#he'll be in the next one probably

[thelastspeecher]

Okay I finally got around to writing up the next thing for my Foster Ford AU. I, uh, I already knew exactly what I wanted to write (I drive a lot for work and come up with fic stuff during those drives), but Life kept me from actually writing it down. But here it is! Happy Saturday. :)

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              Stan was finishing up dinner by the time his wife, Angie, walked into their house.  He looked over his shoulder.

              “Hey, babe.”

              “Hey yourself,” Angie said cheekily.  She slipped her shoes off, placing them in the basket by the door.  “Somethin’ smells good.”

              “It’s just pasta.”

              “And?” Angie asked pointedly.  “Does it bein’ pasta mean it shouldn’t smell good?”  Stan turned back to the stove, hiding a smile.

              Love when she tells me off in that sexy southern accent of hers.

              “Sorry it took me so long to get home,” Angie continued.  She sighed heavily.  “It took me forever to finish gradin’ my students’ labs, and after I finished those, I had to clean some cages.”

              “It’ll be good practice for that zoo job you’ve got lined up after you graduate,” Stan said.

              “Oh please, I don’t need any practice cleanin’ after animals,” Angie scoffed.  “I grew up on a farm, ‘member?  I’ve been cleanin’ after animals since I was old enough to hold a broom.  I just wish I could get home sooner.  I hate to leave ya with all the food prep.”

              “Eh, you and Shermie taught me enough kitchen stuff to keep me from setting things on fire,” Stan said with a shrug.  Angie chuckled.  “Sit down.  I’ll bring you dinner.”  Stan scooped pasta into a bowl, sprinkled cheese on top, and then brought it to Angie sitting on the couch in the adjacent living room.  As he handed the bowl over to her, Angie raised an eyebrow at him.

              “What are ya tryin’ to butter me up for?”

              “Why do you assume I’m trying to butter you up?”

              “You even put the cheese on fer me.”  Angie cocked her head.  “Somethin’s on yer mind.”

              “You can see right through me,” Stan mumbled.  He shooed the cat off the couch, then sat next to Angie.  “I told you about this kid at school, Stan.”

              “Yes.  You did.”  Angie set her bowl on the coffee table, on top of an old National Geographic magazine.  “Poor thing’s in foster care, right?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan took a deep breath.  “And…there’s a pretty big thing I haven’t mentioned about him.”

              “What?”

              “He looks exactly like my twin brother.”

              “You’ve got a twin brother?” Angie asked.  Stan winced.  “Stanley Pines, we’re married!  And we’ve known each other how long?  Why would ya keep such a big secret from me?”  She crossed her arms.  “Ya better have a good reason.”

              “I do.”

              “Then spill.”

              “Ford – that’s my twin’s name – and I were pretty close growing up.  I mean, we’re twins.  Sorta required.  But in high school, well, it all got ruined.”

              “How?”

              “He did this science fair project that caught the attention of some fancy school on the other side of the country.  He was…he was gonna leave me behind.  And I- I got angry.”

              “Oh, no,” Angie said quietly.  “In yer anger, did ya do somethin’ ya regret?”

              “Yes,” Stan said quietly.  Angie gasped.  “Not- whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that bad.  I went to the school where Ford’s experiment was and, okay, this is gonna sound stupid, but I shouted at it for taking my brother away from me.”

              “That don’t sound stupid.”

              “Yeah, you named your violin.”

              “Fiddle, and she came with the name.”

              “You’re just making my point for me,” Stan said.  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “Whatever.  So, ya went to yell at the experiment.  Don’t sound too bad.”

              “Yeah, well, I’m not done yet.”  Angie gestured for him to continue.  “I- I got angry and I hit the table it was on and the next thing I knew it was smoking and wasn’t moving and-”  Stan shook his head.  He could feel hot guilt pulsing at the base of his neck, like it always did when he thought about that day.  “I thought I fixed it.  So I didn’t tell Ford.”

              “You didn’t tell- you thought you fixed it?” Angie asked incredulously.  “What kind of project was this?”

              “Uh, I think it was called a perpetual motion machine,” Stan said, scratching his chin idly.  When Angie didn’t say anything, he looked at her.  She was gaping, shocked.  “What?”

              “Yer brother made a workin’ perpetual motion machine?” she squeaked.  Stan nodded.  She began to tug on her hair.  “You- what- how?”

              “Hey, what have I told you about leaving your hair alone?” Stan said playfully, pulling her hands away from her hair.  “It’s too pretty to get all torn out.”  Angie put her head in her hands.  “Is a perpetual motion machine a big thing?”

              “Yes.  It is.”

              “I’m kinda surprised you know what it is.  I thought your brother was the one who makes machines.”

              “He is.”  Angie dragged her hands down her face.  “But ya don’t need to be an engineer to know perpetual motion machines ain’t s’pposed to be possible!”

              “Yeah, Ford- Ford’s pretty smart.”

              “Sounds like it.”  Angie shook her head.  “Okay.  You thought you fixed a perpetual motion machine- now that’s just a crazy sentence what came out of my mouth.  What happened next?”

              “I didn’t tell Ford.  I didn’t want him to think I did it on purpose.  Of course, that’s what he thought when it turned out I didn’t actually fix it.  Don’t think it needs to be said, but I’ll say it anyway.  He didn’t get into the fancy school.  At home, we got into a big fight over it and my Pops kicked me out.”

              “Over a broken science fair project?” Angie asked softly.

              “Honestly, I think he was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”

              “How old were ya?”

              “Seventeen.”

              “Oh, Lordy,” Angie breathed.  She put a hand on Stan’s knee.  “Darlin’…”

              “That’s why I was living with Shermie when we met,” Stan continued, trying to ignore the tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes.  “He heard what happened, tracked me down, and thanks to him, I got my GED, got a community college degree, and met you.”  Stan smiled at Angie.  Angie returned the expression.  It was the same sweet smile she made the day they met in the coffee shop, when she realized Stan had put extra whipped cream on her hot chocolate.  As a barista, it was what he usually did to flirt with pretty ladies, but even then, when Angie smiled at him, he knew she was different.

              “I see why ya didn’t mention him to me ‘fore,” Angie said.  She squeezed Stan’s knee.  “But in the future, please, share these things.  I know they aren’t pleasant, but we’re married.  I’m here to help ya shoulder the burden of the unhappy things.  You do that with me.  Let me do that with you.”

              “No promises.”

              “Oh, Stan,” Angie sighed.  She shook her head.  “What am I goin’ to do with ya?  Ya need to be willin’ to be more emotionally vulnerable.”

              “No, I don’t.”

              “Yes, you do.  Especially if my suspicions as to why ya brought up this kid at school what looks like yer twin are correct.”

              “Can’t pull the wool over your eyes.”

              “Nope.”  Angie leaned back, crossing her arms.  “Now, either confirm or deny my theory.  Why’d ya bring him up?  More specifically, why’d ya bring up the fact he looks so much like yer twin brother?”

              “All right.  No beating around the bush.”  Stan took a deep breath.  “I think he’s Ford’s son.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Did I confirm or deny?”

              “Confirm.”

              “Figured.”

              “Do ya have any other evidence supportin’ this idea?”

              “Yes.”

              “Really?” Angie said.  Stan nodded.  “I’m interested in hearin’ it, then.”

              “When I realized there was a kid at school who looked just like Ford and even had the same name-”

              “Wait.”  Angie held up a hand.  “I thought you said the kid was named Stan.”

              “It’s short for Stanford.  So is Ford,” Stan explained.  Angie steepled her fingers thoughtfully.  “What?”

              “Yer parents named their twin sons Stanley ‘n Stanford.”

              “Yeah.”

              “Sweet sarsaparilla.”

              “You don’t have any right to talk about names, Banjolina.”

              “Ugh.  Fair.”  Angie waved her hand.  “Continue.”

              “Anyways, when I realized this kid looked like Ford and even had the same name, I asked Shermie if he’d heard from Ford recently.  He said he hadn’t, but that he would check with Mom.  Mom told him Ford hadn’t called her in almost two years.”

              “Huh.  Unless that’s typical of him, I’d consider that to be rather concernin’.”

              “Apparently, he called Mom every week, unless he was too busy.  But he always called her at least once a month,” Stan said.  Angie nodded slowly.  “So, yeah, concerning.  He was doing research in some town in Oregon called Gravity Falls when he dropped off the face of the Earth.  Guess where the kid at school was found.”

              “Gravity Falls?”

              “Bingo.”  Stan ran a hand through his hair.  “I just- it can’t be a coincidence!”

              “Stranger things have happened,” Angie mumbled.  She frowned.  “Is yer twin the kind of person to abandon his son?  When you’ve mentioned him ‘fore, you’ve said he was abandoned.”

              “No.  Ford’s not the kinda person to just leave his kid and skip town.”  Stan looked down at the floor, a sudden tight feeling in his chest.  “At least.  Not the Ford I knew.  I think- Shermie said that Ford was doing research in the woods in Gravity Falls.  I think Ford probably brought his kid on some hike with him.  Something happened to Ford, but his kid got away and was found wandering around.”

              “Research?  What kind?”

              “Dunno.”  Stan paused.  He looked at Angie.  “Do you think it’s relevant?”  Angie shrugged.

              “Could be.  Was a missin’ person report ever formally filed fer yer twin?”

              “Shermie said Mom called the cops after a year without anything from Ford.  The cops didn’t see anything suspicious at Ford’s place, and some lumberjack and his wife said they were looking after the place while Ford was gone.”

              “Then the answer is no,” Angie said.

              “I think so, yeah.  The lumberjack and his wife made it sound like Ford would be back eventually.”

              “I get the feelin’ these cops might not be stellar at their job,” Angie said idly.  She smirked.  “Love it when the pigs are incompetent.”

              “Moses, Angie, I’m trying to be serious, and you’re saying something stupid sexy,” Stan said playfully.  Angie laughed.  “I agree, though.”

              “About the cops in Gravity Falls bein’ bad or that cops what don’t know what they’re doin’ are the best?”

              “Both.  I mean, this kid at school, his last name isn’t even Pines!  I bet the cops misheard him or something.”

              “Or that’s the last name of his mother,” Angie suggested.  Stan rubbed his chin.

              “That’s possible, yeah.  Ford’s not a relationship kinda guy.  Maybe this kid was from a one-night-stand or something and the mom dropped him off with Ford.”

              “Did anyone in yer fam’ly suspect yer twin to have a child?”

              “Uh.  No.  But even though Ford called Mom all the time, he didn’t tell her much.  Just that he was eating well and getting exercise.  And honestly, I don’t blame him for wanting to keep a kid secret from her.  She’d go nuts and make it a whole thing.”

              “I see,” Angie murmured.  Stan scowled at the expression on her face.  She wasn’t convinced.

              “You don’t believe me.”

              “It’s not that I don’t believe you.  I just think it could all be a coincidence.”

              “Ang, you don’t get it!  This kid is a frickin’ genius like Ford and seriously, he looks just like him.  Extra fingers and everything!” Stan protested.  Angie blinked.

              “…Pardon?”

              “What are you pardoning?”

              “Extra…”

              “…fingers.  Yeah.  Probably shoulda led with that, huh?”

              “Holy horseradish.”  Angie leaned in, excitement suddenly sparkling in her brilliant blue eyes.  “Stanley, you’ve got a twin brother what’s a polydactyl?”

              “Is that the fancy science word for extra fingers?” Stan asked.  Angie nodded.  “Then yes.”

              “That’s astonishin’!  In what way is he a polydactyl?  Ya said extra fingers.  Is it a fully formed, fully functional extra digit?” Angie asked intently.

              “Yeah.”

              “Is it his pinky finger, his thumb, or one of the middle three?”

              “I don’t-”

              “And ya said fingers, plural.  How many extra does he have?”

              “Two.  One on each hand.”

              “Are his hands symmetrical?”

              “Yes.”

              “Golly gee.”  Angie shook her head.  “That’s- okay, polydactyly ain’t exactly common to begin with.  But most polydactyls don’t got a full extra finger, they got an extra nubbin.  And then addin’ perfect symmetry on top of that?  That’s an incredibly rare case!”

              “The doctors said something like that when we were kids,” Stan mumbled.

              “Does polydactyly run in yer fam’ly?  Do either of yer parents have it?”

              “No.”

              “Then it must be an in utero mutation-”

              “Angie,” Stan said firmly.  Angie stopped mid-sentence.  “I love it when you get all excited about science.  But we need to focus.”

              “Right.  Right.  Sorry.”  Angie smiled sheepishly.  “It can be dif’cult to turn off biology mode sometimes.”

              “Since Ford’s…polydactyly is such a rare kind, does that help my case, since the kid at school has it the same way?” Stan asked.  Angie frowned thoughtfully.

              “The fact they share a rare version of polydactyly, to me, ain’t as significant as the fact they share bein’ polydactyls of any sort.  Polydactyly has what we call variable expressivity.  It can show up a lot of dif’rent ways, and just ‘cause two folks who have it are related, it don’t mean they’ll have it in the same way.”

              “Huh?”

              “Think about it this way,” Angie said.  “I got blonde hair, right?”  Stan nodded.  “And so do two of my brothers.  But only one of ‘em has hair the same shade as mine.  Same sort of principle applies to polydactyly.”

              “You’re dumbing it down for me, aren’t you?” Stan asked.  Angie tilted her head one way, then the other way.

              “…Maybe.  But it helped ya understand what I was gettin’ at, didn’t it?”

              “It did.”

              “Good!  So, sharin’ the exact same kind of polydactyly don’t necessarily mean relation.  But sharin’ polydactyly in general could!  It’s pretty rare and generally dominant, so assumin’ yer twin is heterozygous fer it, any offspring of his would have a 50% chance of bein’ polydactyls too.”

              “So you’re saying…”

              “I don’t think yer barkin’ up the wrong tree,” Angie said.  Stan felt tension he didn’t know he was carrying leave his shoulders.  “We can reach out to Stan’s foster parents and ask to get in touch with the CPS officer in charge of his case.  Let ‘em do their own investigation and see what happens.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan ran a hand through his hair.  “Okay.  We’ll do that.  And if it turns out this kid, Stan, if he’s actually Ford’s son…”

              “We do what we need to become foster parents,” Angie said quietly, “and we take him in.”

              “Ang…”

              “It’s better fer kids to be placed with fam’ly when possible.  And since yer already close to the boy, it’d be the easiest adjustment fer him to stay with us.”  When Stan didn’t say anything, Angie cocked her head.  “I know that was what ya wanted to do when ya started this conversation.”

              “Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting you to agree to it so quickly.”  Stan managed a weak smirk.  “Guess I didn’t need to butter you up after all.”

              “Now, who can say whether that cheese on my pasta was the determinin’ factor?” Angie teased.  “Speakin’ of…”  She turned back to her dinner.  “Dr. Whiskers!”

              “Darn it, cat, don’t eat that!” Stan snapped, shooing the cat away from the bowl of pasta it had already made a dent in.  Dr. Whiskers meowed plaintively, hopped off the coffee table, and sauntered away.  “Ugh.  I’ll get you a new one.”

              “We should prob’ly try to teach Dr. Whiskers to stop eatin’ our food,” Angie said idly as Stan got up from the couch.  “That ain’t the first time he’s pulled this.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan looked around.  “Where’s the spray bottle?”

              “I think I put it in the bathroom after we finished with yer trainin’,” Angie answered.  When Stan got hired as a teacher, he recruited Angie to help him stave off his habit of swearing so that he didn’t upset any parents by letting a four-letter word slip.  The method Angie went with was unconventional, to be sure, but effective.

              “Still can’t believe you sprayed me with water any time I swore.”

              “It worked, didn’t it?”

              “A little too well,” Stan muttered.  He didn’t even really swear at home anymore.  “Wonder if we can use it if the kid causes trouble.”

              “No,” Angie said immediately.

              “What, you can spray me but you draw the line at a kid?”

              “Yes.”

              “Huh.”  Stan grinned at Angie.  “I knew you were mom material.”  Angie smiled.

              “And yer goin’ to make an amazin’ father.”

              “Damn straight,” Stan said firmly.  Angie raised an eyebrow.  “…Darn straight.”

[solarmorrigan]

It's Coming From Inside the House

For the @steddie-spooktober day 5 prompt: "Did you hear that?" Rated: T | Words: 2472 | CW: panic attack, mentions of recreational drug use | Tags: Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington friendship, pre-relationship, sorta, Eddie Munson being an asshole, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, he has the range, Steve Harrington has PTSD, post season 2, pre season 3 Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Now look, Eddie has never claimed to be the world’s nicest guy. He’s often claimed the opposite, in fact, in the name of getting shithead bullies and jocks to leave him and his alone.

And Harrington is no saint, either. Sure, he’s turned over some kind of new leaf since last year, ditching the assholes he used to hang out with and mostly keeping to himself (particularly since November, when his busted face had been the talk of Hawkins High), but he’s been part of enough sportsball-related hazing rituals for Eddie to assume he can at least take a joke.

Anyway, the point is, when he’s given occasion to realize that King Steve seems to be afraid of the dark, Eddie isn’t quite able to resist the urge to poke at him. Just a little.

He’s got Harrington in his trailer, just dropping by for a late-night transaction, and they’ve got an unexpected spring storm raging outside. It had just blown in, heavy winds and rain and all, surrounding the trailer with the sound of nature’s howling fury, and Harrington already seems on edge (probably why he needs the weed, really).

And then the lights flicker–

Flicker–

Flicker–

And cut out.

Both Eddie and Harrington freeze, plunged into darkness cut only by the frequent flashes of lightning.

“What just happened?” Harrington asks, his voice gone tight.

“Seems like the power went out,” Eddie snarks, because that much should be obvious. “Probably the wind. The grid isn’t as secure out here where it’s only us poor people.”

Harrington has no comeback, which is a little disappointing. He’s so quiet that the only way Eddie can tell he’s still there at all is because he can see him illuminated by brief lightning strikes.

Eddie sighs and starts shuffling in the direction of the kitchen. “Gimme a minute, I think we’ve got an old camping lantern somewhere.”

He bangs his knees on just about every object he walks past, swearing up a storm, but he finally makes it to the kitchen and feels around in the cabinets for the lantern he hopes is still there. He knocks over a few pots and pans in the process, but finally – success!

Eddie gropes for the switch on top of the lantern as he pulls it from the cabinet, praying that the battery inside is still good, and flinches and blinks the sparkles from his eyes when the thing lights up about six inches from his face.

Illumination acquired, Eddie uses it to find the junk drawer and pull out the flashlight they keep inside (might’ve been easier to find that first, instead of knocking into all the cookware, now that Eddie thinks on it), and then heads back to where he’s left Harrington standing in the living room.

“Let there be light,” he says, holding up the old lantern in victory.

Harrington, again, says nothing. He looks pale in the light of the lantern, nearly frozen where he stands, staring out the window. He almost reminds Eddie of a frightened rabbit, eyes wide and body locked up in a fight, flight, or freeze response heavily weighted in favor of the third option. And if he’s the rabbit, Eddie is like nothing so much as the wolf, ready to sink his teeth in.

Just a little. Just as a joke, that’s all.

As he places the camping lantern on the table, he pauses and cocks his head, pretending to listen.

“Hey,” he says quietly, and Harrington finally turns to look at him. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Harrington rasps, eyes darting back towards the window.

“I don’t know, it was… like sort of a scratching sound? It’s– There!” Eddie jumps, playing at being startled. “There it was again, did you hear it?”

Harrington swallows heavily, shaking his head. “I don’t hear anything, are you sure–”

“I think it’s coming from the door,” Eddie hisses, voice gone low, nearly covered by the steady roll of thunder.

Harrington whirls back around, looking at the shadowed shape of the door where it sits just outside the halo of light the little lantern is throwing out.

“What if something’s trying to get in?” Eddie’s practically whispering now, low and dramatic. “Should we– should we check?”

Slowly, Harrington nods. “I’ll check,” he says, and he sounds so resolute about it, so resigned, like he’s agreeing to go off to war, that Eddie has to bite down on a laugh. So fucking serious, this guy.

“I’m right behind you,” Eddie says, though Harrington barely seems to register when Eddie sidles up at his back.

They cross from where they’d been standing by the coffee table and over to the door, standing in front of it as another crack of thunder booms overhead. Harrington reaches for the handle.

“Go ahead,” Eddie breathes, raising his arms. “I’m… right… BEHIND YOU!”

As he shouts, he grabs Harrington around the middle, digging his fingers into his sides almost like he’s trying to tickle him, and holy shit, Harrington’s reaction does not disappoint. He jumps and jerks like he’s just been electrocuted, letting out a strangled yell as he pulls away from Eddie, whirling around to face him, and Eddie can’t help it– he laughs.

Like, not a cruel laugh, just the laugh of a prank successfully pulled off.

“I can’t believe you actually fell for that!” he wheezes out around his giggles.

And Eddie isn’t fully ignorant to the idea that there are consequences for his actions; he’s pretty sure at this point Harrington is going to start yelling, maybe start swinging, almost definitely cussing Eddie out – except he doesn’t.

He doesn’t actually do anything. He’s just standing there, eyes blown wide, one hand clenched over his chest while he almost heaves for breath.

“…Harrington?” Eddie tries, as his laughter dies away. “Hey. You good?”

Harrington doesn’t reply. Eddie’s not even sure he’s seeing him right now; his gaze looks glassed over in the low light, staring at something in the middle distance that Eddie can’t see. It’s kind of freaking Eddie out.

“Harrington. Hey. Can you hear me?” Eddie reaches up to wave a hand in front of Harrington’s face, and the reaction is immediate.

He jumps again, swearing and stumbling backwards until he hits the wall by the door with a hard thump, where he slides down into a sitting position on the floor, knees pulled up in front of him and arms wrapped around his middle. He’s still breathing hard, and his eyes are darting around the trailer, still looking for something, but fucked if Eddie knows what.

And fuck. Shit, Eddie feels like an asshole, he’s just given Harrington some kind of full-blown panic attack. Shit.

“Harrington,” he says, trying to sound firm and reassuring even though he has no goddamn idea what he’s doing as he crouches down in front of the guy. “Listen, there’s nothing to be scared of, man, it was just me being a dick.”

Harrington’s eyes flick in Eddie’s direction, but Eddie’s not all that convinced he’s registering what Eddie’s saying.

“Okay, I’m gonna – just a second.” Eddie holds a finger up and stands again, darting over to the coffee table to grab the lantern and, almost as an afterthought, the flashlight. “Okay, here we go,” he says, kneeling in front of Harrington and placing the lantern between them. “Do you wanna hold the flashlight? Would that help?”

He’s barely held the flashlight up for Harrington to take when the other boy’s fingers are wrapping around it, nearly jerking it out of Eddie’s hand. He flicks it on and sweeps the beam around the room, nearly blinding Eddie at least twice in the process.

“See?” Eddie says once Harrington’s performed as much of an inspection of the place as he can from his position on the floor. “Nothing here. Just you, me, and the storm.”

This doesn’t seem to be as reassuring as Eddie would have hoped; Harrington is still on the hysterical edge of hyperventilating, flashlight clutched in one fist and the other hand clenching his jacket where it’s still wrapped around his middle.

“Harrington. Steve,” Eddie tries, and he finally gets a long enough look from Harrington that he thinks he must actually be hearing him. “You’ve gotta breathe, man. Deeper breaths, c’mon. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

And it looks like maybe he’s trying, but the air keeps stuttering back out of his lungs before he can hold it for long. He shakes his head, and Eddie bites his lip, thinking.

“Here. I’m just gonna– don’t freak out again, okay?” Slowly, Eddie reaches for Harrington’s free hand, and with an air of confusion, Harrington lets him take it, unwrapping his fingers from where they’re clutched in his jacket and letting Eddie pull until his palm is pressed flat against Eddie’s chest. “Copy me, okay? In… and out.”

Exaggerating his breaths, Eddie takes big gulps of air, in and out, and waits for Harrington to follow suit – and after a few long moments, he manages it.

Slowly, his breathing deepens out, no longer coming in quick, shallow gasps, and his posture seems to deflate as it does. He sags back against the wall, the flashlight still clutched tight in his fist, and lets his head fall back.

“Better?” Eddie asks.

Harrington shrugs. He flinches at the next flash of lighting, and Eddie squeezes his hand, which he is, for some reason, still holding.

“Just the storm,” Eddie says, and Harrington shoots him a vaguely bitchy look that feels a lot more on par with how he should be acting.

He doesn’t take his hand back, though, so Eddie just keeps holding it.

He holds it and he talks, trying to drown out the rumbles of thunder that are growing more and more distant, trying to distract from the flashes of lightning that seem to be distressing Harrington more than anything else, trying to make up for the fact that he’d caused this whole mess in the first place. And Harrington seems to listen, watching him with eyes half-lidded in exhaustion, even cracking a tiny smile a few times, when Eddie gets particularly animated.

Then, after about an hour of nothing but the warm glow of the camping lantern, nothing but the sound of Eddie’s voice and the dying storm, the power kicks back on. The lights come to life and the fridge starts humming from the kitchen, and Harrington squeezes Eddie’s hand hard, eyes falling shut for a moment in apparent divine gratitude.

“Oh, thank god,” he mutters, and Eddie can’t help but agree.

Slowly, he lets go of Harrington’s hand, and Harrington takes it back, awkwardly handing over the flashlight as if in trade. He stands from the floor, a little shaky, and Eddie follows suit, ready to catch him if his overtaxed body doesn’t prove to be up to the task, but Harrington manages to stand on his own two feet, so Eddie takes a step back.

“Uh… thanks. For all of that,” Harrington says quietly, voice a little wrecked.

Eddie shakes his head. “I’m the one who gave you a fucking panic attack in the first place. Sitting with you was literally the least I could do.”

Harrington shrugs. “You didn’t have to, though.”

“Common decency—and my conscience—beg to differ,” Eddie says, and Harrington lets out a little huff that might have been a laugh.

“Anyway, I should get out of your hair,” Harrington says. “Do you still have the, uh–”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Eddie had nearly forgotten why Harrington had come over there in the first place. He crosses back over to the coffee table, where he’d dropped the bag when the power had gone out, and snatches it up, offering it to Harrington. “Here you are, my liege.”

The title, caught somewhere between mocking and actual friendliness, makes Harrington huff out another laugh, and he reaches for his wallet.

“How much do I owe you?”

Eddie almost can’t believe he’s about to say it, but– “Don’t worry about it. This one’s on the house.”

He’ll eat the cost if it’ll assuage his guilt – if it’ll get the image of Harrington crumpled on the floor, gasping for air as he searches the room for some kind of threat, out of Eddie’s head.

Harrington frowns. “You don’t have to do that.”

Eddie shrugs. “Call it even for having given you all the more reason to need to smoke it.”

Harrington is still frowning, hand still poised to pull his wallet from his back pocket, so Eddie shoves the baggie into his free hand, closing his fingers around it and letting go.

“Looks like it’s in your hands now, no takebacks!” Eddie insists. “Or, you know, no givebacks, I guess.”

Harrington rolls his eyes, but he drops his hand and tucks the baggie into the pocket of his jacket. “Well, thanks, then. I think.”

Eddie nods, searching over Harrington’s face; he’s still pale as shit, and it makes the dark circles under his eyes, previously barely noticeable, stand out in stark relief. He looks like he’s almost swaying where he stands, and Eddie frowns.

“You gonna be good to drive?” he asks, not really sure what he plans to do if Harrington isn’t.

“I think I’ll be fine, man,” Harrington snarks, and it’s close enough to what Eddie’s used to hearing from him that he’s willing to let the matter drop.

Harrington turns for the door, but pauses just before he reaches for the handle. Eddie wonders if maybe he’s still thinking of Eddie’s stupid prank, unable to shake the idea that something really might be waiting at the door to get him, when Harrington turns back to look at him.

“Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?” he says, possibly going for demanding, maybe even threatening, but landing somewhere closer to a plea. “I don’t need– I just don’t need anyone knowing…”

“Mum’s the word, man,” Eddie assures him quickly, miming zipping up his lips, locking them, and tossing the key over his shoulder.

With a tiny smile crossing his face, Harrington nods. “Thanks. I’ll, uh – see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah. See you around.” Eddie nods.

And with that, Harrington is gone, out the door and crunching across the wet gravel to his car, taking the strangeness of the night with him.

Eddie stands in the middle of his living room for a long moment, feeling as though something about his view of Steve Harrington—possibly even his view of something larger—has shifted, though he can’t quite put his finger on how.

He puzzles it over for a bit before shrugging it off, stooping to grab the lantern and put it back where it belongs. It doesn’t really matter, he figures. It’s not like he and Harrington will have much reason to interact after this.

[iizuumi]

Side effects of wearing your Kaiju suit too often ,,,, Part 3

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt 58 Part 7

The long dining room that held the ornate old dining table that seated way too many people already held  most of the family. Bruce was missing and Damian informed them he was at work, the only other person missing was Jason but it was typical for him to skip out as he didn’t live there and didn’t have the best track record with the rest of the family. That left Damian, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Dick seated.

Damian sat next to the chair that Bruce normally sat in at the head of the table. Tim sat across from Damian followed by Dick, Duke, and Cass. Danny sat next to Damian and Jazz sat next to Danny. 

“So, how was school?” Dick asked his elbows on the table with his head on his hands and a smile. He was the only adult in their life besides Bruce that actually cared about their schooling. 

Danny had actually forgotten that all of this had happened in just one day. The thought was a little jarring if Danny was being honest with himself. He wasn’t sure what to tell Dick, on one hand he was just asking about school on the other… no he wasn’t going to think about what happened right now. Just the thought caused phantom volts to go through his body like he was reliving the accident. He felt a nudge to his foot from the right and looked up to see Damian giving him a quizzical look. He cleared his throat and looked back over to Dick who was giving him the same kind of look. 

“I-I’m, uh… school was fine, didn’t learn much since school just started,” He eventually decided to say after stumbling on his words a little. 

“Dash isn’t picking on you again this year is he?” Dick asked with a concerned look on his face. 

Danny wished it was just Dash, the pain he felt from the portal was a thousand times worse than anything the bullying blond could pull. If it was just Dash, Danny could have just laughed it off and forgotten it probably, but it wasn’t just Dash and Danny couldn’t help but take a deep breath trying to gather his thoughts and calm himself.

He startled as he felt a hand on his knee, he looked to his left to see Jazz giving him a look of sympathy as she rubs her thumb comfortingly on his knee. She then spoke, “Danny you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Okay?”

Danny gave her a small nod, a small smile on his face. 

Before a new topic could be discussed Alfred arrived with their food and began serving them. Danny loved the food the old butler cooked especially since he was able to do so in a kitchen that wasn’t contaminated. Alfred did his best to make sure everyone was served food to their liking, as long as it was a balanced meal at the end of the day the elderly butler would serve just about anything you’d request.

Danny picked up his fork to begin on his salad, however when he tried to push the fork into the lettuce his hand felt a cooling sensation with pins and needles and his fork went through his hand. He stared at his hand for a moment wondering what just happened. He then picked up his fork to try again and was able to get a mouth full, but when he went for a second bite it happened again, his fork clanging against the bowl again.

“Something wrong Danny? You're staring at your hand weird,” Danny heard Dick speaking and looked up to see Dick staring at him giving him an odd look. 

Danny couldn’t help but rub his neck nervously with his other hand, he hoped to get ahold of whatever this was so no one noticed. Though knowing his luck everyone probably did notice, over the years he and Jazz both noticed that the Wayne family was much more observant than their media persona’s showed. 

Dinner continued and Danny struggled to eat anything as anything he tried to hold fell through his hand frustratingly and Danny couldn’t help but get agitated. 

Eventually his glass he was holding slipped through his hand and tumbled onto the floor shattering into a thousand pieces. Danny let out a frustrated sigh as he stared at the mess he made. 

Before he could stand to clean up Alfred appeared by his side with a dustpan and broom and began cleaning it up, “are you still feeling unwell Master Daniel? Perhaps you should retire for the evening, I will attend to this mess.” Danny begrudgingly nodded his head and made his way out of the room.

He wasn’t alone for long as Damian and Jazz tailed him out of the room. 

“What was that? It looked like your spoon was going through your hand,” Jazz asked after they were a ways from the dinning room.

“Jazz, honestly I don’t know, it felt cold and then anything I tried holding fell through my hand.” Danny brushed his bangs away from his forehead and they dropped back into his face as he dropped his hands back down to his side.

The walk went silent after that, although it didn’t stay for long as Danny felt the cooling sensation again but this time through his whole body, he let out a yelp as he felt his body sink into the floor.

Damian and Jazz looked at him with panic but as they grabbed at his arms or his hands to pull him back up they went through him just as the spoon and apparently the ground now. 

He let out a panicked yell as the floor swallowed him whole, so now he was sinking further down further into the earth. What was going to happen to him? Would he ever find his way back up?

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long as the cooling sensation left and as gravity took hold of him again he fell. Apparently there was a cave under the manor and he was able to turn back into solid as he felt air again. There was no way he was surviving this, even with new weird powers now was when he’d get impaled by spikes right?

The cave was too dark to make out much but Danny thought he might have seen a computer with several monitors. That didn’t matter now as he finally landed, and he grunted as he landed on a person who also grunted as having a teen land on you couldn’t be the most comfortable.

He knew he was in big trouble when he realized who he landed on, “Batman??”

[angelogistics]

bestows the highest honor upon beloved characters (lion dance AU)

[fisheito]

Typing "capsaicin snake effect" into the search bar so i can figure out if yakumo can eat spicy food

[superconductivebean]

#1282

Aesop and Eleazar go drinking and later are found by Sirona mid-discussion on some obscure uses of mugworts in Potion making of the 17th century.

[demaparbat-hp]

For the Spirits—

Chapter IV: To Be Human.

To feel like crying, but say you're fine

To think you're losing all the time

To never truly know your mind

Just to breathe, and to bleed

Is how to be human

—How To Be Human by Amber Run

.

The Painted Lady hummed, “I was beginning to think you’d pretend I wasn’t here.”

“Are you?” he muttered, leaning over the rail. She tilted her head.

“Am I what?”

Zuko turned to face her.

“Here.”

[jugacolours]

[freedomfireflies]

I wonder if when irl Harry goes off on his little flower shop trips or whimsical park bike rides if he in the back of his mind goes “someone, somewhere, is writing about this very moment.”

HAHAH PLEASE oh my gosh yes, I don't know if he'd ever admit it but I swear he'll do some things and giggle to himself, "Oooo they're gonna loooove this" and as he should!! We deserve cute content to write about 🫡

[worstloki]

people just ignore Thor was a feral child, huh? like his life goal was probably to demolish another race at age 12 and he was probably begging to go to war and attempted to murder their father for not letting him via telepathy that he didn't have.

[mellotronmkll]

I wanna start like a david bennett piano esque music theory youtube channel but I literally only ever analyze songs by they might be giants and literally never use any other songs as examples

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

im rewatching my favorite firefighter show in preparation for the new season and ngl i spent the entirety of season one going "where's Eddie. where is he. why isn't he here what happened to him where is Edmundo Diaz and why isn't he in the 118 already-"

[theflyingfeeling]

I would like to thank that one band and that one hockey player for single-handedly giving me reasons to keep going when I had 'cry + feel pathetic + hate yourself' scheduled on my calendar from this day forward until the end of everything

[icewindandboringhorror]

reminders of the passage of time moodeboard

[sskk-manifesto]

!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!