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allyricas · 2 years ago

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Moving On pt. 2

part one

3,180k words

The day of the trip to Indy finally arrives and the weather does not reflect the excitement Steve feels as he loads his last bag into the trunk of his car. He knows he overpacked but wants to be ready for anything. He also has a cooler full of drinks and sandwiches along with enough junk food to make anyone sick.

He and Robin had decided to make sure they had plenty of food so they could settle in to their hotel and chill the first night. Robin had an early campus tour and Steve had a meeting with an advisor at the community college he’d be taking his cosmetology courses. They had a packed schedule considering they needed to find an apartment and jobs (together if possible) and the urge to scope out the gay scene. Or find it, at the very least.

Steve pulled into Robin’s driveway and saw that she’d also slightly overpacked. Two halves of the same soul, the two of them. He got out and helped her load up her bags. She was holding a thermos of something and wearing a pair of Steve’s sweatpants. That’s where those went. He’d been looking for them for a week. Robin had a tendency to steal his clothes which mostly just made Steve feel all loved and shit, so he only complained for appearance’s sake.

“Rob, my fucking sweatpants. Come on, I’ve been looking for them.” He whined. He truly didn’t mean it all.

“Shut up, they are my pants now. They look hotter on me.” She laughed, doing a pathetic little shimmy. She was not a morning person. The messy bed head and the large amount of coffee she was inhaling made this apparent. “I am so tired, but really fucking excited. I brought the music. You are banned for the entire drive up and back. I will fucking jump out of this car if you play any sad, pining music. This is fun time not sad boy time.”

“That tape has Whitney and George Michael on it. It’s not a total sad fest.”

“Liar. You cry the most whenever careless whisper comes on.” Robin replied viciously.

“Let’s uh, not talk about that please.” Steve knew he was still whining a bit, but Robbie was mean in the morning.

The drive up went smoothly despite the terrible weather. Fifteen minutes into the drive, it started to torrentially rain. Thunder shook the car and lightning lit up the sky. Robin did in fact have all upbeat music and refused to let Steve play anything remotely sad. This was good as he was feeling rather happy in the moment. At one point it rained so hard, Steve had to pull over and wait for it to slow down as Robin started hyperventilating. What should have been an hour and fifteen-minute drive took three hours, but time spent with his best friend was always good.

Navigating the city was invigorating (for Steve) and anxiety inducing (for Robin), but they both could barely contain their excitement when they finally pulled up to the motel they're staying at. It’s a little mom and pop place that Joyce and Hop had recommended. Why those two have a favorite motel in the city, Steve doesn't want to think to much about.

It’s a cute place, white shutters and soft yellow paint with a rustic looking sign that says The Mosey Inn. The rooms were entered from the outside, with parking all around the place. There were plants everywhere and everything had a well-loved appeal. It’s a rather nice little place. He goes in to check them in and there is an older woman at the desk. She's one of those people who radiates kindness and Steve likes her right away.

“Hello there, dear. Welcome to the Mosey Inn. I’m one-half of Mosey, but you can call me Elise.” She’s smiling softly at him as he walks up to the desk.

“Hi, I have a reservation for Harrington. For a suite with two queens.” He finds he’s nervous which feels silly. He grew up checking into hotels and dealing with reservations. Usually, it was at swanky hotels that his parents would leave him in before he was old enough to be all alone at home.

“Of course, sweetie. Joyce and that sweet Jimmy told me all about you the last time they visited for the weekend. I just adore them. Jimmy did some handy work for me and the missus last time they were here. We’re getting up there in age and my Maggie cannot be climbing ladders anymore. I always give them a discount and I like the look of you, dear. I’ll give you one too.”

She’s beaming at Steve like she is thrilled to meet him which is not something he’s exactly used to. He’s thinking over what she said. The missus, her Maggie. He looks around the room and spots a tiny pink triangle on a bookshelf. Oh. This was a safe place. He owed Hop and Joyce dinner because this was the nicest surprise he’d gotten in a long time. He'd definitely be calling Hopper by the nickname Jimmy though.

“Thank you so much, ma’am. I know my friend Robin and I are going to enjoy this trip even more now knowing this is a safe place for people like us.” That felt as close to telling a stranger he was gay he could manage, but it felt huge to say it. It meant something to find this little piece of community with two women who were old enough to be his grandmothers. He felt like he might cry and for once, there were happy tears brimming in his eyes.

“Please, call me Elise. There’s no ma’am, none of that uppity nonsense. This place is for friends, you understand.” She told him in a voice so genuine that Steve choked back a sob. He handed over his credit card and she handed him two room keys. “We offer breakfast and lunch, usually buffet style unless we say otherwise. There’s a coffee station around the corner and there’s always some sort of snacks next to it. If you need anything just give us a ring. Feel free to come chat anytime. Enjoy your stay.”

“I think I will, Elise. I’ll bring Robin around to meet you once we’re settled, probably for breakfast tomorrow!”

_________________________________________

As soon as Steve got back into the car, he excitedly told Robin all about Elise and her partner and how the Inn was a safe place for them. The fact that Joyce and Hopper stayed here whenever they wanted a night or two away from the chaos of their little blended family filled Steve with joy. He knew that they weren’t hateful people, but this was outright acceptance by the adults he respected most in his life. Robin was rambling on about the décor of the inn as he lugged their many suitcases into their room. She just smiled at him as he struggled.

It was cozy with two queen beds and a little kitchenette and a sitting area off to the side. There was a good size bathroom and closet. It was decorated in soft hues of yellow and green with floral bedding. It was lovely and Steve felt immensely at home in this place.

“This place is so cute!” Steve exclaimed happily, finally collapsing onto his bed. It was comfortable too. “Damn, this is going to be a nice trip. Elise said they offer 2 meals, that there’s a coffee station with snacks and this bed is fucking soft as hell.”

“So basically, we can save a ton of money and try to eat here most of the time is what I'm hearing you say Steven?” This seemed to genuinely thrill Robin.

“Absolutely, we can go visit with them tomorrow during breakfast. It’s from 6:30 to 8:30.” Steve knew this was going to cause some mild stress for Robin. This delighted him.

“Ugh, ugh. For free breakfast and fellow lesbians, I will get up. You might have to drag me though.”

Steve laughed, delighted at the prospect of waking Robin up in the morning. It was early evening, but they decided to munch on the leftover food from the drive in and relax. There was a small tv, so they found something to put on and got comfortable. The day so far had been nearly free of sad thoughts over Eddie, but it seemed inevitable that Steve would start to think about him. For one thing, Eddie would look ridiculous in the Mosey Inn, although he would thoroughly appreciate the pun. Yet, there was a part of Steve wishing that Eddie was a part of all of this.

Before he’d ruined everything, Eddie would have been invited on this trip without a second thought. If only he could go back and not fall in love with stupid Eddie Munson. Steve worries that falling for him would have been inevitable though. Everything about him made Steve crazy.

The moment he knew he was monumentally fucked was a few months after everything with Vecna went down. Eddie had still been in the hospital, thankfully cleared off all charges with Hopper back in charge. He’d been high off his ass on morphine and smiling at Steve. Eddie had looked at Steve and said, “Stevie, sweetheart—you beautiful man. How come you’re always sitting around here taking care of me huh?” and Steve had known several things.

He wanted Eddie to smile at him like that for the rest of his life. He really enjoyed being called sweetheart. And the reason he was always hanging around was because he wanted to be with Eddie. Eddie who always lit up with joy when he saw Steve sitting by his hospital bed. All the time they spent walking that line between friends and more, or at least that’s what Steve thought.

He swore there was so much flirting back and forth. Like the time Steve snuck in cheeseburgers, fries and milkshakes from the one diner left open in town and Eddie had told Steve, “All this for little old me?” while literally twirling his hair like a schoolgirl. Or when Steve brought in books for him and Eddie had just clasped Steve’s hand tight and said nothing, just staring intently at him like Steve really meant something to him.

All misread apparently. It wasn’t flirting at all, just Eddie being Eddie. And Steve had ruined it. He tried not to spiral into his bad thoughts too much but he felt like he always ruined everything. Robin might be his best friend, his platonic soulmate and other half, but it’d been so nice to have a close guy friend.

Eddie had barely been out of the hospital when Steve had driven him up to Indy to replace some of his things lost to the earthquakes. There were better record stores and better thrift stores, and Eddie had very little left to his name. The trailer was gone. He’d even lost his beloved guitar. Steve had never planned on telling Eddie how he felt during that trip, but Eddie has a way of needling things out of people. Something Steve usually finds quite adorable, but not so much when it’s his own unrequited feelings.

Sighing to himself, Steve sits down by the phone to call Dustin and tell him they made it to the city safely. This means actually calling Mike’s house since the boys are having their weekly nerd fest. The whole group of them are all a little codependent, but after everything they’ve been through it seems reasonable. Unfortunately, Mike nor Nancy answers the phone. It’s Karen Wheeler and she lets Steve know that the boys are all over at Eddie’s apartment playing their little game. That’s exactly what she calls it which does make him chuckle.

He dreads calling Eddie’s place, but he did promise Dustin he’d call. Dustin is already asking questions about him and Eddie. If he’s weird on the phone it will only fan the flames of Dustin’s incessant need to meddle. He dials the number and tries to psyche himself up for the interaction. Maybe one of the kids will answer.

“Munson Residence, Eddie the Banished speaking?” Eddie’s voice fills Steve’s ear. It’s like a punch to the gut, but Steve takes a deep breath.

“Is that how you really answer the phone all time or am I just lucky?” Steve asks lightly. Do not make this weird. Be cool. “Or is it just because you’re playing dungeons and whatever?”

“Ha, Ha. I knew it was you telepathically, so I of course had to answer the phone accordingly. My liege, what can I do for you on this fine summer evening?”

“You’re lucky it’s cute to be such a fucking nerd.” Shit, shit, shit. Abort flirting. “Kidding, kidding. I called to see if Dustin is still there. I told him I’d call when we got settled.”

“Rude, I am absolutely the cutest nerd. I’d dare say, adorable even. The fairest in the land, perhaps.” Eddie’s voice had gone low and Steve would bet a hundred bucks he was twirling his hair. What the fuck? “You know, you obviously like nerdy shit considering you-”

“Hey stop flirting with Steve and let me talk to him, I've been waiting to hear from him all day. We’re in the middle of a campaign Steve. We need our DM not whatever the fuck he was just doing.” Dustin says this all like he knows for a fact that everything he says is true. It’s not.

“Tone, dusty bun. I’m not gay and I wasn’t flirting with Harrington, just messing with him. He’s just so easy to tease. We’re just buddies like that, right man?” Eddie replied, his voice no longer soft, low and sweet. In fact, Eddie sounded hostile. Steve felt his stomach turn. He couldn't even reply.

“Nothing wrong with being gay, you moron.” Dustin replied firmly. This made Steve smile considering Dustin didn’t even know about Steve yet. He was definitely his favorite kid. Dustin continued on “I mean, we’ve fought literal monsters. Of all things to get worked up over, being gay is not even on the damn list!”

“I didn’t mean it in a rude way, just saying we were not flirting.”

“Whatever you say Eddie.”

“Um, hello guys I am still on the phone.” Steve yelled as the two of them continued to bicker. “I have to go, but I’ll call in a few days Dustin. Bye Eddie.” Steve replied, trying his best not to cry.

“Wait-Harrington. Steve, I didn’t mean anything by that okay.”

“Yeah of course, no worries, man. Talk to you later.” Steve knew his voice was emotionless.

_______________________________

He had to get over Eddie. This confusing back and forth was so painful. Steve didn’t consider himself the brightest, but that felt like flirting. What straight guy calls himself the fairest of the land or adorable to another man? Eddie’s tone of voice was the exact same tone Steve had used so many times to flirt with girls. He knew what flirting looked like. He shouldn’t have started it with the cute comment, but Eddie had most certainly flirted back. He looked over at Robin who was sitting up and waiting patiently for Steve to hang up the phone.

She looked worried. If his face was at all reflecting how he felt right now, he understood why. The way Eddie has sounded when he said he wasn’t flirting. He told Robin the entire conversation verbatim and he watched her face go through a myriad of emotions. Despite the fact that Robin wasn’t the most tactile person, she threw her arms around him and let him cry all over her t-shirt.

“Well, I could just kill him. I swear to fucking God. If he’s not gay, fine. But why flirt back?”

“Maybe he really isn’t flirting. He said he was just messing with me. Maybe we’ve been reading it wrong this whole time!” Steve cried.

“Fuck that, even Dustin called him on it. He flirts with you all the time. If he’s just messing with you at this point, it’s cruel. Especially now that he knows you’re gay and have feelings for him. I won’t be friends with a bigot.”

“No, Robbie. I don’t think he’s a bigot. He’s just trying to deal with all this. It’s not his fault I had to go and fall for him. I always fall for the first person who shows me any attention. I ruined this. He’s just...I think he’s a flirty person and I’m just the idiot who thought it meant something.”

“Shut your whore mouth Steven Elizabeth. That’s absolute nonsense. Eddie is a socially awkward, metalhead D&D playing virgin. You and I both know it. I’ve never seen him so much as look at a girl in a romantic way. He barely talks to anyone he doesn’t know unless it’s to cause a scene. That boy is not a natural flirty person. He flirts with you. He’s either an idiot, a repressed idiot or an asshole. Pick one.”

“He’s not a virgin, no way. Look at him. Some people go for the whole alternative thing. He’s in a band for fuck’s sake. I bet he’s fucked lots of girls. I mean, he is objectively hot.” Steve argued.

“Steve!! You always defend him like some sort of rabid groupie, but if that man has so much as seen a real-life titty, I will eat my shoe. He isn’t ugly, I will grant you that one. But please, Eddie Munson is not banging hot chicks on the regular.”

“I pick that he’s an idiot. I do not think Eddie would purposefully hurt me by flirting just to be all ‘ha-ha, gay boy you fell for it’ when he didn’t even know I was gay until I told him how I felt. I think he just likes to tease me, like he said and he doesn’t know how flirty it comes off maybe?”

“Dingus. You are in love with him. You are no objective source on the situation.”

“Can we just... pretend Eddie Munson doesn’t exist for a few days. I won’t play my mixtape. I will try not to mope... let’s just find an apartment and visit your campus and apply for jobs everywhere we can find. It hurts too much to talk about right now.”

Steve knows he’s lying to Robin. It’s impossible for him to pretend Eddie doesn’t exist. It’d be nice to try though. Instead of trying, he wonders what Eddie’s thinking about back in Hawkins. Is he feeling bad for how he spoke to Steve tonight? Is he also worrying over every little thing he said? Does Eddie even care that what he said felt like a slap to the face? The way he’d said Harrington, instead of Steve. The disgust in his voice when he’d said he wasn’t flirting. At least it was crystal clear that Eddie would never reciprocate his feelings. It feels nearly impossible, but Steve knows he has to let go of Eddie and move on. Two weeks in Indy with Robin should be the perfect way to start trying.

@koyislosinghismind

@lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring

@dilutedpondwater

@r0binscript

@wheatnoodle

@randomnessbecausewhynot

#somewhat proofread but feel free to point out any glaring errors and i will fix it #steddie #this is as much about steddie as it stobin lets be real #and queer joy and acceptance #angst #eddie is a bit of an ass but he's in a crisis and he will get better worse and then much better okay #steddie fic

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thesummerstorms · 6 days ago

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11 or 35 for the Rook story time asks!

35. Crow!Rook’s graduation from Fledgling to Assassin.

This turned out like... ten times longer than I originally anticipated, so I apologize in advance.

The contract had been an unusually bloody affair, but that was typical of a graduation. No Crow worth the name was just handed the title after all, especially not in Esma de Riva's House.

For all that the Fifth Talon was milder on her Fledglings than some of the stories she'd heard from the older mage compradi - in so much as milder meant not wasting an investment unnecessarily, not starving them outside of training or punishment, not being House Arainai- the woman did like her tests.

To Esma, Crows were only as good as their worst, their weakest moments, and that went double for Mages. Arsinoë couldn't help but wonder if that philosophy had been handed down from the Talon's Chantry-Cleric mother... but she absolutely knew better than to ask, even just to Viago.

It was fine. She was fine. Her arm and fingers and ribs all itched and ached where the potion was achingly slow at knitting the bone back together, but it was fine. It was over.

Admittedly, she wished Esma kept more than one proper spirit healer on the books, the way most of the Talons' Houses did, someone to put that skittering wisp hovering just in earshot to work, but-

But no, she didn't wish that. How many times had Viago told her?

It was Esma's very distrust for mages and the resulting lack of mage recruits over the years that had kept her ... well, not safe. No Crow or Mage was ever safe. But it gave her an advantage, an edge the other fledglings didn't have, to be needed. A mage was an expensive investment.

Bile stung at the back of her throat at the thought. Her stomach twisted, even as she tried to hold back the empty heaving. Pain lanced her chest again, so sharp that the beams of the infirmary rafters above her cot disappeared in a blur of new tears.

It would be fine. The physician Esma had deigned to bring once everything was over had said as much. He hadn't been a spirit healer, and he hadn't bothered to give her pain killers or talk to her directly, but he had done that. Looked at her with dark, dispassionate eyes and promised Esma there would be no loss of function once the potions had run their course.

Of course not. Esma didn't like needless waste. Something she credited to her merchant prince father when entertaining guests.

If anything, Arsinoë almost thought she had seen the Talon scowling when the physician prodded at the long deep cuts down her cheek, the one curving from her collar bone down between the valley of her breasts. She wouldn't have believed it but-

Facial scars are too easy to recognize.

It would bring her value down on a Contract. Lucky then, that she was a mage, a lightning-wielder, not a seductress or a spy.

None of this would have happened if-

Arsinoë swallowed again, blinked her eyes in an attempt to clear them, and wished that wisp would go away and stop with its odd little noises. She wanted to yell, try to scare it off... but it was already so hard to catch her breath. Besides, no one could find out that she heard or saw the damn thing so clearly after years of pretending otherwise.

So the job had been bloody, especially for someone whose best teacher was primarily a poisoner. Just her, a mage's stiletto, and a last minute contract on a target who seemed all too aware someone would be coming.

But she had managed. More than managed. No one had seen so much as a bloody footprint when she slipped back out from the dead man's chambers and back into Salle's side streets.

Maybe if she had been a duelist or a poisoner, that's where it would have ended. Arsinoë had never asked Viago, and he wouldn't have been able to tell her.

But Arsinoë was a mage. There was always another test for a mage. Stupid of her to forget that, even in a moment of victory. Stupid of her to trust one of Esma's men.

The torturer had reminded her of that while they worked, their voice neither condemning or sympathetic.

A mage was a risk like no other kind of Crow. How would a client take it if some Crow listened too carefully to the whispers from beyond the Veil, whether it be in a moment of greed or pain or terror? How would the Crows ever recover their reputation if a Crow, from any House, could be made an abomination from something as mundane as agony?

The Fifth Talon had to be sure.

And Arsinoë, who had more practice that she would ever confess at ignoring the whispers of interested spirits, who had survived a Circle where Templars went readily with their hands already at their blades... Arsinoë had endured. Because she had to.

A mage would always be tested. Even her mother, an Apostate with more hatred for the Chantry than anyone Arsinoë had met before or since, had told her as much. A mage had to keep control.

Arsinoë had kept control.

That meant something, even now with the room still spinning from pain and from the mix of potions and poisons and antidotes that had been poured down her throat. The small brand on her hip proved it, marked her as a Harrowed Crow, a sign of protection if you could find the right Templar for the House to bribe.

Maybe in the morning she would even be happy about it. But it was hard to feel much now beyond the aches and the nausea and the silence of the otherwise empty room, broken only by that damn wisp.

Her eyes blurred again, and then her mind. Just the quiet and the pain and the occasional flash of interest-hurt-worry from the wisp. Viago would have scolded her if he hadn't been off on a Contract, but Arsinoë found she was too tired to care about whatever someone might try to do to her now.

It felt like hours later, maybe longer, when the clinking of glass vials finally drew her attention back the present. The physician back with more potions? But he had said she'd been given all the tonics she could safely consume for the time being. If not him then-

Maker. Just leave me alone. Please.

She groaned, and the noises at her bedside stopped. A shadow fell across the back of her closed eyelids, followed a second later by a touch to her bandaged cheek that was just a little too firm for comfort.

"Arsinoë?"

That sounded like Viago. Was she hallucinating Viago's voice now? She had thought being off in the Free Marches would at least keep him from lecturing her.

"Arsinoë." Definitely Viago. He sounded pissed, as usual, though the hand that stayed pressed against her face was new. "Arsinoë de Riva, stop pretending to sleep and tell me what that moron has been giving you."

That sounded like an order, so after a moment of deep resentment for the command, she forced her eyes back open, taking in the scene in bits and pieces. A blue leather glove at the edge of her vision. Weak sunlight through the high windows. A slight blur over the world, no matter where she looked. Everything had fallen quiet again, waiting for her reply.

And yes. There was Viago.

"Did..." her voice felt stuck in her throat, her mouth dry, "Did you scare off the wisp?"

"The wisp?" Viago's scowl deepened, and abruptly he drew his hand back, reaching for whatever he had been working on before she caught his attention. "Never mind, don't tell me, I don't want to know."

He waited a moment for her to argue. When she didn't, he added, "You're feverish. I suppose there's no point in asking what you remember about the viscosity of the tinctures you were given, is there?"

She thought about it for half a second, trying, but the mixtures she had been given kept slipping from her mind. She had something more important to tell him, didn't she? Something he needed to know more?

"Vi, I-"

I'm a Crow, she should have said. I passed. Whatever happens, I'll die as Crow.

She should have said, I graduated.

What came out was "Vi.. I'm safe."

Her voice came out all wrong, too weak at the ends, almost questioning, but she needed him to know. Whatever happened next, she would die as a Crow, and an Antivan, and not just an Apostate.

Viago's face scrunched up strangely. For a moment it looked like he was going to reach over and poke at her again, but his hand only rose and fell back to his side.

"Yes..." He said softly. "Yes, I'm watching the exits. And I'll fix this."

That wasn't what she had meant, but Viago was strange at the best of times. She let it go, closing her eyes as he began his familiar prattle about reagents and the comparative virtues of embrium versus arbor's blessing versus elf root, letting the words wash over her in waves.

#Arsinoë de Riva #Esma de Riva #Viago de Riva #Rook de Riva #viago & rook #I know nothing about medicine so please forgive any glaring errors for the sake of drama lol #I do think the fever at the end there indicated infection- also that Esma's physician sucks- which is why Viago's so freaked out #I know the humorous line implies Rook got drunk when she graduated but maybe Viago took her out later because he felt guilty lol #thank you for the ask btw!#I don't think I've written this much in actual narrative in ages #it was fun #fun fact: Viago did in fact have a contract in the Free Marches #but he also had a strong sense of paranoia and spies keeping an eye out #so he finished faster than he probably should have and came back to find Arsinoë a mess in the infirmiry #literally cannot stop keeping an eye on her for more than a few seconds

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