them. Wherever Harrington is, it sure ain’t here.

“I don’t know how much that’s gonna help, Eddie. He’s having-”

“I know he’s having a flashback, Wayne!” Eddie snaps. “I’m not stupid. It’s usually just not this bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Alright,” Wayne says because snapping back won’t help anyone. That and because he’s trying to process the fact that Eddie has had to deal with this before. “Let me try.”

He takes a few steps toward Harrington, keeping his hands up and his movements slow.

“Harrington,” he calls, keeping his tone light. “You’re at Eddie’s place right now. It’s almost five AM on a Friday night.”

Harrington blinks, and it looks like his eyes are coming back into focus.

“You’re safe right now. Eddie’s safe right now.”

Harrington shakes his head and lifts the tire iron a little higher. Christ, his arms must be aching by now. “No. I saw the lights flicker, and I heard a thud outside, and it got cold.”

“Stevie, the gate’s closed,” Eddie pleads. “You saw it happen. Nothing got out. You’re safe.”

Wayne doesn’t know what any of that means, but even though it was supposed to reassure Harrington, he just shakes his head again.

He hears Eddie sigh behind him, and he knows without turning around that he’s trying not to cry.

Guess he’s gotta try something different, then. “You just wake up?”

Harrington blinks, and for a minute, Wayne thinks this won’t get them anywhere. But then he whispers, just loud enough to be heard, “Yeah.”

“Okay. I just got off work.”

Harrington stares at him, confused.

“So, I think I’m a little more awake than you. I’ll take what you’ve got in your hands, and I can stay up.”

Harrington shakes his head. “It’s fine. I stay up most of the time when I’m alone.”

Alone. Wayne knows from experience, both personal and witnessing this shit, that alone is the last thing anyone should be when they’re having a flashback. Harrington says it like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

He dismisses his questions - why is Harrington having flashbacks, why is he alone - and focuses on getting him to put down the tire iron and go to bed.

“You’re not alone this time,” Wayne says. “You’ve got Eddie here, too, and I think both of you would feel better if you were together.”

Harrington looks over Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne doesn’t turn around, but he can imagine the pleading look on Eddie’s face just fine.

Wayne holds out his hands for the tire iron, and after a minute, or maybe a month, Harrington sets it there. Immediately, he looks lighter and heavier.

Eddie walks up next to Wayne and murmurs, “Come on, sugar.”

Harrington goes to him and just rests his head on his shoulder. Eddie holds him there, just standing in the middle of the living room, sunrise just starting to peek in through the windows.

Thank you, he mouths to Wayne.

Wayne nods, but he’s got a hell of a lot more questions than answers - what the hell brought this on, what exactly is Harrington to Eddie. That can wait for morning, though.

For now, he just hopes Harrington will be okay by then.

No, not Harrington. Steve.

After something like this, Wayne has learned, you start using first names.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #steddie #(from an outside pov) #angst #hurt/comfort #flashbacks #idk what this is #it's the night before midterms #i've had a shit week #bon appetit #this is old btw i promise i wasn't THAT irresponsible #to write new fic the night before a midterm #ria writes

[theminecraftbee]

genuinely there is something about. both cleo and etho have "scary" reputations. reputations as "survivors". and yet they are BOTH people who deeply, deeply bond with their allies in the series, and are deeply loyal. and they ACT like they're a bit distant but they aren't. and sure, cleo is a bit more obvious about the loyalty. but i think etho ALSO holds on until he can't hold on anymore. it's just that i think etho is waiting to have to cut his losses the whole time, even as that kills him.

so like, the fact that they're each other's ride-or-die partners for life this season is insane actually i am losing my mind,

#secret life smp #secret life spoilers #zombiecleo #ethoslab #i am MORE A CLEO PERSON THAN AN ETHO ONE OBVIOUSLY #so my read of etho is largely from outside povs a proper ethogirl can probably finish this thought #but do you SEE WHAT I'M GETTING AT.

[sensitiveheartless]

Part 4 of the "Dazai and Chuuya being competitive, mutually pining disasters" comics!

<- (Previous part) (Next part) ->

Most of this one is under the cut because it got LONG

#I'm gonna make at least one more little thing for this because it's eating my brain lol #possibly two because I have a compulsion to resolve literally everything possible #side note: that kid remains convinced that he saw real-life Westley and Buttercup in the grocery store for a long time #...also if I had the hands for it I would redraw this whole thing from the outsider POV because i think it would be hilarious — #man in hat shakes a package of fish around in a silent rage and then sadly puts it down and wanders around looking intensely depressed #until suddenly another guy #very out of breath #runs in and passionately declares his love for hat-man #life in bsd's Yokohama can never be normal #bsd #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #my art #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #skk

[spielzeugkaiser]

This was supposed to be part of a 'Ciri starts to realize that (while it's obvious that Jaskier is in love with Geralt) this is not as one-sided as she thought it was' comic (or like in short, when you find out your dad has two hands) but then I decided to colour that panel and made it separate 🙈 also a Ciri under the cut:

She's going hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geraskier #geraskefer #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #Ciri #there is nothing that I love more than relationship fics from an outsider POV #it doesn't work as well in art sometimes but I looooove it I love it so much #I think from S3 onward - since Jaskier is part of the family - it's not like a big shock especially since she's already an adult #but I think these stories are really sweet with kid Ciri

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 268

Fright Knight sighs, running a clawed hand through his hair in an attempt to stop the flames from flickering into being. It had been far too long since he had taken a human-ish form. His human-ish form. Ugh. He didn’t exactly care for his human form after so long as a ghost, but needs must he supposed. 

Especially with the whole, we’re going to punch a backdoor into the literal daycare part of the Infinite Realms and be surprised when literal toddlers go exploring. 

Well, at least it got him off of guard duty for a bit, which was relieving. Not that he didn’t love the darkness, but it got boring in the shadow of his sword for literal centuries with nothing else happening. He was a warrior for Realm’s sake! Borderline an Ancient in both power and age! He wasn’t meant to stay so still for so long. 

So while ghostling wrangling wasn’t exactly in his area of expertise, he could definitely gather them back up to the Realms. And deal with the curs who had decided to attack literal babies. 

The Daycare area was already understaffed due to just how large it was, and the one in charge of this section had practically sobbed to the Council (In another world they would have been put on hold for a century in line for their concerns, and then more once a Sarcophagus was opened, but they had told the other ghosts in distress, causing others to let them go up in said line) how they were almost certain they had felt at least one core form Outside the realms thanks to the breach. 

Which had understandably put everyone at an uproar. 

So here he was slipping between shadows to do reconnaissance and take stock of if any Ghostlings had left the city. And gently scruffing those he comes across in exasperation because what are you doing, ghostling? Look at the mess, what would your caretaker say? 

#Danny Phantom #Prompts #Fright Knight #Shadow Core Fright Knight #Space Core Danny #Very fae-elf vibes for FK’s human-ish form #POV you’re an Amity Parker & this Tank of a man (being?) appears & grabs the ghost & scolds them like a child #Yes this includes Phantom #FK: Where is your caretaker ghostling? #Phantom (ready to fight & very wrong-footed now): My what #FK: #FK: oh no Sir Yaya was right this ghostling is newly formed- #Ghost Hunters: *Shooting* #FK with an armful of ghostlings: Were it not for the presence of literal infants I would kill you where you stand & #trap you in your worst nightmare for eternity while your body decays around you #Let FK have glowy tattoos i beg of thee #FK returning to the Zone to find another toddler (Vlad) that also formed Outside & also sickly at the Keep: I am going to scream #Accidental Dad Knight #More like the preschool teacher gathering up everyone from a field trip lol #Nightmare has bags on her side to carry the ghostlings in but several won't let go of FK now that they've been shot at again #Kerian “Rian” Fright Knighte: *So close to fighting the humans even with the Rules*

[aftg-rot]

THIS is beautiful, the angst, the pining, the symbolism. Andrew's attention was never on the court, but on the eyes watching the two most important people in his life. Neil's priorities is the court first, then notices Jean eyeing him and his family. Kevin taking no notice of Jean or anything else other than the court - his one and only priority.

#its such an amazing way to highlight the three priorities in the three boys #combined it works so well and probably always will #i just love the three of them from an outsider pov #bc it may always seem to neil that its him and andrew and then kevin #but its really really really not #andrew minyard #kevin day #neil josten #nathaniel wesninski #jean moreau #the sunshine court #the foxhole court #aftg #book #mine

[inamagicalhallucination]

oh wait one more thing

au where atsushi feels very strange around akutagawa so naturally he confides to dazai and dazai reassures him that it's just normal things to feel w/ ur work partner - after all dazai felt this way w/ chuuya in the pm and w/ kunikida in the ada - he even advises atsushi to not change jobs and get a second partner becuz if the two partners meet - the feeling will increase and be very hard to handle

cue atsushi realizing he's in love w/ akutagawa

and then having a breakdown realizing he might be the dazai in his relationship

(dazai in the relationship (derogatory) btw)

#dazai thinks being in love is just partner feelings and not like love #dazai is very smart but also the dumbest character to ever character #atsushi is a little smarter #not barely - like only becuz he's seen dazai pine from an outsider's pov #like if dazai hadn't said he felt it too towards kuni and chuu atsushi would not have noticed #bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs atsushi #bungou stray dogs #shin soukoku #sskk #dazai and atsushi #kunikida fluff #kunikidazai #kunizai #kunichuuzai #kunichuu #bsd skk #skk #dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #pm dazai

[samdeancrimespree]

so i just rewatched 1x06 skin… there are a few things about the scene at the end when sam is tied up and the shifter is having its little villain speech moment that just hit me

so it had Just been wearing Rebecca’s skin to trap him, but then it switches back to dean, ig to freak Sam out or upset him. the shifter says it’s so that dean gets framed for the murder but like girl u could’ve just killed sam when he was unconscious, it would’ve been way easier. and based on that weird convo they had in the sewers, it’s already established that the shifter wants to use dean to hurt him. Also i find it funny how every other murder in the episode is between romantic partners and then the shifter decides to do the same thing to sam and dean. Anyway

and then. the shifter says “i will be sorry to lose this skin. your brother’s got a lot of good qualities. you should appreciate him more.” which Sounds like it’s about deans physical appearance, because i highly doubt the shifter is gonna be upset to lose dean’s trauma-ridden, sam-obsessed brain. which is completely and utterly INSANE to say to someone about their brother. except that the shifter also knows deans thoughts and memories. see where i’m going with this

#im feeling so normal about this #like what am i supposed to gain from this… #wincest #weirdcest #s1 #mars.txt #outside pov #kinda #spn studies #liveblogging from mars

[ofswordsandpens]

If Riordan refuses to let Percy go could he at least write him like he did in the Son of Sobek

#im rereading it and I forget just how perfectly Riordan nailed Percy there #its everything I could want from an outsider's pov of percy #mine #pjo #percy jackson

[fromtheseventhhell]

Imagine being 9 years old and asking your dad about the things you're interested in doing when you grow up and he's like "No ❤️! But you can get married, have babies, and then maybe your sons can do those things ☺️🫶 "

#arya stark #one of those /wtf Ned/ moments #then people act like she invented misogyny cause she was like /uuuhhhhh no thanks that's not me/ #/Arya is masculine/ and she's literally just a child who has interests outside of her patriarchy-assigned role #the way people read this and then demonize Arya for not silently conforming like people expect her to... #that's the ingrained misogyny from being socialized in a patriarchal society speaking babes 😭 #cannot stress enough how Arya is just an average little girl and what makes her behavior stand out is their society's strict gender norms #her life + learning almost entirely revolves around the fact that she is being raised to be a wife and people resent her for wanting more : #she is NINE in AGoT and her parents are discussing her refinement because /In a few years she will be of an age to marry/ #the way misogyny is explored in Arya's story is actually so brilliant and well-written (+ underappreciated) though #we feel the full weight of how restrictive their society is through her POV and get the experiences of lower-class women too #which is why it's so significant that George wrote her based on feminists who realized they wanted more than becoming wives/housewives #she's one of his key characters who will /change the world/ but people think he's sticking her on a boat bc she isn't feminine enough 😭 #thank god he's writing the books and not any of these reductive hacks who thinks misogyny is subversive 🙏🏾 #sidenote: would've loved to see this from her POV to get her feelings when he said this cause I'm sure it doesn't match Ned's perception #considering he views her main issues as being stubborn/difficult while we know about the self-esteem issues she has

[lieutenantism]

i'm currently thinking about how jean loses himself completely to harry. just dissolves entirely. very little sense of identity left outside his partnership with him, which i find so intriguing. i mean, it's the definition of codependency, but that doesn't make it any less interesting (long post, again).

"i won't let my life unravel because of this." is just so insane and melodramatic to me because WHO is that man to you, jean? and why is his alcoholism the reason for your life unraveling? jean takes on harry's drinking problem as a problem of his own, a threat to his life before harry's, even though the drinking doesn't affect harry's ability to do his job, and jean acknowledges that as well as everyone else in the major crimes unit.

but why does he have such a big problem with harry's alcoholism? why's he the only one out of the task force who seems to care obsessively? because the one before him failed to save him, and he feels as though it's his responsibility now. to jean, harry's life is divided to three parts; before him, during him, and tragically, after him.

the fact jean puts himself in the same position as dora, harry's ex, tells you enough. almost as if he considers them to be the same, in terms of responsibility for harry's wellbeing. he's cleaning up her mess, he seems to think. she was way before my time, as though they hold the same significance to harry. of course, this isn't entirely jean's fault. both him and harry share the guilt of their twisted relationship; harry's guilty of getting too personal with anybody within arm's reach.

and jean's guilty for wanting to clean up a mess that he didn't make, and losing sight of himself and his true professional duties in the process. so it goes like this; they partner up, harry's bad at drawing the line between personal and professional relationships and jean's even worse, harry goes on benders every week and jean witnesses them and tries to pull him out of them relentlessly, which then leads to whatever fucked up partnership they had, right before martinaise. the question is why did jean feel the need to save him? because he projected onto him severely.

they're both broken men; mirrors of each other, though jean will never say it out loud. he sees himself in harry, and since he can't save himself and everyone's given up on him, even the professionals, he decides not to give up on harry. in a way, jean's trying to prove to himself that he's not a lost cause through sticking by harry's side through it all, because if even the most lost of causes manages to have at least one person who's there for them at all times, who says he can't have one too? why must he be labelled as the anomaly? if harry du bois could be saved, so can he. he maintains this "i have my shit together, i'm better than you." persona during the entire confrontation, when he isn't. like i said, harry is everything jean works hard in order not to become, yet he still manages to lose his sense of identity while "saving" him and only becomes "harry's partner". that's all he is. nothing but a safety net, there to catch him at all times.

that's why he becomes extremely defensive when you choose the "kim's cooler than you." option, because you're practically robbing him of his identity. throughout the entirety of the game, he keeps repeating: "i'm your partner", to reassure himself more so than anything else, and what the game does here is very clever. you first hear him say that on a call, so distant and away from you; he cannot convince you that he's your partner even if he tried. then, he says it when he's in an idiotic disguise that you didn't recognize, and quite frankly it's making you uncomfortable, it's hard to take him seriously when he looks so stupid so you don't believe him, again. then at last, when he confronts you, and he's himself. then you think it sticks.

but it doesn't, and you dismiss him again to ask about the others. i've always found it perplexing how there's no "how can you be my partner?" option during the confrontation. you can ask about mikael heidelstam for fuck's sake, but not your partner. simply because you don't believe he is, at least not anymore. he's just a very angry man who was in a stupid disguise, and that's all you can ask him about. isn't that so insanely tragic? when you think about how dismissive the "confrontation" is? and jean's lashing out that way because his whole identity is hanging in the balance? no matter what jean tells harry, there's no click, no lightbulb flickering moment, nothing. jean tries everything, it's painful to see, really. the "i didn't lie to you. no one lies to you." and his lines to judit and trant where he's like "i told you, it's typical harry behavior. it's our shitkid." and so on are all attempts to prove that he, jean, knows him, harry, better than anyone else, even himself. he KNOWS him, which is why harry has to need him. he has to keep him. as his partner or whatever the hell it was, because nobody else knows him or will ever get to know him that way.

jean's response to harry telling them "i don't wanna be in your unit." only further proves it. "i'm your partner, i answer for you when you're not there." considering the fact harry and jean had begun to blur ever since their partnership came into being makes the line funnier lol. jean had locked himself up in a prison of his own making, of course with harry giving him all the means necessary to build his own cage beforehand. it was a matter of time and conditioning, and severe loneliness. every crime of harry's feels like one jean is guilty of.

#lav thinks #of course all of this is what the game gives you since its from harry's pov #who knows if jean has a self outside harry #ig we'll never know! #i love you jean. *proceeds to dissect him for the millionth time* i love you. #woahhhhh this is long... enjoy lol #jean vicquemare #disco elysium

[hitlikehammers]

there is a tree as old as me

rating: teen tags: future fic, outside POV, trespassing, established relationship, engaged steddie💍 ✨for @kallisto-k at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: To Build A Home—The Cinematic Orchestra: 'and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust // out in the garden where we planted the seeds // there is a tree as old as me

She catches the trespassers by chance, really.

She’s awake early even for her routine, age doing nothing for the capacity to sleep in on a good day but her hip’s been a trial, and she needs buy a new mattress but Richard’s insistent he can’t bear to sleep on a stone slab, Patricia, good god—she wants to get one of those Select Comforts that splits their settings between two sides as a compromise; he argues those are for lesser mortals, which she’s long learned has evolved in recent years to mean not just that he thinks he’s above something in general, but more now that he thinks he’s better than technological advances.

And Patricia Harrington has standards, certainly, but she can also recognize when

She’s also old enough to remember when ‘new’ was an opportunity to throw her Black Card and gloat a little in the rush of the novelty, the momentary shine until the next new thing appeared to repeat the cycle.

She might be feeling her years, but she doesn’t understand when her husband got so damn old.

At least he’s still savvy enough to the time that they’ve got an airtight security system for the house itself, given the trespassers—more likely would-be-burglars, given the evaluation they’d just paid taxes on for the property—that she spies out the window, hears where she cracked the window in the kitchen to light a cigarette as she brews an early coffee.

Maybe Richard will agree to motion sensors for the yard, if she tells him about these…miscreants.

They’re moving carefully, like they don’t want to be seen, or more likely caught—suspicious, obviously—but they’re also moving like the know where they’re headed, as if they’re familiar with the space they’re traversing even in the pitch dark: even more suspect, really, and she wonders if they’ve cased the home, adds full-property camera surveillance to her list of proposals for reevaluating their security.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to—“ she barely catches the hiss from one of the criminals from across the yard, but it doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last because the second party drags the first close and: the lighting’s horrible, the moon’s crescent at best, but there’s really only one thing to be doing when two bodies press close, and then break apart with a pop she makes out on the breeze and, well. She was young, once.

“Believe it, baby,” the second trespasser rumbles low, and, oh, good god: “we gotta hit all the landmarks.”

They’re men. They’re both of them men and they were just—

“Landmarks?” the first one hisses sharper, this time, and Patricia…she doesn’t care nearly as much as Richard does about what people do in their bedrooms that she personally doesn’t agree with.

But this isn’t anyone’s own bedroom. This is her lawn.

“Of our story,” the second one, he—he—has got such curly hair she likely would have assume it was a very tall women, if it weren’t for the voice; “all our highlights.”

“What, exactly, was—“ the first man, he sounds a little exasperated as he whispers, but…fond. Fond like Patricia hasn’t heard in…well.

A very, very long time, at least.

“Here,” the curly haired fiend traipsing her property stops at a redbud tree Richard had always despised, said it looked tacky, common. Patricia canceled every removal service he’d had whichever secretary he instructed to send.

The second man turns, moves slow toward the tree before reaching, placing a hand on the trunk almost carefully, reverently. There’s something…familiar about him. The shape of his face, the way the the coif of his hair catches in shadow—

“My nanny used to tell me this tree was planted the year I was born, that it grew up with me,” and oh, oh, that’s, he’s—“so that I’d have to eat my vegetables and stuff, if I wanted to see it grow.”

He sounds so nostalgic, so soft at the edges; Patricia doesn’t know if she’s ever heard her son sound like that.

Because that’s who it is; why he seemed familiar even at a distance.

Even if she hasn’t seen or heard from Steven in nearly twenty years.

“And look at you both,” the other man, with the curly hair, he’s holding Steven by his arms, and the motion, the body language is…tender even before she hears the words filter over:

“Big and strong,” the man says, and then he’s cupping Steven’s cheek and Steven leans in so quick, like he trusts deeply, here: “fuckin’ beautiful.”

She can’t see it, not in the dark, but something tells her Steven’s smiling for the words. It makes her feel…uncomfortable.

Because it’s not as if they hadn’t seen it; she doesn’t know where Steven’s moved, where he ended up when he moved out while they were gone, left his key and a simple, terse little note about the furnace needing looked at—she only knows he’s nowhere near here, anymore, and she suspects there are some, like the former police chief and his wife, who know where he went but she never asks. She’s too proud for that.

But the point is: Steven doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore, and likely lives nowhere near Hawkins. But when The Post ran the engagement announcement it had only been implied, she’d never have been able to place is, but: when and S. Harrington and E. Munson announced their happy news in print, in a town that didn’t house people by those initials, even if it still housed residents by those family names?

Well. Patricia had suspicions. And she remembers the Munson boy largely because his hair was an unmistakable mess.

Apparently some things didn’t change.

“This,” the Munson boy, because that’s who it is, that’s who’s still cradling her son so close and so gently: “this was the first place I knew you wanted me.”

Steven’s head, she sees, still tilts just so when he’s baffled.

“What?”

“I knew you loved me like I love you, I knew that way before but you,” and the Munson boy, he pulls his hand across his face like the night isn’t doing the hiding for him. Preposterous, really.

“The urchins were inside, we were going to grab more pop to bring in and you pushed me up against this very tree,” and the boy—man, they’re men, they’ve long been men and Patricia doesn’t want to pry up the implications of how she saw no part of the becoming part of that process with her own eyes—but the man’s voice is so warm, so…smitten.

It should be nauseating. Another thing she doesn’t want to pry at is why it…isn’t. At least not quite.

“Couldn’t wait, you said, couldn’t keep you hands off me,” and he’s turning Steven, walking him back against the tree as he speaks the words, like he’s reenacting something nigh-sacred.

“And I knew that I was out of my mind with wanting you like that, on top of loving you more than fucking life baby, but,” and Munson, she can see the way he breathes in his deep for the heave in the line of his back, and she can see the way he…brushes the line of his nose back and forth against Steven’s.

Who still has her father’s nose.

“You were hard as soon as you pinned me,” and Patricia frowns at the glass, when she hears that; and she barely hears is, in fairness, it’s pitched low even as they think they’re alone which is the least they can do but they are not alone and Patrician does not need to be subjected to—

“And it was like a light switch, or a lightning bolt,” the Munson boy—they’re boys they are still boys—but the Munson boy whispers it, and sounds like he’s wondering at it;

“He loves me,” he breathes, the line of his back breathing so deep again; “and he fucking wants me.”

And no, Patricia does not need to hear that at all, but.

There is a part of her, buried somewhere, who…does miss the idea of wanting. Of being wanted. In the abstract.

“You’re absurd,” Steven snorts and oh; oh, she remembers that tone, that testy little snark that always riled Richard enough that he’d largely stomped it out of the boy but oh: Patricia did love when Steven failed to rein it in.

Because it always reminded her that Steven was her son.

She doesn’t intend to start rubbing at her chest, but it…it feels kind of tight, there, just now.

It aches, there. Just now.

“I love you,” and Steven’s voice, she’s never heard him speak with that much feeling, and it’s difficult not to…to react to even just overhearing, to eavesdropping, though in fairness: it is, again, her property.

“And I want you,” Steven leans in, and kisses at Munson’s cheek with such affection, a devotion that’s obvious, near-blinding even in the dark; “just as much now as then,” and then Steven, Steven—

He laughs.

He laughs and it’s such a light and carefree sound and it’s so foreign to Patricia’s ears that it almost makes her anxious, or something of the like.

“But then so much more, baby,” and the warmth in those words: those are foreign too.

Those feel strange to hear, not least in Steven’s voice which…

She thinks she may not have recognized, if the first thing she hear were these words, in this tone.

She’s not wholly sure how to sit with that suspicion.

“Ten days,” the Munson boy’s hands go to Steven’s hips and he rocks them back and forth a bounce in the motion, a levity.

“Ten days,” and Steven…no.

No: she would not have recognized that voice.

She would not have known her son.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” the Munson boy whispers, Patricia only hears because she’s trying to, now, she…she wants to even if it hurts unexpectedly, the tightness under her hand in her chest a pain, now, a small little stab when this man cups her son’s cheeks, cradles him so careful and so…so loving, undeniable even like this, and says what she suspected from that notice in the paper.

Steven is getting married. Steven is getting married and he is proud enough to flaunt it in a town who could never prove it, where he no longer has tied; to a a partner who is proud enough to do the same just as brazen, and she doesn’t know if she’s proud or put-off, but she does know here, now—

Steven is in love. And he is loved deeply in kind. And the person who loves him sounds in awe at the idea of pledging forever not as a contract, but maybe more as a privilege.

She wasn’t paying attention for a strand of seconds as she acknowledged this, and decided ultimately to stop trying to do anything deeper than just that.

But she sees them pull apart; they’d been kissing the entire time she’d been thinking it through.

She isn’t even interested in acknowledging the…niggling little feeling of that kind of prolonged affection, let alone the way they reach for each other, steady each other in the coming apart, as if they have no desire to wholly come apart.

The idea of trusting another pair of hands like it looks as if they do, in the dim of these early hours, is…another foreign thing.

“Okay, okay,” the Munson boy laughs, no, giggles; “let’s get out of here before the owners notice.”

And he turns, would meet her eyes if he could see her; she knows he can’t, knows she’s standing just beyond the capacity to be caught and how absurd, caught inside her own house.

But then he’s turned away again; the house, and whatever it holds, far less compelling than the man at his side.

“Wayne’s place?” Steven’s asking and the Munson boy grabs his hand, lifts it to his mouth.

“Yeah,” the Munson boy says so low, so soft and sweet; “we can hit some more landmarks before that bagel joint he likes opens, we can take him breakfast.”

“More landmarks?” Steven sounds baffled, but so very fond and his partner doesn’t let go of his hand once, reels him in to peck his cheek.

“Of course, sweetheart,” the Munson boy nearly…purrs, how ridiculous; “so many. Because we’ve got one hell of a story.”

But ridiculous or no: the moon shifts out from the clouds as they make to scamper off the lawn and Patricia sees her son’s face for the first time in decades, now, and oh.

Oh: she’s never seen him smile like that. Not…not once.

She turns away, because the sting in her chest burns behind her eyes, a little; because the joy on Steven’s face is…

It feels private; like something she’s not meant to see.

She goes to pour herself the coffee she’d largely forgotten, and, well.

She’s still going to talk to Richard about security, but maybe…

Maybe not just now.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #soft #outsider POV #established relationship #engaged steddie #idiots in love #romantic fluff #(for steddie) #wistfulness bordering on regret #(but not quite) #for the estranged-mother!harrington #patricia harrington has not seen or heard from her son in 20 years #and now he appears to be trespassing on her lawn with the man he took an engagement announcement out with in the hawkins post #as the RIDICULOUSLY IN LOVE ARE PRONE TO DO ofc #hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest #stranger things #gift fic #kallisto-k

[starflungwaddledee]

*caassssuuuaallly slides into your inbox* hey. hi hello 😎

im here for those sweet ol song asks, wanna share any you have for Starstruck and J??

do i have any, well i-- *drops a half dozen mean girlboss tracks all over the place* oh uhhh--

something in the way you're looking through my eyes don't know if i'm gonna make it out alive teeth - five seconds of summer

#asks #my art #starstruck dee #others ocs #can i just... can i tag it... i think i can... -> #🎀💖 #music #anyway i know this track is a SUPER cliche choice but i do love it for any and all teeth havers #outside of fandom i've always been a bit of a girlboss aficionado so i do have somewhere about a thousand songs for this vibe #though... through working on this i actually realised most of the best ones are from the pov of the girlboss #maybe i was a little overconfident waa 😭💦 #ANYWAY!! please perceive some evil hero and her stolen wawa. something happened there and you hope it was a miracle etc #also just to clarify i am not taking song prompts for other folk's ocs right now; i did this one in specific as a gift for moonverc3x! #the like... the whiplash between these two song answers 😂 #bandee's: joyful! cute! sweet! the delight of being together!! sunny day! // j's: teeth. claws. alarm sirens going off in the distance.

[wastefulreverie]

“no one has brown eyes in amity park”

The DMV just outside of Amity Park was a small, red-bricked building with poor air conditioning and a waiting room full of broken chairs. Eva stood by the wall, stiff, waiting with her uncle for the results of her driver's permit test. After almost twenty minutes, the woman at the counter called her name and she followed her uncle with bated breath.

Oh God, what if she didn't pass? Then she would have to wait and take it again and she wouldn't be able to get her license when she turned sixteen and she'd be the last of the A-Listers to drive and—!

"You passed," the woman said. "You were one point from failing."

Her uncle clapped her on the back. "See, I told you it would be fine."

The woman at the counter began entering in more information into the computer, having her sign a few papers here and there. She paused on the question about organ donation—sending a pang through her heart. It hadn’t been more than three months since her mom passed. Died on the list for a new liver.

Her uncle’s eyes softened in understanding. “Eva, you don’t have to—”

“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

The rest of the questions were standard.

"Height?"

"Five-four."

"Weight?"

"One-hundred fifty."

"Eye color?"

"Brown."

The woman stopped typing and looked up from the screen. She met Eva’s gaze with her own light teal eyes.

"Pardon?"

"I have brown eyes?"

"What, so you wear colored contacts?"

"Uh, no. My natural eyes are brown. The most common eye color?"

The woman blinked a few times before turning back to the keyboard. She squinted at the screen, a little put off.

"How strange," she murmured. "Brown eyes."

Later, she left the DMV with a temporary paper driver's permit in her wallet. Her hair was frizzier than she'd like because of the heat and her pupils were constricted from the camera flash, almost lost to her caramel-colored irises.

—

Her uncle needed his eyes dilated. She couldn’t remember what for, but she was more than eager to get more experience behind the wheel.

She found a chair near the corner of the waiting room and settled down with her phone.

One of the optometrists walked through the waiting room and stopped in front of her. His brow furrowed in confusion.

Had something gone wrong with the dilation? How did someone mess that up?

“Um,” he said, “I couldn’t help but notice your eyes.”

She raised a brow. “Aren’t you an eye doctor?”

“Yes. Well, I mean—” he stopped “—I noticed your eye color. It’s peculiar. Is it real?”

“You’re asking if my brown eyes are real?” she said slowly. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten a comment like that in Amity Park and it was starting to weird her out. No one in her old town had spared a second thought about her eyes. “Yeah. They’re real.”

He paled. “I’m sorry if that was a rude question. I just, I’ve been working here for almost two decades now. I don’t see many people with brown eyes.”

“How’s that? It’s the most common eye color.”

His lips formed a straight line. “Maybe outside. Amity Park is different, though. I had a patient eight—maybe nine—years ago. He moved here from Vermont. His eyes were brown too, the first time he came in for an appointment. I saw him a year after that, and his eyes had faded to hazel green.”

“And this was an adult?”

He nodded. “The strangest part was that he didn’t remember. Insisted his eyes had always been hazel green. Spooked out all of us.”

“I just moved here a few months ago,” she admitted, a little shaken. “That won’t happen to me, will it?”

The optometrist shrugged. “Stranger things have happened in Amity Park.”

His phone went off and he fumbled for it, swearing.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

He ran out of the waiting room, giving Eva far more than she would like to think about.

—

On the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Eva’s uncle let her drive them both to the DMV. They got breakfast on the way there, sharing fast food breakfast sandwiches in the parking lot.

When it came to the actual driving test, she passed with flying colors. She adjusted her mirrors and her seat, buckled up, drove a circle around the DMV, checked her blind spot before she merged lanes, and showed the instructor she could parallel park.

When she went inside to officialize her license—her actual, full-fledged driver’s license!—the woman at the counter confirmed all her information. She’d gained an inch in the past half-year and she insisted she was still the same weight, even though she was a good five pounds heavier. Although, what confused her was her eye color.

She frowned at the “BRN” stamped on her permit.

“My eyes are green, though.”

The woman at the counter hummed. “Must be an error. I’ll change it.”

“Hm. Yeah,” Eva eyed her photo from her learner’s permit on the counter, bright green eyes and all, “don’t know how I didn’t notice it before.”

#Danny Phantom #look i don't remember the order of things when i got my license so it's probably wrong #had the idea the other day at work that rather bc b*tch h*rtman hating brown eyed people that its just supernatural stuff #amity park is a weird fucking town #my idea that i could have expanded on more is that people from the outside cant see ghosts but the longer you stay you CAN see ghosts #and as a result your eye color changes if you have brown eyes. sometimes to purple. or green or blue #and i know there are a few rare brown eyed characters in DP and I raise A) theyre newcomers or B) wearing colored contacts #thats it thats my headcanon enjoy this mess #outsider POV #fanfiction #Danny Phantom fanfiction #phicc #phic #wrwritings