Eddie hates Tuesdays. Nothing good has ever happened on a Tuesday.
It’d been a Tuesday when he’d ran away from home the first time, a Tuesday when he’d run away from home the third time (and the fourth and finally, the last time, the fifth). It’d been a Tuesday the first time he’d gotten shoved into a locker, the first time someone had loudly and publicly pointed out the worn state of his clothes. And, case in point, just last Tuesday he’d found out he’s currently failing English. No surprise there really, but it still proves his point.
Tuesday’s unequivocally suck.
But it’s a Tuesday when Harrington, Wheeler, and Byers walk through the school doors together, heads bent close as if the entire school body hasn’t just frozen in place to watch this fever dream of a trio walk through the doors.
Eddie’s guilty of freezing as well, despite how hard he tries to not care about any of the stupid school politics. His hand’s suspended in mid-air where he was reaching for….reaching for something. He doesn’t fucking know.
The fever dream trio are still walking up the hall, whispering to each other so low Eddie can’t hear them despite how quiet it’s gotten. In fact, they’re doing such a good job of pretending to not notice the stares that they almost convince him they haven’t noticed at all. Such a fantastic fucking job that he almost misses the tension sitting tight in Harrington’s shoulders, the white knuckled grip Wheeler has on the strap of her bag, the anxious creases around Byers eyes as he presses against Wheeler’s side. They’re all painfully aware of the staring, they’re just doing a remarkably good job of ignoring it.
Or at least they are, until Harrington glances around, real casual like, and ends up making direct eye contact with Eddie.
If you asked him later what he’d thought was going to happen, he’d have told you nothing, nothing at fucking all. Because Steve Harrington was a bully but he didn’t bother singling people out, that was a job delegated to good ‘ole Tommy & Carol. But this version of King fucking Steve, a boy who’s never paid a lick of fucking attention to Eddie past the dismissive glances he’s swept across everyone who was beneath him, this fucking version of Harrington goes bone white, flinching sideways into Wheeler, eyes wide with something Eddie doesn’t have the brain capacity to decipher at the moment.
Eddie, Harrington mouths, silent and yet somehow louder than any shout. Eddie stares back, blank and uncomprehending (and something, he doesn’t know what, but something in Harrington’s eyes shatters). Wheeler grabs his arm, trying to pull him along, eyes darting to Eddie and away like she’s scared to let her eyes linger for too long.
“You know we can’t, Steve,” she hisses, they’re close enough for him to hear this time. “Let’s go.”
Byers moves to Harrington’s other side and gently ushers him along, his gaze sweeping the length of Eddie —his falling apart shoes, the frayed ends of his jeans, the pins on his vests, his frizzy curls — eyes curious as he takes him in. He doesn’t know what Byers sees but his eyes go a little sad right before he turns away.
He wants to call it pity but he knows the Byers are nearly as hard off as he and Wayne. So really, he’s still just as lost as he was five minutes ago. He’s just lost. He fucking hates feeling lost.
Eddie stays standing in front of his locker until the first bell rings, blankly staring at the spot where Harrington’s mouth had shaped his name like a prayer he’d forgotten the words to. It’s a Tuesday and that means math and English questions he doesn’t understand and history quizzes and PE and running which he hates.
It’s a fucking Tuesday and the most interesting thing to happen in Hawkins in years somehow involves him and it doesn’t make any fucking sense.
Wheeler is a priss. She’s a straight-A student, on track to be valedictorian. A straight-laced girl who should fit into all the neatly labeled boxes Eddie had mentally placed her in years ago. But her voice as she’d hissed at Harrington had been tired and full of iron.
Byers is a loner, an outcast just like Eddie. He’s always been alone though. No hellfire, no makeshift friend group that could fall apart at a moment's notice. But he’d been leaning into Wheeler like she was his last stand, the hill he would die on given half a chance and a sword sharp enough.
And Harrington. Steve fucking Harrington. Well, he makes the least sense of all. If you’d asked Eddie yesterday if Harrington would be caught dead hanging out with Byers he’d have said not a chance in hell.
But clearly, hell is high school and Steve Harrington is alive just to piss Eddie off. Because Harrington’s arm had been flung around Wheeler’s shoulder, loose and unassuming, his body language open and inviting except for the tension hiding in his shoulders. He’d smiled at Byers with teeth, bright and happy, right before he’d turned and seen—
Before he’d turned and looked at Eddie like he was seeing a ghost or an angel like the ones the preachers forgot Revelations described. He’d mouthed Eddie’s name like it was something that belonged in his mouth. Like he had some divine right to it when Eddie had never made him a prophet, had never made him anything at all.
Eddie doesn’t understand what’s going on but he’s never been one to let sleeping dogs lie. Far be it for him to start now.
I've no idea if I'll ever finish tbh but I'm so in love with this first part and I just feel like it's a crime that I haven't shared it and maybe sharing this part will give me some kind of motivation to freaking finish it
3. Tell us about a headcanon you invented for a fic.
God I was so hoping someone would ask me this one. Thank you for contributing. Okay, so for Are you blind when you're born?, for plot reasons, I invented the idea that Prince Maitimo in the Years of the Trees is a disgusting slob who has never learned how to clean up after himself. And I love it so much I've repeated it now in other Years of the Trees fics. I am enamored of spoiled rotten Noldor princes whose maids and servants take care of everything. They're so gross!
And before anyone argues--but it's Valinor! Surely the Blessed Realm does not get dirty! Can I interest you in the concept of every creature that has ever lived finds a home in Aman, including rats and cockroaches???
18. If you have noticed themes emerging in your writing, what are they? What broad themes and topics do you enjoy exploring?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
forging a path by atlantablack
Ship(s): Morgana/Gwen
Main Characters: Gwen, Morgana, Arthur, Merlin, Mordred
Rating: General audiences
Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply
Summary: “You took my will from me,” She slowly swipes her thumb across Morgana’s cheek. “So now I will take what you love from you.”
“I do not love anything,” Morgana spits, trying to pull her face from Gwen’s grasp and snarling when Gwen only tightens her grip.
“You love your magic,” she whispers gently.
------
The White Goddess may have released Gwen from Morgana's hold, but it does well to remember that even the kindest of deities are fickle creatures.
from blood and bone (to earth and sea) by Atlanta_Black Ship(s): Morgana & Arthur Main Characters: Morgana Pendragon | Arthur Pendragon Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Every time Morgana believes she’s rid herself of affection for Gwen and Arthur, that same traitorous part of her heart roars back to life, threatening to strangle her with guilt.
On Love Languages & Choices by atlantablack
Ship(s): Gwen/Gwaine
Main Characters: Gwen | Gwaine
Rating: General audiences
Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply
Summary: He's the only one who's ever truly given her a choice, it takes her a while to realize what a gift this is.
Tagged by @queenofthedagger, @kitastrophea, @atlantablack ILU all 😂
3 ships: I’m just going to take this to mean my three most recently read ships:
Theo/Harry (from Forget-Me-Not)
Keith/Shiro (from With a Heart So Wild)
Anders/Hawke (from Red Right Hand)
Last song:
mad woman - Taylor Swift (folklore 😍)
Last movie:
I watched The Hustle a month ago, it was pretty entertaining
Currently reading:
Just finished reading Alexis Hall’s Arden St. Ives series (50sog but m/m and with excellent chemistry, highly enjoyed it) and might pick up Bonds of Brass (sci-fi, m/m, heard it’s really good) next
Currently consuming:
My teacup is empty, but an hour ago it had some earl gray tea
Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.
Tagged by: @atlantablack, thanks! ❤
First Morning (Draco/Neville): Draco wakes to a plant staring at him.
Biased (Katie/Marcus): “Should we stop them?” Katie asks, peering in the direction of the Hogwarts doors.
Two Steps (Pansy/Harry): Professors aren’t expected to bring dates.
Score (Sirius/Harry): Harry pushed off the ground and into the air, flying out into packed stadium like a bullet.
Silk vs. Snowball (Justin/Tony): The moment Justin opened his eyes he knew that the day already was going to be a trash heap—nothing else could explain why his beloved chihuahua was upchucking pieces of his beloved silk tie on his second favorite Persian rug.
Home Once More (Hermione/Viktor): Rumors precede Viktor’s arrival by a matter of weeks.
Petals and All (Harry/Severus): The mist was a welcome relief after the warm weather of the last month.
Not an Obligation (Kingsley & Harry): The months following the war are almost as bad as the war itself.
Hard Histories (Harry/Tom): Harry sighed deeply and earnestly.
To Have One’s Cake (Regulus/James): The distance between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade feels shorter than ever as Regulus walks in the direction of the Hog's Head.
The takeaway from this is that I favor short starting lines and have been writing almost exclusively Harry Potter lately. Silk vs. Snowball was actually the first non-HP fic I posted since December. It’s a Harry Potter type of year.
