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#outsider pov
beatleskinkmeme · 13 hours
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Pov the CIA agent listening in to John and Paul's transatlantic calls
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sp0o0kylights · 8 months
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Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 
A03
Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 
Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 
Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 
More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 
 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.
Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 
Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 
He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 
(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 
He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 
"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 
Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.
Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 
Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."
"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.
"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 
Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 
Would Harrington pitch a fit? 
Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 
Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 
Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 
Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 
Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.
"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 
Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 
"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  
"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.
The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 
"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.
He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 
"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 
A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 
How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…
He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 
"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 
He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 
There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 
Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 
Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."
Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 
The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."
'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'
Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."
"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 
He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 
He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.
 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 
"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."
Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.
Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 
A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.
(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)
A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.
"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.
No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.
Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 
He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 
Several somethings, in fact. 
"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 
"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 
Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 
An unfair advantage, really. 
‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 
Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.
"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 
Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.
Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 
"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 
Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.
 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 
"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 
It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.
Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 
Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 
Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.
"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 
"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"
Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 
He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 
"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 
"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 
Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 
"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 
Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 
"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 
"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.
Judged.
Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 
Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 
"Anybody else?" He asked. 
"Nobody human." Steve replied. 
"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 
He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.
"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 
Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 
He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 
The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 
With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 
All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 
Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 
The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 
Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 
"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.
Steve blinked. "Uh…" 
"You take any today son?" 
Steve his head. 
"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 
Course he hadn't. 
"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.
Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 
He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 
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weaponizedducks · 2 months
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imagine what the ealdor villagers must have thought of merlin. when he lived there they thought he was a bit odd, probably accident prone, on the outside, bit of a funny guy. he had exactly one friend. all of a sudden he leaves to go to fucking camelot of all places. why? stfu we don't need a why. they think nothing of it and forget about him.
IMAGINE THEIR REACTION WHEN HE RANDOMLY SHOWS UP WITH THE FUCKING PRINCE OF CAMELOT, THEIR ENEMY, FOLLOWING HIM LIKE A LOST PUPPY. I WOULD BE SHOCKED OUT OF MY FUCKING SKIN IF A LITTLE WEIRDO REAPPEARED HAVING BAGGED A PRINCE. NO WONDER WILL WAS SUSPICIOUS. WHY IS AN ENEMY PRINCE HERE. WHY IS HE HARDCORE FLIRTING WITH MY BESTIE. WHY IS HE SO WHIPPED.
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starryeyedjanai · 5 months
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@eddiemonth prompt: first concert | read on ao3
The first concert of Corroded Coffin's that Steve goes to, Eddie's a nervous wreck beforehand.
His hands are sweaty and he's wringing them as he paces outside after they get their equipment inside.
Jeff takes one look at him and sighs.
He knows how Eddie feels about Steve and he knows how important it is that they make a good impression on him. He might not understand the whole Steve thing, but he gets having a crush on someone unattainable.
Well-
When Eddie first told him about it, he thought it was just an unattainable little crush. Just something that happened because they got close after the earthquake. Steve was a new friend, someone Eddie hadn't known long enough to get used to, and he's - Jeff's not going to pretend he isn't attractive.
So he understood it, kind of. And the thought that the crush would fade once Eddie knew him for longer.
But Steve hanging around them, making an effort to get to know Jeff and Grant and Gareth, being nice to Jeff's mom- that had Jeff pausing and taking another look at the situation.
Because Steve didn't have to do any of that. He could hang out with Eddie, maybe the one freak he could tolerate, and call it a day.
But he was trying, and he was being better than he was in high school. Which, if anyone asks, Jeff would say he actually wasn't all that bad in high school compared to the others.
So Jeff looked a little more closely.
And saw the way Steve looks at Eddie, his eyes tracking him as he crosses the room. He saw the way Steve laughed at all of Eddie's jokes, even the ones he didn't understand. He saw the way Steve was always looking for an excuse to touch Eddie, putting a hand on his arm, putting a hand on his back, his arm around him, hugging him at the end of the night and the hugs lasting longer than any hug Jeff's ever had with a buddy.
He saw that and saw that this isn't a passing fancy for Eddie. He saw the way Eddie leaned into Steve unconsciously, the way he always looks for him first when entering a room, the way he lights up when he sees him. He saw the way Eddie seemed to like him more and more, and subsequently talk about him more and more, the more he got to know him.
So it wasn't just a crush.
And it wasn't unrequited like Eddie thought.
But now Jeff is watching him pace a hole in the ground and he can't exactly tell Eddie that he's 99% sure that Steve feels the same because 1. he wouldn't believe him and 2. that 1% of doubt is enough to deter him. This isn't something he can be wrong about. Even if feels mostly sure, he wouldn't ever say that he should go for it when it could turn ugly for him. This isn't a crush on some girl where the worst that could happen is that she says no.
So, for now, Jeff watches.
And Jeff hopes.
He hopes that they'll be able to see it for themselves. That Eddie will catch the way Steve looks at him and realize that it's the same way he looks at Steve.
He hopes that Steve will make a move, put those rumors of his suaveness to good use and woo Eddie.
He heads inside when he sees Gareth talking to Eddie, trying to calm him down.
He sees Steve and Robin, talking at a table near the front of the venue, and he makes a beeline for them.
"Jeff!" Steve says, smiling at him when he sees him coming over. He waves at both of them.
"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?" he asks and when Steve furrows his brow and nods, he leads him away from Robin.
"What's going on?" Steve asks, looking worried.
He says, "Just, Eddie's really nervous about performing in front of you tonight. So, like, even if we suck or you don't like this kind of music, can you not say you didn't like it? Not that I think you'd be mean about it, but like-"
Steve looks at him confused. "I've listened to your tapes before. I like your music. I wouldn't- okay, I mean I'd still be here even if I didn't like it, but I do like it. Wait- why's Eddie nervous?" he asks. And Jeff hadn't planned on Steve asking that. Shit.
He says, "Because you're his coolest friend and he doesn't want to screw up in front of you."
Steve's expression softens. "I'm not- you know what? Okay. If it makes you feel better, I won't say I didn't like it."
"Okay," Jeff says, nodding, relieved. "And don't, like, mention I said anything."
"'Course," Steve says with a smile. "You're a good friend, Jeff."
Jeff grins at him and walks him back to his table. That 1% is looking awfully less and less with every conversation Jeff has with Steve.
The manager waves him over and tells them they can start setting up on stage, so he goes to get the others.
-
The show is good, once Eddie snaps out of his nerves.
It's actually impressive, seeing him with shaky hands as they get ready to start and then seeing him turn it on seamlessly like he was never nervous in the first place.
They play and Jeff watches the way Eddie keeps looking at Steve, keeps looking to make sure he looks like he's enjoying himself.
And Jeff sees Steve smiling the entire time, singing along to the cover songs they do and also to one of their original songs.
At the end of the night, after they get their stuff back in their van, he sees Eddie and Steve talking, standing close, one of Steve's hands playing with the hem of Eddie's shirt.
And he knows they'll get there eventually, even without his help.
They'll find their way to each other and see what Jeff sees.
He's sure of it.
As he gets in the driver's seat and looks over at Grant, he can only hope he'll get that too one day.
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tboygareth · 5 months
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rest
for @steddiemicrofic | written for rest | wc: #387 | rated: t | cw: none
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They both deserve the rest.
Those boys have had such a rough go of things these past few months and now that Eddie’s out of the hospital, they deserve this. 
Wayne feels like he should be taking a picture. He also feels like he should be averting his gaze, intruding on something quiet and intimate, something that’s none of his business.
He gets home earlier than he used to, these days. He gets home sometimes and Eddie’s awake, dark circles under his eyes from the nightmares and insomnia, a mug of coffee clutched in his hand that’s long since gone cold. He gets home sometimes and Eddie’s sprawled on the couch, brows furrowed, sawing logs like the snoring is just the weapon he needs to battle the monsters in his dreams.
And sometimes, Wayne gets home to find Eddie like this: in his bed, curled in on himself in the fetal position with Steve Harrington wrapped around his back. It’s nights like this where Eddie looks well and truly at peace. He looks like he’s never had to fight any monsters, like the only thing he cares about is the warm body pressed to his own, the big hand pressed to his chest as if to monitor the beating of Eddie’s heart.
During the day, when Harrington comes by the trailer and Wayne sees him awake, well… Steve Harrington looks as though he’s having just as hard a time sleeping as Eddie. He looks half dead on his feet, eyelids drooping, jumpy whenever the door creaks on its hinges or a dog barks too loud.
He doesn’t complain, though. Wayne’s never heard him utter a word about how exhausted he is, never once heard him bitch and moan about the work they’ve all been putting in to get the new trailer resembling something like a home for Eddie and Wayne.
Oh, and the way Eddie looks at Harrington sometimes… Wayne would be worried, frankly, if Harrington weren’t so busy lookin’ right back at Eddie the same way.
Wayne can give Harrington whatever shovel talk he deserves… later. After the dust has well and truly settled and those boys figure out what they are to each other. Wayne can have a sit-down with Harrington then.
And until that day comes, those boys deserve a safe place to rest.
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bc you've both gotten on my case for not tagging you in everything i write: @steves-strapcollection, @patchworkgargoyle
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xxbottlecapx · 5 months
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Outsider POV Steddie fic that came to me in a fever dream
Gareth notices the exact second Eddie realizes he is in love with Steve Harrington. 
Honestly, Gareth would have been very off putted by the idea of Steve being in their group, especially after whatever shit went down during the earthquake and manhunt that gave Eddie his scars, if not for the fact that every single time Gareth went to visit Eddie in the hospital, Steve was standing vigil at his door. 
Any hesitancy about Steve being a good person quickly plummeted after he watched Steve get in not one, not two, not three, but four fistfights with civilians dead set on breaking into a comatose Eddie’s room to “finish him off” even though, Gareth would come to find, Steve had some pretty severe stomach wounds as well.  
And now Gareth’s friend group included Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington, and of course the new gaggle of hellfire teenager recruits. Eddie, Jeff, Grant, and Gareth have always been rather solitary due to their status as outcasts, and now they had two absolutely terrifying jocks on their team. It was a bit surreal, and their friend group’s number was in the double digits. 
Of course, a lot has changed. 
Eddie had to use arm crutches now. Gareth wasn’t sure if they were permanent or if he would be able to walk without them with enough physical therapy. He had a large scar on his cheek too, and he was always absolutely terrified, even on the good days. It was just something in his eyes, always panicked, like he would get attacked at any time. If Gareth had been in his shoes, he would be the same way, so Gareth doesn’t judge him for it. 
That’s another reason why Gareth paid so close attention to Eddie’s… feelings… regarding former jock King Steve. Eddie was always more comfortable around Steve, like Steve’s presence soothed something in him that no one else could. 
Eddie never said he liked men. Even with the outcasts, that wasn’t necessarily a safe thing to talk about. Gareth knew something about secrets that could get you killed, though, as an intersex person himself. So he knew. Had figured it out rather quickly, back in seventh grade, and had subsequently laughed his ass off in private when he realized Eddie, for all his preaching about conformity, had a thing for jocks. 
Steve was different, though, than most of the jocks Eddie had feelings for. Eddie didn’t antagonize Steve, at least not in a way Steve didn’t not-so secretly like. Steve didn’t harass Eddie either, didn’t spew hatred at him the way other jocks tended to. Gareth had honestly thought that Eddie liking jocks who treated him like dirt was going to give him a complex or something.  Maybe it had. But Steve didn’t give into that stereotype. Steve treated Eddie softly, more so than anyone else ever had, and Gareth was pretty sure that even the clueless folk in the party were aware of that softness. Eddie needed it, especially now, when he always looked two seconds away from jumping in front of a moving vehicle just for some peace and quiet. 
When Gareth first met Eddie, he nicknamed him Twitchy, because Eddie was always nervous, shaky, he flinched at everything. When his hair grew out, he got better, and eventually the name faded. The urge was back now, but Gareth only ever gave into it in private. Their own little joke. 
It’s how he bonded with Robin, actually, who he found had nicknamed Steve Tiny, despite them being the same size. Tiny and Twitchy. Dynamic duo. 
For all Gareth’s talk about Eddie being in love with Steve, he was aware of the fact that Eddie didn’t know yet. 
Especially after the earthquake, Eddie wasn’t in touch with his emotions. He never had been, Gareth doesn’t think, but it was definitely worse now. There were things Gareth didn’t know, but he had watched Steve calm Eddie down from night terrors and random daytime flashbacks enough that he wouldn’t ask unless Eddie wanted to talk about it, and Gareth was pretty sure there was something stopping him. 
It was good for everyone to get out of Hawkins, especially with all the relief efforts. It could get exhausting to be around that much destruction, even if life was back to some form of semi-normalcy. That’s why when Robin had heard about a carnival a few towns over, all the proceeds meant to help with Hawkins’ hospital, they all decided they could take a day to go, kids included since most of their schoolwork as of current came from a packet that they turned in at the end of the week. 
It was a fun day, all in all. Sure, they were a bit limited on what they could do considering Eddie’s forearm crutches and Max’s wheelchair (Gareth didn’t know there would ever come a day where he would understand the people that hate gopher holes), but being out in the open air seemed to calm everyone’s constantly frazzled nerves, at least that’s what Gareth thought. 
It was unanimously decided that they wouldn’t stay after dark. Gareth knew he had it easy compared to some of the others in the group, but even he had nightmares about when Jason’s goons held him down and tried to break his hand. He did sprain two of Gareth’s fingers, but luckily they healed quickly. Gareth’s watched multiple of their new group members have meltdowns over flickering lights, which are much easier to notice at night. The dark wasn’t safe for any of them, some people still convinced Eddie was a murderer despite the official story of Henry Creel. Gareth says official because despite not knowing what actually happened, he remembers all of Eddie’s rants about not trusting the government, he’s seen the scars and the nightmares, and he knows it’s all dog water.
The sun was just starting to inch its way past the horizon, purple and orange splayed across the sky like ribbons, as they came upon their last activity. 
Face painting. 
Robin and Max had spent more than half the day trying to convince Steve to get matching flowers with them. Eventually, despite Gareth’s discomfort of the idea, he said he’d do it too, which led to the entire group (except Mike) agreeing to it. 
Steve was by far the most nervous of the bunch about the paint. Gareth liked Steve, with both his masculine and feminine traits. Gareth had always been too scared to be feminine, afraid that someone would figure him out. Gareth looked up to Steve in that way. He didn’t think Steve was aware of his more ‘feminine’ traits, and he’s sure if he pointed it out, it would make Steve stop, so he never did. It’s like Steve gravitated towards those things despite thinking he shouldn’t. Gareth respected the contrast of a guy who could pummel a man twice his height that also liked wearing lipgloss. 
Steve went last to get his face painted, the rest of the group roughhousing to the side. Jeff had Mike in a headlock, for whatever reason, and Max and Erica were urging them on, whisper-yelling fight fight fight as to not startle Steve. 
Robin was comforting Steve as the woman at the booth readied her supplies. She was going to mimic what she had done on Robin, a cute yet simple pink and yellow floral design on her cheekbones and crawling up the side of her eye. 
It became apparent pretty quickly that Steve’s nerves were on high alert. Maybe it was the kids, or just the remembrance of night’s oncoming torrent. Steve kept flinching away from the wet brush, though the wonderful lady manning the booth didn’t seem upset. She kept talking gently, her locs held together in a large bun, some paint on her face and quite a lot of paint in her hair. Gareth didn’t know how she had the patience. 
Gareth couldn’t hear what was being said, but Robin kept talking, her hand in Steve’s. She got him into a heated conversation, confusing the fuck out of Gareth, before he realized she was trying to distract him. As Robin ranted, Steve arguing occasionally, the woman running the stand began to slowly paint the side of Steve’s face. 
The woman finally finished, moving her colorful hands in a flourish, and Steve thanked her, albeit with a slightly red face when he figured out what was happening. 
Robin says something else as Steve gets out of the tiny purple chair set out for him and Steve throws his head back in laughter, the bright drawing on the side of his smiling face visible to Gareth. Gareth looks to his side to say something to Eddie, probably a mindless joke of some sort, and 
Oh, 
There it was. 
Eddie was looking at Steve like he had been punched in the gut, as though all the air had been ripped from him. Like Steve was the most beautiful thing in the world and just looking at him hurt. His hands were clutching his crutches so tightly his fists were turning white. Eddie’s mouth just barely hung open, as though he had forgotten to close it or just wasn’t aware enough of his body to do so, his wide eyes dilated in a way that would have made Gareth think he was on something if not for the fact that Eddie hasn’t even touched pot since he got out of the hospital. 
There was so much devotion in that look that it would have startled Gareth if he didn’t already know. 
Thank God no one else was watching, because Gareth knew everyone would figure it out in seconds if they saw the look on Eddie’s face right now. There was no denying it. 
Steve laughs again at something Robin said, and Eddie audibly gulps. 
Well, he’s finally figured it out, then, Gareth thinks. 
“Close your mouth.” Gareth whispers, bumping Eddie’s side as Robin and Steve wave to the artist and start walking towards them. It snaps Eddie out of the Steve-imposed trance, and he visibly shakes himself off, as though Steve’s impression on him had to be dealt away with by force. It would have been cute to see Eddie blushing so if it wasn’t also terrifying, Eddie’s eyes widening in horror now as he, upon just realizing he was probably in love with Steve, is also realizing that Gareth saw it. 
“It’s okay. I know. You’re okay.” Gareth whispered again, just so Eddie could hear. He put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, partially to stop him from trying to get away and partially because he knew touch comforted him.
 They would have to have a conversation about it later so that Eddie wasn’t scared Gareth would tell anyone. By not moving away from him, Gareth hoped he was able to make his message clear that Gareth was not judging. He had no reason to judge, especially considering his budding crush on Will Byers. 
Gareth sighed, trying to give Eddie an encouraging look that, luckily, did seem to calm him down a little, a shaky grimace making its way back to him.
Now all Gareth needed to do was find out how to tell Eddie that he was pretty sure Steve liked him back. 
Yes this is based off of that one Anne With an E scene. 
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brothersinablackcar · 11 months
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I tried to pull you out But you built this bed to rot Look at this hell you've caused And you'll blame yourself ‘cause It's all your fault  
~Ethel Cain, ‘Antlers’  (’Late Night at the Byway Motel’, for my darling @ashtraythief for the spnspringfling 2023. Outsider POV, just a lil’ bit...)
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imfinereallyy · 7 months
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Passengers
It took Robin three years to get her license. Which all things considered, the twice apocalyptic experiences, and, ya know, being poor, wasn’t too bad in her opinion.
20 was as good as any age to get behind the wheel of a vehicle.
Okay, if she was honest with herself, really honest, maybe her calculations were off. It wasn’t three years exactly. She could have gotten her license at 16; hell, she could have gotten her permit at 15. So it quite honestly had taken four, five years max to get her license.
But the first two years didn’t count to Robin.
She didn’t even give a thought to driving until she was 17, and Steve was driving her every day without question. She hadn’t thought about it until Steve threw his keys at her, telling her to drive, that Robin realized he was driving her every day because he wanted to, not because she was a license-less loser.
It cracked Robin open when she finally had time to think about it. After all the blood, and gore, and almost losing Steve several times, it hit her that this dingus really wanted her by his side.
So, Steve was really to blame if she ever got into a car accident. Sure, he didn’t push her to get behind the metal contraption, but Robin wanted to pay him back somehow, for all the rides and love over the years.
That was how now, Robin was seething in regret as she drove the rest of the way home, in the dark, from their road trip.
See, when Robin had pictured them doing things like this, it had just been the two of them. Steve in the passenger seat, arguing over music and the best car snacks. Windows down, yelling about who fucking cares, and just laughing their way through different states.
Robin hadn’t taken into account there might be other people involved in her bestie road trip fantasies. No, instead, it wasn’t the terrible two, platonic soulmate extravaganza she pictured. Instead it now involved them, Steve’s ex-turned-best friend, whom Robin had a horrible crush on, Nancy Wheeler, and a sweet metalhead who Robin saw as a brother, and Steve had a huge soul-consuming crush on Eddie Munson.
Robin begrudgingly would admit the additional two had made the trip better, so she didn’t have too many complaints. Actually, in reality, Robin only had one big hang-up about the whole thing.
Steve was in the back seat.
Which would have been fine if Robin had been there too, but she wasn’t. It was her stupid turn to drive in the home stretch of their way home. Instead, Robin had Nancy beside her. Which should have brought her joy but instead made her nervous and clammy and not at all suited to be behind the wheel of the death contraption they called a car. Plus, Nancy was asleep.
Her snores were pretty cute though.
Robin seethed silently; it was Eddie’s fault. He positively insisted on sitting with Steve in the back. Something which Robin would normally tease the both of them for, the oblivious idiots that they were, but Robin was a possessive little creature. It was a trait of hers she tried to bury deep down. She knew people didn’t like that; they didn’t like when people clung. Didn’t like that she felt like baring her teeth, even sometimes wanted to actually bite at people who tried to pry her people away from her.
It was funny, really; the only person who understood that part of her was Steve himself, which made her possessive side come out even more. Like seeks like, and crazy seeks crazy.
God, if she was every lucky enough to get a girlfriend, she was screwed.
Robin had resisted looking in the review mirror for twenty minutes. Probably not safe, but driving angrily wasn’t either, and if she saw the two of them giggling like school girls, she was gonna flip the car.
But Robin was never good at resisting temptation. She was most definitely the child who would touch the plate after someone told her it was too hot. So Robin took a glance, shoulders tense and mouth dry, and saw—
Well, shit. Robin melted. There in the back seat with their heads leaned against each other were Steve and Eddie, sound asleep.
The edges of Robin softened; she remembered Steve pinching his nose earlier, eyes squinting on his turn to drive. She had been in the passenger seat then. She had wanted to ask but instead said nothing, knowing he would wave her off. So she claimed her turn to drive, and then Eddie had been insistent that Steve come in the back with him and—
Robin was getting it now. Although Eddie had a big fat gay crush on Steve. That wasn’t why he wanted to be with Steve in the back. He had noticed, too. The edges of sleep deprivation creeping slowly into an oncoming migraine for Steve. Eddie had seen Steve pushing himself, and somehow also knew that if Steve stayed in the front, he would feel obligated to stay awake.
Robin hadn’t realized that, Eddie didn’t just want Steve; he paid attention to him. Eddie noticed Steve the way Robin noticed him.
Robin spared another glance at the two of them, wrapped around each other like vines snaking up an old oak tree. The last of her anger seemed to fade away. Even after all this time, none of them got a lot of sleep. Steve, most of all, seemed to run on fumes. Robin knew he couldn’t sleep soundly alone, but also couldn’t fall asleep around just anyone. For a long time, Robin had been his only cure for his insomnia. Steve never dared to fall asleep in front of strangers, afraid he’d scare them with his screams.
But here Steve was, in the arms of the man that he loves, not a single worry line on his face as he slept the rest of the trip away.
Robin knew, with certainty, Steve felt safe.
And because of that, Robin thought wistfully to herself, if Eddie Munson ever wants a turn at being a passenger, she wouldn’t mind taking the wheel for him, too.
***
a short lil thing to get me back in my writing grove. Is inspired by a friend of mine who is in her 20s and doesn’t drive. It’s totally okay and everyone moves at their own pace! And also I’m definitely a person who likes to drive others around as a sign of love (I am Steve coded I am beginning to realize)
Sorry if this isn’t any good, or seems rushed. Writers block is a bitch.
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whereonceiwasfire · 3 months
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If you're game to write a cheese melt (Vlad & Dani father-daughter dynamic) ficlet, I'd love to read one. If not, that's cool :)
*vibrating with excitement* My friend. Your cheese melt art has been living rent free in my head for WEEKS. It's my sincerest pleasure to write a ficlet for this. I hope it's okay that it's an outsider POV, I just had an idea and my brain went brrrrrrr LOL
May I offer you a dysfunctional parent-teacher interview?
Parent-teacher interviews are always a nightmare, but there's one in particular that’s making Amity Middle School’s beloved Ms. Burnell sweat through her shirt. As the time slot nears, her gaze keeps flickering to the clock, her classroom door, back to her nervously interlaced fingers on the desktop.
It’s going to be fine. Perfectly fine.
“This one! Over here! Dad! This is my class!” The excited words, shouted in the syrupy sweet voice of a little girl, sets every nerve on edge, Ms. Burnell’s heart plummeting straight into the pit of her stomach.
Oh lord. Maybe it’s not going to be fine. 
Her student comes bounding into the classroom, eyes bright and excited, oversized blue sweater sleeves slipping over her hands, even as she gestures emphatically for her father to follow. Black hair spills out of her ponytail, whipping across her face as she throws herself into a desk across from Ms. Burnell’s with a bright smile. 
Her father, on the other hand… 
The heel of his expensive Italian loafers strike against the linoleum as the man stops at the threshold of the classroom, cool gaze doing an assessing sweep of the space, expression crinkling in distaste as it does. He doesn’t say a single word, doesn’t make any move to actually step inside the classroom. 
Ms. Burnell is the one who clears her throat, pushing to an awkward stand as she extends a hand out to the man. 
“Hello, Mr. Masters. Thank you for making the time to come discuss your daughter’s education. I know you’re very busy.” 
The man’s eyes slip to her outstretched palm, and for a motifying second, she doesn’t think he’s going to take it. When he finally does, he just gives a brief, cursory shake before swiping his palm off on his suit jacket and striding past her toward his daughter. 
Ms. Burnell’s face is all kinds of warm, chest tight with embarassment as she fumbles back to her desk, trying to wrestle herself back into some kind of composure. Still, she barely looks up as she pulls out a folder with Danielle Masters scrawled across the tab.
“Dad! Dad! That one’s mine! Do you see it? Do you like it?” Danielle calls proudly, tugging on her father’s suit sleeve and pointing toward the paintings that are spread out beneath the windows to dry, paper wavy and crinkled.
“Oh, er. That’s actually a good place for us to start,” Ms. Burnell cuts in apologetically. 
Mr. Masters gaze snaps from where he’d been examining his daughter’s project, over to her, brows dropped low. 
“Why? Is there a problem with my daughter’s work?” The question is sharp, accusatory, and she’s pretty sure her soul shrivels up a little bit at the unguarded disdain in the man’s eyes.
Swallowing hard, sweat beading against the back of her neck, Ms. Burnell resists the urge to immediately take it back. Surely he can see the problem with the piece—isn’t going to make her say it? 
It's too scary.
When his challenging gaze doesn’t waver, she forces the words out. 
“Uhm. Well. It’s just. Not quite. Appropriate for a sixth grade class?” It pitches up into a question as she gestures vaguely toward Dani’s painting. 
It’s a bit sloppy, the layers of paint caked upon each other, the lines hasty and uneven, but the scene itself is clear enough—a little, smiling, white-haired girl in the shadow of some kind of hulking creature, its skin blue, eyes red, sharp fangs bared as its cape flares out to take up the rest of the page. 
Ms. Burnell almost set up an appointment for Danielle with the school counselor when she saw it, wondering if Dani felt like she was the little girl, trapped amongst nightmares and “monsters.” She decided against it for the time being, until she could speak with the girl’s father, but that’s proving rather unhelpful so far if the contemptuous way the man is looking at her is any indication.
“Did Danielle complete the assignment?” he asks finally. 
“Uhm. Yes.” 
“And adhere to the grading criteria?” 
“Sh-she did,” Ms. Burnell answers reluctantly.
“Then I don’t see the problem,” he answers, finality in the words as his gaze turns to his daughter. He takes a much softer tone with her, brushing the disorderly strands of hair off her face, an absent domesticity in the way he straightens the ponytail gone lopsided. “I think you did a lovely job, dear.” 
“Thank you! I used Alizarin Crimson,” she answers proudly, hair flopping right back into her eyes.
“Excellent choice.” 
“Uhm. Well, there’s also the matter of Danielle’s conduct,” Ms. Burnell cuts in.    
The man lets out an irritated sigh, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back against one of the desks, one ankle crossed over the other, unimpressed gaze finding Ms. Burnell once more. 
“What?” he says, like it’s an inconvenience.
She swallows hard. “She’s been…uhm. Not getting along with some of the other girls.” 
“That is so unfair, Mackenzie started it!” Danielle shouts abruptly, popping up to her knees on her chair, palms slapping down against the desktop. 
“Well that’s not what Mack—” 
The girl keeps going, cutting Ms. Burnell off. 
“She said the only reason Eli agreed to play with me at recess was because Joshua dared him too, and I said nuh unh and she said yuh hunh, and I asked how she knew that, and she couldn’t even prove it, it was so obvious she was making it up!” 
“Mackenzie told me that you said some pretty unkind words to her, Danielle.” 
“Barely! I just said it was a bad look for her to be so jealous of me and just because she looks like she fished her outfit from the same trash bin she got her personality from isn’t any reason to be a jerk.”
Her father’s expression twists into a sharp smirk, amusement lighting his blue eyes, and Ms. Burnell thinks she’s starting to get a better sense of why Danielle is proving to be one of the most challenging students in her class this year. 
“We treat people with kindness and respect in this classroom, Dani. Do you think what you said to Mackenzie was kind and respectful?” 
“Well…” Dani’s gaze drops, expression pinching in thought, and Ms. Burnell thinks she might actually be getting through to her.
“It doesn’t sound as though this other girl was treating Danielle with kindness and respect,” Mr. Masters answers, the words coming out with a mocking turn, like he finds the concepts incidental at best.
“That’s true. She did start it,” Dani reasserts, turning her gaze up to her dad.  
“I’ve spoken to Mackenzie about her part in everything,” Ms. Burnell answers tightly. “But we’re here to talk about Danielle’s conduct. That’s not the only incident of its kind that’s occurred this year and—” 
“You know, it sounds to me as though Danielle’s doing just fine,” Mr. Masters says, pushing up to a proper stand, tugging the bottom of his sleeves and smoothing the dark, wrinkleless fabric.
“But—” 
“Did she make this girl cry?” 
“Well. No, but—” 
“And how are my daughter’s academics?” he asks, gaze fixed on hers, sending a chill creeping down her spine. 
“Fine, but—” 
“Has she gotten into a physical altercation with anyone?” 
“Not exactly, but—” 
“Started any fires?” he asks, sarcasm and derision dripping from the words. 
“No, she hasn’t started any fires.” 
“Then I believe this meeting is finished. Thank you for your time, Ms…”
“Burnell,” she answers weakly.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Burnell. Danielle, are you ready to go?”
“Yup!” She pops up to an enthusiastic stand, rushing over to the windows to snatch up her painting, twisting it toward Ms. Burnell. “Can I take this home?”
She gives a heavy sigh, massaging her temples with her fingertips. “Sure, Dani. That's fine.” 
“Thanks, Ms. B!” As the girl traipses after her dad, a bounce in her step, horrifying painting swinging at her side, Ms. Burnell can hear the girl still chattering away, even as they pass out of her classroom, voices growing distant. “Do you think I should have made Mackenzie cry?” she asks.
Ms. Burnell is glad she can’t hear the man’s response—she doesn’t even want to know his answer.
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pyjamacryptid · 5 months
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memes from the pov of camelot citizens (bbc merlin) part 8
*kicks down door holding boxes of haha funny jpegs* BET YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE
[ID in alt]
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fun fact: Bowen means Son of Owen. Also, I know there's a typo with "cup life" but I'm leaving it. It's for the realism ✨
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noxposting · 3 months
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Another year, another @phandomholidaytruce ✨
Merry crisler @datawyrms ! Hope you like it!! It's also on AO3 with an extra chapter
Something's Wrong with Danny Fenton
The realization that something was seriously wrong was like falling asleep; slowly, and then all at once.
There had been no catalyst, no trigger to speak of.
Miss Jones had been sick and, this late into the school year, they hadn't bothered to provide a replacement. Most of the class hadn't even bothered showing up anyway; with finals so close, they were either asleep of studying.
Cal would have done the same, was it not for the absolute chaos at home. The twins were off school for the summer already, and they made sure to make their presence known to every single resident of the house. Usually starting at 6am. Cal didn't feel like he got to choose whether to stay home or not.
This is how he found himself here, sitting in a mostly empty classroom, gaze unfocused as he soaked in the rare moments of quiet. In front of him lay an opened biology book, as he lied to himself that he was going to use this time to revise ahead of exams. Instead, the sketch of a duck wearing sunglasses was guiltily staring at him from the page margins.
His gaze had wandered to the window, towards the school-yard of Casper High. Today was a rather rare sunny day; it was early summer, but even during the heart of the hottest season there was a never-ending, persistent chill that seemed to choke the entirety of Amity Park.
Cal, of course, knew exactly where it was coming from.
It was a little bit difficult to live around here and not know about the ghosts.
He pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. He didn't have any particular strong feelings about ghosts, really. He had gotten used to them, in a way. But, truth be told, he was not a fan of the spine-chilling coldness that seeped through everything in their presence and lingered after they were gone. The way the town seemed never to be able to escape this coldness anymore bothered him, but there was not much to do other than suck it up.
Which was why rare days like today were a pleasant, welcome surprise to the locals. He could see his classmates lounging around in the grass outside, soaking up the sunlight like starving sunflowers, and it brought a warm feeling in his chest. Cal was always more of a people watcher, standing in the side and absorbing situations rather than getting involved.
He tried to ignore the tense feeling in his spine that made the hair at the back of his neck stand.
Also, he was studying. He looked down at his book and a second duck that had joined the first and was silently judging him, this time wearing a dapper top hat and a little bow-tie.
There was no haunting chill in this classroom. Right. He didn't want to go out and miss the time to relax.
His let his gaze passively wander around the room. There were only four others in there with him, all in different states of mental non-existence. Eleanor and Sally-Anne were sat opposite each other, heads close over the desk as they gossiped, their whispers providing a subtle background noise through the quiet room. Jonathan (the one with the glasses, not the one in the football team) was focused on the book in front of him and Danny, at the back of the class, looked to have fully dissociated, eyes glazed over. Now wasn't that relatable.
Cal sighed. Suddenly the chair felt a bit stiff, his shoulders a bit tense, so he pulled his arms behind his back in a big stretch. He couldn't help the groan that left his lips as he felt his joints pop. Grabbing the back of his chair, he twisted around -first the right side, then the left- to relieve the tension.
The tension, as if to spite him, stayed.
He got up, cringing at the scraping sound his chair made as it slid back, and he could see on the edge of his vision that his movement had caught the attention of the two girls. When he didn't say anything, they returned to their conversation.
Cal went around his desk towards the window and looked outside, once again marveling at the sunshine and trying to ignore the goosebumps travelling down his arms. He did briefly debate the merits of joining the rest of the glass out in the grass once more, but the peace of the quiet classroom was too tempting for his foggy brain. Still, he didn't feel like sitting in a chair for the next forty minutes. Looking around, he spotted a few unattended markers on the teacher's desk, and paused, a thought forming in his mind.
His fingers were itching with misplaced adrenaline, and he figured what the hell.
Pointedly not allowing any awkward embarrassment to brew, he approached the desk, grabbed the black and green markers and approached the blank class whiteboard.
Cal had always liked to draw. His mom said it's because his hands can't sit still (but she liked it, really, especially when he made her custom-made mother's day cards every year). The twins had no opinion about it, until his sister got her first celebrity crush and begged him to draw the poor guy with cat ears.
No ducks with accessories this time.
She later posted it online with a humble brag about how she had 'finished it really quickly, what do you guys think' but, considering she had barely hit double digits in age, Cal had let it pass.
The validation of elementary kids was not in his radar, exactly.
He never followed any particular theme -his illustrations were usually random, without much thought. He liked letting his mind and hand take him wherever, and that often led to either randomness or, as was often the case for his bigger, more planned illustrations, a lot of inspiration from his environment.
Was it a surprise that he had produced so many drawings of ghosts?
As Cal was suddenly, once again, very aware of the subtle chill (not quite a presence, but it existed and it came from somewhere), he figured that one more addition to his ghost collection wouldn't make any difference.
Even if he wasn't used to drawing on a whiteboard, he still felt the long, controlled strokes of the marker come naturally. His preferred style was either completely colorless (which had absolutely nothing to do with his tendency to draw during class, thank you very much) or with minimal color; he knew how to manage negative space to his liking.
He had to admit, the subject he had chosen was pretty perfect for the whiteboard; all high contrast black and whites.
Getting lost in the process was easy for Cal; applying long strokes across the board and thick filling to the black outfit allowed time and tension to pass him by, almost. The hair would be tricky; making sure the black marker was used faintly enough to translate the light, luminous color was a mission, and Cal was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to his work. All aspects to a drawing needed to come together for a good result, after all.
But for this, the most important part was the eyes.
Cal tightened his grip around the green marker. There could be only one color on this drawing, and it had to be the eyes. Sadly, a green whiteboard marker would never be quite the toxic green that he would have liked, but it was the principle that counted.
As he placed the last detail on the hair, fade enough to be as close to the bright white of the real thing, he uncapped the green marker. There was a sense of gravitas in the movement, the start of the final step to this work.
Or maybe Cal was just pretentious about it, who's to say.
"Wow, Cal, you're so good!"
The sudden voice made Cal jump and, even worse, almost draw a green line straight through the board and the almost finished drawing. He turned around to realize that everyone in the room was staring at him.
Maybe he should've thought this would happen, but he felt the heat on his cheeks rise nonetheless.
It was Sally-Anne who had spoken, turned around on her seat where she was facing Eleanor. Both were smiling. A few desks ahead, Jonathan had abandoned his reading and instead was looking at Cal with interest, head resting on his hand.  
Cal avoided all their eyes, fidgeting with the green marker instead "Um, thanks. Just a hobby, no big deal."
Sally-Anne raised her eyebrows. "Are you joking? This is amazing! It's like, the best Phantom art I've ever seen!"
Cal blushed even harder. "You're exaggerating, but thanks."
Eleanor gasped "Oh my God, no one better erase this! Quick, I need a picture!" she swiftly pulled out her phone and paused. "Hey Cal, can you like, put a signature somewhere on that? I need to take a pic."
Cal breathed out, muttering 'no problem' and obliged.
A stutter sound came from Eleanor's phone "Awesome! I'll send it to you if you want!"
Cal refused and Eleanor shrugged, sending it to Sally-Anne instead.
Soon everyone went back to what they were previously doing and Cal was happy to be ignored. Walking over to the teacher's desk to put the markers back (and maybe look for an eraser, if Eleanor and Sally-Anne didn't kill him first), he was suddenly aware of that ever-present yet so distant chill and his head snapped up towards the room.
At that moment, he locked eyes with Danny Fenton, and Cal froze.
It was impossible to pinpoint what was wrong exactly, which made things worse. Danny Fenton looked as he usually did; tired, bruised, head resting against his hand and unruly hair falling in his face. Yet there was something just wrong. His pallor was pale, unnervingly so, the bluing bruise against his cheek and graze on his lip contrasting dramatically against his skin. But his gaze was so sharp that Cal was sure that Danny could see right though his skin and into his brain.
It happened slowly, and then all at once.
Worst of all, Cal now knew where that ever so familiar chill came from, and he was almost shocked he didn't recognize it before. The aura of the dead was practically oozing off Danny Fenton.
Time felt like it was slowing down as Cal was locked in by those eyes, a shade of blue so cold it was painful and, for the first time, Cal realized that he was seeing Danny Fenton.
Cal wasn't sure how long he was trapped under that gaze. It felt like eons, but it couldn't have been more than seconds. As he felt his brain melt under the realization that something was frighteningly wrong with one of the people he knew, something happened that shocked him out of his spiraling.
Danny smiled. The faintest, most tired lift of lips, yet it was enough to transform the aura of wrong and that trapping stare, like deciding to let free an animal that was going to become dinner.
Just like that, with a movement so simple, the chill was passive again. Cal smiled back.
Feeling like he was floating, Cal went back to his desk. He took a seat as the bell rang and his classmates soon started filtering in, all of them taking a moment to show various levels of awe towards his drawing.
Throughout it all, Cal kept his head tilted and one eye, watching Danny's reaction. To anyone else, he looked like he had just woken up from a nap, groggy and unfocused. But Cal now knew better. He had realized the wrongness, and knew there was more hidden behind these icy eyes.
He didn't know what, he didn't know how. He didn't know when it had started, or why, but there was one thing Cal was sure of.
There was something very wrong with Danny Fenton.
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bowenoke · 1 year
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r/relationships How do I ask the gas station manager what his fursona is?
Okay, so. Wilbur, the gas station attendant, moved here last year. I don't want to upset him, especially when he's just doing his job, but I'm also so so so sos so curious. I need to know.
He keeps. Telling me what his family's fursonas are.
His dad has a crow fursona. His step brother has a goat fursona. His son and exwife had a fox and fish fursona/scalesona respectively. It's a family tradition. His infant nephew has a zombie piglin fursona. (Yes, like from minecraft.)
Now. Why would asking about his fursona upset him? Hear me out.
Things with his family seem really sensitive: his little brother fell in with a bad crowd and nearly got killed, and his step-brother's husband died in a restaurant franchising argument that was somehow partially Wilbur's fault. He left to come back to Utah without telling many of them.
I try not to ask questions that might be rude, but.
I have never in my life heard of a family more invested in everyone being a furry. I need to know so so bad what his fursona is, but his family seems like such a hot topic, and I don't want to dredge up bad memories. can i ask, or would it be mean?
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sp0o0kylights · 8 months
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Part Two / Part Three
Ao3
It's 8:45 am. 
The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.
It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?
No one was complaining. 
They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 
It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.
He doesn't mind it.
Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.
This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.
Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.
(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 
The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)
As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.
 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 
A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.
This was not unusual.
Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 
What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 
The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.
Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 
(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 
"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 
"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.
Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.
'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'
Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 
"Mind if I have a word outside?" 
Dammit Eddie.
"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 
There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 
"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 
"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 
Wayne stared up at him. 
"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.
"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 
If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.
It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.
They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 
Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 
Wayne really did owe him. 
So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 
"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 
Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 
“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 
A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 
“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 
A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 
"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 
The Chief chewed on his split lip. 
"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 
Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 
The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 
How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 
Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 
Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 
The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 
This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 
The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 
(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)
"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 
"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 
"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 
This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 
Hopper took a breath. Than another.
A third.
It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 
"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.
Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 
“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 
Wayne sucked in a breath. 
"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.
It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 
Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 
Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.
He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 
(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 
“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 
His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 
“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.
 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 
Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 
“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 
“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 
“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 
'Ain’t that the damn truth.'
“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 
This one, he figured, was the most important. 
“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 
Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 
It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.
Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 
“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.
If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.
No point in it. 
“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 
“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 
Once again, Wayne waited him out.
“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 
A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.
How they almost hadn’t. 
“Alright.” Wayne agreed.
Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.
He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 
He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 
Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 
Wayne had a feeling it was needed.
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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 8 months
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Do you have any recommendations for fics with Sheriff Stilinski? Like as a major character not just showing up in the background? Or ones that focus on him and Stiles' relationship?
There's not a whole lot where he's the main character. So I have some with sheriff!pov.
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Ashes, Ashes by ShanaStoryteller
(1/1 I 2,699 I Teen I Sterek)
The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone's tried to burn down his home with his son inside.
"I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes," John can't even call that a whimper, it's clearly a whine as Derek's hands tighten against Stile's hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek's hands can hold him into one piece, "and that thought was worse than dying."
Why deja-vu is a dangerous thing by MsCee
(1/1 I 2,887 I General I Sterek)
When something makes his new deputy seize up like only true love can, John Stilinski is prepared tease the ever-living hell out of him. He’s prepared to look up and see some pretty girl with a bit of an edge, with a loud laugh and a bright smile that could coax even his sullen deputy out of his frown.
What he’s not prepared for is to look up and see a very familiar face ambling towards his desk.
The Morning After by mikkimouse
(1/1 I 3,635 I Teen I Sterek)
After the night he'd had, John just wanted a quiet cup of coffee and some toast before his son woke up. This, he felt, was not too much to ask from the universe.
Apparently the universe disagreed, because John came downstairs at 7:30 in the goddamn morning to see a man he'd previously arrested for murder grinding coffee beans in his kitchen
Promise You'll Look After Him by DiscontentedWinter
(1/1 I 9,901 I Mature I Sterek)
Sheriff Stilinski is used to dealing with victims of violent crime. He knows how to approach kids who've been beaten and sexually assaulted.
Except this time it's his son.
It's Stiles.
Adult Wolf by KouriArashi
(56/56 I 232,475 I Teen I Peter/Sheriff)
As if Sheriff Stilinski doesn't have enough to deal with, now he's been attacked by some enormous dog in the forest, and that's normal compared to what happens next...
Re-telling of seasons 1-3B with Sheriff Stilinski being bitten instead of Scott.
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aziraphales-library · 1 month
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Dearest ineffable mods
Thanks for your amazing work! Long time lurker, first time asker. This is my favorite library by far!
Do you have any recommendations of fics focussing on the staff of the Ritz? And how they view our favourite idiots throughout the years/dinner? Preferably not AU. I checked the outsider pov tag but didn't find any.
If you could recommend some, it'd make me immensely happy ❤️ thank you in advance!
Here are some outsider POV Ritz fics for you...
The Ritz's Biggest Ineffable Husbands Shipper by frogfaced (G)
The staff of the Ritz had created a name for the couple once, a long time ago, it had to have been at least twenty years or so ago by now. It stuck, whispered fervently when they appeared in the queue. “Did you hear?” A comment passed from one hostess to a waiter, whispered quietly almost like a secret kept close to her heart, almost like a prayer. “It’s them.” ----- Or, Aziraphale and Crowley have become something of a legend at the Ritz, and have become the basis for many of the employee's gambling problems.
The matter of the Definitely Not Husbands by plainrefillnotepad (G)
The waiters and waitresses who worked at the restaurant at The Ritz weren’t what you would call a tight-knit group. If there was one topic of conversation, however, which every staff member had at least heard of, it was the matter of the Definitely Not Husbands.
An Angel Dining at the Ritz by misslmf (T)
The staff at the London Ritz become quickly familiar with the regular customers that come into the establishment, especially if those regulars were polite and easy to remember in some way or another. A pair that stood out to every member of staff after a while were the two men that came in at least a few times a month, always seeming to have a reservation despite never ringing to book one. Which is why it was so unnerving when neither of them showed up for a month. *** Or, how the staff at the Ritz are also children of divorce since Aziraphale left Crowley
Table For Two by JM_Finnigan (G)
Thomas Kinsley has known the two regulars - the red-haired man and the blond one called Fell - for as long as he's worked at the Ritz, so he is caught quite off-guard when only one of them makes an appearance one night. The aftermath of Aziraphale's return to Heaven as told through a Ritz waiter's eyes.
Code Angel by orphan_account (G)
She didn’t fully understand this kind of miracle but she knew one thing for sure. When a Code Angel came to The Ritz, they should expect miracles to happen.
There Were Angels Dining At The Ritz by AstersLibrary (T)
The employees at the Ritz have their favourites. And they're no so subtle about them.
- Mod D
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tboygareth · 7 months
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the charming of steve goddamned harrington, as told by jeff
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written for @steddiemicrofic prompt: ‘charm’ | wc: 548 | rated: g | cw: none, outsider pov
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to say that jeff has known eddie all their lives would not be an exaggeration or an overstatement. one of jeff's earliest memories is his fifth birthday party- a cookout with his parents and his sister and the boy who lived in the house across the street.
he didn't even know eddie's name at the time, he just remembers the way the boy, a year or two older than himself, had pressed a finger to his mouth in a shh kind of gesture as he tore off chunks of his blackened hot dog to feed to the ancient yellow lab curled up under the picnic table in the back yard.
and now, more than a decade later, jeff is still watching in awe as eddie quietly slips treats to the object of his affection. except this time the treats aren't blackened hot dog bits- they're smiles. and the object of eddie's affection isn't a geriatric yellow labrador anymore- it's ex king of hawkins high steve goddamned harrington.
and the thing is... steve is reciprocating. he's smiling back, his face a little pink at the edges. he's laughing at all of eddie's bad jokes- actually laughing, too, like he’s charmed by him
these two idiots are gone on each other, and jeff doesn't even think they realize it. they definitely don't realize whatever feelings they're nursing are being reciprocated; if they did jeff's sure he would have heard about it before now. he and eddie don't hide things from each other and they never really have.
whatever this is, it must be new. maybe they're sneaking around together, getting their bearings before telling their friends. maybe they're both just crushing and skirting around the elephant in the room. jeff sincerely hopes it's the former; he's not sure how much moping and pining he can take from eddie before he's just gonna have to snap and lock them in a closet together until they come strolling out covered in hickeys.
gareth and grant are noticing the tension between eddie and steve tonight too. grant's good at subtlety, but gareth wears his suspicion in the hard set to his mouth and the crease between his brows. after what happened with jason during spring break, gareth's hackles are up around anyone that's not one of theirs, and with good reason. steve, though... jeff's got an inkling that steve might be more like them than he lets on.
so maybe steve is more of a blondie guy than a black sabbath guy. so what? eddie will see to that soon enough. jeff is absolutely certain of it.
jeff has known eddie all his life. this tension with steve is absolutely going to snap eventually, and jeff cannot wait to tell his best friend that he's seen it coming. he can't wait to tease him for all these lovesick gazes and those lingering touches and the bad jokes and the absolutely outrageous nicknames (big boy, ed? c'mon, man.).
until then, jeff is so content to just watch this unfold. he's taking notes. maybe someday, when the world gets its shit together, he can stand up as eddie's best man and rib him about this in front of all their family and friends.
eddie deserves that almost as much as he deserves steve goddamned harrington.
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