#or work in schools or hospitals

[blujayonthewing]

once again thinking about how never leaving the house or being around other human beings makes you actually insane but also I am living in an era of both widespread disabling plague and near universal disinterest in avoiding plague at the same time

[merakiui]

Absolutely love the possessive ex Scaramouche ramble in tags, please feed us more of that.

Gladly!! :D

(cw: yandere, extremely toxic ex scara, modern au, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, coercion, obsession, forced marriage, violent/suicidal threats, manipulation, mentions of intoxication/alcohol, implied self-harm)

The two of you were what everyone calls ‘high school sweethearts.’ You met him in the cafeteria when the both of you were first years. Despite the scowl etched on his face, he looked lonely sitting all by himself while everyone was finding tables, old and new friends gathering in groups. He’d ignored you, even scooting further away when you’d attempt to move closer. Even though he seemed so averse to you, you remained, silently eating your lunch. Neither of you said anything, but you did introduce yourself. He scoffed under his breath.

You started to sit next to him for every lunch, and he continued to give you the silent treatment. You never pressed him for conversation, instead choosing to enjoy silence while you ate and admired him from the sidelines. He never looked at you, always facing forwards and toying with his chopsticks, bending them so far until they were ready to snap. Eventually, he seemed to grow accustomed to this routine because many weeks into the semester he turned to address you.

“Why do you always sit by me? Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Maybe. But I don’t think anyone’s as mysterious as you are.”

“‘Mysterious…’ Yeah, whatever.”

That seemed to be the catalyst because, as sardonic as he was, he’d begun talking to you. And it wasn’t long until he started to warm up to you every lunch until the both of you were exchanging lighthearted banter. Your friendship would only grow from this point onwards until, at the end of your first year during a study session to prepare for finals, where you were both pulling an all-nighter at your house, he’d asked you out. And you said yes, and the both of you had gone from best friends to lovers within the span of a year. The both of you were each other’s first partner, so it made doing things as a couple even more exciting because neither of you had any experience with dates or holding hands or kissing.

Kuni wasn’t a bad boyfriend. In fact, he was very loyal and sweet. He’d stand up for you if anyone was being rude to you or scrutinizing your relationship with hateful eyes. The two of you were nearly inseparable. When you weren’t spending time together in school, you were out doing things together. And when you couldn’t meet up in person, you’d text or call, sometimes talking late into the evening about all sorts of things. You were so immersed in him that you failed to notice the red flags slowly raising over time. But looking back there were a few notable ones.

He never invited you to his house. In fact, you’d never even met his parents, whereas he’d been to your home so often that your family practically became his own. He hadn’t mentioned anything about his family, and if you tried to suggest going to his house for dinner so that he could introduce you to them he was quick to change the subject. For a while you’d push this, more curious than concerned, but eventually you’d drop it when it became clear that he wasn’t going to divulge anything on the matter. That had stung, but you snuffed those feelings in favor of focusing on other aspects of your relationship.

The second red flag was just how clingy he became when the both of you were in your third year, having been together for two solid years. You never noticed it before because you loved him, but when friends had pointed out how attached he seemed—and it was to rather unhealthy levels, according to their observations—to the point where you were the only person he’d ever formed a bond with while at school you started to see the cracks in what felt like the perfect relationship. He’d text you every single day, at every single hour, all the time. He’d call you nonstop, even more so when you didn’t immediately pick up.

The third red flag coincided with the second. When you couldn’t make it to your phone, he was quick to blame himself and those around him for being responsible for your deteriorating relationship. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Did those guys bother you again? They probably told you some stupid shit about me, right? Don’t listen to them. Hey, you’re not mad, right? Call me back. I need to talk to you. Just text me when you can, okay? (Name), please don’t leave me. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong. Just promise you’ll stay. Messages of these kinds were what you could expect to receive from him. He’d fluctuate between self-loathing to loathing those around him within seconds, shoving blame onto classmates who’d bully him for being that “weird emo kid with too many piercings” and anyone else who tried to, in his words, “come between you and me.”

By the end of your third year, you started to fall out of love. He was so very dedicated to this relationship, evidenced by how much effort and care he’d put into it, but his clingy behavior was stifling. You’d lost some of your own friends because he chased them away, and it felt like you couldn’t do anything without him breathing down your neck. If you wanted to go anywhere with a friend or two, Kuni had to be there to accompany you. If you looked at another for too long, he’d think you were cheating. If you didn’t text or call him at certain times, if you failed to pick up, or—Archons forbid—you left him on seen, he’d spiral.

Kuni had this habit of sounding dangerously self-destructive when he feared you were being unfaithful or he thought you were going to break up with him, which meant you’d have to sit on the phone for hours convincing him that you loved him, that you’d never leave him, that you’d always be here for him, that you were sorry for not responding, that he needs to calm down and please, please, please don’t do anything rash. Those phone calls were always so stressful. You cried a lot; you’d beg him to put the knife away when he’d threaten to use it on himself, on you, on anyone who might try to take you from him. And, after a few hours of this, he’d be back to his usual self, as if a switch had been flipped. You could hear his adoring smile in his voice when he spoke, when he’d lovingly whisper into the phone, “I’m happy you’re mine. I love you so much.” And you’d shakily parrot the affirmation, too frazzled to say or do anything else.

One of your best friends Rosalyne, who you’d befriended in the midst of all of this, had been so supportive the minute you spilled the truth to her. Kuni hated her the most because she wasn’t afraid of him. Because she’d shut him down when he tried to pull you away from her. Because she wouldn’t approve of any of his toxicity. Rosalyne would take you on shopping sprees, brunch dates, and jogs at the local park. She was plenty of good to outshine Kuni’s bad, and the more time you spent with her the clearer your head would become. The both of you had plenty of sleepovers together, and she let you rant your heart out while she listened. She’d tell you to break up with him, but you’d agonized over how terrifying that would be. You couldn’t bear to tell Kuni the truth—that you wanted to separate because things had turned so rotten—because you were so scared. Scared of him and what he might do.

Scared that if he really did take a blade to himself it would be your fault. He told you that a lot. That it would be your fault if he did anything. That his blood would be on your hands. You believed him every time.

By your final year, you’d already had a plan for university outlined and you’d started applying to a few in advance. You never told Kuni about any of them because you worried he might apply to each one in hopes of going to the same school as you. And when there was the dance for the graduating class and Kuni had asked you to it, you’d told him you were going with Rosalyne and a few other friends as a group. He didn’t like this, as expected, but you’d been so sick of him and his behaviors that you snapped and spilled everything to him. You’ll never forget the look on his face when you told him that you were done with the relationship and that you never wanted to see him again.

He looked as if he could lunge at you and tear you to bloody ribbons at any moment.

You graduated single and so very refreshed, and your summer had been filled with friends. Kuni didn’t message you at all, which was surprising considering you were certain he’d spam you relentlessly after the break-up. But he never did. In fact, you never saw him again. Graduation had come and gone, and now that you could recover from such a terrible relationship he was becoming less of a burden for you. For a while you were anxious. You kept expecting to receive a phone call or to see some news about Kuni, but neither ever came. Rosalyne told you to stop thinking about him. It would only make you even more paranoid and that wouldn’t do your mental health any good. You were so grateful to have her in your life, but most importantly you were glad Kuni failed to scare her away.

Now you’re a second year in college and things have only gotten so much better for you. You and Rosalyne still keep in touch despite going to different schools. She’d gone to a university in Snezhnaya, while you enrolled in one in Sumeru, and you’ve blotted Kuni from your mind. You’ve made a fresh group of friends while attending classes: criminal justice major Shikanoin Heizou, creative writing major Kaedehara Kazuha, musical therapy major Venti, botany major Tighnari, and so many more wonderful people who have all welcomed you into their circles.

So when Venti drags a familiar face to your usual weekend outing, which is really just a retreat to the forest for drinking and smoking, creeping cold settles into your bones. He looks awkward with Venti’s arm slung around him as the more bubbly of the two drags him towards the bonfire, where you sit with the others roasting marshmallows for s’mores, and it’s a look that is so uncharacteristic on him. What’s even weirder is how friendly everyone greets him—as if they all know him—and you’re completely lost when they turn to you and ask if you’ve met Kunikuzushi.

“No,” you lie through your teeth, forcing a pleasant smile and extending your hand for a stiff handshake, which Venti snickers at. “No, I’ve never met him before.”

Apparently, he’s in one of Venti’s classes—it’s a course he’s taking solely because he needs the credits. Tighnari knows him because they usually work the same shifts at the campus café. Kazuha knows him from his linguistics and philosophy classes. Heizou’s ate with him in the dining hall plenty of times now and they’re also taking the same psychology class. It feels so genuine and yet so fake at the same time. Too perfectly manufactured to be a mere coincidence. But you do your best to push past these suspicions, and when he sits across from you, smiling at you and saying how nice it is to meet you, the warping flames paint his face in devilish shadows. That’s what you think he is when he acts like a completely different person from how he was when you dated: a devil who’s good at being kind and outgoing, noisy and abrupt, and always so foul-mouthed, but in a way that makes him charming. Your friends are so enthralled. They love him and his sense of humor. They love his quick wit. They love how fun he is. And suddenly weekends spent in the forest aren’t so enjoyable.

You do your best to overcome your doubts. For a few months you’re on edge. How he even found you is a mystery. Surely he wouldn’t stalk you and enroll in the same college just to get revenge or…whatever vengeance he wants from you. But when he treats you to coffee, when he brings you and the others pastries every other morning, when he invites the lot of you to study at the library, when he tells the funniest stories while crossed and everyone’s giggling like schoolgirls it really feels like he’s…healthier. Like he’s turned a fresh page in his life and is starting anew. Like he’s changed for the better.

Perhaps he just doesn’t remember you. You’ve changed your style over the years, so it’s possible he’s simply forgotten your image and can’t place memories to your name. Eventually, after soothing yourself with these theories, you begin to accept his presence in the group. He fits in so flawlessly, as if he’s a missing piece to the puzzle, and you can’t believe you’re admitting this, but you like this version of Kuni. He’s confident, not cocky. He’s kind, not rude. He gives everyone space. In fact, he rarely texts frequently in the group chat. And he’s funny! He’s so funny. You don’t think the Kuni from your past was ever as funny as the Kuni who regales everyone with lighthearted stories of how he once took in a stray cat that turned out to belong to his neighbor or how his old job had the strangest customers.

Maybe he truly did change. Maybe all of these coincidences really are coincidences. Maybe it’s for the best that you leave the past in the past.

Finals season looms, and the group hasn’t had time to meet up outside of class. Venti has tried to persuade everyone to come study at his apartment. His roommate won’t care (yes, he will. Xiao hates it when everyone gets blackout drunk and he has to wake everyone come morning), but if you’ve known Venti long enough you’ll know there is no studying that happens at these study sessions. This is probably the reason why he’s had to repeat a year.

With everyone’s schedules packed with academics, it’s difficult to find a time where everyone can get together to study. You think you might just be better off studying on your own, but Kuni’s message of you wanna pull an all-nighter for these lame af finals together?? accompanied with a photo of snacks and coffee, any thoughts of studying alone instantly vanish.

This is how you find yourself in his dorm, sprawled on his bed while he sits on the floor, whacking your dangling feet when they get too close to him. His roommate Albedo is currently out tutoring a few students at the library and won’t be back until much later, so it’s just you, Kuni, and a pile of textbooks and notes. You’ve hung out with Kuni a few times and he was great company during each. You’ve also fallen asleep in his dorm before, when you’d come over to binge a show the both of you enjoy, and you’d lost track of time and had slipped into a dream halfway through the marathon. You’d woken the next morning with Kuni looming over you, grinning deviously and holding an uncapped marker. He’d leaned down and whispered, “You drool in your sleep,” and you’d swatted at him and groused about how you were sleeping so peacefully when he just had to ruin your sleep (and your face) with his antics. And then there was that time when you were so drunk at that one party and you could hardly stand, he’d been there to help. He even stayed with you for the rest of that night, offering his assistance when you became nauseous or needed water or a snack until you passed out.

Despite your initial apprehensions, you consider him a friend. He’s no one nearly as close as Rosalyne or your other friends. He’s just a mutual friend, someone you’ll spend time with when you feel like it, but you don’t truly need him in your life. That, and part of you still struggles to trust him after all of the stress and unhealthy obsession he subjected you to.

“Kuni,” you whine, lifting your head from the textbook. “Can you get me some water? I’m thirsty.”

“Do I look like your maid?” he snaps, immersed in organizing his notes. “Get it yourself.”

“I’m picturing it now and you’re in a frilly dress and—”

“Forget I asked.” Setting his notebook down with an exaggerated sigh, he crosses the distance to the mini fridge and withdraws a bottle of water.

Grinning, you slide off of his bed and reach for it with a grateful hum. He smirks and takes a step back, holding it away from you.

“Seriously…”

Rolling your eyes, you lunge for it and he side-steps you with the practiced grace of a cat. You brace yourself against the wall and swipe at him. Again, he dodges, unscrewing the cap and shaking the bottle teasingly.

“I think I’ll take a sip for myself. All of this studying has left me so parched.”

“No fair! That’s mine!”

“Is it?” He pulls it away from his lips to observe the bottle and feigns surprise. “That’s weird. I don’t see your name on it.”

“Look closer!” you exclaim, but just as he’s about to humor you you pounce, tackling him to the ground—there’s a beanbag cushion that breaks your fall—and the water spills all over the both of you in the midst of the tumble. A slew of colorful words stick in Kuni’s throat and your laughter rings out melodiously. You seize his wrist and hold it down while reaching for the bottle in his other hand, where there’s still some water left. He struggles halfheartedly, relinquishing the bottle with a disinterested scoff, and you pull away from him to down what’s left.

While crushing the plastic bottle into a ball, you notice something on your palm—the palm that had grabbed Kuni’s wrist—and it takes a minute before the skin tone-colored substance registers in your mind.

Concealer.

You peer at him and notice that he’s cradling his arm, and confusion sprouts.

“So funny,” he spits with a hollow laugh. “You owe me a new beanbag if this one’s ruined.”

“Hey, hold on. What’s with the—”

“Forget it. You got your water, so let’s get back to studying. Or do you no longer want to be a perfect student?”

Without thinking, you grab his arm as he’s standing and when you look at his forearm you can see where the water’s started to wash the concealer away. Curiously, you scrub at it while he tries to yank his arm away, but when you unearth a dozen scars littering his wrist and climbing the length of his arm that creeping cold from before returns.

And suddenly you’re brought back to those phone calls—the ones where he’d threaten suicide and murder—and you stumble back as if you’ve been burned, half-expecting to hear those threats once more. Kuni’s staring at his wrist, his features twisted in grim disapproval, and for a moment you think he looks…hurt. Or maybe that’s sadness you see. Whatever emotion it was, it doesn’t linger because a quiet chuckle slips past his lips, and the sound is so very frigid it has your blood crystallizing.

“It really hurt when you said you never wanted to see me again.” Kuni peers down at you, and his eyes that had once been so bright and filled with light are dull and dark. “But nothing hurts more than loving you.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. You’re rooted to the ground, horror slinking through your body and rendering you immovable. Your heart is in your throat, pounding so loudly it’s practically a drum, and a cold sweat washes over you.

“Each time I found myself hating you, I thought it was odd because I love you so much. I can’t possibly hate the one I’ve loved all this time.” He scowls. “But loving you hurts. Loving you feels like chewing glass and drinking poison. Loving you isn’t fair because while you moved forward with your ‘friends,’ I was forced to stay behind and pick up the pieces of what was left of you. So for every moment I couldn’t stand you, I tallied it on myself so that I’ll never forget the times I loved you so much I hated you.”

This can’t be happening, you’re thinking, curling your hands into trembling fists. He changed. He changed, right? This isn’t the same Kuni from before. This isn’t…

“And when I saw how well you seemed to be doing without me, I hated you even more.” Without warning, he’s grabbed your arm and hoisted you up. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes—not that anything could when he’s pulled a switchblade from his pocket and poised the pointed tip at your jugular. “You have poor taste in friends. Those guys suck.”

Tutting, he shakes his head at you like a parent might when scolding a child, and says, “Do you know how fucking tiring it was pretending? You think I care about pastries and stupid campfire stories? You really think I’d ever want to associate myself with that sorry lot?”

“K-Kuni, please let go of me. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were—I’m sorry. So please just…”

“And then the first time you see me after all these years apart and you had the gall to lie to my face! ‘I’ve never met him before.’ Bullshit. You just didn’t want any of your loser friends to know our history, right? Because you’re ashamed to have known me, right?”

“That’s not it! I… I was just—I didn’t… I was… I just…”

“I… I… I…” he mocks, shoving you down onto the beanbag. It dips under the sudden weight, and you sink further into it when he points the blade at you. “Stop tripping over your tongue. I should be the one near tears! You cast me aside and then forgot all about me. You abandoned me when I needed you most.” His voice cracks at that last sentence, and your heart skips erratically.

“That’s not what happened! We needed space. I needed space. You were being too—” You stop yourself, unsure of how to phrase it. Too controlling? Too dangerous? Too scary?

“Lucky for you, I’m willing to overlook these past...slights.” The blade twirls effortlessly in his grasp, and you heave a relieved breath when he’s no longer pointing it in your direction. “Marry me and we’ll forget all about the past. We’ll start over.”

His demand almost stops your heart altogether. You stare up at him, mouth agape, and mumble a disbelieving, “What?”

“You heard me.” He seems to soften with his next words, and for a moment he looks and sounds like the Kuni who hangs out with you and your friends. The harmlessly fun Kuni who always takes such good care of you. “You’re the only one I’ll ever love, so let’s get married.”

“K-Kuni, I can’t... I really can’t...”

Within seconds the blade has found itself on his wrist, pressing into delicate flesh. Not enough to cut, but if he applies more force you’ll definitely see blood. You choke on a horrified gasp.

“What was that?” He raises his brow at you, challenging you with a calm smile.

Your mind reels in an effort to conjure a plan. What can you even do? If you take the blade from him, will he turn his anger on you? Will you have to wrestle him into submission? And if you do manage to get out of his dorm, will anyone believe you? He’s painted himself in such a pleasant light. Your friends love and trust him! So what can you say? And if there isn’t any solid proof, no one will even entertain bringing the authorities into this mess.

“I’m waiting, (Name). Are you really going to make me add another tally? Do you really want me to hate you again? Oh, but maybe I should start marking you! We can add a slice for each time you failed to love me. That way we’ll both look like used cutting boards.”

You need help, you want to say, but the words escape you.

Instead, you nod hastily and say breathlessly, “Okay, yes! I’ll marry you!” Swallowing your horror, you glance at the blade as it’s lifted from his skin. Thankfully, there isn’t a cut. “I... I’ll marry you, Kuni. So... So please don’t hurt yourself. Please.”

It feels like you’ve been strangled for an eternity, so when he finally pockets the blade the air in your lungs returns and you collapse against the beanbag, chest rising and falling in short, panicked breaths. 

“Good.” He bends down to your height, grips your chin with cold fingers, and forces you to meet his adoring stare. “We’ll look at rings tomorrow. Or maybe you’d prefer bracelets instead? I can be flexible but only for you, so you’d better be grateful.”

You swallow rising bile and nod. “T-Thank you.” You’re not sure why you’re thanking him when he hardly deserves it, but it feels like the right thing to say to ease the tension.

Kuni’s eyes sparkle, no longer a void of endless darkness, and when he leans in to capture your lips in his your heart sinks. You really can’t run from your past, can you?

[propalahramota]

The city where I grew up and where my parents live was under attack today again.

There is a spot in the city where several medical and civilian infrastructure buildings are located very close to each other.

Guess which area russian invaders hit with a missile?

There are victims. I know it even though there has not yet been an official announcement because my mom is a doctor and all medics in the city know each other, it's a very tightly-knit professional community.

The target was a hospital that is located right next to a school, a college, a veterinarian clinic, an ambulance station, and a historic site. The attack happened in the middle of the day only a couple of minutes after the air raid alarm had sounded. Children were at school, doctors and nurses were at work.

Earlier this week, another clinic was attacked with drones. Fortunately, no one was killed that night.

Russian troops are deliberately attacking medical institutions in Sumy as they've done in Syria.

This is a war crime.

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #117

One day, May receives a threatening letter at work. It says, "Do you know who your nephew is?" and contains, crushed into the page, a dead spider.

Horrified, May calls Tony Stark. Plans are set in place immediately to move the Parkers into Stark Tower for protection while Tony tracks down the people who sent the threat. 

Peter is at school during the chaos of getting May to the tower. He only learns what's happened when he's called out of class. When he gets to the office, it's Tony waiting there (with the very stunned school secretary) to pick him up. He has his nanotech housing unit on.

Tony explains once they're in the car. Peter freaks out until Tony promises that May is already safely at the tower with Happy and Pepper. Only then does Peter notice that Tony's hands are shaking too.

All of this was not what the villains wanted. Their plan had been to scare May into abandoning Peter. They didn't know that she already knew who he was, and they definitely didn't know that the Parkers were close to Tony Stark.

An abandoned and homeless Peter would have been much easier to kidnap. Now, they will have to step up their game.

[the-badger-mole]

You know what's kind of funny to me? The amount of people I see who say that people who ship Zutara don't respect Katara. Zuko is very respectful of Katara in canon- especially after he joins the team. But aside from that, Zuko in Zutara fanfic and headcanon is intensely respectful, adulatory, even, of Katara. Most of it is building on their dynamic in the show.

Now, I don't spend a whole lot of time going through Kataang fics and meta, but in the very limited material I've seen, they very much stick to their dynamic in canon. Meaning Katara gets to be Aang's cheering section while he does the real work (sure, because that's how that worked🙄). I'm just saying, if I'm 100% a Katara stan, I know which stories I'd rather read.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

hahaha okay so my brain has already started on the sequels to this fic kind of annoying but it just conjured a scene where yaz wants to know abt the nightmares the doctor's having so 15 is like "trade you" and against his expectations she actually offers him a nightmare she gets (we know abt the 12x7 one but i also firmly believe she has recurring nightmares where the doctor dies in graphic violent usually self-inflicted ways and yaz always being helpless to stop it) so now he has to say what he dreams about fair is fair and hes like "hospitals" and thats not a lot of information so yaz just kinda goes "...........alright. suppose. with your name-"

and then "i wish i was called lulubelle" fucking stOMped me in the face and i laughed really hard

[swan2swan]

Mae, you're a certified doctor, you can work wherever you want, they have doctors in England

[angelmush]

i got a goose tattooed on the inside of my forearm today and it was a flash piece but it's my favorite tattoo already it means everything to me i could sob

[ketchup-chup]

I have an idea for a KHR hospital AU where all the acrobaleno are different kinds of doctors/work in different departments at the hospital but Skull is just a regular guy who’s always there because he gets injured so much

[misscrazyfangirl321]

Love the problems I have in dreams sometimes.

I dreamed I was working in a hospital, and if I stayed on this path I'd become a doctor. I realized very urgently, part way through the dream, "I don't WANT to be a doctor."

... Bestie, I work retail...?

[f1inl3ey]

Sometimes my brain reminds me that my grandmother decided she wanted to kill her husband so she hired an undercover cop to do it for her, got charged with planning a murder, got 6 years, got out after 3 after being diagnosed with bpd, and then ran off and changed her name a billion times and I’m thankful I never met her

[knifekris]

every day i struggle to make choices

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

omg omg omg imagine if we could have side characters interacting with units other than the ones they're associated with

Mai running into W x S...

[nightmaretour]

Thinking about that time back when I was a non-ambulatory wheelchair user that a teacher grabbed my handles and tried to physically drag me back into the classroom, because I left after she mocked me in front of the whole class over my randomly falling asleep. She received no consequences for physically assaulting a student in front of a whole class of witnesses.

[notjanine]

me a week ago: i love my job!!

me now, after having a mid-year review that amounted to you’re doing an excellent job and you bring such a valuable perspective to our practice but i don’t have the ability to give you a raise right now but don’t worry bc i just hired a new CFO to try to figure out money so we can maybe give you a raise later this year: *breaks into a cold sweat as i crack open indeed dot com*

[cherrydreamer]

(Warning: Contains rookie!cop Steve which I know is very much not to everyone's tastes. Also some description of Neil Hargrove inflicted abuse. Nothing overly graphic but just be aware.)

🎃 Harringrove Harvest Day 2- Gone Feral 🎃

Steve's at a loss.

It had been easy enough for him when he was right in the thick of it. Easy to know what to do. To trust his gut. Because, really, all it boiled down to was that fact that there'd been a bunch of monsters he needed to fight and a bunch of kids he needed to protect. 

But now it's all over. Monsters fought. Kids protected. Everything squared away, neat and tidy.

And Steve isn't quite sure where he fits anymore. He hovers in doorways, on the edge of the groups, drifting from the kitchen with a mug of Joyce's hot cocoa in hand- loaded with extra marshmallows because, "you look like you need the sugar, honey," over to the table where Dustin is restating his theories about d'Art and the potential domestication of Demodogs, sneaking a look back towards the couch where Nancy and Jon are huddled, heads together, in a world of their own.

So when Hopper beckons him over, it's easiest for Steve just to follow him, to step out onto the porch and accept the cigarette held out in front of him and wait for whatever favour it was that Hopper needed him to do next. Drive the kids home, probably, or maybe run out for some more food. Something useful. Helpful.

But instead of asking for anything, Hopper rests a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. It feels good. Grounding. Reassuring in a way that Steve didn't even know he needed. 

"You did good out there, kid," Hopper says, quiet but serious in a way that has Steve's gut squirming, "I know it can't've been easy, keeping those brats safe, but y'did it. And I heard the whole thing, about what you did in those tunnels. Trust me, Dustin won't stop yapping on about it, and I gotta say it was damn brave of you, son"

It's a lot. Too much praise for something that anyone would've done, most likely, so Steve tries to dismiss it, to shake it off, not feeling like he really deserves the warm glow of pride blooming in his chest. He manage to mumble something about how it'd been dangerous, really, dangerous and stupid, and Hopper laughs, a proper, deep in the gut rumble of laughter that ends in a cough.

"Dangerous, stupid and brave, huh? Not the worst combination in the world, hell, it may as well be the damn motto of the Hawkins Police Department. Might get Flo to make one of her cross stitch pictures. Have it framed for the office."

Hopper laughs again, and then he pauses, and Steve swears he can almost see the cartoon bulb lighting up above his head.

"Look, kid, I don't know what you've got lined up for after graduation. College? Or a job? Something with your dad's place, maybe?"

Steve can only shake his head, already waiting for Hopper's look of disappointment, only it never comes. Instead he nods, satisfied, like a plan is coming together.

"Well, it'd be good to have another person down at the station who knows what we're actually up against," and then he snorts, amused, "And someone like you? Someone with a bit of common sense? Well that would make a hell of a difference too. I can't say it's always this exciting," he shrugs, "But it ain't a bad job. And you've got more potential than a hell of a lot of the rookies I've seen. You think on it, son," 

And that, seemingly, is that. Hopper gives Steve's shoulder another one of those warm, firm pats, and then he stubs his cigarette out on Joyce Byers' porch railing and heads back inside.

But Steve stays put for a while longer. 

Just thinking.

—

He goes back to Hopper the very next day, asking if he was serious, surprised when Hopper doesn't even blink before he's sliding Steve an application form and a pen. And so, within a week, Steve is sitting in the break room of the Hawkins Police Station in a brand new blue shirt and a tie that Hopper had taken one look at and re-tied for him, his eyes growing wider and wider as Flo hands over a thick, official looking book.

"Just a little light reading, dear," she says, "Make sure you know exactly what you're signing up for."

Steve's regretting it all already. A regret that only grows as he scans through the first page of his new training handbook.

As expected, he starts right at the bottom of the heap, with no more responsibility than fetching coffees, washing the cars and helping Flo with the filing. But Steve doesn't mind that. That sounds doable. Achievable. 

What's worrying him is what happens next, if he proves that he can manage not to fuck up those simple tasks. Because then it gets tough. There's a whole program of training, months and months of it covering all the procedures and codes and policies that Steve is expected to learn before he can even begin to shadow an officer. 

There's reading. Studying. Questions he needs to be able to answer. Tons of shit to remember. 

Just the thought of it has him feeling sick. 

"Hey, uh, Chief?" he's standing up the moment that Hopper enters the room, tripping over his own feet in his haste to try and shove the training manual back into Hopper's hands, "Look, I think, uh, I think I made a mistake, I can't…I can't do this," Steve thumbs through the book, his face growing paler with every new page, "And there's a test? Like a proper, pen and paper- yeah, no, no, I'm not, I'm not gonna be able to do that."

He shakes his head, already feeling like a failure before he's even been here half an hour, but Hopper only smiles,

"We got Callahan through it and that guy locks himself out of his car at least twice a month."

"Locked himself in it last week," Flo calls out cheerily.

"There you go." Hopper grins, "And let me tell you this. None of this crap-" he tugs the book from Steve's hands, flinging it down onto an already overflowing desk, -actually matters." His hand is back on Steve's shoulder. Heavy but reassuring, just like before. "Look kid, far as I can see? You've done more than enough to prove that you've got what it takes. And I'm in charge here, so you pay attention to me and not that book, and you'll be just fine. Now c'mon, we've got our first case of the day and I reckon you're just the person to help solve it."

From the way Hopper's smirking, Steve knows it's a trap, but he can't help keep the eagerness from his voice when he answers, "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah, big mystery alright. There's an empty space in my cup, right where my coffee oughta be. Reckon you can figure that one out, rookie?" 

And, with a sigh, Steve starts his first day.

—-

Slowly but surely, Steve finds his feet.

There is a lot of coffee fetching and filing with Flo and car washing, but he doesn't mind that. He likes chatting with Flo, hearing her talk proudly about her grandsons and their important jobs in the city and her husband, Harold and the rowboat he's been fixing up so he can go out fishing; and he likes the hum of appreciation that Powell lets out whenever Steve's spent a good couple of hours shining up his car. And it's really not long at all before Hopper is inviting Steve along with him when he goes out on a job. It's routine stuff at first, of course, dealing with shaken up drivers that misjudged the sharp corner of Cartersville and Cornwallis, or helping to calm down arguments about a few inches of encroaching ivy between otherwise civilised neighbours and, of course, there's the memorable times when Hopper gets Steve to dress up as McGruff the Crime Dog and accompany him along on his visits to Hawkins Elementary to talk to a gaggle of over excited little kids, and the even more memorable time when Hopper owed him one and ended up being the one donning the dog costume.

It's fun. And Steve finds that he's not too bad at it. In fact, he's pretty good. He learns how to approach situations. How to calm angry guys and comfort hysterical women or- more often than he'd expect- vice versa. He learns when to talk, to take control of a situation, and when to hold back and just listen. He learns what to look for, how to read rooms and faces and body language and situations.

And he learns, most of all, that usually people just want to know that someone is there and sees them and understands them. People just want someone to help. 

—

It's sometime around mid December when things ramp up. A lot. It's an evening shift, the two of them parked up in the Blazer, coffee in hand as they keep an eye out for teens speeding their way down to the Quarry, when their peace is interrupted by a crackle on the radio. 

"Here we go then, kid," Hopper says, unhooking the receiver, "First call of the night. Bet you dollars to doughnuts it'll be Beth Landingham calling to complain about her neighbours' Christmas lights being too damn bright again." 

But it isn't. Flo's crackly voice informs them both that Hopper's presence is required immediately at a domestic disturbance over at Cherry Lane, and Hopper fills Steve in on the most important detail.

"Hargrove place," he clarifies with a groan, "Not the first time, probably won't be the last." 

"It'll be Billy being an asshole," Steve says confidently. "Probably came home drunk or something. Or maybe he's finally snapped, gone feral. Wouldn't surprise me."

"Maybe," Hopper muses, his jaw set grimly, and Steve can't deny the thrill he's feeling at the thought of being there to see Billy get put in his place. He wonders if Hopper will yell. If he'll need to restrain Billy or hit him. He bets Billy will resist and put up a fight, and maybe Steve will need to step in and-

"Hey, Hop, you think I can be the one to, y'know, give him a warning or whatever?"

And Steve's already imagining it, how he'd have the upper hand. How he could flash his ID badge and stand right in front of Billy, maybe even order him to sit down, make him listen and obey. A small part of him is hoping that Billy doesn't listen, so that Hopper has no choice but to cuff him, and maybe he'sd even let Steve do that but too and Steve already knows he cinch those cuffs just a little bit too tight, enough to be really uncomfortable. Enough to pinch. 

He can't wait to make Billy squirm. Make him pay.

But Hopper's face is blank, "Let's see what we're dealing with first, Harrington."

"I'm gonna call him William," Steve says, thinking out loud, "Bet he'll hate that." 

—

But when he gets there, Steve doesn't call Billy 'William'. He doesn't flash his ID badge or order Billy to sit down or slap the cold, metal cuffs around Billy's thrashing wrists. He doesn't do any of the things he'd imagined.

Instead, Steve stands in the middle of it all, staring round. He doesn't know where to look first, where to even start. He's still coming to terms with the very real, very visceral shock of what his job could actually entrail. He knows he's been naive, and he's seeing now that it's not just going to be school visits and speeding fines and even the occasional infestation of supernatural monsters, but that some of it is going to be this kind of fucked up shit too.

Fucked up shit like Billy Hargrove being on the kitchen floor, curled up in the middle of a whole table-worth of broken crockery, his face a mess of blood and tears. The more Steve looks, the worse it gets. He takes it in, in that way he can now, picking up on the details: like how Billy's shirt is hanging open, some buttons torn and others hanging from threads, and how he has one arm twisted against his chest, bent at a sickeningly wrong angle, while the other one is raised above his head in a desperate attempt to protect himself from the man standing over him. Steve manages to pull his gaze away, checking in on everyone else: Susan, standing off to the side, her arms tight around Max who sports a scarlet red handprint on her cheek.

And then Steve turns his attention to Mr. Hargrove, Max's stepdad. Steve only really knows him by sight, but even then he'd always seemed… off, a little too calm, too controlled. Stiffly polite, but with a flicker of something cold and mean behind his eyes. 

He had known he could be a hardass though. Steve had picked that up just from overhearing Max's grumblings about him, how Neil was always more concerned with Max seeming respectable and being a 'good girl' for Susan than having any real interest in her as a person, and how he was even harder on Billy. 

Good, Steve had thought at the time. If anyone needs a firm hand, it's Billy.

Steve feels sick to think about it now. Because this man here, this Mr. Hargrove, is more than just a hardass. He's a whole different beast, and whatever facade of 'respectful family man' he once tried to project is gone entirely. His face is red, his eyes are bulging, and flecks of saliva are falling from his mouth as he spits insults after insult in Billy's face, before turning to Hopper and telling him, in no uncertain terms, exactly 'what kind of filth that son of mine really is'.

He lets fly with a whole host of slurs and accusations, each one more graphic than the last, and Steve winces at Neil Hargrove's particular choice of words, a sick feeling churning in his gut when he thinks about how often he's said some of them himself, back before. Back when he needed to prove how much better he was than the kids who didn't fit, the weird kids, the quiet ones, the ones with the wrong clothes or haircut or who lived in the wrong part of town. Back when certain insults, certain implications, were enough to have rumours flying quickly enough to turn a socially awkward kid into a social pariah by the end of the school day. 

But Neil Hargrove isn't just throwing them out as casual insults. Steve can tell, from the utter disgust dripping from his voice, that Neil means them. And that, worst of all, Neil thinks that those words, those accusations, are more than enough to excuse what he's done to Billy. The mess he's made of his own son. 

And maybe they had been before, Steve thinks with a dawning horror, wondering just how long Billy's been living with this. Maybe this isn't the first time something like this had happened, and maybe Neil got away with it then, maybe he even had the police on his side because what Billy was and what he was accused of doing, was seen as so much worse than whatever punishment Neil had doled out.

Because Billy isn't fighting back. Even now Hopper's shoved Neil away, Billy isn't showing any of the spark that Steve associates with him. He isn't even standing up. Instead he's huddling right down, curled away as much from Hopper as he was from Neil, trying to make himself smaller, trembling but not making a sound. Neil is shouting and Max is yelling and Susan's crying but Billy is eerily silent.

Like he's given up. 

Like he knows there's no point asking for help.

Like he's resigned to this.

Like it might only get worse, now that the police are here.

And that's what shakes Steve out of his stupor. Because he got into this job to help people and that's what he's always wanted to do. All he can do. All he's been good at. And even though he has absolutely no idea how to help with this, no idea how to even start with Billy, he needs to try.

So he does.

He lets his instinct take over, and he steps carefully over broken glass, kneeling down just a few steps away from Billy. And when Billy turns to face him, his eyes clouded with fear and his lashes clumped together with a mix of tears and the blood that runs from a still bleeding gash on his brow, Steve says the first thing that comes into his head, 

"So, uh, guess your Dad's kind of a huge asshole then, Hargrove?"

And god it's dumb. So dumb. Steve knows it's dumb even as he's saying it. He's following absolutely none of what little sensitivity training he's had, and he's probably made a terrible situation even worse. 

But it gets a snorty, watery huff out of Billy. And there's even a flicker of a smile, despite everything. 

And Steve thinks that maybe he is helping here, after all.