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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 10 hours

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 100

Part 1 Part 99

Eddie nudges Steve into the back of Uncle Wayne’s truck, and just keeps pushing until there’s enough room to trundle in right after him. Steve ends up squashed into the farthest seat as Eddie reaches over to buckle his seatbelt. He stays close once he’s done–a long line of warmth against his side.

“You ready?” Wayne asks.

Steve looks away from the side of Eddie’s face to meet Wayne’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s statuesque. Unmoving. Unblinking. It’s as if he’s ready to stay there, waiting in the driver’s seat until the end of time for Steve to give him the go ahead.

He reaches out for Eddie’s hand. Eddie links their fingers together, immediately rubbing soothing circles with his thumb on the back of Steve’s hand.

Steve nods, and Wayne goes, old truck rumbling to life and making its bumpy way away from the hospital.

Steve catches a glimpse of his parents white Rolls-Royce taking up two spaces in the parking lot and wonders if they’re inside.

He turns away from the window to stare, unseeing at the back of the passenger seat, trying to feel something. There’s nothing there. It’s just…

Empty.

Vacant, like his house, and his childhood, and all those stupid fucking nights waiting for them to come home.

“Stevie?” Eddie whispers, squeezing his hand. Steve turns to him, and it’s only as he wipes his cheeks that he realizes he’s crying. Eddie’s touch is gentle, but his eyes are hard, and his words are clipped out. “Are you okay?”

Steve’s not feeling anything at all, so he nods. Eddie’s jaw clenches.

The cuts all across his palms are rough against Steve’s skin, and the little part of Steve’s brain wants to know how they got there. He opens his mouth to ask, but that’s not what comes out.

“What am I going to do?” Confusion softens Eddie’s face. “Where am I going to go?”

Eddie’s jaw’s all clenched up again, bone protruding in a persistent tick like he’s grinding his teeth, and his hand’s turned vice like against Steve’s cheekbone.

His words are spit out, dripping venom into the air. “You haven’t lived there in months, Stevie” Steve stares, cheek aching as he stares into Eddie’s angry, bruised eyes. “And it doesn’t matter if they want you, I’m not giving you back.”

Eddie’s hand hurts, like a brand on his face. Steve wants it to bruise, wants to be able to poke the pain and feel Eddie still there.

“Eddie,” Wayne snaps, voice sharper than Steve’s ever heard it.

Eddie shudders, fingers twitching against his cheek until he pulls it away entirely. “Sorry,” he chokes out, staring at the now-bare place on Steve’s cheek.

It’s only when he starts to let go of Steve’s hand as well, that Steve comes back to life. “No!” He pulls Eddie’s hand into his chest, squeezing it so hard that both their fingers blanche white. He doesn’t gentle his hold until Eddie stops trying to pull away.

Eddie stays. Hand solid and warm against his sternum, thrumming against where their connection lays.

The truck stays quiet, aside from the rumbling of the engine, the creaking of its axel.

Steve opens his mouth, unsure of what he’ll say. “I can stay?”

Wayne snorts. “If ya don’t Eddie might just chain you to the bed.”

“Wayne!” Eddie’s cheeks are rosy and he’s glaring at the back of Wayne’s balding head like he’s trying to set it on fire. He doesn’t contradict his words, though. That shouldn’t make Steve feel so warm.

“Do you need to get anything from that house?” Wayne asks, ignoring Eddie’s indignation. He says “that house” like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Steve wonders if he’s grimacing, but all he can see is his eyes, squinting against the light pouring through the dashboard.

Wayne’s stopped at an intersection, not another car in sight. If he turns left, they’ll be at the trailer in a matter of minutes. But if he turns right…

There’s some clothes in his closet, a few posters on the walls. Some notes abandoned in his desk, his milk crate of cassettes under his bed. None of it’s worth going back.

Not to that haunted house. He wants to leave it hungry, waiting for someone to come back and fill it.

Steve doesn’t want to be a ghost anymore.

“No.”

As if waiting for that moment, Wayne reaches out to the dial of the radio, and switches it on. The sounds on low enough that Steve can hear Wayne humming along to the crooning country singer’s voice trickling out of the speakers.

Eddie groans, slumping theatrically into Steve’s side. “Really, old man?” he whines. “You had to ruin the moment with your stupid country songs?”

Wayne pauses in his humming to grumble out, “We don’t take Johnny’s name in vain in this car, boy.”

Wayne turns left, and they drive on.

Eddie squeezes his hand, tugging on the string that ties them together, and Steve feels himself melt back into the seat, boneless.

He feels like a little kid. He always does, in the backseat of cars, but it’s different with Wayne driving instead.

If he fell asleep, would Wayne carry him in?

The sound of Wayne’s tires on gravel sounds like homecoming. He pulls past Eddie’s van parked parallel to the trailer and slides home behind Steve’s dusty beemer.

He stares at it, gut twisting as Eddie rushes out of the backseat, shoving Wayne’s seat forward while he’s still in it to get out and round the back of the truck. He opens the passenger side door, shoving the seat forward and holding out his hand with a bow.

“My liege.” Eddie’s dimples pop as Steve puts his hand in his and lets himself be pulled up and out.

Once free, Eddie wraps his arm around Steve’s waist like he needs the support. Wayne beats them to the front door, unlocking it with his keys and opening it wide for them all to shuffle in.

Never one to make a scene when it’s not warranted, it’s only once the door’s firmly closed behind them that Wayne pulls Steve into a hug, arm running through where Eddie’s is still slung around him until he has no choice but to pull it away.

He goes stiff at first, brain short circuiting as Wayne’s big hands rub his hand and cup the back of his head to pull it down to his shoulder.

Steve’s hands hang limp and awkward at his sides. Motion in front of him makes his eyes snap up to Eddie. He’s playing charades behind Wayne’s back, holding his arms up awkwardly and then wrapping them around himself like he’s trying to teach a toddler how to hug.

With hesitant movements, Steve wraps his arms around Wayne’s back. Wayne squeezes him tighter, slapping his back briskly before leaning down to smack a rough kiss to the top of his head.

Steve freezes again, arms almost seizing where there still wrapped around Wayne until he’s pried off and held at arm’s length by the shoulders. Wayne’s gaze is intense as it bores into his eyes. “You will always have a home here, no matter what,” he says, gruffly, not looking away from Steve’s eyes. “And you’ll always be my boy.”

Steve stares, unblinking, as something unlodges from his chest and falls aways.

Wayne doesn’t let go until he nods. As if nothing of note had happened at all, Wayne wanders away, levering himself in his recliner, pulling the remote out of the chair’s pocket and switching on the television.

The sound of rapidly changing channels fills the trailer–little snapshots of what could have been.

Unmoored and exhausted, Steve turns away from the sound to retreat to his bedroom. He stops at the threshold, staring at the riot of things that fill the small space.

All of Eddie’s posters still dominate the wall, but pictures they’ve taken are sprinkled in, little pops of color in all that black and red. There’s pictures of the party, of Wayne and Eddie smiling at Christmas, of Barbara scolding Steve in the library, Carol smirking at her side. There’s even one of Tommy’s eighth grade birthday party, Carol beaming at the camera as Steve and Tommy scuffle in the background.

Half the drawers are filled with his things.

Steve’s backpack is resting on Eddie’s desk chair, taking up real estate in his life.

Their lives are already mixed together. Steve’s car is in the driveway.

Tommy’s teddy bear is on his side of the bed.

Oh.

Steve crosses the threshold, back into a life that was already his.

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #we're so back baby!!!!!#making no promises as of Update schedule but i'm feeling good :)

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 day

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ok last one before i got to bed, Dustin's hat i frankensteined together on canva, size is 300 x 250 pixels

and for reference, this is how it looked in my divider i made it for

totally free to use, if do you use it just an @ mention would be pretty cool, thank you!!

#oh cute

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 day

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Reblogging this because my beta pointed out that this scene would be so much more emotionally impactful if it was Uncle Wayne that drove them home. So, I rewrote it! If you don't reread, the next part will still make sense, just know for continuities sake, it's Wayne signing him out of the hospital.

Also, life update: my dog is good! She's mended, and I love her so much. Work is still busy, but much more manageable. Anyway, I'm almost done with the next part, so we should be back into the swing of things soon! We're so so back, baby.

Anyway, here's the baby:

I've decided to rename her Financial Burden <3

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 99

Part 1 Part 98

Steve spends a short three days in the hospital before they start the discharge. It’s surprising, somehow, that spending time slowly dying in the Upside-Down is more traumatic on the body than literal possession. Eddie can’t wrap his head around it.

He’s sitting on Steve’s bed, hopefully for the last time, hip to hip as he kicks his feet out over and over again at the same tempo of his beating heart. Steve’s got their fingers interlaced on Eddie’s thigh, flexing his own fingers to that same rhythm Eddie’d started up.

“You think it’ll be much longer?” Steve asks, slumping his head to the side and atop Eddie’s shoulder.

His hair tickles Eddie’s cheek. Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it back, but Steve’s still holding his hand, and the other one doesn’t quite reach.

“Nah, the old man’s good at getting what he wants.”

“That’s because he’s got the same big, sad eyes as you.”

Eddie squawks in fake affront even as warmth pools in his cheeks. Few people have mentioned a resemblance, and it makes him go soft and gooey every time. “I don’t have big, sad eyes!” He shakes Steve’s hand around gently in his - he’s always, always gentle. “I’m too tough.”

Steve snorts, small and tired. Even with relatively minor injuries, neither of them have been sleeping well in the small hospital cot. It’s starting to show in the circles beneath Steve’s eyes. Eddie wants to bundle him up in the backseat of Wayne’s truck and tuck him into their bed at home.

They won’t even have to come back. All they’ve got is some sort of cream for Steve’s burns, and Eddie’s bruised ribs and broken nose are supposed to heal all on their own. His concussion’s already behind him, even if things still go a little wonky if he moves his neck too quickly.

They can just convalesce. Maybe Wayne will bring them soup. Or burgers from the diner and a strawberry milkshake to split. Anything will be better than the mind-numbing sterility of the hospital, as long as they’re together.

If only Wayne would hurry the hell up.

It’s not Wayne who walks in. It’s not any of their friends, or family, or an unnamed doctor in blue scrubs. It’s not anyone he recognizes at all.

It’s a perfectly matched pair - like salt and pepper shakers at a fancy diner. Eddie feels his shoulders curl, a silent question mark to their upright forms.

The woman looks like a mannequin, in her gray pencil knit skirt and matching cardigan, belted tight enough to make her look like a wine glass. Her hair is a windswept brown and her chin’s raised just so.

The man’s suit is a pewter gray, matching her skirt perfectly. He has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, like he’s posing for a catalog as he looms imposingly on the threshold.

She knocks on the frame of the door, calling a quiet, “knock knock,” as the man strides in.

Eddie feels Steve’s hair brush against his cheek as he sits up and twists, to look at the new arrivals. Eddie doesn’t look toward him, can’t tear his eyes away from the pair, as the woman comes to stand beside the man, photogenic smile plastered to her face, even as the man glares down at them.

“Steven,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in an expression Eddie knows intimately. He’s seen it on Steve’s own face enough times. It’s less charming on the older, meaner model.

Steve drops his hand covertly and shuffles slightly to the left and away, leaving Eddie’s hand to flop to the mattress, bereft.

“Dad,” Steve replies.

Eddie turns, can’t not when Steve’s voice comes out so even, so lifeless, so dead. It’s just like when the mind flayer was running the show. Like Steve’s not there at all.

He is though. And that feels worse, because as Eddie stares at Steve’s perfect profile, he can almost see the years of distance and berating stacking themselves into the clench of his jaw and that familiar furrow of eyebrows.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” His Dad doesn’t shout, but the hiss somehow still feels like it’s echoing off the bare walls of the hospital room.

Steve flinches back. Eddie sits on his hand as it twitches without his permission to grab onto Steve’s own.

“For what, sir?” Mrs. Harrington’s perfect face scrunches up into a wince as she looks sidelong at her husband’s stony face. He opens his mouth, eyebrows angrier than ever, and Steve blurts, “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t help.

“Sorry,” he says evenly, like his fist wasn’t clenched in preparation for a strike. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

Steve sits, wordless, as he stares up at him, unblinking.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Steve.” It sounds sympathetic, but Steve’s back curls in, arms wrapping around his ribs as he looks down at his own hanging feet.

Eddie sits on his other hand.

Steve remains silent while storm clouds bloom above Mr. Harrington’s head.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, crossing arms and tapping perfectly manicured fingers against her own forearms, that same familiar beat that Steve gravitates toward without any of the soul.

“Sweetie,” she starts, no warmth in her voice or eyes. “I understand that you might have been feeling a little sick, but that’s no excuse for the state you left the house in.”

Eddie looks at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, and sees Steve looking right back, eyebrow quirked up in a silent question Eddie doesn’t know how to answer with witnesses.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, looking back down to the linoleum between his feet.

“You’re sorry?” Mr. Harrington demands, voice raising with each syllable he utters. “You flooded the house, Steven!”

Steve flinches at the sound of his name. Eddie reaches out for the connection between them and plucks it, thrumming it like a guitar. Steve smiles, just a little, down at his socked feet.

It’s a mistake. Mr. Harrington’s nostrils flare. Eddie sees the resemblance in the way his nose leans just slightly to the left, almost charmingly crooked. But there’s none of that familiar light behind Mr. Harrington’s eyes. He’s an empty pit, a bottomless well.

“We’ve had to replace all of the carpeting on the second floor,” Mrs. Harrington cuts in, looking down at her nails, uncaring as Mr. Harrington’s incensed further by her words.

“We wouldn’t have even known if the Allen’s hadn’t called us!” He’s shouting now, gesturing wildly toward the open door like whoever the Allen’s are, they’re waiting right outside, watching the show.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Richard. Don’t make a scene.”

As if spurred on by his wife’s chastising words, Mr. Harrington’s voice only gets louder. “You soiled the carpet beyond repair.” He punctuates his words with a raised finger, like he’s counting down all the sins he’s ready to lay at his son’s feet. “You made a spectacle of yourself in front of all the neighbors.” Another raised finger.

He points both fingers at Steve’s face, finger close enough to his nose that Eddie wants to snap out and bite it. “You left the garage open to be ransacked!” And here comes raised finger number three.

Steve’s curling further and further into himself, creating distance between his Father’s wagging finger and his vulnerable face.

“Leaving the door open, Steven?” Mrs. Harrington asks, just as aloof and uncaring of the scene in front of her, even as she says, “we could have been killed.”

Eddie can’t help the snort that comes out. It’s all just such a cartoonish display, almost unbelievable even as he watches it play out in front of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but both their gazes have already snapped over to him.

Well, better him than Stevie. Stevie, who Eddie’s seen with that same curled posture hiding in his closet, and looking up at his own goddamn house from the passenger seat of Eddie’s van.

He’d been straight backed facing down a demogorgon but just the sight of his parents has him fading into himself. No fucking way. Not on Eddie’s watch.

Eddie slaps his own thighs once, sharp enough that it stings. Mrs. Harrington jumps, just a little, at the sound. Eddie stands, shifting on the balls of his feet until he’s just slightly in front of Steve, ready to defend.

“Wouldn’t you have to actually be home for that?” Eddie asks.

Mrs. Harrington gasps, hand over her cheek like Eddie had slapped her. “Excuse me?” she asks, at the same time that Mr. Harrington demands, “who are you?”

Eddie puts his pointer finger to his chin, pouting like he’s really thinking this through. “You know, I think you’d know that if you were ever actually around.”

Steve stands, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie as his Dad takes a threatening step toward Eddie.

“This is Eddie,” Steve says, voice flat and cold. King Steve’s come out to play. Eddie grins, manic and wide in that way that’s always worked to rile up cops and teachers alike. It works just as well on the Harrington’s. He sticks out his tongue and almost laughs again when Mrs. Harrington takes a startled step back. “You’d know that if you gave half a shit about me.”

Mr. Harrington scoffs as he looks Eddie up and down, eyeing the rips in his jeans, the frayed hem of his t-shirt, the unkempt length of his hair. He turns away, dismissing him without even a word as he looks back at Steve.

“It’s time to go,” he says, glaring down at his son. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

Steve takes a step away from Mr. Harrington’s grasping hands. Eddie reaches out, interlocking their fingers again and squeezing tight. The splint on Steve’s finger sticks out awkwardly, digging into Eddie’s own hand as Steve squeezes right back.

“Eddie is my home,” Steve says, like that isn’t the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

He almost swoons, even as Mr. Harrington rages, looking between the pair of them, making connections Eddie desperately hopes are true and even more desperately hopes the man won’t go spreading around.

“Last chance,” Mr. Harrington says. “Or we’re-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Wayne chooses that moment to walk in. His stance goes loose immediately, gaze sharp.

“Richard,” he says. Calm, cool, and gruff as he meets both their enraged eyes, one after another. “Nora.”

Mrs. Harrington sucks on her teeth, mouth pursed as she holds her silence. Mr. Harrington has no such compunction.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Wayne raises his eyebrow before turning his back on them to run his eyes over Steve and Eddie in turn. “You boys alright?” Steve nods, but Eddie raises his hand to flap it back and forth in a wishy-washy gesture that Wayne grimaces at. “Ready to go home?”

Richard scoffs, taking a threatening step forward. “What do you mean home?” Steve flinches as the last word lands with derision. Steve doesn’t respond, just looks down at his own shoes with a clenched jaw.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, and it lands in the room like a blow.

Wayne’s eyes have gone hold and hard as he turns around and steps fully in front of Steve. “Steve’s been staying with me for over a year,” Wayne says, tone modulated and controlled even as his hands clench. “And you didn’t even notice.”

“Steven,” Richard says, a warning hidden in his tone. “Last chance.”

Eddie leans around Wayne to look between the pair. He resists the urge to pull Steve behind him. Eddie squeezes his hand and is floored when Steve’s shoulders immediately straighten, chin raised just so, like he’s keeping his crown straight atop his head.

He stands, shoulders back, head held high. Eddie stands right along with him.

“I’m not going with you,” Steve says, boring holes into his Father’s head with the force of his conviction from behind Wayne’s shoulder.

Mr. Harrington’s jaw clenches with whatever he sees on Steve’s face. He reaches his hand out, palm open and beckoning. “Give me your keys,” he demands, curling his fingers like he’s in a cheesy karate movie and begging his opponent to make the first move.

Steve laughs. “You want my car?” His laugh is hollow. “You’ll have to go get it from the trailer park.”

Mrs. Harrington eyes Eddie and Wayne like she’s putting pieces together he’d rather she not have. Even still, she turns away with an airy, “Come on, Richard.” When he doesn’t immediately follow her directions, she continues, “this isn’t the place.”

Mr. Harrington’s snarling like a dog, finger still raised in threat as he hisses, “this isn’t over,” before turning and striding through the door with enough careless force that his shoulder hits the frame with a meaty thwack.

“See you next year, then!” Eddie calls, waving bitchily at their backs.

They all stare at the open door, waiting for an attack that never comes until Mrs. Harrington’s heels stop echoing down the corridor.

“What the hell was that?” Wayne asks gruffly.

Steve’s jaw is clenched, as he glares out the open doorway, but at Wayne’s question, he slumps, stepping closer to Eddie until he can lay some of his weight onto Eddie’s shoulders. It hurts his ribs, but Eddie takes it gladly, wrapping his hand around Steve’s waist.

“Just the usual,” Steve says, sounding exhausted.

Wayne eyes him critically as Steve avoids his gaze. Eddie squeezes Steve’s side, flickering his fingers against his waist just to feel him wriggle against the feeling.

“Alright, kid,” Wayne says, reaching out to squeeze both their shoulders comfortingly. Steve slumps further into Eddie who gladly takes his weight. “I think it’s about time we all get home.”

Eddie smiles, bumping his hip into Steve.

He was already home. After all, Steve’s right here.

#koko thinkin thots

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 days

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I'm sorry, but I do find it pretty annoying that the only time people on Tumblr seem to care about platonic relationships is when they're trying to argue why a canon M/F ship would be better as friends when what they REALLY mean is that they want the F to get out of the way so the fan favorite M/M ship can get together.

#😶

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 days

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s2 steddie cause why tf not

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 days

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Jonathan going no contact with Joyce once he leaves home is so real

#ok jon is in a similar situation as my sister was growing up #and in my heart of hearts. he does what she does: moves just far enough away that you've got plausible deniability on why you're not #coming around much. create emotional distance AND physical distance. see relatives once or twice a year #because you can't bear to cut off contact bc they're like a limb to you. but you also can't bear to pick up the phone #and people arent calling you much anymore because of all that distance you currated #not free. just with a longer chain #but honestly he might be happier with no contact. fly free Jonny boy

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 days

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i know there are people who are hating on lucas for joining the basketball team to get in w the popular kids but this child spent his whole life being the target of racist bullying then for two years some freak was actually legitimately trying to murder him in a hate crime. yeah i think it’s fair if, given the opportunity, he tried to get a little protection through social acceptance. and he didn’t even ditch his friends, like the championship-hellfire stuff nods to the classic trope where someone gets too cool for his lifelong nerd friends, but he actually still badly wants to be engaging with his friends and their standard hobbies, he just also has an extremely significant, time-sensitive obligation. and then his very reasonable choices land him in an unpredictably horrifying situation which he extricates himself from to the best of his ability!! he’s a good egg

#is lucas evil for *checks notes* playing a sport?? hmm hmmm these are the questions we must ask ourselves

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 9 days

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EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt

#😶

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 15 days

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I feel like a broken record repeating this stuff: but welcome to the Spooky Stranger Things Big Bang!!! A Big Bang event for people 15 and up!! I thought it would be fun to run an event that teens can be in, too!

I’ll put this here too just in case the image doesn’t load

writer sign ups: May 1st-May 31st

writing starts: you can start writing as soon as you sign up!

artists sign ups: May 1st-July 25th

first check-in: July 28th

Art Claims: August 5th-August 15th

Second Check-in: August 30th

Final Check in: September 27th

Posting: October 16th-31st

The minimum word count for all fics is 10k words

The minimum for all art pieces is 1 (obviously)

The minimum word counts for writers through: first check in: 5k second check in 10k final check in: completed and beta-read

The minimum progress for artists: second check-in: 50% final check-in 100%

You can write about anything, as long as it’s just a little bit spooky, this is kind of a Halloween big bang 🥰

Your fics cannot be beta-read by you, because sometimes people don’t notice things in their own writing no matter how many times they re-read the piece, but it can be beta read by someone who’s not a part of this event! (ex. Friend, family member)

If you have any questions through that the bang, feel free to send in an ask and I’ll answer them as soon as I can! Or DM me in the discord group once you sign up!

all of these fics will be posted on ao3 (and here if you want!) and the chapter have to be posted at once so that I can keep track of things

This event is run by @finntheehumaneater 🩵✨

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 18 days

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hi. go say something nice to your favourite writer(s). let them know they’re loved and seen and appreciated, and that their place in this world is not dependent on whether or not they’ve written anything recently. write that comment on that fic you’ve re-read for the fifth time just now. invade that ask box and give them some flowers in thanks. imagine a world in which they don’t write anymore, and be aware of the power that lies in kindness and genuine, random appreciation.

#this is such a sweet message

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 19 days

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 19 days

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the babysitter’s club is my favorite TV show

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 23 days

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I maybe started working on something to go with my proposed “what if Steve met Wayne first” scenario.

Disclaimer: I know nothing about plant jobs.

CW: smoking, brief mention of weight loss, but I think that’s it?

No tag list.

———————

Most of the guys who have been there a while hate training the seasonal workers the plant brings in each summer. But demand goes up, more hands are needed, and some sucker’s got to show them the ropes. More often than not, that sucker is Wayne. He’s got a soft spot for the kids that come through, sees his nephew in each of them, hopes that any job Eddie gets, there’s someone there to take him under their wing.

But the latest new guy to join the second shift crew—Harrington Steve—Wayne’s not too sure about him. He was brought on at the end of the hiring surge, filling the spot of a guy who’d gotten the axe for falling asleep at his station twice in a row, so he’s got Wayne mostly to himself as they run through safety protocols and other job basics. Doesn’t say much, but he pays attention. Watches intently and steps in quickly when Wayne indicates it’s his turn to lift and pull and set. He takes Wayne’s soft corrections and suggestions with a nod, and doesn’t need to be told something more than once. As far as Wayne’s concerned, the kid does a fine job and he’s happy to have him.

The other guys don’t take to him. At all. They respect Wayne enough not to antagonize the kid to his face, but Wayne overhears them in the break room sometimes, talking about his hair and his clothes and the fancy car he refuses to park near anyone else’s in the parking lot, too precious about it getting dinged. It doesn’t help that the kid spends his breaks God knows where. He never eats in the break room, but the couple of times Wayne’s been curious enough to check, he hasn’t seen him sitting in his car either. He’s got no idea where the kid holes up.

Steve also never joins them for a bite at the 24-hour diner they go to at least two to three times a week at shift change. The guys don’t bother inviting him, but Wayne asked a couple of times at the beginning. Hard to catch him, because as soon as the shift’s over, he bolts for the tiny shower room that Wayne didn’t even know the place had until he’d stumbled across Steve leaving it one night. It’s dark and moldy and Wayne wouldn’t be caught dead with his bare ass anywhere near those tiles, but every night Steve ends his shift with a shower—every third night with a shower and a hair wash—then he’s out the door.

One night, a few weeks after Wayne stopped asking about the diner, he decides to try once more. Kid’s been looking too skinny. Not unusual to lose weight when you first start a physical job, but something about how fast he’s losing it doesn’t sit right with Wayne.

He smokes a cigarette at the edge of the parking lot waiting for Steve to emerge from his shower. It’s not a hair washing night, thank God. Kid actually brings a blow dryer in on those nights. The other guys usually book it out too fast to notice, otherwise they’d be ragging on him even more.

Wayne’s about half done with his second cigarette and starting to sweat in the June heat even at 1 am, when the door finally opens and Steve steps out. Illuminated by the single light mounted on the brick wall of the building, he looks tired, drawn. But even as dark as it is where Wayne’s standing, Steve clocks him immediately and tenses, holding the door open as if ready to dart back inside like a spooked animal. Wayne holds a placating hand up.

“It’s just me, kid.” His body immediately sags.

“Oh, hey, Wayne. What are you still doing here?”

He steps out, pulling his own pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He looks inside, grimaces, and slides the pack back in.

“Want one?” Wayne asks, reaching for his own pack, but Steve waves him off.

“Nah, I’m trying to quit. My coworker hates the smell, swears she can smell it on me even when I’m not wearing clothes I smoked in.”

Wayne’s brow furrows. “Ain’t never seen you talking to someone here long enough for all that.”

Steve laughs and it’s not quite bitter. “Yeah, definitely not someone from here. I work at the mall during the day. My coworker Robin likes me about as much as everyone here does, but it’s just the two of us most of the time, so she’s forced to talk to me.”

Steve’s mouth twists as he’s done saying the most Wayne’s ever heard him say. The exhausted heaviness he carries around with him makes a little more sense now, if he’s working two jobs. Wayne takes a final puff of his cigarette and stubs it out.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to come to the diner with us, but if you’ve gotta get up for work in the morning, I guess you better get home to sleep.”

That laugh, not quite bitter, comes out again. “Home, yeah.”

They fall in step beside each other as they make their way down a row of empty spaces. They reach Wayne’s car first and Steve gives him a stiff nod as he walks on to his car.

“Hey, kid,” Wayne calls after him. Doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know what he’s going to say. But he thinks of the heaviness, the exhaustion that he’s too skinny to carry, the edges of bitterness. And he thinks of Eddie, who looked exactly the same all those years ago when he’d come to live with Wayne. Wayne had wiped all that away from his kid, and it’s the thing he’s most proud of in his life. He’s older now but he thinks he’s got it in him to do that again. Somehow. He’ll figure it out. To Steve, he says, “Take care of yourself, ya hear?”

The light doesn’t reach far enough for Wayne to see the expression Steve makes as he replies, “I always do.”

————————————

This will likely be updated about as often as the sad steddie scenario is, so, terribly sorry about that 🫣😬 but I hope you like the beginning all the same! Reblogs/tag comments appreciated! Thank you for reading!

#ohhh i see what your puting down here :):):)#fanfic

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