#parallel universe AU

[helpimstuckposting]

Alright MILF lovers, come get yalls juice

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen | part fourteen | part fifteen | part sixteen

—

Abort, abort, abort, his mind was screaming now to try and drown out the danger, turn back before it’s too late.

The silence that followed could drown a fish, and Steve felt like drowning right along with it.

Eddie nodded his head, knocking his knuckles against the wooden table.

“Well, I can’t do two all-nighters in a row anymore, so I think I’m gonna head up to bed,” he said. Steve couldn’t relate, he’d had more all-nighters in his adult life than he ever had as a teenager, he was used to running on a few hours of sleep at a time.

“You should, too. You need to sleep,” Eddie said, looking at him with far more concern than Steve could handle at the moment. He looked away and nodded, not intending to follow through. Eddie seemed to know that, though, and stayed at the table for a few more seconds. Steve could feel the weight of his eyes on him but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to the man’s face.

“Right,” Eddie sighed, finally getting to his feet.

Steve didn't watch Eddie leave the kitchen. He just listened to the soft footsteps disappear up the stairs, the gentle creak of the floorboards at the top landing. He sat at the table, no intention of going to bed like Eddie had suggested. He knew he still wouldn't be able to shut his mind off enough to slip into unconsciousness.

He was tired, exhausted, and he knew he should listen but he also knew he wouldn't. Maybe he'd be able to take a nap tomorrow. He didn't think the kids would be showing up for the day again, knew they had work and lives to get back to while they figured out next steps.

Christ, they weren't meeting up for another four days. What was he going to do for four days? He was a dead man walking, literally. There wasn't anything he could go out and do.

So, instead of going up to bed like he should have, he sat in the dimly lit kitchen and let the hours pass as he spiraled. He'd felt reassured earlier that day, by Eddie's insistence that he could stay here, that he didn't have to leave if he didn't want to, that they'd fight for him to stay. But what would happen if he did? He didn't have a life he could step into, he couldn't use his birth certificate or even use his name, what kind of life could he possibly have?

Maybe when he wasn't so panicked, when he had his head on straight and he was actually safe and permanently on this side of the dimensional tear he'd be able to collect himself and talk to Hopper. Did this Hopper also come back from the dead? Would he know what to do? Would it even be right to come back from the dead, to replace the Steve of this world, or should he start over from scratch? Though, he wouldn't be able to explain having the same face and fingerprints so maybe starting over was out of the question.

The thoughts and questions wouldn’t leave him alone, rattling around in his head like he’d expected. His eyes burned, but they never drooped, too high off the nervous anxiety that accompanied all his questions. When he heard the creak of the upper landing again, he expected Robin to come stumbling in like the previous morning, or Eddie storming in to check if he’d gone to bed or not.

Instead, the dainty figure of Linda Harrington stepped quietly into the kitchen. Her hair was up, but not in a tight bun — all flyaways slicked back into perfection — it was messy and drooping, stray hairs trying to flee the confines of her elastic. She wore sweatpants and an old white t-shirt, no silk robe tied neatly around her waist. She looked cozy. Steve wanted to reach out and hug her again, commit the feeling to memory, but he held back and stayed in his seat at the table.

Quietly, softly, she took the place Eddie had vacated across from him. He watched her, she watched him, and he wondered where she’d been for the past 24 hours. He hoped she wasn’t avoiding him, uncomfortable in her own home. His confidence in staying wasn’t exactly unwavering if he’d already caused two people to lock themselves away to avoid him, like he was some kind of lurking monster, creeping in the shadows.

Linda looked around, tapping her nails on the table. Her eyes locked with the clock above the stove, a muttered “oh jeez,” slipping from her lips. Steve kept watching as she did what Eddie had, looking all around to avoid Steve’s eyes. She tapped away at the table, glanced from the teapot, to the empty mugs, to the honey bear. She reached out to turn it, little button eyes sliding off of Steve and onto Linda instead. She stared at it, still tapping away, and he wondered if she was gathering up the courage to say something, to tell him that she couldn’t handle him here, that he should go back to where he belonged, or if she had something else to say.

“Do you know why they picked a bear for the bottle shape?” She asked, still looking the honey in its eyes.

“No, why?”

She blinked, finally flicking her gaze to meet his, and quirked one corner of her mouth up into a smile — a little dimple popping out in the low light.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was hoping you would," she shrugged, as if she hadn't just baited him into that response. It startled a laugh out of him, sharp in the dark and quiet kitchen, but his mother didn’t flinch from the sound. She seemed to preen a bit, sitting a little straighter in her chair. He was awed once again, by the figure in front of him — so familiar and yet the least familiar person he’d come across so far. If anything in the world could convince him of alternate dimensions it wasn’t Eddie’s longing smile, it wasn’t the photos hung in every corner, it wasn’t even the sudden resurrection of everyone he loved. It was her. It was her smile and her soft laugh lines, the warmth in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks as she chewed on her lip, searching for something to say.

She was everything he ever wanted in a mother, and yet nothing that he was ever capable of imagining. The Linda he’d daydreamed as a child, arms out for a hug and icy eyes melted with adoration, was nothing more than a cardboard cutout compared to the person in front of him. He didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling like that little boy in her presence.

The silence dragged on as they both continued to take each other in; just watching, just looking, just being present with someone they never thought they would have again. Eventually, Linda broke the moment, eyes sliding away to the bear bottle as she chewed on her lip once more. She fidgeted a little in her seat, soft wrinkles in her forehead creasing with her downturned brows.

She cleared her throat. Steve watched as she pulled out a folded paper from under her leg. No, as she pulled it into the dim light Steve realized it was an envelope. It was white or yellow, hard to tell in the dark, and she flipped it over and over in her hands. Linda took a few deep breaths, staring at the letter like it would burst into flames, but unable to look away.

He was nervous, like somehow whatever was in that envelope would seal his own fate. He knew she wasn’t the same, he knew she wasn’t his mother from his universe, but that didn’t stop his heart rate from ratcheting up like a chronic flare-up. He’d dampened his own emotions for so long, everything he felt here was thick enough to choke on. If his father knew how many times he’d cried in the last two days, Steve would have been sent to a shrink or maybe even an asylum. Richard would ship him off, finally free of his pansy-ass disappointment of a son.

But the look in Linda’s eyes wasn’t angry or vengeful, it was contrite. She was sad about something, something she thought was her fault. And wasn’t that just the theme of tonight? He hoped Eddie wasn’t crying alone in a spare bed upstairs. He should really talk about switching rooms, it wasn’t fair that he was taking Eddie’s, even if it was technically Steve’s as well. He could take the spare, the room didn’t mean anything to him.

“I wrote this letter before you were even born,” Linda started, cutting through his thoughts.

He looked down at the paper in her hands. She was still staring at it, like she could read right through to the words underneath. It was pristine for a letter written nearly 24 years ago, no bends or creases, no tears or stains. He wondered if this was where she’d been hiding all day, searching the attic for a small square letter that had never been opened.

“I was so excited to have you. I wrote down every name I could think of, I spent hours and hours going through baby name books trying to pick out the perfect one,” she laughed. He didn’t think it was that hard to settle on Steven. Pretty generic. But his mother was smiling down at the letter like it held every good memory she’d ever experienced, so he kept his mouth shut. Who was he to question the baby name process? He didn’t have children, and it didn’t seem like he’d ever get there. So.

“Your father wanted a junior. Another Richard running around to stake his claim on,” she muttered, a bitter lilt to her words. His eyebrow twitched, picking up the flat tone. That was interesting. He’d figured she would have some kind of nostalgia wrapped around the Richard of this world, the distance of time enough to dampen whatever kind of man he was before Steve came along. He didn’t think he would have been that bad. He thought — guiltily — that he’d been the reason his father was the way he was. That Steve just wasn’t good enough, didn’t try hard enough, couldn’t be enough to please him. That, somehow, it was Steve’s fault.

Linda rolled her eyes. “Your name was the only compromise he ever made, now look where he is.” She was still mumbling, like she’d forgotten why they were talking about Richard in the first place, or his name itself was enough to snap her into gossip-mode. Steve politely cleared his throat, urging his mother forward, and she shook her head like an etch-a-sketch clearing the thoughts away.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Robin filled me in about where it seems like our timelines split. I’m not really sure how any of this works, really, but she said Dustin was very adamant, and he certainly was while he explained the parallel worlds… thing.” She lightly clapped her hands as an imitation of Dustin — eyebrows drawn tight into a confused glower — and Steve couldn’t help the soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched. ‘It’s his tone, right?’

“Yeah, he’s a real butthead sometimes,” Steve mumbled back.

Linda laughed, eyes briefly softening as she looked at him. She shook her head again, blinking down at the envelope, “Well, it seems like this letter was written before that, so… your mother probably has this same one somewhere in your world.”

She swallowed a few times, blinking her eyes nervously, like she wasn’t sure where to go from here. She looked again at the clock above the stove. The words seemed harder now, as if she could choke on them if she wasn’t careful, and the blinking seemed less like she was clearing her head, and more like she was holding back tears.

“This letter…” she paused, clearing her throat, “I never showed it to my Steve, but I want you to have it. We were the same woman once, and she could have been me. You could have had a mother who was there for you, a mother you deserved,” her voice cracked and even in the dimly lit kitchen, Steve could tell her eyes were red-rimmed and only a second away from tears, now. “You should have had that,” she whispered.

Steve tried to blink his own tears away, clenching his jaw to ease the sting in his eyes and the stiffness in his throat. He thought back to Eddie’s breakdown just hours before, the way his hiccups sounded like knives and hoped he didn’t have to witness another breakdown so soon; hoped this time that squeezing his nose and willing the tears away would work and he could keep some thread of composure.

This almost felt more painful than anything his own mother had inflicted on him. Somehow, blatant neglect was easier to swallow than the emotions currently clogging his chest. He wished Robin or Eddie were still here to pull his head above water. Linda cleared her throat and wiped gently under her eye. No tears for either of them, yet.

“And as much as she could have been me, I could have been her. I could have been absent and rude and indifferent, and I can’t erase that. I’d like to think we’re different people, but honestly I don’t know what kind of person I would be if Richard was still breathing down my neck. That’s no excuse, I know, but Steve, I just… I just wanted to say,” she took another deep breath, reached out to grab his hands and held them tightly in her own, “I am so, so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said.

It was his turn to look away, now, unable to take the intensity swimming in her eyes as she stared him down, pleading for his forgiveness though she wasn’t even the one who’d done anything wrong. He’d wanted this. He’d wanted an apology for the way his parents treated him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it like this. It wasn’t this Linda’s fault. She was right, she could have been his mother, under different circumstances, and Steve experienced first hand what she was capable of, but that Linda would never beg his forgiveness. That Linda was too broken to acknowledge what she’d done, that Linda was going to take her silence to the grave whether that grave be her’s or his father’s.

He took the letter. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually open it, wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was inside, but he couldn’t just leave it there. That felt like he was rejecting her, turning away from her sincerity, and he didn’t want to do that. So, he took hold of the soft paper envelope, felt the edges of the folded letter within, and looked back up at her. She smiled softly at him, and he didn’t know what else to say.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She nodded, squeezing his hands. He squeezed back.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, thankful to have gone at least one day here without more tears, “I should probably go to bed before Eddie finds out and kills me.”

She sagged into the table, giggling softly. “We wouldn’t want that,” she whispered back.

—

Guys, I gotta say, it was a struggle trying to make it not sound like Steve was in love with Linda because *I'm* in love with Linda. I've had the letter handoff of this part written since like... june of last year lmao I'm so excited it's finally out here

Tag List:

@devondespresso @machete-inventory-manager @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82

@goodolefashionedloverboi @anti-ozzie @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @howincrediblysapphicofyou

@1-8oo-wtfbro @grimmfitzz @queenie-ofthe-void @redheadchimechild @bread52487

@bookworm0690 @jinojiboundagain @inikokoru @n0-1-important @fangirltofangod

@emly03 @stevieboyscoffee @fracturedfaultline @dauntlessdiva @theohohmoment

[hauntingcryptids]

Breakfast And An Alien Attack

Simm!Doctor x Reader

Summary - A strange man fell into the Reader’s backyard asking for hyperspecific food and help with an upcoming alien attack. What other choice does the Reader have but to help this stranger?

Warnings - none that I think of, canon typical antics

Word Count - 2,149

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. No use of Y/n. Not Requested. Canon Divergent. Grumpy!Reader x Sunshine!Simm!Doctor. Proofread but not beta read. I hope that you enjoy :)

Also, I have some Tennant!Master x Reader and Tennant!Master x Reader x Simm!Doctor fics that I am working on and I thought that it would be cool to write a solo Simm!Doctor x Reader. I hope that you enjoy :)

--------------------------------------------------------------

If you had not witnessed what had happened yourself, you would have sworn that the man currently dusting off his trousers in your back garden had just climbed over your fence in an attempt to break into your home. Strangely, though, that is not what you saw. Instead you, after getting some shopping delivered, observed a man in a Victorian-looking outfit fall from the sky and land far too close to the cherry tree your father had planted to lighten up the place when you had moved in. The man then jumped up onto his feet like falling from the sky happened every day. 

You had been observing the man just over the sill of your kitchen window for the past couple of minutes, unsure of what to do. The man fell from the sky and looked completely unharmed, there weren’t any protocols to follow that you were taught in school about how to deal with a situation like this one. 

You ducked under the sill when the stranger looked your way, just in case he was here for ulterior motives. When you peeked back out through your window, the unbelievable man seemed to be talking to a couple of birds that landed on the edge of a water basin. When you were young, the birds would always stop by that basin mid-journey, but since you have moved in, no birds stopped by even though you restored the basin to how it looked in your youth, built birdhouses around your back garden and left piles of bird seed throughout your yard. You couldn’t help but let out a huff of jealousy that this stranger could convince the birds to talk to him, let alone show up, when you have had no luck in that department for months.

The man laughed at whatever the birds had chirped. Then he gestured to you and seemed to tell a joke that had the birds roaring with laughter, if birds could roar with laughter. You stood up to your full height, rolling your shoulder contemptuously, then leaned against your window sill annoyed with the stranger’s easy way with the birds. The man seemed to fully notice you now that you weren’t trying to hide, so he waved a genuine wave in your direction but his smile was sad as if he hated himself for having scared you before. You found yourself waving back but quickly stopped when the man’s smile appeared to lighten. 

The man said farewell to the birds and strode over to the backdoor of your house. He knocked in the “Shave and a Haircut” rhythm before holding his hands behind his back and looking up at your house. He probably meant no harm, you assumed, but there was no way that this man was normal. He literally fell from the sky and he didn’t even have a scratch on him. 

You walked over to your kitchen door, briefly stopping to arm yourself with a newly purchased knife first. Then you opened the door slowly after taking a tentative breath. If the stranger did try something, at least you had a weapon behind your back.

“Hello! I am kind of in a hurry, which is not ideal given the circumstances, but can you help me? I think you are just who I need!” You tightened your grip on the knife.

“Oh! God! Oh god, no. Not in a creepy way! I don’t want to hurt you.” The man held his hands up defensively and laughed awkwardly. 

“I promise.” The man softly uttered the promise. He looked at you with soft, hopeful hazel eyes that seemed hard to hide secrets. You considered him and everything that happened since he fell from the sky for a moment. Then you found yourself caving to the man’s hopeful demeanour.

“What do you need?” The stranger’s face instantly broke into a soft smile.

“Firstly, just something to eat and drink.” The man still held his hands up in a defensive gesture. The man looked apologetic, confused, broken and just lost, definitely not the type to hurt you. So even though it was probably incredibly stupid, you let the unbelievable man into your home. 

After some trial and error, the strange man finally found food that he found acceptable and didn’t make him sick. He made an American-style breakfast, with gigantic waffles, fried eggs(more over medium than sunny side up), and crispy bacon. You don’t know how he made the majority of the food, given the fact that you didn’t own a waffle maker straight out of a continental hotel breakfast bar or any bacon in your kitchen, but you turned your back on the stranger once and he had said items. Finally, once everything was cooked and plated, he drenched his entire plate in soy sauce. You had heard of people dipping their eggs in soy sauce, and in theory, it sounded good. However, this man’s plate practically turned into soup due to the amount of soy sauce he had poured onto his food. The man made you food, as well, while he was making his own but you made sure to make your desired alterations. You weren’t in the mood to eat waffles swimming in soy sauce.

As the man shovelled food into his face like he hadn’t eaten in days, you tentatively placed a corner of your waffle in your mouth. It was buttery and warm, you could almost taste the love put into the dish. You looked at the man again. There was something different about him, but you couldn’t tell what it was, other than the obvious. There was something bigger, deeper, than the obvious, though. Whatever made this stranger different excited you and you hadn’t felt excited in a long time. The exciting man was unexpected, however, and you didn’t know if you were ready for someone as exciting as this man in your life right now. You reassured yourself that the man would only be in your life for this meal and this meal alone, but maybe you could allow yourself to open up to him slightly.

You placed the knife you had been holding behind your back, and in your lap while the stranger was in your home, onto the table. Close enough for you to grab if you needed but you were starting to believe what the man stuffing his face before you was saying. He just needed help and wasn’t going to hurt you.

“Thank you. I promise that you won’t regret that.” He looked up, alerted by the noise of the knife hitting the table, and he smiled his soft at you.

“Don’t mention it.” You mumbled into your food. There was a moment of silence, except for the sounds of eating, until the man cleaned his face with a napkin and spoke up.

“If you don’t mind me asking, whose house is this?” 

“Mine.”

“Well, yes, but ���” The man looked around your kitchen and then back to you, trying to politely insinuate that you couldn’t afford your home. ‘Trying’ being the operative word because the man was definitely failing at being polite. You sighed, why not unload your baggage onto a stranger?

“It was my great aunt’s. I spent a lot of time here when I was young and when she passed I inherited it. Given the state of the world right now I’m not going to turn down the opportunity to own a home that I can actually afford.”

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, though.” You glared at the man fiercely. He asked and you answered, why did he have to criticise your family and way of living in the process?

“I don’t mean to be rude, I just mean that I can help.” The man quickly tried to correct your interpretation of his statement, but you remained reserved. He was a stranger after all. Best not to get too comfortable.

“I don’t need your help.”

“But -” You cut the man off before he could make another inappropriate comment about the state of your home.

“I don’t know you.”

“But we could get to know each other.” The man leaned forward over the table, he had a hopeful smile ghosting over his lips. You retreated backwards into your seat, though, away from the man’s hopefulness. His personality excited you, yes, but what if you were hurt by him like you were hurt by others in the past? You didn’t want to feel that disappointment again. For some reason, you wanted to be held in high regard by this man but the fear that he was simply using you, like other people had, kept haunting your mind. So, you broke eye contact with the man and peered over to the vintage clock on your wall.

“I thought you said that you were in an emergency?” You mumbled passive-aggressively, but the man didn’t seem to notice or care about the sudden change in your demeanour. He seemed more grateful that you reminded him of his true reason for interrupting your day.

“Right! Do you have the time? My own watch doesn’t seem to be working properly.” The man tapped the face of his watch a couple of times and even from your seat across the table you could hear the small crunch of broken glass and gears. You showed him the time on your phone out of convenience.

“Oh god!” The man exclaimed, but then another thought visibly popped into his brain and took over.

“Why do I keep saying that? ‘Oh god?’ Is that from my future or past? Or is that just me? I don’t think that’s me.” The man looked to you like you might have the answer he was desperate for, but you had no idea what he was talking about. This was just another strange occurrence from the strange man.

“Who are you?” You asked exasperatedly. How could someone like him be real and in your kitchen and want your help? In your mind, he could do so much better than you.

“The Doctor?”

“Doctor Who?” A knowing smile crept across the man’s face. 

“Just The Doctor, love.”

“‘Just The Doctor?’ Who calls themself ‘The Doctor’?” You retorted, mimicking his Manchester accent.

“Me. I’m The Doctor.” His face shifted as if he just realised something. “Hm, apparently I’m confident in this regeneration.” This man was unbelievable.

“How do you exist?” You asked. You were hitting the threshold of where you were beginning to feel out of your depth. 

“Easily. It’s called breathing.” The man smiled at you widely, showing off the roundness of the apples of his cheeks. All you could do was sigh, overwhelmed.

“You are completely ridiculous”

“Ridiculous? Ridiculous. Interesting. Fun! I’m ridiculous!” The man’s face rapidly shifted from offended to curious to ecstatic within moments.

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Oh, well, I’m taking it as one.” After taking one final bite of food, the man jumped up from the table and bounded out your door. The man was so much, in a good way, but you weren’t prepared for something like this to happen today. You leaned back into your chair again and sighed deeply with your eyes closed, revelling in the stillness in your kitchen without the stranger in it with you. You frowned. Then you opened your eyes and looked at the aftermath of breakfast. You realised that you missed that man. No, you hadn’t known each other for that long, but ‘The Doctor’ whoever he was brightened your day, even if you wished to deny that fact.

“Well, come on.” The man suddenly popped his head through the door, the expectation that you would simply follow him, and curiosity that you hadn’t done just that, was etched deeply into his face.

“What?” You barked back. The man rolled his eyes and sighed. The act seemed to fit his style. You would have to tell him in future.

“I am freshly regenerated, there is going to be an alien attack in 15 minutes, and I would like your help, again. So, will you help me?” The man confidently strode back into your kitchen as he spoke. Then he held his hand out for you to take, that soft, hopeful smile of his was back and as effervescent as it was before. He was completely ridiculous, but your life had been missing ridiculousness for a long time. Maybe, just maybe, he would be good for you.

“You better not get me killed, you ridiculous man.” You placed your hand into The Doctor’s palm. The Doctor’s smile then grew into a joyous one as he rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand softly.

“I’d never let that happen. I promise. Now let’s get going.” Before you could respond, The Doctor ran out of your kitchen, pulling you out of your chair and along behind him toward an apparent alien attack.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Never Say Remember by Malora Pairing: Severus/Lily, Harry & Severus Rating: T Word Count: 93k He was slipping, as easily as water over rocks…Thirteen-year-old Harry enters an alternate universe that is both his dream come true and his worst nightmare. He's traded souls, and another boy--another Harry--is living his life. Two lives have now become intertwined with the lives of two Potions masters. The Potions masters are most displeased.

[bakedbeanchan]

Drawing from a mini comic where the timeline is reset but Zuko still has all his memories

Minicomic here

[spookyspeks]

Melanie Kinggg

[falafels]

pt.9/Q&A with the Trojans!! <pt.8 pt.10>

taglist @andrewsleftarmband @blurryhour @you-know-i-get-itt @notexactlythatgirl <33

[camilleflyingrotten]

[insert-cephalopod-joke]

[himiochaposting]

ʻIf I'd experienced that sort of love... I maybe woulda had an easier time living in this world.ʼ

Original art by Ameyu___

[ups-sups]

Confrontation.

[stars-obsession-pit]

The GIW’s Best Worst Scientists

(good Fenton parents)

The Ghost Investigation Ward’s increasing activity in Amity Park had been kinda annoying to the Doctors Fenton, but ultimately wasn’t that big a deal to them. They could live with slightly condescending scientists.

Well, that was until they learned that Danny is Phantom. Now, the GIW’s activity represents an ever-increasing risk to their boy, and they can’t stand for that.

Unfortunately they can’t just take down the organization. As satisfying as it might be, that’s a bit beyond their current skills.

Then Maddie has an idea.

Despite their condescension towards the scientist couple, the GIW had recognized the potential of some of their inventions and left them an open offer of employment.

Employment that would give them access to the GIW’s facilities.

And that, they could cause a whole lot of problems. Stealing copies of files, obfuscating the labs’ data, “accidentally” letting any captured ghosts out, having their inventions backfire at just the worst times, etc.

Jack especially is looking forward to getting to let his full “weird himbo” energy out

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen | part fourteen | part fifteen

—

Steve didn't think it would be that hard to ignore the part of his brain that wanted Eddie. It had only been a couple days, after all. Nevermind the fact that every time he spoke to the man, he wanted to keep talking, to keep learning about him, to spill his guts because he finally felt comfortable for the first time in years. He had plenty of experience pretending he was fine, this was no different. If he could look at Nancy after she ripped his heart out, he could look at Eddie and ignore the tightness in his chest.

So he listened to the man talk about OtherSteve, and clenched his jaw until it hurt. He wasn't going to do anything stupid. It was fine, and it was going to keep being fine.

"I guess the rest is history," Eddie chuckled softly, the humor only there on the surface. "Literally," he added, staring sadly at the water, “S’all history, now.”

Steve shouldn't ask. He really, really, shouldn't ask. It would be incredibly insensitive to ask, but his mouth was moving and he wasn't able to stop it in time before a strangled "How...-" managed to escape. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from Eddie’s deflated form. How did he die?

He let the silence speak for him. Eddie knew what he hadn’t asked, it was up to him whether he’d answer or change the subject.

In the end, he sighed, nudged Steve on the arm, and stood up. “C’mon, let’s go inside, it’s getting cold as shit out here,” he muttered, and Steve followed. Instead of walking away entirely, abandoning Steve for his bed and leaving him to stew in The Question That Shouldn’t Be Asked, Eddie lead them both into the kitchen and pulled a tea kettle out of the cupboard above the stove. He had to lift himself onto his tip-toes in order to reach it, and Steve refused to find that cute.

He sat at the counter, just like the night before, and watched as the man before him filled the kettle with water and placed it onto the stove — the igniter click-click-clicking until the flame whooshed to life. Eddie kept his back to Steve and leaned over the stove, palms braced on the edge of the counter. Steve didn’t know what to say, how to bring the conversation back around and release the awkward tension that simmered through the air like the water currently placed on the burner.

So he sat, kicking himself for letting that word escape. How. More like, how did Steve get himself into this mess? How did Steve always get into messes he couldn’t fix? How-

“It wasn’t the Upside Down, if that’s what you were thinking,” Eddie mumbled softly, back still facing Steve. He held his breath, worried that another misstep would make Eddie shut up for good.

“It was a-,” he cut himself off, head shaking back and forth. He laughed once, sharply, the sound so much like a knife in Steve’s ears that he nearly flinched away. “It was a fucking car accident. Like some kind of stupid daytime soap opera.”

He was still shaking his head, like he just couldn’t believe the sheer audacity of the universe to throw something so mundane at his feet.

“We… My band,” he clarified, as if Steve didn’t know he had one, “we had a gig that night, just a town over. Steve couldn’t swap his shift at work so he was running late, said he’d meet us there.”

Steve clenched his thighs tight against each other, the ache in his muscles keeping him grounded in his stool. He watched Eddie, and waited, and didn’t move, and watched Eddie, until he noticed that the man was no longer still. He was still fidget-less as he hovered by the stove, but as Steve watched he saw his shoulders start to tremble and then shake as he hunched in on himself, becoming smaller. The light in the kitchen seemed too bright for the emotions currently clawing their way out of Eddie, but still Steve couldn’t move from his seat.

“I told him,” Eddie muttered, “I told him not to rush, that there-,” he hiccuped, and Steve winced because it sounded like it hurt, tearing up his throat from the inside, “that there would be other gigs he could watch.”

How would it feel if they’d all successfully made it out of the Upside Down, only for one of them to be ripped away again? From something so normal, so common. Would it feel less real than the monsters that haunted his dreams? He couldn’t take the way that Eddie’s shoulders trembled. He always seemed so solid, so calm in the face of Steve’s worries that he’d almost forgotten the face he’d made when he pinned Steve to the wall; the furrowed brow, the steep downturn of his lips and the way his nostrils flared with rage. Even then, his shoulder hadn’t trembled, his grip on the kitchen knife was steady and sure.

“I didn’t even know until after the set,” he cried, and Steve couldn’t stay seated any longer. He rounded the counter and took Eddie’s shaking shoulders into his arms, squeezed until he couldn’t feel the trembling anymore. He felt Eddie’s arms wrap around his back and cling to the sweatshirt that didn’t belong to him, clutch it tightly in his hands so hard it probably hurt. It didn’t seem like Eddie was about to stop talking, but should he? Should Steve let him? Maybe he needed this as much as Steve had needed to talk about his dad, maybe he just needed someone to hold him through it and let him be. Had he talked about this with anyone else, or was Steve the first to see it?

“Linda called the bar,” he choked into the crook of Steve’s neck, warm tears tickling at his skin. “I yelled at her, I said-,” he hiccuped again, “I said that she could fuck off, that she had to be lying. That you- he was fine, he had to be fine,” and Eddie’s voice cracked, it practically shattered, and Steve didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t something he was used to anymore — comforting others. Hell, he was terrible at it even before, so bad at knowing what to do that Nancy called him bullshit for pretending nothing had happened at all. Clearly, being alone hadn’t done him any favors since then. So he tried to keep quiet, he held onto Eddie as hard as he could and prayed that he wasn’t making it all worse.

Eddie’s wracking sobs tore Steve up inside as he thought himself in circles. It had only been six months, Dustin had said. Six months where Eddie had lost a love that other people yearn for, six months where he’d probably stared at the pictures on the wall for hours and didn’t touch the other half of his closet. Six months of blaming himself, if he was anything like Steve. Because he would. God, he would blame himself so much if someone died on their way to see him, if he was the reason they were on the road, and then he never saw them again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Eddie’s hair, and the full weight of the man collapsed into his arms. It probably wasn’t his voice he was hearing, but if Eddie needed to picture OtherSteve saying it in order to pull himself together, then so be it. Steve could be that for just a moment.

The teapot squealed, Eddie flinching in his arms before taking a breath, two breaths, and detangling himself from Steve’s arms.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say again. I’m sorry he’s not here, I’m sorry I’m here instead, I’m sorry to be opening these wounds that haven’t even healed yet. I’m sorry.

But instead, he kept his mouth closed and walked back over to the stool he’d vacated, sitting down to watch Eddie bumble around for mugs and tea and honey. Steve didn’t know anything about tea, didn’t even know if he owned a kettle, but Eddie’s movements were practiced and swift. He sniffled every few seconds, wiping away his remaining tears with his bare hands while the tacky saltwater airdried on Steve’s neck.

With two mugs in hand, Eddie walked past Steve and set them down on the breakfast table behind him. He sat down, looking anywhere but at Steve, and spooned one scoop of sugar into both mugs, followed by a generous squeeze of honey. It would be more awkward if Steve didn’t follow, and having Eddie at his back after such an emotional moment didn’t sit well with him. So, Steve slid off of the stool, wandered over to the stove to turn the overhead light on, and made one more stop to flick the rest of the kitchen lights off before joining Eddie at the table.

If Eddie didn’t want to look at him after that, maybe some darkness would feel less vulnerable. If not, then Steve could make eye contact with the honey bear bottle instead or whatever. It’s not like Steve had any dignity to stand on after crying his eyes out all day previously. Jesus, he cried in the kitchen with everyone on the floor, outside with Robin, being held in his mom’s arms as he cried like a baby, and then again with Eddie by the pool. How did he have any liquid left in his body? He’s lucky he didn’t shrivel up into a raisin by now.

So he stared at the bear. He traced over its little painted on eyes, contemplated its origin. Why a bear? Did bears even like honey? Or was that just Pooh? Was the bear Pooh? Or was that a copyright issue?

He sipped at his tea in silence, mirroring Eddie as he still avoided his eyes. By the time Eddie spoke again, the tea was gone and Steve had spent entirely too long cataloguing every scratch and dent and imperfection in the plastic honey container.

“Sorry,” Eddie muttered into the lip of his cup. Steve rolled his eyes, looking at the man across from him for the first time since sitting at the table. He raised his eyebrow and gave him the flattest look he could muster, channeling the look Carol had taught him to master all the way back in middle school.

“Right, because I’ve never cried in my life and I’m really questioning your manliness right now,” he scoffed.

Eddie’s shoulders drooped, like a string had been cut. He rolled his eyes back, and grabbed the two empty mugs as he stood. Steve watched as he went through the motions of making two more cups of tea, draining the kettle on the stove.

“You know, you’re a lot bitchier than I thought you’d be,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Steve snorted, could practically hear the honey bear laugh at him, too.

“Comes with the territory,” Steve responded as Eddie wandered back over to the table. He thought back to the Munson Doctrine that he’d heard so many years ago and still somehow remembered. “Rich parents, popular, girls love me,” he listed, locking eyes with Eddie before he reached for the sugar. “Sometimes I’m a douche.”

Eddie laughed, sharp and startled, pausing in his actions.

“No sugar please,” Steve added, flicking his eyes down to the spoon still in Eddie’s hand. He blinked, confused for a second before shaking his head and looking down at the sugar, then back up at Steve.

“Right… right,” he muttered to himself, only adding a spoonful to his own cup before sitting down again. Steve still squeezed a little honey in. He liked the flavor in the tea. It was… flowery, reminded him of a dewy field in the springtime, bees buzzing about.

His eyes burned a little, drooping where they hadn’t just an hour ago. He could feel a yawn climbing its way out his throat, but he swallowed around it, trying to keep it under wraps. Eddie gave him a knowing look, bringing the tea to his lips to hide his smirk.

Steve quirked an eyebrow again, “you poison me, Munson? I thought we got past this?”

He chuckled, closing his eyes as he took a few big gulps of the warm liquid. He was soft in the darkness, light from the stove painting shadows across his face — shadows that highlighted his dimples, that made his eyelashes look unbelievably long. Steve blinked a little slower as he watched the man set his cup down and gently open his eyes.

“It’s chamomile,” he whispered, pointing to the mug in Steve’s hands. “It’s good for sleep.”

Steve looked to where he was pointing, the soft golden liquid still as it sat in his cup. It sparkled in the low light, just like the water in the pool outside and Steve was reminded of summers as a lifeguard, high on his tower. He could marry the warmth of the tea with the sun that had shined on his face, prickling at his skin as new freckles bloomed.

When he looked back up, Eddie was staring at the bowl of sugar with another one of his unreadable expressions. His eyebrows were scrunched down in the middle, mouth moving in little motions like he was chewing the inside of his cheek. He looked as if he were solving math problems in the granules or counting them one by one.

“You take your coffee differently, did you know that?” Eddie whispered. He sounded almost in awe, like the difference was important, like it meant something.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the man in front of him now, his hair a mass of black in the darkness, eyes just as infinite and deep.

“I mean,” Eddie huffed out a laugh, “Steve had always copied his mom since he was little, and Linda… Linda loves sugar, I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of freaky compulsion at this point because it’s just… wow. The woman can’t get enough of it, I think her coffee order is just a milkshake at this point.” That startles a laugh out of Steve, picturing his mother shoveling spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee. The Linda from his universe didn’t even drink coffee, as far as Steve saw. She’d usually stick to wine, no matter the time of day. ‘It’s more ladylike,’ though he no longer knew if that was his mom’s thoughts, or his dad’s. Or maybe she was hiding behind it, like Steve had with the whiskey cabinet.

“And Steve,” Eddie continued, “he always took a lot of sugar and milk in his, not as much as her - obviously - but it was still gross,” Eddie laughed. Steve couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face, remembering happy times and funny memories, instead of the bad ones that had him pressed into Steve’s shoulder, tears puddling in the crook of his neck.

“But you,” he said.

“I take it black with one spoon of sugar,” Steve finished. Eddie nodded.

“Is that… I mean do you think you got that from-“

“My dad?” Steve nodded as he said it, thinking back on everything he’d learned since stumbling into this world. “I guess I just… never realized how much he really influenced me over the years.”

Eddie looked over his face earnestly, like he had with the sugar, like he was trying to calculate something on Steve’s forehead or count each mole dotted on his skin. He sighed, leaning forward, hands clasped tightly around his nearly empty mug. “You’re nothing like him, though, you know that?” He said

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes, settling them back on the golden liquid in his cup and away from the intensity in Eddie’s. “You didn’t even know him.”

“I know you, though.”

“Do you? We only met a couple days ago.” And you didn’t even speak to me that first day, he didn’t say out loud.

“I know a version of you. I know you’re different, I like that you’re different, but you’re not separate. You are Steve Harrington. And I know Steve Harrington.”

‘You are Steve Harrington,’ he remembered Linda say when she’d first seen him, ‘and any Steve Harrington is my baby.’

He blinked the thought away, downing the dredges of his tea to avoid looking Eddie in the eye. He couldn’t put those thoughts to the man in front of him, because if he did, if he kept thinking ‘any Steve Harrington is my baby’ he’d picture Eddie saying it. He’d picture the words ‘baby’ slipping out of his lips like the sticky sweet honey in the bear bottle that was still staring at him, judging him as if reading his mind. And that was dangerous.

—

Okay, this part was getting very very long so I ended up dividing it between this part and the next one. I know some people are wondering about Linda, and we'll find out about what she's been up to shortly!

Tag List:

@devondespresso @machete-inventory-manager @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @anti-ozzie @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @howincrediblysapphicofyou @1-8oo-wtfbro @grimmfitzz @queenie-ofthe-void @redheadchimechild @bread52487 @bookworm0690 @jinojiboundagain @inikokoru @n0-1-important @fangirltofangod @emly03

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim Joins the Batfamily Late: Vigilante Style AU

His parents send him to a boarding school abroad (or at least out of Gotham). From there, he encounters Lady Shiva and other trainers. Tim obviously can't keep his nose out of other people's business and becomes a vigilante for that city. He may also collect evidence and blackmail the JL from abroad to provide Batman with better mental health care. Tim can't leave to assist Batman in person (boarding school and parents suck ig) so he does what he can. He stops blackmailing them and cuts contact once he sees Batman has improved.

He sometimes partners with the YJ crew, but Tim's a little more morally grey (Batman's not hovering over his decisions and yelling at him about murder and stuff. Also, his mentors aren't always on the hero side). He tries to keep himself off of the JL radar and is an unofficial member of the group (despite paying for a lot of their necessities).

When he's around the same era as Red Robin, he goes up to the JL and is like "yo, Batman's alive and stuck in the timestream."

The JL have heard of this vigilante, but they've never worked with him before. The YJ crew, besides Cassie, is dead, so they can't really vouch for him. Cassie is also doing the cult thing, horrified by Tim's mad scientist basement antics, and emotionally repressed from the grief of losing two of her friends.

Tim, realizing that Dick probably has a lot on his plate, doesn't try to convince him of Bruce's continued state of breathing. Besides, why would Dick trust a stranger?

Instead, Tim tries Red Hood and the Outlaws. They don't really believe him, but they are willing to lend a hand here and there.

When he's traveling to find evidence, he comes across Black Bat. Out of everyone he's tried, she does believe him. Cass joins him on his search when she can. It causes Jason to make jokes about taking turns babysitting the youngest vigilante.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Hell is Ours to Carry by wynnebat (@wynnefic) Pairing: Harry/Tom Riddle Rating: T Word Count: 3k The ritual brings the Order a light wizard who’d already sacrificed all he had to the cause. When asked again, Harry can’t bring himself to make the same choice. (translation available in Русский)

[keuwibloom]

(Slight TW/CW for injury)

With how their whole positivity/negativity thing works (and that they're the only ones who can mortally wound each other), what if Dream and Nightmare aren't able to physically touch anymore?

Imagine, in the past, the brothers' main love language was physical touch (hugs, play fighting, etc). But after they ate the apples, the negativity and positivity act like poison to the other as a defense mechanism.

Any prolonged contact will burn Dream and make Nightmare's corruption boil and melt. It is extremely painful for both of them.

Imagine how this affects them in Parallel Synthesis.

When after all the fighting, after they've settled on a truce, after they've found peace and are able to actually be brothers again,

there will always be that one thing they can never have back.

Btw this takes place during the lunch meeting mentioned here! The stars and the gang decided to have an outdoors lunch :]

Dream and Nightmare belong to Jokublog

[vortex-randomly-fandom]

✨Senti-loaf✨