#been preoccupied with Jonathan

[miwiromantics]

OH CHARLIE YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN,,,, OH THANKGAWD THANKIEW THANKIEW LORD OHMAIGAWD CHARLIE CHARLIE YOU BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL MAN

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle from Hell (1)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Nancy is with Jonathan; Steve is still in love with Nancy; You're in love with Steve; Eddie's in love with you; Robin just wanted to have a movie night but everyone is making it weird.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; drinking; Robin literally just trying to live her life but her friends are all idiots

A/N: I'm going to let y'all decide who our reader ends up with for this one- please let me know who you think our reader should pick! I think this will be another 5 part series. Please let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs and hitting up my asks are always so so so appreciated.

This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI

It was always Nancy. No matter what it always came back to Nancy. It happened over and over and over like a broken record. Like a glutton for punishment, you always went back for more thinking to yourself this time it’s going to be different. Squished on the lumpy loveseat with Robin, you watch Steve as he watches Nancy. You were pathetic and you knew it. Hopelessly in love with someone who’d never in a million years look at you the way he’s looking at her.

Eddie sits on the floor between your legs with his back rested against the front of the couch as you aimlessly braid his hair. You run your fingers through his hair, carefully navigating through the tangles. You pull strains and weave them together without needing to think about it- you’ve done it a million times before. Eddie would let you do whatever you wanted, he loved the feeling of your hands in his hair. He’d lean his head back as far as he could manage, and shoot you an upside down smile. It always made you giggle before you would use your palm to gently put his head back into place. 

It was quite a sight for Robin, like the most fucked daytime drama never written, if she knew how to read the room and pick up on the very obvious clues before her. Steve, her platonic soulmate and best friend, pining over his ex-girlfriend while you, her other best friend, pine over Steve and all the while Eddie, Steve’s roommate and your other best friend, pines over you. It was enough to make her sick. All the while, Nancy is completely oblivious as she checks her watch, waiting expectantly for Jonathan- her actual boyfriend- to arrive. Despite the mess before her, Robin was none the wiser. 

She knew Steve was still hung up on Nancy, because he never shut up about her during their shifts. However, you felt you kept your lovesick crush on Steve under pretty good wraps. Unfortunately, Eddie was so preoccupied with you that he felt it every time your eyes were on Steve or he’d witnessed all the small things you’d do that convinced him you actually liked Steve. 

He’d watch as you couldn’t make eye contact with Steve, looking everywhere but him when he spoke. He’d watch the way you’d steal glances at him when you thought no one else was looking. He’d see the way you’d take a deep breath to compose yourself when you’d see Steve looking at Nancy. The same way you’d break your own heart looking around for Steve, he’d be doing the same looking at you watching him. 

You’d watched one too many movies where the guy realizes the right girl all along was his best friend. You thought if you were patient, Steve would realize he’d been in love with you the whole time and he never realized it. If you’re there for him in his times of heartbreak, he’d see that you’re so much better for him than anyone else. He’d see you, really see you, and know you were the one who was always there. 

“This movie doesn’t make any sense,” Robin said suddenly before reaching for the bowl of popcorn at the coffee table.

“Anthony Michael Hall is making a robot girlfriend because he can’t get girls,” Steve explains, coming off a little perturbed that Robin was talking during the movie again. 

“They could’ve just asked out a couple of more girls- they didn’t need to let their end all be all be two girls with boyfriends,” she continues and Steve scoffs. He couldn’t believe he was really about to have a debate on realism with Robin right now over fucking Weird Science. 

“This’ll actually happen one day,” Eddie muses and is met with four heads whipping around to give him the same weird look. “You’re telling me that like fifty years from now, no one will have this figured out? AV geeks are desperate enough- Ow!” You’d hit him playfully on the back of the head. 

“You’re not one to criticize anyone for being desperate, Munson,” Steve chuckles and Eddie promptly flips him off. “You don’t exactly have them lining up for you either.”

“It’s been a pretty dry few years yourself King Steve,” Eddie mocks, and you see Steve crack his knuckles nervously, hating the conversation going down this road. No one meant for it to happen, but now you’re all wrapped up reflecting in your own loneliness that the mood of the evening was almost completely dampened. 

“Can you guys be quiet,” Nancy chastises, “Some of us are trying to actually watch the movie.”

“You cannot be serious?” Robin giggles, “It’s a stupid movie, Nance.” 

The night took a weird shift. Jonathan did eventually stroll in and Nancy was understandably hurt that he was so late. He pulled a kitchen chair over to sit next to where Nancy sat but she promptly decided to ignore him, silently stewing instead of causing a scene. Steve recoiled back into his own head- Eddie’s King Steve comment affecting him more than he thought it would. He watched Anthony Michael Hall and kept wondering if this would be his fate- no bitches. Had he really been that guy to have peaked in high school and then is destined to end up alone?

Steve’s comment towards Eddie made him also get lost in his own stream of self deprecating thoughts. He knew Steve was joking- but there was truth to it that made it sting. Eddie didn’t have a lot of experience with girls, most girls- hell including the one he was actually in love with- wanted really nothing to do with him. He wasn’t that guy. Girls didn’t look at him like that like they looked at Steve- how you looked at Steve. It made him jealous and sad and made him feel so painstakingly lonely despite being in a room full of his closest friends as you played with his hair. He could scream. 

And as usual, you preoccupied yourself with Steve- thinking about what Steve could be thinking about or watching the way Steve anxiously rubbed his palms against his jeans. Was Steve thinking about Nancy? Maybe, just maybe, you could catch him looking at you, even if just once. Maybe Steve would get up and go to the kitchen, and it could be an opening for you to check in with him since he’s seemed off tonight. You felt hopeless. 

Robin just assumed most people were quiet because they genuinely were watching the movie, but she realized something was wrong when she was the only person laughing. It couldn’t be that she was the only one who wanted to crack jokes or laugh at this godforsaken movie. She eventually caught on to something brewing in the air amongst her friends and it was incredibly unsettling. 

“GOD! I can’t take it anymore!” She exclaims, and everyone jumps. “What is wrong with everybody tonight? You all are acting so effing weird and I can’t stand it.” 

“Everyone’s fine, Robin,” you offer, trying to diffuse the tension. She shooks you a look. A “do you think I’m fucking stupid” look that could kill. Fair enough, you think to yourself. 

“Clearly something is wrong,” she reiterates. Annoyed with Nancy, Jonathan takes the bait and casts the first stone. 

“I don’t know,” Jonathan muses, looking at Nancy before letting out his irritation, “Might have to do with the fact you hang around with your ex all the time- and it’s clearly obvious he still has feelings for you.” 

Nancy gasps, offended that Jonathan would bring a fight that they’d had before into the room for everyone to comment on. Jonathan knew how Steve felt, and Nancy’s refusal to acknowledge his concerns on numerous occasions has finally made Jonathan hit his breaking point. He needed her to realize that he wasn’t jealous of Steve- but Steve was jealous of him. Nancy denied that Steve still held feelings for her. She was actually oblivious. 

“Steve and I are just friends!” Nancy insists, “I have told you that and told you that! It’s like you don’t trust me!”

“I don’t trust him!” Jonathan emphasizes. “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, he still likes you and you still keep hanging around with him when you’re supposed to be with me, Nance.”

“I am with you! I’m your girlfriend, not his,” she snaps. “Steve, come on, please tell him he’s being ridiculous.” 

Most unfortunately, Steve stutters. He hesitates and fumbles, and couldn’t lie fast enough. The pregnant seconds where he’s at a loss for words tells Jonathan everything he needs to know. It doesn’t feel good to know he was right. 

“Sounds about right,” Jonathan scoffs.

“It’s not her fault-” Steve tried to interject. 

“Stay out of it Steve,” Jonathan sighs, “please.”

This fight was not about Steve, and everyone knew it. This was about Jonathan, and the way he hurt when Nancy dismissed his feelings. It was about how she didn’t take his concerns seriously or ever was willing to talk about it. He was sick of being dismissed as paranoid or jealous. He knew Nancy had no idea how Steve felt, but it wasn’t an excuse to inadvertently gaslight him when he knew something felt off. 

“I’m going home,” Nancy says, sitting up suddenly in hopes of making a swift exit to save her pride. 

“Nope!” Robin interjects, “We aren’t done. I’m not letting any of you leave until all of it is out in the open. I can’t go on like this. You guys are my best friends and we are working all of this shit out.” She takes a steady breath and Nancy surprisingly sits back down calmly. “So props to Jonathan for getting the ball rolling,” Robin quips, “let’s actually keep talking things out, yeah?”

“Steve?” Nancy looks at him, and she looks hurt. She feels so betrayed- like all of the times they’ve spent together as friends has been a lie. A ruse to win her back- she feels lied to and like she’s simultaneously lost a friend in the same breath. It guts her. She’s too stunned to even know what to say. 

Steve keeps his head down, too ashamed to look at anyone. He holds his head in his hands. You watch him intently, you absorb all his hurt like a sponge. You keep your gaze on him, wanting to reach out and comfort him. You look like a puppy who's been hit on the nose with a newspaper and Eddie scoffs. 

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Munson?” Robin turns, picking up on Eddie’s disgust. He shakes his head and avoids her knowing gaze. Fuck it, he thinks to himself. 

“I’m fucking pissed,” Eddie announces, standing up. The braid you were in the process of making slowly unravels as he moves. He looks to you and then to Steve. “I’m not even pissed at anyone, I’m just stewing in my own self-hatred because I’m in love with her.” Eddie points to you dramatically, not even realizing how much he’s revealing as his emotions get the best of him. “But she’s so in love with you,” Eddie points a finger at Steve, “That she doesn’t even notice me.”

“I don’t even blame anyone- of course you love Steve, you know? It just fucking sucks because I watch you and you’re always watching him and you keep hoping he’s going to see you and he never does. Meanwhile, I’m so in love with you that it physically hurts and I can never tell you because you’re my best friend and Steve is my best friend. And if you like her back, Steve, you should go for it. I can’t even put myself out there cause scenario one, I lose you,” Eddie gestures to you. “Scenario two- Steve gets his head out of his ass and you two finally get together. I lose both of you, because I can’t put myself through watching someone I’m in love with be with someone else. Or scenario three- you and I do get together and I’m all in- I swear to god, I would be all fucking in. But would you ever even love me as much as you’ve loved him? I don’t know.” 

It’s your turn to be stunned. For the first time, Steve’s looking at you and it’s not at all what you hoped it would be. You recognize the look in his eye, it’s the same way Nancy was just looking at him. Pity. You know then and there that Steve never once thought about you the way you hoped he secretly did. It was all made up in your head. Eddie looks defeated, and mortified all at the same time. He shocked himself at his outburst. He’d always been one for dramatics but never at your expense. He feels so guilt ridden that he could shrivel up and let the world swallow him whole. 

“I, uh, need to get some air,” you say. You grab your jacket from the hook and slide on your shoes in one fluid motion. “I’ll be back,” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as you left Eddie and Steve’s apartment. You can’t help as the tears stream down your face uncontrollably. It’s one of those cries where it’s so hard you can’t even make noise as it takes all of your breath away. You’re practically doubled over in the midst of a panic attack when Eddie finds you leaning against the building. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he says earnestly, “That was so fucked up. I am so, so sorry. That wasn’t fair to you, that was such a shitty thing for me to say.” 

You manage to nod to let him know you heard him, but you’re blubbering and you’re still struggling to get your breath back. Hiccuped breaths finally catch up to you and you feel your lungs slowly begin to refill with air. The night’s cold air helps to clear your sinuses in one big breath. You wipe your face with the sleeves of your jacket. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet. 

“Steve is so lucky,” Eddie says after another few moments of silence. “To be loved by you?” He chuckles, taking a lean on the wall next to you. “Lucky bastard,” he jokes, and you manage a forced smile through the tears. “Must be the best damn thing in the whole world and he doesn’t even realize it,” he continues more seriously. “Well, until now, when I ruined everything,” he finalizes, sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it either,” you mumble, “God, what Steve was doing to me- I was doing to you? Fuck.” 

“Fucked up, right?” he teases. “How’s it feel, heartbreaker?”

“Really, really shitty,” you settle on and he laughs. 

“Yup,” he agrees, making a pop sound at the end. “Really, really shitty. Indeed.” 

“God, I wasted so much fucking time,” you admit to yourself. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly, helping fix the collar of your jacket. It was tucked in because you put it on so fast and didn’t bother to fix it. “That I wouldn’t be able to trust you with Steve or whatever if we hypothetically got together or whatever- it was just a really, really ugly insecurity that bubbled up. If after this all blows over and you don’t completely hate my guts, and maybe by some miracle you wanted to give us a chance, I wouldn’t hold your feelings for Steve over you like that.” 

“Did you mean it that I’d lose you?” you ask, looking to him. He shakes his head. 

“I was talking out of my ass,” he admits, “I was emotional and just letting my frustration get the better of me. I won’t stop being your friend if you don’t like me back.”

“I’ve been doing that already,” he jokes and you swat his arm. 

“Not funny,” you grumble, but you can’t find it in you to actually be upset. 

“I don’t want an answer from you now,” he says, shifting back to a serious tone, but you can hear how nervous he is. “But if and when you get over Steve, and you realize I’m not that bad to look at- maybe you and I could go out sometime. I’m putting the ball in your court. I just want you to be happy. If you end up with Steve, I’m your best man. You end up with me, I’ll work my hardest every damn day to make you so fucking happy. No matter what, I will be your friend. You aren’t losing me.”

“Thank you,” you smile, and you pull him into a hug. You finally start to feel okay again. You feel like you could get over Steve, but then you remember that everyone inside is waiting for you- including Steve. The anxiety begins to stir and you can’t imagine facing everyone now after all of this. 

“I got you,” Eddie whispers, taking your hand, “We’ll go back together.” 

Eddie’s held your hand a million times before, but it wasn’t until now that you realize how well your hand fits in his. You shake your head to erase the thought from your mind for now and try to relax. The walk back up to the apartment is much longer than it’s ever felt before.

No one says anything when you both come back. You and Eddie kick off your shoes and he helps you take your jacket off. You sniffle, and quickly take your seat back on the loveseat. Eddie slips into the kitchen and grabs a six pack from the fridge. He holds it up like a fish he’s just caught triumphantly. 

“I think we all need one, yeah?” He jokes and he diffuses the tension as everyone agrees in tandem. He pulls them apart from the plastic ring, tossing them out. He throws you a wink when he tosses you yours and you can’t help but smile. 

“Can I just say,” Robin says, “Had I known you all were upset about actually serious stuff- I wouldn’t have opened this can of worms. I thought you were just pissed at each other about the comments about not getting laid.”

Nancy and Jonathan must have made up while you were outside because instead of separate seats, Jonathan sat on the living room chair and Nancy was perched on his lap. Steve was just watching you. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Nancy was there. He was fixated on looking at you. He was taking in everything about you like he was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time. 

Fuck, if you weren’t beautiful, Steve thinks. He always knew you were, but he never really thought about it until now. Even after crying, you just look so pretty. He’s pained knowing he’s caused you so much pain. He looks to Eddie and feels jealousy rise irrationally. He’s jealous of Eddie for realizing how perfect you were before he did. It’s so fucking petty and he knows it. Eddie’s had all this time to adore you, while he’s squandered it following around Nancy like a simp. He’s loved you and lost you in the same fucking night.

“Let’s keep going,” Eddie jokes, trying to make light of the situation, “Air out more grievances- Buckley, you need new shoes. Those fucking chucks are abhorrent- please, get new ones. They are why your back hurts all the time.” 

“Okay, Mr. Same White Reeboks Since Senior Year,” she taunts, feigning offense to his jab. “Keep my converse out of your mouth!”

“I have boots now,” he says, pointing to the leather boots by the door. “Much more metal.” 

“Cause it’s fucking January, Eddie,” Robin says with a laugh, “Of course you’re wearing fucking boots.”

“Yet you strolled into my house wearing Converse,” he says walking over the the floor and pointing at Robin’s worse for wear Chuck Taylors. “It was snowing this morning, Robin! Please, as your friend- please let ME get you new shoes.”

“You can pry those shoes off of me when I’m dead,” she raises her voice. The lighthearted air has returned to the evening. It felt like it had been salvaged for now. Everyone seemed to be feeling better, except Steve. As the world began to pick up again, he was paralyzed- burdened with the knowledge of your feelings for him and knowing he might be too late to do anything about it. Was it?

PART TWO

[thethirdromana]

Subscribing to Letters Regarding Jeeves and the Woman in White Weekly has left me preoccupied with the role of servants. So here's a bit of a ramble on servants - and particularly Dracula's servants, or lack thereof.

Jonathan comes from a time when being middle-class means having at least one live-in servant. But the number of servants per head of population in the UK was falling - from 1.38m in 1891 (4% of the population) to 1.27m in 1911 (2.8% of the population). That's why, in Jonathan's time, employing one servant means entry to the middle classes, but 30ish years later, the fabulously wealthy Bertie Wooster also has... one servant.

(To disgress: admittedly Jeeves is likely to be a lot more expensive to employ than the entry-level maid-of-all-work that a middle-class household would have, and there's also no indication that Wooster couldn't afford more servants, but I think it's still significant that he's happy with just the one. Wooster is gently snobbish about being appropriately dressed and going to the right restaurants and so on, but he doesn't see only having one servant as a problem.)

Dracula is a medieval nobleman. I don't know much about Transylvanian history but I would expect that in life, his castle would have been swarming with servants, both as a necessity (it takes a lot to keep a castle warm and clean, and its inhabitants fed), as a duty (to employ people from the surrounding area) and as a status symbol. And I would expect much the same to be true of a living nobleman on his country estate in 1890s Transylvania as well.

So why doesn't Dracula have any servants?

Well, obviously from a storytelling perspective, it's fucking creepy. I think the impact is lessened from a 21st century perspective because "there are no servants" is the default state for most of us, but this is the 1890s equivalent of being in a city and suddenly all the street noise goes silent. And I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place goes hard in any century. From Bram Stoker's perspective, I don't think this needs more justification and if I wasn't analysing every aspect of this book in the minutest detail I don't think I would give it any further thought.

The other obvious answer is that, being dead, Dracula doesn't need any servants. But I don't think that works. He may not need to eat or stay warm and presumably he doesn't produce any waste, but he still wears clothes that need washing and has horses that need to be cared for. Any old building needs an exhausting amount of maintenance just to keep it from crumbling. There's a lot of work that needs doing and I think we can assume that Dracula doesn't want to be doing it himself.

Perhaps he can't have servants. If serving at the castle means death (which presumably it does) then maybe the locals just refuse. And while Dracula has ways to pressure people, I can imagine that he would see that as beneath him just for the sake of having someone to wash his shirts. Maybe as much of that work as possible is done outside the castle, free of charge, by the terrified locals.

So then I find myself wondering, what is the state of the castle usually? Has Dracula spring-cleaned for his visitor? Has he brought the bed-hangings and linen out of ancient storage chests, replacing the moth-eaten ones that usually sit there, decaying? Has he dusted? There is an enormous amount of work involved just in getting the castle to the standard that Jonathan sees. Is there magic involved? Does Dracula usually live there like Sleeping Beauty with the castle crumbling around him? Or is the sumptuous luxury that Jonathan sees just an illusion?

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXVII. “tender loving care”

parts: previous / next

plot: you visit Bruce at Arkham.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, discussion of suicide, hospital, mental institution, light gore, pain, arguing, mental illness

words: 5.1k

a/n: this chapter discusses a suicide attempt from the last chapter. if you would not like to read this, the next chapter will include a blurb at the beginning to summarize what takes place in this one so you can still follow along! this chapter and the next one should be the last explicit conversations about it for a while (as promised: prev. chapter summary below)

previous chapter summary: bruce tells you about his hallucinations, and you invite him to your apartment to finish the interview to escape paparazzi. he does a handwritten interview while you clean your apartment. he answers almost every question candidly, describing fond childhood memories such as a camping trip with his parents two weeks before they died. he lingers, then leaves, and upon turning in your interview to Dr. Vry the next morning, a psychiatrist (Dr. Jonathan Crane) is there. he privately informs you that Bruce attempted suicide after leaving your apartment. Crane says your leaving town could have pushed him over the edge, expressing massive concern. asks you to see Bruce at Arkham (where he’s under a 24 hr hold) and convince him to stop refusing help.

The Uber to Arkham was grueling. Stuck in that traffic felt like hours, but you couldn't remember a single thing that passed outside the window, even an isolated thought. Vibrating with anxiety, barely swallowing back the rising bile, you were escorted down a dim hallway to a tiny office after passing through the spiked gates. Another blink and Dr. Crane entered, idling by the doorway with a handful of paperwork. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, only not pulling you under by sheer will to hear what the psychiatrist had to say.

"Fair warning Ms. Y/L/N, he is moderately injured and fully restrained; we ask that you don't get within arm's reach, however." He sighed like there'd been an issue earlier. "Make sure to let him know you are not leaving, and, if he brings up owls—" He leaned toward you, looking over the top of his glasses. "Don't try to convince him otherwise. Focus on the feelings, not the content." You didn't quite know what that meant, but you had no time to ask; he yanked the door open and stood beside it with an arm outstretched. He handed you off to a nurse, a short, kind woman with a warm smile. You followed her without fuss, unable to think due to debilitating waves of fear.

Through the fuzzy haze of your eyes and the waves of blood flushing out your eardrums, you heard the nurse tell you details on his attempt; extremely vague, fragmented, but you could get the gist: he'd jumped off of something tall and landed in a thorny, glass-bottle filled section of abandoned shrubbery. The doors opened and the bright yellow light flooded the hallway with a foreboding aura. You stepped in and the door shut immediately behind you, sounding a small alarm which quickly quieted. You flexed your fists together and suppressed a startle response when you saw him in the corner of the room, restrained in a way you hadn't seen before; rather than wrist and ankle bands, he was tethered to the bed by three long belts. The nylon was taut against his calves, his waist, and his chest. He didn't snap to attention when you entered the room, instead looking preoccupied, gazing at the far wall blankly. Is he sedated?

Your teeth jammed against your tongue to keep a squeaky whine at bay—he was covered in gauze, bright red blood sticking thickly to the white, bleeding through at nearly every point. His neck covered in pockmarks and scratches; you could see a few of them had bulging, crusted stitches. He must've landed on his left side, seeing the soft cast on his left ankle and the swathes of deep, bloody purple bruising peeking out between gauze patches. Another step in and he glanced over to you, his morose posture shifting to something buzzier, tenser. As he tried to sit up he was denied by the tightness of the strap, which you could see digging into part of his bruising. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

Holy fuck. His voice. It was raspy, and weathered. Strained like his vocal cords had been snapped, or his esophageal lining had been burnt with an iron. He fell back against the papery pillow with a soft crunch. You thought you'd been prepared for how he might look, but this was... whew.

"I was your last point of contact." You kept your tone measured, your body language casual, but concerned enough you didn't come across bored. He was trembling again, the sound of it rattling the hospital bed. When you looked closer you saw bloodshot eyes, like the vessels had popped. It made nearly all the whites of his eyes red, and you bit your lip until it bled to reign in your immediate fear response.

He rolled his eyes, his head swaying slightly side to side. In that motion, you were able to see his undereyes and cheeks catch the bright light. His face was soaked with tear streaks, and his lips were so bitten as to be plump, swollen. "And what did they tell you happened?" He winced and looked toward his abdomen.

He's not supposed to sound like that. He's not supposed to look like that. You forgot what he'd just asked, and didn't even know if you could speak. You scrambled for words to say so he wouldn't notice your shock, but he did. "I'm fine." He glared when you just stood there, awkwardly. "What did they tell you?"

He was getting straight to the point, wasn't he? "That you had a rough night." Would the word suicide trigger him? Would dancing around it be worse?

He hated the way you stood there, he hated that you were seeing him this way, he hated the way the staff coddled him. He could tell you were afraid. He knew he sounded like shit and looked even worse. The stitches itched. His head seared from stapled wounds. The bruises were achingly deep, a dull drum of pain with no reprieve. His nose stunk of dried blood and every nostril flare cracked apart webs of it. He grit his teeth. "I didn't try to kill myself."

A fleck of dust went into his eye, forcing a repetitive wince. His forearms strained to get it to no avail, barely moving against the thick cord. "Is there something in your eye?" You took a step forward, remembering what Dr. Crane had told you about staying an arm's length away.

He kept wincing. "It's fine." Maybe if he could just yawn, water his eyes a bit... it scraped against his eye, a pain so low compared to the rest of his body it was nothing but a mere annoyance, but a visible one; you looked around for a handwashing station and saw nothing, not even a hand sanitizer in the doorway. You rubbed the tips of your fingers together, trying to warm your chilled fingers. "I can get it."

After brief hesitation, he surrendered a nod and you approached, the injuries only looking more gruesome up close. Some blood bubbled up through the gauze, leaked out the sides. The restraints were dug tightly into his skin, creating deep indents. Is this even legal? He tilted his head back and opened his eye, squinting against the glaring white LEDs scattered across the ceiling. You reached out and gently pulled back his eyelid, leaning in to search for the offending material... it was more difficult to see with all the popped vessels.

He relaxed into your touch. Slightly cool, warming up against the heat of his skin. No more of the gloved hands, the clinical pats. Unconsciously his eyes shut and he heaved a deep breath out, flattening his chest, creating some space between him and the restraint. You kept your fingers on his brow bone, feeling his weight shift toward you. His lashes fluttered with tears, pain, or both; your thumb caressed his skin, gliding softly along his orbital bone. His breathing drew deeper, breath coming heavily out of his nose. Wet, hot tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. He felt himself melting out of the fight response for the first time since he'd left your apartment.

If pain could be translated through touch alone... Bruce. With every shuddering, panicked inhale the gauze flexed on his shoulders, the tape rippling. Your heart exploded for him. You flipped your palm and stroked his cheek with the back of your hand, brushing the hair back and out of his eyes. "You're safe." He exhaled forcefully from his nose, strained attempts at containing his sobs. At the quickening of his breath the door slammed open; alongside a guard, the nurse from before stormed into the room. He'd been so lost in the slip of your hand against his cheek that he only noticed people had come when you jolted back. It felt like having the floor fall out beneath his feet.

"That's enough." The nurse walked forward and placed a hand on your back, urging you toward the door. "Don't want to push it, now." You tried desperately to look back at him, but the security guard's back kept him out of view. The door snapped shut. You glared at the woman, cringing away from her touch. "He wasn't going to do anything, he's hurting—"

Dr. Crane came walking at a steady clip, a clipboard nestled tightly to his elbow and flush against his abdomen. "Ms. Y/L/N,"

Tears pricked at the edge of your vision, your tone bleeding with hostility. "You're treating him like a dog."

He nodded at the nurse and she walked away. You felt sparked, jittery, overwhelmed. Anger flushed your cheeks. Your fingers hung stiffly at your side, buzzing with adrenaline. He held an arm down the hall, sighing in tandem. "Let's have a word in my office."

Bruce was going to make note of how they treated him and see to changing things. The guard tightened his restraints before stomping out and shutting the lights almost entirely, save the glow from the observation window which cast a sinister vibe about the room. The day had been erratic, a deluge of care professionals keeping the door on a swivel. He'd spoken to at least three different social workers, two on multiple occasions. A therapist had tried to discuss the event with him, and he could tell she believed not a single word. Everyone left with a sigh and a hurry like he was an unwelcome, parasitic guest.

He was floored when you'd arrived. He thought for sure you'd already left, and had felt a twinge of relief at you not having to know about this. He hadn't thought about paparazzi until every worker who entered his room assured him that he was booked under an alternate name, and 'no one' would find out about this. It only served to remind of what he'd tried to forget the past three years—that his mother had been here, too, and it had been weaponized against her. The scene from the night before replayed so vividly whenever he closed his eyes, leaving him unable to sleep, restless, struggling against the restraints as much as he could without alerting the camera to any signs of escape. He'd woken up here, Alfred telling him he'd just been transported from Gotham General. He was given a hefty dose of lorazepam at GG, and awoke here fully restrained. Alfred told him he was informed he'd tried to fight the nurses, scratching, kicking, and biting them. He didn't recall a second of it.

What he did recall was terror. Debilitating, horrifying, vice-grip terror. A few blocks south of your apartment, a large hooded creature wearing an owl mask had grabbed him by the neck. It was so fast he didn't realize what was happening until he thudded against a wall, cracking a rib and the brick in harmony. The dark abyss enveloped him then, slicing, tearing, and pummeling him against the concrete. In a desperate attempt to get through, Bruce had wrapped his hands around the creature's throat, applying disarming pressure, a level that would make any attacker fall to their knees. The creature had only intensified their attack, acting completely unphased. Bruce had staggered to his feet, spitting blood out of his mouth as he was run deep into the concrete, slammed into the jagged edge of a dumpster. At this point he feared for his life, the edges of his vision blowing out, darkening, every breath feeling like he was pulling out his intestines piece by piece. He wrapped both hands around the thing's neck, wrestling, squeezing, juicing its throat harder than he'd ever touched anyone in his life. A force that strong would have snapped a neck in two seconds, but: nothing. With a final heave, he felt himself lifted up and thrown through the air. The last thing he remembered was the mortifying sensation of spikes entering his skin.

He'd stopped relaying the story by the time the third social worker arrived. The first two had jotted down his words, nodded at all the right times, but looked at him like he was a zoo animal. It was all too reminiscent of when people had walked on eggshells two decades prior.

"I'm sure this feels distressing, Mr. Wayne."

"The witness said they saw you jump from the top of the Spriff building, landing in some brush."

"Mr. Wayne. Your guardian, Mr. Alfred Pennyworth relayed a family history of schizophrenia. Is this information new to you?"

At the end of every validating sentence was one discrediting his perception entirely. His breaking point came when Alfred entered teary, holding a wadded up, snotty tissue. He'd begged him to get help, and he nearly did just to alleviate his misery, but he couldn't. His Bat senses were tingling, desperate to hit the ground and investigate it. The face clearly matched the etchings, he still needed to follow up on the Electrum, see if it was a dead end... he had to visit Mayor Reál, talk to her about the election; he was so aware she was somewhere unreachable within these walls. What if they were gaslighting her just like him? What if he'd gotten too close, and this was an effort to subdue him? Had Alan's death been framed? Still, embers of shame stirred deep within, fueling the nagging, world-ending thought that he was merely searching for things to alleviate his fear, to keep his denial rooted and strong. That he was embarrassing himself, refusing to give in to the truth and accept reality.

"You must understand," Dr. Crane shut his office door and swiftly navigated to his desk. Various papers and medical journals, including a reference copy of the DSM, laid out across the tabletop. You stood opposite him, unable to contain the emotions barreling through you. "Safety is of the highest priority here at Arkham."

"He was crying—"

"He was growing agitated." Dr. Crane slapped his clipboard down between you. He heaved an exasperated sigh and leaned down to rummage through a filing cabinet. The folder he pulled had newly initiated crease lines. The room was silent aside from ruffling of thick papers and the tick of his watch. He tugged out a single page, the quality of the paper so poor you could see the text peeking through. "In Mr. Wayne's condition, any heightened emotion could cause an issue. Let's just say he didn't arrive restrained."

Over the next hour he sat with you to explain the protocol, sprinkling in a few sighs about how you hadn't told him you were staying. You'd forgotten it entirely, too sideswept by his cut body and annihilated spirit. You were able to get clarification about 'feelings over content', which was the thesis of the whole operation. "When we focus on the content, meaning 'what happened', we can further alienate and antagonize the patient. To them, their hallucinations are as real as our conversation right now. Imagine if right before your very eyes, I started trying to tell you what you are hearing, seeing, feeling, smelling, and tasting were not real. Pretty activating, correct?"

You'd squirmed in your chair a bit. "I'd feel gaslit. Maybe pissed off."

He snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Instead focus on the feelings. It is real to the person experiencing it. Often it's highly distressing for them. 'That sounds scary', 'How can I best support you through this?' If possible, try to distract. Anxiety can make delusions and hallucinations worse." After the hour was up, you'd left with a chock-full notepad of what to do once Bruce was released. The major themes were highlighted at the top:

- feelings, not content

- distract, soothe

- do not engage with hallucination, aside from naming your own perspective (reality testing)

- develop a reorienting code

- be on the lookout for triggers, symptoms, and effective ways of managing them (incl. 'seeking' behavior)

Bruce was to be released at eleven that evening, accounting for the hour spent at the hospital getting his wounds dressed and checking for internal bleeds. That's all you could make out, anyway, from the backwards text you'd struggled to read while Dr. Crane had perused through a stack of documents. The drive to your apartment left you sitting in your vigilance, questioning your next move. Would you go down to Arkham later to see him? Would you go to Wayne Tower? Both options felt too intrusive, and you were sure Alfred would be there early to retrieve him... by the time you arrived back you decided to stay put and call Dr. Crane in the morning for a follow-up.

The rest of the day was miserable. Part of you wanted to reach out to Mar, but it was vetoed by how unstable you felt; if she came over, you might slip and tell her everything. How had Bruce endured this for so long? Holding this secret and all its complexity was deeply isolating. You emailed Dr. Vry saying you'd be staying for at least a few more weeks, and she'd responded half an hour later saying that Dr. Crane had already informed her that you were to remain in your post for the near future. Every minute felt like hours; you'd taken three showers that day just to do something in between binging reality television and ordering takeout. The only furniture that hadn't been broken down by the morning was your bed and couch. Who needs a dining table anyway? Bridgit emailed to confirm receiving your copy, letting you know that Dr. Vry had cleared it without edit. Whatever pride you might have felt this morning at hearing that was no longer present. All you felt was fear; weighty, inescapable, all-encompassing anxiety at holding someone's life in your hands. Maybe he'll have a change of heart. Maybe he'll talk to Alfred tonight, everything will be fine.

Your doorbell rang at 11:30 that night, and you'd been cross legged in front of the door for the past half hour awaiting his arrival, unable to rest or relax. A few minutes before he knocked you'd felt like an idiot; he had no reason to come see you. Without even looking through the peephole you hurried the door open within a second of his knock, and he nearly bonked you in the face when you appeared in the doorway. You must've been waiting at the door. About to leave? "Can I come in?"

His voice was still liquid sandpaper. You moved out of the way and he walked in, not bothering to hide his obvious limp. You looked around for a chair, and gestured to the couch. He declined, opting instead to lean hard into the counter for balance. You stood an awkward distance away, nervous if you got too close he might bail. His eyes were still bright red, the gray pallor beneath his tired eyes appearing hollow in the low light. He was a bit hunched, the gauze on his body replaced with thick bandages. His sweater from before was replaced by a baggy black t-shirt with matching sweats. Past getting his bearings, he didn't waste time. "What exactly did they tell you?"

Since he was asking.. "They said you attempted suicide." You were banking on Dr. Crane's assurance that naming suicide wouldn't increase risk. He shifted uncomfortably, but it was impossible to tell if it was related to the conversation or his battered body. He scowled. "That's not what happened." His breathing was more labored now. His eyes searched your face for anything that believed him. Anything different than what he'd seen the past twenty-four hours.

You swallowed. "What happened from your perspective?"

He scoffed, the hope he'd had crushing to dust. "It's not about perspective, it's about what happened." He moved to run his hands through his hair but only made it halfway before the bandaging restricted him. "This thing, this creature, it came out of nowhere." His voice trembled. "It had the same face as the pins, like an owl, a bird, but huge." He tapped his foot with the soft cast anxiously. His eyes were wide as he tried to conjure words to accurately depict it. He could feel you weren't buying in, probably thinking he was crazy. He winced. "I know how it sounds,"

"It sounds terrifying."

His arms dropped limply at his sides. "I'm telling you, I've never experienced anything like it. No matter how hard I fought," He tripped over his words, waves of shame and frustration crowding his thoughts. "I tried to strangle it and I couldn't, I've never pressed that hard," His eyes were wet with angry, embarrassed tears. You nodded at him, the enunciation of your words clear and deliberate. "That's really scary."

You sounded just like the staff. He tucked his lower lip under his teeth. He stood there a moment, claustrophobic in the silence. His eyes shut and he shook his head at the ground, pursing his lips. "You don't believe me."

You stepped toward him and he bristled. "I believe you experienced that." Your brow furrowed, your hands clasped together wringing out the skin. His laugh was despondent, empty. He bit the inside of his cheek, anger straightening his posture to stand unsupported. "Don't coddle me."

"I'm not meaning to coddle,"

"I know what I saw!" His voice raised, exaggerating its huskiness. It was approximately this second when you regretted signing the forms, and wanted to slap Dr. Crane for ever putting you in this position. You had no concept of what to say outside of what you already had, the thought of changing the subject felt asinine and brutally disrespectful, and you were left to bear the brunt of the responsibility of the outcome. There was a reason people went to school for the better part of a decade to navigate these situations. Against your better judgement, wanting to show him you weren't coddling, you directly engaged with details of the night before—the few that you'd been given. "They said you jumped off a building and landed in some brush. Glass, thorns, branches." He noticed your eyes wander to his injuries. He shrugged—barely, as much as his body allowed. It read as a heave. "Alfred told me. That didn't happen."

You had to tread very carefully. "Isn't it curious, though?" You kept your tone warm, low, gentle. For what you were saying, how you said it was crucial. You pegged him as a logical man, someone highly analytical, cunning, detailed. Maybe the direct approach was more tailored to him. "You're hallucinating the same figure for months. And what you said about your family..." You let him fill in the rest.

Bruce was starting to get pissed off—at you, specifically. He couldn't forget that none of this had happened until you came into his life. Now his life was punctuated by—no, infested with these shitty, confusing, layered affairs that only made him look suspicious. He kicked himself for opening up about the owls—maybe you'd have believed him if he hadn't. He loathed how much your positions made sense, because they couldn't be farther from the actual truth; but how could he convince anyone, let alone you, about his character and sanity? He had nothing. No one vouching for him. Just the weight of his reputation and family preceding all interactions, clouding it until he was no longer a human being in his own right.

The extended silence unnerved you. His face twitched painfully. Meds! Good segue. You didn't know he was fighting a carousel of dystonic emotion, that he was only not running out without a second look because you knew him, and knew this, and no one else did. "Do you want pain meds? I think I have ibuprofen here," You walked to your barren medicine cabinet without awaiting his response... which didn't end up coming, anyway.

You stood clutching a travel bottle of Advil. The pills rattled as they settled. "Uh, Bruce?"

"If you really think I tried to kill myself, wouldn't I want to bask in the pain?" His tone was biting, sourced from the depth of his helplessness. "If I really did this to myself, why run from it?"

Dr. Crane said to look out for signs of agitation. "You don't have to suffer through it."

He shot a look at you that sent an arrow through your chest. It wasn't pity that cradled you seeing hot, angry tears bleed from his lash line, or fear noticing his clenched fists and trembling mouth. It was compassion—so compelling and isolated, wholly unaffected by guilt or grief. You set the bottle down. As your apprehension lessened, he felt the air shift; with it, his heart quickened remembering your hand on his cheek. He swallowed back his rage and bat his eyes to dry them. "Fine. I'll have some." You handed over the bottle and he popped a few in his mouth, dry swallowing before you could reach for a glass. He wanted to beg, and maybe he would've if his knees weren't ripped to shreds. 'Please believe me' sat on the tip of his tongue. Your head hung as you went to get a glass for yourself. The spigot creaked when you turned it on. He noted you rinse the cup twice before filling, and followed the rim to your lips. It was a few seconds before he thought to look away.

You pressed on, desperate to know if Dr. Crane and his team were able to get through to him. "Did you set up any long-term stuff?" The glass sat atop the counter, twirling between your fingers. He heard Alfred's popular refrain so clearly. How did no one realize how traumatic it would be to go back? To sit in the chair and have a stranger affirm his sickness? To have someone sit inside his head and deny the very thing that makes up a life: his experiences. "I didn't agree. Not going to." Short, simple... he grit his teeth when you didn't let it go.

"Wouldn't it be worth trying? If the medication helps, surely that could help with discernment—"

"I know what I saw."

"You need to be safe."

"Safety means not ignoring something that tried to kill me, Y/N." His full breaths pulled at the bandages greater now, edges of them peeking up. Panic welled up in him. Something was after him, and no one believed it. Why did he want you to believe it so badly? He hadn't even burned for Alfred to know this badly. Why did this conversation feel like nails on a chalkboard, why did a sob sit unwitnessed in his chest whenever you spoke? You sighed. "What if treatment helps that go away? Then you won't have to worry."

"What if it's waiting for my guard to slip?" He meant it as a comeback, a strong point in his favor, but his chest and your expression only deflated as he said it. This is pointless.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going out." Without any additional context, you could only think he meant as Batman. "What, to investigate?" Tell me you aren't.

"While everyone psychoanalyzes me, it could be attacking others." Seeking behavior. Seeking behavior, a phenomenon you'd never heard of prior to the meeting with Dr. Crane, explained as: a common compulsory act of investigation aimed at reducing distress stemming from disturbing hallucinations or delusions and usually present in the early stages of treatment. "Often with these patients we see a strong desire to 'prove' their hallucination; remember, their experiences are tangible to them—the denial is hard to shake. This seeking behavior can leave patients going to desperate lengths to finally find the proof that what they experienced was not just real to them, but fully real, many times placing themselves in dangerous situations to do so. If they do not find what they seek it can cause panic, aggression, and self-injurious behavior."

"Bruce," Oooh, that was starting to grate him again. "You can barely walk—"

"I'm fine."

"You're not!" His schtick was drawing ancient—you had half a mind to think Alfred no older than thirty-five, aged only by the sheer stress of Bruce's stubborn, life-risking denial. "You just got out of the hospital,"

He spoke through clamped teeth. "Mandatory minimum hold, customary and unnecessary."

"You could've died last night."

If he had a dollar for every time he heard that... well, he did, but being in this situation a thousand times over didn't make the conversation go down any sweeter. "But I didn't. Funny how that works."

Searing words sat unsaid within you. You ached to call him on his hardheadedness, to shout and argue until your voice matched his. But you bit your tongue and visualized the notepad alongside the Bruce who'd trembled beneath your fingertips. "I know this experience is a lot, and there's so much to grapple with. But you need to prioritize safety." You watched him scoff and close the gap between him and the door. "Even if you don't think it'll help. Even if it's just resting at home for a few days."

He felt the scalding heat of your concern like a branding iron. He turned the knob. "Thanks for the visit." He left while the edge of his sentence still hung in the air.

You'd called Dr. Crane as instructed a few minutes after he walked out. You were to contact him in some capacity if Bruce's safety was ever of even meager concern, and he would act as triage. He'd been very concerned, but applauded your focus on safety. "You're doing the right thing, Ms. Y/L/N." He'd posited the idea of a planned 'intervention' with him and Alfred, but you'd both quickly concluded that could cause more harm than help. The rest of the evening was spent distracting yourself off the edge of a panic attack.

You glazed over while mindlessly watching shows. The sun had shined strong for a few hours, and you closed the blinds to ensure the overcast light didn't burn you as you slept... like it ever had before. The only way sleep finally found you was by surprise, on the brink of passing out. This city was a fucking menace.

[vipvesper]

all is fair in love and war

pairing: octavian x child of bacchus!reader

warnings: octavian 😞, pining, minor cursing, spoilers for son of neptune!!

word count: 1.3k+

“i wish reyna would let me strangle you.”

Octavian? You hate him for the most part. You hate the storm swirling above the Temple of Jupiter that crackles with electricity as another teddy bear augury is completed. You hate the way his piercing blue eyes mock you from behind Reyna as you sit at a Centurion’s meeting. You hate his insane laughter that echoed in your ears 6 years ago when he mutilated your stuffed animal. You roll your eyes. Dakota’s red-ringed lips lazily speak orders to the Fifth Cohort, but nobody’s listening. We’re gonna soften the defenses. Again. Great. As if the looks on our faces afer stepping away from the Officer’s conference wasn’t bad enough, Dakota’s speech isn’t helping. He squeezes a packet of Kool-Aid.

“Listen, guys. This is gonna be a good one, I can feel it!” You take charge, opting to do the talking. “Hazel and Frank, I know you guys are still on the new side, but I think you can do this. First row, create a shield wall with Dakota as you advance to soften the blow. Second row from Cecil over, hide behind the shields to fight off any advancing defenses. The other twelve, try to sneak around the flanks and find a way in.” A smile pulls at your lips, moving your brother aside. “Let’s move out, troops! Victory for the Fifth!”

The child army echoes your cheer as your ranks break. A looming wall stands in front of you, cohorts three and four standing guard behind. How do we see past the wall? When it’s so tall? “I suppose we’re acting as bait again,” you murmur to Dakota.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Hannibal’s all ready?” You inquire, wanting to make sure your cohort gets the win they deserve. He nods, grabbing another juice out of his pocket.

The war games start, Reyna hovering overhead with Scipio. A circle of eagles fly in tandem with her, awaiting injury. You tag along with the twelve soldiers, attempting to find a crack in the wall, an unguarded plate. A tug pulls in your stomach, long green vines pushing out of the ground of the Field of Mars. Branches split off to grab your cohort, gently placing my teammates over the wall. It’s a struggle to keep Hazel and Frank quiet as they’re plopped right into enemy territory. The sounds of swords clashing rings out before you can even climb up yourself.

As you drop down, armor clinking together, the vines recede to leave a small scar in the earth. Wide blue eyes immediately stare back at you, coupled with the golden glint of a spatha. Great. Octavian’s here. Can’t give him a chance to think, you remind yourself. Your gladius makes a nice noise as you remove it from its sheath, pressing the flat against his smaller weapon. Before long, he’s disarmed. Unfortunately for you, he immediately starts to squawk, alerting any soldiers who might’ve still been preoccupied by their Mythomagic tournament.

“Backup! I need backup!” The lanky blonde yells, fumbling for his secondary weapon. A stray arrow whizzes past your ear as you lunge, grabbing him by his shoulder.

“Fifth cohort, for the colors!” Jonathan and Frank rush for their emblem, narrowly dodging flying furniture. Hazel’s backed into a corner by a First cohort member, her golden eyes filled with determination.

But, Tyche really isn’t on your side, is she?

A last minute elephant mishap knocks your troops away from the battlefield, wiping the scoreboard clean. Eagles swoop down to snatch up a good portion of the teenage militia.

You sit on a stone wall overlooking the city of New Rome, holding an icepack to your cheek. Guess Octavian had gotten you after all. A sigh rolls past your lips. The win was so close, it was right there. Bandages wrap around any minor cuts you may have acquired during the game. The all-too familiar crinkle of a Kool-Aid pouch makes you assume that Dakota had finally found you.

A rather soft object hits the back of your head.

It’s a freaking Kool-Aid packet. Grape flavored, at that.

“Wouldn’t Reyna like to know that her favorite Centurion is throwing a fit over a loss? What a sore loser,” a sarcastic voice jests. You grit your teeth, turning to face Octavian.

Curse him and his skinny body, his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes, his unblemished skin—

Woah.

Where did that come from?

“I’m looking for ways to better myself for my cohort. Not like you’d know anything about self-reflection,” You scoff. Much to your chagrin, the augur sits beside you. Phoebus Apollo rides close to the horizon, signaling the nearing arrival of dinnertime. “Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t,” he smirks. He looks quite stupid with those stuffed animals hanging from his belt, in your opinion. Seven stripes burn on his forearm under the symbol of an eagle, much like your own. His loose white toga hangs off his clothed shoulders. The sun radiates onto his pale skin, bathing him in a warm glow. Cocky bastard. He knows he’s pretty. “Do you have a staring problem?”

You snap back to reality real quick.

“No, I don’t.” You turn your head away, embarrassed. You weren’t staring, were you? Small vines decorated by bundles of purple grapes pop up around you, encircling the area. “Is there a reason you’re here? Or would you just like to gloat.”

Octavian reclines, pressing his hands on the green grass behind him. He picks a grape, tossing it at your temple. “I’m simply encouraging your improvement,” he teases.

“I wish Reyna would let me strangle you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

As you look out at the sunset, you don’t notice his eyes on you. You don’t notice the way his gaze trails over the bridge of your nose and your freckles and the rosy hue covering your cheeks like he’s committing the way you look at dusk to memory.

“Pretty night, huh?”

That’s unusual. Octavian making small talk?

“Yeah, it is.”

“You weren’t too bad today,” he mutters, very clearly avoiding his gaze. It’s very much unlike him to butter you up, even if he wants something.

“Thanks?” you tilt your head, confused by his praise. Should you be offended?

The two of you look out at the little Tiber rolling over the hills, basking in the golden hue painting the heavens. A long, cold hand drapes over yours eventually, gently squeezing. You jolt away, face pink as the clouds in the sky.

“The Pluto?!”

“Shut up.” He shoves something in your lap, and for a second you think it’s a grenade of Greek fire, set to explode as soon as he’s out of range. Tyche must feel sorry for her absence earlier.

A soft green material, as green as the grass, sits against your thighs, a happy smile staring up at you. It can’t be. A fuzzy memory returns to you, a feeling of nostalgia washing over you. A frog plush from long ago. Stitches a bit darker than the original fuzzy fabric reach from seam to seam, head to toe.

“What—?”

“Seriously, shut up. I found it tucked away, thought you’d like to see it again before it gets sacrificed to the gods again.”

You scoop up the piece of your childhood in your free hand, eyes wide as the cosmos. Before that little smirk on Octavian’s face can grow any further, a cold, hard object smacks him right across the face, sending him reeling.

“What the—?!”

“You little dick,” you huff, placing the icepack on the ground. “Thanks, I guess.”

He smiles—a real smile, however small—as he stares into your eyes. “You’re very welcome, love.” His alabaster face is painted red.

You shake your head, amused. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

Like a scene from a fairytale, his hand snakes its way onto your waist, the proximity only forcing more of your father’s fruit out of the ground.

“Like I’d listen to you,” he chides.

You lean forward, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss.

“I really am irresistible.”

“Shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

[finalgirlwillbyers]

Heyyy

I trust your judgment when it comes to proper characterization of Will and want to ask the following if you don’t mind 🎄

What are the chances that Will is going to start the season with a “love interest” already? I mean kind of like Steve was introduced to the audience - making out in school’s bathroom? I guess I am mainly curious if Will as a character could get with some random boy (let’s say from the basketball team) during the time skip? Let’s say someone attractive and relatively nice hits on him, would he get involved with the guy? Also, would he start some secret relationship with someone he does not feel emotionally connected to?

Thanks.

There is a 0% chance of Will starting the season with a new love interest (who I call Random Guy #9). There is a 0% chance of Will entertaining another guy, outside of it being a 10 second gag. There is a 0% chance of Will considering requited romance as a real possibility for himself.

Will entering a romantic relationship is payoff for his growth. Said growth isn't "complete" yet. Not only is Will introverted and shy, Will is also closed-off. You need to be open to be in a relationship.

When S4 ended, Will--

1. was in love with Mike and unable to articulate his feelings in a way Mike understood. Plot line unresolved.

2. shared that he felt like a mistake. Self-loathing has never been addressed in show. Plot line unresolved.

3. was called out for talking to Jonathan less. Will is still hiding and isolating. Plot line unresolved.

4. was unable to communicate his sexuality, fearing rejection. Plot line unresolved.

5. was burdened by his connection to the Upside Down and Vecna, left vulnerable to evil. Plot line unresolved.

He's a Byers, the show's masochists. They love pining when there's "no hope" and self-flagellation. No wonder Hopper is marrying in /j.

I like the idea of Will trying to "move on," taking chances, and exploring his sexuality beyond Mike. But, I also understand that this isn't possible with how the show is written. This is why fanfic exists.

Will is the character having extreme difficulty moving on from previous events. His supernatural trauma has compounded with his real world struggles. He hates himself, and he blames himself (for real or imagined and supernatural or natural reasons).

He isn't in a good place. Quite frankly, he needs to be in a bad place in order to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors. That's not just Billy and Vecna but also El and Max.

The Duffers need to write Will overcoming a myriad of emotional, psychological, and physical obstacles for a relationship with another person to be possible, even if it's Random Guy #9. It gets more complicated with Mike, but I digress.

Will is a lonely figure. He struggles to be seen truly by those around him. This isn't just because he's hiding but also because those around him are preoccupied with their own problems. With that in mind, it doesn't make sense that Random Guy #9 sees Will or that Will allows himself to be seen (prior to his coming-of-age).

[edward-munson]

"Bad Reputation" - Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Summary: You wanted to pretend you were going out with someone as the guy from school insists on hooking up with you. Among the people at a party, you choose Steve Harrington, who has a bad reputation.

Warning: Cursing, fluffiness, alcohol

Word count: 3.1k

Someone from school was throwing a party you weren't supposed to be at, but you went to anyway. Robin made you go with her so you would do something on the weekend.

And then she dragged the whole gang with her, including the kids - the kids were actually 18 now.

Among too many people, you were trying to squeeze between them so you didn't bump into Riley, because he was insisting too much on hooking up with you for weeks.

You were thinking about hitting on someone just so you could get rid of him, but the only guys available, which you would hook up, included Eddie, who was getting high with his friends.

Jonathan, but he was too preoccupied with Nancy, and... Steve Harrington. You didn't know him well enough, and he was really involved in just talking with Dustin and Mike and some other guys, drinking some beer.

The fact he wasn't hooking up with any girl was weird, but understandable.

It's not like he was still that guy who would make a line so girls with kiss him. His bad reputation ended up making him become different than that guy.

You thought to yourself, that maybe if you could ask him a favor, you could make Riley give up on you.

Not that it was the greatest idea, but Eddie wasn't actually really into hooking up at parties and you were somewhat friends.

You walked towards the boys and Dustin and Mike ceased the conversation just to have a look at you. Henderson gave you a smirk and you thought it was cute.

You noticed Steve made the same course as them and stared at you. Well, you made it halfway, might as well just finish it.

"You're Steve Harrington, right?", you asked as he nodded, puffing his chest. He was "retired" from being a jerk, and now the girls would usually hit on him.

"Yeah, that me", he said as he gave a side smile to the other boys. Both of them gave him a grimace look, leaving you both alone. "And who are you?".

"I'm (Y/N). Can you do me a favor?", you were looking around you as you tried to find Riley. Harrington wasn't really getting your point, but nodded anyway.

"I'm trying to get rid of a guy, can you pretend we're going out?". You spoke close to his ear as the music was too loud.

"Uh, sure. But you know I have a bad reputation, right?", he questioned, like it's a warning. You honestly don't care at all, because you don't judge people either way.

"I don't mind, really. And I don't see it that way". You smile at him, you really didn't.

"You're not pranking me, are you?". He sounds really suspicious and it almost makes you gasp.

"Why would I do that?", you seemed kind of offended, he was playing defensive. "Look, are you gonna help me or not?".

Steve looked like he was having a meltdown, he took too long to think and you were already giving up your decision. Maybe it would've been better to ask Eddie, he's always doing crazy shit anyway.

"Fine", he gave in. "And what's in for me?", Steve asked and you grinned at him, sipping on your beer. "You know what? I've got something better. I pretend to be your hook up, and you help me get my good reputation back".

You almost snorted, why would he, of all the things he could ask for, want to have a reputation after all?

Although you knew he was always a jerk to girls, he would always be the least of the romantic, always getting in trouble for going out with committed girls as well.

Maybe it wasn't a bad idea after all, he was nice, you've heard. Robin was his closest friend and she sure would never lie about him.

You found Riley walking around with a friend and immediately crashed your lips against Steve's. He wasn't really waiting for that so it was a sloppy kiss at first, just pecking.

He wrapped your waist with one of his arms while holding the beer with the other. He tasted like cinnamon as he was chewing a gum and it made you melt down under his kiss.

You opened one of your eyes slightly as you watched Riley leave. You broke the kiss and looked and Steve, who was still shocked by your sudden approach.

"Wow, could've warned me first", he said as he rubbed one hand against his soft hair and you chuckled.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were expecting it", you used your thumb to clean up your smudgy lipstick on his lip.

"Not that fast, honestly", he gives you a nervous grin. "Who is the guy, by the way?". Harrington asked as he followed you to the kitchen. You were looking for something stronger. You needed something to get through the night.

"Riley Edwards he's on the band group. Robin probably knows him". You found a bottle of Gin and decided to make yourself a Gin Tonic.

Steve was just behind you as you were making the drink. You probably didn't know what to do next, you just know you're supposed to be kissing when the guy is around.

But other than that, what are you going to do when he's not around? Maybe kiss him again properly would be nice.

"I already said no to him. But he's too persevering", you finished your drink and almost chugged it entirely.

Steve watched you with his brows furrowed. "Jesus, easy with that".

"You're not playing boyfriend here", you provoked.

You laughed at his sudden worriness and offered him the cup. He grabbed it and sort of savored it first before drinking it. His face went bloody red and he almost choked.

"Fuck, this is strong as hell, (Y/N)", you were still chuckling watching him scrunching his nose.

"Yeah well, don't act like a baby girl", you drank the entire cup and decided to make another one, while he rolled his eyes to your response.

"We said we'll help each other out, right. How am I going to pretend to be your hook up if you're hammered?", Steve had a point though.

And then you decided you would slow down on the alcohol. Maybe later probably. You found a tequila bottle and placed it on the sink as you looked for shot glasses.

He looked at you and shook his head. "Nope. No, no, no. I am not drinking that. Forget it".

You gave him a side smile, Steve still held a grumpy face because that wasn't what he signed up for.

You filled the glasses and went looking for some lime, only to find all of them were already in the trash.

Harrington was still in disbelief. "Fuck, I don't drink that without a lime".

"Oh my gosh, how do you want a reputation if you can't even fucking drink a tequila shot?".

"Well, I don't drink tequila shots, for starters", he retorted.

"If you do it, I'll flash you", you saw his eyes brighten up and he downed it all. He hissed at the taste and chugged on his beer.

You did you shot and closed your eyes. This was probably the strongest tequila you've ever had in your life. You leaned against the sink and took a deep breath.

"Now flash me", Harrington sat on the table, making a "come here" gesture and you burst out into laugh.

"Oh, Steve. I was just kidding", you squeezed his cheek and he frowned. It made you laugh harder.

"You manipulated me!", he shook his head as he watched you still laughing at him.

"Maybe I'll do it, who knows?", you respond.

You opened the fridge looking for a beer, grabbing one bottle and leaving to the backyard holding Steve's hand. He was on your tail still trying to get rid of that horrible taste.

Madonna was blasting outside and you saw Robin dancing with a girl, you couldn't but hold a smile at her.

She was having so much fun and she deserved to. Steve grabbed you by your waist while dancing and you thought it wouldn't be a terrible idea to dance with.

The alcohol started to make its way through your system and you knew it will soon hit your head. But you didn't care at that moment, because you wanted to have fun as well.

He was intently resting his face against your shoulder and you laughed at the way he was playing an affair so perfectly. Or maybe he was already too drunk too.

You spinned around to face him and he definitely had a drunk smile on his face. His hair was kinda messy and he smelled like Calvin Klein and tequila.

"How am I doing?", he asked as he still danced, twirling you around him and you chuckled.

"Better than I expected", you said. "How are you not hitting on girls in this place?".

He had a different look in his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders. Steve sipped the rest of his beer and licked his lips. Suddenly you felt very attracted to him.

"I don't care about that anymore. I just want people to realize I'm different now".

"And yet you still want to rebuild your reputation", you retorted him and he leaned against the wall. One of his knees bent over as he rested his foot there.

"I don't wanna be the bad guy anymore", he seemed upset. Things with Nancy didn't go well either, that was when he realized he needed a change.

"You know what I think?", you asked as you got closer to him. He raised his eyebrows waiting for your answer. "I think you look very pretty right now".

You grabbed him by his colar and he stiffened against your touch. "And you don't seem to be a bad guy at all. But I'll help you fix it". As you finished your line he leaned on to kiss you.

It was an intentional kiss with a mixture of booze and desire. He was obviously very attracted to you as well and made it clear as his tongue touched yours.

He grabbed your hip firmly with one free hand and deepened the kiss, tasting every bit of you. You gritted his tongue between your teeth and heard him groan, amused.

Harrington twisted you around and pulled you against the wall, almost merging into your body as he started to kiss you faster. You were lightheaded over the alcohol and the kiss, nibbling on his lower lip and he rubbed his finger against your skin.

It didn't last too long as you heard someone behind you. "Well, holy fucking shit", the voice said. You and Steve both opened your eyes at the same time, he even loosened his touch against you.

Billy Hargrove stood behind you and laughed along with his friends from the basketball team. "If it isn't King Steve fucking Harrington working his way up to someone's pants".

His words were nasty and you felt Steve growing mad in front of you. He turned his torso around and faced Billy, who was holding a sarcastic smile on his face.

"Just get lost, Hargrove", he said, feeling a little groggy from the tequila and the other one laughed. Everyone around stopped their dancing to stare at them.

"No, you know my favorite hobby is to never leave you alone", Billy stated, sipping on his beer.

You couldn't be more stressed over this, you just wanted to have a good time. You should've known he was going to make an entrance and make someone's life a living hell, and it always had to be Steve.

"Whatever man, I'm not playing your game", Harrington said and faced you. He tried to ignore Billy but the guy just wouldn't stop being an asshole. "I'm sorry you have to go through this".

His words were so soft and warm and it made you feel angry by the way Hargrove just makes someone uncomfortable and it wasn't right. It was just so messed up.

"Why don't you go find someone's pants yourself, hm? You think you're so different from everyone else but you're just another asshole", you pointed at him and he furrowed his brows, still chewing a gum.

"Steve Harrington is a great guy. He's mature enough now to realize he was a jerk and he's not like that anymore. Now, if you'll excuse us, you're disturbing my moment with him, at least he's getting in someone's pants", you finished as you pulled Steve close to you.

On purpose, of course, you made him grab your ass as you gave him a feral kiss and he responded to it the same way as you. Harrington felt his head pound over the stress and the way you pulled him against you.

You heard when people around you booed Billy and cheered, throwing plastic cups over him and the basketball team. You waited until he left to break the kiss, but Steve kept on going, squeezing your ass and moving his tongue too fast.

A moment after that and he had to pull some air into his lungs, laughing. "Shit, you just- that was so wild". He pecked your lips, licking them.

"Think you still want a reputation?".

"Fuck no, doesn't matter if it worked or not", he gave you an honest smile, holding your waist too close to him. You felt that part of your skin become numb.

"That's good for you. You don't need to be so dependen-", he cut you off as he cupped your face and gave you another kiss.

Steve took his time to taste you with a slow kiss, holding you against his firm hands, savoring your taste. You didn't have time to react as he grabbed your hands and dragged you inside the house, going upstairs.

Obviously you knew what was going to happen, and unlike you thought, you were hoping for it. Not because it was Steve, but because the way he's been treating you the whole night.

He didn't stop between groups to show off, he didn't brag about winning another night.

He made a mental note to himself he wouldn't fuck anyone at the party, but the way you were looking at him and the way you reacted to his touch gave him fuel to his body. Maybe it was also because of the alcohol.

He never liked to mix drinks because of the way he tends to act around people, like it would be different this time. He found a spare guest room and closed the door with a kick, hovering over you in the bed.

Harrington hit his knee on the corner of the bed and yelped, making you laugh. "Fuck. Shit".

"Such a smooth way to get into someone's pants", you say as you chuckle, looking at the stare he gave you.

"Shut up or I'll rip your clothes off", he warned before leaning over you, spreading wet kisses on your skin.

"Yes, please", you whine. Steve feels his body shiver by the way you say it and sucked on your neck. If it gets a hickey or not, you will not care about it on the next day.

He took a long time on the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume and the smell of your skin. His hands were properly rubbing your inner thighs and your core squeezed.

His bulge started to grow and he felt an intense urge of pounding on you all night. But something inside his guts tells him otherwise and he breaks the contact, and you flinch.

"Everything okay?", you squeeze his wrist lightly and he rubs his hand against his silky hair. He hums before sighing heavily.

"Yeah, fuck. Sorry. Shit", you don't understand squat he's complaining about. His dick is pressed against his jeans, almost crying for help.

"Steve?", you coax. He looks at you like he's having trouble fixing his thoughts.

"I don't wanna be this guy. Like, this", he mentions with his index fingers, pointing at him and the bedroom. "God, I wanna make things right. I wanna have sex, not fuck around".

Okay, he's drunk. But this talk is kind of nonsense to you.

"Is this because of what happened? Because I don't give a single fuck", you explain, watching him sit next to you. He shook his head.

"No, not at all. I don't wanna fast forward moments like that, around too many people. Yeah I think it's hot as fuck and I'll probably cum in like three minutes, which is exactly my point here. I wanna appreciate things", he made a speech you were not in the mood to hear because you wanted to suck on him so bad.

But then you realized what he meant. It's supposed to be a fuck and nothing else, and that wasn't what you really wanted. You wanted a relationship, a commitment.

"Maybe this is a drunk talk but I've been feeling like that for a while. And on that note I realized you didn't come after me because it was me, because obviously you would find someone better than me. Eddie would be a nice option", he grasped one hand on your thigh, softly.

"But I look at you and I see you don't care about how people look. And I really dig that", Steve wouldn't shut up and you just wanted to kiss him. But if you laughed he would be offended, so you let him speak. "And now I feel such a douche, I look so needy when I'm drunk. Fuck me".

You laughed at the way he said it and he looked at you, chuckling.

"Steve, I get that. I get you. I don't like it either, but I just thought 'why not?'. And it's okay to not want that. I mean your crotch says otherwise, but I understand it", you joke about his bulge and he leans against the bed, hiding his face with one hand and holding his crotch with the other.

"Fuuuuck. Alright, show's over. I'm definitely going to need a thousand shots after that". Harrington got himself up and walked to the the room. "Care to join me?".

"Hm, I have a better idea", you grab his hand and pull him across the house, making your way outside.

"Where we going?".

"To my house. We're going to listen to some nice and less loud music, eat some snacks and then maybe have proper sex". You stop walking, only to look at him as you speak into his ear. "Without anyone else around".

His face brightens up and he pulls you closer before you can walk again. "You just made your way to my heart instead", he says giving you a soft and gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I wanna pick the songs", Steve stabilished while grabbing your hand, walking on the sidewalk by your side.

You didn't care you left the party with King Steve, per se. He was definitely getting under your pants, but with a meaning. You laughed at the way he said he wanted to pick the music, and then it came to your head that this is the result of a great idea you had, only because someone wouldn't stop being so annoying.

[summercourtship]

Hiii, I love your work!

Could I request something like prompt 96 (“You look a bit tied up, want me to come back later?”) and expanding on Jonathan being very excited about the reader being his patient at the asylum 😳

Thank you!  Okay, so what I imagine happened here was that Jonathan managed to get her committed to the asylum after the whole ‘helping Edward escape and keeping him in her apartment and also stealing medical records’. Does it make sense that she’d be committed? Not really, but this is also Gotham and he’s also very persuasive (see: Batman Begins). This backstory doesn’t matter but I like to have it. Tbh might have to expand this bc I’m obsessed with this (not me thinking about writing an AU of my own gd fic)

Warnings: dubcon, obvious power imbalance, restraints, possessive behavior, a solid mature rating. minimal proofreading.

stbotdi anniversary special

 Jonathan watched from outside of the cell, his face carefully composed and expressionless as he looked through the small window into the derelict room. Any passing nurse or orderly would think he was just observing the patient inside, doing his duty before deciding on her treatment. After all, her transition into the asylum had been shaky and he was her doctor. Not that any nurses or orderelies would be passing by her room, anyway.

Bracing himself, he entered the cell. 

At the slow metal creak of the door opening, her head lifted up off the bed, taking in his appearance for a second before her expression twisted into a snarl, her teeth bared. 

“Get me out of here.” She was carefully still now, though he knew her mind was almost entirely preoccupied with the restraints on her wrists and ankles keeping her virtually immobile. But she was being a good girl, staying still and trying to show that she could be trusted enough to be untied. He sighed her name, looking down towards the thin folder he had clasped in his arms which was labeled with her name and patient number.

“You committed some pretty heinous crimes-”

“Heinous, my ass.” She spat, dropping her head back on the flat mattress with a dull thud. “You know I don’t belong here, Jon-”

“Dr. Crane.” 

“Fuck you.” 

She’s lashing out like a fox with its foot caught in a trap. 

Jonathan blinked once at her, letting silence fall over the tiny cell again until the only sound was the slight hissing from the rusty pipes that ran along the ceiling. With his eyes, he traced the lines of the pipes around the room, his head tilted back so he wasn’t looking at her when he spoke. A perfected imitation of distraction, one that worked all too well on her. 

“You look a bit tied up right now, I’ll come back later-” He turned, lingering at the door handle and counting down the seconds until-

“Wait!” He looked back over her shoulder at her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of completely turning around. She was struggling against her restraints again. He preened at the fact that even though she hated him- but only in that moment, she’d come back around to her infatuation- she was desperate to keep him in the room with her. Afraid of being alone. “Can you-” She fell back against the bed, exhausted. The sedative they’d administered upon her arrival must still be in her system, though it was clearly working its way out if her earlier viciousness was anything to go by. “Can you at least untie me?”

She’d put an affectation over her voice, something she’d used a few times when they’d been intimate before. Pitiful, pouting, pleading. Jonathan weighed his choices carefully, torn between the trust he would gain by releasing her with the control he would maintain by keeping her tied up. 

But then again, he had her here indefinitely. He had plenty of time to try both options, and more. No one wanted to be the one to defend the girl who helped the Riddler escape. Not even the Batman was coming to save her from the shackles she’d forged herself. 

Deciding then and there, he spun around. 

Jonathan could practically feel her sigh of relief as he sat at the edge of her bed, placing her file on the floor next to it, even though she was pointedly not looking at him. He reached down to her leg, running his hand down her bare calf. He could feel her shiver beneath his touch, though she was barely acknowledging his presence. 

He fiddled with the ankle restraint, moving his eyes from the leather strap up her body. She was staring at him now, her chest rising and falling steadily like she was carefully regulating her breath. Deftly, he undid the restraint before he could change his mind. But instead of letting her leg go, he kept it in his hand. He brought her ankle to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the tender skin before finally placing it onto the bed. 

Turning his attention to the other restraint, he repeated the process. Caressing her leg, undoing her binding, bending to place a kiss on her skin. She watched, the entire time, lips parted. 

He shifted, moving so he lay halfway on top of her, slotting one of his legs between hers.

“What about my arms?” She said, once his face was close enough to hers that she could get away with whispering.   

“I think I’ll leave them bound.” Jonathan whispered back, watching as her face turned from confusion to dread. “I thought about this months ago, before I even took you home that first time. Locking you away, where only I could get to you.” He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her sweaty face, her eyes bewildered as she looked up at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her lips. 

His hand moved down her body, briefly lingering on her breast before venturing to the hem of the hospital gown they had her wearing. He much preferred the gown on her than Arkham’s typical uniform, especially since it made it so easy to slip his hand underneath and find her clothed cunt, already damp from her arousal. 

Her legs, no longer bound, fell apart at his touch. Jonathan pushed the fabric of her underwear aside, exposing her wet folds to his touch. She gasped, a loud inhale, when he finally ran his fingers over her with no barriers to soften his touch. 

“Jon-” She stopped speaking at the sharp look he gave her, quickly correcting herself. “Dr. Crane.” 

He wondered if she could feel his hard length pressing against her thigh, if she could feel the way it twitched when she called him by his earned title. 

“Fuck me, please.”

Oh, he was glad to oblige her request. 

And he was even more glad that she had been put at the end of a seldom-used hallway in the asylum, so that when he fucked her so that the bed creaked against the screws it was secured to the floor with, that when her gasps became shouts, that when his possessive whispers turned into low growls, no one would be around to hear it. 

[cherubcameron]

Here with you

Steddie x reader

The boys knew something was going on between you, Eddie and Steve. They could see it from a mile away. Lucas was the first out of the bunch to bring it up to the older boys. Maybe they’ll be honest.

“So, you guys and y/n?” He asked, he knew it wasn’t a three way kind of thing. Only that the two boys had a thing for you. But he wanted to milk out as much as he could. Both boys looked at each other then at the younger boys in front of them.

“What about her?” Eddie asked, almost defensively. Oops, wrong way to approach this situation.

“Uh- just we noticed you guys have a-.”

“Jesus Christ, we know you both have a thing for her.” Dustin said bluntly. Mike hit Dustin on the shoulder and Dustin just shrugged. He wasn’t one to hold back and he wasn’t going to do that in this situation either.

“Uh-.” Steve said.

“You don’t have to tell us.” Will said, he didn’t like this. He felt like it was heading in unwanted territory. Eddie had been quiet before this now he felt the need to speak up.

“No no, what are you guys trying to ask? If we’re in a relationship together because we’re not. We just- we don’t know who she would pick if she had to.” Eddie said, he sounded anxious. Eddie Munson wasn’t the anxious type. Maybe in high stake situations but this wasn’t that.

“What do you mean pick?” Nancy and Robin had entered the room and looked between all the boys. Jonathan and Argyle close behind, Steve closed his eyes and put his hand on his temple.

“Pick what? Who’s picking?” Robin asked after Nancy. Eddie put his face in his hands. The younger boys recoiled at the way the older kids reacted. This wasn’t how they wanted to get information on the situation.

Before they knew it, Max and Eleven walked into the room. They were laughing at something they said to each other. Then they saw how everyone in the room looked.

“You guys okay?” Max asked.

“We’re trying to find out who’s picking whatever it is they’re picking.” Robin replied, Nancy nodded staring at both boys then at the younger ones.

“They both like y/n.” Dustin said.

“Dustin!” Steve and Eddie said in unison. Dustin rolled his eyes. “What! You morons wouldn’t say it.” Steve threw a paper at Dustin’s head, Dustin pull out his middle finger.

“What about her?” Jonathan asked, sitting on the couch. Arygle had gotten preoccupied in the kitchen to care about their conversation.

“We don’t know who she would choose if she had to between us.” Eddie said, he was looking down at the table. Nancy sat down next to Jonathan.

“Why not put it to a vote? We put down who we think she’ll choose.” Lucas said, he felt bad about the whole thing already. Maybe this would help things?

Oh how wrong he was, when everyone had written on their little papers and Lucas had collected them. Steve had won overall vote. He looked over at Eddie, it seemed like he knew what the paper said before Lucas said it out loud. Steve didn’t even look over at Eddie, he knew.

“Steve won overall vote.” The look of hurt was written on Eddie’s face. Eddie didn’t speak, he didn’t say anything. Almost like if he knew what the verdict was going to be before he said it. Lucas winced, he didn’t realize this idea made things even worse.

“Uh-.” Robin said. “Who wants to watch back to the future? Yeah, let’s watch back to the future.”

Everyone sat down and didn’t say anything to each other. Eddie had left early that day and everyone in their own way felt guilty.

●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘

When you found out about the voting, you were pissed off. You hated when people tried to speak on your behalf. Or tried to interject themselves into your decisions. You stared at the party with anger. Steve stood next to you, the only person you weren’t mad at.

“It was my dumb idea, I’ll take credit for that.” Lucas said, a guilty expression on his face. You looked over at him.

“Look, whoever I decide to “pick” is my business. And my business alone. I don’t need anyone making it for me. And who said I was going to choose anyone.” You said, you felt Steve’s eyes on you as you spoke. You looked up at him, his eyes told you a story about heartbreak. One you’ve known because he told you and one you had to figure out by the way his eyes dimmed as he said it.

“I have to go talk to Eddie. Come on Steve.”

Steve drove you to Eddie’s trailer, silence between the two of you was louder than it usually was. Usually though, it was a comfortable silence. This one was too tensed.

“Uh y/n?” He said, his eyes still on the road.

“Yeah?”

“Not saying you have to choose, but uh I just need to know. Do you- do you like me?” He asked, you felt his eyes on you for a brief time.

“Of course I do Steve. But I also like Eddie. So you can see how that complicates things.”

Eddies trailer was in sight and Steve glanced over at you. He smiled a small smile at you.

“Choose wisely.”

Eddie was busy trying to tune his guitar to have heard you guys come in. Once he saw you guys at the door. He knew.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here ya know. I can take care of myself. Just fine.” Eddie said, placing his precious guitar back on the wall. You sighed and sat on his bed.

“Stop the shit, Munson. I know when you’re hurting. Right now is not the time for that.” You said, your arms were crossed. Both boys stared at each other before sitting on opposites sides of you.

“Look, I know you and Harrington knew each other longer. I get it. I’m the stranger who barge into your love story.”

You put your hands on your head. Shaking your head slowly.

“Never said I was going to choose. Never asked for people to speak for me, Eddie.” You stared him down until he looked away. You sighed, you turned to look over at Steve. There was a hurt expression on his face.

“I want the both of you. But I don’t know if either of you would compromise.” You went on. Eddies face turned into a mixture of confusion and suspension.

“What are you trying to say? You want us to be a threesome?”

“Polyamory is a thing, you know. And I know you never cared for what other people thought.” You turned to Steve. “You on the other-.”

“I’ll do anything, anything to be with you.” Steve said, his hand now on your back. Eddie looked at him and a smile began to form.

“Sounding a little desperate, aren’t we Harrington?”

Steve glared at him before looking back at you. “So that’s a yes?” You asked.

Both boys couldn’t make it to you fast enough. Both of them ready to devour you whole. They could try and see where it went. That was what they could do. Eddie had you by your back as Steve kissed you.

“You sure about this?”

“No shit.”

[stonathans-mystical-realm]

Keeping Steve safe is Jonathan's top priority

Jonathan also was scared running trying to survive and was still looking after Steve to protect him and keep him safe even while running. Jonathan warned Steve to jump over the trap and if he hadn’t, Steve would have gotten trapped and they could have done nothing to save him once the demogorgon reached him. Steve would have died if Jonathan hadn’t warned him and been more focused on Steve’s safety atm than his own. Its the point that thanks to Jonathan valuing Steve’s life more than his own, thats what saved Steve.

Its the fact that Jonathan is being so protective of Steve during all of this too. See it from his pov. He’d have to keep looking around to see where Steve is while this is all going on, make sure Steve is safe and think to save him from incoming danger [like the demogorgon, like the trap], ext… Jonathan had himself and Nancy to worry about and had to deal with the current battle with the demogorgon, but his main concern was ‘Is Steve safe?’ I got to warn him and save him and make sure he stays safe.

Just think that instead of Jonathan running, after he rescued Nancy, Jonathan didn’t. He checked around to make sure Steve got out safely Jonathan could have been killed for that hesitation, but it didn’t matter. He stopped to think and check if Steve got out ok and when he saw Steve was frozen in fear, he saved him and made sure he got out safely.

And then the trap, he thought oh no Steves gonna step on that, get trapped, and then get killed by the demogorgon, and tells Steve when to jump. Anyone else would be preoccupied with keeping themselves safe, but Jonathan isn’t thinking of himself here like other people would, he keeps worrying about Steve more and thinking of him the whole time and ways to keep Steve safe. That’s the most important thing to Jonathan atm.

[lovelyatomicpeace]

Guiding Light

Plot: Steve suddenly lost his father and doesn't know what to do, but luckily y/n is there for him.

Warnings: Sadness, crying, comfort, flashback

A little ff that I created from an idea that came to mind. Enjoy ❤️

As the sun began its slow descent behind the treetops of Hawkins, the air filled with the cool bite of autumn, Y/n ran down the familiar road toward Steve's house. His heart was pounding, not just from sprinting, but from the weight of urgency and grief. The news of her father's sudden death had reached her painfully, like broken glass on a marble floor with which she felt all too intimate.

Steve and his father had never had such a close bond. Their conversations were usually abrupt, punctuated by misunderstandings and the silent tension of unfulfilled expectations. Y/n had watched from afar, every argument and every harsh word exchanged between them etched pain in her heart. She knew Steve needed her now more than ever. As she reached the front steps of Steve's house, she hesitated for a fleeting moment. She could hear the sound of muffled voices inside: friends and family gathered, each carrying the weight of their grief. But that was the last thing he thought about as he stretched toward the doorbell. She was not there for pleasantries; she was there to be his anchor. The door opened and there appeared Steve, disheveled and pale, his brown eyes wide and glassy.

Before she could even formulate a greeting, he collapsed in her arms, the dam breaking as he sobbed into her shoulder. It was the kind of heartbreak that echoed in the pit of her stomach; she held him tighter, feeling his tears against her neck, the tremors of loss shaking them both.

"I can't..." he gasped between breaths.

Y/N tightened his grip, cradling him as he cried. "It's okay, Steve. I'm here," he whispered, in a calm voice as if he could channel his pain through words.

The usually cavernous house was now full of people: friends and familiar faces were scattered, hushed whispers mingled with the subdued background of soft music coming from the living room. Lucas sat with Max, their usual quarrels absent. Dustin was solemn, preoccupied with scraping a nonexistent splinter in the sofa. Robin and Nancy clutched each other, offering silent support, while Jonathan and Will exchanged glances that said much about the pain they shared. Mike sat off to the side, fingers intertwined with El's, both looking lost. As the commotion hummed slightly behind her, Y/N guided Steve into the living room, away from prying eyes. The light filtering through the drawn curtains cast shadows but also warmth; it felt like a cocoon, a safe space in which to share his vulnerabilities. Gently, she led him to the couch, where they sank together, the outside world temporarily forgotten: one of his knees resting on the floor as he bent over her. She ran her fingers through his hair, reassuring him, rooting him on.

"I couldn't even say goodbye to him," Steve said in a choked voice, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. "We had to make things right-it was my last chance, and I blew it."

"You didn't ruin anything, Steve," Y/N reassured him, in a firm voice. "You loved him, even with all the hard things. That's all that matters now."

"Yes, but it wasn't enough," he murmured, lowering his gaze to the floor. "He never understood me. My whole life has been a struggle for his approval that I never got."

"Sometimes people are just ... complicated. Your relationship was not easy, but you still meant a lot to him. You were his son," Y/N replied softly. "You showed him love in the ways you could."

"Why did he have to be such a jerk to me?" he croaked, wiping tears from her face with the back of her hand. "He was so consumed with his life that he never stopped to listen ... to understand anything about it." Y/n nodded, her heart aching. She had witnessed Steve's struggles, his attempts to gain acceptance and recognition from a father who had inadvertently rejected him. The loss of a parent was complex enough, but when mixed with unresolved feelings, it turned into something even more bitter.

Steve stood in front of her, lost, remembering his last argument with his dad:

It was one of those stormy afternoons when the thunder rumbling overhead echoed the tensions brewing in the Harrington mansion. A heavy downpour painted its chaos against the large windows, mirroring the struggle that was brewing between Steve and his father. The opulent surroundings of the estate looked like a gilded prison. Steve stood defiantly in the spacious living room, his muscles tense with anger.

"Dad, I'm not going to trade school! You can't make me!" shouted Steve, the resolve in his voice trembling to the edge of desperation.

His father, Robert, sat behind a polished mahogany desk, his fingers intertwined under his chin. The man was the epitome of success, a tycoon respected and feared in equal measure. "I can and I will, Steven. You don't even want to follow in my footsteps. You want to waste your life chasing ... what? You want still to work for a stupid video store? You're not cut out for that."

"I'm not cut out for it either!" spat Steve, gesturing to the room full of memorabilia, awards and an expectation he couldn't stand. "I hate your idea of success. You want me to be your perfect little clone, and I won't do it! I refuse to be part of your empire!"

Robert's eyes squinted, his voice deceptively calm. "There are choices in life that shape your future, Steve. You think you have it all figured out, but you're just a child playing at adulthood. I have sacrificed so much for this family; the least you can do is live up to the legacy."

"Sacrifice?" Steve's voice cracked, the weight of lost years overwhelming him. "You never sacrificed anything for me! You were too busy building your empire to notice me!"

"Do you think this is easy? Do you have any idea how hard I worked?" retorted Robert, rising from his chair, anger exploding. "Look at you, look at what you are! A failure! You're a disappointment!"

Disappointment. The word hung in the air, choking, as if it had just settled in Steve's chest. That word shattered something deep inside him, igniting a longing for freedom he had never known existed.

"That's not true!" he cried back, hot tears filling his eyes. "You've never even tried to understand me. All you care about is your image, your successes! I don't want any of that!"

"I am your father! I'm trying to prepare you for life, and this is what you do? You throw everything away for ... you for nothing?"

Steve seethed with anger and pain, the mix of emotions contending inside him until he could take no more. "You know what? Maybe I don't need you at all!" he shouted before running from the room, tears streaming freely down his cheeks.

As he left the mansion, the storm was equal to the turmoil in his heart. He rushed out into the rain, letting the deluge wash over him. He could not face his father, the anger swirling in his chest was a tangible entity demanding to be released. It felt like the beginning of the end, a farewell to a future he had not chosen...

Suddenly y/n's hand on his cheek brings him back to reality. Steve looked up, searching her face for answers, something she could not give. "What good is love without understanding?" The question remained there, charging the air with a melancholy that enveloped them like a fog. Silence fell between them, filled only by Steve's occasional quiet sobs. It was then that she reached out her hand, placing it on his knee, a gentle but firm gesture. "I'm not going anywhere, you know that, right? You're not alone in this." Y/N says felt a chill run through her. "It's the only love we have," she said softly, and it's still valid." A faint ghost of a smile ripped through his tears as he wiped his face with the cuffs of his sweater.

"But I don't want you to feel like you have to put on a brave face," she murmured, her heart pounding. "It's okay to be broken. You don't have to go through this alone."

"I feel so lost," he confessed, her voice broken again. "What do I do now?"

"Take it one day at a time," Y/N replied, her heart breaking for him. "You let yourself grieve. You let yourself feel everything: the anger, the sadness, even the joy of memories. And when you're ready, you can start to heal."

Steve looked at her, and for a moment the heaviness lightened, if only a little. "Thank you, Y/N," he said, in a firmer voice. "You always know what to say."

"Not always," he admitted, with a sweet smile on his lips. "Only when it's about you."

"What if I can't get over this?"

Y/N leaned closer, their knees brushing. "You will, Steve. Just like you fought for everything else. You have friends who care about you, who want to help you. Lean on us." He nodded, but uncertainty hovered in his eyes. The truth was stark; he was afraid.

After a few beats, it was his turn to unleash his feelings. "And ... you don't have to pretend with me," she murmured, "about your father or how you feel. This is a safe place, okay?" He inhaled sharply, studying her face. "What if I want to pretend everything is okay?"

"Then we can pretend together."

A moment passed; their gazes met, understanding flowed silently between them. It was a moment of connection that was full of hope, even in the midst of pain. Steve's brown eyes shone with a potential nuance: something unspoken that hovered beautifully in the air between them. They stayed like that for a while: an embrace, a clinging to each other's presence. Outside, the world continued to struggle with the weight of their shared loss, but in those moments, they both began to feel a glimmer of warmth; a reminder that in the deepest despair, the bonds of friendship could shine brightly enough to illuminate the path ahead, even if that path was shrouded in uncertainty.

[ilovetheriddler]

Horror Movie Marathon.

(BTAS) Jonathan Crane x F!Reader.

Word Count: 660.

Contents: Jonathan overworking himself, Fluff, kissing.

You carefully set out all the dvds that you had prepared in advance for tonight. You wanted to try and organize a date around some of Jonathan's interests. However, that proved to be a bit difficult because of his more unusual tastes. But you ultimately decided that because of his fascination with fear that a horror movie marathon would probably be enjoyable.

You wondered if he'd appreciate your attempt at a nice date. Would he actually enjoy horror movies? You weren't fully sure, but you really hoped that he would. You had ultimately reasoned that with his overall interest in fear that he'd probably be able to at least appreciate the movies on an artistic standpoint.

You've been looking forward to this night for a few weeks now. You and Jonathan had been dating for almost a year and a half now. However, you were hardly ever able to spend time together. He was always working on his fear toxin and coming up with plans on how to use it, or he was getting thrown into Arkham after batman had caught him, or he was escaping Arkham... Again. Honestly, he was always preoccupied with something.

You were snapped out of your train of thoughts as you heard the door to Jonathan's office open. His hair was quite disheveled, and his eyes looked tired. He had clearly been working away nonstop on his latest plans. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee in an attempt to keep himself awake slightly longer.

"Jon..? Don't tell me that you've been working in there since earlier this morning without a single break?"

"I have to, my dear. If I want my plan to go perfectly, then I need to enact them at the best time possible, so it needs to be finished in time."

You felt a bit disappointed and also worried for Jonathan's health if he kept working away at this rate. You knew and understood how important his research into fear and how it affected people was. He was extremely passionate about it, in fact. it's definitely not in the best of ways, but that was just one of the many things that made him... him.

He noticed that you appeared to be slightly disappointed about something, so he sighed and ran his hand through his hair before asking you about it.

"What’s wrong, my dear?"

"Oh... well, I suppose I'm just a bit worried about you.... are you sure you can't take a break...? Not even for just a little bit..?"

"....are you really dead set on having me take a break?"

"....Absolutely."

He sighed and reluctantly sat down on the couch next to you. It was then that he noticed the stack of movies and the bowl of popcorn that was setting on the coffee table. You wanted him to spend time with you. Honestly, he was somewhat less irritated about taking a brief break when he realized that. A slight smile broke out on his face.

"....A horror movie marathon...? That's what you want to spend your time doing with me?"

"Well... it's just... I know how much you like fear and stuff... so I thought you'd appreciate it...."

It warmed his heart that you wanted to try and do something he'd enjoy. Horror movies weren't exactly something he was too invested in. After all, they paled in comparison to the genuine fear that he had witnessed in people's eyes whenever he used his fear toxin. But they were still somewhat enjoyable. He leaned in closer to you and gently kissed your lips.

"Thank you, my dear. I appreciate the gesture."

After about an hour of watching them, you realized that Jonathan had fallen asleep next to you, clearly because of how much he'd been overworking himself with his plans. So you decided not to wake him. You adjusted the blanket to cover him better before kissing his forehead.

"... Goodnight Jon, I love you...."

[the-s1lly-corner]

Flufftober prompt 2: Love confession (Jonathon Ohnn)

technical long awaited part 2 for this post ! we love revisiting old stuff in this house! prompt list here side note i just realized people spell his name as both jonathon and jonathan- is there an official spelling or do we all just use it interchangeably? def making it a hc that he gets annoyed when people spell his name wrong. esp after he becomes the spot... loss of identity stuff plot: following the events of the post linked above, you both get in the car to continue your trip. Surely, Jonathon's feelings won't rip themselves out of his throat on the way? notes: reader is gn, unestablished relationship, jonathathon crushing on reader, not proof read we die like uncle aaron, admin only knows lore based off the spiderverse stuff they have no prior knowledge on any other iteration of ohnn, pre collider, ambiguous ending, possible part 3 if the admin ever feels inclined to continue the story word count: 1.5k cws: none

Jonathon struggled to stay awake the morning after everything. After he had pulled himself out of bed between... god his mind was clinging together to keep details clear... it was somewhere between two in the morning and four, though he could be completely wrong. He decided to wait out the rest of night outside your hotel room. He did not get a single wink of sleep, his thoughts consuming him. Naturally, you didn't allow him to drive the car. There was still many hours left on the trip, and that wasn't even factoring in the drive back. You curse Alchemex for not sending someone else, or working out a different arrangement than having someone pick up the parts needed for some... machine...

"We'll stop in a few hours for breakfast, maybe around nine... does that sound alright? Could you try to catch some sleep so we can switch off eventually?" You glanced at Jonathon as the car rolled to a stop at the light. His eyes lazily pulled themselves to look at you, his glasses were secured in their case and tucked away in the door.

He scrunches his eyes closed, attempting to pull himself together. "Yeah, yeah... that works," He leaned back into his seat as the car began to move again.

It was gloomy outside, dark clouds hung in the sky as if it were about to rain. At least it was better than having the morning light going straight into his eyes. He leaned away from you and tried to get comfortable. It was horribly quiet, and suddenly he became all too aware of his breathing. He wasn't being too loud, or breathing too heavily? He shot a glance to you, and even though your eyes were still glued on the road ahead his sleep deprived mind would not stop the buzzing thought that you were judging him silently. He took a deep breath, and held it for as long as he could without turning red. He slowly exhaled as soft as he could. And he continued the process.

He did not get any sleep, too preoccupied on trying to make the air less awkward than it was. But you never seemed to notice it, or him. It remained this way for hours, until you both eventually pulled into a parking lot of some fast food place. Jonathon nearly jumped out of his skin when you gently shook his arm. His throat clenched painfully before he regained himself. "Sorry! I didn't realize you were asleep!" You apologized. You hadn't noticed after all. Gaze darting, he shook his head. "No, no no it's... fine..."

"Do you want to go inside, or do you just want to pass through the drive thru? I meant to ask you before pulling in, but some douchebag..." You trailed off. "I'm surprised you didn't wake up from the swerve."

Bringing the palms of his hands to his eyes he rubbed them, then blinked his vision clear. The clock said nine. You'd been on the road for three hours. A dull ache in his legs made themselves known suddenly as he pulled his eyes open wider. "We can go inside, give us a chance to walk and go to the bathroom,"

You nod in agreement.

Breakfast was uneventful, you both ate mostly in silence save for you checking in on him. Did you need to make a stop so he can get some proper rest? He insisted that he was fine, but you could tell he was lying through his teeth.

Soon you were back on the road, with you taking it upon yourself to simply keep driving for the remainder of this half of the trip. You did not feel confident with the idea of your coworker driving in his current state.

Morning stretched to noon, and then to late afternoon. The sky had since cleared for the most part, the sunset shining its light on your side of the car. You couldn't blame Ohnn for staring, with the way he could see each individual strand of hair lit up by the orange light. Or how your skin seemed to glow, you looked... alive. That was a normal thing to say about someone, surely!

It was this, mixed with the exhaustion that Jonathon let a single word slip through his chewed lips.

"Wow.."

That was all he said, his face burning brighter against the light that made it past you and onto his own face. He doubted he looked as beautiful as you in the light. His only redeeming quality right now, were his brown eyes. Brown eyes always seemed to look gorgeous in the light.

"Did you say something?" You shot a side glance to him, his teeth clenching as he realized his mistake.

But...

Was it a mistake?

He thought over his thoughts from the night before in bed. Everything he wanted to say to you. His eyes fixated on you, like a child staring at a bug they've found under a rock. He pulled his bottom lip in with his teeth, and ran them along the flesh. He weighed his options. He could be bold and say everything now... or he could keep quiet... If things ended bad, he could perhaps let himself wallow in shame in the passenger seat or ask someone to help him get home if you didn't allow him to ride back with you.

""Are you okay? " You asked when you didn't get a response. All day you had been worried about the man, his behavior was so off and it you were beginning to believe you may have done something wrong. Maybe you should have let him sleep on the floor like he had insisted, did you make him feel pressured to share the bed with you?

"No, actually I'm not." He said after a few seconds. A horrible opener, really. He didn't have time to fight his body cringing, he had already committed to this. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you," He added. That didn't make it sound any better. Before he could back out you were already pulling the car into the parking lot of a gas station, stopping the car. He had your full attention now.

"Is this about the bed thing? Or is it something else?"

He sucked air between his teeth, scraping his mind for some way to back out of this. This wasn't the best time to confess your feelings, was it? Let alone the right place. Jonathon had always thought that he would try to orchestrate something to "naturally" have you two fall together, opening a window to ask you out.. this was.. not at all what he had planned. He felt far too vulnerable, the inside of the car suddenly felt too small.

He was going to dismiss everything off as a joke, but when his eyes caught yours his jaw started working against him. In perhaps the most humiliating way.

"I'm in love with you, (Reader)"

The air hung thick.

Such a horrible way to say it.

He will never have the chance to confess to you in the way he wanted to, never would he want it to go out like this. He cursed himself for this failure.

What a waste.

He tore his eyes away from you as his face began to burn, soon followed by his ears and the back of his neck turning a bright shade of pink. For a horrifying moment he wondered if you would tell the rest of your coworkers about this. He tried to dismiss it once more, trying to follow it by a "Just kidding!" but his jaws betrayed him once more.

It was quiet, and he became aware of his breathing again. He began to focus on it, working to make sure it wasn't too loud in the space you shared.

He chanced a glance at you through the corner of his eye, only to see that similarly your face was burning as well. "You don't.. have to say anything-"

"No, I'm glad you told me..." You pulled your gaze forward and worked your brows together. More quiet followed before you breathed deeply and exhaled. You looked at the time, prompting him to look as well. He had been so deep in his thoughts and feelings the entire day that he had forgotten why you were driving. His horror deepens as he realizes that he had practically confessed to you while you were working... he wanted to bury himself into the ground.

"Can we talk about this later, when we get this.." You motion your hand around, "over with? When we get back home, I mean,"

It felt like a gut punch, but he understood. You both had a job to do, pick something up and return.

He nodded, trying to swallow the hurt look that tried to come out.

You nodded, and pulled the car out of the parking lot and returned driving. You both made it to your location, and got what you needed. There was no way the two of you were going to drive tonight, however, given the exhaustion settling in both of you.

This time Jonathon made sure the hotel room had two beds.

[thethirdromana]

I'm going to preface this by saying that I don't know how much this actually holds up, but I've been thinking about how each of the Dracula characters perceives/judges other people.

Jack Seward judges people based on looks. I don't necessarily mean that he's shallow (though I think that can be part of his character!) but his judgment is all based on observation. He's the character who describes Mina's looks the most, he's preoccupied with Quincey and Arthur's manly appearance, and he's surprised when Jonathan's appearance doesn't match his character. As soon as Renfield looks less like Jack's idea of a madman, he immediately thinks he should be released from the asylum, even though Renfield tried to kill him less than two weeks earlier.

Van Helsing judges people based on role. We see that in his misjudged treatment of Mina: she has been assigned the role of Woman (wife/future mother) and the fact that she would be better off within the circle of men completely passes him by. Similarly Arthur gets assigned Son (to Van Helsing) and Husband (to Lucy). Quincey is Hero. Despite how their relationship has changed, Jack is still stuck in the role of Student.

Quincey judges people based on action. There's less to go on here, but his trust of Van Helsing is assured by Van Helsing's care of Lucy, and his friendship with Mina and Lucy is sealed, in both cases, with a kiss.

Arthur judges people based on emotion. Very slim pickings to demonstrate this given there's so little in this novel that's actually in Arthur's voice, but his connections with Mina, Van Helsing and Lucy all seem to take place at a more emotional level than those of the other suitors. Lucy presents Arthur's proposal as more emotional than those of the other suitors; he connects with Mina by sharing grief; and he is more emotionally reactive to Van Helsing's treatment of Lucy than the others.

Jonathan judges people based on... idk, I want to say kindness? I don't know how much of this is that he simply experiences more kindness (as well as more suffering!) than the other characters in the novel. But from the very beginning when the old woman gives him her crucifix, it feels like kindness is something that Jonathan responds to strongly, and unkindness too.

Lucy is trickier too because we don't see her judging people as much as the other characters, since she doesn't meet that many people for the first time on the page. She responds warmly to Van Helsing because he is good to her. I think there's an element of judging people based on social norms but I don't know how much that holds up.

And then there's Mina, who doesn't really fit into any of these patterns. She responds to looks (her physiognomic assessment of Van Helsing), to roles and social norms (accepting the men sidelining her, albeit unhappily), to emotion (the suitors' love of Lucy), to action (the men's protection of her).

I think this demonstrates once again that Mina is the very heart of the novel. She is the listener who hears both the bands; she compiles the text itself; she reflects the strengths of the group with (in Van Helsing's words) a man's brain and a woman's heart; and she spans many of the different ways that they judge, perceive and relate to people too.

[pileofboneswrites]

QUEEN OF THE FREAKS_series.strangerthings

vol 1. — jonathan

SUMMARY — you reminisce on how you and jonathan became friends.

PAIRINGS — fem!henderson!reader x platonic!jonathan byers | fem!henderson!reader x platonic!eddie munson | fem!henderson!reader x platonic!robin buckley

WORD COUNT — 2.7k

WARNINGS — bullying, violence, blood, swearing.

SERIES | NEXT

NOW.

"you're sure it's not a bother?" you ask jonathan, bouncing on your toes as you walk beside him.

"you're never a bother," jonathan sighs, adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder.

you roll your eyes, "yeah, but that means coming back to the school to pick me up,"

you'd learned from one of your team mates, that your cheer practice had been moved from tomorrow, to today last minute. normally, you and jonathan take turns driving each other to and from school, and on days you have practice or he works you just take your own cars. however, as it was last minute, you weren't informed until you walked into your homeroom class this morning. finally, he stops walking, turning to look at you head on.

"it's okay, seriously, we've made bigger detours for will's and dustin's club. it's not a big deal to come back to pick you up," there's a hint of irritation to his voice, but that normally pops up when you pester your best friend about his decisions. he sighs, dropping his gaze to your feet.

you nod, "i just don't—"

"wanna be a burden," he finishes, "you're not a burden. i'll be in the parking lot at 4:30,"

"5:30," you correct, and he smiles, nodding as he follows a group of students out into the parking lot.

you can't help but smile a little as you watch him dodge a freshman who nearly knocks into him. you and jonathan have been best friends since you moved to hawkins in the eighth grade. it was luck that his younger brother, will, also ended up becoming friends with your younger brother, dustin. you very distinctly remember meeting jonathan for the first time.

1980

it was your first day at hawkins middle school, and one of your new classmates was shoving a boy to the dirt. his books and papers flew all over and the bully just cackled, watching jonathan struggle to gather his things.

you went against every rule you'd made for yourself over the summer. you wanted it to be different here than it was where you used to live. you wanted to be liked, and respected. unfortunately your morals won out as soon as you parked your bike.

you immediately ran over to where jonathan was hurriedly trying to piece his things back together, and begin grabbing some of the stray loose pages. You looked like a maniac, especially when the wind began to pick up and launched the pages into the air. that didn't stop you.

"wh-why are you helping me?" jonathan mumbled, watching you organize the pages flat and hand them over to him.

"i've been where you are," you replied simply, handing him his things. "what's your name?"

"jonathan byers," he said, barely making eye contact with you.

you offered him a small smile, "i'm y/n henderson, nice to meet you."

"oh, whose this? freak-athan has a girlfriend?" the bully commented, watching the pair of you head towards the school.

"no shithead," you snapped. "one, his name is jonathan, and two, he's got a friend, and i suggest you take a step back before you get hurt,"

"oh i'm shaking," the kid muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes and walking away.

"if he messes with you again, let me know." you tell jonathan, but he doesn't reply.

the rest of your day continued uneventfully, you'd had to introduce yourself to the class, but most of your new classmates were very welcoming. you'd made friends with two other girls, nancy wheeler and barbra holland. they were nice, but you kept finding yourself drifting towards jonathan.

at lunch, you purposely sought jonathan out, and found him sitting outside in the grass under a lone tree. far enough away from all the other kids, and all alone. he had half a sandwich in his hand, and a book in the other, obviously preoccupied. you almost felt bad for disturbing him. almost.

"can I sit with you?" you asked, peering down at jonathan through your bangs, your bagged lunch in your hands.

"why would you want to?" he replied, despite what sounded like a protest, he scooted over to give you some room.

he set his book down on his knee face down as not to lose his spot, and quickly finished his sandwich half.

"why wouldn't i want to?" you countered, and he finally looked up at you, really taking in your appearance.

you wore an old queen tshirt, jeans, and your favourite dark green converse. you had a flannel shirt tied around your hips, and your backpack hung from your left shoulder. you drop your bag, and sit next to him on the ground.

"cause i'm not exactly "cool"," he said, making air quotes with his hands.

"who cares about cool? you seem like you could use a friend, and i want to be that friend." you huffed, slightly annoyed at his persistence to dodge you.

"i like being alone," he shrugged, watching you empty your lunch bag.

"shit," you muttered mindlessly, going over the contents of your bag and then rummaging through your backpack in search of your sandwich.

"what?" jonathan asked, eyeing you.

your shoulders slumped, irritated that dustin had distracted you to the point of forgetting your sandwich. you'd been in a rush, dustin decided to turn back over and fall alseep after you woke him, and that made you late. after you'd gotten out of the shower, you realized he was radio silent, which knowing dustin either meant he was asleep or up to no good. considering it was 7:15, the former made more sense than the latter.

"forgot my sandwich," you grumbled, staring down at your small pile of pretzels, two juice boxes, an apple and a homemade brownie you'd baked the previous night.

"you can have the other half of mine," he sighed, holding the ziploc bag containing the sandwich out towards you.

"really?" you questioned, skeptical at his sudden change.

"take it before i change my mind,"

you turned your head to fully look at him, and there was a small smile crawling its way up his face. you didn't push it. you took the sandwich from him, and took a bite before you leaned down to break your brownie in half. jonathan's gaze was far off, watching something in the distance. you smiled to yourself as you sat up straight, and poked him in the arm to regain his attention.

"oh," he mumbled, looking down at the obviously bigger piece in your outstretched hand, his eyes flickered back up to you. "are you—"

"take it before i change my mind," you smiled, and you could tell he visibly relaxed, a real smile making it's way up to his eyes as he took it from you.

and suddenly, jonathan wasn't so opposed to you sticking around. the pair of you credit that moment as the beginning of your friendship, but what truly solidified your friendship and reaffirmed to jonathan that you were there for him happened two months later.

it was a friday, and the plan was for you and jonathan to drop your brothers off at home with your mom's and then meet up at the arcade and grab pizza after. that had been the plan. straight forward, and fun. but after you dropped dustin off at home, you biked to the arcade and waited. after twenty minutes of waiting, you began to worry. jonathan was having a hard time with his bullies especially after you stepped in on your first day. which was something you didn't know. you decided to bike the route jonathan always took home after a night at the arcade, having done it with him numerous times you had it memorized.

you barely got two blocks away when you heard the laughter. you perked up immediately, recognizing it as one of the boys in your class. you slowed your speed, seeing a trail of bikes leading into and alley. your eyes trailed them, and your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw jonathan's. you dropped your bike, and ran towards the laughter. you found five boys from your class standing in a half circle, obscuring your view. it didn't take much for you to realize that the ring leader daniel was hurting jonathan.

"what the hell are you assholes doing?!" you shouted, startling them to the point they jumped out of the way, giving you a clear view of your best friend on his knees, blood pouring from his nose.

"oh look at that, freak-athan's girlfriend's coming to his rescue again." daniel said, tauntingly.

you shoved him out of your way, hard. he stumbled, and tripped landing square on his ass. you knelt down next to jonathan to inspect his wounds. the kid growled, quickly climbing to his feet as you stood again. he stepped so close to you that your noses almost touched.

"you're going to regret that," he spat, saliva fanning across your cheeks.

it took every fiber in your being not to recoil in disgust at the smell of his breath. you rolled your eyes, and firmly stood your ground as his gaggle of on lookers held their breath in anticipation of the coming fight.

"trust me, you're the only one going to regret anything if you go down this road daniel." you replied, smiling sweetly up at him.

"i'm not scared of you henderson, you're just a girl." he chuckled, taking a step back. "it's not worth it,"

you're not quite sure why, but that made you see red. like a bull in a china shop, you trudged forward, fists clenched as you tackled the taller boy to the ground. you wailed on him, fists flying so fast he barely had a chance to block you, let alone fight back.

"how's this for a girl!?" you shouted, landing a punch to his left eye.

ganiel wiggled underneath you, screaming as you finally stopped swinging. you panted, staring down at the crying boy beneath you. anger coursed through you, hot and heavy.

"you ever lay a hand on jonathan again, this will all seem like a sweet dream. got it?" you snarled, glancing up at at his goons, then back down at daniel.

snot and tears streamed down daniel's face, you gripped the sides of his jacket, hauling him up slightly.

"do. you. understand?" you whispered through gritted teeth, and he slowly nodded. "good," you smiled widely, and climbed back off of him, to walk back over to jonathan.

jonathan stared up at you wide-eyed, unblinking as you pulled a packet of tissues from your pocket and began gently wiping away the blood on his face.

"do you think it's broken?" you whispered, and he shook his head. "i'm really sorry about that,"

now that the adrenaline began wearing off, embarrassment about the situation was beginning to set in. daniel was right about one thing. you are just a girl. once word of what you did goes around, you're sure you're going to hear about it from every adult. you tried to push those worries aside, and focus on getting jonathan as cleaned up as you could.

"it was badass," jonathan replied, and without hesitation wrapped you in a hug. "thank you,"

you smiled slightly, wrapping your arms around him in return. "always,"

NOW.

"done daydreaming?" chrissy cunningham asks you, bumping your shoulder with hers as she passes you.

twirling as she continues walking. you giggle, and follow her towards the gym. she walks instep with you, bouncing slightly on her feet.

"so, you and jonathan?" she asks, side-eying you as you open the door to the gym for her to pass through.

"oh," you mumble, and then shake your head. "no, no, jonathan's just my best friend. he's been in love with nancy wheeler longer than i've lived in hawkins."

her blonde eye brows raise, and you cringe. some best friend. you think.

"which you did not hear from me," and she giggles.

"that one's pretty obvious, i've caught him staring at her more times than i can count. kinda why i asked, didn't want you getting your hopes up."

"ha, no. i have no romantic feelings for him. he's just my best friend. was the first one i made when i moved here," you tell her, and she smiles.

"that's nice that you guys are still friends, i don't think i'm still friends with any of the kids I knew when I first started here..."

"well, you do spend all your time with the other cheerleaders. not that that's a bad thing, purely an observation."

she shrugs, "yeah i guess that would make sense,"

"alright!" your captain yells, gathering everyone's attention. "let's get into formation!"

practice went off without much of an issue, until the end. e.veryone was stretching; sitting, standing, laying down in various positions and areas across the gym floor. like most nights at the end of practice, you were by yourself. sure, you loved cheerleading, but the other girls? no so much. chrissy is the exception on that. mind you, chrissy's sweet to everyone. you didn't think the girl had it in her to be mean to anyone.

the problem came with her being a bystander too worried about the others to make them stop. and they always had it out for you due to who you'd prefer to spend time off the pyramid with.

"henderson's such a freak. she's a fantastic cheerleader, but she follows jonathan around like a damn puppy." one girl says loudly, the other three girls she's sitting with giggling as they all stare at you.

"maybe she's in love with him," another replies, "poor girl doesn't even realize he wants nancy wheeler,"

you try your best to ignore them, their taunting never seems to change, recycling all the same things over and over. your annoyance with them is less their issue with jonathan, and more their negativity. for the leaders on pep they do a pretty shit job on being peppy.

"or maybe you lot are just fucking idiots, and jonathan is someone worth talking to." you shoot back, glaring the three of them down. "y'know, maybe if any of you could try being nice to literally anyone you'd realize how shitty your personalities are. outer beauty is only around for so long before you have a chicken neck, and saggy fucking tits. at that point, all that's left is how much of a goddamn waste of oxygen you are."

they stare at you, mouths hanging open at your comment. you flip them off as you get up, and walk out of the gym. you find jonathan's car idling out front, and slide into the passenger seat. he looks at you, and you just stare straight ahead out the windshield.

"how was pr–" he starts, and you shake your head.

"i think I'm going to quit." you reply, turning to buckle yourself in.

"but you love being a cheerleader," he says, and you just shrug. "what happened?"

"i don't really wanna talk about it," the fierce look in your eyes tells him to not push, so he doesn't.

"uh, okay."

the ten minute drive to your house is quiet between the pair of you. jonathan can feel the anger radiating off you in waves, but knows that it's usually best to leave you alone when you get quiet like this. he slows to a stop in front of your house, putting the car in park. you stare at your house for a moment, deep in thought. jonathan clears his throat, and you turn your head to look at him.

"your turn tomorrow," he tells you, "will and dustin have av club after school though so we have about two hours to go to the arcade or something, if you want?"

"sounds like fun," you reply, unable to help the smile that spreads across your lips. "we haven't been to the arcade in years,"

"that's why i suggested it, i think you could use the distraction."

"thanks..." you lean over and hug jonathan tightly, before slipping out of the car and bouncing up to your house.

[fmoe1997]

Appreciation

Back at Team Dark headquarters, aka an undisclosed apartment building somewhere in the city, Omega has been alerted to an important new event.

"Shadow!" He exclaimed, then emerged from the kitchen a moment later with a pink apron tightly wrapped around his wide metal form.

In the living room adjacent, Shadow lay back lazily on the couch and watched the television, paying no heed to his friend's call. Omega stood patiently in the doorway and stared intently into the side of Shadow's head as he awaited some form of response. Eventually, the glow of his red eyes proved too aggravating to his sight, and Shadow finally turned to him.

"What is it, Omega? And why are you in an apron?"

Rather than answer either question, he stood up straight and asked, "Do you know what today is?"

Shadow gave a gruff sigh. "No, enlighten me."

"The current date is April 17th, 2024, or as it is known by Bat Conservation International, International Bat Appreciation Day."

Shadow nodded, not really listening to what he said, "That's very nice, Omega."

A beat of silence hung between them, with the only audible sound emanating from the television.

Omega then clarified. "Rouge is a bat."

"I am aware."

Another pause.

"I will be baking a cake for her for the next two hours, at least according to the recipe I found by Jonathan Blake on BakingLife.com. She won't be back for another hour after that. I would advise you find a way to show your appreciation, Shadow. She is a good friend."

Shadow closed his eyes and sighed, then looked back at Omega and gave him a soft smile "I know, Omega. Don't worry, I have something in mind already."

"Very good."

The lumbering robot turned around and marched back into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him. While he prepared the aforementioned recipe, Shadow gave a quick glance at the door that separated them. Then he reached for his phone and opened up his messages.

A little over an hour later, the kitchen door opened again as Omega came out with

"Shadow, I have come to inform you the cake is complete! By streamlining the baking process I have optimized its total time by thirty minutes. I will have to inform the creator of this disco-"

As he shared his culinary achievement, however, he was interrupted as a purple lacey bra smacked his face. When it fell to the ground, his receptors analyzed the scene before him. Clothing had been strewn about the once-tidy living space, and his two friends were entangled with one another in a way he had been unfortunately exposed to multiple times before.

"Ah! Oh my, Shadow! You really know how to appreciate your bat!" Rouge moaned, unaware of the third party among them. Shadow, too preoccupied between her legs, remained equally ignorant.

Omega watched blankly for a moment before he echoed in an almost disappointed monotone, "Really? Right in front of your appreciation cake?"

I heard it was International Bat Appreciation Day today and felt inspired to write this