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[idlyfretting]

Wayne knows eavesdropping isn't the done thing. He's definitely old enough to know better, and he wasn't going to. He had a plan. He was going to walk directly into the living room, so they'd know he was awake, and after he'd fixed his cup of coffee, he'd plopped into his perfectly worn in recliner and subtly glare at the Harrington boy until he squirmed.

Mostly because it amused Wayne, but also just a little sliver of it was because he wanted the Harrington boy to know Wayne didn't think he was good enough for his boy. But only a little! Lord knows that Wayne couldn't do anything to make Eddie change his mind about Steve Harrington, short of Harrington proving Wayne right. Which he doesn't actually want because he doesn't want Eddie hurt.

He's just... He expects it to happen. That's what boys like Harrington do to boys like Eddie. He's seen it enough times to know that this song and dance leave no room for improvisation. Boys like Harrington play around, get their kicks with the devotion Eddie shows them, and then when they've had their fill, they leave.

Boys like Harrington will never be good enough for Eddie, but they always leave with Eddie feeling like he's not enough. Wayne hates it.

Anyway, his plan wasn't to eavesdrop. It's just that Harrington said his name and Wayne found himself standing still instead of continuing.

"Why doesn't Wayne like me?" Harrington asks.

"This again?" Eddie says dismissively, which has Wayne agreeing. His opinion shouldn't have bearing on their friendship.

A deep sigh from Harrington before, "I just. It's- he means so much to you. And, like, I- nevermind. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

"Hey," Eddie sounds a type of serious that Wayne rarely hears from him, "you're not stupid. And you gotta quit fucking saying that. You say it enough and you'll start to believe it and it's not true."

"Hard to quit feeling stupid when people dismiss my concerns like they are stupid," Harrington snaps back, bitchy as can be. The tone makes Wayne bristle on behalf of Eddie. His boy doesn't reply immediately, though. Doesn't bite back like Wayne's used to hearing. Huh. Maybe he's growing up, just a little.

"You're right, Steve," Eddie says when he finally speaks. "That was dismissive. I'm sorry. Explain it to me. Why does it matter to you whether Wayne likes you or not?"

"Well, because he's your family."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, "he is. But that doesn't explain why it matters. I don't care if your parents like me or not."

"That's different!"

"How?" Eddie asks, soft but firm.

"Because their opinion doesn't matter. It's not- It's irrelevant. What they think."

"That makes no sense. Wayne's opinion matters because he's my family, but your parents' opinion doesn't even though they're your family?"

"Yes!"

"But why?" Eddie presses.

"Because they're bad people!" Steve bursts, not quite shouting but close. "Because when bad people don't think highly of you, it's not a fault in you. Their disproval is, like, a compliment. They don't like you because you're too different from them. And that's great! You shouldn't want their approval. It's different, because your uncle is a good person. And when a good person doesn't like you, it is your fault. It's something- it's..." Harrington loses steam here, voice dropping low and defeated, "there's something wrong with me. Something in me that- that he just knows. Senses about me or whatever. Something wrong or rotten or-"

"Steve! That's bullshit. Sure, Wayne's been standoffish, but he'll come around. You're not wrong, or rotten, or whatever else you think you are."

"How do you know that? I was an asshole most of life and what if that's just the real me? What if that's who I'll always be deep down. 'Cause I'm trying so damn hard, man. I'm giving it my all trying to be a better person and it's not enough! Everyone still talks about who I was in high school and even you-" Harrington snaps his mouth closed so hard that Wayne hears the clack of his teeth from his position in the hallway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry."

"Steve. This is about more than just my uncle's opinion of you, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I want you, too. I want to know if I've ever done anything to make you feel like you aren't enough."

Wayne really shouldn't be listening. He should back down the hall and into his room. Give them time to talk.

"No, Eddie, you don't make me feel like- that's not what I meant. I just. I'm...."

"Hey, Stevie, you can tell me."

"I'm just so afraid that... That one day everyone will wake up and realize what Wayne already knows. That I'm not good enough for them. For you."

Oh. Wayne really shouldn't be listening.

"I'll admit that Wayne's opinion is important to me, for a lot of things. But not about you. What I feel about you, how I feel about you, isn't dictated by Wayne."

"Sure. I mean, I know that, like, logically or whatever. But it's. I can't convince my brain that you won't just. Hate me one day. And I- fuck, Eddie, I'm already halfway in love with you and-"

"You're in love with me?" Eddie interrupts, sounding awed, starstruck, and Wayne cannot be listening anymore. He backs down the hall silently and back into his room.

Steve Harrington seems to think that he's a good person, but he's not feeling like a good person at the moment.

He's got some thinking to do.

[idlyfretting]

Palestinians are not "animals."

They are not "children of darkness."

Little kids are rescuing cats and trying to comfort them when they themselves are terrified.

A doctor broke down when his father and brother came into the trauma unit.

And several of his colleagues hugged and gathered to comfort him.

Journalists are playing with babies.

Doctors are refusing to evacuate hospitals because their patients can't and refuse to leave them.

There's a little boy who gives tea to the journalists and thanks them for spreading their stories.

He's displaced at the hospital, his home is gone.

A kid was asked what he wants to be when he grows up and he said kids in Gaza don't grow up.

Kids are writing their names on their arms so they can be identified.

Momin Kireka is a Palestinian journalist who was disabled by an Israeli attack in 2008.

And despite the difficulty in moving around, he vows to continue to show the world the truth.

Awni, a young Palestinian boy has a gaming YouTube channel he loved so much.

He was killed in the bombing.

Mohammed Sami was an artist who's dream was to open an art gallery.

He was playing with the kids to raise their spirits. And the next day he was killed.

They are victims.

They are going through unimaginable horrors and still find it in their hearts to be kind.

They have hopes and dreams just like you and I.

They are people.

And they deserve to be remembered as such.

[idlyfretting]

Gareth the Matchmaker Updates

This is a post for my SMAU updates!

Prologue

A Rocky Start

The Championship Game

The Meddling

Meme Review

Ladykiller Trio

London Gateway

Ceilings

The Vest

Mending

Summer Days

Harrington Gate

Delicate - Extras

The truth about Billy

Every time I update my AU I will put the link here and interact with the post, so if you turn the notifications on for this (if you don't know how to do it, look here) you should be able to know when I update!

I'm trying this out to avoid the taglist, if it doesn't work I will go back to it but I wanna give it a try!

Please don't interact with this post to avoid spamming the notifications for other people, thank you ❤️

(Likes and plain reblogs are more than fine)

[idlyfretting]

Nothing is funnier to me than Mr Darcy telling his best friend not to propose to the girl he loves bc 1. Her family are unsuitable and 2. She doesn't truly like him enough to marry... only to then himself propose to a woman who is 1. From the exact same family and 2. Has done nothing but roast him since they met

[idlyfretting]

After watching one entire Mike Flanagan show (FotHoU), I've determined that he is David Fincher with jump scares.

And I'm here for it. Sometimes.

Sometimes I'm just scared.

[idlyfretting]

I noted Mike Flanagan screamed "GAY RIGHTS! BI RIGHTS" on his way out Netflix's door, but he really did stick his head back in to say, "FUCK AI, FUCK BIG PHARMA, AND FUCK THE CAPITALISM THAT PROPS THEM UP" as well didn't he?

[idlyfretting]

Excerpt from another hp fic that just toppled out of my brain and into a google doc

Ao3: every door is hard to close

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Would any of you care to explain what just happened?”

Blaise was tired. He was sure the rest of his yearmates were as well. It had been a long day. Double Transfiguration followed by Runes followed by Herbology followed by double Potions. It was a truly exhausting Thursday schedule, and this early in the year with no established rhythm yet, made it near unbearable. 

Honestly, whoever had put double Potions with Slytherins and Gryffindors at the end of day with a schedule like that was a sadist. It was an explosion waiting to happen. 

Not even one week into classes and it already had. 

Though not in the way that may have been expected.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Snape was looming. The empty classroom he’d led them to was small, more of a study room really. It was dark and gray and, like most of the abandoned rooms in the lower levels of the dungeons, felt mildly damp. Their Head of House, with his long black cloak and general air of malcontent, cut an imposing figure.

It might have been more effective if he’d made them all sit down, but they’d gathered toward the front of the room near the abandoned teacher’s desk. Slytherins knew better than to give up the high ground voluntarily. The fact that all of the fourth year students from their house were present also made it so they outnumbered him. 

Blaise let himself lean more heavily against the wall, toeing the line between relieving his tired feet and slouching disrespectfully. Snape’s eyes narrowed in his direction. 

“Mr. Zabini, you were directly involved.” He glanced to Blaise’s right where Theo was standing, hands shoved in his pockets to mask the shaking that hadn’t stopped since they’d left the Potions classroom. Blaise straightened up, not quite rolling his eyes, he wouldn’t get away with that in front of Snape, but letting them wander over the man’s shoulder. It effectively redirected his gaze from Theo onto Blaise. 

He wasn’t being subtle by any means, judging by how half of the room’s occupants eyed him pointedly, but Snape seemed irritated enough to at least go along with it if he could get some answers.

Not that Blaise wanted to give him any.

“It was my cauldron that tipped over, yes. I’m very sorry about that, sir.” He didn’t pretend to actually be contrite. It would come off as condescending, which their professor would hate more than polite but empty words. “I can assist with the clean up. I know it burned a portion of the table.”

The smell of charred wood mixed with the various ingredients that had been on their workstation was still lingering on their robes. He caught a whiff of it every time either he or Theo moved. He was lucky it was just the scent that lingered and not any actual burns. As soon as his cauldron had knocked into Theo’s, sending the contents of both spilling over their station and onto the floor, Blaise had expected a hospital wing visit was in both their futures. Boiling hot half-finished Fire Breathing Potions were known to cause minor explosions under normal brewing conditions. He and Theo were lucky to have escaped relatively unscathed. 

In reality, they were lucky they’d been working at the station directly across from Harry Potter, whose situational awareness was thankfully just as strong in the classroom as it was on the Quidditch pitch. 

Of course, Potter was part of the reason that the whole Potions lesson had fallen apart the way it did. Not that Blaise was blaming him. If he was going to blame anyone, it would be their professor. But that wasn’t really going to get him anywhere except irritated.

Which is what led to the incident in the first place.

And now he was just thinking in circles.

Merlin, he was tired.

Snape walked up to him. Blaise had grown some since last year, but he was still a good few inches shorter than the other man. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case next year. For now though, the Potions professor looked down at him with a mostly unreadable look on his face. 

“The cauldron stands have sticking charms on them Mr. Zabini.”

“Perhaps the ones on mine and Theo’s failed.”

“I reapplied the charms at all of the workstations ahead of today’s lesson. And I saw no evidence of outside interference.” Snape’s eyes were starting to narrow. “Fire Breathing Potions can be very dangerous, which you well know. So please, tell me,” Snape said, voice starting to hint at anger, “why did you intentionally sabotage your own potion?” He gestured to Theo next to him. “You put yourself and Mr. Nott at great risk, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise was impressed Theo managed not to flinch. He’d frozen, shaking hands going still where they were hidden in his robes, but Theo was likely the only one who noticed, pressed against his side like he was. He stayed silent in the face of the professor’s questioning. He had no desire to answer, and wasn’t even sure if he could properly verbalize it anyway without discussing things they were not supposed to discuss, except under very specific circumstances.

How was Blaise supposed to explain that he’d knocked his cauldron because of Snape himself?

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read the rest of ao3

[idlyfretting]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Theodore Nott & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Characters: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Severus Snape, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis (Harry Potter), Slytherin Students, Parvati Patil Additional Tags: Slytherin Politics, Angst, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Severus Snape Being an Asshole, and not a very good professor, Potions Class (Harry Potter), Theodore Nott Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, and ya know what, Blaise Zabini needs a hug

Summary:

Blaise was tired. He was sure the rest of his yearmates were as well. It had been a long day. Double Transfiguration followed by Runes followed by Herbology followed by double Potions. It was a truly exhausting Thursday schedule, and this early in the year with no established rhythm yet, made it near unbearable.

Honestly, whoever had put double Potions with Slytherins and Gryffindors at the end of day with a schedule like that was a sadist. It was an explosion waiting to happen.

or

Potions class gets heated, in more ways than one.

[idlyfretting]

Yep, I crash landed from that year-long stranger things obsession directly into hp territory.

All you need to know for this is that Harry was re-sorted into Slytherin at the beginning of fifth year. Umbridge still torments him, and most of the other stuff in OotP still happens, maybe? But Harry has adopted a sort of apathetic outlook, rather than an overtly rage-filled one. It's not great but it's also not terrible? Mostly just annoying. And this is that annoyance bubbling over.

Because Malfoy is still a little shit. Enjoy.

Ao3: that came from my mother's side

.

As much as Harry missed eating breakfast with his friends every day, he had to admit he liked the quiet of the Slytherin table in the mornings. Sure most of his new housemates hated his guts, but they mostly kept it to glares this early in the morning, leaving him free to look over his essays or school books. He’d never been able to read this far ahead before, and his marks were clearly benefiting from it. Potions was an outlier, but Harry had learned long ago to ignore the actual grade on any essay or worksheet from that particular class. Apparently the OWL scores were what mattered anyway, and those were proctored by outside instructors, not Hogwarts professors with a grudge the size of the moon.

So he appreciated the additional study time.

“I swear, how has Longbottom survived this long?”

Except when it was interrupted by useless commentary from his least favorite classmate.

“No idea. Dumb luck, probably.” Parkinson’s answer was aloof. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, pursing her lips at Malfoy who was seated next her. “He’s a horrible excuse for a pureblood, I can tell you that.”

“Total disgrace,” he agreed readily, smirking at her. “He’s never looked me in the eye, you know. Guess that just means he knows his place.” He puffed up his chest obnoxiously. “Or he’s just terrified of me.”

Harry, who’d started packing up his things the moment he heard Malfoy’s voice, couldn’t hold back his snort.

The blonde and his yearmates whipped their heads around to stare at Harry, most of them sneering once they realized who it was.

“Have something to say, Potter?” Malfoy asked, an annoying twinge to his tone. “Don’t forget I can still punish you as I see fit.” He tapped his prefect badge.

Harry nodded in his direction, trying to not let any irritation enter his response. “Feel free to take as many points from Slytherin as you think necessary.” 

Malfoy’s face tightened and his lips curled back. Rather than respond to Harry directly, he instead continued on with his earlier topic. “Longbottom is a worthless excuse for a wizard. He’s not even a proper Gryffindor, if there even is such a thing.” He glanced across the table at Crabbe and Goyle. “What kind of lion runs away from a snake?” The two boys and Parkinson laughed mockingly. 

Harry had been content to just leave, feeling more irritated with the others than any actual anger. But as he was standing up, he caught sight of Umbridge sitting at the head table fairly close to the Slytherins, giggling into her napkin in obvious mirth.

Yeah, fuck that.

Harry slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way over to stand facing Malfoy across the table, his back to the rest of the hall. The others’ laughter faded away as he stood there staring at Malfoy. Just as the other boy opened his mouth, Harry sighed loudly.

“You look a lot like your mother, Malfoy.”

Malfoy blinked a few times before responding back with a baffled, “What?”

“I always used to assume you were a carbon copy of your father. And you kind of are, with that hair and those clothes and that sense of superiority,” Harry continued, voice calm and almost airy, not leaving any room for interruption. “But you actually share more physical features with your mother. Your eyes, your cheekbones, your jawline. Which makes sense, I guess. I’ve heard her family’s genes are quite potent.”

Malfoy and his lackeys looked utterly confused. A few seats down from them though, Harry saw Theodore Nott grip his fork a little tighter than necessary. Sitting across from him was Daphne Greengrass, her shoulders a tense line and her head just slightly tilted in their direction.

Harry focused back on Malfoy. “Neville looks like his mum, too. He’s shown me some pictures. Same nose, same laugh, same hairline… It’s odd, ya know? From what other people have told me, I’m a carbon copy of my dad.” Harry shrugged, letting out a light huff, like this was funny. “When some people look at me, all they see is James Potter. Neville says it’s sort of the same for him, at least with some of his mother’s extended family.”

A sizable section of the Slytherin table had gone silent by now, made obvious by how the rest of the house tables had continued on behind Harry like nothing was happening. He didn’t relish the audience, but he still had a point to make. 

And he desperately wanted to put Malfoy in his place.

.

read the rest on Ao3

[idlyfretting]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Dolores Umbridge, Neville Longbottom Additional Tags: Hogwarts Fifth Year, Harry Potter is So Done, Anger, Slytherin Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Harry gets re-sorted into Slytherin, but that's not the plot, Smart Harry Potter, Harry is a Little Shit

Summary:

“Longbottom is a worthless excuse for a wizard. He’s not even a proper Gryffindor, if there even is such a thing.” Malfoy glanced across the table at Crabbe and Goyle. “What kind of lion runs away from a snake?” The two boys and Parkinson laughed mockingly.

Harry had been content to just leave, feeling more irritated with the others than any actual anger. But as he was standing up, he caught sight of Umbridge sitting at the head table fairly close to the Slytherins, giggling into her napkin in obvious mirth.

Yeah, fuck that.

or

After being re-sorted into Slytherin at the beginning of fifth year, Harry has finally had enough of Malfoy. But instead of letting his anger take hold in a very Gryffindor way, he lets his inner snake out to play.

[idlyfretting]

Dong-eun’s coworker, who knew basically nothing about her outside of work, went up to her and said ‘Really loving your stone-cold killer bitch vibe can you pleeeeeeease make something evil happen to the child predator that works with us’. And then she did ❤️

[idlyfretting]

Reading a rise of the guardians fanfic in a club at an all-inclusive resort means I’ve reached a new low right?

[idlyfretting]

62 &/or 71 for platonic stobin perhaps?

62: It's okay to cry & 71: You are the single best thing to happen to me.

Thank you very much for this, I love these prompts and got real carried away with this! I hope you enjoy!

If you had asked Robin Buckley to describe her relationship with Steve Harrington back in her freshman year, she'd laugh in your face. 

Why on earth would King-Steve be caught talking to her, let alone do it enough to constitute a relationship?

He was a popular jock, and Robin was a freshie with a trumpet.

It wasn't how things worked.

Steve operated on the outside of her periphery. She had an awareness of him, his actions in the popular crowd. Like any minor celebrity, the gossip mill ran rampant with tales of King-Steve.

"Harrington scored the winning shot at last night's game! Not many Juniors get opportunities like that!"

"King-Steve told Tommy to leave Harvey alone cuz he's just a freshie, saved him from a swirlie -swear to God man".

“Yeah well, I heard he broke Byer’s camera the other day, so--”

"Have you seen his hair, ugh he's so dreamy!"

To which Robin thought, 'I've seen him leave half a bagel of crumbs all over his English notes, how dreamy can he be?'

And to top it all off, Tammy Thompson wouldn't stop staring at him, twirling her long blond hair around her pink varnished nails while reading sonnets from Romeo and Juliet loudly at her cafeteria table, trying valiantly to catch his eye --peak romance right there.

But Robin wasn't quite ready to think about how much she wished Tammy would bat those long lashes at her, nah, hating Steve Harrington was easier. 

Besides, he had no idea she existed, right? 

Robin grabs a can of Coke from the fridge, reaching into her pocket for change before joining her mother at the till.

The corner store was all the way out on Main Street, but still closer to home than Mevalds or the grocer on Parsons so Mrs Buckley had stopped for a few things on their way back from Robin's band practice. 

She slides the change onto the counter and pops the tab before throwing a thumb over her shoulder, "I'll go wait by the car mum". 

Mrs.Buckley nods distractedly, waving her hand with a smile and she hunts through her purse for her checkbook.

Robin makes her way down the aisle to the entrance, the little bell above the door jingles lightly. She steps over the threshold into cool November air and shrugs her jacket collar up against the chill. 

She sighs as she looks back through the window, her mom seems to be taking her sweet time, chatting with the clerk now and going through her checkbook with a smile. 

A muffled groan catches her attention from across the lot, she tilts her head towards the sound and startles when she spots Steve Harrington, the bane of her existence, leaning against a car with a can of soda pressed to his beaten bloody face. 

He hasn't seen her, his eyes are trained at a point just ahead of him as he rolls the can over his split cheek. 

What the hell?

Robin leans away, keeping herself behind her mom's station wagon and out of his sight line. 

Who would have kicked the shit out of old King-Steve? And where were his two cronies Hagan and Perkins? She had so many questions and--

Steve sniffs once, pushing the heel of his free hand into his eye as he drops the hand holding the can.

Oh.

Robin suddenly feels as though she's intruding on something private. Watching this boy she's never talked to, who she saw last Monday walking with the rest of the basketball team into the cafeteria, Nancy Wheeler hanging off his arm with an affectionate roll of her eyes and the biggest grin plastered all over his dumb face.

But this Steve is hurt and alone and smaller than she's ever seen him before.

It's bizarre.

Suddenly he's moving, throwing the can to the gravel and stepping off the car before sliding his arm across his face in one motion, he clears his throat and throws open the driver's side door.

The engine of his beemer roars to life just as Robin's mother exits the store, she frowns as Steve peels out of the parking lot, brakes squealing.

"Honestly, why they give teenagers licenses, I'll never know," Mrs.Buckley mutters under her breath as she unlocks the car and hands Robin the paper bag, "do you know that boy?"

Robin watches as the tail lights of Steve's car disappear around the corner, the image of his hunched shoulders and black eye branded in her mind's eye. 

Robin shrugs once as she opens the passenger door, "Not really".  

***

It's not until two years later that Robin crosses paths with Steve again, slinging ice cream with the former King down at the new mall.

Her first job and it’s at some horrible sailor themed ice cream shop of all places and to top it all off, she’s stuck with Steve Harrington.

Sure, she'd seen him in passing at school, watching as he slowly fell away from the popular crowd. While it was somewhat satisfying to see Tammy pretend she had never really been interested in the former King of Hawkins High, she couldn't help but remember the way Steve looked that day, face bloody, holding a cold can of pop to the worst of the bruises.

Robin can't help but wonder just what had suddenly turned Harrington's life completely on its head that day. She'd heard it was Jonathan that had beaten him up, but given how weirdly close he, Nancy, and Steve got after that cold November day, she didn't really believe it. 

Wasn't he rich too? He drove a BMW to work for chrissakes. So why was he here?

And then there’s the kids. 

They follow him around like ducklings, begging for rides during his spare time and free samples of ice cream on the days he’s working.

It would be endearing with anyone else, but it’s Steve Harrington. 

They've been working with one another for about two weeks before it happens again.

Robin idly sprays the glass display case with the spray bottle from the back. Whatever green liquid is in the unlabeled bottle smells absolutely foul but it's the only thing in the store powerful enough to get rid of all the finger and face prints on the glass from kids standing on their tiptoes to see the flavors.

They end up having to clean the customer side of the window far more often than their employee side and normally she and Steve will flip a coin for it.

Neither of them enjoy being out from behind the counter, the shorts and the socks are reason enough for this, but it also has the negative effect of piquing enough customer interest to interrupt their down time, like the movement and streak free glass shine draws their eyes.

But, nine times out of ten Steve would ‘lose’ and pick up the spray bottle without complaint. 

Robin had started to wonder if he was doing it on purpose, but why the hell would Harrington do something like that? 

She wrinkles her freckled nose and starts wiping the glass, clearing away the smudges and dirt before spraying again to get at the more stubborn fingerprints.

Steve is late today, which is weird. 

Another surprise from Hawkins golden-boy, Robin would have expected Steve to waltz in twenty minutes late to every shift, with a scowl on his face and a refusal to pull his weight. 

But it was the opposite. 

Steve would get there early, he would review the cleaning list for the day, check the inventory to see what ice creams would need to be restocked and what the special was for the day. 

The only thing Steve had ever asked her to do, was to write out the specials on the board. 

When Robin had scoffed and asked why he couldn't do it himself, Steve had gotten very quiet, chewed his lip for a beat and said, "I don't want to mess it up, or have you have to redo it for me". 

Steve shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets, "sometimes the letters are weird when I read and then it makes it harder to write them out”.

He sighs but it comes out more like a scoff, “there’s a reason I’m still here Buckley”.

Oh…so the golden boy of Hawkins High would not be leaving for college in the fall then. 

He looked at her, his big eyes traced over her face as though he were looking for any hint of a laugh.

And what else could she do in the moment but pick up the dry erase marker and shoulder him out of the way of the board with a, ‘you owe me dingus’. 

She turned her face away at the small smile Steve gave her, ignoring the twinge in her chest at his tiny confession. 

God Dammit, he was not endearing, he wasn’t!

Robin balls up the rag she used to wipe down the glass and looks up to the wall clock on the far side of the food court. 

It’s nearly eleven in the morning and Steve is still not here, she’s tempted to use the phone in the back to call his house when she remembers she has no clue what his phone number is or if it would even be listed.

She’s sure he’s scheduled with her today; it’s Tuesday, they always work Tuesdays together. 

Robin looks around the food court, scoping out the entrances and nearby tables. There’s no sign of him, no obnoxious hair, no big goofy grin, or big hazel eyes to be found. 

She huffs and makes her way to the back room, pushing the swing door open hard enough that it makes a satisfying bang against the wall. 

She freezes at the sudden yelp from the back corner. 

Steve whirls away from her, his face tipped into his open locker, his shoulders are a tense hunched line. It's a horribly familiar pose and once again Robin can’t help but feel like she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t.

“Steve?” she says softly, taking another step into the room, “whats--”

“I know I’m late,” he mumbles, the words are tight but there’s no waiver to them, “sorry”.

Robin wishes she were better at this sort of thing --her mom always seemed to know what to do and what to say when people were upset. That skill definitely skipped a generation in her case. 

He turns to face her, slowly, one hand on his nose, the other holding his wrist against his chest.

There’s an ugly, rapidly purpling bruise running down his arm where it’s cradled. The shape is strange, almost as if someone had grabbed him - it runs around the entire circumference of his forearm and--

Oh.

Steve eyes her challengingly but there’s no real heat in it, his eyes slightly shiny in the awful humming fluorescent lights.

“Actually,” Robin swallows roughly after nearly a full minute, clearing her throat as she leans back on her heels, “Uh, Marcus said we only needed one person on today, it’s slow as shit so,” she shrugs and tilts her head to the employee entrance, “you could go home if you want”.

Steve stares at her, his eyes raking over her face the same way he did after the white board incident, before he sniffs once and shakes his head, muttering under his breath that he’d rather get hit by a bus and Robin stiffens at the implication.

“You’re a terrible liar Buckley,” he says eventually, closing his locker and running a slightly shaky hand through his hair before walking towards her and the storefront, “but thanks,” Steve says softly as he passes. 

“Does that mean I can go home?” Robin calls after him, immediately wincing but pleased at the startled laugh she hears from the counter.

She follows him out front, slowly, suddenly feeling with absolute certainty that she really doesn’t know Steve Harrington at all.

***

Robin never thought she would be here. 

Not once did she think she would have ever come out to someone while she was still in highschool, let alone the former King of Hawkins high who would in turn become her best friend, her platonic soul-mate if you would. 

After the debacle that was their official last shift with Scoops Ahoy and the Russian Spy Alternate dimension bullshit where Steve risked his damn life to save her and the kids --who all knew about this monster filled Upside Down just by the by. 

So many things suddenly made so much sense, Steve and his injuries over the years, his weird relationship with Nancy and Jonathan, even the sudden personality 180.

And through the truth serum, the torture, the fire, and running down another car driven by a maniac from California, Steve was there to hold her hand, and Robin is infinitely grateful for it.

They take a job together at Family Video, attached at the hip ever since the mall burned down in July; the video store is one of the few places still hiring that summer that pays a dollar above minimum wage. 

It’s not exactly glamorous, it’s mostly restocking the shelves and rewinding tapes but it’s easy and the hours are good. 

She and Steve are able to get their shifts together most of the time, they both know this is so Keith can avoid working with Steve directly -a bonus if there ever was one. 

Things have been quiet ever since Billy’s death and the Mind Flayer’s obliteration from their world, but it’s been especially quiet since the Byer’s packed up and moved to California. 

Most of that seems to be influenced by the cloud of sadness that has draped itself over the rest of the kids and Nancy -who has been coming by more and more lately, stopping in at Family Video and lingering in the evenings, chatting with Steve while Robin shelves the returns. 

It wouldn’t even have made a blip on Robin’s radar if not for the way Steve would shut down for the rest of their close after Nancy left. 

He refuses to speak more than one word answers, refuses to engage with Robin’s one sided bantering as she balances the till and shuts down the neon Open sign.

It’s nothing like after she saw the bruises at Scoops, nothing like the quiet acknowledgement that the Harrington house wasn’t all money and sunshine the way she thought it was. 

And Robin doesn’t know what to do about it.

It’s been going on for weeks now, and she’ll be starting school again soon. She won't be able to take the same number of shifts as she could over the summer months, and Robin has no idea what will happen when she’s not there as a buffer anymore.

It’s the last week of August when she brings it up to him.

“Steve?” she says as she hands him another copy of The Terminator tape for him to rewind; it’s nearly nine at night and Nancy hasn’t been by at all today. Robin’s stomach has been in knots watching Steve watch the windows for her all night. 

He tilts his head and quirks an eyebrow at her as Robin breathes in deeply through her nose, her heart suddenly in her throat. 

“Just,” she bites her lip, “what is going on with you and Nancy?” 

Oh, perfect, real subtle.

All at once Steve’s face shutters.  

“No, come on, don’t do that,” Robin wheedles, stepping in front of him, “Steve, just talk to me--”

“There’s nothing to talk about, just drop it Robin,” he bites out as he steps around her to grab the returns cart and wheel it over to the New Release shelf.

“No, nope,” she huffs, walking quickly to the other side of the cart and grab the handles, “this is against all the laws of best-friendom”.

“That's not a word,” he mumbles tiredly, reaching up to pinch his nose and close his eyes. 

Ah shit. 

“Dingus, Steve,” Robin says softly as she lets go of the handles and steps closer into his space, “talk to me?”

Steve hesitates, seeming to chew the words or the inside of his cheek - she can’t quite tell at this point, before he blinks once, twice, his eyes rapidly becoming shinier by the second.

Oh double shit.

He shakes his head and turns away from her sharply and Robin doesn’t know what to do with her hands as Steve takes a deep wobbly breath. 

“It’s okay you know,” she finds herself saying softly as she takes a step closer, “to cry?”

Steve barks out a wet laugh and shakes his head again, still not looking at her.

“I don’t know what to do, like literally,” Robin whispers in a panicked voice, “can I, I mean, do you want a hug?”

He nods but doesn’t move as Robin steps even closer to wrap her arms loosely around his waist, he’s stiff in her embrace but slowly begins to relax the longer they stand there - as though he’s not used to something like this.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I am here if you want to talk, or if you even just want to vent - man I want to vent,” Robin says, pulling back slightly to look Steve in the eyes, “don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell is Nancy doing?”

Steve stills in her arms but she keeps going, “honestly, aren’t she and Jonathan still dating?” 

“Like I get that he’s all the way in California but why is she coming in here, and don’t tell me it's about the movies --she never asks me to help find anything, just you, and half the time she doesn't even end up renting anything?”

Robin stops as Steve’s breath hitches once, “it's not fair to you,” she finishes lamely, her voice petering out as Steve nods and sighs, finally bringing his own arms around Robin’s shoulders to draw her closer and bury his face in her hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers in her ear as he squeezes her tight enough to leave her nearly breathless.

“You’re the only person I can actually talk to that won’t think less of me about, about everything,” he whispers into her hair, Robin’s hands twitch as she fists his work vest between her fingers. 

“I think, you are the single best thing to have happened to me in the last like, two years Robs,” the words are constricted, as though he has to drag them out, “and…I need to tell you something”.

Robin nods as he pulls away this time to look at her, his red rimmed eyes trace over her face, just like they had at Scoops all those months ago.

“I,” he swallows and drops his gaze to the floor, “I don’t…feel that way about Nancy anymore,” Steve says quietly. 

“But you seem so upset whenever she leaves, you were looking for her today?” Robin says, confusion painting her words. 

Steve sighs and tips his head back this time, looking at the ceiling as though the answer is hidden among the ceiling tiles and water stains. 

“It's complicated, I…” his mouth opens and closes for a beat, “I am sad for her that Jonathan is gone - he was a better fit for Nancy, way better than me,” he mutters and looks at Robin once more. 

“And I know what she's doing, coming in here all the time, she’s lonely, but that's not why I’m upset Birdy”.

Robin frowns, “then what--”

“There’s this guy,” Steve blurts out, speaking over her in a rush.

Robin feels herself stop breathing, what?

His chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as he continues, “I-I’ve never told anyone this before”.

“Okay, okay,” Robin whispers, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he moves even closer and drops his head to her shoulder. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he murmurs into her vest and hair, his breath warm and wet as his chest stutters and heaves. 

“It’s okay,” she says again, repeating the words she’s told herself the last three years, “you’re okay”.

“Loving Nancy is easy, but I…” he sniffs and breathes out, Robin feels a gathering wetness on her shoulder but it only makes her hug him harder.

“But you don’t,” she says softly, finishing his sentence for him.

Steve nods and lets out another shaky breath, finally lifting his face from her shoulder.

He’s a mess, face red and blotchy, tear tracks and snot shine in the streetlights from outside the video store window. Steve’s eyes are red and puffy and his mouth has stretched into an uncharacteristic frown that makes Robin’s chest ache. 

Now Robin’s mother may have been an expert on making people feel better no matter the occasion, but Robin was an expert on putting her foot in her mouth and making Steve laugh.

And the latter felt much more appropriate at this moment. 

“I mean, you’ve come to the right person at any rate,” she says sagely, reaching up to wipe a loose tear from his nose, he snorts and bats her hand away.

“I’m serious, if anyone is an expert in gay pining, it’s me, I’ve seen it all, if you want pointers in watching from afar and daydreaming about your illegal wedding, I’m your lady”.

Steve laughs and steps back to wipe his face roughly with both hands, it does nothing to sooth the puffy skin beneath his eyes but at least the last trace of tears are gone. 

“I’m also an expert,” she chews her lip for a moment, considering carefully how to put it into words, “on how all of this feels, and how new and scary it can be,” she says softly, “trust me, I’ve been there”. 

Steve nods, his eyes shining all over again as he tugs Robin closer into another bone crushing hug.

Just in time for the bell above the door to chime. 

Well shit.

They step away from one another, glad for the distance from the front door to the counter, knowing exactly how that might have looked to the average customer so late into the evening.

“Hey man,” Robin calls out as Steve turns away from the door to hide his face, “just letting you know we close in five so…”

The man nods, he looks familiar, Robin’s fairly certain she’s seen him at school but she can’t remember the name. 

His wild curly hair and jean vest decked out in patches and pins scream, ‘Metal-Head’, as does the ever present cloud of tobacco and weed smell that follows him and around the shelves. He makes a beeline for the small horror section at the back and grabs a tape before making his way to the counter. 

“No worries Buckley, knew exactly what I wanted, I won’t hold you and Harrington up --hey man,” he says brightly, two dimples bloom as he smiles in Steve's direction who flinches at being addressed. 

Steve slowly turns and tries for a smile, “hey Eddie,” he mumbles.

Eddie’s smile drops as his eyes trace over Steve’s face, “woah, what happened sweet-uh,” he looks at Robin once before moving back to Steve, “dude, uh, sweet dude?”

Oh no fucking way.

Steve clears his throat, his cheeks slowly getting pinker the longer Eddie and Robin stare at him, “nothing, I promise, um are you still okay to take Dustin to Indy tomorrow to the hobby shop?”

Eddie nods and smiles, though there’s still a hint of worry in his eyes as he slides the tape over the counter, “wouldn’t miss it, gotta get that kid ready for Hellfire initiation after all,” he says with a wink.

“I figured if you didn’t have anything after we could watch this at mine,” Eddie continues nervously this time, gesturing to the tape Steve scans through. 

For the third time since she’s known Steve, Robin feels as though she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t, only this time it doesn’t fill her with anxiety or uncertainty, and she’s never felt more invisible.

“I’d like that,” Steve says softly as Eddie beams at him, wrapping his knuckles against the counter as he hands Steve three one dollar bills.

“Sounds like a plan my liege,” Eddie hums as he bows with a flourish, coaxing a laugh out of Steve who is smiling like a loon beside Robin, “you bring the popcorn, I’ll take care of everything else,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks backwards towards the entrance before tipping an imaginary hat in farewell as he disappears out the door.

“That is not pining!” Robin shrieks as she whirls around on Steve the moment they see Eddie get into his van, “that was full blown flirting, how long has this been going on??”

“I’m sorry--”

“Nuh uh, you’ve been getting kissy with him, and you didn’t tell me? You got to have your first kiss before me??”

“We haven’t kissed Robin, christ we haven’t done anything--”

“Life is so fucking unfair, you had to be a ‘ladies’ and a ‘man’s’ man, huh?” She scoffs as she walks to the front of the store and switches off the sign and bolts the door for good measure.

Robin turns around only to find Steve staring at her, a nervous expression warps his normally handsome face.

Dammit.

She rolls her eyes and sighs, “I am still so proud of you for telling me, but you have to admit this is unjust,” she mutters in what she hopes is a reassuring voice.

“You think he likes me then?” Steve wonders aloud as he looks from Robin to the door that Eddie left through with a small smile.

Robin drops her face into her hands, this is the man she’s chosen for her platonic soul-mate?

“You are literally going on a date tomorrow,” she grumbles irritatedly, “I watched him ask you out, not even ten seconds ago Steve”.

The smile he sends her way is blinding, and once again Robin is reminded just how much she loves this doofus, how she never would have imagined herself here as a freshman with a trumpet.

“You are calling me after,” she demands as Steve pops the till to begin cashing out while Robin hops up to sit on the counter and fill out the paperwork, “if I can’t teach you about pining then you damn well owe me a class about dating”.

Steve laughs brightly as he lays down the bills and change, giving Robin a soft grin which she returns, finally feeling as though she knows Steve Harrington much better than most.

[idlyfretting]

saw this prompt @newgrangespirals @steddieas-shegoes; needed to write it but also i kind of derailed it bc my brain has a mind of its own and its focus is steddie so i apologize also on ao3

He’s met with silence. 

Eddie supposes Murray Bauman must only ever be met with silence after speaking; he doesn’t seem the type of man to hold an easy, casual conversation. Especially now. 

Even Argyle is silent, his fork stalled on its way to his mouth as he looks from Murray to Jonathan, whose face is red, then Nancy, who’s equally flushed. 

Eddie looks at the table, his vision blurring. His hands are shaking.

“Murray,” Joyce says in a lethally calm voice. Eddie had forgotten she was here. “Go.”

“What do you mean, go?” Murray says, his voice quieter like he’s starting to sense what he’s just done. “We’re in—“

“Murray,” Joyce snaps. Eddie flinches. His fingers are knotting with the hem of the tablecloth, his food uneaten on his plate. “Go. I will deal with you later.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Murray’s chair scrapes across the uneven tile floor, and his footsteps retreat. And then there’s silence again. Tense, tense silence. 

“Steve,” Nancy says quietly, and Eddie looks up at her, glaring even though she hasn’t done anything to him. Jonathan looks at her too, anxious. Joyce sips her water, her hand shaking, and Hopper has his head down, his face hidden in his hands. 

“I’m good,” Steve says shortly, and Eddie looks at him, his stomach flipping. Steve is smiling a little, but it’s an awful smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He pushes his plate away with a breath like he feels just as sick as Eddie does, and he nods, but he doesn’t look like he’s really here. “I’m…”

“Steve, it— it wasn’t—“

“You told him my name,” Steve snaps, looking at her across the table, his eyes wide. Nancy looks like she’s going to start crying, and Eddie finds that he really doesn’t care if she does. “And you still…”

He laughs. Dryly, humourlessly. Eddie feels like he might throw up. 

Steve closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he feels a migraine coming on, and he laughs again. 

“Steve—“ Jonathan tries to say, but Steve just holds his hands up, shaking his head. 

“I’m just…”

He pushes his plate farther away, moving his chair back with a loud scrape, and then he’s leaving too, going upstairs. Eddie watches him go, watches Robin get up to follow him before she deflates, seeing the way Steve gestures for her to stay, to leave him alone. Robin’s hands are shaking, and Eddie can practically feel the anger radiating from her. 

The silence is back after a door slams upstairs. 

Joyce sets her glass down loudly, and she puts her hands flat on the table next to her plate, taking a deep, shaky breath. Hopper says her name softly, but she holds a hand up, shushing him. 

“I have never…” she starts slowly, her voice shaking with anger. “I have never been more disappointed in my life.”

“Mom—”

“Jonathan,” Joyce snaps, fixing a look on him, and he falls quiet. “…I did not raise you to be the other man. And Nancy, I…” She puts her hands on the table again, taking a measured breath before she looks at Nancy. “I am not your mother, but I think I am well within my rights to say I’m disappointed in you, too.”

“Ms Byers—”

“I don’t want to hear a word out of either of you,” Joyce says calmly before she touches her face, rubbing her chin anxiously as she stares at her plate in front of her. Nobody is eating anymore. Eddie still feels sick, but he also feels like he’s blended into the wall, like everybody’s forgotten that he’s here at all.  He looks at the table, at the fraying tablecloth that’s clutched in his fingers. 

“Unbelievable,” Joyce mutters to herself. “I can’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Nancy takes a shuddering breath. She might be crying. 

“Eddie, dude.”

Eddie looks up, his eyes meeting Argyle’s. He’s looking over at Eddie anxiously, his head tilted a little bit, and as they look at each other, the others look at Eddie too. And suddenly he isn’t in the wall, but he’s the centrepiece of the table, the showstopper, the freak. 

It’s like they all remember what Murray said at the same time. 

“Eddie,” Joyce says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. Kinder. Eddie looks at her. “Honey, if… if it is true. None of us have any problem with it.”

If it is true.

They all know it is. Eddie can tell just by looking at them that they all know. 

He feels so… small. Like he’s fifteen again. Like he’s new in high school, like he’s walking down the hallway and feeling all the stares, the eyes and eyes and eyes looking, watching, analysing, judging. Even though Joyce’s gaze is kind, and Hopper gives him a slight nod when their eyes meet. 

Eddie’s chest feels so tight he can’t breathe, each breath shallow and weak, and he’s kind of lightheaded, and he feels fucking nauseous. 

“I, uhm.” He clears his throat, his stomach churning, and he untangled his fingers from the tablecloth, taking a sharp breath. “Excuse me,” he says quickly, breathlessly, moving his chair back so fast it tips on the uneven tiles. He feels like he might pass out as he goes upstairs, hearing Argyle say something quietly behind him.

Upstairs feels even quiet than downstairs. Like every room could have an echo. 

Eddie finds a room that’s empty except for some cardboard boxes, and he shuts the door behind himself before he goes to the opposite side of the room, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to the wall. It’s cold. 

He’s breathing too fast, and his head feels light, like if his eyes were open his vision would be dark. He wraps his arms around himself tightly, squeezing as he exhales until he wheezes, until there’s nothing in his lungs, and then he inhales as slowly as he can. In, in, in, until he can’t anymore. He holds it. Exhales. Does it all over again. 

Until he can breathe without suffocating. 

He turns to rest his back on the wall, and he slides down to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling his knees to his chest, exhaling shakily. 

He’s never felt like this before. 

He feels so… lonely. 

He feels almost cold, even though sunlight is streaming through the window, beams of golden light glowing across the floor. 

He cries. Even though he tries not to. He can’t help it, and the tears are absorbed by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Steve’s hoodie. Eddie hates that he’s wearing it, even though Steve brought it just for him. Even though Steve specifically made sure he brought a black one, even though it smells like Steve. Eddie hates that Murray noticed that it’s Steve’s. 

He stays there for a while. Until the sunlight dims. 

He only lifts his head when the door breaks open, and Steve’s voice says, “Eddie?”

Eddie stands quickly, wiping his face and sniffling as Steve finds him and shuts the door behind himself. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice wavering. “You okay?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are shining blankly. And Eddie aches. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to. Steve blinks at him, hesitating. 

“I kind of already knew,” he says like it’s a question. “I just…” He exhales, swallowing, and Eddie knows he’s talking about Nancy and Jonathan. It. “I, like, convinced myself I didn’t care? That it— it didn’t matter?” 

Eddie listens, leaning against the wall, watching Steve push his hair back anxiously. 

“I mean— the world was ending, who gives a shit if— if I get cheated on? It’s so fucking stupid.” He doesn’t seem to realize he’s even talking to Eddie. He’s just talking. Saying what he didn’t say downstairs. “But I’m so… Jesus. Hearing it out loud, like— like Murray was fucking proud, like it was funny, I’m just… I don’t know.”

Steve deflates, leaning against the door, looking at Eddie, and his eyes are shining. 

“Embarrassed?”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...I trusted them,” Steve says quietly, weakly. 

“You trusted them,” Eddie repeats. “What they did is their fault, Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong. Trusting them wasn’t wrong,” he adds adamantly, watching the way Steve’s eyes shine. “You thought they were— they were trustworthy. You didn’t know they’d do something like that.” 

Steve sniffs, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, and Eddie hates himself for thinking he looks beautiful. 

“You have every right to feel hurt,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him. He swallows. “And to feel angry.”

“What about you?” Steve asks quietly after a moment. Eddie blinks. 

“What about me?” 

Steve looks at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s for a moment, intent and searching before he speaks. His voice is so soft. Kind. 

“He just outed you in front of all of us,” he says quietly. “You’re not angry?” 

Eddie blinks again. 

Steve looks at him so kindly. Eddie likes being looked at like this. Like Steve is listening to him even though he isn’t speaking. And Eddie realizes that Steve just knows, that he doesn’t question it. That he knows how Eddie is feeling, but is waiting for him to say it himself.

Eddie’s lip quivers, and he feels like a child again. 

“I…” He hesitates, taking a breath as a wave of nausea washes over him again. Steve just looks at him. “I’ve never come out to anyone,” he says weakly. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ve never gotten the chance to. My— My dad found some zines in my room when I was fourteen, and I didn’t… I didn’t have to say anything.” His voice is shaking. He’s never told anyone about this, not even Jeff. “The only time I ever heard that man say anything about God was when he was trying to beat the queer out of me,” he says, laughing the way Steve laughed downstairs. Humorless. Almost hysterical. “And he— he called Wayne to tell him everything because he…” 

Eddie trails off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“I told myself no one would ever know when Wayne took me in, but I swear it was like overnight, the whole town knew,” he chokes. “Because of— of my hair, or my clothes, or— or because people associate queerness with evil and— and Satanism, I don’t fucking know, but everyone knew and I…” 

He covers his face, his face hot with embarrassment as a sob escapes him, and it feels so stupid to be so upset right now, but Steve just waits patiently, listening and looking at him. 

“People keep taking it,” Eddie chokes, his face wet with tears now, looking at Steve desperately. “It’s mine, and people keep taking it from me.” 

Steve nods. 

And then he’s coming close and wrapping his arms around Eddie, and Eddie is crying into his shoulder, his hands clutching at Steve’s shirt the way they clutched at the tablecloth earlier, his fingers gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles ache. He’s shaking. But Steve’s hands feel steady as they run over his back, and Eddie wants to die. 

Because Murray told them to have sex. And Steve is still here, holding Eddie while he cries, even though he knows Eddie is gay, even though Murray told the whole table that Eddie likes Steve, that it’s so painfully obvious that he likes Steve. That he’s pining, yearning. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into Steve’s neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs, and Steve moves a hand to hold the back of his head, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s curls to cradle his skull. And it’s almost fucking tender, and Eddie doesn’t know how he got here. Or where he’s going to go. 

Steve is murmuring to him. Quiet I got yous and It’s okays, his voice breathy and soft in Eddie’s ear. Eddie melts against him, and Steve holds him tightly, swaying with him, rubbing his back and scratching his fingertips over his scalp carefully the way he does when Eddie has nightmares. 

Eddie whines into his neck, choking on his breath, and Steve’s arm tightens around his waist like he’s preparing to catch Eddie if he falls. 

“I know,” he whispers softly. “It’s not fair.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s fucking bullshit. 

The whole world thinks it knows him better than he knows himself. Even if they’re fucking right. It’s not fair. He’s never gotten to speak for himself, never gotten to really introduce himself. 

He aches when he finally stops crying, his fingers relaxing but still holding Steve’s shirt loosely, and his hands are sore. Steve runs his hand through Eddie’s hair. He waits, holding Eddie close even though he isn’t crying anymore, touching him gently, kindly, as Eddie catches his breath. 

“You know what I’m angriest at?” Eddie asks softly after a few moments, his voice weak and breaking from his crying. Steve touches his head again. 

“What?” Steve whispers. 

“...He’s fucking right.”

Steve is quiet. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as they burn again. 

And then Steve is shifting, holding the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at him. Steve looks into his eyes intently, and it’s almost too much, but Eddie can’t look away, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt. 

“About everything?” he whispers softly. Tentatively. 

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes, and he nods. 

He feels sick again. He can’t breathe. 

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s face, and he’s so fucking warm. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheek so lightly Eddie can barely feel it. And Steve’s face relaxes, like he’s deflating, as he touches Eddie’s face, as his other hand presses into the small of his back. 

“I really fucking hate him,” Steve breathes. His eyes flicker across Eddie’s face, and they linger on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie whispers his name. Steve hesitates, stammering silently for a moment before, “Can you say it?”

Eddie steps back a little, and their hands fall even though they’re still close enough for Eddie to see the green in his eyes. 

“...Say what?” he asks hesitantly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining, and he looks so desperate suddenly. 

“Everything,” he says breathlessly. “I wanna hear it from you.”

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears, but Steve looks like he’s begging, and Eddie is weak. 

“I’m gay,” he says softly, whispering like he’s worried someone outside might hear. “And I…” He takes a breath. Steve’s eyes look back and forth between Eddie’s like he’s looking for it. “I have, like… a huge fucking crush on you.”

Steve’s eyes drop to Eddie’s mouth like he’s watching his lips form the words. Eddie is trembling. Steve suddenly feels like he’s across the room, like he’s far away even though they’re standing so close. 

“I might fucking be in love with you, Steve, I…” 

He chokes on his breath, and Steve is touching him again, reaching for his face and wiping away his tears carefully, stepping closer. Eddie’s hands find his waist, and he grips his shirt again. 

Steve says his name. 

It always sounds so nice in his mouth. 

“You don’t– You don’t have to,” Eddie says, trying to tear himself away, closing his eyes as Steve holds his face and wipes his tears. “I know, it’s…”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, his hands tightening on Eddie’s cheeks, and he’s so close now, their noses almost brushing. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

 Eddie’s eyes widen. He leans back to see Steve clearly, and Steve looks so nervous that Eddie aches. 

“Really?” Eddie asks weakly. 

“I…” Steve pauses, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks and licking his lips, hesitating. “I might be fucking in love with you too,” he whispers. 

Eddie closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve strokes his cheeks again. He gasps for breath when Steve’s forehead touches his, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt before he slides his hands over his waist gently. He can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Steve asks again, his breath soft on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah,” he chokes. 

Steve’s palms press to Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie’s hands clutch at Steve’s waist desperately when Steve’s nose nudges his, when their lips brush. He feels like he’s dying. 

But Steve kisses him so softly, so sweetly. Holding his face tenderly in his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him, to check, even though Eddie is holding him against himself, even though Eddie’s chin lifts like he’s subconsciously searching for his mouth again. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and Steve is smiling at him. It’s such a soft smile, and Eddie forgets everything that’s happened today. Except Steve’s lips on his. 

“Please,” he breathes. Begs. Pleads. 

Steve kisses him again. One of his hands slides to hold the back of his head again, his fingers threading into Eddie’s curls, and his other shifts down to Eddie’s neck, his fingertips slipping under the hoodie as his thumb brushes over Eddie’s throat so lightly it tickles a little bit. Eddie’s hands press to Steve’s waist and slide to press into the small of his back, and he’s probably wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, but neither of them cares as they tilt their heads, as their lips part. 

They pull away to look at each other after a few moments, close enough that they’re sharing breaths as they both breathe hard, as Steve’s fingertips scratch over Eddie’s scalp lightly and Eddie’s eyelids flutter for a second. And then Steve is tilting his head and leaning down to kiss Eddie’s neck, his fingers twisting in his hair to hold him in place, and Eddie is dying, letting out a whimper as his eyes close and his hands reach for Steve’s arms. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his upper arms, squeezing as Steve presses a slow kiss under his ear. His mouth is so warm. 

Steve kisses him when he lifts his head, and Eddie kisses him back desperately, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck, whining when Steve’s hands find his waist and pull. 

Then Steve pushes, reaching up to hold the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie stumbles back, his fingers tangling in Steve’s hair and tugging when his back hits the wall.  Steve’s hand blocks his head from the wall, and Eddie smiles against his mouth, gasping when Steve’s tongue slips across his lip. 

“Steve,” he gasps, lightheaded as Steve sucks on his lower lip, as one of his hands slides under the hoodie to touch his skin. His palms are a little rough with calluses, scratching the sensitive scar tissue on Eddie’s waist lightly, and Eddie groans. 

Steve pulls away with a gasp, looking at Eddie desperately, frantically, his other hand holding his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his lips are shining, and his hair is a mess, and Eddie wantshimwantshimwantshim—

“Do you wanna leave?” Steve asks, his voice rough, and Eddie looks at his mouth, still panting. “I… I don’t wanna see any of them, I just…” He’s breathless too. His hand runs over Eddie’s scarring again almost mindlessly as his thumb brushes his cheek. “Do you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. 

Steve smiles softly, his eyes shining at him, and he leans in to kiss him one more time, caressing his cheek. (Caressing. Jesus.) Eddie hums, savouring it before they part with a quiet, slick noise that seems to echo in the empty room. 

Eddie feels lightheaded again, but he’s smiling like he’s sleepy as Steve shifts his hands to press his chin up, smiling at how pliant Eddie is. Eddie laughs under his breath, his hands holding Steve’s shoulders. 

“I’m so fucking… relieved right now,” Eddie whispers, his head falling to rest on the wall behind him. Steve kisses him again before he pulls him close, hugging him tightly. 

Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly, wanting to jump up and wrap his legs around his waist, to cling to him like a koala, wanting to climb inside him, to be as close as fucking possible. Steve exhales roughly, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair. 

Steve holds his hand as they leave, ignoring the others that are gathered in the living room, even though they’re clearly waiting for the two of them. Eddie lets the door slam shut behind them. Steve drives. Eddie reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently as he looks out the windows and watches the world go by. 

He’s kind of anxious about this, whatever it is. Anxious that he isn’t what Steve thinks he is, what Steve hopes he is, anxious that he isn’t enough for him. 

But he’ll try his best, he knows he will. He’ll bring Steve fucking flowers, he’ll write him fucking poems if it makes him smile. He’ll ravish him the way he deserves, touch him the way he likes, tell him every chance he gets how fucking beautiful he is. He’ll kiss him good morning and learn how to make his coffee just right. He’ll memorize the pattern of his moles and name constellations on his skin. 

He’ll remind him every single day, as long as Steve lets him have him, what he deserves. 

[idlyfretting]

Dialogue Tag!

Prompt: share a section of dialogue that we like from our own work! It can be funny, sad, ridiculous, mysterious, plot-centric or just characters shooting the breeze…anything! And it can be from a WIP or a posted fic! It can be short or long! Let’s celebrate our beloveds having a chat.

Tagged by @steddierthings (Thank you! <3)

This is from he was turned to steel. I'm a big fan of writing arguments (clearly) but this was significantly more antagonistic than anything I'd done before. This was also the most dialogue I'd written where most of the conversations had more than two people. I guess it should have been obvious, but keeping track of what everyone is saying, what they actually mean when they're saying it, and also what they're leaving out (or being cut off from continuing) is pretty difficult.

But anyway, here's Steve being a snarky, blood-soaked teenager who hasn't slept in three days.

-------------------------------------------------------

“You are going to leave.” Steve stepped forward again, forcing Hawthorne back. “If you don’t, if you make me drag you out of here, it’ll be in pieces.”

Hawthorne shot him a disbelieving look. “Is that a threat?”

“No one would care enough to do anything about it. Your father hates you, would sell you out in a second if it meant advancing his political career. Your mother’s been doped up on oxy since you were in high school. Kelly is only going to marry you because of the family money, which isn’t even yours because like hell would the mayor leave you in his will. He restricted access to the family accounts as soon as you got back, right? And you’ve been living off your mom’s credit cards?” Steve took another step, forcing the other man back again. “You are nothing. To me, to everyone here, to everyone you know. I’ve already spent too much energy on you tonight, more than you’re worth. So you’re going to walk out of here, get in your truck, and go the fuck home. Otherwise, your fiancé will have to find a new dumbass to start cheating on.”

Robin’s mouth dropped open, and she saw Jonathan’s and his long-haired friend’s do the same. She heard Will choke back a quiet laugh behind her. Joyce’s eyes were wide and her lips were pressed together tightly, like she was trying to control her expression. Hopper looked uncomfortable, and made to step forward again. Nancy held him back.

Hawthorne was furious. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Robin didn’t think the shakiness she saw in him was all anger. One of his buddies tugged on his arm, motioning toward the door. He glanced once at Steve before looking away quickly, nearly flinching.

“Come on, man. They’re not worth it.”

“He can’t just fucking say that shit to me, and think he can get away–”

“I know, but come on.” He gave Hawthorne another yank, leaning close to whisper in his ear. Robin couldn’t hear what he said, but Steve clearly could.

He laughed mockingly, tossing his head back in a loud guffaw. “You can kiss that baseball scholarship goodbye if I see your face in here again, James. Bit hard to pitch with an inverted elbow.”

It was quiet again for a few seconds before Murray piped up. “That’s called hyperextension.” Joyce elbowed him hard in the gut.

Steve didn’t turn. He kept his eyes fixed on James. “I didn’t mean hyperextended. I meant inverted.”

[idlyfretting]

Oh the delicious angst of Steve trying to subtly tell Eddie that it's not just sex for him after their first time, giving it a few days before asking him on a date. He's so nervous, wanting desperately for it to go right.

Eddie misreading the signals Steve is trying to send, assuming that it was a one night stand for him and, when Steve tries to bring that night up, Eddie reassures Steve that it's ok. They can still be friends. Besides, he's got a date with this cute guy he saw in the city, so he doesn't need to worry about Eddie catching feelings.

[idlyfretting]

they are longing to stray

(Read on Ao3)

Steve tried to ignore the empty cushion next to him, staring determinedly at the TV across the room. He’d popped in a VHS without looking at the case, before settling down with his reheated leftovers. It was some subpar action movie, one that he pretended to like more than he actually did just to annoy Robin. 

The absence of her running commentary somehow made the movie worse. 

He hadn’t seen Robin in two weeks. It was the longest they’d gone without talking to each other since Starcourt.

Steve picked at the fried rice in his lap, moving it around more than actually eating it. It was the last bit of food in the fridge. He needed to stop on his way home tomorrow and stock up. He should have done it last week, but he hadn’t really felt like doing anything last week.

He missed her.

God, this is worse than a break up. He would have laughed at himself if he wasn’t so fucking sad. 

It was like Robin had taken half his soul with him when she’d stormed out of their apartment two Saturdays ago. Like she’d packed her duffle, snagged her jacket off of the counter, and ripped his arms off on her way out the door. He didn’t feel like a whole person anymore.

One of their coworkers at the coffee shop had called them ‘unhealthily codependent’ once. Steve thought he understood what they’d meant now. 

He wanted Robin back. He’d do anything to get her to walk back through that door, call him an asshole, and stomp into her room. He’d take the silent treatment over her just being gone. Hell, he’d take five more screaming matches and hurt feelings, and words neither of them mean to say but can never take back, over this emptiness. 

The worst thing is he knows where she is. He knows the number he could call. He could beg for forgiveness, say he was sorry a million times, tell her he’d never say anything about who she wants to date ever again. 

He could say he was lying when he’d shouted that it wasn’t jealousy, even though that would be a lie itself. He could say that he didn’t know anything about healthy relationships, he had no place to judge. 

He could call. But he also couldn’t. Because Robin probably didn’t want him to, wanted him to keep his apologies to himself. She probably wanted him to fuck off and never talk to her again. She hadn’t called him after all. And after a conversation with one of her friends at NYU, he realized she hadn’t called anyone except her professors, telling them she had to leave town for a bit and asking for extensions or forwarded schoolwork. Dana had asked if Steve knew what had happened.

“I’m trying not to be worried, but this just isn’t like her.”

“She’ll be back. She wouldn’t just drop out in the middle of the semester.” Steve had told himself that repeatedly, trying to soothe his own worry.

“I know, I know. You’re right. But it still doesn’t make any sense. Did anything happen? Nothing seemed wrong in any of the classes we share, so maybe it was a personal thing–” She interrupted herself with a gasp. “Oh my god . Was it a girl? I know she was talking to that one from Boston, got all flustered whenever she brought her up. Do you think it had anything to do with that?”

Steve hadn’t known how to answer that. What was he supposed to say?

Yeah, it was about that girl from Boston. But not really, I guess. It was more to do with how Robin had somehow fallen ass over teakettle in love with my ex, who had been visiting New York with her girlfriend for a few days and then kept coming back alone every weekend after that to hang out with Robin. 

And then Robin came home one morning after staying out all night with her, and said they’d kissed and then more-than-kissed and then decided they wanted to start dating each other. 

And instead of being happy for her, I opened my big mouth and said “Fuck, not again.”

So he couldn’t call Robin. Because that would mean calling her in Boston. 

Which would mean calling Nancy. 

And one: he really didn’t want to do that.

Two: he was pretty sure she’d just hang up on him anyway, especially if Robin had told her about their fight.

Three: if she didn’t hang up, all he probably would have gotten was Tina’s Halloween Party: The Sequel. Which was maybe a little unfair of him to think. But he was sad and his best friend was gone, so fuck it. He could be a little bitter. It helped him with the guilt that was eating away at his brain. 

Fuck, he missed Robin.

He dumped the leftovers into the trash, having only eaten a few bites. He washed the tupperware on autopilot. It was starting to stain, they’d need to replace the set soon. They’d… he’d? 

He hoped it was still a they. He hoped he hadn’t fucked this up beyond repair. Robin would come back. Steve would grovel. She’d call him a dingus. And they’d never bring up Nancy ever again. 

That would be difficult with Robin and Nancy dating of course, but Steve was aces at ignoring shit when he didn’t want to talk about it. And he had the feeling Robin would be okay with this one exception to their ‘telling each other absolutely everything, even when it was gross’ schtick.

He shut off the TV and the lights and made his way to his bedroom in the dark. The room he had here in New York could not be more different that the one he’d had back in Hawkins. His high school bedroom had been plucked right out of a Home & Gardens spread, no personality and absolutely no warmth. The room he was in now was painted a creamy yellow and covered in posters and pictures and paintings. The small desk in the corner was overflowing with loose leaf papers, random textbooks, and unwashed clothes. It looked more like a teenager’s room than his actual one had. 

On his first visit to their apartment, Dustin had taken one step into his room, smiled, and said “So this is what it feels like to be inside your head.”

With the lights off, Steve could barely make out anything, seeing mostly dark rectangles on the walls and messy blobs piled on the floor. He stripped down to his boxers and face planted into his bed. Sleep was unlikely, but maybe if he closed his eyes and pretended hard enough, he could get enough rest to make it through tomorrow without crying.

(Read on Ao3)