#| Robins Snippets |

[pumpkin-daydreams]

Team Red. (Team Robin Hood?)

[vinnybox]

Robin Season 1 before Failsafe :’)

Im gonna (Try to) sleep now cause im very tired from doing assignments DHSGHD

[p0ssym1lker]

Tim gets deaged, he's bit younger than Damian and at first they obviously don't get along. It's mostly Damian but eh

Until one day Tim talks down on him stating that it's "pathetic that you cannot real in your emotions, what do you do at galas? At an undercover mission? Physical strength isn't gonna help you" all while doing his mothers sneer

Because tims mother fully taught him how to correctly act in any way, regardless of how useful it was to galas or business, she was a firm believer you had to adapt and act in any way

So Damian, who gets a show of how well tim does and how badly he fails, learns from him

He's confused on why drake doesn't use this more often - Tim wants to move in from him family that's why - because it is extremely valuable

So they become friends and when it's time to turn Tim back? Damian refuses

[snowangeldotmp3]

“Robin, what are you—oh!” Nancy shrieks.

Robin scoops Nancy up in her arms bridal style, literally sweeping Nancy off her feet. Robin grins at her, a stupidly boyish grin and Nancy is trying very hard right to not think about how close they are. Or how easy it was for Robin to scoop her up like it was nothing. She fights the blush spreading across her cheeks, and the smile threatening to spread along with it—long enough for her to muster, “Put me down!”

Robin’s still grinning as they begin to ascend the staircase, “No can do, your majesty,” Nancy glares at her, though there’s none of that old malice behind it, “it’s dangerous! Too dangerous for you, my queen,” this time Nancy can’t fight the burning heat spreading through her cheeks. This close, Nancy takes in everything about Robin’s face—her freckles, her bright eyes, her lips…Nancy briefly lets her gaze drop to Robin’s soft lips.

They stay like that a moment. Silent. Staring at one another, like they’re trapped in their own little bubble, their own little world. Nancy feels that…thing…again. That irritated tug in her chest that makes her think about ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs?’ Dangerous things that she cannot think about right now.

The bubble pops when they reach the top of the stairs, as Robin finally puts her down. Nancy rolls her eyes. “My hero,” she teases, and doesn’t miss the way that Robin’s cheeks flush a pretty pink.

Max decides that this is a perfect time to leave the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. Nancy and Robin freeze. “Ew, moms. Wait,” she starts, eyes widening, “did you two finally kiss?”

“Bed. Now. No video games tonight,” Nancy commands, or fails to command given the smile on Max’s face.

“Boooooo,” Max groans, “you’re no fun.”

Robin chimes in, “Kid, listen to your mother.”

Max slinks back to the bathroom with a shit-eating grin on her face, which Nancy purposely ignores this as Max makes her way back to her bedroom.

Robin breaks the silence first, “Our daughter can be a little shit sometimes, you know that?”

Nancy snorts, and Robin giggles too, and suddenly that feeling is back in her chest, squeezing tighter around her heart. She pokes Robin’s shoulder. “She gets that from you,” she smiles. Robin’s jaw drops, clutching dramatically where Nancy poked her.

“You wound me, Wheeler,” she grins, and Nancy wants nothing more than to kiss than stupid grin off her face.

“Or from Eddie.”

Robin nods, “Definitely Munson’s fault.”

[those-goddamn-bats]

still not over tim falling off a cliff in the process of successfully taking down a villain and his last thoughts would have been "i'd call this a win/lose scenario". help?????

[robthegoodfellow]

See, it had all started right before Christmas break, at the end of the Gatsby unit in his English class. Billy had gotten a real kick out of the story, which had been mercifully short and jam-packed with… well, it was gay as shit, basically—to the point where he’d tormented Harrington one afternoon reading select passages aloud, really dialing up the loaded phrases.

“Question for ya,” he’d said, sprawled on Harrington’s bed—his favorite place for half-assing any homework—or really his favorite place, period. He skimmed the paragraph, plucking choice words, glanced up where Harrington was propped against the headboard, eying him placidly over his History notes. “What would you think if you heard me describe an old buddy as ‘sturdy… dominant… leaning aggressively forward…’?”

Billy rolled and crawled into his lap—leaned forward with as much sturdy dominance as he could muster. Ignoring how his audience had snapped to attention, he cleared his throat, stuck the book between their faces, and continued, voice comically husky:

“…Or if I said the guy’s body had ‘enormous power’ that ‘seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing—’” As he read, Billy had reached down between them with his free hand, rubbed until Harrington was himself straining the zipper of his jeans. “‘—and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved…’?” A whine as Billy abandoned his ministrations below to trail up Harrington’s torso, caressing his collarbone, the meat of his shoulder, and finished: “‘It was a body capable of enormous leverage—’”

Planting his feet, Harrington arced his pelvis off the bed and Billy toppled over, snickering. In a blink, he was bowled onto his back, grinning up into a smug face.

“I’d think you wanted to fuck him,” Harrington said, and slotted their hips together, grinding where they were both hard.

“Right?” Billy panted. He weakly swatted Harrington’s head with the book he’d somehow kept hold of. “Man, I haven’t even gotten to the part where he fucks this random photographer guy—or when he describes Gatsby’s car and it’s just—it’s just—”

Harrington had sat up, hands tugging at their jeans, trying to get them undone. Rather than help, Billy raised the book above him and leafed forward a bit. “Hold on… I’ll find it…”

“You are such a little shit,” Harrington muttered.

Billy feigned distraction. “I swear, it was right after…”

Harrington had them unbuttoned and unzipped when Billy flipped to the scene.

“Here it is!” He cleared his throat and deigned to lift his ass so Harrington could drag his jeans and briefs down around his thighs. “So Gatsby’s ‘balancing himself on the dashboard’ of this huge car—picture it just jutting out from his crotch, okay? And then Nick’s all randy about it—saying how the car’s ‘swollen here and there in its monstrous length—’”

The book was snatched away and sent sailing off the bed, then Billy’s bookless fingers were anointed with the preferred dollop of lotion and drawn down to Harrington’s dick. No instructions necessary.

“Am I nuts?” he demanded, grunting as Harrington reciprocated. “Like—that car is a—” He gasped as Harrington upped the pace. “—a fucking… monster cock—a la verga—”

“Billy,” Harrington said, tightly, though he seemed on the verge of laughter. “Can we… focus on our actual cocks for a sec?”

That earned him an obnoxious smirk and slow, lingering stroke. “Damn, babe,” he said, admiring. “You held out way longer than expected.”

The ohmygodIhateyousomuch was mumbled directly against his lips, but he was smiling—Billy knew because he kissed teeth a moment before Harrington adjusted, and then he was pulling Harrington down, sucking tongue until they’d made a mess of their hands.

So anyway, that had got him thinking, and when it came time to write an essay, he’d rolled the dice and composed an unwieldy manifesto on Nick’s latent queerness. He’d had to look up all kinds of fancy words for gay and dick—homoeroticism and phallic had heavily featured—and maybe it was because this was the first time he’d ever felt personally invested in a writing assignment, but what had started out as a bit of a joke topic had morphed into… something else. Something he really meant. Nick was repressed as fuck and it had fucked him up.

He hadn’t run it by Pendergast—aside from the mere thought making him want to set himself on fire, he figured it wasn’t necessary; she’d given them a list of possible prompts, and the last one amounted to Choose Your Own Adventure. Plus, she’d gotten up on a soapbox at the start of the year, banging on in her twangy accent about how their approved booklist was too “narrow”—got as close as she could to calling it too white, too male, too straight without outright saying it. So… odds were good she wouldn’t read it and march him straight to the counselor or something.

Despite his best intentions, though, he’d almost thrown in the towel toward the end, when he’d been trying to transcribe his pencil draft into the final and the ink kept smearing—pens just weren’t fucking made for poor left-handed schmucks. When Harrington had seen him about ready to rip the draft in half, he’d spirited Billy into an austere office and sat him in front of some space-age looking contraption that purported to be a typewriter—shown him how to feed paper through, how to backtrack and correct any errors, stamping them out of existence, and told him to take his time.

And Billy had used a typewriter before—even endured a typing class freshman year—but that had been on a dime a dozen Smith-Corona electric, tacky from countless fingers before him, not an… IBM Selectric III, which he’d never even heard of, but assumed must be the best money could buy. It had a matte grey chassis with black squared keys, and when he tentatively pressed the B, a whirring, mechanical flutter conjured the letter on the page in a flash, like the machine had already known what symbol he wanted—hadn’t known to capitalize it, though. Leaning back and forth to peer over the edge of the chassis, where the arms of each key would usually fly out to strike, he watched as, for every letter of his name, a magic silver golf ball encrusted with the building blocks of language—the alphabet, punctuation, numbers 0-9—pivoted and spun, laying down each item with a crisp clatter that was weirdly spine-tingling.

billy Hargove

Eh, one missed capital was no biggie.

He’d started off slow, afraid of making more mistakes, not trusting himself to correctly deploy the corrector, but a couple sentences in, he was grooving—and god, the staccato whirr of those keys was damn satisfying.

He only knew he’d been at it awhile when a tension headache, that old friend, began to pulse at his temples and build behind his brow. Not enough to derail him, though—he lay down the final period with a flourish, yanked out the last page, and helped himself to the stapler.

After he’d turned it in, he’d kinda forgotten about it, too busy dreading Christmas break and all the “family time” it would entail. He wouldn’t even have the castle as his usual retreat, since Harrington’s folks were already back for the holiday, hosting a horde of his mother’s family at the country home until the whole brigade left for a New Year’s soiree in the Windy City.

So he’d perked up when Pendergast started wandering the room, handing the essays back, reminding them to actually read her comments if they hoped to improve next time—only she got to the bottom of the stack and… no essay for Billy. She hadn’t seemed to notice, but—

Then he freaked out a bit. Was she planning to hold him back after class, or—fuck—hoping to talk to him about it? Maybe he’d read her totally wrong and she was gonna march him to counselling after all. Or give him a detention for submitting something she found distasteful. Vulgar.

Of course, maybe she’d… lost it? He really hoped so, because he’d rather take an unjust zero than chat with her about the essay at all. Never should have written the fucking thing in the first place—such an idiot.

He snuck glances at Pendergast all period, but even when they made eye contact once, she hadn’t frowned or given any indication of her intentions… She was either one cool customer or genuinely as scatterbrained as she seemed on the surface and had just—yeah, lost it.

At the lunch bell, Billy had no recollection of what had transpired in class, too swept up in anxious speculation. He wanted to make a break for the door, but if she uttered a word about his topic with anyone else around he’d never hear the end of it. He’d bolt when the coast was clear and pray she wouldn’t call his name.

“Hey,” someone said, close by his ear, and Billy leapt in his seat, knees knocking the underside of his desk. He whirled, venom on his tongue, only to find a roll of papers shoved in his face, brandished by that girl with the brown bob who sat behind him, and who was now crossing her arms in defense at his reaction.

“Whoa!” she said, grinning wryly with big goofy teeth. “Easy. I come in peace.”

“In pieces,” he muttered, turning to sit sideways in his desk to level her a glare.

“Yes, you’re very scary,” she agreed. “So I really hope you won’t murder me for—um…” She tapped the scroll on his shoulder. “…reading this.”

Billy snatched the papers, his stomach seizing—already knew what he’d see when he unrolled the coiled pages, and yep—there it was: billy Hargrove in blocky typeface in the top left corner.

“Congrats?” the chick said, tentatively. “You got an A.”

The small part of Billy that wasn’t flipping his shit wondered how that was possible—the first page alone was littered with red marks correcting his grammar, scolding him for informal turns of phrase—but all that was a murmur compared to the tirade raging in his mind, listing haphazard means to ensure the nosy bitch wouldn’t dare use this against him.

He half-heard her babbled explanation: “Sorry—I know I shouldn’t have. It was just that the staple on yours got snagged on mine, and then I saw the title and I thought it was just you being a dumb jerk but then I realized it wasn’t—”

The title in question: Character Analysis of Nick Carragay. He’d been torn between that and Nick Wants Dick, but decided he was already pushing the envelope enough.

Billy swept the area, saw it was almost empty—only Pendergast remained, busy erasing the chalkboard. He let his eyes and tone go flat like Neil’s, and turned back to the threat. “Here’s how this is gonna go,” he said, slow and quiet. “You tell a fucking soul, and I’ll—”

“Shit, that’s unsettling,” she interrupted, gaze skittering over his blank face, the thin veneer of a lax posture that belied winding tension, spring-loaded. He blinked when she snapped her fingers in front of his nose. “Stop that. I’m not gonna say anything—not that I’d assume anything.” She peered around him at their teacher on the far side of the room, then leaned back in and whispered, “Though if I were to assume something, and that assumption was correct, it’d be fine, because—uh…” Wincing, she eyed Billy a moment—whose expression had gone slack for a whole different reason—then barreled on: “Because… me, too?”

Billy was so overwhelmed by the onslaught of implications that all he could manage was, “What?”

The girl raised her brows, nodding meaningfully. “Mine would’ve been about Jordan Baker, if I had the guts.”

“Hurry up, you two,” called Pendergast. “I’d like to get to lunch sometime this century.”

They gathered their things—well, the girl did. Billy had a policy against backpacks, so all he had was the crumpled essay and the next book they were doing, this play called The Crucible. He’d read something by the same guy at his old school—Death of a Salesman—which had been pretty good.

They stopped just outside the door, and Billy looked down at the essay, then fumbled to flip to the last page. The grade was circled at the bottom, with a note: Nuanced and daring interpretation only hampered by poor mechanics and some less than academic wording at times. Overall, excellent work.

“I can’t believe she gave me an A,” he said with a snort, and the girl giggled, high and unhinged.

“Oh, I can.”

At his questioning glance, she hesitated, then darted her attention up and down the mostly deserted hallway and motioned him toward the Arts wing. Utterly at a loss, but undeniably intrigued, Billy followed at a safe distance. He was starting to think that, of the two of them, he wasn’t actually the dangerous one.

Which tracked, given his lived experience with lesbians thus far.

She had a funny stomping gait in the ankle boots, a bit at odds with her Molly Ringwald look—a brown tee shirt under a knee-length purple dress under a droopy wool cardigan—and very much undermining the cloak-and-dagger vibe she was going for. Their destination, apparently, was the back riser of the music room, surrounded by empty chairs and gleaming instruments. She’d been clutching a rectangular case ever since Pendergast threw them out, and when she settled beside Billy, she rested it on her lap before taking a slow, composing breath.

“What I am about to show you has weighed on my conscience for months, but since we’ve jumped into the deep end vis-à-vis our true selves, I assume I can trust you with this.”

Okay, so she was… one hundred percent a theater kid. Billy cleared his throat, tried to school his face into something appropriately solemn. “Uh—uh huh.”

Girl was nuts, but he for sure wanted to know whatever freaky business she was hiding. Was it a sex thing? His lip curled in appalled conjecture as he eyed the case. A sex… instrument thing?

Oblivious to his lurid musing, she flipped open the clasps and lifted the lid, revealing—a trumpet. He didn’t think it was a sex trumpet.

“The reason I’m not surprised that Pendy loved your little gay thesis—is this.” Prying back the loose corner of the crushed velvet lining, she extracted a thick sheaf of papers, stapled along one side like a book. Billy reached for it, but she held it aloft, a deranged glint in her eyes. “If you choose to look upon this, you can’t unsee it. You can’t unknow it. And you can’t tell anyone—”

“Jesus Christ, will you just—” Billy snatched it out of her hand with a huff. He must have swallowed a super-magnet that only attracted weirdos and conspiracies—but surely, surely what she was peddling couldn’t compare to the revelations this goddamned town had already dumped on him.

Slumping down in his folding chair, Billy flicked the papers to stand straight in his lap, looked down—and squinted, confused.

The entire front page was this… stylized line drawing—sort of art nouveau?—a mid-shot of two dudes in a distinctly sexual embrace against a background of roses the size of dinner plates. One guy had walked right off the cover of a bodice ripper—wavy mane and one of those drapey shirts unbuttoned to bare a tasteful tit, eyes closed, lips lustfully parted—only he was the one being bodice-ripped, by a Dracula type with a helmet of glossy dark hair, black high-collared cape and… pointy elf ears. He was vaguely familiar, but Billy was too sidetracked by the way Dracula was licking the other guy’s neck, thumbing his nipple, to place him.

When he didn’t say anything, the girl coughed nervously, then asked, “Have you—ever watched Star Trek?”

Right, right—that’s where he’d seen Dracula before. “Just one of the movies, in middle school.” He tapped the pointy ears. “Recognize him—Spock?”

“This is not Spock as you’ve ever seen him,” she intoned.

He flipped the packet open, expecting more art, but instead found a detached printout tucked ahead of a title page that declared it OUT OF BOUNDS and listed a table of contents: When Dreams Come True… Not Quite Enough… Bed of Silence… The Hustler. The loose page offered a different kind of list—a checklist.

Underneath the heading I BOUGHT THIS ZINE BECAUSE were a range of options, a few of which had him muttering awe-struck what the fucks as he read.

I wanted something to hide from my mother.

K/S zines are scarcer than hairs on Kirk’s chest.

I’m horny.

It’s been too long since I’ve been horny.

My library card to the Blueboy Library was revoked.

I need a typo fix.

I’m a connoisseur of filth.

I need something to confess.

I wanted to see if it would make it through customs.

I love bad grammer [sic], misspelling, and misplaced punctuation.

I collect four letter words.

It was cheaper than the Joys of Gay Sex.

I didn’t meet the requirements to receive Code 7.

I couldn’t afford to go to San Francisco.

I’m a secret investigator for the Moral Majority.

I’m too shy to go to X-rated movies.

I like Mary Jim and Mary Spock stories.

I wanted a zine with no Bones about it.

I don’t believe in the K/S premise–I just love to read it.

He jerked his head up and found the girl already staring with bated breath, awaiting his response. Billy looked back down, bent the pages and let their edges thwip past his thumb like a flip book. It was one hundred and fifty plus pages of text, of…

“Is all this just…?”

She sucked her lips between her teeth and nodded, wide-eyed.

“But how…?” Billy tried. “Where did you even—?”

“I stole it,” she burst out, with the air of someone unburdening themselves at last. “I stole it from Pendergast’s desk the first week of school.” She buried her face in her hands, wheezing a hysterical, guilt-ridden giggle. “I swear I almost killed the poor woman—when she realized it was missing, she went around with this… this hunted look for weeks, like she was just waiting to be blackmailed, or fired, or…”

She peeked at Billy pleadingly over her fingers, as though he could absolve her of her sins. “I didn’t even know what I had when I took it. I just thought she was interesting and wanted to snoop on what she was reading—she kept making all these super liberal comments but she’s from Texas, and I know I shouldn’t stereotype but they make all our textbooks—did you know that?—and it really shows. And every day I noticed her pulling a different book from her desk, like she was blasting through a novel a night, and so during lunch that Friday I snuck into her room and…”

Her gaze dropped to the burgled contraband in Billy’s lap.

“I’ve read it over and over,” she confessed, unfocused. “I don’t know why I’m so into it, because it’s all dicks all the time—but it’s fucking hot. And kind of ridiculous—like purple prose up the wazoo.” She blinked. “No pun intended. And some of it’s really twisted... but…”

Absolutely nothing in Billy’s life had prepared him for this. But again—what else was new. He coughed a disbelieving laugh. “Holy shit.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” she insisted, dead serious. “I don’t want to make any trouble for her—or me,” she added, with a grimace.

He nodded, quick and firm, then bit his lip.

“Can I—uh…?” he trailed off, gesturing between the stolen goods and himself.

She narrowed her eyes. “Only if you promise to guard it with your life—and return it in the exact same condition.” Making an X with her arms, she elucidated: “NO spooge stains.”

Billy busted a gut—this chick was something else. When he’d recovered, she was scanning him head to toe, unfazed and unimpressed.

“Are you planning to hide it up your ass, you bagless lunatic? Because that would also violate our terms.”

In the end, she’d tucked the zine back into her case and escorted him to his car, where he hid it under the driver’s seat. On the way, she benevolently gave him half of her turkey on rye, and he wolfed it down.

So that was how he met Robin Buckley.

next snippet or full chapter (sry, fic is WIP)

[northern-passage]

"Uh-oh...." Duncan says, your eyes snapping back to glare at him. He makes a pouty face that makes your blood boil, your lip curling as you take a few steps towards him, intent on shoving past him.

[talesofesther]

Guys I just started writing a story with Robin and let me tell you, I think this is gonna be a good one. Here's a snippet:

There was loud chatter going around in the hallways of Hawkins High; students exited their classrooms for the last time today, everyone eager to go home for the weekend.

Robin's worn sneakers scratched the floor as she made her way to her locker, backpack hanging from one shoulder. She unlocked it with a sigh, lazily rummaging through her books in search of what she needed to take home.

Most of the voices around were tuned out to Robin's ears, but she perked up when a familiar one started to come closer. Her eyes peeked out just behind the metal door of the locker, the sight of you making her mouth go dry. The sunlight coming from the glass doors just behind you seemed to be purposefully casting a heavenly glow, making your hair shine; two books were securely held between your hands as you walked amidst all the other students with a huge smile. You were all golden softness and spring warmth, presence rivaling the one of a welcoming sun on a cold day.

As your eyes found Robin's, the blonde felt warmth coming to her cheeks, quickly ducking behind the safety of her locker door while simultaneously cursing herself for being so weird. She caught on to the glint of knowledge in your eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to hold that gaze. After all, you weren't alone. The obnoxious voices of your friends clouded Robin's ears as you passed behind her, you always ran with the popular kids; Robin still wondered sometimes why you kept talking to her.

There was a shared group project a couple months ago. It granted Robin the opportunity to actually talk to you instead of only shooting wishful glances from a distance. The surprise came in the form of your insistence to keep talking to her afterwards.

"Hey guys, I'll meet you outside on a bit okay?" You stopped walking when you reached a familiar mop of dirt blonde hair.

Having your voice so close gave Robin goosebumps, which only intensified as a soft touch landed on her elbow. She glanced behind her to see you coming to her side, also catching a glimpse of Tina and Dylan, your friends.

"Alright, don't be too long, baby." Dylan smirked your way and looked Robin up and down with what she could only assume was disgust.

You avoided his eyes for a brief second and waited until your friends were a few steps away, then turned around to face Robin, not bothering to stand too far as you leaned your side on the lockers. "Hey, how was chemistry?"

Robin took a breath, lifting the corner of her lips on a smile. "Pitiful, and boring."

The metal felt cold under your hot skin as you leaned your head back. You watched the way Robin's fingers tapped her book. "Come on, it can't have been that bad."

"Oh, you don't know what I'm capable of." Robin's voice dripped with sarcasm, bringing a smile to your face and subsequently to hers as well.

"That's exactly why I know you did well." You reached your hand out to tug the lapel of Robin's jacket, referring to the test you had studied for with her yesterday. "You're hella smart."

Robin gulped at the easiness you touched her with, at how easy you came so close, - and smiled, and talked so gently, bashful eyes looking down as your fingers curled around her clothes as if to ask her to stay a little longer - confusing the hell out of her. "Not today, I wasn't." She briefly closed her eyes at the way her voice came out quieter than it should.

"I know you were." Your tone matched hers, you stood up straighter and with your other hand coming up to her jacket as well, you pulled her closer, just a tad; urging her to look at you.

Robin met your gaze whilst holding her breath. You played with her heart and she let you everytime.

What Robin didn't know was that her bright eyes were also dangerous, alluring. They captured you way too easily and you had to remind yourself about reality one too many times when around her.

You cleared your throat. "Robin, about tonight, I'm not gonna be able to make it." You grimaced.

Robin's lips parted in a silent 'oh', she had been looking forward to your movie night all day. Hell, all week.

It'll take a few days for me to finish it... But are you curious? ;)

[madaboutmunson]

Cryptic Cupid - Part 1 (Robin's POV)

Part 2

Sequel to Raspberry Riddle

So this is set in a government-operated hospital after the events of season 4 but everyone is alive

Each part has a different POV, Robin, Steve, or Eddie.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

If Eddie didn't get a complex about bats after all of this, he’d definitely get one about people running away from him. Every time the poor guy opened his eyes for a moment, someone, more often than not, the entire rest of the band, would run out of his room, on their way out, wake up Wayne, and then go commandeer a Doctor to bring back with them.

Steve had been fine, well, as fine as someone with the medical history of Steve can be anyway, but the government people had wanted them both in for monitoring. Initially, Steve had flat our refused until they dangled the carrot of getting the best plastic surgeons in the country to lessen the scarring left from the bat bites and dragging through an alternate dimension. 

Well, that's what it looked like to everyone else, anyway. Robin knew differently.

It just so happened that at the very same time, Steve was about to get checked out, Eddie was being wheeled into the room across the hall. Steve had even had his hand to one side, ready to wave in front of him to emphasise his no, but the word never left his mouth. Instead, it was replaced with a head tilt and a could I take another look at that, maybe?

The first few weeks were tough on Steve, not being in the thick of everything when he felt absolutely fine, but fate or maybe the hospital staff had left Steve’s reason for staying perfectly framed by the doorway across the hall. 

The first thing Steve would do when he woke up was open his door and then Eddie’s. Then he’d go about his day. He’d taken up a few new things since being cooped up in his room. Crosswords and Calisthenics. Since radio was a big no-no. Steve relied on Robin to provide him with cassette music tapes for his fitness backdrop.

After the science bods and doctors conduct their test on Steve’s vitals or whatever else they are checking for, he asks the same question, “What about Eddie?”. For the longest time, the answer is the same, a mouth shrug of a smile and, “Nothing new. Occasional waking, as you know, but then he goes back under.” 

However, One day when Robin is visiting, there is something new. Steve asks the same question and gets the same answer, but a few minutes later, one of the younger science guys blurts out a question. From the eye-rolling of the other people in the room, he wasn't supposed to ask, “What is happening around 7:45?”

“Look, the difference is negligible. We know when people are around, he surfaces for a while. That's what we should be focusing on. We should extend visiting hours.” An older bespectacled woman tries to quieten the enthusiastic younger scientist down.

“Wrong. It is powerful for him, yes, but it's not enough. Look here.” The little scientist shoves a graph with multiple lines on it under Steve's nose, earning him a concerned look from Steve.

“I don't know what you're showing me here. It's a bunch of lines.”

The guy flips a page that shows similar, but this has significant peaks on it, “The points here are when he wakes up. Look, just before each one, there is a little bump.” Then he flicks back to the first graph and points at each line. “All of these lines at around 7:45 have this little bump too, but no peak. Is it when they bring you breakfast? Is there noise or something?”

Steve looks deep in thought for a minute, “I can’t think of anything. I’m sorry, but I will keep an eye on the time tomorrow.”

The next day when Robin visits, Steve is not himself. Weirder than usual, if that was even possible. When she gets there, he’s sweating like a madman. He doesn't even say hello. He says, “I know what happens at 7:45.” Then proceeds to grab his pull-up bar installed about his door and starts doing reps.

“You think working out makes tiny bumps in the graph.” Robin almost laughs, but she can see how hard he’s been pushing himself on this theory. As he drops back down in the doorway, he looks disappointedly between Robin and Eddie’s bed.

He grabs a towel and wipes his face, “Once I realised it was when I worked out, I thought it might have been, I dunno, the smell or something?”

“You think Eddie is waking up because he can smell you?” Now that does make Robin laugh.

“Come on, Rob. I know it's dumb, but that's what happens around 7:45 every day. I didn't realise because it was just routine, you know. I don't have an alarm to work out.”

“Maybe it’s the weird noises you make? Poor guy probably thinks some monster from a hell dimension is after him again.” Robin says sarcastically, trying to get a smile out of Steve, and she almost does until his eyes go wide.

He disappears into his room, reemerges with a boom box, and puts it on the floor. Steve rewinds the tape, and his finger hovers over the play button. He looks at Robin, “Don’t judge me ok. It just has a good beat, alright?” pushes play, Heartbreaker by Pat Benetar starts playing, and Steve hopefully looks into Eddie’s room.

Nothing happens, well, not that they can see anyway. Steve’s head drops in disappointment. Robin can’t bear to see him so sad, she kneels next to Steve and cranks the volume right up, and Steve panics, trying to silence her. She bats his hand away from the volume control, and the song echoes down the virtually empty corridor.

“So this is what you listen to whilst working out in the doorway looking into Eddie’s room?” Robin shouts over the music at Steve, laughing gently, and Steve can’t help but smile bashfully.

“You're making it sound much more creepy than it actually is!” Steve shouts back.

“You sure about that?” Robin tilts her head, teasing Steve, and before Steve can reply, they hear a stampede of feet and trolleys rattling. The more diminutive science guy at the front was leading the charge.

They quickly move back into Steve’s room. “Of course!! Music! You Genius!” The lab-coated petite guy reaches up to Steve's face and pulls him to kiss him hard on the cheek in celebration. Steve's expression is one of fear and confusion but mostly embarrassment. He was still in sweat-soaked gym clothes.

The professionals swarm Eddie's bed, so much so Steve can no longer see him, and he's bobbing around like a bottle in the ocean, trying to get a look at Eddie in case he wakes up. 

A jarring noise rips through the air, the sound of a printer whirring into life, and it begins spitting out the paper, upon it, an ever-lengthening line with many small bumps.

The scientist paces back and forth, "Ok, Ok, this is good, but it's still not enough, but it is better. The amplitude is much improved…What can we do? What can we do?" He taps his chin in thought.

"Make it louder?" Steve shouts over the music.

The scientist walks over to Steve and extends a hand, "Names Dr Graven. You were saying?"

"I had the music on, but nothing happened. Robin turned it up, and that's when you all arrived." Steve says quickly, still trying to position himself to see what is happening to Eddie, "Maybe it needs to be louder? He listens to loud music, right Rob?"

"Yeah, really loud, sometimes very angry or high-pitched screaming stuff," Robin says with an enthusiastic grimace.

"Oh wait, what if it's like the Vecna thing? Play something he likes! Wait a second! That's what the band do when they visit, isn't it? They play him music, right?!!" Steve runs back into his room and returns with a different tape, Iron Maiden's Peace of Mind.

He looks at Robin as he presses play, "Look, I was worried about that um curse shit happening again, alright, so I asked Dustin to pick me up a copy."

Robin sends him a knowing smirk as the drums kick in, and the graph printer starts churning paper rapidly. 

"Louder!!" Dr Graven shouts, eyes wide, scanning the line broadly zig-zagging in front of his eyes.

"It doesn't go any louder!" Steve shouts over the music.

Dr Graven stalks out of Eddie's room and takes off down the hall.

Steve, whose eyes are still trained on the people bustling around Eddie, steps backwards and instinctively feels for Robin's hand. She takes it, lacing her fingers with his, and squeezes tight. Steve turns away from the room to look at her.

Steve's mouth is a thin line where he is pressing his lips tightly together in stress, his eyebrows pushed together in worry, and his eyes sparkling with hope. He swallows what must be the lump in his throat and returns her squeeze. She offers him a small gentle smile in return, one that she hopes reads whatever happens, it's going to be ok. One-half of his mouth turns upwards, and he looks back into the room.

Soon Dr Graven is running back towards the room, followed closely by a trolley full of speakers and some guys in military gear. They start loading them into Eddie's room, and one of them snatches up Steve's boom box.

Someone bumps Robin with a pair of ear defenders she puts on and a set for Steve, who takes them but doesn't put them on anyway. Instead, he points at his right ear and shrugs at Robin, reminding her that his hearing tests hadn't been going so well for some time. They are both pushed into the room next to Eddie's bed, still hand in hand.

Robin hadn't been this close to Eddie for a long time, he was always a slender guy, but he looked so much frailer in the bed, so very still. Suddenly the need for the ear defenders became apparent as some of the larger speakers kicked into action. Robin sees Eddie's eyelids move, "It's working!!! He's moving!!! His eyes!" Robin yells excitedly.

"Not just his eyes!" Steve yells, pointing at Eddie's hand. His fingers are moving randomly in minuscule amounts. Steve reaches for Eddie's hand to hold it, "We're here, Eddie", He yells.

"Yes!! That's it!!! Keep going!" Dr Graven shouts, giving a thumbs up to Steve.

Not letting go of Robin or Eddie, Steve bends to Eddie's ear and starts talking to him. Robin can't make any of it out.

Eddie's fingers start increasing in movement, and now Robin can tell what he's doing. he's playing guitar.

Then the improbable happens. Eddie's eyes open, but this time it's not a flutter. He's looking around.

"Oh! He's awake!!!" Steve cheers, almost pulling Robin's arm out of it's socket to punch the air.

Some people rush over to pull out the breathing tube and swap it with a mask for oxygen, much to Eddie's alarm, but he laughs, and Steve looks confused as he and Robin get pushed backwards for a moment, away from Eddie, as the medical staff, start making changes.

After some time, the music volume is lowered little by little, ensuring that with each decrease, Eddie stays awake, and he does, all the way down to an average level and even switched off. He was really back this time.

He doesn't say anything, maybe he can't, but he laughs occasionally and can move a little, his eyes moving all around the room, investigating the faces of the people attending to him. Sometimes looks up to Robin and Steve and gives them what looks like a weak smile, but it might be the biggest one he's capable of.

And that is all Eddie does for the next thirty minutes. He simply looks around until his eyelids start to close.

Steve flies into a panic, "No-no-no!! Hey!! Someone!! He's going back under!!! Quickly!! Anybody??!" Steve frowns hard at the people in the room, who don't seem very worried at all.

Dr Graven puts his hand on Steve's shoulder, "He's just tired. It's going to be fine now, we hope. Let me show you.". Dr Graven calmly tours Steve around the various monitors and the printer, and for the most part, Steve is listening, but every few seconds, he'll turn to look at Eddie. Like if he looks away for too long, he might disappear entirely.

"Someone is gonna be here with him all night, ok?" Graven says, trying to reassure Steve.

"What if someone…." Steve starts, and Graven stops him.

"Everyone here are people you know, people that have been here since the start, ok. I will not bring anyone new in. Everyone here wants Eddie to make a full recovery. So you don't need to worry so much. He's going to be at most 30 ft from you most of the time. I know what you kids went through must have been terrifying, but things are looking up, aren't they? Maybe loosen up a bit now he's awake because, honestly, kid, you look like shit. Physique-wise, Adonis, but get some sleep, talk more to the psychologist. No one thinks you're insane here, ok, so don't drive yourself there with worry. Got it?"

Steve nods and heads back to his room with Robin at the door. He takes a last look back at a now-sleeping Eddie, and the door closes. He hurries over to the mirror, "Jesus, do I look that bad?" he asks, pulling his face around and inspecting his eyes. 

"Well, it didn't feel important to mention, and-and I thought it might be hard to sleep in an empty cold place all alone. So that's why you were tired?" Steve shoots Robin a smile and a laugh to remind her that is precisely what his home is like, "And now I see how that was a little silly of me."

She hurried to her bag, "anyway, I have a new crossword book for you and…a new tape, actually" The tape wasn't intended for Steve. It was her own, but the hilarious thought of Steve working out to it for a week with Eddie now awake was way too tempting, so she collects up all the other mixtapes in exchange and says her goodbyes.

[miss-little-kitten]

A WIP sneak peek 💕

Prompt: Steve’s a chaperone

Sneak peek:

“Steve.” He heard his name being whispered. “Steve.” There it was again, he slowly opened his eyes. Mike was looking at him and Dustin was on his chest, he forgot how uncomfortable sleeping on a bus was.

“What Mike?”

“Did you bring any snacks?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I’m also hungry.” Robin popped her head over the seat.

[transvampireboyfriend]

Between the boys, Eddie's more Nancy's best friend than Steve is, the way she knows Robin is more Steve's best friend than she is. Sure, Nance and Steve talk and they love each other to bits but Steve just clicks with Robin, and it turns out, Nance clicks with Eddie.

Eddie was the most surprised out of all of them at this turn of events, more so because Nancy was the *least* surprised about it. He's a cool dude, Nance could tell from the moment they met. He's genuine, he's kind and maybe she already liked him just from knowing how Mike has him in the highest pedestal he could possibly construct.

They share a passion for books and trade their favorites regularly, it becomes a tradition they'll read something and then switch as soon as they're done so they can later talk (bitch) about the stuff they read together. They're both gossipy, they're both judgey, they info dump the other, Nance's taste in music is the only one Eddie will respect outside of his stuff and Eddie is the only person in the world Nancy would ever take fashion advice from. They're a mismatched pair to outsiders but to Nancy, it makes perfect sense.

[rockingrobin69]

Your writing makes me want to fall in love with you... like for real. Congrats to whoever has your heart.

He says thanks! I do too! Falling in love is incredible. And being in love - and staying in it, through years through hairloss through heartbreak, through it all. Big big on love. I'm so grateful you can see it in my stories, that you read them at all, that you feel the love in them! Thank you!

Please accept as a gift this cut-out paragraph from an old ficlet about falling in love:

They go to the old cinema near Draco’s flat, the one that only shows sad foreign films from like fifty years ago. Giggling in the back row, an entire theatre just for them, and Harry watches Draco’s face transform when the film starts, blurry around the edges. Entranced. The movie is boring, he doesn’t understand a thing, and when it ends, Harry asks Draco to go again next week. He’d go every week, if he can see that again: grey eyes open wide.

Falling in love, for me, was entirely transformative, and not at all what I thought it would be. It got me moving around continents, it was challenging and difficult, and absolutely the best gift I allowed myself to have. I wish it for you too nonnie! Love love! All the love x

[p0ssym1lker]

Robin watched the black van on the other side of the road. Its as if he's seen it before but he's not sure where?

"God I hate guy"

Everyone's heads snap to finney, who's glaring at the van with unfiltered rage and disgust. Bruce was the first to speak up, "Never thought I'd hear you say that, what did he do?"

The boys looked between the van and finney, who still glared at it. They've never seen him this angry over something, usually he's pretty passive in his anger but this? Pointed pure rage.

"He's a creep thats why, pedophile and I've overhead him while he was looking at our school" he did a quick scan around the group, "Something along the lines of how he just likes watching... If I ever get kidnapped its this guy for sure"

Robin took note of how sure he sounded, like it was inevitable and reached out to grab his ankle. Seemingly not the only one considering the others shuffled towards the boy as well.

"Let's just stay away from him, and if he does something weird we report it!" Billy nudged the others around him, his grin was strained but relaxed when the rest nodded.

[snowangeldotmp3]

all magic comes with a price

or, the once upon a time au. in which robin is a professor of literature, who gets roped into helping a ten-year-old who shows up at her doorstep (and claims to be her daughter...). it all goes to hell when robin takes the kid back home.

(tagging @perceivedregret !! here's some of the brain rot that's been brewing lolol)

“So, your mom is the reason that this curse exists?”

“Yup,” Max says, popping the ‘p.’

Robin hums. “I don’t know, kid, that sounds kinda evil to me.”

“She’s not,” Max sighs, “She’s not evil, she’s just…look, you can’t judge someone off of one mistake.”

Max lets the sentence hang in the air, before continuing. “She can be…cold. But she’s not evil. You just have to let her warm up to you.”

“Yeah…I think that’s gonna be easier said than done,” she winces as they pull up to the address Max gave her earlier, only to find one brunette with worry etched on her face. It melts into relief once she spots Max, and then into bewilderment upon seeing Robin. Robin manages a small smile, and an awkward wave.

“Hi.”

The brunette blinks rapidly, big blue doe eyes scanning Robin, and Robin can see Max’s shit-eating grin from behind her mother. “Hi.”

[those-goddamn-bats]

tim canonically called damian his baby brother i'm sobbing

[scribble-dee-doo]

Robin thought she’d lived through the longest any human individual could spend on their hair, lounging on Steve’s bed in his clothes while steam from the shower seeped into the bedroom and Steve primped in front of the mirror before they went to work. She showered at night, and the sinfully luxurious silk sheets were still warm from where they’d shared when she realized the guest bed he gave her was a starched showroom nightmare that itched. Reliving her sleepover days with Steve Harrington wasn’t on any wishlist she’d ever made, but he slept in actual pajamas instead of hairy and naked like a sasquatch, and hugs could be a fraught prospect on any random day but she actually really liked the pressure of being squished into the bed when he rolled on top of her. They have sleepovers semi-regularly now, after movie nights or when one of them just can't deal with being normal or alone after a long day.

Then Steve had his awakening and has achieved epochs of hair care never before known by man.

"You knooooooow Eddie isn't going to notice," she moans, lying with her head and shoulders dangling off the bed. Her blood is rushing to her head and the lines of the dresser on the other side of the room are starting to spin.

"Every courtship takes both parties bringing their A game, especially for the opening moves," he says. "I'm gonna bring my fucking A game and trust me, he's gonna notice. Nobody with that much hair wouldn't."

He's given her a lot of "advice" about girls, some of which was effective and some of which was definitely holdovers from the King Steve school of douchebaggery, so the cadence of his slightly echoey voice from the bathroom is familiar. At least he isn't trying to do her hair.

Still.

"I'm gonna keep saying it until it sinks in, Steve: Eddie is not one of your lady flings."