#post s2

Eddie blinks back at her stunned, legs going still. He glances down at the paper, then back at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "What--"

"We both know you know this material. You're not an idiot, much as you like people to believe."

Eddie raises his brows.

"You're smart. So stop wasting that to prove a point that no one here is ever going to hear."

“Wow, thanks.” He monotones. “Aren’t you supposed to, like,” waves his hands around, “encourage me as my teacher? Not beat me down?”

She leans in, drops her voice slightly. "You want to make change in this world?"

Eddie blinks, eyes wide. He drops his hands to his desk, nods slightly.

"Then get out of here with your degree and spread your shit to people who listen."

She straightens out, beckons her hand to the doorway. "Come on, Steven."

Eddie snaps his head over, watches as Steve fucking Harrington walks into the room, shoulders hunched slightly, head cast down. 

Eddie straightens up, legs pulled in. His mouth drops, a choked laugh tumbling into the stilted quiet. "The hell is this? You sentencing me to jock enrichment time?"

"Language, Edward. And Steven here is going to be working with you to help you pass this exam."

"You-- you're giving me a tutor?” He scoffs, eyes wide. “Steve Harrington is my tutor?" 

Steve raises his hand, sheepishly wiggles his fingers, his eyes barely meeting Eddie's before darting away. 

"Steven here is one of my brightest students. He--"

Eddie can't stop the cackle that tumbles out of him. A full body one that sends his head rolling back, his hands clapping in front of him. “That’s great, O’Donnell.” 

O'Donnell scowls at him. Steve shrinks further into himself.

"Edward Alan Munson, you listen to me and you listen good." 

Eddie stops, rights himself, narrows his eyes. "Don't fucking call me that."

O'Donnell leans forward, taps his desk. "Then don't act like him."

Eddie grits his teeth, swallows back the anger. 

“We both know you know better than anyone not to judge people like this.”

Eddie looks down, fingers gripping the edge of his desk tightly.

“Are we clear?”

He glances at O’Donnell, then over at Steve who’s perched close by on a desk, arms fully wrapped around his middle, hunched nearly in half, head cast down. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy for the guy, has seen him tumbling further down the social ladder since last Fall. He shouldn’t give a shit, but he, unfortunately, does. Something about sympathy and caring about others and wanting to protect. Goddamnit.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re clear.” Eddie nods, stretches out his leg and taps Steve’s leg with his boot softly. “Sorry, Harrington. You’re probably better than I am at this stuff.” 

Steve looks up in shock, un-hunching ever so slightly. He blinks, stammers slightly. “Yeah, uh – thanks man.”

“Good.” She leans back, gestures at Steve. "Now, Steven here is one of my brightest students. He also needs another credit to pass due to skipping out so much last quarter." She shifts a glare toward Steve. He grumbles what sounds like an apology, scuffs his shoe against the dirty tile. 

"So, Steven is going to spend the next week with you, Edward, tutoring you so you can make up this exam and pass. If all goes well, you’ll both get what you need."

Eddie blinks, his brows raised far behind his bangs. "Wait, you-- you're letting me retake the exam?"

"Consider it an olive branch. I'd rather not see you in this room again next year." O'Donnell waves her hand, barely contains a smile as she walks toward the door. "Now, get to work gentlemen. You'll have my room for the 1 o'clock hour every day this week. Your make-up exam is Friday."

She stops in the doorway, hand perched on the handle. “And, gentlemen?”

They both look at her, eyes wide and attentive.

“Don’t disappoint me.” With that, she leaves, the door clicking shut with a deafening thud. 

Steve scoffs. “No pressure there, huh?”

Eddie stares stunned at the door, half waiting for her to come back and say it's all a joke, that he still has to repeat senior year for a third time. But, as each second ticks past, the reality of it all starts setting in. 

He gets another chance. 

Steve coughs, wrings his hands a bit. "So..."

Eddie blinks at him. Looks down at the study guide O'Donnell left. Back at Steve. Can’t decide if it’s more unbelievable that he gets to make up the exam or that Steve is tutoring him. At this point, though, Eddie really has nothing else to lose. He gets a week of tutoring from the prettiest guy he’s ever seen. Should be fun, at least.

So, he leans forward, flashes a sincere smile, gestures at the chair beside him. "So, you a history wizard, Harrington?"

The corner of Steve's lips twitch a bit as he gets up, slides into the chair. He turns full bodied towards Eddie, props his elbow on the desk. A smile sneaks onto his perfect, gorgeous face.  "Something like that."

"Well, work your magic, sweetheart. Get us both out of this hellhole." 

taglist (open): @sunshine-daydreams0809 @saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed

divider credit:@saradika-graphics

thank you for reading :)

Quick question, How did you turn this

Into this

And then you did a funny so we’re back here???

Like. Are you sure he’s the one with mind control? You made a my go from cult leader to baby to secret third thing (derogatory) that desperately needs therapy

By being the FAKEST idgafker wow

now imagine having all that control undone by just a bit of therapy or a lot of it

that must suck

Also, imagine being that poor fucking therapist

anyway I’m trying not to do a thing 🤭 a stupid thing like idk go and write this shit

“Mr. Fox?”

The television - fascinating, truly, sinners never ceased to amaze - flares. His red eyes flash around the room, falling onto the blanket in his lap, still on fire.

High density of penile-looking things for a blanket, actually, but the doctor avoids further investigation.

“It’s Vox.”

There’s a crackle of static in the air, then the blanket stops gleaming. Instead, the red eyes gleam right into Pestilences’ eyes. Well, Pestilence supposes he doesn’t have those anymore, either. It is still a miracle to him, how he can see, but hell seems barely bothered with neither physics nor logic.

“Could you just, you know, step out of the fucking door, doc? I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”

The voice is blurred on some of these words into an angry crackle, and Pestilence wonders whether he should kick out the speech therapist beneath him. Too many ‚wrong doors’ he got these days.

He did step out of the way, though, making way for the TV to wheel through the door.

Said box glares at him, struggling with effort to move into the middle of the room, opposite Pestilences own chair. 

“Listen. This can go two ways, doc. I walk out of here enlightened - or you walk out rebranded as a streaming service with terrible ratings.”

bottom note stop me please I never finish shit without demand anyway but I need the idea injected into my veins sadly