#I plan to write more this week | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

formosusiniquis · 6 months ago

Text

Robin's Guide to the Care and Feeding of Your Newly Adopted Former Mean Girl

Happy @stevieweek everybody! This is Day One: Stobin with none of the bonus prompts, but keep an eye out cause i've got a few more incoming this week.

Robin Buckley & Stevie Harrington; Pre-Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson WC: 9483 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags/Themes: transfem!Steve Harrington; Platonic Soulmates Steve & Robin; Robin Buckley is the Stevie Harrington Defense Squad

AO3

On July 4th, 1985, Steven Joseph Harrington died in the Starcourt Mall Fire.

The story Robin Marie Buckley tells, after two weeks of hospitalization and an additional month in Indianapolis for “personal reasons,” when she returns to her senior year at Hawkins High a full week after the first day of school is one of abject heroism on the part of Steve.

It’s true, even if it isn’t the whole story. Just like it isn’t hard for her to play morose and avoidant, because that’s how she feels. She might know Dustin, but it’s too hard to spend much time with him and she doesn’t want to be the weird friendless senior who only talks to freshmen. She’ll leave that to Eddie Munson, who snatched Steve’s weird little child friends up only a few weeks into the first semester.

Nancy and Jonathan avoid her as much as she does them, she doesn’t think they know what to do with the new girl in the know. It paints a picture, well she realizes later that it paints a picture, but she doesn’t want to sit at a table and eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Nancy Wheeler’s big beautiful eyes are staring at her like she’s an article that’s half an inch too long and needs to be dissected while Jonathan Byers is also there.

So she drifts through the halls of Hawkins High like a ghost, she’s Cathy on the moors. Avoiding anyone who might try to ask her too many questions about the final days of Steve Harrington and Starcourt Mall.

Until the day she spots a baby blue jeep pulled into the Henderson’s driveway, a tall brunette unloading a single suitcase from the back. She’s got her bike across the road before she can even think of a game plan. A noise that’s almost like a scream erupting from her mouth the entire time she coasts over.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” It’s an uncharacteristic bit of grace, that lets her drop her bike to the ground and use its momentum to catapult herself into the other girl’s arms. Too excited for a second to remember that she’s in a place where small town gossip exists, and a new neighbor can fuel the mill for days.

But she enjoys her hug for a second before settling into a more appropriate character. She extends a hand, ignoring the laugh it gets her, “Welcome to Hawkins, I’m Robin, occasional Dustin babysitter.”

The girl’s smile pulls lopsided at her mouth, kissed with a bit of irony and undeniably charmed. “It’s nice to meet you Robin,” her voice is soft, and a little unsure. Wavering like Becky Simpson’s tone deaf oboe playing, unsure of what pitch and timbre to land on. “I’m Stephanie Henderson, Dustin’s cousin.”

The bit crumbles immediately between Robin’s fingers.

“Stephanie? You went with Stephanie? Are you kidding? We workshopped so many names!”

“I liked my name! But it’s weird apparently to be a girl named Steve.” She distributes finger quotes randomly throughout the sentence like Robin hadn’t been the one to say she didn’t know any girls named Steve. “Stephanie is pretty!”

Robin looks her best friend dead in the eye, unsurprised that there’s not a hint of humor even underneath the drama. “Never mind that it sure would be strange for Steve Harrington to die just for girl Steve who looks like she could be his cousin to move to town.”

“Affair baby,” Stephanie presents the solution with a flick of her hand. Robin notices that her nails are still chewed short, more noticeable after they talked about what it would be like for her to grow them out and manicure them.

“Give me the whole name right now,” Robin demands, “I wanna hear how it sounds.”

Steph, cause they’re going to have to figure out nicknames immediately they just aren’t the kind of friends that can go around being Robin and Stephanie, kicks the curb with her scuffed up Nike. Her arms crossed across her middle accentuates the way her body has already started changing, Robin feels like a creep for a second for noticing her friend’s boobs before deciding that they weren’t the kind of friends with those kinds of boundaries.

“Stephanie Marie Henderson.”

“Oh my god!”

“Shut up, don’t even.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“You’re already making a big deal out of it, which it’s not.” Stevie insists.

“You stole my middle name, you’re so obsessed with me.” It’s the best thing she’s ever heard actually, that Stevie might be as into this friendship as she is. She’s always the friend that’s too much.

Stevie’s smile is small, shier than she’s used to seeing it. “Yeah well whatever Stephanie Robin sounds like a straight to VHS Winnie the Pooh movie character or some shit.”

Dustin comes scrambling out of the house before Robin can make another joke. “You were supposed to call before you left! Ma isn’t finished setting up your room, and Tews is stuck under your bed.”

They share a look, and Robin thrills a little that she has a friend that she can share looks with. “Henderson,” Stevie shouts, sounding a little more like she did this summer. “Are you really going to make me carry my own bags in? I'm a fucking lady, dickhead.”

“Sure don't fucking talk like one,” Dustin hollers back from the door, already trudging out of the house.

“Gonna have to work on your feminism,” Robin says. wondering what kind of weird shit a person would have to sort through when they realized they were transsexual. “Just because you're on estrogen doesn't mean your arms are atrophied.”

The butter-wouldn't-melt smile is still the same, even though her face looks softer. She hands off her suitcase, patting Dustin on the head as he visibly stumbles under the weight. “Don't drag it on the sidewalk, it's new,” she directs.

He can't flip them off when it takes both hands to lift the luggage in his hand, “How are you more of an asshole, oh my god.”

“Is that anyway to talk to your cousin, Dustbunny?”

Dustin doesn't answer directly, but he's muttering under his breath the whole way to the house.

“My ribs still hurt some when I'm doing heavy lifting,” Stevie says when he's out of earshot. “Better to be a high maintenance girl all of a sudden than someone he doesn't think he can count on.”

“Don't love the way you used girl in that sentence, Dingus.” Robin shoves at her shoulder, “Let's go look at your room, we can plan how you want to decorate.”

“I'm not saying I'm upset we got the job, Rob, just that it's weird the way Keith was acting. He always hated me, you know that. Before all this,” she gestures down her striped top, well Robin supposes she’s actually gesturing down at the way it hugs her figure, “he hated me. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire.”

“That seems a little dramatic, but welcome to your first workplace sexism.” Robin gives Stevie a comforting pat. Hopeful that it communicates a ‘welcome to the bad parts of everyone knowing you're a girl’ and not how she’d been prepared to work some of that sexism to their advantage. But apparently Keith was charmed by Stevie’s list of favorite films, he’d even laughed when she said her favorite Star Wars movie was the one with the teddy bears. When they’d gone to pick out movies last week she’d heard him lecture a guy for five minutes on how it was Episode VI not ‘the third one.’

Stevie flips her hair, sending Robin a playful glare, “I’ve experienced sexism, thank you, have you already forgotten what I used to look like.”

“I’m sure he’ll go back to hating you once he realizes you working here is going to mean this is one more place that Henderson and the brats are always hanging around.” She went with Stevie to the arcade once and she almost understood why Keith always hid in the back when they walked in.

“Probably, but at least then I can stop being nice to him. He’s such a-” Robin can hear the way Stevie swallows the rest of the sentence. A frustrated, red blush flooding her cheeks as she bites down on her bottom lip. It’s confusing, the small shake of her head and how upset she suddenly seems to be with herself. “Sorry, sorry, never mind.”

Maybe it’s stupid, but for some reason that’s when Robin realizes that Stevie was about to say something mean. That Stevie stopped herself but she is, Robin supposes, frustrated that the instinct is still there. And it’s not like Robin doesn’t remember that they’ve talked about this before. Stevie with that eyepatch on from where they reattached her retina and Robin laying in the hospital bed next to her still under doctor’s supervision. Neither one of them were high anymore, it had been almost sixteen hours since Everything, they were only in the hospital at all because Robin’s mom had found them both passed out in her bed and panicked. When Mrs. Henderson had seen them both in Hawkins General and did what Stevie said was panicking and had them shipped to the city, her car speeding closely behind.

The only thing they could possibly be high on was the sudden crushing awareness of their own mortality, when Stevie’s one good eye locked with hers and she said, “I don’t want the first thing people think of when they remember me to be how I was a douche or an asshole. Or a bitch, I guess, if they actually let me change like they said they would.

“All the girls I know,” she paused and seemed to consider that, “all the girls that I still like, are good and kind and badass.”

“Including me?” Robin had teased, but she had remembered the way she had given Stevie such a hard time from the second they started working together until the moment they as the ‘adults’ realized they were going to have to protect Dustin and Erica from something that might kill them all.

“Especially you.”

So yeah, of course, when she catches herself about to verbally eviscerate Keith behind his back two weeks after being back in town she shuts down. But Robin isn’t about to let that happen. Stevie is good and kind and definitely a badass, if Keith were in trouble she would absolutely risk her life to save him -- as long as saving him didn’t keep her from saving one of the kids.

Stevie was a good person who had some mean girl tendencies, Robin wasn’t going to make her feel bad about that. As long as she was using her powers for good, or like Claire in the Breakfast Club she was kind of Mean Girl lite.

“He’s kind of a slimy creep,” Robin admits. The kind of comment she thinks, but couldn’t ever really say with her last group of friends. It would break the loser code.

Stevie’s shoulders drop from around her ears. She’s still idly picking at the nail polish they just painted on her thumb, but she smiles over at Robin. A little sly, a little catty. “He touched my shoulder while we were leaving and I swear to god he left orange cheese puff residue behind.”

“Maybe half of your new clothes shouldn’t be dry clean only.”

“ Maybe he should help cover my dry cleaning bill if he’s going to put his hands on me in the workplace. I could call Family Video HR, probably. You know his dad owns like half of this strip mall, and people gave me shit about having money, I’m pretty sure they own the dry cleaning place too.”

“So why do these polyester nightmares smell like the BO of employees past?”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

With the job and Stevie back, Robin almost forgets that she spent the first three weeks of school sad and miserable. She’s maybe even a little distracted that they have plans tonight, and forgets that there are reasons other than the threat of bacterial infection to avoid the girl’s room in the language hallway. And more than any of that, it’s really hard to think about any of that when she can feel her bladder starting to pickle her brain.

The door to the bathroom swings open before she can exit the stall. Voices she recognizes as Patty Taylor and Molly Smith already mid-conversation filter in. “I mean she’s pretty, like really pretty, but I mean why would you even move to Hawkins.”

It’s definitely too late to leave.

“Carol said that she heard from Heather that she moved in with her aunt, she was from the city or something.”

The squelching sound of a lipgloss wand leaving the tube is punctuated by a bitchy hum, “Well, you know who spent all that time in the city this summer.”

“I mean yeah, but how would they have even met? I’ve heard like six different stories about why she was there.”

Patty’s voice echoes, through the crack in the stall door Robin can see her lean over top of the sink putting her face even closer to the water spotted mirror above it. “Well she was in that mall fire, but I heard she had to stay so long after initial treatment because she…”

There must be some facial expression she’s missing, Patty trails off like she’s dropped some grand secret. Robin isn’t a total loser, she hears gossip. She knows that Mrs. Click is going through a bitter divorce from her husband because he had that affair with the gas station attendant from the Chevron by the highway. She knows that Tim Morris got sent to military school after he put a cherry bomb in Mrs. O’Leary’s mailbox. She knows that Vickie is definitely a shoo-in for clarinet first chair even though Michael Lewis had it last year and he’s a senior this year.

And yeah okay two of those she had heard from Stevie.

But she thinks she should have had some clue that there was some kind of rumor going around about her. Molly wrinkles her forehead, maybe she isn’t the only one who has no clue about this rumor. “Because she what?”

“Because she lost the baby and they put her in the psych ward,” Patty says loud enough that it bounces off the tile walls of the bathroom. A hand covers her mouth and they both look around like they’ve just remembered that they’re in public. Robin pulls her feet up on the toilet seat with her.

“What baby?” Molly asks in a whisper that seems even louder with the way she forces it out.

“Come on, everyone knows the reason she was so upset that Steve died. He knocked her up while they were working together and with the stress she lost the baby. She was such a freak already, the new girl and her must have been in the same padded cell in the loony bin.”

“Really? I mean with Steve Harrington? ”

“I mean Carol said it so I’m pretty sure it has to be true, you know how close she used to be with Steve.”

The bell rings, sending them both fleeing from the bathroom with muttered curses. Robin stays in the stall too stunned by what she’s heard to move. Stunned and filled with the thought that all she wants right now is to see Stevie.

She bumps into Eddie Munson on the way to the payphone. He gives her an unreadable look, mostly eyebrows that she can’t see beneath his bangs anyway, so she isn’t sure why he even bothers. Is he wondering why she’s skipping class? Or did he see her running from the bathroom and now he’s wondering if maybe the rumors were only partially true, that she’s still pregnant and she hadn’t lost the baby like apparently half the school thinks.

If a wet rat like Munson knows more about her status in the school than she does she really might have to go back and hurl.

She puts in her change and dials the increasingly familiar number for the Henderson place.

“Hen-”

“I need you to come pick me up, now.”

It isn’t hard to convince the school nurse, who’s more worried about when she can slip away to sneak her next cigarette than she is about doing any nursing, that she’s too sick to stay. So she’s waiting out front when Stevie’s new Jeep rockets into the parking lot, the woman of the hour flinging herself out of it before it’s fully in park.

“What happened? What’s wrong? The kids are fine right?” She’s pressing the back of her hand to Robin’s forehead, the other at her side clenching into fists as she looks over Robin’s head for any creature or person that might need to be put down.

“Everything’s fine,” she lies, “I needed to see you.”

A single eyebrow raises, Robin helped her pluck that eyebrow into that arch and now it’s being used in disbelief at her own blatant lie. “Fine,” she relents, “I’ll tell you when we aren’t standing in the middle of the parking lot, okay?”

The radio is off but so are the doors, so even as Robin refuses to talk the sound of the wind rushing past them fills the silence of the car. With no destination in mind, Stevie seems to be driving a slow meandering circuit of Hawkins.

“I overheard Patty and Molly talking about us in the bathroom today.” She says only after they’ve passed Melvalds twice with no sign of parking.

“They were talking in the bathroom about us or they were talking about us in the bathroom.”

“That’s the same sentence twice.”

“No it’s not. In the bathroom or in the bathroom.” The emphasis is nonsensical, but after a second it clicks.

“They were in the bathroom. I guess I was also in the bathroom but it was definitely not about our bathroom conversation.”

“What were they saying?” Stevie noses out gossip like a search dog noses out missing kids.

Robin sticks her hand out the side of the car, dancing it up and down in the wind like a wave. Letting the force of it glide up and over her like she wishes she could just get over whatever it is that has her so upset. Gossip and rumor that she knows isn’t true.

“Technically you got to be two characters. They think we know each other from the psych ward because boy you got me pregnant and when you died I lost the baby and went crazy.”

Her seatbelt catches her hard against the chest, forcing the air out of her lungs. Stevie’s hit the brakes so hard that the smell of rubber is in the air, uncaring that they’re in the middle of a main road. She’s just looking at Robin with something, disbelief or outrage, maybe a little bit of that rage she gets when her people have been hurt.

“Patty said that? Patty Taylor? Patty with the retainer breath whose lipgloss makes it look like she’s always drooling on herself, Patty?”

A nod is enough answer for Stevie to let out a little humph, setting her eyes back to the road and easing them into drive like they’d just been caught by a stray redlight.

“What?”

She shakes her head, gazing around the upcoming turn like they don’t both know it’ll be the rundown place that used to be Benny’s. It’s going to be something mean, something she’s worried will make her sound too much like the person she used to be.

As far as Robin is concerned whatever it is won’t be any different than when she swung that phone at that Russian guard. Or crashed that car into Billy’s. It’s all just different ways of helping to protect the people she loves that aren’t as good at protecting themselves.

“Tell me,” she insists, wheedles even. “Whatever it is I won’t tell anyone else. It’s time honored girl code you have to tell me.”

“Girl code?”

“I’ll mimeo you a copy of the handbook, tell me. It’ll make me feel better.”

Stevie’s sigh is audible over the wind rushing past them, her side eye not bad enough that Robin is at all worried about it. “I just think it’s funny that she’s passing judgment on you and your possible pregnancy when everyone knows she’s banned from the U of I campus because she went streaking to impress a guy that wasn’t even interested in her. The only reason she doesn’t have an arrest record for it is because her dad is a former professor or donor or something and threatened funding if the Dean pressed charges.”

“Oh my god, really?”

“Totally, the guy was on the basketball team. He came back and told everyone when he came home for the pre-season kegger.”

She grabs Stevie’s hand off the gearshift, holds it just because she can. Relishes in the closeness the two of them can have now that she’s back and everything is better again. “You are the strongest woman I know, all this knowledge and you just keep it to yourself all the time.”

She snorts, squeezing Robin’s hand, “I literally don’t, I just told you something. Pretty sure that’s like if I had the nuclear launch codes or something and I gave them out to just one person because they’re having a really bad day.”

“Oh! Do you remember doing those stupid duck and cover drills in elementary school?”

“Oh that's really nice of you, Mrs. Buckley, but Aunt Claudia is expecting me home for dinner.” Stevie's voice calls from outside the door, only a surprise because they didn't have plans to hang out today.

She scrambles from her bed, the wire on her headphones tangling around her neck until the weight of her walkman drags them off her. Flinging the door open she's just in time to save her best friend. “Thanks for bringing her up, Mom, we’re just gonna hang out in my room til Steph has to leave, okay?”

Shoving Stevie toward the bed before her Mom has a chance to say anything else, Robin at least smiles before she shuts the door in her mother’s face.

“What happened?”

Stevie is digging through her jewelry box, has a ring Robin picked up at a garage sale because it looked cool and didn’t think about trying on, and doesn’t bother looking ashamed at being caught snooping. “Why does something have to be wrong?”

She slips the ring on her finger, the gold band and mossy green stone looks better on her than it would have Robin. “You can keep it if you admit something happened.” Stevie starts to raise an eyebrow, but it halts half way up her forehead when Robin gives the Family Video vest she’s still wearing a tug.

Her smile goes lopsided, tilts too high on one side before she wanders over to flop down on the bed. “I, maybe, did something stupid.”

Flopping down beside her, Robin swears when she lands on her walkman first. “Stupid like when you put Re-Animator in the romance section or stupid like when you tripped into the Back to the Future cutout and apologized cause you weren't wearing your glasses.”

“Stupid like I don't know, Rob, you know how at first I was pretending that I didn't know anyone when they came in right, cause I'm supposed to be new in town.”

“Like bad witness protection because they put you right back where you left.”

“Right, well I kinda forgot to do that this morning when I was working by myself?”

Looking now she can tell this is something that has had Stevie really worked up. The strands of hair at the front of her face have lost some of their beachy wave from where she's been fussing with it, pushing it back, tugging at it. Waiting for when she saw Robin again.

Sitting up from the bed, she grabs Stevie's hand in a too tight grip. “What happened? You're okay right? They didn't recognize you and do anything shitty, right?”

“Well that's the thing,” she somehow looks even more distressed, it gives Robin another clue. Stevie is afraid she's broken some unspoken rule of girlhood by doing whatever it is she's done. Which means the story will be interesting.

“So Roger came in, you know Roger right? Second stringer on the basketball team, his footwork was too slow to ever actually be any good on the court but he had an amazing three pointer as long as no one was ever anywhere near him. So he'd make a great professional HORSE player but not really going anywhere with the actual game. He came in with his girlfriend-”

“Mindy Peterson.”

“Right, and when did they even get together?” She shakes her head. “Not the point, I was flipping through the Tiger Beat that Cindy left in the drawer after her shift, cause this months Car and Driver was a total waste of money. And he wanders up, surprising me cause the bell over the door still doesn't work and I thought I was alone in there. He starts talking to me like he already knows me.”

“He was flirting with you in front of his girlfriend!”

“That wasn't flirting, he was just being friendly; and I didn't know Mindy was there, she was back in the romance section picking something out.”

“So he's flirting with you while his girlfriend is picking out something for date night.”

Stevie rolls her eyes, shoving not so gently at Robin's shoulder. “He was talking to me like he already knew me, and I do know him so I did the same. I mentioned the last game he played in, well we played in. And then he starts looking at me and I realized what I look like.”

She gestures down at herself, and Robin isn't sure if this is a compliment time or a diffuse the situation time. Stevie really doesn't look that much like she used to. Her face has softened, her hair is longer, and she's leaned into the blonde highlights that she had in the summer.

“He's all ‘Do I know you?’” She continues, and Robin laughs, it's crazy how deep she can still get her voice and even though Roger does not have anything approaching the bass that Stevie has given him. It makes the situation feel even more bizarre. “it's not like I can say, ‘What you don't recognize me from all the times I gave you advice on how to keep yourself open on offense so you could actually get a hand on the ball?’”

Robin reaches for the nail polish on her bedside table, the robin's egg blue Stevie has taken to and the taupe brown that she likes but doesn't clash with Stevie's. They both pick at their nails when they get nervous, and Stevie has definitely been nervous.

“You could have said that,” she says just to be contrary, Stevie hand held in hers it means Robin avoids the smack that would have come.

She puts blue on every finger but one, letting Stevie think as she caps the polish and grabs the taupe to finish the hand. “Hi remember me, I faked my death so I could get boobies without getting murdered in the pumpkin patch I already avoided almost dying in once. Did you know they give you a new social security number for that?”

“So what did you actually do?”

“I lied, obviously.” She blinks twice, opens her eyes wider so she looks doe-eyed and vacant. “Oh gosh, well I guess you wouldn’t remember me. I used to only come to Hawkins during the holidays to babysit my little cousin, and I always try to catch a basketball game when I’m in town. Sometimes I’d sneak out and go to the parties, but I’m shy so...”

“Oh my god, like you’ve ever been shy in your life.”

“I’m going to have to be now!” She throws her hands up, fingers spread wide to avoid accidentally smudging her fresh nails. “It’s not like I can lie my way out of admitting to sharing homeroom with someone next. I’m just lucky Roger’s never took his eyes off the bottom button of my blouse.”

“Do you remember that movie I made you watch a couple months ago, the black and white one?”

“Oh yeah, that really narrows it down.”

“Gaslight, the one with the opera singer’s niece and her new husband tries to make her think she’s crazy. We just lie until everyone is convinced that it’s the truth.”

“The truth being that Stephanie Henderson always existed?”

Eye contact isn’t easy, unless it’s Stevie. They hold each other’s gaze as the excitement bubbles between them. “Exactly,” Robin says, “and that if they think anything else, they’re crazy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She says, but it sounds like ‘you’re on.’

“Can I be a bitch for a second?” Stevie asks. She doesn’t look up from whatever magazine she was already flipping through when Robin walked through the door. It’s too casual, too calculated.

Progress has been slow but she’s slowly getting Stevie to the point where she doesn’t feel like she has to be nice all the time just because she’s a girl. Where she still acts like the bitchy dingus she'd been before, just a happier version.

“Obviously, just let me clock in.”

When she gets back Stevie has a stack of returns that she’s working on rewinding. One thumb in her mouth as she chews at the cuticle. “So what’s-?

“If I hear one more word about Eddie the Freak, I’m going to lose it, Rob. I mean what’s he got that’s so great? I could have taken us to the All State Championships if I hadn’t gotten that last concussion saving the twerps. I’ve saved all those twerps’ lives at least two times! I was cool. I am cool! But all I get to hear these days is ‘Oh, Stevie, Eddie just did the coolest thing in the campaign today.’ ‘Thanks for the advice, Stevie, but I’m going to go with what Eddie said instead.’ ‘I know it’s your only day off, Stevie, but could you pick us up late after school? There's Hellfire today.’ ‘Stevie, since Keith actually likes you could you hold Ladyhawke for us. Oh, no we’re going to do a movie night with Eddie.’”

She’s panting slightly when she’s finished, like she’s been holding this in for weeks. With all the quotes she’s racked up she probably has been.

“You know he kicked my tray off the lunch table last week,” she encourages. She snags a box of Sour Patch Kids from the candy counter. Popping one in her mouth before waving the bag under Stevie’s frowning face. She doesn’t even have a movie turned on. Well she does, but it looks like it was one of the weekend returns Stevie wasn’t going to put on Watership Down.

“Well he’s inconsiderate,” Stevie says, digging around in the box until she finds a red one and popping it into her mouth. “Everything is all fuck the man until he’s the man in question and then he’s the only one anyone should listen to about anything. Lucas is going to make the basketball team, he’s been working really hard on it with Jay and some of the other guys on the team.”

She’s basically taken the whole box of candy at this point. Robin doesn’t even care, just watches as Stevie picks out her favorite colors and lines them up on her magazine on the counter like a sweet and sour army. Completely oblivious to the quiet devastation that’s playing out on her face. Her brow furrowed and tight when she talks about Lucas, basketball another thing Robin wonders if she’s being unintentionally left out of.

“I just know Munson’s going to turn it into some us or them thing, like it isn’t possible to like more than one thing.”

“Maybe you-”

“And maybe that’s why they’ve been so cool with all of this,” she shrugs her shoulder in place of gesturing down at herself, too busy tearing apart a lone sourpatch general, “like it was a send off before they moved on to an actual guy who can actually do something for them. That’s probably a better send off than I deserve even right, like I mean, the kind of person I used to be. Maybe I don’t get more than one happy thing.”

Robin flattens the little red and green army underneath the flat of her hand, “Absolutely not. You are not going to let a… a… a dumpster raccoon with Mrs. Goble’s mystery meat on the bottom of his stupid shoes make you think that you don’t deserve the entire world.”

“But-” Stevie tears at the cardboard of the box between her fingers, leaving little pieces of it on the floor between her feet.

“But nothing, your little shithead kids might have latched onto the first giant nerd that looked at them when they crossed through the doors of the high school like freshly hatched ducklings but you’re the coolest person they’ve ever had the chance to meet and it’s their loss if they don’t notice.”

“I mean they’re in high school so-”

“So they’ve decided to get all the stupid decisions out at the start. It’s a bold decision but maybe that will keep them from-”

“From crashing their dad’s truck into half the cars at prom?”

“I wish one of them had been yours,” she steals the last red Sour Patch from between Stevie’s fingers, popping it into her mouth before her best friend can do anything about it.

“You’re never going to pass your driver’s test, I hope you like the bus.”

“You’re going to drive me to work forever because you love me,” she drags love out as she dances away from Stevie’s slapping hands, snagging a stack of tapes to return to the shelves as she goes.

There’s no way Stevie isn’t rolling her eyes, but Robin also knows that she’ll look all soft and pleased. Knows because a yellow candy smacks hard against the copy of The Breakfast Club that’s right beside her head.

“What the hell is going on with that rabbit?”

“Pretty sure it’s proof that you should never be trusted to pick the shift movie.”

“Stevie’s being a total headcase this week, will you tell her to chill out,” Henderson delivers what Robin is going to generously call a request after cornering her between fourth and fifth periods. Cause if it isn’t a request then it’s an order or a demand, and her small friend is not going to be happy with what she has to say in that case.

“Well that depends, Dusty, why are you calling my best friend a headcase?”

He rolls his eyes at her, a trait that Stevie might put up with but Robin is not about to. “Because she’s being one, every time I try to talk to her it’s like…” he trails off. That’s probably for the best.

“It’s like all you can talk about is your new best friend Eddie? It’s like you aren’t interested in her now that you’ve got some new brother that you can hang out with instead? It’s like all she’s good for is a ride to see the boys? It’s like you can’t ask her how to talk to girls anymore or how you should do your hair because she’s not the same anymore.”

“I didn’t say that,” he shrieks, hands waving between them like he can swipe away the thousand bees that are her accusations. She feels stinging mad actually now that she’s started putting words out there for the things that she’s feeling.

“You don’t have to say it, it’s what you’ve been doing.”

“Did she say that?” Robin gently swings her locker door just shy of closed. Dustin looks younger than she thinks she’s seen him since the first time they met. Looks smaller than she’s seen him in her life. Looking up at her with big watery eyes, waiting for her to make it okay.

Stevie’s gonna be pissed if she doesn’t at least try to make it okay.

She picks each word carefully, not wanting him to feel completely off the hook, “She didn’t say it exactly like that.”

Dustin looks at the floor, his hat obscuring his face enough that she can’t tell if he’s followed through on the watery eyes to full crying. The ambiguity makes him easier to talk to for a second, now that she doesn’t have to worry about watching what his expression is doing.

“She’s still the same person who walked down the train tracks with a kid she barely knew looking for his runaway science experiment. She’s still the person who did your hair for the snowball. She’s the person who went hunting for Russian spies with you. She’s the person that would like to keep giving you terrible advice on how to date.”

His next breath is phlegmy and ragged. “It wasn’t terrible advice.”

“Right, right, your Moonchild Empress or whatever.”

Dustin hasn’t been quiet once in the entire time that she’s known him so Robin assumes the quiet means he’s done talking. Swinging her locker back open she goes back to what she was doing before he interrupted, which had, coincidentally been Stevie related. Deciding whether or not she was going to bring her copy Watership Down to work with her so Stevie could see what was up with the rabbits.

“They should meet.”

Robin had also been leaning toward introducing her to Fiver and Hazel, but she doesn't think that’s what Dustin means.

“Who should-”

“Stevie and Eddie,” he looks at her with a wide grin. An expression she recognizes from shortly before she found herself in an elevator to hell. Dustin thinks he's just had a good idea. “Stevie can see that Eddie's super cool, Eddie will stop- And once they know each other we can hang out all the time, why didn't I think of this before!”

It does occur to her that she could remind Dustin that Stevie existed before July of 1985. That she went to school here and definitely already knows Eddie, that's where half the problem comes from even. But then she thinks of how much fun their next sleepover will be, when Stevie has brand new things to hate and make fun of.

“Maybe you're right Dustin, maybe that is the problem.”

He pumps his fist in time with the warning bell. “This is going to be great, I can't believe I didn't already think of this.”

He's still talking to himself as he starts to scamper off to a class he's going to be late to. But she isn’t about to let him leave without making sure he took away the real lesson he was supposed to. “And pass along to your little friends that her new meds didn't lobotomize her brain or amputate her legs. She can still tell you how to talk to girls, she can still shoot a free throw, she can still show you how to change a tire after it's blown out on the interstate.”

Dustin's staying with the Wheelers, Claudia has the night shift which means she and Stevie have the whole house to themselves.

Robin is making herself at home in Stevie's room, moving extra quilts and pillows from the linen closet into a fort she's making on the floor. Because today is going to be the best bitch day in the world, once Stevie makes it home from playing chauffeur. Because today Stevie gave in and went to lunch and a movie with Dustin and his new best friend Eddie.

She keeps trying to imagine what Stevie will say. Maybe Munson dips his fries in syrup or something disgusting. Maybe he showed up to the movie in his nerd brigade shirt. Maybe he showed up thirty minutes late! And the Stevie in her head has devastating things to say about all of those things, but she knows none of them are right. She just can't manage the right amount of even toned bitchery that Stevie can, the clever double entendre that makes the person she's insulting look all the dumber for getting upset at the blatant quips.

“Did you really bike here, you weirdo? You know I would have picked you up.” Stevie's voice carries down the hallway, accented by the sound of her keys hitting the bowl by the door and her shoes getting picked up from the floor and set down in the shoe tree.

“You got that bike rack for the Jeep. I wanted to make sure it actually got some use.”

The answering laugh is the one Robin possessively thinks of as hers, a little ugly, high pitched and snorting. It makes it to the bedroom just a second before Stevies face. A face that's wearing the lipgloss with the glitter in it, the one she saves for when she's trying to impress someone or make them look at her mouth.

“You look nice?”

“Such a charmer, Rob, no wonder you've got so many girls banging down your door.” She eases herself down onto the floor beside Robin, smoothing out a buttery yellow skirt that has to be new. She knows every single item in Stevie's closet, except this skirt.

She isn't going to think about how Stevie went out shopping without her though. She'd rather focus her attention somewhere more entertaining. “How was lunch?”

Stevie fusses with the edge of her skirt, rolling the hem of it between two fingers. Her face pinking though under that she's smiling. “Ugh you wouldn't even believe Henderson was a twerp, as usual. Insisted that he had to have one side of the table to himself, ordered two milkshake flavors so he could mix them together, and of course I'm paying for the whole thing.”

“Dustin being a dweeb is old news, what else happened at lunch.”

“I mean,” she trails off, making a face Robin has never seen before. Which shouldn't be possible, she thinks she is supposed to have seen all of Stevie's faces. “Munson was a total freak, obviously. Kept calling me ‘My Lady’ and all that nerd shit. You’d think I came in with a cast with the way he opened every door and kept pulling out my chair.”

It all sounds decidedly unfreakish to Robin, in fact it sounds like Stevie finds the guy charming. She realizes with something close to horror that she does actually recognize the expression on Stevie’s face. Just not on her best friend. It’s the bashful, twitterpated expression of a girl at a sleepover trying not to admit she has a crush. An expression that might as well be a death knell, cause the only time she’s ever seen it is right before date night started beating girl’s night.

“Not that it matters, the guy doesn’t know how to take a joke,” Stevie goes on, her smile still too shy to fully bloom but no less in place. Even as she pretends that whatever this is is supposed to be some dealbreaker. “I asked him what he gets out of playing Halflings and Half-wits with the dweeb squad and I thought he was going to climb on the table right there. Ed-weird went on for like five minutes on how the gremlins are some of the best players he’s ever played with, and they're an endless fount of creativity that keeps him perpetually on his toes.”

Stevie never actually stood a chance. And if Robin had been paying attention she would have realized that.

There wasn’t anyone who loved passionate, nerdy people as much as Stevie.

Eddie Munson wore his king of the loud mouthed nerds crown with pride. And he was as obsessed with the gremlins as Stevie was

“Why are we talking about him?” She flops over until her head is in Robin’s lap, flopping one arm outside of the pillow fortress to reach under the bed. She crows, victorious, holding a jar that's pond scum brown like it’s treasure. “Had to hide this after Dust put it in his hair. Put this goop on your face and tell me about what Vickie said in band yesterday again. Cause I'm pretty sure she was dating Dan Summers last year, and he didn't really seem like the type of guy to stay with his high school girlfriend.”

It's coincidence, pure and simple, that puts her right outside O'Donnell's fourth period class. Thompson's study hall, her own fourth period, was technically across the building but everyone knew Mr. Thompson came to work on Mondays too hungover to care about attendance.

And study hall didn't have a certain wannabe friend-dater standing outside it, debating whether or not he was going to go inside.

She is still figuring out her angle of attack when it looks like he's decided he is actually going to class. Considering O’Donnell is the type to write office referral slips to kids who aren’t meant to be in her room for ‘being a distraction’ there isn’t really any time for subtlety. Still, she’s surprised by the tone of her own voice when she shouts, “Munson!”

Heads turn in the hallway, of course they do. Faces she only knows by virtue of twelve years of school watching on with a lust for future violence she recognizes from that concrete bunker. But if Munson is concerned that a girl he's never spoken to is yelling at him, he doesn't look it as he turns on both heels to face her.

He smiles first, benignly pleasant. But Stevie taught her that trick, smiling to diffuse anger or hide how she has no idea how the person talking to her actually knows her. Munson is doing both, they had two classes together last semester and she was in the orchestra for the last school musical.

The blankness eventually clears from his eyes, “Bye Bye Buckley!”

Not about to be distracted by the dumbest reference she's ever heard, and with the eyes of at least two people she can see on her, she drags Munson away from class. It's bound to be all around the school by the dismissal bell, but rumor is less important than the mission.

The girls room by the library is always abandoned. The mirrors are dingy or cracked and it always smells like cat piss for no discernable reason. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He looks around the bathroom with an inquisitive eye like the grimy bluish tile is somehow more interesting than her. “I'm not actually carrying if you were-”

He doesn't have the decency to stumble when she shoves at his chest, trying to push him back into the stall doors.

“What are your intentions with Stevie?”

“Ah yes, the mysterious cousin Henderson. Who says I have intentions?” His only saving grace is that it takes her too long to get her thoughts in order. A miasma of rants at the tip of her tongue about Stevie and how she was too good for him and any thoughts he might be having about her.

But in the time it takes to see through her friend based rage, she’s able to watch a transformation take place on Eddie’s face. The smug aloofness that had taken over his face from the moment she cornered him in the hallway washes away. Leaving behind something giddy and young, bright eyes and a flushed face. “Unless she was asking about me. You two are bosom friends, are you not Diana? That would make me Gilbert Blythe, hell of a role.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of people who wish they could break a slate over your head.”

“You’re probably right, doesn’t answer my question though. Was your dear Anne Shirley talking about me?” He scuffs a boot against the floor. Doing an impressive impression of a bashful school boy while standing in front of her in his ratted out, heavy metal glory. There are at least four chains that she can spot on his outfit right now but his face would be just as at home on Opie Taylor.

But she isn’t going to get fooled by some routine. She has something to say and she’s going to make sure she says it.

“She’s really special, Munson. She’s not some cheerleader you fuck in the woods because she wants to get back at her parents that are divorcing and you’re the scariest thing available that isn’t actually dangerous.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Buckley.” The retort seems to drag itself from his mouth on instinct. Cause the aw shucks routine he’d been giving is lying broken on the floor replaced by open mouthed shock.

“I am.” The bell rings, marking them both officially late for class. She glares him down, waiting to see if he’ll leave, effectively flinching first. He glares back. “She’s an athlete, likes sports.”

Maybe it’s wrong to list the things about Stevie that she knows Munson won’t like. But she also isn’t about to let her best friend water herself down for some stupid boy.

“Wayne will be thrilled to have someone who understands what he’s talking about. Go team.”

“She hates fantasy. Dustin loaned her his copy of Fellowship of the Ring and she gave it back when they kept singing.”

“I’m sure she’d like it if I sang them for her.”

“She isn’t going to become some demure, church mouse just because you’re around. She’s snarky and confident and, and…”

He sets a hand on her shoulder in a way that is so patronizing she wishes she were as good at being a bitch as Stevie was. But she suppresses her first instinct to bite him if only because she’s working at keeping up her record of 4578 days without biting a classmate.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” he says, “but it sounds like you and your hot best friend have been talking about me. So thanks for that intel, Bucks.”

People wearing leather and motorcycle boots shouldn’t be able to skip. The stupid hanky in his stupid pocket flaps behind him like a wagging tail as Munson leaves her in the girls room with the smell of ammonia.

Stevie has Breakfast at Tiffany’s playing on the TV when Robin makes it to work. Keith let them have most of their shifts together but drew the line at letting Stevie shut the store down to come pick her up after school. So on days where Stevie works a double, she’s stuck arriving to work sweaty and guessing at whatever movie will have ended up on the big TV.

And today she gets to catch Stevie standing in the middle of the floor, a stack of tapes in her arms, while she watches the party happening in Holly Golightly’s apartment. Audrey Hepburn swaying with her guest in the middle of the floor.

“Someone’s in a mood.”

From over her shoulder, Stevie sends Robin a look. Something loaded with dry humor and a smugness that usually means something juicy happened in the time before Robin got there.

Usually.

There’s something about the look today that feels personally directed at her.

“Well it was this or Some Like it Hot, and the stay at home moms are weird about black and white movies that aren’t the first few minutes of Wizard of Oz.”

“That’s sepia.”

“Bless you.”

Making sure Stevie can see her rolling her eyes, she heads to the back to clock in. By the time she makes it back, Stevie has the volume turned down on Holly Golightly’s romantic disasters. She’s back behind the counter, head pillowed in her hands and Robin remembers why people used to be a little scared of her popular kid cabaret. Walking up the center aisle, she feels like she’s headed straight toward a tiger with its mouth open and she’s about to put her head in there.

“So you’ll never believe what happened earlier,” Stevie taps her nail against her cheek.

“Paul Collins came in with his mistress to look at porn again?”

Humming, Stevie doesn’t say anything as Robin comes behind the counter with her. There’s a stack of tapes that need to be rewound and a roll of Be Kind Rewind stickers that need to be stuck to cases.

“Still time for that,” she says right as Robin started to think they were going to drop it. “Sally Tyler called from the payphone.”

“Sally from the basketball team?”

“Yeah,” that smile is even wider. This is almost certainly payback for the You Suck board. “I’m thinking about joining her rec team but we’ve played one-on-one in the park once or twice.”

“And she had a Family Video emergency that only you could solve?”

“Sorta. She was just really concerned, she’d heard a rumor that my best friend was dragging the guy she saw me having lunch with this weekend into the girls room.”

This is definitely payback for the You Suck board. Stevie’s looking a little too pleased with herself as she smiles at what can only be Robin’s slack jawed surprise.

“I get if you're mad,” she says and that’s all she can assume is happening, she isn’t sure how else to read what’s happening on Stevie’s face. “But-”

“Thank you.”

“I was just trying to- What?”

“Come on,” she rolls her eyes, swipes a half hearted smack to Robin’s shoulder. “I’ve been on the other side of that, you know. Well meaning friends pulling me aside to ask what my intentions are.”

“Oh my god, did she follow us in there?”

Delight makes Stevie’s eyes sparkle, “Did you actually? I love you. Did you give him hell?”

“I think he got the upperhand.”

“I think it’s all the playing pretend. The shitheads will run circles around the unprepared too.”

It seems a little too good to be true. “You really aren’t mad?”

Someone abandoned The Breakfast Club at the scene where Ally Sheedy gets the makeover. It had seemed like a stupid scene when she’d seen it in theaters, now it makes something weird pit in the bottom of her stomach. She doesn’t get the chance to hit rewind, to send Allison back in time so she can be strange and herself again, because Stevie is flipping her around and pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

“First of all,” she says into the side of Robin’s hair, “the only thing I’m even a little miffed about is you thinking I couldn’t kick Munson’s ass myself. But no one’s ever done anything like that for me before so I’m cool with letting it slide.”

“But we are acknowledging that you definitely have a thing for the guy with the rattiest hair in the school. Probably even Roane county.” Robin says, face pressed into the meat of Stevie’s shoulder.

Stevie shoves her away with a groan that Robin’s laughter is already drowning out. “Yeah, alright. He’s kind of okay I guess.”

“Such sweet words for the father of your brood.”

“He’s not the father of my anything,” she flips her hair over one shoulder, “anyway I think he gets off on it so I’m gonna keep being mean to him.”

“That was more than I wanted to know about either of you.”

“No it wasn’t, you like that I’m mean too. You get all sad faced when you think I’m trying to bury my impulses.”

For the second time today Robin is left too surprised to say anything. She’s left gaping, not that Stevie is looking at her now; too busy picking at the nail polish left on her pinky.

“I like it,” she says quietly after a moment. Robin has shut her mouth by the time Stevie looks up at her again, something soft but serious on her face. She reaches across the counter to grab Robin by the hand, melding what’s left of their coordinating manicures by linking their fingers. “You’re my number one. Even if Eddie does anything about anything, he’s going to have to compete with you.”

Neither of them move as the weight of the moment surrounds them like one of Mrs. Henderson’s quilts. Heavy and homey and right. But they are still at work and as the bell beside the door dings, and they break their silence to greet their new customer in tandem, they shrug off the heavy sincerity for something more functional. Stevie’s smile turns sly, and she tugs Robin closer while keeping an eye on the man now browsing the comedies. “You’ll never guess who came in earlier to ask if we had Nine and a Half Weeks yet.”

#stevieweek24 #stevie week #Stevie Harrington #transfem Steve Harrington #Stevie Henderson #Steve Henderson #platonic soulmates Steve and Robin #platonic Stobin #Stobin #Steve and Robin #steddie #pre Steddie #Robin POV #I was asking myself why I didn't get all 6 fics I had planned written before the week started after a month of writing #and realized this is nearly 10k cause I have chronic can't shut up disease #minimum 2 more coming at you this week get hype

309 notes · View notes

tapestryundone · 6 days ago

Text

yknow what, im still getting over the flu covid and idk when ill get back to this so have this entire wip that i posted a snapshot of a while back, for Prologue

You are missing a part of yourself. It is the first thing you will ever know, and you know it with absolute certainty.

The second thing you will know in the first moments of your existence is that you will not recall this later. Not even a little bit. The aching feeling of lacking a part of yourself may remain, but the realization, the deeply ingrained knowledge that there is something missing from you, is something that will slip from your mind and into the ether.

You do not hear anything. You do not see anything. It is all a vast nothingness, though you don't understand what these concepts mean. You do not feel their absence, not in the way you intrinsically know you are not whole- rather, the knowledge that these sensations could exist is gradually entering your consciousness.

You've never been conscious before. Are you conscious now?

There is the pulling of threads, interlocking and overlapping one another in incomprehensible patterns. They are you. You do nothing about this process. You do not realize there is anything for you to do.

You do not understand any of it, but you are beginning to understand something. The shapes of fundamental truths- the silhouettes of something knowable.

There is life. There's supposed to be something else, too, but you don't know what it is. A sensation- it comes from nowhere at all, and it is uncomfortable. The knowledge that there is something else to this concept just out of reach.

You can move, you realize. It is a foreign concept. You have found something. Something important. The weaving did not uncover this truth, it feels innate. It feels incomplete, but its presence brings you a reprieve.

You have never moved. The feeling is strange, the feeling is familiar. It is not you. But you shift, and the weaving is disrupted. The movement of threads shudders in a wayunlike before.

"Hm?"

An intrusion. You do not have the capacity to know just what feeling the intrusion evokes. But with the same certainty with which you know you are missing a part of yourself, you know that the presence is not supposed to be here. You know that it should not have your threads and that it is changing them.

The sensation of sound is similarly overwhelming. You have never heard before, and the vibration of the everything around you at the intruder's noise evokes new concepts in you. Are they emotions?

At the shape of emotions you feel both repulsed and drawn. How do you know of these? Something previously nonexistent stirs.

"Can... Can you hear me?"

You cannot describe it. It comes from within but yet, it doesn't. Something peering into you. You are changing. It is making you change, and you feel it.

The intruder's noises are temporarily absent, and the movement of threads ceases. The intruder is waiting for you. You have nothing to give it. You are still. You are no longer changing, and the stillness that comes seeps into every part of you. It feels correct. It feels like something you can't describe. From the part of you that is missing, it feels incorrect. You remain still.

The stillness is temporary. It is not eternity. The intruder does not speak again before the weaving resumes.

You are changing again. The missing piece is calling to you, and the stillness doesn't oppose it.

As the intruder works, you learn. You don't know what you are learning. The knowledge comes from somewhere long forgotten, and yet it comes from nowhere at all. It does not come from the intruder.

Something is growing, and yet you learn of tension. You need more space than you have. Did you ever have such space? You cannot remember. You learn distance. Your missing piece is apart from you. The intruder is weaving something between your threads.

You take the something, but it cannot be held. You do not know what you are meant to do with it. The something tangles and shifts, cradling your consciousness. The something starts to feel like you. Was it ever a something, or was it always a you? You cannot tell. You know it is not your missing piece.

You stir, more than before. This time, you attempt to create noise. You cannot tell if you succeeded, but the intruder stops again. You are certain you did something. The shape of something new is forming. It may be an emotion.

"Hello?"

The noise is slow. It is a 'greeting,' the something teaches you.

"...Must be doing something right."

The noise is small. It is not directed at you.

"So you can hear me, then?"

The noise travels upwards, but it is directed at you this time. You do not understand what the intruder is seeking, only that it is.

The intruder waits. When you do not stir, it makes more noise.

"Right. Do you..." The noise halts. "Can you speak? Is that something you can do?"

Speaking is new. Noises with meaning, the something teaches you. Many noises.

You make a new noise.

"That doesn't mean anything. Why don't you try that again?"

Your knowledge is growing. You try that again. You fail.

"... That's what I get for trying to talk to a concept, I suppose. I'm sure you'll figure it out soon."

You make another new noise without reason. The intruder doesn't make any noises back. It resumes weaving moments later, intertwining with you.

You learn of waiting. It comes from the something, growing up and out of it and gifting you a new concept called "time." It doesn't make sense to you.

You fill the "time" with "thoughts" of your missing piece. An emotion fully forms, and it is longing. You seek something to intertwine with.

Between the weaving, you stir, reaching for something that isn't you. The weaving is halted, threads constricting and forcing it into stillness.

"Do you need something?"

The noise sounds strange. Frustration, the something teaches you. The noise rises upwards, too. Noises can have multiple meanings. The intruder wants something. Does it seek what you seek?

You create a noise and attempt to make it rise. You do not know if you succeed.

"I'm sorry. I can't understand you."

The noise loses it's edge and instead gains a new sound. Remorse, the something teaches you.

You try out the new sound. But it is without meaning, so the intruder doesn't respond. The stillness fills you with more longing. You retreat again. The weaving resumes.

The longing is growing. The missing part of you creates a ripple in your self that you learn is hurt. Festering, you learn from nowhere. A wound untreated, the something teaches you.

More "time" passes. You are adept at waiting. The stillness comes easily, but as the waiting continues, so does the longing grow.

The intruder is creating something, you realize, and you learn of creation. You are getting good at learning.

The knowledge of creation makes the missing piece ache further. The longing morphs. A new emotion has formed in its wake, and it is terror.

You cannot be without your missing piece, and attempt to reach for it. You fail. You make a new noise. The weaving stops.

"Huh?" The noise is familiar. Confusion, the something teaches you. "What's wrong?"

It is rising, it is a question. You do not have an answer. You reach out again. You find nothing but the intruder. You make another noise.

"Calm down. You're fine." A stillness. "You are, fine, right?"

You do not know what 'fine' is. You make another noise. You include some of the intruder's words. It does not make a difference.

"Okay. Okay." The intruder makes a noise that doesn't seem to be a word. "Look, I don't know what you want. Worse yet, I still have no clue if you understand me. You're just going to have to be patient. Okay?"

But you are already good at that. You are experiencing terror. You constrict yourself.

"This won't go by any faster if you do that. Please just try to cooperate?"

Concern, the something teaches you. But there is frustration, too. You retreat, but remain taut.

You are waiting. You do not want to be waiting. You are afraid that your missing piece is gone. The "time" thing is beginning to sound frightening. What is the intruder doing?

The terror abates eventually, and your threads relax. As your threads relax, you learn of sight. The intruder has woven something for you. Of you.

You watch the intruder. He is nothing at all. Flat threads, curved and pointed toward a shared goal, layered upon layers. You recall distance. You do not know how vast the distance between the intruder and yourself is.

As you watch, a new emotion takes shape. It is unfamiliarity. He is not you. You do not know what he is.

#slay the princess #stp #my writing #i have a good few things i have planned for this but i havent worked on it in a week and dont want it to fall by the wayside #i think some things i was doing are more obvious than others. wink #edited this bc i claimed i had the flu but apparently i was wrong it was covid #and i cannot let that inaccuracy go unfixed

21 notes · View notes

thetomorrowshow · 4 months ago

Text

just when i was getting to know you

TRUST AU

yeah yeah i'm posting a lot of trust au. i have a backlog ok

Joel wouldn’t say he was the closest person to Scott. Sure, they know each other. They’re friends. They've been in House Blossom councils together for the past ten years, and Scott's been joining in on family night, and the elf's engaged to his brother-in-law and best friend, so they have to at least be acquaintances. They happen to be friends.

Friends or no, they certainly aren’t best pals.

To suddenly be possibly the closest person to Scott at the time of his death is more than a little pressure.

Well, Katherine's there, too, but she seems even more shellshocked than Joel.

It's—well, the whole thing is . . . incredibly violent. Xornoth throws Scott around with tentacles, kicks him into the ground, breaks his wing. . . .

Katherine covers her eyes. Joel watches, flinching at every knock of Scott's head against the stony ground.

When Xornoth drags Scott up for the final time, Joel gets one last look at him—dusty, hair tangled, scraped and bleeding and eyes barely open, limbs dangling helplessly—and then he's thrown off the edge of the cliff.

Joel doesn't run with everyone else to peer over the side.

Joel flicks open his elytra and takes off into the sky, heading the opposite direction.

Xornoth watches him.

Joel doesn't know why, but Xornoth lets him go.

And that's terrifying, just a little bit.

Xornoth doesn't think the massive armies of Mezelea are enough of a threat to kill him here and now, like he did Scott.

Scott's dead.

Goodness, Scott's dead.

Rivendell has always been a force to be reckoned with. Ancient and up in those frozen mountains, Joel hadn't even considered that such a country could fall so early in a war that hadn't yet reached its borders.

The Codlands had fallen in one bloody day.

Now, in a reflection of its deceased lover, Rivendell has too.

Joel soars across the ocean, wondering just how long it will be until Rivendell is forced into servitude. Mere days, like the Codlands? Or maybe more gradually, a months-long process designed to make the elves feel in-control of their descent.

How many are left to fight the evil? Him, Lizzie. Shubble's certainly been conquered as well, seeing as Grimlands army would have marched through the Undergrowth to reach Rivendell. Katherine has thus far declared neutrality, as has Pearl. Pix hasn't been heard from since the war began. And Gem—

Gem's down, too. Possibly dead. And her students aren't really built for war, try as they might.

So it's just him and Lizzie.

Goodness. And they're supposed to win this fight, let alone survive?

It isn't exactly black and white, of course. There are likely fugitives leaving Rivendell and the Overgrown as he flies, and he has a small army of Rivendell soldiers in his forces that Scott sent over several weeks ago, and he and Lizzie have already been strengthened the slightest bit by dissenters from the enemy armies. They aren't as alone in this as he feels.

Still. The loss of Rivendell is a terrifying, war-changing blow. Rivendell gone, Scott dead—

Joel feels like nobody ought to be able to blame him for feeling a bit hopeless.

He needs to get back to Mezelea, reorganize his armies, inform his support from Rivendell that they cannot return home, contact Shubble and see what they can do to help. He needs to do all sorts of kingly matters that really shouldn’t wait.

But he stops at the palace rising out of the depths of the ocean, landing on one of the towers and hitting the ground running, elytra flapping in the wind behind him.

He sprints through the doors, down the hall, takes a left, Lizzie's probably in some sort of important meeting so he takes another left toward her war room—

There's a soldier standing guard outside of the room, and when Joel approaches, he shuffles to block his entrance.

"Her majesty is not to be disturbed," the guard says, blocking Joel from entering. "She is in a meeting with—"

"I'm her husband and I do what I want," Joel tells him, before shoving him aside and going in.

Lizzie is standing at the opposite end of a somewhat large, square table, pointing at a map, a gnome amongst three other advisors (one the Rivendell ambassador, another clearly fae) gathered with her. When Joel enters, they all look up.

Lizzie isn't wearing grey.

Her dress is purple, the sleeves billowy and light. Her hair is down, neatly brushed and falling into her face, her crown set upon it.

Her mourning period has ended.

"Joel?" she says, brow furrowed. "I asked to not be interrupted."

Joel strides across the room, stopping at the other end of the table. "Right, right, but—"

"These plans are only to be known between those of us present, it's frankly a war crime for you—"

"Scott is dead," he says loudly, and Lizzie freezes.

"I—what?"

"Scott is dead, and Rivendell surrendered," he says, and the elf in the room (Elif, if he remembers correctly) actually staggers back.

"The king?" Elif demands, his hands shaking. "King Scott? You—you jest!"

Joel shakes his head. "I saw it," he manages, the shock of it all really hitting him. "He's dead."

"What happened?" Lizzie asks, rushing around the table.

Joel shrugs helplessly. "He just—the demon killed him. Scott—he tried to do something, something with magic or whatever, but it didn't work, and the demon just. . . ."

He doesn't want to tell them everything he saw. He doesn't want to tell them of how Scott's body lay crumpled on the ground, his mourning clothes torn and bloody, while Xornoth towered over him, declaring victory.

He doesn't want to tell them that at no point in the battle did Scott have the upper hand.

That it was hopeless from the start.

That he didn't even try to help.

"He's dead," he whispers.

Lizzie's eyes are wide, horrified. She almost seems to search his face for any sign of a lie.

"No," she breathes.

Joel only nods once.

Tonight, he'll tell her what happened.

Tonight, as they get ready for bed, he'll recount in a whisper the demon appearing, the way ice had seemed to burst out of Scott in jerky and uncontrollable ways, the way Xornoth had broken free nonetheless and beaten Scott to the ground and cast him to his death.

He'll hold Lizzie close to his chest as she cries, and a year ago she wouldn't have cared if Scott lived or died but now it's almost like he was the last living piece of Jimmy other than Lizzie herself and with him gone, everything is lost.

He'll lay awake in bed, wondering what on earth will happen now that Rivendell has fallen—will the elves be hounded out of their lands, forced to find homes elsewhere? Will they be forced into servitude? Will Katherine declare loyalty to a side?

Will there be a funeral for Scott?

But right now, as Lizzie turns away, as Elif collapses into a chair, as the gnome mournfully asks Joel what has become of the Overgrown, Joel can't say anything.

He can only stare at the table (with maps and figurines and inkpots) and think of all he must do.

"I'm going to mourn," Joel tells Lizzie the next morning.

It's a senseless decision. He should be in gazillions of meetings, preparing his country for refugees and attacks, deciding how to divide his forces, proportioning what to give to those in need. He doesn't have time, in the wake of everything, to spend three days secluded in his quarters.

"You shouldn't do that," Lizzie advises, pinning her hair behind her ear. "You have too much to do."

Joel shrugs. "I'm gonna do it anyway."

"Why?"

"Just feel like I should."

Lizzie sighs. "Joel, you really can't. I need your help with this, your country needs you, you can't just—"

"It's only—"

"—other mourning periods, it would be fine, but Mezelean—"

"—without me for three days—"

"—total isolation, you have—"

"Who else is gonna do it, huh?"

Lizzie falls silent, arms folded. She raises an eyebrow, and Joel struggles to come up with the words.

"Who else is gonna mourn him?"

"His people," Lizzie is quick to answer.

Joel scoffs. "They've just been conquered by the archenemy of their dead ruler—you think the demon will let them?"

"Katherine."

"Katherine doesn't mourn, it isn't a part of her culture."

"Gem."

Joel remembers Gem, lying on the ground, hair entirely white, and shudders. "I don't think she can. She was . . . injured, yesterday."

"We're all mourning him," Lizzie waves him off. "We may not be wearing black, but we all miss him. We're all thinking about him. It's basically the same thing, just without any outward sign."

Yes, but that's part of mourning, isn't it? Scott, at some point last week (it's just like Jimmy, Scott was fine last week and now he's gone forever), had mentioned that his clothing is designed to be as similar as possible to his betrothal clothing, to remind him at every moment of his loss.

The outward signs aren't for others, aren't proof of how sad you are. They're a tool in grieving, in memory.

"You weren't even that close," adds Lizzie. "Would it even be proper to take the mourning period?"

Propriety doesn't matter. Not anymore.

"I know that we've got different beliefs on what happens with death and all that," Joel says awkwardly, trying to figure out how to word this. "But for us, we believe that . . . that there's this, like, waiting period to get into the afterlife. So the three days—it’s like you're waiting with them."

Lizzie nods. They've talked about this before.

Joel looks down at his boots, suddenly unwilling to meet his wife's eyes. "Nobody else will be mourning," he says quietly. "I don't want him to wait alone."

He and Scott weren't that close, it's true. But Scott had intended to marry Joel's best friend and brother-in-law, and that basically makes him family.

Lizzie doesn't argue any more. She only nods, then takes the pin out of her hair and ties it up into a tight bun.

And Joel goes back to Mezelea, and shuts himself in his quarters for three days, despite the contrary advice from his chamberlain.

When he comes out of the mourning period, he's resolved to save everyone he can.

And then Scott isn't even dead so it doesn't matter anyway.

But when Joel sees him—because the demon had blasted him to the side, and he'd heard a lot of shouting and chaos while blacked out and trying to regain his bearings on the floor, so it isn't until he stumbles out of the building that he sees him—, his heart actually leaps with joy.

He's alive.

Scott is alive, and he's right there, his back turned away and Joel has never seen him in homespun, brown peasant-like clothes before but it's definitely him, from the shock of blue hair on his head to the familiar satchel hanging from his shoulder.

When Scott turns around, Joel can't help the smile that breaks across his face.

He rallies the troops, claps Scott on the back (he wants to hug him, he wants to pull him in tight and never let go which is weird but whatever), and does his best to act normal.

"I don't know how you're alive," he says, breathless with—with wonder, or something. And maybe Scott isn't really alive, maybe this is some ghost version of him sent back to help them win this (but he feels awfully solid beneath Joel's hand). "But it's good to have you, for however long it'll be."

Scott only stares at him for a moment before asking (that's definitely his voice, his thick elvish accent, his funny-sounding Es and As, so inimitably Scott), "Why does everyone have weapons?"

And Joel just wants to laugh and laugh.

And later, when Scott's asleep in Rivendell's infirmary and Lizzie's some giant axolotl monster thing and Jimmy's also, somehow, alive (Jimmy’s alive Jimmy’s alive Jimmy’s alive), Joel laughs.

He sits on the front steps of the palace, exhausted and bloodstained and with aching arms from carrying bodies, and he laughs.

As his laughter dwindles into chuckles, he looks around at the reclaimed capital of Rivendell, the moon and stars illuminating torn palace grounds and those collecting the dead, and he sighs.

"I'm gonna claim this as my own country," he jokes to himself. "Who's gonna stop me? Rivendell's mine now."

"Good lord, your majesty, please do not," comes a tired voice behind him. Joel glances back to see Ilphas stepping out of the palace, easing the door shut behind themself. "I don't believe I would be able to restrain myself from attempting regicide a second time."

Joel snorts. "Right, wouldn't want to inconvenience you. A different day, maybe." Then, after Ilphas doesn't respond, he adds, "How is he?"

Ilphas offers a small, strained smile. "The king has not yet woken," they say, "though his majesty Pix believes it will not be much longer."

Joel had carried Scott to the infirmary after he had collapsed, the no-longer glowing sword under him. He'd hurried forward, while armies on both sides had remained frozen, and he'd dragged Scott out of the center of everything, laying him beside Jimmy's (Jimmy?) body, because Joel hadn't even known Jimmy was also here and now he was dead again?

None of it made any sort of sense, but as the soldiers of various armies tried to sort out whether or not they should continue fighting, Pix had pushed through the crowd and hefted Jimmy's limp body over his shoulder, before leaving without explanation.

Joel had stared after him for a long moment, wondering if maybe he had hallucinated the whole thing.

Then, gathering strength beyond his normal, he had heaved Scott up and carried him to the palace, where he had been met by several elves who quickly took over.

He'd really just hoped that Scott wasn't dead. Then he'd pushed it out of his mind and set to resolving this war.

Now, here he is. Jimmy is, somehow, alive, sleeping off a life-ending wound.

And Scott is also alive, asleep in the Rivendell infirmary.

Joel kind of feels like he missed a chapter somewhere, because nobody has explained to him how they're both here in the first place (and some part of him still believes that they are spirits, brought back by some ritual to help them defeat the demon), but they're here and they're alive and that's what matters.

And Ilphas, judging by the way they finally seem to be relaxed enough to let their shoulders drop, feels the same.

"It's good to have him back," Joel comments idly, and after a moment, Ilphas nods their agreement.

"It is," they say softly.

Joel's still exhausted. He's still confused. He's got no idea what's going to happen next.

But Scott is back, and Jimmy is back, and the war is over.

So he gets up, and claps Ilphas on the shoulder (the elf starts in surprise), then returns to the fields.

He has to help Rivendell rebuild if he's going to conquer it, after all.

#trust au #empires smp #empires smp fanfic #smallishbeans #mas writes #heyyy hiii have another trust au background fic #the joel bug has bitten me i believe as i just wrote a separate joel oneshot like last week #more importantly ILPHAS MENTION!!!!!!!#my favorite elf right there!!!#i cant wait to post the ilphas oneshot....#i could literally post that whenever i wanted. i just realized that #uhhhh i'll get to that #oleander next week #probably esh au after that #idk #oh goodness next month. next month will see a lot of content from me #i have uh seven whumptobers written? i'm planning to write for each day #anyways lmk what you think #love you guys

27 notes · View notes