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formosusiniquis · 6 months ago

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

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

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

AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bit crumbles immediately between Robin’s fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stephanie Marie Henderson.”

“Oh my god!”

“Shut up, don’t even.”

“Oh. My. God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Especially you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I’m saying!”

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

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

It’s definitely too late to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? I mean with Steve Harrington? ”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hen-”

“I need you to come pick me up, now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the same sentence twice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“Girl code?”

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

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

“Oh my god, really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mindy Peterson.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what did you actually do?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah, that really narrows it down.”

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

“The truth being that Stephanie Henderson always existed?”

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

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

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

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

“Obviously, just let me clock in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you-”

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

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

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

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

“I mean they’re in high school so-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They should meet.”

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

“Who should-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look nice?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are your intentions with Stevie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone’s in a mood.”

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

Usually.

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

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

“That’s sepia.”

“Bless you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sally from the basketball team?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“I was just trying to- What?”

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

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

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

“I think he got the upperhand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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lovebillyhargrove · 13 days ago

Text

a Harringrove fic idea

***

They weren't friends. Weren't anything. Didn't talk much. Weren't enemies or rivals or .. literally anybody to each other. Since that memorable fight at the Byers they didn't even notice one another, minding their own business.

So if they weren't and didn't, then why did Billy's death wreck Steve the way it wasn't supposed to?

They weren't friends. Didn't have one single decent conversation.

Eventually all the commotion died down. The Earth went back on its axis, and every day started to be normal. Quiet.

Steve resumed his meek attempts at winning Nancy's heart back, when Jonathan was out of the picture. Gave her the six nuggets in California speech. She wasn't impressed.

Steve himself wasn't impressed much.

It's just that after everything has gone silent, he has the feeling that somehow

Everything is wrong. The recipe lacks one vital ingredient, cause everything tastes bland.

Everything is forced, including his weary wish to bring back what he and Nancy had.

It's gone. He doesn't want it, yet he's asking.

One day he can't do this anymore. He packs his bag, puts it in the Beamer's trunk and drives to California alone. Ends up in a town close to the beach, rents a small apartment, finds a job.

Starts living a new life, feeling better,

More true.

However, still looking for something that seems to have been lost without him even realising what

What was it? What is it?

His life's great, yet every day is pierced with unutterable sadness and unrest, and longing.

He goes to the ocean, it's calling him, there's a secret, a mystery it wants to share,

Steve peers into the distance, into the misty emptiness, it is not empty, there's something hidden out there for him, and his heart hurts and yearns, inexplicably.

Then years down the line, when he's in his late twenties, there comes a day when Steve meets a guy. On the beach. They are both surfing, well, Steve's just having fun, the guy is much more professional about it.

And the guy looks exactly like the long-dead Billy Hargrove. Only his hair is short, and yeah, he looks .. grown-up, Harrington does too.

Steve even calls out to him, in confusion,

Billy ..?

What? .. Nah, I'm Jason.

Jason Scott.

They start talking, hanging out, and Steve likes him, like .. fuck, he likes him. It's weird, cause the guy looks like Hargrove but he's not, and has a whole different background story, and

He's just not.

Billy Hargrove died a horrible death which Steve witnessed, with his own wide-open eyes.

It's super weird.

They hang out more, and talk and laugh together. One night, they kiss, and they .. oh god, Steve could never imagine

That it can actually feel how it does.

The guy looks like Billy Hargrove. Sometimes Steve can swear, there are little glimpses of Billy in him, but hey

That's crazy, and there can be people in this world looking alike, and Steve didn't really know Hargrove that well, and it's been years, he can't remember him, with much clarity, also he's not gonna get all cuckoo and scare away his

Happiness ..?

Sure feels like it. Feels even truer. What they have, the heat they share, the passion,

It goes deep. It's grown roots.

They don't say the L word but they are living it every day, and it's strange, and blinding, Steve's floating on clouds all the time, intoxicated

Like a teenager.

It feels great, it feels right, no

It is right.

They've found happiness in each other, and the longing ..? Steve goes to the ocean, peers into the distance and sees beautiful sunsets, holding Jason's hand. There might be a little secret still lurking in the glow, but Harrington is too dazzled to notice.

Until one evening when Steve accidentally discovers an old worn-out driver's license in the name of William Hargrove among Jason's stuff.

His heart drops, hands shake, throat dries up.

What felt so true burns like a lie.

***

What's going to happen? Is Jason Billy? What the fuck is going on?

***

Jason Scott is from Power Rangers. Can't think of any other name for Billy. Jason Montgomery 🤔

#harringrove #billy x steve #harringrove fic idea

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bookshelf-dust · 2 years ago

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how people can change

steve harrington x gn!byers!reader

word count: 4,427

warnings: swearing, like one use of y/n, mentions of season one steve's bullshit, mentions of death, enemies to friends to more type beat

a/n: my very first *full* steve fic. look at us. who woulda thought? not me. i've been working on this since february. don't look at me, i know. i know. but i think i've gotten some sort of hold on how i'd like to write steve. some of the dialogue (season 2) isn’t mine. (also the title is a lyric from strange by celeste!) let me know what you think, okay? i love you. steve loves you. don't tell me if it's bad.

————

November 1984

The door slams behind you with a deafening thud, and you take the extra five seconds to lock it. You know, that action no one else in your family seems to be capable of performing.

The house is quiet, and you step over the map of Hawkins sprawling over the hardwoods, careful not to damage Will’s work.

Your keys clang against the table, knocking into your mother’s ashtray. It’s dead quiet again, and you freeze at a subtle interruption in the silence. There’s a muffled sound coming from somewhere else in your home, and frankly you’ve had enough of everything the last couple of days. Which is why Joyce sent you home to get some sleep, to clear your head.

There’s no denying that you have a soft spot for Will. He’s always been your buddy. And you love Jonathan, you do, and he’s got this sick ability to know what you’re thinking or feeling before you do, but he doesn’t need your protection like Will does.

Will is your best friend. And he’s got one hell of a support system with you, Jonathan and your mom behind him. He deserves the world. You’ve always thought that.

You quickly infer that it’s a walkie making the sound, based on the staticky crackle, the slightly muffled voice of whoever’s trying to get through from the other side.

Yours is off—you know it is—so it has to be Will’s. Jonathan was too good for a walkie-talkie.

You step down the hallway, pushing your younger brother’s bedroom door the rest of the way open. You scan the small area for it, listening.

“Code red! This is a code red! I repeat, this is a good red! Shit, is anyone there?”

You snatch up the device, extending the antenna.

“Dustin? Is that you?”

“Jesus christ! Where have you been?” Dustin exclaims, and you swear you can hear someone else interfering with his words.

“Sorry! I wasn’t home. What’s wrong?” You sit on the edge of Will’s bed. It’s so much comfier than yours.

“It’s Dart! He’s, he’s just…you know what? It’s a long story. Where are you right now?”

This time you definitely hear another voice, and maybe even music.

“Dart? You kept him, right? I fucking knew it, Henderson! You’re so not a good liar.”

“That’s for sure.” You can’t place the voice, not over the walkie and over Dustin’s rambling, but you do catch that and it’s enough to leave you curious.

The boy starts to argue back, but you cut him off. “Dustin, who are you with?”

“Uh,” he coughs, “Well you see, um…Steve Harrington. I’m with Steve Harrington.”

Dustin gets a severe eye roll from said partner-in-crime, but he brushes it off.

“What?” You’re so confused. How did that even happen?

“I know! But everyone’s been MIA!”

“Oh my god,” you say, and Dustin can practically see you face-palming.

“Look,” he shoves a handful of rogue curls back under the brim of his hat. “Can you just meet up with us? The old junkyard?”

You push off of Will’s bed, and start walking through the house again, retrieving your things. So much for a nap or eating anything other than hospital Jell-O. What are you gonna say? Fuck no?

“Yeah, yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank god,” Dustin breathes. “See you then. Over.”

You make sure to check the batteries in Will’s walkie before you go, and then you’re back in your car again, backing out just as aggressively as your mother (something you said you’d never do).

————

“Yeah, Farrah Fawcett. You tell anyone I just told you that, and your ass is grass you’re dead, Henderson. Do you understand?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

Dustin goes quiet for a minute, watching each step he takes. The train tracks are old, and there are one too many loose nails for his liking. “So what’s Y/N got against you, man?”

Steve adjusts one of the gloves he’s wearing, trying not to think about the fact that he’s gonna smell like raw meat for who knows how long. “Uh, I don’t know, exactly. Never really talked to them before. But I’d assume it’s the–”

“The assholery?” Dustin interrupts.

“Dude.”

“What? It’s true.”

“No, yeah, you’re right.”

Dustin catches the slip in Steve’s attitude almost immediately. “Hey, they’re good, okay? I don’t think you’re a total dick, if that means anything. You’re trying and that’s what matters, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, we will. Thanks, Henderson.”

Dustin gives Steve a winning smile. This kid could rule the world, he thinks.

“Anytime,” Harrington. He lifts his hand up, awaiting a fist bump that Steve returns without a second thought.

————

You wander down the trail of raw meat you’ve found, not bothering to even question what's happening or where the meat came from. Frankly, you don’t really want to know.

At the end of your path, you catch a glimpse of familiar curls, even if they are crushed under the red brim of a hat.

“Dustin?”

The boy practically gives himself whiplash turning around to face you.

“Holy shit, I’m so glad you’re here. It’ll be nice to have someone older than me who’s not a total pain in the ass.”

“Hey, I heard that.”

The voice pulls your attention away from Dustin. When you look up, Steve Harrington is walking out of the biggest vehicle in this abandoned lot: a school bus. He’s wiping his hands on his jeans and pushing the ends of his sleeves up.

Dustin looks at you. “You guys have to be acquaintances at the least, right?”

You nod at him, feeling your face burn. If there’s a word for a less-than-acquaintance, you don’t know it. But that’s probably where your relationship with this boy lies. King Steve isn’t really someone you just miss.

But yeah, you know him. You know he’s a dick.

“Hi.” Steve pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and crosses his arms.

“Hi.”

You only look at him for a moment before your eyes are back on Dustin. The younger boy notices the tension radiating from you, and honestly, he gets it. Steve Harrington wasn’t exactly the person he’d planned on spending his day with, but here he was. Desperate times call for desperate measures or whatever.

“So what are we doing?” You ask.

Dustin puts his thumbs underneath the straps of his backpack, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little. “It’s a long story. Best if we talk while we work.”

You roll your eyes at him, but follow the thirteen-year-old wherever he wants to go. You’re not sure you could deny Dustin Henderson anything.

————

You watch as Max, a young girl you’ve just met, stomps up the steps of the ladder you’ve rigged inside the mess of a bus that you’re camped out in.

Your chest aches because what Dustin just said to her was rude, it was rude, and you can’t believe the two of them. You sit, arms crossed and leg shaking up and down, glaring at Steve.

You find it hard to believe that after everything you’ve learned tonight, about Dart, about Mews—which you’re never going to get over because you only visit Dustin’s house for his cat, never him—that this is what they’re doing now.

“That’s good,” Steve says. “Just show her you don’t care.”

Dustin is pacing, hands deep in his pockets. “I don’t,” he breathes.

Steve winks. Watching the two of them is like watching a tennis match. You don’t even like tennis.

“Why are you winking, Steve?”

You drag your hand down your face, sick of hearing this stupid ass conversation. When Dustin sits, the constant clink of metal where Steve keeps flicking his lighter open over and over starts to give you a headache.

“Fuck, Steve, would you quit it already?”

He scoffs, snapping the lid to his Zippo closed harder than he had been before. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re pissing me off, that’s my problem.”

Steve’s brow furrows. He doesn’t really understand the sudden need for aggression.

“Is this really the time for you to be yelling at me?”

“Is this really the time for you to be a dick?”

Dustin jerks the antenna on his walkie down, clearly sick of the two of you. “Would you children stop bickering? This is a life or death situation we have going on here.”

“I’d prefer death,” you proclaim.

Dustin glares at you. “I can arrange that if you’d really rather die, than act civil for one evening.”

“I think all of the civility,” you gesture vaguely with your hands, “went out the window when you asked me to come help fight demo-dogs.”

Steve snorts at your words, and you glare at him, an “oh, is that funny?” look on your face.

Dustin rearranges the hat on his head, stuffing his curls underneath it once again. “Alright. I’m gonna go check on our status, you two…work shit out, okay?”

“Dude,” Steve starts, “I’m older than you. I don’t have to listen to your instructions.” He gestures vaguely with his hands.

Dustin flips him off, and that’s the only response Steve receives, leaving the two of you alone in the bus.

You remain quiet, hoping that if you do you might just disappear or dissolve into the cracked leather of the seat you're sitting on. Then there really wouldn’t be any form of confrontation.

Steve starts flipping the lid to his Zippo open and shut repeatedly again, but this time it doesn’t annoy you. In fact, it gives you something to focus on, and you know that if you had one you’d be doing the same exact thing.

You wonder if he’s nervous. Or just bored.

Your knee begins to bounce when you realize that he’s looking at you, that he’s stopped messing with the lighter. But you refuse to look back, staring instead at the way the moonlight glints off of the metal in between his fingers.

“So what’s your problem with me?”

The way Steve says those words is so unlike the way he’s spoken the rest of the day, the way he’s behaved with Dustin, that you feel a pang in your chest.

He sounds like he used to.

“Did you even hear that? How conceded you just sounded? Like it’s funny that I might have a problem with you, king Steve?”

Obviously the use of his nickname hits a nerve. He shoves the lighter back into his pocket and sits up, tucking his hands under his knees.

“Would you just cut the shit and tell me what your problem is then?”

You sit up, matching his stance. There’s a part of you that wants to piss him off. You ache for it.

“You’re a dick, that’s my problem.”

Steve scoffs.

“That’s it? Like I don’t already know that?”

You roll your eyes, oblivious to the fact that all three of the younger kids you’re with have their heads hung over the escape latch in the top of the bus, listening eagerly.

“You think I’m just gonna put up with you, Harrington? I’m sorry, did you forget the slut shaming you and your shitty friends did publicly last fall? Because I sure as hell didn’t. I didn’t forget that you walk around like you fucking own the entirety of Hawkins because you’re swimming in daddy’s money. I didn’t forget that your girlfriend took my best friend away from me.”

You stop, and Steve just looks at you. You realize how heavy you’re breathing and subconsciously watch the steady movement of his chest, trying to match the pace and calm down. You hadn’t meant to get worked up like that. But sometimes…sometimes shit just happens.

Steve sighs. Honestly he feels a little sick. And he could argue with you some more, say that you don’t know what you’re talking about, that that’s the past, that he’s getting better. But that feels shallow. It feels meaningless. Because he knows it’s true. That in worrying about only himself or getting the girl or impressing whoever, he hurt loads more people than he realized.

It’s such bullshit, he thinks. This life he’s been living.

“You know, I’ve gotten plenty of earfuls about my actions from Dustin, I promise you that much. He can be very mean.”

You snort, considering there’s absolutely no denying that. “He’s a smart kid.”

Steve nods. He’s trying to think of a way to respond. He’s not good with words.

“Look, I-I know I’m a dick, okay?” he starts. You decide to be brave and look at him. He seems to like that. The eye contact. It’s like it lets him know you’re paying attention. He doesn’t get a lot of that, not away from school.

“The thing with Nancy,” he gestures with his hands, looking away from you and at the wall of the bus, like it hurts him to talk about or something. “I don’t know. My solution to not getting what I wanted was apparently to take it out on her. Tommy H. proposed the idea, and I didn’t stop it.”

“You know I cleaned it off, right?” he continues.

You uncross your arms and sit up, criss crossing your legs instead. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I broadcasted the information across Hawkins. Tommy and Carol don’t even know.”

Oh. The fact that they didn’t know tells you that he did it without needed recognition. He did it because he wanted to.

“I just—she saw it. And then there was the whole thing…”

You start to grin before you catch yourself, but he sees it.

“It’s okay, you can laugh. I got the shit beat out of me.”

“You deserved it.”

He can’t argue with that. He won’t argue with it. “You’re right. I did. I said and did a lot that day that I regret.”

You nod, and then you’re both just looking at one another. It’s quiet out here, the same quiet you get at home, where you can hear the crickets, where you know there will be lightning bugs in the warmer months, free to roam uninterrupted by human activity.

Steve pushes his hair from his forehead, and though he sees you track the movement of his hand, he doesn’t point it out.

“What did you mean about your friend?”

If you’re being honest with yourself, you hadn’t intended for that to come out, but being in such close proximity to Steve in this moment had just made everything spill out.

You try to wave him off. “That was a whole thing. I didn’t mean to spill my guts like that.”

“No, it’s okay, I want to know. If you want to tell me, that is.”

You nod, chewing at your thumb nail now. Steve has the urge to reach forward and pull it free so you won’t hurt yourself, but he doesn’t. Instead he stays still and quiet, watching you contemplate a while.

Eventually he decides to keep going.

“I’m trying, you know,” he tells you. You look up and it gives him that little push to continue speaking. “To be better. I know you think I’m a total dick, and you’re not wrong, I know that, but I really am trying to be better. To be a good influence on those little shits.” He quirks his head upwards where he knows all three of his charges are eavesdropping, without a doubt.

You take a second and look at him. Really look at him. He seems to carry himself differently, though it’s not something you’d notice if you weren’t looking. He’s not dressed like his mommy picked out his outfit. He looks messy. The mess draws you in.

“I believe you. And I-I know I shouldn’t stereotype you, but it’s just—”

“I am a walking stereotype,” Steve grins. So do you.

“Yeah. I guess so. But I believe that you’re working on it. I suppose some people don’t remain assholes forever.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, though a little distracted. You still haven’t told you what you meant, but that’s not what’s really bugging him.

There’s this pull inside him. This longing for a friend. A real friend. Not someone he knows just because their dads were up each other's asses, or someone he just sits with at lunch because they’re of the same status quo.

And he just feels so alone right now. What with Nancy, this girl he thought he was in love with and everything, but clearly she doesn’t feel the same. What’s he even supposed to do with that? Did he ever actually know anything about her?

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that he’s sitting here with you, hanging out with thirteen-year-olds and hiding from creatures Steve’s brain can’t even begin to decipher.

“Barb,” you say. Steve panicked a little internally at the mention of her name, considering. But he keeps his eyes on you, focused on each word that leaves your mouth. “She was my best friend, in middle school that is.”

He nods. Oh. Oh.

“We were still close when we got to high school, had a little group and everything, right? And even though high school kinda fucks everything up, I didn’t want to believe that would happen to our little partnership, you know?”

He nods again, trying his best to pay attention. He’s trying harder than he ever has in school. He probably shouldn’t ever say that out loud.

“Anyways, she was my best friend. She was all I knew, and then we got to lovely Hawkins High, and she met Nancy. Nancy and I never really clicked, even when we tried. I guess it’s because I’ve always thought she was a pretentious bitch—sorry, Steve—but I don’t know. We just fell apart after that.”

“So Barb had Nancy and I had…no one. And the way my brain saw it was Nancy took my best friend from me, and then Nancy started seeing you, and so I saw those two from across the cafeteria, lounging with the popular kids. With you. And then she died.”

Steve is looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. Like he’s in awe of you. And it’s not anything negative. It’s warm. Understanding. Like something you’ve said has straightened something out in his brain, sorted something he couldn’t figure out on his own.

“S-so it was like we took her from you, in a way?” he asks.

“Yeah. And you didn’t. God, you didn’t. But it just felt like this…” you trail off, searching for the right words.

“Domino effect?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Exactly. And it’s not your fault, not at all. But I guess I already saw you as some dickish rich kid and that gave me another reason to stay the fuck away from you. And now that I’m saying it out loud I realize how awful it sounds because people change, you know?”

“No, I get it. I’ve been an asshole, and I’m sure I still am—Dustin can attest to that—but there are rich assholes that don’t change or probably won’t ever change. I know a few of them.”

You go quiet again. Steve doesn’t want you to stop talking. He’s starting to think he likes the sound of your voice.

“It’s good that you’re changing, Steve. I’m sorry I said you were such a dick.”

A breathy laugh leaves his throat. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m sorry for…everything.”

“Maybe we can make a truce or something. Start over. It’s not like we really know each other that well anyhow.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s cool. Whatever you want.” He means that. He thinks he’d do whatever you wanted him to.

“Okay. Maybe we can just try and figure it out.”

“I’d like that,” Steve says. He stops himself from proclaiming that he wants to try and fix this with you. Because you’re listening to him. You’re not mad. He doesn’t want you to disappear on him after this.

You give him a small smile and he swears he might cry. Not that that feeling lasts.

“Hey!” Dustin is leaning down into the bus, hands clasped together. “I’m so glad we’ve got this handled, but we’ve got a code red, so let’s get this show on the road, yeah?”

————

June 1985

The door to the back room swings open, a frazzled boy rushing in. You drop your candy wrapper on the table, and Robin keeps talking about the girl that you missed coming in this morning. She was “such a babe.”

“Hello?” Steve stands in front of the both of you, hands on his hips. You have to fight back a laugh.

Your eyes find Steve’s immediately, and you swear they soften, but maybe you’re imagining it. You nudge Robin’s leg where your foot is propped up on one of the supports under her chair.

She stops flailing and looks up, seeing Steve’s hand raised where he’d been about to snap to get her attention. She quirks a brow. “Don’t you snap at me, Harrington! This is important shit.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Could you two come and help me? I’m dying out here!”

It’s one of the hottest days of the year, and Scoops has had a line since it opened at ten.

You look at your watch. “My shift doesn’t start for…fifteen minutes.” He rolls his eyes at you, though the gesture is void of any malice it could possibly hold.

“Yeah, well this is supposed to be my break, so get out there, Buckley!”

She stands, though she’s pouting. “Come on.”

“You took the job,” he says, shoving her through the door. Robin gives him a look that you can’t see, but you can practically feel it from across the small room.

Steve lets out an exaggerated sigh, ripping off the hat he’s been wearing and throwing it on the table in front of you.

You watch him rummage through a bag before he emerges from its depths with a banana and throws himself down in the chair across from you, lifting your leg up from where you’d moved it to occupy the seat Robin had abandoned. His hand is warm on the bare skin of your calf, and he shifts the chair some, laying your leg across both of his.

“Steve.”

“Huh?” He peels the banana, aggressively fast actually, and rips off a chunk, popping it into his mouth.

“Why do you have a banana?”

He meets your eyes. “Snack, duh.” He chews, and then gestures at the closed window. “Been working up a sweat out there I think I deserve a break.”

You grin at him, and he feels like he might hit the floor.

“Want some?” Steve pulls off a chunk and holds it out to you.

“Did you wash your hands?”

He gasps, mid-chew, and forces himself to swallow. “D-did I—yes, I washed my hands, mom, I’m not four.”

“Eh,” Robin’s voice breaks your little bubble. She’s pulled the window open–that way she can eavesdrop– propping herself up on her elbows.

That makes you laugh, and when you smile your cheek is full of banana and Steve swears something is breaking inside of him.

“Gang up on me then why don’t you,” he says, handing you the last piece he’s got left. He tosses the peel in the trash, “what do you want anyhow, Robin?”

“Your break is up, and her shift has started. Let’s get to slinging ice cream, shitheads!”

You wipe your hands on your shorts and hop up. Steve doesn’t move, just looks at you.

“C’mon, Steven. It’ll be lunch sooner than later.”

He grins. His eyes look tired and you wonder if he slept any last night. He told you once recently that he doesn’t always sleep well, that sometimes he has to listen to tapes in order to keep his head from being so busy, to keep the thoughts from being so loud.

Steve has told you a lot since last fall. There’s a significant bit more that you know that’s more than what he’s given Robin, but you know he’ll let her in. He just needs the time.

Though sometimes you think he might be giving you everything. The parts of himself he’s never shown anyone else. Because you’ve been such a good listener, and Steve’s never really had that before.

He wishes he had the balls to tell you more. But he can’t fuck it up this time. Not with you. You’re too good.

Steve is your best friend now. You know that. He knows it.

If yourself from a year ago could see you now, she’d probably knock your fucking teeth in. But he’s just so much more than you thought. You’re not sure you’ll ever forgive yourself for not thinking there could be more in him, though he’s told you not to be upset. You’ve told him the same when he berates himself for not having paid you more attention in school.

It’s the past. You can’t live there. And today, you’re scooping ice cream for pre-sticky kids, for shitty pay, but it doesn’t matter because you have him. You have Robin.

You stick out your hand, and Steve takes it without a second thought. His palm engulfs yours, skin warm and a little calloused.

“We can watch whatever you want tonight.”

He squeezes your hand. You and Robin are supposed to have a sleepover with him tonight. He suggested he sleep in a guest room and you two have his bed, but Robin said she needs to be cuddled. You said you’re not letting him sleep anywhere but his bed.

“I thought you wanted to watch Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

“I always wanna watch that. But you can pick first, Stevie.”

Stevie. His stomach flips at that. You don’t let it out often, but when you do it’s like Steve might just die right there.

He straightens, deal clearly made, and you pull him up–not that you need to.

You push through the door with him, and immediately regret it. It’s like the soccer moms can smell your fear, and you know it.

“Breathe,” Steve says. “Dustin’s here.”

He is. The entire party. That you can deal with.

You think you could deal with an absurd line and angry mothers for the rest of your life if it meant assembling Dustin and Lucas’ weird orders. Even if you have to endure Will’s questioning looks and his pleas that you bring some ice cream home. If you have to listen to Robin’s word vomit.

If it meant spending time with Steve, you’d do it.

God, how shit changes.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington comfort #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #dustin henderson #steve harrington x byers!reader #byers!reader #robin buckley #savannah’s fics

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cliozaur · 4 months ago

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Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell 20 readalong

A couple of short observations about the first five chapters:

It’s amusing that, out of all the famous nineteenth-century publishers, Susanna Clarke chose John Murray—who mainly specialised in handbooks for travellers and actually invented the format of the ‘practical handbook’—to publish books on magic. I can imagine an AU where John Murray published literature for magicians instead of practical guidebooks, depriving the world of the latter.

York as “one of the most magical cities in England”: I remember my first conference on the history of witchcraft trials (in 2001) was in this magical city. And reading about it now makes me want to go there once again.

Mr Honeyfoot, who found a cause to pursue after the Society was disbanded, is so dear to me! It was so sweet of him to look for justice for the murdered girl with the ivy leaves in her hair and to satisfy a “small stone heart” that was disturbed by this story for centuries. I only wish his pursuits were successful.

John Childermass, for sure, has an appearance which is hard to forget, so it’s funny that Mr Segundus had difficulty remembering where he saw him. And it was his physique that made people in London take him for a magician, for “he has the wild romantic looks one associates with magicians.”

#jsamn 20 readalong #jonathan strange and mr norrell #susanna clarke #john childermass

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pumpkinstrawbrew · 11 months ago

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*harvey bullock's voice* : batman an' that scarecrow guy are in cahoots! i'm tellin' ya! the vigilante an' that fruitcake totally have somethin' nasty goin' on!

bullock ships it know whats up. meanwhile, gordon is like 🤷‍♂️ 'idk, they look like sworn enemies to me'. so what if batman apprehends him very weirdly.

...

(one of very lovely an’ endearing btas crane’s features for me, always gonna be how he’s a complete twerp compared to his comic counterparts. he’s not only hella scrawny, but he’s also pretty short too.

comic crane build like a pencil compared to bruce, but btas jon is this, but a small version. a real gremlin, where in the comics, he's a goblin.

him being smaller have it's +. for one, he's easier to throw around an’ manhandle. or in this case, i kinda just thought ‘hey, bruce will have no problem to just place him in his laps’. jonathan is cuddly sized for the bat. gotta abuse this advantage to the max. he can catch him this way, or can hold him too…

an’ look at that, it might lead to one of those few *rare, very rare* times, when jon will attempt to be comforting. he sucks at this, but he does show a shine of sympathy, if he's in the mood for that. but yeah, he would only do it, when batman is all sad an’ down. if he was scared, it’s another story.

depressed bat makes crane feel some sort of way he hates. he won’t dare to call it anything, but he would rather them do smth less…..this. being held is nice tho. so he tolerates it, telling himself that it's fine just this one time. but then, casually tolerates *basks in* it every damn time from that point on, while using the same excuse…

he can be regal like that lol.

an’ speaking of regal…….

i always loved, when the bat tried to catch the scarecrow for a second time in ‘nothing to fear’, an’ jon talks to him in an odd manner. almost like a teacher would speak with a student. bruce’s slightly shameful an’ vulnerable expression is everything in that scene, esp when jon stands on the upper row of stairs looking at him. the tides shift later on, naturally. but even as a kid, it was fun to see batman being kinda humbled by some short, weird guy in a potato sack.

like, jon is so funnily rude an’ ‘argh’ through the whole ep, it’s hard not to cherish, that batman had to put up with it. the way jonathan abused his henchmen is also smth else. he literally re-broke the dude's nose, while calling him names lol. i just wish, that besides ‘lock up’, we had managed to see other sides of him, which clearly existed. love him being a rude ass almost all the time too tho, bc it suits him. an’ it’s a fun difference compared to comic crane, whose spitefulness is usually more emotionally loaded an’ childish. btas crane feels like a proper antisocial sociopath, than anythin’. but like any good sociopath, he has that one person, who he fancy *even if in a strange fashion*. so, batman has a chance to see it all, once he gets past the cold shoulder phase.

in their case *btas universe*, i picture that jon’s wary ‘get out of my way’ fashion in which he deals with bruce, would essentially build up into proper obsession, where terrifying him is less of a curious experiment an’ method of eliminating him, but also like….he legit wanna know what batman fears. what he sees. how jon affects him an' if it affects his every-day life. fights with him getting more personal an' more crucial.

from that bit, i was wondering what jonathan might have thought about times, when batman hung out with justice league. an’ if there was a villain, who he would feel envious of. an’ idk, doctor destiny came to mind. he’s not like fear-themed villain even per say, but he can control dreams, which is scary in itself. so jon *naturally for him* assuming that dr. destiny went after batman’s fears an’ gave him nightmares. which would instantly make him possessive an’ jealous lol. it’s his an’ bat’s thing! it fully escapes crane, that batman…doesn't ever prefer whatever villain he's fighting. not in way, where he thinks that he bonds with them over being tormented lol. i mean, he kinda does it with jonathan to a degree, but he'd rather they did it in more normal way.

regardless, bruce will have to tell him, that nope, like dr. destiny totally sucks compared to the scarecrow. mostly bc if he won’t, jon might make so, that dr. destiny won’t breathe air ever again lol.)

#batman animated series #btas #scarecrow #jonathan crane #bruce wayne #batman #scarebat #brew draws

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nyxshadowhawk · 1 year ago

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I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part One

This is really for the benefit of my mother and sister, who are both diehard Lord of the Rings fans, but who don’t want to read The Silmarillion. My mother remembers picking it up with the expectation that it was another LotR book, and being disappointed that it read more like a history textbook than an actual novel. That’s because it’s not a novel, it’s a mythological epic along the same lines as the Homeric epics or the Epic of Gilgamesh, that tells the history of the first age of Tolkien’s world. It occurred to me that I am exactly the type of person Tolkien wrote The Silmarillion for — a person who knows folklore well enough to appreciate what he was trying to do, and recognize the conventions that he uses. I’m a person who went and applied to Yale’s graduate program in medieval studies (and got in!) just so that I could use the historical, cultural, and literary background of the Middle Ages to inform my own fiction. So, forgive me for saying it, but who’s better equipped to appreciate The Silmarillion than me? And it’s not as long as I thought, with only about 400 pages, which feels really doable after having read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. So, I’m going to paraphrase the whole of The Silmarillion, for all those who want all the juicy Tolkien lore but don’t want to read it themselves.

Before I get into it, here’s a bit of background, for those less versed in Tolkien lore: The Silmarillion is Tolkien’s magnum opus, which he spent his entire life working on and never properly finished. It could be called a “prequel” to The Lord of the Rings, but that would be misleading. It’s intended to be an original mythology for England, from before recorded history. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are both small episodes from this enormous mythological cycle, and neither is really all that significant in the overall story of Tolkien’s world (which is probably why they actually got finished, and published). The Silmarillion and The Hobbit were originally meant to be completely separate projects, which is why they differ so much stylistically, but Tolkien eventually decided to combine them into the same world. The Lord of the Rings fully integrates the world of The Hobbit and that of The Silmarillion, with copious callbacks to both. (The reason Tolkien wrote it at all is because his publisher wanted a Hobbit sequel and not whatever weird thing The Silmarillion was.) The Silmarillion was not actually published until after Tolkien’s death (because he was never ready to officially declare it finished), and it was edited together by his son Christopher.

Christopher had to do a lot of reworking in order to make the narratives more fluid and consistent with everything Tolkien had written about the world. In that way, The Silmarllion kind of does resemble the ancient epics that it emulates — it’s cobbled together out of its existing material, with many pieces missing or compensated for. Christopher writes,

It became clear to me that to attempt to present, within the covers of a single book, the diversity of the materials — to show The Silmarillion as in truth a continuing and evolving creation extending over more than half a century — would in fact lead only to the confusion and the submerging of what is essential.

Like any mythology, The Silmarillion is fundamentally organic, so what Christopher did is the equivalent of taking a bunch of Ancient Greek primary sources and cobbling them together into something like Ovid’s Metamorphoses: A coherent narrative that arranges all the basic stories from the mythology in chronological order, making it much more comprehensible, but also stripping away all of its inconsistency and nuance. That actually makes it more authentic. The fact that one person was able to produce anything close to the complexity of an entire oral tradition is extraordinary.

I’m not going in blind. I have a general idea of what The Silmarillion is about, and I’m familiar with general Tolkien lore through osmosis (mostly thanks to Quora). I’m interested to see if my initial impressions hold up, how much of what I know about wider Tolkien lore actually comes from this book. I know the Fall of Numenor’s in it. Is Beren and Luthien’s whole romance in it, or is that only in the Unfinished Tales? What about Elendil and the formation of the half-elven line that would eventually end with Aragorn? What about Annatar? I guess I’ll find out.

Ainulindalë: The Music of the Ainur In which Melkor learns that it’s really disrespectful to deliberately sing the wrong thing during a choral concert.

In the beginning there was God, whom Tolkien calls Eru or Ilúvatar. Ilúvatar creates beings called the Ainur, which are sort of like gods and sort of like angels, and tells them to sing for him. Initially, each Ainu only comprehends the part of Ilúvatar that it represents, but eventually they start to understand each other, and gradually they start to understand Ilúvatar’s big vision of the universe. They start to harmonize, and their singing creates the world. I’m only a few paragraphs in, and it’s already so beautiful I could cry.

The Music of the Ainur by Jef Murray

The first thing I’m reminded of is the Platonic (and Kabbalistic) idea of emanation — God creates higher beings that are manifestations of his thoughts, and then the higher beings create the physical world, which is a manifestation of their thoughts. Magic in general follows this same pattern of manifesting one’s ideas in physical reality. There’s so much more I could say about that, but this is meant to be a summary and not a theological dissertation. I’m betting it’s not a coincidence, though.

The Ainur are made of Ilúvatar’s ideas, and all of them express Ilúvatar’s ideas through their singing. But — oh no! — one of the Ainur comes up with some ideas of his own, and decides to sing about his own ideas in order to glorify himself. If you hadn’t guessed already, Melkor is this universe’s Satan. Just like Lucifer, Melkor is one of the most powerful and glorious of the Ainur, and he’s a Special-Chosen-One-Magical-Girl because he has a little bit of each of the other Ainur’s powers (i.e. he shares in all of their divine domains). Melkor introduces some discordant notes into his singing, which introduces imperfection to the universe.

Ainulindalë by Paontaur

Most of the Ainur who are in Melkor’s choral section are like, “who the hell is singing off-key?” But some of them like his melody better than Ilúvatar’s, and start singing along with him. This makes matters worse. Ilúvatar simply smiles and starts conducting a new song that’s similar to the first one, but a little different, to accommodate the discordant notes. Melkor and his choir start singing louder in response, and the entire universe becomes the equivalent of a gorgeous violin concerto and a heavy metal riff playing at the same time, each at full volume. To get an idea of what this might sound like, I listened to “The Cloud Atlas Sextet” and the guitar solo from “Seven Nation Army” at the same time, and… it kinda worked, in a weird way, but it definitely sounded like the two songs were competing with each other. Not easy to endure for long, so, a good portion of the Ainur stop singing.

Ilúvatar lifts his other hand, and another song starts up, interweaving with the first. One is slow and sorrowful, the other is loud and abrasive, and together they drown out Melkor’s evil guitar riff. Raising both hands, Ilúvatar ends the music in a single chord that is deeper than the abyss and higher than the sky.

Eru Ilúvatar by Elveo

Ilúvatar addresses the Ainur, telling them that they will now see the things that were created with their music. To Melkor, he says, “If you try to change my music, you’ll find that you’ve actually made my music even better in ways that you can’t even conceive of. Everything you do is going to serve me anyway, so go ahead and try!” So, we get an answer to the Problem of Evil right off the bat. Discord is allowed to exist because, in a roundabout way, it improves the things around it. Every story needs a villain to be interesting, and Melkor is the villain of the story that Ilúvatar is telling.

Melkor feels ashamed, and then resentful. Ilúvatar gives the Ainur the ability to see (when before they were only able to hear), and shows them a vision of the world they made with their singing: Arda. Each recognizes the part of Arda that it personally sang into existence. They see some of the past, present, and future, and they also see things that they hadn’t conceived of. One of these things is a vision of the “Children of Ilúvatar,” the races of Elves and Men. Ilúvatar brought them into existence with the third song (the bombastic-sounding one), and the Ainur didn’t have any part in creating them. Most of the Ainur immediately love the people, and understand more of the mind of Ilúvatar through watching them.

Melkor and his followers, most of which are the most mighty of the Ainur, focus all their attention on Arda (as opposed to anything else in the universe). Melkor convinces himself that his goal is to help the Children of Ilúvatar in by putting the world in order, but yeah… sure, buddy. His real goal is to subdue all the Children of Ilúvatar to his own will instead of that of Ilúvatar.

The rest of the Ainur are very impressed by Arda, and especially by the sea, which contains the distant echo of the Music (which is why all the Children of Ilúvatar feel called by it). The Ainur that sang the water into being is called Ulmo (no, not Elmo), and of all the Ainur, Ilúvatar taught him the most about music. Each of the other Ainur was given a different concept to comprehend and sing into existence. The air and wind was created by Manwë, who is the noblest of the Ainu. The earth was created by Aulë, who’s almost as skilled as Melkor, but his sense of pride is in making beautiful things, instead of in himself.

Ilúvatar shows Ulmo that, although Melkor tried his best to destroy the idea of Water through his singing, all he did was make it even cooler in the manifest world. Melkor created Cold to freeze the water, but all that did was create beautiful snowflakes and whirls of frost, which Ulmo never even conceived of. Melkor created Heat to evaporate the water, but all that did was create the beautiful clouds and the music of rain falling. The clouds have the double benefit of bringing Ulmo closer to his friend Manwë (it probably says something about me that I read “thy friend, whom thou lovest” and immediately thought, SHIIIP!).

So, therefore, everything Melkor does to screw up Ilúvatar’s creation ends up improving it in the long run, and that’s why Ilúvatar allows Melkor to exist.

Arda does not actually exist yet, it only exists as an idea that has been described in the singing. So, Ilúvatar formally begins the manifestation of Arda with an epic Let There Be Light moment: “Eä! Let these things Be!” A light appears, and the light is the whole of the universe.

Many of the Ainur choose to remain with Ilúvatar, but a certain number of them descended into the manifest universe, Eä. Making this choice requires them to give up a significant amount of their power and ability for as long as Eä exists. That’s what being alive and in the manifest world does — it shoves you down into a smaller version of yourself and limits the things that you can do. (The Wizards experience this same thing, but on an even smaller scale.) The Ainur that decided to go to Eä are called the Valar, and they function mostly like gods and goddesses.

The Valar are disappointed to discover that the world doesn’t actually exist yet. The singing just conceived of it as an idea, and Ilúvatar kickstarted its manifestation, but now the Valar have to actually build it. So, they begin to painstakingly shape the primordial matter of Eä into Arda, the world as we know it. Manwë, Ulmo, and Aulë do most of the work, but Melkor is there too. Melkor is that guy who doesn’t actually help with the group project, but then takes credit for the whole thing once it’s done. While the other three are building the world, he offers unhelpful suggestions and changes things to make it suit his own vision. When Arda is young and covered in fire, Melkor figuratively plants a little flag on it and names it Melkor-land. Manwë, who was the lead singer of the second melody that Ilúvatar created in response to Melkor, is really pissed off and brings a host of other spirits down to Arda to kick Melkor out. No one gets to claim credit for a group project that everyone else worked on! Melkor goes off into a corner to sulk, and leaves Arda alone… for the time being.

The rest of the Valar give themselves physical forms. Because they’re all excited for the arrival of the Children of Ilúvatar, they base their appearances on the Elves and Men. Their humanlike forms, gender, and so forth are about as inconsequential to them as our clothing is to us, and they don’t always bother to “wear” their humanoid forms. Melkor sees them walking around on Arda in these beautiful forms that emulate the people and the elements of the world itself, and is even more resentful than ever. So, he gives himself his own physical form, and because he’s motivated by spite, his form is dark and scary instead of bright and beautiful. He appears as something like an ice-capped volcano, all fire and ice, striding through the sea.

What follows is the first war between the Valar and Melkor. The Elves don’t know very much about this, so, little of it is recorded. What we know is that Melkor went around and petulantly undid whatever the Valar were trying to do, like your annoying sibling who keeps knocking down your tower of blocks every time you finish building it. Whatever the Valar tried to make, Melkor would destroy. If the Valar made a valley, Melkor inverted it into a mountain range. If they carved out an ocean, Melkor “spilled” it. Everything in the world is therefore corrupted or somehow altered by Melkor, instead of matching the Valar’s original idea for it, but in the end the group project is finished and it comes close enough.

Music of Ainur by breath-art

Valaquenta: Account of the Valar and Maiar according to the lore of the Eldar In which we’re introduced to the T̶w̶e̶l̶v̶e̶ ̶O̶l̶y̶m̶p̶i̶a̶n̶s̶ Kings and Queens of the Valar, and the Maiar.

This is what every fantasy writer wishes they could do — just exposit on the lore of their gods! I wish I could explain all about my fictional gods and how cool they are at the start of my novels, but I’m not Tolkien. Maybe someday I’ll be famous enough that someone will buy a book like this one that consists of nothing but lore.

Now, imagine that you’re opening the D’Aulaires’ Book of Elven Myths, and reading about the great elven gods (or more specifically, the gods as the Elves know them).

Valar by @phobso

As I usually do with pantheons of gods, allow me to introduce you to the pantheon of Arda! These are the Kings and Queens of the Valar, and there are seven of each:·

Manwë: The god of the sky and wind. He’s the High King of the Gods, just like Zeus. He has the epithet Súlimo, “breather.” Manwë sort of replaced Melkor as the Ainur who best understands Ilúvatar (making him roughly equivalent to the Archangel Michael, if Melkor is Satan).

Varda: The goddess of stars and light, Manwe’s wife. She lives with him in a tower on top of the tallest mountain (Taniquetil), and Being with each other improves their perception, so that they can see and hear everything. Varda hated Melkor before everyone else hated Melkor, and thought he was an asshole even before the Music was sung. The Elves call her Elbereth, and she’s their most important goddess.

Ulmo: The god of water, all water. He spends most of his time in the depths of the ocean, so he doesn’t see the rest of the Valar much and doesn’t bother to take on a human form most of the time. When he does, it is terrifying to see his gigantic form rise out of the waves and hear his voice, which is as deep as the ocean. Despite having disengaged from the other gods, he still loves the Elves and Men. He keeps tabs on them through all the freshwater rivers, lakes, springs, and fountains. Sometimes he wanders on shore in disguise and plays horns made of white shells, which fill whoever hears them with a longing for the sea (like Legolas).

Aulë: The god of rock and metal, precious stones, mountains, smithing, craftsmanship, and terrain. Aulë is the most similar to Melkor in temperament, because both wanted to make things of their own and have others praise them for it. It was mostly Aulë’s job to fix whatever Melkor broke during the creation of Arda, so he hates Melkor as much as anyone else. Melkor, meanwhile, lost his ability to create anything of his own — he can only corrupt or destroy things that others have made, so he especially envies Aulë.

Yavanna: The goddess of nature and agriculture, Aulë’s wife. She usually appears as a woman in a green dress, but sometimes she appears as a Tree of Life who connects the groundwater with the sky. She has the epithet Kementári, “queen of the earth.”

The Fëanturi: The masters of spirits, two brothers who rule over Death and Sleep. They’re called Mandos and Lorién, but these aren’t their actual names—they’re the names of the places they live. Their actual names are Námo and Irmo. (I’m not really sure why they were introduced to us by the names of their domains, but linguistics is weird, and Tolkien fully replicated its weirdness.)

Namó/Mandos: The god of the dead, who lives in the Halls of Mandos, in the far west of Valinor He forgets nothing, knows everything, and knows the fates of everyone. It’s his job to pass judgement upon the beings that live in Arda after they die (or… whatever the elves have instead of death? A sort of purgatory), and he works under Manwë’s authority.

Irmo/Lórien: is the god of dreams, who lives in the gardens of Lórien (now you know where the name “Lothlórien” comes from). The Valar often take breaks in the heavenly world of Lórien whenever Arda becomes too much from them.

Vairë: “The Weaver,” the goddess of history, who records all of time in her webs. She’s Namó’s wife, and lives in Mandos with him.

Estë: The goddess of sleep and healing. Like her husband, she is gentle, refreshing, and not at all like Morpheus.

Nienna: The goddess of sorrow and grief. She mourns incessantly for everything Melkor has ever done, and everything that was hurt or lost as a result. On the slightly brighter side, she’s also the goddess of compassion and hope. She lives even further west than Mandos, and the spirits trapped in Mandos supplicate her for her wisdom. She is Namó and Irmo’s sister.

Tulkas: The god of strength and heroism, who came to Arda specifically to help the other Valar fight Melkor. His epithet is Astaldo, “the valiant.” He has long golden hair and a golden beard, doesn’t need a horse because he can outrun everything, and mostly just punches stuff.

Nessa: The goddess of speed, Tulkas’ wife. She likes running and dancing, and deer follow her everywhere she goes.

Oromë: The god of the hunt and Nessa’s brother. He prefers to stalk around Middle-earth, hunting Melkor’s minions, rather than to live in Valinor with the other Valar. His horse’s name is Nahar. He has the epithet Aldaron or Tauron, “Lord of Forests.” He has a magic hunter’s horn that sounds like the sun rising or like lightning.

Vána: The goddess of youth and flowers, Yavanna’s younger sister and Oromë’s wife.

The influence from the Olympians is obvious, but this little section hints at a lot more depth and complexity in each of these beings (well, the male ones, and about half of the female ones). I’m really interested to see how they develop from here.

In addition to the Valar, there are spirits called the Maiar, which are “of the same order as the Valar but of less degree.” I suppose that means that they’re also Ainur? It’s hard to tell, but regardless, they’re the direct underlings of the Valar and they act as intermediaries, so, we could call them lower-ranking angels. There isn’t any specified number of Maiar, and most of them don’t have names. A handful of them do:

Ilmarë: Varda’s lady-in-waiting.

Eonwë: The herald of Manwë.

Ossë: One of Ulmo’s underlings, the spirit of stormy and choppy seas, who lives near the coasts of the ocean.

Uinen: Ossë’s wife, the spirit of calm seas, who protects marine life. Sailors pray to her to calm the waves, and her hair spreads throughout all the waters. Numenoreans in particular worshipped her. Ossë very nearly joined Melkor, but Uinen prevented this.

Melian: A handmaiden of both Vána and Estë, who lives in Lórien and tends the trees there. She’ll be important in Quenta Silmarillion.

Olorin: Another Maia who lives in Lórien, but he spent a lot of time with Nienna, who taught him compassion and patience. This made him the wisest of the Maiar. He’s not important to this story, but he is important to another story that you already know…

Then of course, there’s Melkor. His name means “who arises in might,” but because he’s evil, he doesn’t deserve to have this name. Instead, the Elves called him Morgoth, which sounds a lot scarier. Because he has some of the powers of all the other Ainur, he can affect all of their creations, but because he’s evil, he can’t do anything with them other than distort and corrupt them. Because he’s arrogant, spiteful, and fixated on ruling the world, this is all he ever does.

Melkor also has Maiar servants among his followers, whom he turned evil; they became fiery demons that the elves call “Valaraukar,” but that we know better as Balrogs. Most of Morgoth’s Maiar don’t have names either, but one of them does. His name is Mairon, which means “admirable,” “excellent,” or “precious.” He was originally one of Aulë’s Maiar, but left his service to join Morgoth, becoming only slightly less evil than Morgoth himself. The Elves decided that he also didn’t deserve his name, and called him Gorthaur the Cruel, or else a name that means (roughly) “abhorred” or “vile” — Sauron.

More to come!

#the silmarillion #silmarillion #tolkien #jrr tolkien #the lord of the rings #lotr #eru iluvatar #melkor #music of the ainur #ainulindale #valaquenta #valar #summary #silm #the silm #silm art #silm fanart

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withacapitalp · 1 year ago

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How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 16

Part One Part Fifteen Link to Ao3. Part 17

So late but I needed to post this as soon as I was happy with it haha! Thank you to @stevethehairington for betaing and @thefreakandthehair for listening to my endless rambles

Step Sixteen: Fix What You Brea

Decorating a christmas tree was an interesting experience.

It wasn’t like Eddie had never seen a tree before, it just wasn’t something he had ever personally done. Before living with Wayne, his parents had never stayed in one place long enough to have a tree, and after he moved in with Wayne, they both agreed that the money would be better spent on having a present for Eddie instead of a tree to just stare at. Eddie had always thought it would be kind of stupid anyway. What was the point?

But decorating Steve’s tree was actually pretty enjoyable.

Sure, Frank and Jeff were fighting over eating the popcorn string instead of hanging it up, and yeah, Jonathan kept making little side comments to Nancy about it that were almost a shade too sarcastic for comfort, but the air was filled with laughter, and Steve was directing him on where to put the important ornaments, so it wasn’t all bad.

“What about this one?” Eddie asked, holding up a delicate glass design. It was shaped like a pair of ballet slippers, hanging on a pink ribbon that gleamed in the lights on the tree.

This was the best part in Eddie’s opinion. Every single one of the ‘special’ ornaments had some story attached. A family anecdote or a tradition long held. Steve wasn’t on Eddie’s level of storytelling, but there was something incredibly cozy about holding out an ornament and listening to Steve tell the tale as they hung it up together.

“That ones my mom’s,” Steve said, his voice inordinately warm as he took the ornament and leaned into Eddie’s space to place it on the right side of the tree almost all the way at the top. “She was a ballet dancer back in the day. The ribbon is from her first set of pointe shoes.”

“That’s cool,” Eddie said, looking closer. Sure enough the satin was too thick to be a traditional ribbon, and there were rips in it that had been sewn back together with pale pink thread.

“Yeah. You have to replace pointe shoes every twenty hours of dancing or so, but my mom’s family never had much money, so she used hers until they were too broken to dance,” Steve explained, tracing his index finger down the side of the ribbon, his eyes far away somewhere Eddie couldn’t quite reach.

Huh.

It was strange to think of anyone in Steve’s family as anything but rich. The Harringtons were well known snobs, and although Eddie didn’t personally know Steve’s mom, he had definitely heard about her. Head of the PTA, head of the ladies auxiliary, head of the church prayer group. She was a socialite through and through.

Initially Eddie had heard the word ‘ballet’ and imagined an uptight little prima in a sterile looking studio with starched white tutus and perfect form. Steve’s story had shifted that, and now Eddie’s mind was conjuring up images of a tiny girl practicing and practicing her steps with shoes that were tearing at the seams. A small child trying and trying to be as good as everyone else when the tools she was working with were nowhere near what everyone else got to have.

The same way Eddie himself had practiced on his first guitar before he had started dealing and was able to afford his Warlock.

“Why’d she stop dancing?” Eddie asked softly, suddenly desperate to know the answer. He needed to make the two images connect, needed to find the through line that could turn a poor kid who just wanted to dance into a formidable small town queen.

“She married my dad,” Steve replied, giving the exact answer Eddie hadn’t wanted to hear. “They moved here, had my brother, and Mom didn’t need to work anymore. The back room used to be her studio, but my parents decided to make it a second office for my dad.”

Eddie bit his tongue, looking at the tree but avoiding the shimmering ballet slippers sitting on the branch above his head.

Steve’s mom had been like him, then she married a rich guy, and gave up all the things that mattered for money. She had been just like him, once upon a time.

Would that happen to Eddie?

Was he turning into someone different now because of his crush on Steve?

It wasn’t a completely lunatic idea. He was here decorating a tree, which is something he normally saw as completely arbitrary and useless. He was letting a jock into hellfire, and not just any jock but the King.

Would being near Steve chip away at all of Eddie’s long held beliefs? Would he move backwards and backwards because of this idiotic infatuation, until his guitar was just an ornament on a tree?

“Eddie?”

And then with just one look, Steve erased the entire idea. One flash of those big brown eyes and that little side quirk of his head, and Eddie is a goner. There was no way Steve would ever turn his partner into some cookie cutter perfect picket fence person, no planet on Earth where Steve wouldn’t love someone enough to love their weird bits too. This was Steve.

And besides, it wasn’t even like Eddie was the kind of person that had a shot with Steve in the first place. For a lot of reasons.

“Sorry, got lost in thought, Sweetheart,” Eddie said, crooking his mouth into a half smile and ignoring the panging ache of guilt crushing his chest. Steve’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned closer, letting his arm rest against Eddie’s.

“Well, don’t go somewhere I can’t follow,” He murmured, the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his body sending Eddie into a tailspin.

Just like before when their hands were joined and Steve’s warm breath was blowing across his frozen fingers, Eddie’s mind stuttered to a halt. The endless loops and running thoughts were stuck in place, held motionless by the enigma that was Steve Harrington. It was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at the same time, and Eddie needed to get away from it before he did something he couldn’t take back.

“C’mon, we’ve still got work to do, lazy bones!” Eddie chirped, slipping away from Steve and practically jumping over to the box of carefully packaged decorations. He was so focused on escaping, that he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings until it was a moment too late.

At the same time Eddie picked up the next ornament, Jeff and Frank’s battle over the popcorn string reached its apex. Jeff let go of his side of the string, and Frank flew backwards. He barreled into Jonathan, who crashed into Nancy, who stumbled and bumped into Eddie just enough to make him lose his grip.

The air was filled with the terribly delicate sound of breaking porcelain, and everything seemed to freeze in place. All six of them stared at the ground, where a tiny angel rested in three pieces where it had once been whole.

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“We were just fucking around, but we shouldn’t have-”

“Steve, I’m so-”

Floods of apologies from the rest, but Eddie stayed silent. He was watching Steve like a hawk as he slowly bent down on one knee and began to collect the pieces of the broken ornament.

Steve hadn’t said a word yet, but he was still saying plenty. His shoulders were almost at his ears, and his fingers were shaking as they tried to grab onto the porcelain remains. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were starting to take on an honestly terrifying shine, and his blinking was getting more and more rapid by the second.

Eddie should have left it alone, should have given Steve space to collect himself, but he had never been good at leaving things be. So, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, Eddie knelt down by Steve and reached out to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart?”

“It’s fine,” Steve instantly replied, a completely hollow smile materializing on his face as he continued to blink far too much. He leaned away from Eddie’s touch, a tiny jerky movement that put a twenty pound weight on Eddie’s chest. Steve scrambled upwards, cradling the broken ornament close to his heart as he continued to fake a smile. “It was an accident, Babydoll. No worries.”

It was an accident, but that didn’t make it ‘fine’. Steve was obviously so far from fine, and even that little silly name wasn’t enough to assure Eddie of the lie. It actually made it worse, like Steve was trying to appease him, to make Eddie let it go, when he really didn’t think he should.

“I’m gonna go see if we have superglue. It doesn’t look too bad,” Steve said to the entire group, still faking it. Unlike Eddie though, the rest were buying it, tension leaking out of them with relieved smiles and quiet sighs. “You guys finish up though, people will be here any minute.”

And then he was gone, ducking into the kitchen and disappearing from view, leaving Eddie unmoored and unsure of where to go. Every fiber in his being wanted to chase after Steve, catch him alone and hope that he wouldn’t keep trying to hide, but he was stuck in place. Steve had leaned away, escaped as soon as he could, that had to be a sign that he didn’t want Eddie near him.

Wasn’t it?

“Nice job, butterfingers,” Frank joked, gently jabbing an elbow into Eddie’s ribs in an effort to lighten up the air around him.

Eddie threw him a distracted smile, still staring at the doorway Steve had disappeared through and trying to ignore the part of him that was desparate to follow.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Nancy murmured to Jonathan, nearly inaudible over the sound of Jeff and Frank looking for a broom to get any remaining slivers of porcelain on the ground. Jonathan nodded with a quiet hum, kissing Nancy on the cheek before letting her go without even a word.

Because it was oh so natural for an ex-girlfriend to leave her current boyfriend in the dust to go check on her ex-boyfriend.

Eddie watched her perfect little curls bounce in their perfect little ringlets as she practically skipped out after Steve. Now Nancy was going to go in there and comfort Steve, act all sweet and soft and drag Steve into thinking that she cared when she was the one that had cheated. Hell, maybe they would even kiss, and she would have her hooks in Steve again.

Why wasn’t Jonathan upset about this?!

… Why was Eddie so upset about this?

Eddie let his eyes slip shut, his breath escaping in one huge gust as he finally began to wilt. It wasn’t really any of his business. He and Steve were friends. That was all. If Steve wanted to kiss Nancy, then he would kiss her, and that wasn’t Eddie’s choice. All Eddie had was a fanciful crush, a ridiculous dream, a hope for something that he should never have let himself hope for.

But still.

“I’m gonna find a bathroom,” Eddie muttered to no one, slipping out of the room and carefully creeping down the hallway towards the kitchen.

He could hear the indistinguishable sound of voices coming from the room ahead, the open door tempting him closer and closer for a taste of what Steve and Nancy were discussing.

Was Eddie really doing this?

Yes. Yes he was.

Resolved, Eddie leaned against the hidden side of the doorway, letting his head hit the wall as he shut his eyes and focused on eavesdropping.

“-really don’t want to talk about it, Nancy,” Steve said, sounding utterly exhausted as cupboards opened and slammed shut.

“Okay,” Nancy relented, clearly not happy to let the subject go, “let’s talk about the other thing?”

Other thing?

“Other thing?” Steve asked. Eddie bit back a snicker, his heart fluttering at the way Steve had mirrored him without even knowing it.

“You invited Eddie?”

The humor instantly fled, rushing out of the hallway along with all of the oxygen, leaving Eddie dizzy and struggling to breathe. His indulgent smile soured into a scowl, and his hands curled into tight fists.

It was the tone. That tone that Eddie had heard his whole life. The condescending, lower-than-me, dirt on the shoes of society tone. It was the kind of thing that girls like Nancy could use because they lived in perfect two story houses on cul-de-sacs, and Eddie was trailer trash from the bad side of town.

Well fuck her. Fuck Nancy Wheeler and her stupid perfect life, and fuck her for hating him just for existing. Eddie could hate her right back. He had hating the conventional down to a science, an art form almost. He was brilliant at striking first, and he had half a mind to walk in there and tear her down a few notches, just for the fun of it.

“What is your problem with him?”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, blinking his eyes open and staring in shock at the wall in front of him, watching Steve’s shadow turn to face Nancy’s.

“I don’t have a problem,” Nancy scoffed.

“Obviously you do, Nance,” Steve shot back, crossing his arms “Eddie’s a good guy. They’re my friends.”

A good guy.

It wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation or anything, but the words and the protectiveness in Steve’s voice was doing terrible wonderful things to Eddie’s stomach. His fingers were still burning from being held by Steve before, and now his brain was on fire too, caught in the blaze that was Steve damn Harrington.

“I… I just think he might be trouble,” Nancy admitted softly, quickly continuing when she heard Steve’s inhale of interjecting, “and not in the way you’re thinking! I promise.”

A long silence, one that gave Eddie too much time to think, one that left too much room for endless questions with zero answers.

What kind of trouble did Nancy think Eddie was dragging Steve into? What would Eddie do that she was so scared of? Did she really care that much about Steve’s reputation? Steve didn’t even care about it anymore!

Was she scared for her brother? Why was all of this so damn cryptic?

“In what way?” Steve finally asked, and Eddie leaned in, needing the answer.

“Just-” Nancy cut herself off with a frustrated little sound, and her shadow eclipsed Steve as she stood on her tiptoes to put her arms around his shoulders.

“If you ever need to talk. About anything. Me and Jonathan are here. We would never judge you for anything. You know that right?”

Eddie barely heard it, the words muffled between the two bodies, but he heard Steve’s soft chuckle, and saw the way his shadow arms wrapped around Nancy.

Even just an image of them on the wall looked so… right.

It made a small part of Eddie die inside.

He closed his eyes once, hating the burn that was already there waiting. He shouldn’t have come over and listened. He shouldn’t have done any of this. But as Eddie took a step back to walk to the living room with his tail tucked between his legs, Nancy spoke again.

“And you need to tell them about El before she gets here.”

El?

Who was El?

“Shit, you’re right,” Steve sighed, pulling away from Nancy, “I totally forgot.”

“Do you remember the story?”

“Nancy I’m the one that came up with it,” Steve said, annoyance tinging his voice, “I remember the story.”

Story?

Eddie was definitely eavesdropping about something bigger than relationship woes now, and the mystery of it all dug right into his soft spot, pulling him away from his aching heart and tugging him forward with a desperate need to know more.

This was the thing that Wayne always tried to warn him about. Eddie’s need to know everything was always getting him in trouble, and he had heard plenty of times about what curiosity did to cats.

That was all true… but the thing that Wayne always seemed to forget was that satisfaction brought that cat back.

“It’s important that we get this right, Steve. You know what-”

But whatever Steve knew, Eddie didn’t seem destined to hear it. As he leaned closer, intent on catching every word, he overbalanced, tripping over his own feet and slamming his entire body against the other side of the doorway, coming into full view of both of them. Steve and Nancy both jolted, pulling away from each other and staring at Eddie with slack jaws and wide eyes.

Fuck.

“This is what I get for never tying my shoes,” Eddie joked awkwardly, trying to be casual as he straightened up and let out the world’s worst fake laugh. His brain was racing, running as fast as it could to come up with any rational reason for him being there besides eavesdropping.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing. He didn’t even seem to catch what was going on, but Nancy was practically glaring, her lips pursed in quiet fury.

“I’m fine, Sweetheart,” Eddie reassured him, ignoring Nancy’s look in favor of focusing all of his attention on Steve. If he played it right, then Nancy calling him out would just look like she was against him, which Steve had already tried to stop.

He wasn’t being manipulative. This was just strategy, the same kind of strategic thinking that any dungeon master worth their salt would employ. It was improv, a game, an act. Nothing bad. Nothing wrong.

So why was guilt creeping cold fingers down Eddie’s spine?

“What do you want?” Nancy asked, clearly trying to go for nonchalant but coming off completely cold with her crossed arms and flat inflection. It wasn’t working in her favor if Steve’s quick sharp look was anything to go by, and Eddie did his best not to preen under Steve’s protection.

“Drinks? The boys were wondering if you had anything stronger than eggnog,” Eddie wondered, coming up with his excuse on the fly. It would work. Frank was never one to turn down a stiff drink, especially if it came loaded with whatever ridiculously expensive alcohol the Harringtons were keeping stashed away here.

Nancy tossed her hair over his shoulder, raising a single brow as her expression stayed firmly unimpressed. It made Eddie want to squirm in place, but he held firm, meeting her head on.

“You know there’s gonna be kids at this party, right?” Nancy said, her voice a little less frosty, but a hell of a lot more condescending. “And the chief of police.”

Eddie bristled, opening his mouth to tell her exactly where Hopper could stick it, but Steve intervened before he could.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little,” Steve offered in a mediating tone, already moving towards one of the high cabinets and starting to open it. “But just one before they get here. Last thing I need is the brats trying to convince me they’re old enough for whiskey.”

“Jack and Coke? Or are you spoiling me with the good stuff?” Eddie asked, possibly laying it on an inch too thick, but unable to help it when Steve was giving him that fondly annoyed side eye.

“We do not drink the good stuff as a mixed beverage,” Steve lectured, grabbing a fat bottle from behind a box on the shelf and bringing it down, “but I think breaking out the crown wouldn’t be amiss.”

“A crown for a king!” Eddie crowed, taking the bottle of Crown Royal from Steve and wiggling his eyebrows. Steve huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head at Eddie’s antics and turning towards the fridge.

“Here, Nance,” Steve said absentmindedly, holding out a bottle of coke for her, “take that inside and you guys can make your own before everyone else gets here. I’ll be in once I find the glue.”

“Why don’t I help you?” Eddie blurted out, his mouth moving before his mind even caught up with what he was saying.

“Oh, sure,” Steve agreed, still distracted as he began to root around in cupboards.

“You’ll be needing this,” Eddie said sweetly, offering up the bottle to Nancy as she walked past him.

Nancy’s eyes narrowed impossibly further, and she let out a short sigh, taking the bottle of alcohol with a vicious little swipe and striding out of the room. Eddie watched her go, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at her retreating form.

He had won. That was what mattered.

Did Eddie even know what he had won? No, but he still felt like he did.

Once it was just the two of them, Eddie’s hackles began to slowly lower. There was no need to be on guard when it was just him and Steve. He idly twirled around the kitchen table, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen and looking around the room with distracted curiosity. He had been in the kitchen before, but never really cared enough to explore the details.

Now every fridge magnet was a new discovery, and the way that the spices were lined up on the rack was information that seemed important. But the most interesting thing in the kitchen was the angel on the counter right by Eddie’s fingers.

It was a pretty thing, delicate, but somehow still beautiful, even in parts. The sculpted wings were curled around the figure of a little boy, kneeling with his hands cupped over a star. At the bottom of the ornament was the name ‘Jaime’ in ornate script.

Jaime.

“Who’s Jaime?” Eddie wondered aloud. He had mostly been talking to himself, but his words caused Steve to stop short, flying around from the drawer he had been searching through and whirl around to face Eddie.

“Where did you…” Steve trailed off, noticing the angel. He wilted like a dying flower, biting at the inside of his cheek as he turned his back to Eddie, returning to the drawer of odds and ends.

“Jaime’s my brother,” Steve said shortly.

Eddie’s shoulders were starting to tighten, but he pushed through the feeling. It wasn’t a rejection, or an outright refusal to speak. Steve was just being cagey, secretive the way he sometimes was.

Eddie could crack that.

“Ah, yes, the elusive mystery brother,” He joked, putting on a fake accent and bopping over to Steve’s side, bumping against him in an effort to get Steve smiling again. “Will the elder Harrington sibling be making an appearance at tonight’s festivities?”

Maybe if he was, Eddie would get some answers. Reasons for the panic attack at the Hideout, or some details on the mysterious ‘El’. The possibility of unraveling another part of Steve was enticing, coaxing Eddie further down the rabbit hole.

“Um…”

Just like that the curiosity was gone. Instantly killed by the way Steve’s adams apple was starting to bob, and the sharp shaking inhale that went along with it. Eddie’s heart fell to his feet, and his fingers felt cold for the first time since Steve had touched him.

“I was just kidding around. You don’t have to-” Eddie began.

“It’s okay,” Steve interrupted, still worrying his lip as his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at Eddie. He was gearing up, trying to find what he wanted to say or maybe trying to force it out. Either way, Eddie was going to be frozen in place until Steve was ready to speak.

“Jaime um… Jaime died,” Steve finally managed, the word practically shooting out of his mouth the second he was done choking on it.

It was like being dunked in a freezing cold shower and tossed out in the snow. Not only had Eddie forced Steve into talking about his dead brother, he had broken the ornament obviously meant to commemorate him.

If he had a gun, he would be pushing it up against his temple. Nope. Even that wouldn’t be enough.

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed out, wishing he could just shut his damn mouth for once, but he was too keyed up to stay quiet. The apology was worthless, but it was already spilling out of his mouth, vomiting itself up, “Steve, I-”

“Really, it’s fine,” Steve insisted, busying himself with looking for the glue. “How could you know? Besides, he died before I was born, so…”

“So?” Eddie prompted, not really sure where Steve was going with that.

Steve said ‘so’ like that meant it didn’t matter, but from just one glance Eddie knew how much this did. Steve, who was one of the most open people Eddie knew, was hunched over, practically trying to disappear from Eddie’s gaze, hiding away whatever emotions were trying to push themselves up to the surface, demanding to be felt.

“So- I don’t know,” Steve said, cutting himself off with a sigh. He held up the tiny bottle of superglue, walking over to the other side of the counter, his back to Eddie again. “But it’s my mom’s favorite ornament, and she would get really upset if she came home and it was broken,”

Steve gave a tiny laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, the tip of his finger running over the edge of the wing like it had run over the satin of the ballet slipper ribbon.

“Not that I even know when she’s coming home again,” He whispered, the bitterness in the words so heavy that it was sitting on Eddie’s tongue.

It was just wrong. Eddie had never heard Steve sound so beaten down, even in the parking lot the other night. This was somehow worse than just watching Steve shake through an unseen panic that he couldn’t control.

But, unlike that night, Eddie could do something about this. So, rather than satisfy his own curiosity, Eddie put his needs to the side.

“Can I?” Eddie asked, holding out his hand for the glue and the angel. “I work on miniatures all the time. I’m super steady.”

Steve looked down at the hand outstretched toward him, then up at Eddie. A long slow look that went deep in Eddie, making him want to squirm with how far it was going.

Then, finally, Steve relented. He handed over the pieces and hopped up onto the counter, watching Eddie like a hawk.

Eddie immediately went to work, bending his head close to the angel and narrowing his eyes as he carefully glued first the broken wing on, and then the small corner of the name plaque. He held both in a firm but soft grip, balancing the ornament effortlessly between his hands as he waited for the glue to bond the pieces back together. And, as he did all of that, he worked up the courage to say what he was thinking.

“You know it’s okay, right?” Eddie whispered, unable to make his voice any louder.

“What is?” Steve whispered back, just as quiet.

“If you aren’t okay,” Eddie replied, braving a quick glance up at Steve’s face.

It was the wrong thing to do. The blank look of utter shock on Steve’s face was painful, hurting Eddie inside in a place he didn’t even know existed.

All at once Eddie was sure that he was the first person to ever tell Steve such a thing, and that was just… too much. It was too much pressure, too much potential to fuck it up and hurt Steve even more, too much of a chance that Eddie would say the wrong thing.

But it was also too much to not be sure Steve knew that it was the absolute truth.

“You’re allowed to not be okay,” Eddie said, gently placing the repaired angel in Steve’s palm.

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caesariawritesstuff · 5 months ago

Note

Ok I'm sorry but I have to do this! Is there anyway we could get a small continuation of that Scarecrow x Detective short story you wrote? Maybe how Ed would react to hearing that Jonathan did something to the Detective? Or just noticing her acting off afterward? If not that is 100% ok!

Precious Heart

Summary: After learning about Detective's conversation with Jonathan Crane, Edward isn't too happy, and makes an effort to confront Crane himself. Continuation of the short fic, Damaged Goods.

Content Warning: Angst & Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This fic is a continuation of Damaged Goods, and currently not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse storyline.

Right about now, you could scream.

The sensation lingered in the back of your throat, building and building as you stormed down the hall from the morgue. Rage rushed through you as hot as dry lightning, sparking a fire deep in your belly – and a strange, lingering warmth between your legs.

Because here you were, suddenly turned on by Jonathan Crane.

Scowling, you threw a glance over your shoulder as you stopped in front of the elevator, glaring back down the hall. Bastard, you thought, a dozen curses ringing through your mind. How dare he put his hands on you? Slowly, you reached up, your fingers grazing across the question mark pendant dangling around your neck, resting at the delicate hollow of your throat. You could not believe the interaction that just happened, and you found yourself replaying it over and over again in your head, on repeat, a never-ending loop.

If there was one person in this damn precinct who had become an anomaly to you, it was Jonathan Crane. Never had you expected a man like him to be given a chance at reform as well, especially considering the fact that he’d caused so much chaos and destruction three years ago – but you supposed you could understand why City Council would want him to help on this case. Even you and Mack were completely and utterly stumped, out of your minds about who else in this damn city could be developing a horrifying toxin capable of melting people’s bodies from inside out. The thought sent a tremor of fear through you – and you cursed yourself under your breath again, at the very prospect of being afraid. Because deep down, you knew that’s exactly what Crane wanted you to be: scared. Fearful. Terrified. And you would not give him that satisfaction; you’d been through enough in the last few months, and you were not willing to let the Master of Fear get under your skin.

With a heavy sigh, you took the elevator back up the Homicide Divisions floor, but as the numbers ticked by as slow as ever, you caught a glimpse of your reflection on the wall: your wide eyes, flushed cheeks, the small pout to your lips. A strange sensation bubbled in your stomach, hot and writhing, causing an uncomfortable knot to form there. You had not expected the entire interaction with Crane to be…heated. Or for him to have such an effect on you, one you weren’t even sure you were even processing clearly. All you really knew was that that familiar pulsing of warmth throbbed in your clit, and it had been caused by a man who was, perhaps, one of the most terrifying people you’d ever met.

There had been something cold in his blue eyes, even though the right was damaged and milky, but the way he looked at you – studied you from head to toe as if you were a science experiment – wasn’t what bothered you. Neither did the white scars all across his skin, remnants of his reconstructed face, a stark change to the man who was hauled into the GCPD three years ago, completely out of his own mind on fear toxin. What bothered you was how easily he’d approached you, grasping at the pendant around your neck with care, asking you such blasé questions about your relationship with Edward. Questions even you had asked yourself over the last few months – because Crane was right. You did not know what a man like Edward Nigma had come to see you in, why he’d fallen for you, and Crane’s questions only furthered your own. But what you could not understand was why he cared so much to ask them – and why he seemed so content to believe you were ruined for anyone else, all because Edward had touched you, lied with you, had claimed you as his own. You were not ruined, and you would not let Jonathan Crane or anyone else think otherwise.

“Bastard,” you mumbled under your breath again as the doors opened and you stepped out, taking a quick glance around at the detectives and officers milling about. The room was buzzing with voices and chatter, phones ringing off the hook, you quickly made your way back to your desk, sitting down with a heavy sigh. You lowered your face into your hands, pain throbbing at your skull, spreading across your temples.

Shit. This wasn’t good – you should not let Crane be getting under your skin like this, or feel so…well, you weren’t sure what you were feeling right about now. Rage. Irritation. Annoyance. Pleasure.

Crap. The way he’d circled around you, a predator analyzing its prey, the way he’d grasped your pendant and stroked it at with his fingers – something about the entire movement caused your clit to ache. What was it about men like Edward Nigma and Jonathan Crane that had you feeling such utter draw to them? Maybe you were beginning to realize that you had a type.

And, as much as you couldn’t help it, you found your thoughts beginning to wander. What would it have been like if Crane had bent you over that morgue table and had his way with you, fucking you into oblivion, his hand wrapped your throat as his cold, raspy voice whispered dirty things into your ear?

“Shit,” you whispered, but just as the words escaped your lips, a mug of coffee was set beside you. You glanced up to find Edward standing there, his own mug of coffee in hand, and he smirked at you, eyes studying you with slow intention.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the mug, but a heartbeat of guilt passed through you. You were with Edward for God’s sake – why were you thinking about another man?

Edward’s eyes narrowed, as if he immediately could sense something was wrong, and his gaze roved over you, making the skin prickle on the back of your neck. “Is something wrong, detective?”

“No, nothing,” you said quickly, the lie heavy on your tongue – but by the way Edward’s brows furrowed, you knew he didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. Why was he so capable of reading you? You averted your gaze, quickly taking a sip of coffee, and burned your tongue.

Edward crossed his arms. “Come now, detective,” he sighed. “Tell me what’s happened.”

You looked up and around; Mack was gone from his desk, and everyone else was far too busy involved in their own cases to be bothering to listen to you. Sighing, you gestured for Edward to sit, and he took the empty chair at the desk beside you, waiting for you to continue.

“So…Jonathan Crane is…interesting,” you finally said, choosing your words carefully.

Edward quirked a brow, leaning back in his chair. “Did he say something to you?”

You were silent for a beat, but you knew there was no point in lying. “Well...I was down in the morgue when the power went out. We had an…interesting talk.”

“About?” Something cold laced Edward’s voice, curiosity in his tone.

“My relationship with you.”

Edward was quiet for a long moment, long enough that you could tell he was thinking through every possibility that such a conversation entailed. Finally, he sighed and asked, “And what did the good doctor say?”

“He…” You looked away, biting slightly on your bottom lip as you struggled to answer his question. The last thing you wanted to do was have Edward go storming down to the morgue and throwing a fit in a jealous huff.

Finally, you looked back at him. “He just wanted to know about us. You know, how long we’d been together. That kind of thing.”

Edward blinked. His face was like stone, a passive statue of emotionless. Finally, he smiled, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Well, can you blame him? Why wouldn’t he be curious? After all, you’re with me – the smartest, most handsome man in Gotham. It’s only natural for him to be curious about a relationship which is so great that he cannot even comprehend.”

“So great, huh?” you asked, unable to fight the smile threatening to curve at your lips.

“Of course, my dear. You’re with me, remember?” His grin didn’t faulter, but he leaned forward slightly. “And I am the best partner, the best lover, you could ever ask for. No need to deny it, detective, we both know it’s the truth.”

You rolled your eyes, a small laugh bubbling out of your chest. Well, at least his ego was still intact – you did not think that was one thing that could ever be taken away from Edward. But as you turned back to your desk, content to pour over the case files, another heartbeat of regret pounded in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through your bloodstream – but there was something else, too, something raw and real and terrifying that you did not want to admit.

Because, deep down, you knew that Jonathan Crane was right.

Edward had completely, and utterly ruined you.

If there was one thing Edward come to learn long ago, it was that Jonathan Crane was a very deliberate man. He did not ask questions without purpose, without trying to learn something about someone, without trying to find their weakness or exploits. The man was a manipulative bastard, but he supposed he could say the same about himself. Perhaps that’s why they got along so well over the years. While Edward had often found himself at odds with the likes of Penguin and Two-Face, it was Jonathan whom he retained the closest thing to a friendship.

So having him here at the GCPD was quite the surprise – one that had even Edward questioning Jonathan’s own motivations for why he would accept a similar deal from City Council. But so far, Edward had been far too busy with his own tasks to find a moment to slip down to the forensics lab and have a moment to speak alone with Jonathan – until now.

A knot of uncertainty bundled in Edward’s stomach. It had been clear that you’d been hiding something from him when retelling your conversation with Crane, but Edward hadn’t pressed further – he wanted to hear the details from Crane himself. Clearly, he’d must have asked something to get under your skin. Probably some silly thing about fear or terror or whatever else Jonathan found so interesting, but Edward hadn’t wanted to press you too hard on the matter, not when you’d looked so shaken up. So as he walked down the hall and slipped into the medical examiner’s office, he narrowed his eyes, immediately finding Crane sitting at counter, filled with vials in an array of colors, lab equipment organized neatly around him. Dr. Collins was gone, thankfully, allowing Edward the privacy he needed, and he stepped into the room.

Jonathan swiveled around in his chair, his mouth opening slightly as if to ask something, but he quickly shut it when he realized it was Edward standing there. His cold eyes were narrowed, stoic, not an inch of emotion written across his face.

“Crane,” Edward said, stepping further into the room.

“Ah, Edward,” Jonathan said, his voice gravelly, cold, a raspiness to it. “I was wondering when you’d honor me with your presence.”

Edward smirked, but wandered over with slow, calculated steps. “Oh, you know,” he said with a lazy wave of his hand. “The Commissioner just loves to keep me busy. I hardly get a moment to myself in this place.”

Jonathan turned back to his vials, humming under his breath. “It must pain someone with such intelligence like yourself to be reduced to working in a place like this.”

Edward shrugged, but leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, only a foot away from where Jonathan worked. “It has its perks,” he said, his thoughts straying to you. You were the only reason this place was bearable in any capacity.

Jonathan’s cold gaze slid to him once more. “Ah, yes. Your…paramour. I take it she told you about our conversation?”

A muscle feathered in Edward’s jaw, and he met Crane’s gaze. “No. But I’m here to hear it out of your own mouth, Crane. What exactly did you say to her?”

Jonathan shrugged in indifference, once more turning back to the chemicals at hand, making a few notes on a pad of paper. “I was simply curious to the nature of her relationship with you. I’ve never known you to take interest in such primal desires, Edward. What is it about her that fascinates you so?

Edward frowned. There were many, many things that fascinated him about you – the way you carried yourself, spoke, the fire that burned so brightly in your soul that refused to dim, considering all that happened over the last few months. The way you tolerated him, laughed at what he said, gave yourself to him so wholly and completely. The problem wasn’t the answer to the question – the problem was why Jonathan wanted to know.

“What does it matter to you, Crane?” Edward asked, his voice low, concerned. Because he knew when Crane became fascinated with something, fixated on it, he would not let it go.

And if he was becoming fascinated with you…

Jonathan turned back to him again. His scarred lips were pursed into a thin line, but he finally set his pen down and rested his hands on his knees, leaning slightly back in his chair. “I’m simply curious, is all, Edward.”

“She’s not some science experiment you can pick apart,” Edward said, his tone testing.

Jonathan blinked at him, as if what Edward said hadn’t phased him at all. “You care quite a bit for her, Edward,” he said finally after drawing out the silence for a long moment.

Edward shifted slightly, gritting his teeth. “And? Your point?”

“An observation. You and I both know she’s simply your newest obsession, Edward. What will happen when you tire of her?”

Edward’s eyes narrowed into slits, and he frowned, staring down at Crane as hot anger pooled in his stomach, prickling across his skin. Yes, he knew the truth: you were his obsession. The thing he needed, wanted, craved at all hours of the day. But he did not imagine he would ever tire of you. You were like a drug to him, his addiction. And the truth was that he had come to a point where he could not imagine the rest of his life without you in it.

“Or, perhaps, when she tires of you?” Jonathan continued.

“An absurd insinuation,” Edward said, a bite in his voice now. How could you ever tire of him? He was the World’s Greatest Everything. There was not a universe in which you could ever tire of him, Edward was sure of that.

“Come now, Edward,” he said. “No need to be so testy. However, I’ve heard the rumors. People around here like to talk. I know what they call her, what they think of her. When you do tire of her, when you’ve thoroughly ruined her for anyone else in this city to want – what will she do then?”

Edward bristled, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “I don’t see why that’s any concern of yours, Crane,” he said, but his lips twisted in a smirk. “Why? Does it bother you that someone like her would be with someone like me?”

A flame ignited in Edward’s belly, a sick satisfaction twisting there. Of course Crane had to be jealous of his relationship with you. After all, Edward was just that much smarter, much more handsome, much more great. Crane could not compare to him one bit. Edward was everything and better – and he planned to hold that over the man’s head at every turn.

“Not at all,” Jonathan finally answered. “She is your paramour. You do what you like with her. All I intended was to get to know her, understand why a detective like her would with someone like you.”

Edward bristled at Jon’s words, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “Well, Crane, my capacity for self-improvement has grown well beyond what you’re capable of. Watch and learn, and you’ll be just fine.” He smirked at that, a sense of triumph racing through his chest.

“Of course, Edward,” Jonathan said, his voice low and cold. “You are this city’s picture of reform. I will do my best to follow in your footsteps.”

Edward’s smirk grew. “Good. I need to get back to work. Have fun with your chemicals, Crane. Try not to sniff your own toxin too much.” He turned on his heels, giving Jonathan a lazy wave, and headed back down the hall with confidence in his step.

But as he walked, his steps began to slow, and uncertainty twisted in his stomach. Now that he was alone in the silence, Crane’s words began to wash over him. His mind was spinning with questions, wondering why Crane would bother talking to you in the first place – and just what else he might have said that you could be hiding from him. Well, he’d just have to keep a careful eye on Crane, then. Whatever was brewing in the man’s mind, Edward intended to find out. But if it involved you…

Edward’s hands curled into fists. Crane could find you fascinating all he liked, but he would not allow you to become an experiment in his twisted little world of fear. He refused to let that happen – and if Crane asked you one more question that was out of line, Edward would not hesitate to put Crane in his place. If Crane was planning to use his toxin on you, Edward would shove his own toxin in his mouth before he had that chance.

Oh, yes, Edward was certain of that.

Crane could have his fun in any other way that did not involve you. Because, Edward knew with absolute certainty, he would not allow another man to swoop in and take your attention from him. You were his, and his alone, and Crane would just have to accept that you were with a man like him. He could speculate and theorize all he wanted, but Edward would not allow Crane to get under your skin, to make you question your relationship with him. Not when he finally had you, when he held your heart in his hands.

And he would not allow Crane’s ability to incite fear poison your precious heart.

#caesariawrites #also anon please don't apologize!#i am more than happy to write any prompts with these three idiots lol #the riddler #edward nigma #arkham riddler #arkhamverse riddler #arkham scarecrow #scarecrow #scarecrow x you #scarecrow x yn #scarecrow x reader #edward nygma x reader #edward nigma x y/n #edward nigma x you #arkham edward nigma #edward nigma x reader #Cat&Mouse!Verse

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