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#pre finale
destielfandomlore · 23 days
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Hi! I know things are a bit crazy right now, but would you mind explaining lamp-gate? Most of the other -gates I've got a pretty clear picture of, but this one I've somehow missed. Best I've got is it's somehow to do with lampshading, but no idea of the actual details
Oh no worries! So unfortunately I was not present live during s15 airing, but from what I have gathered, why lamp/lampgate has to do with that scene in 15x10 The Heroes' Journey, when Dean goes to Garth to get his cavities filled. He hallucinates/has this dream sequence where he tap dances to "Let's Misbehave" by Cole Porter which apparently has a ton of LGBTQ+ lore attached to it (via @deanwasalwaysbi). Definitely read through that post which goes into a lot more detail.
The long and short of it is that the lamp is theorized to be a stand-in for Cas especially since at the very end of that episode he is looking at Garth and Bess dancing in their living room and is like "I always thought I'd be good at dancing" or something similar.
From there, my understanding is that fandom did lamp=light and looking back on various episodes, there are lighting shifts whenever Cas is mentioned in the context of Dean. Off the top of my head, an example is at the end of 13x05 Advanced Thanatology when Dean gets a call from Cas saying he's alive and his face both figuratively and literally lights up.
There are also often instances of Cas standing under lamp posts which are supposed to symbolize a halo since we don't see actual halos in the spnverse.
Additionally in Dean's room in the bunker, there is furniture doubling at times, can't quite remember the specifics right now, but there are times when there are 2 table lamps/end tables and times where there are not. I believe in the finale everything is doubled and in comparison the absence of Cas is LOUD especially when taken with the insane number of empty beer and liquor bottles littering the place. (Don't take my word for this though because I've seen the finale exactly once.)
I hope that helps but anyone else can add on too!!
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o0kawaii0o · 1 month
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raiding the fridge AGAIN
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bamsara · 2 months
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goofies
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mrdrhenwardhykle · 10 months
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zosanbrainrot · 4 months
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fanarts for the cute fic by Hazel_Athena where Sanji gets turned into a cat and Zoro is very much a cat person
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sp0o0kylights · 6 months
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Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.
It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms. 
Worse?
It was short.
Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans. 
The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at. 
“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming. 
Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme. 
“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym. 
Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.
‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’
“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel. 
They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.
Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give. 
Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.
(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.
 Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures. 
The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.) 
Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.
Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.
Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds. 
“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious.  “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”
He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.” 
To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was. 
None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.
Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it. 
Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.
Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome. 
“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again. 
A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.
“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!” 
Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction
“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”
“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!
“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!” 
As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.
Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s. 
“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!” 
It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.” 
Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise. 
Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for. 
(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.) 
The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con. 
It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.
Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.
Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.
“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.” 
He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.
Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.
(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)
“You know who doesn’t look scary?”
Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of; 
“Steve!”
Eddie’s left eye twitched.
‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.
Cartoon squawking and all. 
“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.” 
So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.
“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”
Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.
There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this. 
Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game. 
One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all. 
(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”
“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.) 
“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly. 
“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!
 “Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?” 
He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.
“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of  a few silly images.” 
A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room. 
“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!” 
This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air. 
Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!
He was right!
Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.
“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking. 
Because King Steve? Play D&D?
'Ha!'
“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!” 
“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.
Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed. 
Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.) 
The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway. 
As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.
“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.
"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.” 
 Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table
Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.” 
The dick.
“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.
He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.
Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.
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loveinhawkins · 2 months
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ao3
It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.
But then Steve continues, his voice turning distant as he heads to the back of the store—“I don’t care what the goddamn handbook says, the radiator’s goin’ on full blast,”—and Eddie realises he hasn’t actually been noticed at all.
Not by Steve, at least. 
Robin Buckley is standing by the computer. She’s checking her watch; Eddie can see the thought cross her mind, that he should’ve been out of class over an hour ago, like she was.
All of a sudden, he feels uncomfortably aware of what he must look like: drenched from the rain, dripping water onto the carpet. 
“Hey, Munson. O’Donnell got you working overtime, huh?”
Eddie fakes a laugh. He doesn’t know Robin that much—but still just well enough to know she doesn’t mean anything by it.
So he nods and rolls his eyes, concocts a story about an unjust detention; he even embellishes it with a pinch of truth as he brings the video tapes out from the shelter of his jacket. Says that his last-ditch attempt at improving his grade before the holidays was offering to return the videos O’Donnell rented for her classes.
He doesn’t mention the fact that he stayed behind voluntarily. That he spent all that time staring down at a perpetually unfinished essay, gripping his pen with an all too familiar desperation. That kind of honesty somehow feels more embarrassing than lying; it always has.
Robin takes the videos from him. “Okay, tell me if that works,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm; she’s joking, Eddie reminds himself, but not in a mean way. “Because I’d be returning, like, so many library books if…”
She trails off with a frown, eyes on the computer screen. Glances to the stack of video tapes before punching in something.
Eddie doesn’t mind the wait; it’s only now that he’s really appreciating just how cold he is. He shakes some water off his jacket sleeve, fingers numb, and realises too late that he’s creating a puddle on the floor. 
“Uh, sorry for, um. Dripping,” he says awkwardly, but Robin doesn’t seem to hear him; she just keeps frantically tapping on the keyboard.
Outside, the wind picks up even more, throwing rain against the windows. 
There’s the creak of a door swinging open somewhere in the back, followed by a voice calling, “What’s up?”
Eddie startles—he almost forgot that it wasn’t just him and Robin in here. He watches Steve sidle up to the register.
“It’s this stupid—“ Robin gestures to the computer with frustration. “It keeps going all, you know, aaaah.” She draws out the sound, wiggling her fingers.
Surprisingly, Steve catches Eddie’s eye with a wry look. “Technical term,” he says, deadpan.
If Eddie didn’t know that he was the only other person in the room, he’d think that surely he’d been mistaken for someone else.
Not that he thinks Steve would ignore him outright; it’s just that they’ve not got much history—no fleeting camaraderie forged from sitting next to one another in class. Sure, they crossed paths as much as anyone did in Hawkins, Steve a recurring figure in Eddie’s peripheral; he knew of his existence, obviously, it’s Steve Harrington, but nothing more than…
A collage of all the times Steve’s picture has appeared in the school newspaper flickers through Eddie’s mind. Okay, but that was because of The Tigers, and the swimming team, and—anyone would’ve noticed that—
His justification is brought to a halt at a particularly fierce howl of wind; Robin flinches so badly that she knocks the video tapes onto the floor. 
“Just the wind,” Steve says quietly.
As he speaks, he gently nudges Robin out of the way with his hip. Picks up the fallen tapes.
And to anyone else, it might seem kind—and nothing more. 
But there’s something almost imperceptible in the way Steve does it, Eddie can’t get away from that fact: a meaning behind the words that he can’t grasp.
Then he hears Wayne’s voice in his head—son, you know fine well when something’s none of your damn business—and tells his curiosity to quit it.
“Sorry, it’s still not working,” Robin says, giving the computer one last thump. “I can, um, write you a receipt? To prove you returned them? So O’Donnell doesn’t get all…”
Eddie nods. “Sure.”
Robin gets a pen out of her shirt pocket and writes a receipt, triple-checking the movie titles as she does so.
Eddie thanks her as she hands over the paper. Catches himself hesitating. 
There it is: the familiar prickle of discomfort, not knowing what else to say. Jesus Christ, isn’t that a failure on its own? Another year at school, and you’d think he’d be somewhat closer to other students, just from the sheer amount of time they’ve spent together in the same four walls. And yet, he’s starting to feel more distant than ever.
Granted, there’s Hellfire, but on bad days even that chafes, not that he’d ever admit it. Like he’s playing a part far bigger than who he actually is.
Eddie expects to just walk out without another word being said. In fact, he’s bracing himself for the cold again, almost at the door, when Steve inexplicably speaks up.
“Are you actually leaving?”
Eddie turns around. Steve’s leaning by the desk with his arms folded, looking at him expectantly.
Eddie’s half-convinced there’s a joke he’s not getting.
“Uh, yeah?” he says. He tries to ensure that ‘what the fuck else am I supposed to do?’ goes unheard, but from the way Steve’s eyebrows rise, he doesn’t think he succeeds. 
Steve gives a pointed, dubious look outside. “Dude, you wanna drown out there?”
Eddie rocks back on his heels. There’d be a time where he would really snap back at that (the first time he flunked out, maybe), but now he’s more caught off-guard. 
So he just glances outside and says, “Ideally, no.”
Steve gives a slight huff of laughter at that, shaking his head.
“Look, I’m just saying, man, I’m not gonna be driving till it clears up. Thought I was gonna need a canoe just to get into the parking lot.” He turns to Robin as if looking for agreement, stacking the tapes Eddie returned as he adds, “I said that when I drove you in, right?”
“I dunno, I’ve had crazier journeys,” Robin says.
Steve rolls his eyes like she’s made a corny joke—but he’s grinning like he just can’t help himself.
Eddie watches with a flicker of amusement rather than irritation, which catches him unawares. If he was honest, he’d felt drained not even a few seconds ago. But seeing Steve and Robin’s back-and-forth sparks an unexpected urge to respond in kind.
“Since when were you the spokesperson for road safety, Harrington?”
Robin snorts.
Steve shrugs. “At least wait until it’s not so brutal out there.”
And what brings Eddie up short is that, despite the dry tone, Steve sounds sincere. It leaves him struggling for an acceptable reply.
Before he can work one out, Steve steps to the side and pushes a swivel chair with his foot, right into Eddie’s path.
Eddie sits down in silent bewilderment.
He braces instinctively for an unbearable awkwardness, but it’s not so bad: Steve and Robin just continue working. It gives him time to try and dry his jacket off, at least, and when that ends up a lost cause, he turns to noticing the background noise in the store.
There’s a TV overhead playing It’s a Wonderful Life; George Bailey and Mary Hatch are about to Charleston right into the swimming pool.
Steve wanders into his eye line, scanning the aisles with a clipboard. Eddie doesn’t actually know how long he’s been there. He’d kinda got caught up in watching the movie. Steve seems to notice that; it’s gone too quick for Eddie to be sure, but his lips might’ve quirked, as if in approval.
“Hey, d’you want me to take your jacket? I’ve got mine and Robin’s on the radiator in the back.”
Eddie does his best not to stare. It’s a habit he’s still not shaken off: waiting for the other shoe to drop when anyone apart from Wayne is so… so…
“Didn’t realise this place was a hotel, Harrington.”
Despite his misgivings, he shrugs off the still damp jacket; Steve’s already stuck his hand out for it.
“Not everyone gets this treatment, Munson. You just haven’t annoyed me yet.”
“Then what am I doing wrong?” Eddie returns flatly. 
This time Steve’s smile is obvious.
“Don’t move my scarf off the radiator!” Robin calls as she wheels a trolley of tapes.
“What do you take me for?” Steve says.
He disappears into the back again, returning empty-handed when the phone rings. He mutters at it before he picks it up, “Yeah, of course you still work,” and it’s not endearing, Eddie tells himself. It’s not.
And no, he isn’t listening in to the phone call. That’d be… that’d be stupid. It’s just that the movie isn’t all that loud, so he can’t help but…
“Hello, Family Video? Oh, hi, Mrs Wilcox, how are… Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.” Steve listens to whatever’s being said on the other end. His eyes find the TV, and then he’s silently mouthing along to George and Mary singing, ‘Buffalo Gals.’ “Oh, are you kidding? No, no, stay inside. It’s not a problem, I can just—yeah, of course. I’ll push it back to after the holidays. Yeah. Yeah, you too. Thanks for calling. Enjoy the movie!”
He hangs up, absentmindedly humming. Eddie quickly looks away.
He notices then that he’s sitting right on the edge of his seat like an idiot. He makes an attempt to sit back—be normal, just be fucking normal—but there’s a rigidity he can’t quite shift, that’s been stuck there probably since middle school, when the cafeteria was full of whispers, did you see the new kid? There, the one with the buzz cut.
“Steve, you off the phone?”
“Yeah. Hey, Rob, if I forget, could you make a note to extend Donna Wilcox’s rental? I’ll do it when we’re back, if the computer’s—”
“Sure, sure. Um, so—”
“Oh, God, what?”
Robin grins, a mixture of sheepish and teasing. Eddie stays put. Has she forgotten he’s here? Should he move? Leave? Yeah, he should leave, they’re not gonna notice… He’ll grab his jacket, slip away; the weather’s not that bad—
“I’ve got something for you to—”
Steve waves his hands in disagreement. “Nope, we said we weren’t doing presents!”
“It’s not really a—my grandma wouldn’t listen, Steve, it’s, like, more of a punishment, honestly, just—just wait there.”
There’s a clatter as Robin rushes off, scattering some more tapes off the trolley. The employee door slams shut behind her.
Steve tsks to himself, but picks up the tapes again. As he bends down, he glances over his shoulder with a brief ‘what can you do?’ sort of expression—which forces Eddie to consider the fact that he hasn’t been forgotten.
He doesn’t know how to feel about it.
He settles for an attempt at nonchalance: sticks a foot out to spin the chair ever so slightly, just side to side, and says, “So, uh, is this job just throwing tapes on the floor?”
“Yeah, we take turns,” Steve says without missing a beat.
He scoops up a tape, twirls it deftly before slotting it into place on the shelf. Eddie should probably find it annoying.
He doesn’t.
In the silence, he tries to lose himself in the movie again, at least a little bit, but he can’t manage it—feels too aware of himself, the creak of the seat as he moves even the tiniest amount, the restless fidgeting that he doesn’t even want to be doing, but knowing that never helps him stop—
“Ta-da!”
Eddie turns in time to see a blur of red; Robin’s just thrown something at Steve, who catches it easily—of course he does, Eddie thinks, but he can’t pretend that the thought comes from a place of resentment, not even inside his own head.
It’s a sweater. Steve unfolds it with a cackling laugh; there’s not a trace of the artificial veneer of high school in the sound.
Unlike you, whispers a nasty inner voice.
Steve’s still laughing. “Robin, this is the best—”
“Shut up, no, it’s so bad.” Robin hoists herself up to sit on the desk. “Grandma did the actual work, all the bits that are messed up are from me—”
“You knitted this?”
Steve beams. Eddie notices that there’s an endearingly crooked tilt to one of his incisors.
And then Steve’s glancing around like he’s checking no-one else has come into the store. He ducks out of view of the windows, but is still very much in Eddie’s view as he throws off his work vest, yanks his shirt up over his head, and…
Eddie suddenly feels like he’s been flung back into the claustrophobic space of the school locker rooms, the dread of changing for phys ed. The voice in his head gets louder: don’t look, don’t look; they’ll know. 
But Steve doesn’t seem to care. He just leaves his shirt in a heap on the floor, wincing overexaggeratedly at the cold, and practically dives into the sweater with a boyish glee.
He laughs again; the sleeves are far too long. “I love it.”
“You do?” Robin says, and while she’s playing up her dubiousness, Eddie can hear how she’s pleased underneath it all.
“Uh, yeah!”
The back of Steve’s hair is ruffled from how eagerly he put the sweater on—but instead of fixing it, he focuses on artfully rolling up his sleeves.
Eddie should look away. Should, at the very least, attempt to appear like he’s zoned out, in a world of his own.
And yet…
Despite everything, he watches Steve Harrington with all the silent, rapt attention he usually reserves for movies.
Moth to a fucking flame, Eddie thinks, resigned.
“Suits me, huh?” Steve says to Robin; he does a stupid little move, one hand on his hip, like he’s on the front cover of a magazine.
“And you’re modest, too.”
“You just don’t know style when you see it.”
Steve’s at the desk now, nudging one of Robin’s feet playfully, before turning round to lean against the corner again. “Hey, Munson, what do you think?”
Eddie finds himself fighting the instinct to reply with something undeservedly cutting. He’d just be trying to cover, anyway, using barbs to conceal what the question makes him feel: something akin to the franticness when confronted in class with a test he hasn’t studied for.
And he looks. Really looks—his heart slowing, the initial panic from the flash of bare skin fading away.
Steve’s right; the sweater does suit him, in all its homemade charm. The shade of red is flattering, brings out his eyes: maroon, if Eddie had to put a name to it, although he suspects that the colour’s actually got nothing to do with it, more the way Steve holds himself—a quiet, certain confidence that’s always been out of Eddie’s reach.
He inwardly gives himself a shake as Steve and Robin keep waiting on his response.
This isn’t school, idiot; they’re not trying to catch you out.
“I’m hardly an expert on high fashion, Harrington,” Eddie says—thinks he just manages to pull off the lazy, unbothered drawl.
“Well, you have a look,” Steve says faux delicately, like he’s being incredibly generous.
Eddie cracks a genuine smile; it sort of weakens the whole aloof thing he’d settled on, but he surprisingly doesn’t care all that much.
“Damned with faint praise.”
Steve scoffs as if to say touché. His gaze catches on something outside, and Eddie wonders if it’s an actual customer, if it’s time for whatever all of this is to stop.
But all Steve does is poke Robin’s foot and add, pointedly singsong, “Rain’s stopped.”
“So?” Robin asks.
“I think it’s in between storms,” Steve says sagely. “Like, we’ve got a little window before more rain hits.”
“Great, Steve, I’ll love waving that opportunity bye.”
Steve tuts. “Rob, I’m saying we should ditch. Come on, it’s been dead all day. We can be home early and warm, it’s, like, single-handedly the best plan I’ve ever had.”
Better than when you won the championship game? Eddie thinks—wisely keeps that strictly to himself, because he’ll admit following Hawkins High’s basketball results on pain of death.
Robin looks torn. “I don’t know, Steve, what if—”
“Who’s gonna tell?” Steve says, gesturing around at the empty store. He nods at Eddie, says sarcastically, “Oh yeah, Eddie Munson, known snitch.”
“You flatter me,” Eddie says. He surprises himself at how easily it slips out, like for once, there was no need to overthink it.
“See? Rob-in,” Steve wheedles, “come on, I’ll cash out. You and your grandma could knit for hours.”
“Shut up,” Robin says fondly. “Fine! Quick, quick, I’ll flip the sign.”
The whole thing resembles a military operation, with how speedily Steve and Robin manage to close the store. Eddie stands up and moves the swivel chair out of the way, but feels almost exposed without it.
Steve’s just finished at the register when he catches Eddie’s eye. He snaps his fingers, “Oh, shit, yeah,” and yells over his shoulder to Robin in the back room, “Hey, pick up Munson’s jacket, too!” Then he’s stuffing a couple of tapes into a backpack. “Want one?”
Eddie blinks, confused. “What?”
Steve wiggles one of the movies in demonstration before zipping up his bag. “I always take some home. As long as you have it back by, uh,” he waves a hand vaguely, “some time in the New Year, whatever.” He clicks his tongue. “Damn it, forgot to turn this off…”
It’s a Wonderful Life falls silent.
Through the whir of it rewinding, Eddie speaks almost without meaning to. “Can I have that one?”
Steve looks up at him in faint surprise. “Sure. Hang on, I’ll just find…”
He ejects the tape and passes it to Eddie. It’s still warm from being played.
And then the case is being handed over, too—there’s scraps of paper folded in the corners, rolls of receipt in Steve and Robin’s handwriting: games of tic-tac-toe and movie recommendations.
As Eddie puts the tape inside, a thought occurs to him. “Wait, uh. Were you gonna take this one home, too?”
Steve’s folding up his discarded shirt and vest. He smiles, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think there was something shy in it.
“Oh, nope. I—” He laughs under his breath. “I have it already.”
The back door bursts open to reveal Robin all wrapped up in a scarf. She throws Eddie his jacket, jangles some keys and imitates Steve’s half-singing when she announces, “I’ll lock up.”
The wind’s thankfully died down so the contrast from inside to the parking lot isn’t terrible—though that’s probably helped by the fact that Eddie’s jacket is warmed right through from the radiator.
As he gets to the van, he expects that Robin and Steve will already be out of the parking lot. But when he slides into the driver’s seat, he sees Robin’s the only one actually inside Steve’s car; Steve’s half-in, half out, one hand on the roof. 
“Safe journey, Munson!”
And maybe it’s just how Steve’s voice is anyway, but it sounds like it’s more than just a platitude. Like it means something.
Eddie honks his horn in reply. He lets Steve drive out first—his car’s parked closer to the road—and absentmindedly drums his fingers on the VHS case in the passenger seat.
This was a fluke, he tells himself. Like a movie being played in last period, the curtains drawn—how it always feels kind of like a dream.
Still, he drives home warm. Thinks in a gentler voice, one that sounds like Wayne—a reminder that not everything is a trap waiting to spring shut on him.
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inklessletter · 11 months
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"Put your lips close to mine, as long as they don't touch. Out of focus, eye to eye, 'till gravity's too much."
🦋
Thank you all once again for trusting the process with me.
I am in love with this piece. A Red concept brought to life.
They feel, they know. Yet confessing makes it real. Something to act upon. But as long as they are silent they get to stretch the unspoken truth between them. Both an abyss and a bridge to cross through. A bright light they both choose not to look at, and neither the perfectly shaped shadow of their bodies standing so close they look like one. Light butterfly touches that need no justification. Sharing warmth, and gazes, secretive smiles under the wing of the autumn, where the decay and decadence of perishable life feels a lot too much like a foreshadowing of their untold story.
But they feel.
And they know.
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ok wait pause so in these last three months of 2023 we're getting/have gotten:
bbc merlin twitter post bombshell
dan and phil games return announcement
another hunger games movie
percy jackson tv series
1989 taylor's version
like???? we are reverting back to the mid-2010s and honestly i think thats the best thing thats ever happened ever
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sclangelc · 13 days
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happy so late birthday its not even birthday anymore to @buoyantsaturn i finally finished these sketches for you!!!!
everyone go read farm to table au by cj buoyantsaturn right now. its good theres cows i promise
also bonus kiss bc ive owed u this for so long <3
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badartxd · 1 year
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✨I saw a photo and went a bit feral so now this Zevran exists. I’m pretty fond of how it turned out.✨
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References are below the cut
So I very very closely referenced the photo from this reel:
And used this image for the background:
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justaz · 22 days
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merlin’s secret being a visual thing. when he is around arthur or gwen or leon or morgana or [insert whatever character here] merlin seems pale and thin, almost like a ghost or an apparition. when the sun lands on him he reflects it like a corpse, he eyes seem dark and dull. he has this ethereal beauty to him, this otherworldly visage that leads many to believe he is of fae blood. he just doesn’t seem to be 100% human. but when he is ONLY with lancelot or gaius (cough or gwaine bc gwaine DEFINITELY knew) merlin is heartachingly human. merlin shines in the sunlight, colors are brighter and more vibrant around him, and his smiles are wide and his laughs are boisterous. he takes on color and leaves everyone wanting to know him. but when other join in or interact with the two, merlin shifts before their eyes so quickly and suddenly that they aren’t sure whether or not what they saw was a trick of the light. the idea still leaves them wanting more and wanting to see the merlin who is just so full of life but that merlin only appears for a small select group of people. merlin who has a guard so high that it has an effect of other’s perception of him.
#arthur is absolutely steaming about this btw#he so desparately wants to be in the golden bubble around merlin in those moments#but his mere presence seems to pop it#hes fuming#its not until after the magic ban is repealed that everyone gets to see the glowing golden merlin#and they finally realize what the trick of the light was#merlin who is magic incarnate who (no matter how hard he tries) cannot fully repress what makes him him#arthur who finally gets to be in the golden bubble and its so much better than he ever couldve imagined#merlins magic is finally able to roam free the way it only could with a few people#merlins magic who absolutely adores arthur and is constantly reaching out for him even if him and merlin arent in the same vicinity#lmao arthur bringing up how merlins magic likes to card thru his hair and ease any sore muscles he may have#and lancelot and gwaine going ‘wtf? what about my muscles and hair?? merlin hates me?? merlin is playing favorites???? jail.’#bbc merlin#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#merthur#subtle magic my beloved#visibly Strange merlin my dear#idk i was thinking about pre-magic reveal!arthur watching merlin and lancelot talking and then pouting and going#‘why doesnt he smile and look at me like that? :(‘#and then post-magic reveal!arthur having a moment of realization and going#like ‘oh hes hiding a huge part of what makes him him. i only know half of my best friend.’#and then setting out to know ALL of him bc arthur and merlin are soulmates and in love and two sides of the same coin and best friends and-#im going thru my drafts and finding so many banger posts#idk why i never posted them LMAOO
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yingxtkm · 2 days
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Don’t @ me
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latenightsundayblues · 7 months
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I want to see little Billy with Braces.
Because I have a feeling he had braces
One lil billy comin up
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That tooth was NOT missing last time they saw each other
Also a slightly-bigger billy as a treat
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mangozic · 9 days
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microwaves them in mind
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sp0o0kylights · 2 months
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Wayne takes in a Beat to Shit Steve Harrington after Starcourt as n Owed Favor to Hopper Part 4
Part Three: link
First Chapter (parts 1-3 on tumblr) on A03: Link
The kid was madder than a wet hen.
Just as slippery as one too, when he got like this--music pulsing like a living thing to signal all his rage and upset. 
Not like Wayne hadn’t expected it. 
He just wished it wasn’t quite so damn loud. 
The music had started up almost immediately after Eddie had stormed to his room, startling Steve awake and nearly making Wayne curse for it.
Normally it was a good thing--music meant Eds was willing to listen instead of heading for the hills.  
Normally, they didn't have a house guest who looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear.
They had a routine for this, was the thing and the music was a key part of it. It worked all the edges off for Wayne, and he'd long figured out that about thirty minutes was a the perfect length of time for Eddie to stew before he could actually talk things through.
Given the hand Harrington put to his forehead, Wayne wasn't eager to give him that thirty minutes.
Not when Steve deserved little peace he could have.
Unfortunately, so did Eds. 
Still.
 Strutting through the door and demanding to talk right now was a bad move and so, with a sympathetic look given to Steve, Wayne did what he did best
Gave space.
Let Eddie rage, as Wayne got up and shuffled about the kitchen.
Pulled out the soft earplugs he pretended weren’t there for Eds to steal (playing that damn loud guitar all the time could not be good for his ears) and offered them to Steve, before making two cups of what Wayne privately thought was the Munson “chitchat” drink. 
One cup of hot water, one packet swiss miss, a small amount of maple syrup drizzled in, topped with little marshmallows they reserved for these types of situations. 
Wayne took his time with it, thinking through what he wanted to say. 
‘I understand that this is a screen door on a submarine kind of situation...’ 
Nope. 
‘Son I know you hate listening to anyone for anything but this is serious...’ 
Absolutely not--that would end up with the boy bolting for sure. 
‘Ed’s, I love you but could we please turn Ozzy off while we talk? That man wails louder than any damn cat I have ever met.’
That one was purely self indulgent, mostly because the wall was starting to shake. 
Wayne put the finishing touches on the cocoa before staring at both of them. 
Perhaps if he stared the Garfield mug in its eyes hard enough, the right words would come through. 
They did not.
He kept trying, standing there long enough for the cocoa to reasonably have cooled and for Eddie’s song to flip over to something with more screaming in it than singing. 
Wayne supposed that this was the hardest part of being a parent. You just didn’t get to have the magical one liner. The right thing to say at just the right time.  
The joke that would ease all the tension and let things progress forward nice and easy.
Instead, you got to fumble your way through the dark with a flashlight up your ass and hope you were going in the right-ish direction. Ideally without making things worse. 
Wayne was here though, and that had to count for something. 
(Knew it counted for something--because Eddie was still here. 
They had cleared hurdles far higher than this when it came to trust. They’d get through this too, come what may. 
Steve too.)
“Can I just ask,” Eddie started, aggressive as always when Wayne finally gave in and entered his room, feeling all sorts of awful for the migraine Steve had to have, “what the absolute fuck is happening?” 
Sure as fire he was sitting on his bed, leg bouncing a mile a minute.
An unlit cigarette hung between two fingers, looking a little chewed on, but otherwise undisturbed--as it should be, because one of Wayne’s few rules was that smoke stayed outside the house. 
“You could.” Wayne said loudly but agreeably, as he turned himself around and dropped down next to his kid.  
Held out the Garfield mug, and was happy when it was taken from him. 
“Figured you might have other things to say, though.” 
Likely a lot of things. 
It was as good an opening as any, and his kid didn’t disappoint, launching right to it. 
“Why is he here and not at a hospital?”
 ‘Here’ was punctuated by Ed’s hand winging towards the door, and while it wasn’t the righteous fury Wayne expected, it was at least, an easy answer to give. 
“Steve has some people looking for him. Bad people. Hospital makes him an easy target.” 
Wayne was still talking loud. Could only hear Eddie himself because he was looking at the kid’s lips more than he was actually hearing his voice. 
Eddie took that in, swallowing it about as well as he’d swallowed anything he hadn’t liked. 
And thank the stars above, he finally reached a hand out and turned the music down. Not a lot--Steve wouldn’t be able to hear them over all this--but enough that Wayne didn’t have to struggle. 
“We’re hiding him from the cops now?!” Ed’s spat. 
“Cops know he’s here. Hopper’s the one who asked me to take him.” Wayne reminded him, because it was the truth. 
Not the full truth, but given how Ed’s pissed off half the local PD on a good day, Wayne absolutely did not want to see his nephew take on Federal Agents.
(Particularly not the kind who were going ‘round killing kids.) 
“So--what?” Eddie yanked hard on his hair, a gesture that looked less intentional and more like he was trying to fight his own anger down. “Hopper just called you up and said ‘Hey, we had a whoopsie with the rich kid, the hospital’s not safe anymore. Can we stash him with you for a few days?” 
Wayne nodded once, slow-like. 
Always remembered how too fast movements had made Eddie flinch and jerk back when was littler, and given the way Steve was looking, figured it was a good time to be cautious again. 
“He did.”
“And you just--agreed? Just like that!?” 
“I did.” 
He pretended not to see Eddie boggle at him at the simple admission, so furious that he seemed to struggle for words when he normally had too many to say. 
Wayne took advantage. 
“We did talk a bit more than that, I’ll admit.”
Ed’s scoffed. “About the weather I’m sure.” 
“‘Bout trust.” 
Eddie blinked at that. 
“Trust.” He echoed flatly. 
“What have I always told you? People like to ask you to trust them, but you they don’t get to have it until--” 
“They provide proof or a reason.” Eddie finished with an eyeroll. “So which did Hopper provide then?”
Wayne took a noisy sip of his coca. Smacked his lips a little before saying: “Both.” 
Didn’t bother to say anything else, because he knew Eddie would finish the thought for him. 
“One of them was me, wasn’t it.” 
Eds didn’t say it like a question, but Wayne hummed in agreement anyway. 
He wasn’t gonna shame his boy, but he wasn’t gonna sugar coat Eddie’s involvement in this either. Not when he’d already admitted that was half the reason Hopper had gone to Wayne to begin with. 
“No one is expecting Steve to be here.” He said, seeing the chance to hammer home the most important part of this entire shitshow. “So long as no one finds out he’s here, he’ll be safe. Everyone will be safe.” 
Steve from the Feds who were hunting him for while he was busy being involved in shit he couldn’t control and Eddie because he had a mouth that most people didn’t like. 
Not small town people anyway, and absolutely not authority figures with guns. 
“Who’s even after him?” Eddie was theatrical as always, hands waving away as he talked. “Did he make a deal with the mob? Piss off some other rich guy? I know it’s not anything drug related, I’d have heard about it by now.” 
After years of experience, Wayne knew exactly how far to lean away to stay out of range, too used to his nephew talking with his entire body.
“That’s his story to tell ya, Ed’s. It ain’t mine. Same way it ain’t my place to tell him your story.” 
That at least got the boy to think for a minute. Put down that frustration he carried with him all the time, and use the brain they both knew he had. 
“How long is he staying here?”
Wayne shrugged. “Don’t know.” 
Eddie sighed and mockingly mimicked Wayne, taking an obnoxious slurp of his cocoa. “The neighbors are going to notice if he’s here more than a few days. The trailer park isn’t exactly big.” 
“They didn’t notice that time you decided to make fireballs with the cooking spray and about blew up half the driveway. Don’t think they’re gonna notice someone being quiet in the house.” 
Eddie snorted, and probably rolled his eyes again, not that Wayne could see it given the kid was looking into his own mug as he thought it all through. 
Wayne sat with him as he processed. 
Eds worked at his own pace with things, and while life at large might be against that, Wayne was happy to let him do it. Found it easier that way, then trying to poke and prod and force him like so many father figures did. 
Wayne’s patience was rewarded not even a full minute later, when Eddie turned to him and asked; 
“What if he finds out?”  
This in a quieter voice. An unsure one--words and body hunching in a way unlike the Eddie the world outside knew, but very much like the little boy Wayne had brought inside his home. 
It took Wayne  a moment to connect the dots--he’d been speaking out of the place parents and authority figures often do, and in doing so hadn’t thought much of the fact his nephew had a real secret. 
The kind small town minds didn’t like--and would kill him over. 
This all wasn’t about Wayne taking in Steve, he realized abruptly.  It was that Steve being here meant Eddie couldn’t be himself. 
Could not relax in a place he was accepted for who he was, because Wayne knew and made sure Eddie understood he was wanted here, had a place here, regardless of who he loved. 
Now, Wayne had gone and removed it.
‘Shit.’ 
“He won’t.” Wayne said. 
Knew that wasn’t enough, and so, promised: “But if he does, I’ll make sure he understands his safety here relies on your own.” 
Ed’s chin jerked in a nod, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment before the boy did as he often did when he wanted a hug but felt too awkward to ask for one, and tipped himself into Wayne’s side. 
“Thanks old man.” Eddie whispered into his shoulder and not for the first time, Wayne wished things were easier for the poor kid as he put his mug in one hand and hugged his kid with the other. 
Hoped that in the future, it would be.
Even if he had to force everyone and everything coming after him--and now Steve--to do it.
(Wondered vaguely, how bad it was that he was already getting as protective as Steve as he was of his own kid.
Probably very, given his kid clearly hated Harrington.)
xXx
Wayne took the first night of Steve’s stay off.
He wasn’t the type to use his PTO lightly. Was used to rationing it for any possible thing Eddie might need him for.
A night up sick when he was younger, to a night spent chasing him down during some of their bad spots--but the last year or so Wayne had slowly realized he hadn’t had to use it much.
He was still careful with it though, precious as it was, and was thankful for it now as it ensured his nephew didn’t murder their house guest. 
Or at the very least, didn't sit there pecking at him.
The kid might've failed English a few times, but he had a real gift with words and an even better one with insults.
(Wayne wasn't quite clear on what all the "King" jabs were about, and absolutely did not get why Steve looked far more hurt at the comment about his "sad ass floppy hair" but given the increasingly flat look Steve was throwing Eddie's way, Wayne figured it couldn't be anything good.)
Thankfully a pointed reminder about Steve's injuries had finally gotten them all some peace, enough for Harrington to drop back to sleep--and for Wayne to realize he looked a little too dead while he did it to be comfortable getting any sleep himself.
The kids chest barely moved, and that it ate at Wayne’s until he got up and shoved a hand under his nose. 
Felt his breath, and told himself the poor sod was fine. 
Hurt, absolutely, but alive. 
Over and over again, until the sun had made its rotation in the sky, bringing the morning with it.
‘Better than nightmares, I suppose.’ Wayne figured, as exhaustion scraped at his eyelids.
Those Wayne knew, would come later. When Steve’s brain caught up to the rest of him, and stopping dumping survival chemicals through his battered body. 
He'd given up on sleep entirely sometime around 1 am, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, writing out a medication schedule for Harrington so he and the kid both knew when he could have his next Tylenol. 
Wasn’t even halfway through it before Eddie made his typically late appearance and blew through his door. 
Had his back up from the moment he’d stepped a foot in the kitchen and it didn’t take a genius to see he’d worked himself into a snit again.
Unfortunately for him, whatever scenario that imaginative brain of his had cooked up fell flat to the reality that was the poor kid on the couch. 
Steve Harrington was one a hell of a sight.
Didn’t help that he was doing his level best to make himself as small as possible, curled deep into Wayne's ancient couch.
The blankets covered the ribs and hid away most of the damage, but there wasn’t much Steve could do to hide the shiners on his face--or the marks around his neck.  
Not when they’d grown worse overnight, practically inviting questions.
It was almost laughable how quickly Eddie ate whatever words he’d prepared, mouth awkwardly chewing around them as if they were tangible. 
The less-than-sneaky looks he threw at the younger teen were equally amusing, and if Wayne wasn’t trying to peace keep, he’d have given in and chuckled when Eds split attention caused him to pour half his coffee into the sink rather than a cup. 
Looked utterly lost when, after finishing putting his coffee together and grabbing some junk food thing that absolutely was not a breakfast item, he came to stand awkwardly at Wayne's shoulder, openly staring as Steve blatantly ignored him.
Eds didn’t know what to do, and Wayne couldn't blame him. 
Seemed to keep thinking he was going to encounter a boy that likely no longer existed, and whose blood tinged specter just made things sad.
Shit like this, Wayne knew, took a man’s ego and warped it, shaping it to something else entirely. 
At least for Steve, it seemed that getting wrapped up in whatever mess he had had shaped him for the better, instead of pretzeling him into something worse. That, Wayne thought, spoke to the boy's character more than anything he’d done prior. 
(It helped to know what Hopper tolerated and what he didn’t. That he’d vouched for Steve in the same way Wayne knew he’d vouched for Eddie, even if Eddie didn’t yet realize the cop he antagonized so much would do that for him.) 
That didn't erase the history his kid had with Harrington, though.
Wouldn't stop him from seeing the old Steve, first.
‘Don’t you got school?” Wayne asked when he decided Ed had stared enough. 
“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waved him off, trotting out the door. “Bye old man, house parasite!” 
It was clearly a jab, meant to nettle, but Steve barely acted like he heard it. 
Wayne rolled his eyes. 
“Goodbye, Eds.” He said firmly, much of a warning as he ever gave, and fondly watched his nephew scuttle out the door. 
Turned to see how Steve was taking things, and was once again given a reminder that Steve wasn’t doing a hell of a lot other than feeling his injuries. 
“I think I promised you a game, son.”  Wayne said gently, startling Steve out of the distant, dim look he had trained on the wall. 
It wasn’t a lot to offer in terms of a distraction, but it would have to do.
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