#little thing I wrote

[weirdcoregal35]

Jack meets Aurora!!

Cause why not? Lil thingy I wrote. Nothing too special, just writing.

Jack: *looking around the house.* Okay, Dad said there was a tool bag around here? Get it then I’ll head back to the lab…

Jack then continues to walk around the house, trying to find the tool bag. He searches in the kitchen…till he hears a noise in the hallway.

Jack: What the-*grabs a water bottle.*

Jack walks to the hallway, his guard up.

Jack: Hello? Is there anyone h-

Aurora: SURPRISE!

Jack: AHHHH!

Jack falls back, hitting the floor with a thud. When he looks up, he sees a small animatronic child hanging from the ceiling.

Jack: …What the-

Aurora: Oh! You’re not either of my dads! Hi there!!

Aurora jumps down from the ceiling.

Jack: I…who…how did you do that??

Aurora: I just do that sometimes. Sorry! I’m Aurora! Nice to meet you! What’s your name?

Jack: Uh…my name is Jack…

Aurora: Ooo! I like that name!!

Jack: Why are you in this house…?

Aurora: I live here!

Jack: Oh. Jeez, I’ve been out for a while.

Aurora: What about you?

Jack: I live here too.

Aurora: New buddy then!

Jack: Uh, since you’re here…can you help me find a tool bag?

Aurora: A tool bag? Yeah, I know there’s one in my papa’s room! Be right back!!

Aurora then quickly runs off, entering Solar’s room. Jack, of course, is confused by all of this. Aurora, five minutes later, comes back with a tool bag. She hands it to Jack.

Aurora: Here you go!!

Jack: Thanks…why did you run into Solar’s room though? You said you were going to your dad’s room?

Aurora: Solar is my dad!!

Jack: …Oh…

Aurora: Hmm?

Jack: And your mom?

Aurora: Ruin!!

Jack: Damn it, I should’ve known it. You look a lot like Ruin.

Aurora: Yeah, I get that a lot.

Jack: I’m actually Solar’s son…

Aurora: Really?

Aurora does a little gasp, followed by a squeal.

Aurora: Does that mean you’re my brother?!?

Jack: Well, uh, I’m not exactly sure-

Aurora: Oh, right. Sorry! I got too excited.

Jack: Well…I gotta go…

Aurora: Oh, okay then. It was nice meeting you.

Jack: You too. See ya, Aurora.

Aurora: Bye bye, Jack!!

Jack then walks away from Aurora. Later, Jack walks into the lab where Solar is.

Jack: Hey dad.

Solar: Hmm? Oh hey, Jack!! You have the tool bag, right?

Jack: Yeah. *Sets down the bag.* Say…when were you going to tell me that I had a sister…?

Solar pauses in place.

Solar: Oh…right. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.

Jack: …Will I be able to play with her when I get better?

Solar: …Of course, kiddo.

(END!! Thanks for reading!!)

[scourge-lover]

Last night, I wrote a very moving, imo, little thing about life itself. A lot of scientists are very confident life started at deep sea vents and moved up. 

“We are not angels descended from light. We began amidst salt and smoke at the deepest point on Earth. Instead of falling from the light into darkness, we crawled out of the dark and worked our way into the light.”

[ratsrunningaround]

When I was little we would go to my great grandparents house on the ranch. My Grandpa was a big fan of baseball, and they had their little TV room off to the side of the entryway, with a huge TV (I’m pretty sure they couldn’t see anything if it wasn’t absolutely massive) Bookshelf lined walls, an old picture of Josh Donaldson winning a Silver Slugger or something on the wall, grandpa’s recliner chair that sat him upright (he was so old, 88 when he passed) The jersey he kept on the wall by the TV, number out. 

I remember playing catch with him in the yard. He would’ve been 84. I was still getting used to having a body and when I overthrew the ball he would run (he always ran) for it, no matter how much I insisted I’d go get it, it was my fault. The ball never went far, I was only eight.

I remember the day I got it, it was COVID, there was still snow on the ground. I was having so much trouble sleeping, and losing my Great Grandpa had broken me. 

My Papa (My Grandma and Grandpa’s oldest son) brought it to the house. I think it was early in the morning. I don’t know what day, so many melted together. He had the jersey on a hanger and an owl statue in his, and the Donaldson picture under the other. He wasn’t wearing a toque. I gave him heck.

He said the Donaldson frame was for my dad. The owl and jersey were for me. He said Grandpa knew I loved poems. He said the owl reminded him of The Raven. He said Grandpa wanted me to have it.

The jersey was different. I was struggling at the time. I didn’t like baseball like I do now. Papa said it was for me. I asked why? Dad likes ball more than I do. Papa just shrugged, it’s for you.

Last year we went to Toronto to watch a few games. I wore my jersey. Gausman (one of the starting pitchers) complimented me on it when I met him. I got his signature on a ball Rivera rolled to me. Grandpa would’ve loved the pictures.

Last year Bautista retired from his major league career. He signed a one day contract with the Jays, so he could retire with us. His name is now on the Level of Excellence. I think my Grandpa would’ve been thrilled. I miss him.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

from the start !

so. . what are we ??

you’ve been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember.

sure, he had never outwardly called you his girlfriend, but when you were both seven years old, he came up to you. chest heaving slightly from running up and down the hill where he had gotten you a freshly plucked out bouquet of flowers. the roots were still clinging to them and he got dirt all over your hands from forcibly grabbing them and shoving the bouquet in them before you could even form a sentence.

“since you accepted the flowers, you’re mine now.” he mumbled, his little hands tightened into fists at his sides and chubby cheeks a cute shade of pink, staring at you as confidently as he could.

a grin grows on his face when you respond with a simple “okay !” and a bright smile. the grin on his face never disappears even as his mom scolds him for getting you both all dirty.

you were katsuki’s in middle school too, when the boys in class decided to play kiss, marry, kill and he had somehow gotten dragged into it. the girls in your class tried their best to seem uninterested, claiming the boys were being childish, but you noticed how hard some of them were straining their ears trying to hear what the guys were talking about in their own little corner of the room. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little curious as well.

katsuki was as ruthless as you’d known him to be, choosing to kill any girl that wasn’t to his liking, which ended up being all of them. much to the other boys’ chagrin, claiming he had no taste.

then your name was brought up.

at that, his eyes widened and he turned in his seat to see if you were watching. you had never turned your head away so fast in your life and you were pretty sure you heard something go “crack”.

he clicked his tongue. mumbling something about how stupid the game was before muttering out a “kiss yn, marry yn and kill that other bitch.” before getting up and stomping away, claiming he had to go to the bathroom followed closely by the whoops and hollers of his two friends behind him.

you both made eye contact when he walked out and you think you’ll never forget how red his cheeks were.

you were katsuki’s when he was the one to walk you to and from school everyday, claiming you would somehow get lost without him. you were katsuki’s when he had begrudgingly shoved homemade valentines day chocolates into your arms, mumbling something about how you had been upset nobody had gotten you anything last year, conveniently leaving out the fact he had scared off all the other guys trying to offer you anything.

you were katsuki’s when he grabbed your hand during the winter because he said you’d “end up dying of hypothermia with the way you’re chittering over there.” and you were his when you were the only person he laughed around. loud, genuine laughter that you and only you could squeeze out of him. you were katsuki’s when he randomly kissed you goodnight at your door one night and he’s been doing it ever since, and gets all pouty when you turn away from his kisses to tease him.

“are we dating ?” you had asked him. you’re both in high school now and you’re in his dorm room. your legs are on his lap and he’s got a comfortable grip on your leg, which tightens after he registers your questions “hah?” he looks utterly confused and a little insulted as he looks back at you, his entire face scrunched up in confusion. you pinch his nose and he swats at your hand.

“are we dating ? like—am i your girlfriend.” you say again and katsuki’s face scrunches up even harder. he huffs and looks back at his phone, landing a little smack on your leg still placed in his lap. “ ‘course yer my fuckin’ girlfriend.” he spits out, obviously irritated. then he looks back at you “I haven’t made it obvious ?” he says sarcastically. one of his eyebrows lifted as he pokes at your leg still very much in his lap.

you simply shrug “s’not that. it’s just because you’ve never actually asked me out before, so i was a little confused on where we stood.” you mumble. he stares at you while you speak and he stares a little longer before sighing. then he leans towards you and flicks your forehead.

“ow !”

“dumbass.” he murmurs. there’s a slight pout on his face and his cheeks are light shade of pink when he looks you in the eyes again. he grabs both your cheeks with one hand and smushes them together to push your lips out and presses multiple wet kisses onto them that have you squealing and squirming. his wet lips are pulled into a smirk when he pulls back and you try your best to at least look a little angry, you really do. but it’s useless when he looks at you like that.

“of course you’re my girlfriend” he reiterates. his smirk’s been replaced for something softer, something more sincere as he gazes at you with so much unadulterated affection it makes your head spin a little. “you’ve always been mine.” he says it in a teasing tone and his hand is still smushing your cheeks out and it hurts a little but his eyes are still the same. they’re warm and soft and so, so enamored with you and only you.

when he finally let’s go of your face and pulls you fully into his lap, you realize katsuki’s been yours for as long as you’ve been his.

you smile brightly at him but turn your nose up when he leans in to kiss you again. “i still haven’t heard what i wanna hear though, mr. bakugou.”

he rolls his eyes and pinches at your thigh as he mumbles out a “don’t call me that.” sighing, he looks at you intensely and you suddenly feel very shy.

“will you be my girlfriend, ya shitty girl ?” and he says it as a joke, you both know it is cus his lips are already forming into a smirk the second he finishes his sentence. and you’re pulling at his nose the moment you register it, but you’re both smiling hard. he laughs and you’re sure you’ll never get tired of the sound. “what’s your answer, pretty ?” he asks playfully and you pretend to really think it over just to mess with him, and giggling out a “yes!” when he suddenly pounces on you. flipping you both over and tickling you mercilessly, calling it revenge for you “taking too damn long to answer.”

you’d been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember, and you hope you can be forever.

[flamingpudding]

Triple Identity Crisis

Danny had a problem. If it was a big one, he couldn't tell yet but he was partially sure Clockwork was at fault for this. Or at least he wanted to blame his ghostly godparent who most likely just wanted to cause some chaos for entertainment with the pretext of helping Danny. Which was a very likely reason for why Danny had a problem right now.

As it was the former Fenton now Fenton-Wayne boy was pacing his room in the Manor trying to think what is next step should be, because as it was his 'new' family –Did new still apply if he was living with them for a little more than a year now? – knew him under three different Identities now. And to top it all off they were not aware that the three identities were all pretty much connected as one.

For one. His family, knew him as Danny, the space obsessed kid, who became a meta because of his ectobiology science obsessed parents and his teenager recklessness. A kid that was actually a genius if you gave him enough time for school and could make you anything out of a ancients be damed toaster. That was the Danny they mainly knew. The Kid they took in, let in on the family business and then chose, to the happiness of Alfred and dismay of some of his 'new' siblings, normal life over vigilante life.

Then they knew Phantom. A dead ghost hero that was helping the Justice League and Young Justice to help them deal with the aftermath of the huge fallout caused by the GIW, Guys in White or rather Ghost Investigation Ward. And while Danny didn't know he had apparently worked with nearly his entire family and that time he knew it now. Which was awkward because he had pretty much pestered one of his elder brothers about his condition until Red Hood, aka Jason, let Phantom help him. Ancient, things might get awkward if that secret is lifted. He had done a lot of things Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan and Robin had scowled him for. Thankfully they only thought of him as a dead teen hero and didn't know what a Halfa was. So they didn't make the connection, and he had yet to meet Signal, aka Duke as Phantom.

Now came the third identity, which totally did not happen by his choice. After all officially he hadn't accepted the throne yet and would only get it once he was dead dead not half dead. To bad ancient texts don't care about formalities. So when trouble hit the fan really hard the Justice League Dark had the bright Idea of getting some other worldly help. Which in other words was summoning the Ghost King. Oh boy, was it fun to learn that way that Danny could get summoned against his will. Clockwork did not give him that warning when he told him about the future of his afterlife. But best of all? Oh he doesn't get summoned as Phantom which would have made things maybe a bit easier, oh no. Life wasn't easy. He got someone's in some as a super weird black-green mass of a formless eltrich body with sharp teeth, claws and glowing green eyes with no pupils or irises. Hell Danny even scared himself when he saw his own reflection in a window and he didn't have a single idea how to change his form.

Let it be known that Danny acted then on purpose like he didn't know a single person in that room he had been summoned in right out of his bed and that he wasn't staring at his adoptive father like he needed help who interpreted his stare as the ghost king sizing him up. And Danny knows this because Dick had a good laugh about that at the dinner table with the rest of his siblings.

Now a smart person would probably come clean to his family and explain to them the three identities they knew him under and how they are connected.

To bad Danny wasn't 'smart' when it came to things like that. No in his panic and newfound awkwardness of the situation of what he had done on separate occasions with his identity as Phantom AND Ghost King, he decided to keep acting like he didn't knew them personally like the truely does. Really how hard could that be? Besides he liked the way his family treated him now. He didn't want to get treated differently because he was half dead, or a Ghost King. He liked that his family was treating him as plain old Danny who had an obsession with space and was their quirkily little brother with powers.

So that gave him even more incentive to keep the act up. Even if it was hard at times, especially if he got summoned out of nowhere. It would be easier if he could get a hang of the duplication power. He even had played with the thought of getting one of his ghost rogues to help but his family was perceptive. Maybe not perceptive enough to realise that all three identities were one and the same person but they would notice if Danny acted just slightly different or if Phantom was more of then usually. But somehow he still managed to keep it up.

But it was the hard way that he learned, Danny was bad at doing the 'talking' and realized that maybe Jazz was right and he was going to slip up one day causing huge misunderstandings like right now.

He stared down at Batman and Nightwing in his Ghost King form. Red Hood had his guns pulled on him, Wonder Woman and Superman looked like they where going to try to pull back Batman any second now while Nightwing, maybe at first was going to try to calm down the bat but Danny was pretty sure the eldest bat kid was now fiercely glaring at him too. He was also pretty sure the only reason he didn't see Red Robin or Robin threaten him too was because their super friends were somehow holding them back. For their own or his safety he doesn't know at the moment.

Because apparently the Bats did not fear fighting otherworldly beings to protect one of their own.

"What did you just say about Danny Fentons death?!" Batman grunted out and Danny just knew his adoptive father was glaring at him. Ancients Danny cursed his brain to mouth filter right now. As he had the collective hero scene before him staring at his Ghost King form. Would this be a good or bad moment to come completely clean or maybe he should find some kind of philosophical bullshit of 'All things death belong to him'....

[wanderingcas]

[on growing old.]

Dean wakes up the morning of his 46th birthday and doesn't feel much different.

His left knee aches a little; but it's been doing that for years, ever since he twisted it weird going down the stairs, the years of abusing it finally catching up with him. His head hurts a little, since he's dehydrated from all the drinking he and Cas did last night. (Celebratory birthday whiskeys. Plural. He knows that he’s getting too old to do that at midnight.)

But other than that—he feels the same.

Rolling over onto his back, he stares up at the whirling ceiling fan.

Imagine where you want to be in twenty years was always the plucky, feel-good advice fed to him by older, well-meaning folks. When he was a kid, he had some pretty good guesses as to what that would be: in a grave. In a motel room with his brother and dad snoring next to him. On the road to a hunt that he’ll be smarting from for days after.

And all that happened at some point in his life, one way or another. But now--

He's not in a grave; he's alive. He's not in a motel; he's in his own bed, in his own house that he fixed up with his two hands. He's in bed with his husband, listening to his soft snoring just a few inches away.

No more hunts, except for the ones he helps other hunters with when they call. No more clear and present danger, except for going down the stairs the wrong way and tweaking his left knee.

The ceiling fan suddenly blurs. Dean scrubs the tears out of his eyes. He rolls over to tuck himself up against Cas's warm, naked back and buries his nose into his skin, breathing him in.

He smells like the detergent Dean carefully picked out a few months ago that’s good for Cas’s sensitive skin. He smells like shampoo from his shower last night. 

He smells like home.

Cas stirs. He grumbles and groans at the sun streaming in through the shades because, for all of his amazing, admirable qualities, being a pleasant morning person is not one of them.

"Mornin', sunshine," Dean whispers, nipping at his earlobe just to be a little shit. Cas mumbles something and bats him away. Dean huffs out a soft laugh and kisses his neck in an apology.

Cas snuggles closer into Dean (along with not being a morning person, he’s also a spider monkey that likes to cuddle; man holds multitudes). He turns his head enough to brush his lips against Dean's. "Happy Birthday, Dean,” he rasps.

Dean smiles. Really, honest-to-goodness smiles. Because this is exactly where he wants to be twenty years from now; for every birthday and all the rest of it.

"Yeah," he whispers, pressing his temple to Cas’s. "It is happy."

[scribz-ag24]

More things with the villain quartet (previous post)

thank you special episode 4 for confirming misogyny exists in pmd so i can make this joke

Anyways i tried to note down a more serious version of how they would react to each other but i kinda gave up halfway through and wrote whatever

[redfirefox-55]

Please guys go read Software Entropy by @clubsheartsspades (I hope you don’t mind the tag!)

It literally destroyed me. I forced my sister to read it and it destroyed her too. I just had to draw something for it because I couldn’t get this quote out of my head, but I couldn’t possibly do the scene justice in the same way as in the fanfiction so you need to go read it yourself

[cicada-heart]

bonaventure cemetery 🤍

august 2024

[weirdcoregal35]

RF AU Thingy

TW AHEAD plus lazy writing.

RF Solar: …How?

RF Sakura and RF Bloodmoon: *walks into the room.*

RF Sakura: Hey boss, we’re here-*pauses.*

RF Bloodmoom: What’s-*pause.* …Up?

Both Sakura and Bloodmoon were surprised to see what was in front of Solar. In front of him were panels, telling off different dimensions. There were scattered blue prints around the floor.

RF Bloodmoon: …Woah…

RF Sakura: What’s uh…what’s all of this, Solar?

RF Solar: …

RF Sakura: Boss?

RF Solar: In other dimensions, I was able to find what I’m looking for now. In almost every single fucking dimension, EXCEPT THIS ONE!!

RF Bloodmoon: *Laughs.* Well, it seems your just gonna have to go to another dimension and get it from there instead!

RF Solar: …You’re right.

RF Bloodmoon: Huh-dude, we were just joking-

RF Solar: No. No. You two have a point.

Solar then grabs his large mallet from the side of his desk.

RF Solar: IF I CANT GET WHAT I WANT HERE, I CAN JUST TAKE IT FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE!!

RF Sakura: Woah, woah, woah!! Solar, calm down!

RF Solar: NO! BY NOW, EVERY SOLAR HAS BEEN ABLE TO GET BACK WAHT THEY DESERVE! YET, I CANT! IVE TRIED FUCKING EVERY THING!

RF Sakura: Or, not enough? Look, me, BM, or any of the workers don’t know what you’re trying to get. But that doesn’t mean you should take it from a different version of yourself.

RF Solar: …

RF Bloodmoon: She actually has a point.

RF Sakura: Now, what don’t you go home to your family? You’ll get to all of this mess tomorrow. Okay?

RF Solar: …Okay…*sets down the mallet.* I’ll go home.

RF Sakura: Good. Get some rest okay?

RF Solar: Okay…

(END!!)

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Begging swifties to understand that Taylor didn’t write reputation and Lover with the knowledge of how the relationship was going to end and that trying to “excavate” those albums for evidence to prove a specific theory as to why it ended is not how they should be viewed. Taylor wrote those songs feeling a very specific way because that’s what she was experiencing and she is now reflecting on them with hindsight and relates to them differently than when she first created them. These conflicting emotions can exist; how she views it now doesn’t diminish how she felt about it when she first released it.

[infinite-orangepeel]

most people assume steve doesn’t mind having his hair touched because, y’know, he’s steve ‘the hair’ harrington.

he’s always just kinda gone along with it.

letting teammates ruffle his sweaty waves after long basketball practices in an attempt at fratty camaraderie. giving past girlfriends the go-ahead simply because it seemed like something he should be into. allowing family members to tease him about getting a haircut on pretty much every single holiday.

but, deep down steve hates it—

really hates it.

the feeling of sticky fingers carding through his hair without his express permission is uncomfortable to say the least.

it’s like being dunked under water while you’re still fully dressed.

it’s like a stranger stealing the last bite of your sandwich & expecting you to just smile back at them in return.

the idea that anyone should have that kind of intimate access to him is terrifying—makes his skin crawl.

his sense of bodily autonomy has only gotten more fucked up & confused since he started fighting monsters after school & experienced true torture, but truth be told it’s always been there. the fear & mistrust.

he tries wearing hats, cutting his hair shorter, geling it so it stays out of his face, but people keep reaching for him—taking the hat off without asking, shoving into his space, making offhand comments about his ‘new look.’

it’s not until eddie comes into his life that any of this changes for steve.

see, eddie gets it—

he’s spent most of his life batting grabby hands away from his curls, snarling at those who tell him his long locks need to be shorn off, cussing out his fellow students who tug on his hair in class just to be cruel.

similarly to steve, hair is a big part of eddie’s identity. it makes him who he is. it’s the one thing he likes about himself when everything else seems gnarled & flawed.

it’s not something they directly communicate about for quite some time even once they start dating. yet, neither ever crosses the invisible boundary.

there is a mutual respect—one unlike anything steve’s ever experienced before.

eddie never touches steve’s hair without asking first.

often, the answer is no—not because steve doesn’t love eddie or want to be physically close to him, but because sometimes it just doesn’t feel good.

at first, steve worries he’ll push him away by denying him access, but eddie never gets mad, never comments on it—he just smiles softly & says, “no problem, babe” & they move on.

it’s as easy as that—steve is shocked. completely convinced that eddie must harbor some secret resentment towards him for saying ‘no.’

so, he brings it up one day—

“eds,” he nervously looks up at him from where they’re laying on his bed, “do you ever—does it ever bother you that i don’t really let you touch my hair much?”

eddie laughs, which throws steve off for a moment, until he intertwines their fingers together & says, “steve harrington, there are a million ways for me to love you & playing with your hair doesn’t ever have to be one of them if you’d rather it not be.”

“really?” steve whispers, amazed that eddie is so willing to listen & adapt to his wants, needs, & boundaries.

“really,” eddie smiles, “you’re always safe with me.”

&, for the first time in his life—steve actually believes it.

[zomtart]

Thinking about platonic Matt and reader with reader who, unlike Foggy and Karen, isn’t weirded out by Matt’s enhanced senses but thinks it’s the COOLEST THING ON THE PLANET.

Matt will be working and she’ll just call out of nowhere. He picks up, a little worried something is wrong when she says with urgency, “Matt!”

His hands pause over his papers, he’s immediately on high alert. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“No—everything’s fine. Everything’s great. Quick question—can you smell cavities?”

Matt is obviously taken aback. “What?”

“Cavities. Like, in my mouth. In my teeth. If I had any, could you tell?”

“Uh…” Matt runs a hand down his face, thinking about the huge amount of work he had to get done by the end of the day. “I’ve never really thought about that.”

“Okay—well, I bet you could. Do you know how much money I could save if I didn’t have to go to the dentist?”

“I don’t think that’s—“

“I’ll be at your office in ten.”

[libraryofgage]

After checks calendar 84 years, I am once again offering Smart Steve content lmao

Listen the writer's block has been hitting recently if you couldn't tell, but I'm still happy with how this came out.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :P

----

So.

Steve Harrington is smart.

Like, smart smart.

Like, the kind of smart where he not only understands shit, he can explain complicated shit to Eddie without sending his brain into a coma.

It's been two weeks, and Eddie is still trying to come to terms with this discovery. He's four tutoring sessions in and a little spark of surprise still rocks him whenever Steve can easily explain a new topic using the stuff Eddie likes.

He explained velocity using D&D spells. He explained electrical circuits using the concept of plugging a guitar into an amp. After asking a few questions about Lord of the Rings, Steve Harrington managed to explain the in-depth concepts of magnetism using the fucking One Ring.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about any of that? Ignoring the sheer fact that Steve is capable of it, how is Eddie supposed to feel about the...the willingness to learn what Eddie understands best and meet him on that level?

If the answer is awed and practically starstruck, he's ahead of the game.

"Hey, you doing okay? Kinda spacing out over there, man."

Eddie blinks, the textbook in front of him coming back into focus. Steve had been explaining the concept of momentum, but his words just floated in one ear and out the other because Eddie was once again consumed by the absurdity of the situation.

It's not like he can say that, though. So, instead, he settles for a grimace and pushes the textbook away. "I think I'm all fried out for physics," he says, looking up at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, blinking a few times before nodding. "Yeah, sure, uh, sorry."

"Wait, what are you sorry about?"

Steve looks away, an awkward frown tugging at his lips. "I...probably wasn't explaining it too well, huh?"

"Woah, woah, no way," Eddie says, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can leave the station. He turns in his chair to face Steve directly, ignoring how the metal rod that attaches it to the desk digs painfully against his shin. "Listen, Stevie, I've never understood physics more than when you explain it. Like, I don't know, man, whatever you're doing works."

Steve must have been more worried than he let on, because Eddie can literally see the tension draining from his shoulders. "Great," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away. "Seriously, that's great. I'm glad nothing's been confusing."

"Yeah, so, nothing you did," Eddie says, feeling like he needs to reiterate that point to drive it home. "Honestly, you could probably even make me understand geometry. Not like our teacher is doing shit to help."

"Do you...not understand geometry?" Steve asks, looking a little unsure like he can't tell if that's a joke or Eddie's attempt at suggesting another class he needs help in. This one is a class they share, which means Steve will have seen Eddie's floundering attempts at answering questions, and he feels a whole new burn of embarrassment course through him.

"Do you?" Eddie asks in return.

"Yeah. It's just, like, angles and shit, man."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and trying to figure out if Steve is somehow, subtly, making fun of him. But of course he isn't. If Eddie has learned nothing else, it's that Steve doesn't ever think Eddie is actually stupid or deserving of ridicule. He just thinks Eddie hasn't been taught properly, which is more on the teacher than him.

After a moment, Eddie twists around to dig in his bag. He pulls out his geometry homework, slaps it on the desk, and gestures at the triangles and squares and other shapes with unidentified angles and side lengths. "I have literally no clue what the fuck is going on here," he says.

Steve moves closer, looking over the sheet with a slight frown. Eddie knows this face by now. It's the one Steve makes when he's searching for the relevant knowledge in his own brain, pulling it to the front so he can easily identify the gaps in Eddie's understanding. "So, how would you start?" Steve finally asks, offering his pencil.

Eddie takes it, twirls it between his fingers a few times, and looks over the questions. He eventually chooses one asking him to find the length of a side. "I know this one. It's the equation with the squares and shit," he says, carefully writing it out and plugging in numbers under the triangle.

"Right. Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Yeah. That," Eddie says, working through the math on a separate sheet of paper instead of in his head. He can do easy addition and subtraction, but one of the first things Steve did was get him used to using scratch paper. His brain doesn't feel quite as crowded by numbers anymore; now it's just crowded by the endless rotation of bites of knowledge and equations that have nothing to do with the work at hand. It's like his brain can recognize that it needs to remember something, but can't identify what exactly, so it just offers up everything.

When he's done, Eddie shows Steve his work, the answer circled at the bottom of the scratch paper. "Perfect," Steve says, flashing a smile that makes Eddie's heart lurch dangerously. "Okay, so that's solid. What about this one."

He points at a right triangle with only one angle listed and the other marked as unknown. "No fucking clue," Eddie says.

"This one is asking for the unknown angle. It'll just be some subtraction."

"It's only giving me one angle, Stevie," Eddie points out, gesturing to the angle marked as 53. "What the fuck do I do with that?"

"Well, the main thing is that a triangles angles will always add to 180. Also, this is a right triangle," Steve explains, taking the pencil from Eddie to circle the L-shaped corner of the triangle. "This angle will always be 90 degrees on right triangles. Should I keep going?"

"No," Eddie says slowly, drawing the word out as he takes the pencil back. "I'm starting to get it. Lemme try."

Steve waits patiently as Eddie hesitates before adding the angles together and subtracting that from 180. When he gets to a solution of 37, he gestures for Steve to check.

"That's right," Steve says, nodding as he points to another triangle on the sheet. "For this one, I'll teach you about the SOH CAH TOA trick."

Eddie nods, paying as much attention as he can, but he can't help feeling a little distracted by Steve's happy smile and relaxed posture. He's never seen Steve like this during class, and he's struck by the sudden notion that nobody else will see Steve like this, either.

------

When Steve gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway, grabs a soda from the kitchen, and collapses onto the couch.

A few National Geographic and Scientific American magazines are still spread out across the coffee table. A brief glance reminds Steve that none of the stories were particularly interesting in these editions.

He pops the tab on his soda, takes a sip, and glances at the phone on the end table next to him.

Steve had noticed something today. Eddie's shirt. Most of the band shirts Eddie wears are popular enough that Steve sort of knows them. Metallica, KISS, and AC/DC were recognizable since he's passed their albums on display in record stores.

Today's band, though. He didn't recognize that one. What the fuck was Manowar?

After a few seconds of thought, Steve reaches out and grabs the phone. He's just doing research. Wanting to understand the music Eddie likes is reasonable. That's how Eddie learns. There's no other reason for Steve dialing the number of an old classmate.

The phone rings a few times before picking up. "Amare residence," a girl says, sounding distracted.

"Hey, Dee. It's Steve."

"Hmm, Steve. Steve. ...Steeeeve. Oh, is this Steve Harrington, deserter of friends for the woes of public education?"

Despite everything, Steve can't help an amused smile. "Yeah, that Steve," he says. He doesn't apologize, since he knows that's not what she wants. If she was actually angry, she would've hung up.

"Well, how kind of you to grace me with your voice," Dee says, sounding distant like she's set the phone down. "I suppose I can give you until I finish braiding my hair."

"Great. You know about metal, right?"

"Like iron? Duh, Steve, I'm not thirteen."

"No, like, heavy metal."

"Iron is pretty heavy."

"Music, Dee. Heavy metal music."

"Oh! Aren't you a Tears for Fears kind of boy? What are you doing asking about heavy metal?"

Steve starts to answer but stops himself. He doesn't know why. Dee tutors kids all the time. Everyone in their private school group did. That's how they made money. She'd understand that he's trying to learn more about Eddie's interests for tutoring purposes.

So why can't he just say that?

"This long pause says you're thinking about lying to me," Dee says. "Don't bother, Steve."

"Well, I do want to know for the guy I'm tutoring. But not just because I'm tutoring him."

"Awww, are you trying to make a friend?" Dee teases.

Steve grimaces, wondering why his stomach twists slightly at the question. "Yeah, kind of. I want to know more about the stuff he likes. And he likes heavy metal. So, ya know, I thought of you."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Dee says. "And I love talking music, so I guess we can keep talking even after I'm done braiding."

A relieved smile tugs at Steve's lips. "Thanks, Dee, I appreciate it. So, first question, what's Manowar?"

-------

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The bloodied moon cried for you, but you only heard the stars The weeping moon then bled for you, but you only saw her scars