#and I want stobin to be forced to witness it

[findafight]

Personally, I hope that behind the scenes pic of Nancy and Jonathan in Steve’s car is from a scene in which Steve is driving with Robin in the passenger seat sitting in the most uncomfortable silence and exchanging panicked glances as Jonathan and Nancy have a blowout, relationship ending fight in the back seat right before something makes a loud noise and starts chasing them or something. Just. Stobin pretending not to be listening to Nancy and Jonathan air every issue they’ve ever had. Soaking up the gossip and drama. Trapped in the car. Communicating with their eyes that the NEED to get out of the situation but cannot make any noise. Jancy is still yelling at each other. No one can escape the most awkward car ride in the apocalypse. Because I love drama and mess.

[formosusiniquis]

Gonna Y/N on his Wattpad til we're Canon

Written for @stevieweek Day 5: AU! A little peek behind the curtain here, originally I was going to do another installment of my Miss Congeniality!Stevie/Rockstar!Eddie universe until I had the world's longest day of work and they say write what you know. Now here we are.

Pre-Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson; Robin Buckley & Stevie Harrington WC: 3523 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags/Themes: Nonbinary!Steve Harrington; He/Him Lesbian!Robin Buckley; QPR Stobin; Librarian!Steve Harrington; Pseudo Influencers Stobin; Steve & Mike Friendship

AO3

“What are we doing, Stevie?” Robin’s voice coming from over their shoulder is a surprise if only because until Mrs. Robertson’s grandkids put her in that home next month they don’t actually live together.

Wrist deep in dishwater, the only sign they let slip that Robin startled them is the splash the plate they’d been washing makes when it lands. Flicking away water and suds from their fingers, Stevie reaches over to turn off the music they’d been playing. “If I turn around and I’m staring at your phone camera, so help me god.”

“Don’t turn around then.”

Ripping the dish towel from the stove door, Stevie gracefully dries their hands taking the time to get the dishwater wet out from between each finger. Satisfied, or calm at least, they turn to face the two unblinking eyes of the cameras on Robin’s android.

“Robin.”

From behind his phone he grins back at them, unabashed and uncaring as usual that he’s been filming for god only knows how long. “So do you want to tell everyone about what they just saw?”

They shove gently at the phone, jostling it enough that they can get past. There are a ton of things that need to be done around the apartment, chores that had been put off for Friday, but Stevie moves to the sofa instead. Now that Robin’s here nothing is going to get done. “Not really,” they say as they settle into the spot on the couch that they’ve perfectly broken in, “you know I hate it when you use your lifestyle vlogger voice with me.”

“Stevie!” Robin groans, flopping down onto the couch beside them. The camera is still up, but there’s no way the footage isn’t a blurry, motion sick mess with all of the movement that the two of them have forced it to do.  

He looks at them from over top of the phone, eyes serious even as he maintains the light and bright influencer voice on, “We owe it to the world to be a shining example of queerness in the homogenized world of the blogosphere. Me, a beautiful, occasional he/him lesbian. You, a chest-haired example that nonbinary doesn’t mean fem-lite, the both of us educating the world on what a queerplatonic relationship looks like and how it isn’t just ‘friends with a fancy name.’”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” he shoves at their shoulder, shaking them with a good natured vigor that pulls a laugh from Stevie for the first time in hours. “Okay, starting over. Stevie, do you want to tell our viewers who are helping us afford that new condo what they just witnessed.”

“There really isn’t anything to explain, Robin.” They say in the voice they’ve started adopting when the camera is in their face. Fake, a little extra. Something just a step beyond the persona that they relied on to get through the first couple years of high school.

“Ugh!”

“There isn’t! It’s been the longest day in the history of the entire world,” they point at the camera, looking into those blank black eyes. “If anyone in our audience has kids that they bring to a library, be good and kind to your children’s librarians, they are suffering. 

“I wanted kids,” they say as an aside to him, “remember how I wanted kids.”

Robin rolls his eyes, “So you’ve had a long day and decided to do what about it?”

“I’ve had the longest day.” They correct. “My one man department hosted three events, saw three hundred kids and someone peed in the floor.”

“So you decided to do what about it?”

“So I did what I always do at the end of a really long day. I put on my person-maker playlist.”

“Which is different from your baby-making playlist.”

“Obviously. That’s for sex. ” Stevie grins, mostly for Robin but they know it will get gif’d by the minimal audience that the channel the two of them ‘share’ has collected. “This is a bunch of songs that sound good when they’re really loud, with a solid bassline that I can play until I remember that I’m a person with a body that gets 12 hours at home before I have to go back to work and have parents ask me again why I don’t have the right free stuff to give to their kids for reading books.”

“You’re losing the plot and making me sad.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Which one of us had to clean up another human person’s pee today as part of their job after getting yelled at for not having enough dinosaurs?”

“Who is the only band on this playlist right now for the third year running?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“Like there’s some kind of meaning to it.” The collage of their faces that Robin has as his phone case gets caught in the corner of their eye. Reminds them that this isn’t just a conversation between the two of them, it’s one between them and the 3,689 subscribers that help pay their bills. “It’s Corroded Coffin, a band I like a normal amount especially compared to our friends. When I was in high school it was a lot of dad rock and glam metal. When I was in college it was Fall Out Boy. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything when you’re 28 years old and thought about pinning a poster of the lead guitarist to our shared-”

“This is my apartment, you don’t live here. We are still living our ‘the door is always open, shared, individual apartments across the hall, Friends, Joey and Monica’ fantasy.”

“One, nobody has ever referenced Joey and Monica in duo and don’t think I’m gonna let the implication that I’m Joey slide. Two, you’ve just admitted that it’s our shared living space! As your partner in crime I get to decide which things mean things.”

“Oh yeah okay. Speaking of things meaning things: does this video have a point or did you need a full explanation of my activities before you post something humiliating me?”

“Nope,” he says with an undue cheer, “just thought you looked like a dingus shaking your ass while doing the dishes to a grown man screaming about how sex is also religion or whatever.”

“That is not what that song is about.’

“I’ll take your word for it, I didn’t grow up repressed and vaguely Catholic so I’m sure I’m missing some context.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever,” he mocks.

They think about letting this be the rest of the evening, getting baited into another argument about stupid shit that they'll meander through for hours. At some point, as they chase each other's tails like puppies, Robin will forget he's filming and drop the camera and Stevie will actually be able to relax. But even with their mouth open Stevie thinks better.

“I might be the repressed former Catholic listening, but at least I know the songwriter also has a thing about punishment and forgiveness.”

They wink as the camera falls down into the sofa cushions, disappearing for however long it's about to take Robin to stop being mad at them. Now though they have opened themself up as a target of revenge, sharp smacks come along with cries of demonetization.

Robin's face is, thankfully, just as familiar blurry as it is in every other state. The only way Stevie could be any more familiar with that face is if it stared them in the mirror every morning. And that familiarity saves Robin from a trip to the floor, when Stevie blinks awake to him looming overtop of them.

“You can't be mad.”

“Whatever you did to me in your dream, you're forgiven. Unless it was shaving my head again and then you're dead to me.”

Flopping down from the plank he never had any hope of holding, Robin covers them from chest to toe. “I shaved both of our heads, it was an act of rebirth. I know you remember this. It was literally the day after our shared gender moment.”

“And I wasn't mad. Dream Robin is forgiven, real Robin needs to get off so I can go piss.”

The weight disappears from their chest, the feeling of the bed shifting under the added weight of their best friend comforting even though Stevie can feel the way he fidgets now that he's over there. Reaching for their phone on the bedside, their fingers close around nothing and suddenly things start making more sense.

“Where's my phone?”

“Why do you need your phone to pee?”

“I'm not playing questions with you, if you broke it just say something. I won't be mad. If you're pivoting into a prank channel I will be.”

Without their glasses, it's hard to make out what Robin’s face is actually doing but his hands fidget in the duvet with guilt. 

They can't be sure what his eyes are doing, but it feels like the two of them are locked in a movie standoff style, tense eye contact. Stevie can hear the kinda racist musical sting playing in their head. They squint. It doesn’t make anything easier to see, but it soothes their flaring sense of drama. 

The two of them stare: three, two, one. 

Stevie lunges first, but Robin’s elbows are sharper. They catch one to the shoulder in a downward karate chop. Twins in every way that matters, Stevie knows that Robin is only like a half inch shorter but his limbs gangle like he’s Big Bird and there’s a smaller person inside piloting him. Every time Stevie grabs for an arm or wrist they roll away, jerked in by strings. Stevie can see their phone, clutched tightly enough in Robin’s fist that it looks like it could crack.

He pulls it in tight to his chest, rolling into a roly poly ball around it.

“Okay, okay,” Stevie says, rocking back on their heels. Sight is the best place to move forward from here, if only so they can decide what kind of angry they should be with Robin right now. It’s hard to land on one when they can’t see any of the details on his face. Scrunchy face guilt is different than the kind where he can’t stop from smiling.

They lean around each other like stray cats circling in an ally. As Stevie reaches for their glasses on the nightstand, Robin rolls away with the phone still clutched tight to his chest. With them on, they can make out the pinched brow and brittle edges of his forced smile. This is more than just guilt over something, this is the same fragile shock from when he got into a college two states away and didn’t know if they’d come with. This is the face that came to Stevie the first time a research hole turned recorded rant posted online to make it easier for the Party to watch ended up being seen by ten thousand. This is the Robin that got a job offer someplace different than Stevie for the first time in years and didn’t know what to do about it.

“Just tell me what happened.” They flop back down on the bed beside crunched up limbs. Poking fingers into the ticklish spots behind kneepits until Robin starts to unfurl. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it together.”

“The video went viral.”

“That’s great?”

“Like really viral,” Robin repeats, the fluster taking over the normally soothing tone of his voice. “Like if we actually see any of the money from the video after it got ID claimed it’ll pay our bills for months viral. I had to start reporting comments for hate speech because I didn’t want to turn them off completely -- some of them are really sweet -- and the subscriber count has skyrocketed. It's kind of intimidating actually.”

“Sorry I’m so irresistible.” Robin still doesn’t crack a smile, the more he talks the more it looks like he’s about to crack apart. “Seriously, Robs if it’s just people being creeps on social media it’s not a big deal. You wouldn’t believe the kind of comments I get on my Instagram.”

“I think you should delete all your social media. Think about how cool and mysterious you would seem.”

“I think you should just show me whatever it is you think is going to freak me out.” Their phone has completely disappeared now, it’s probably been shoved deep into Robin’s sports bra where it will stay until he thinks the crisis is averted or until the sun explodes. “Is it work? One of the bitchy homeschool moms found it? My mom found it? Nancy found it and called you to say it was actually me and not her; and also she’s ending your flirtationship because virality is bad for her work? Tommy found it and called us both slurs but mine was in that kind of repressed sort of flirty way like he might want to hook up at the class reunion next month?”

“Stop guessing!”

“What! You’re freaking out, and since you won’t actually tell me why I’m stuck guessing. Unless you can get rabies from accidentally making one sorta popular-”

“Super popular.”

“Briefly popular video that no one is going to remember in a week from now because it’s the internet, then I’ve kind of run out of worst case scenarios,” they pause. “Oh! Wait, no, I’ve got another one, a really popular ‘this week on the internet’ content reviewer got both our pronouns wrong even though you literally said yours in the video.”

“Corroded Coffin saw the video and made a public comment about it.”

Stevie buries their laugh in Robin’s stomach, “Yeah, sure, if our worst case scenarios are happening inside one of those band fanfictions Mike wrote as a kid that he thinks we don’t know about.”

The rasp of the bandaid on the tip of Robin’s finger comes before the warmth of her palm on Stevie’s cheek. Face tilted up they can see the way the nerves have blown away like snow leaving only an icy seriousness. 

“Corroded Coffin saw the video,” he repeats each word, leaving a pause large enough to drive a truck through between each one, “and they made a public comment about it.”

There’s a ringing in their ears. Just overtop of that they can barely make out the sound of their own voice saying, “Let me see.”

Their phone appears from under Robin’s shirt like a rabbit from a hat, expected but no less miraculous. The notifications on the lock screen are ridiculous, numbers that make them realize their night’s sleep was saved only by the grace of do not disturb. Every person that’s ever been saved in their contacts have messaged them and every social media app they have has an red notification alert on it. Whatever public comment Robin was talking about would be impossible to find in the sea of people vying for full time public librarian and part time internet assistant Stevie Harrington’s attention.

Except every single one of their favorite baby geniuses has texted the screenshots, several times.

Mike is at the top of their inbox, beating out Dustin for the role of informant by ten minutes. He’s sent them 15 new messages, the most recent one an image and the word ‘Explain.’ He’ll be more fun to tease once they know what’s going on anyway. Dustin’s message looks more like a rant, the first sentence cut off but ‘I’m the one who intro…’ doesn’t look half as fun.

Message sixteen comes in before Stevie can open the others. The same image again and ‘How did you do this?’ Definitely the one to go to.

The same picture has been sent with every message. Making it easy to find out what has got the whole world up in arms.

Corroded Coffin @Corroded_Coffin_BandYes, we’ve seen the video. Eddie is very interested in knowing if he also features on the baby making playlist

robin rob bobbin @rockin_robin This is why i’m learning sign @believieinstevie [video]

Eddie Munson @eddiemunson_ohfishall Replying to @Corroded_Coffin_Band I said I wanted to find out what was on it the way Satan intended, just give me one chance Stevie please 🙏😈

“See what I mean.” Robin groans.

Already moving on from Mike’s messages, making sure to heart each one before they leave, Stevie has Twitter open scrolling through a heap of notifications they didn’t give a shit about looking for the one name they did. “Sure do.”

“We could take the video down, but I’m not sure that would fix anything.”

“I’m not worried about it, Rob, really.”

“Then what are you doing? Cause believe me doom scrolling through all of the terrible things people have said about you first thing in the morning is not the way you want to spend the morning.”

“I'm not doing anything.”

“You're mad, aren't you. I'll take the video down, we can pretend like this never happened.”

“If you do that I will be actually mad at you.” Stevie says. At this point it probably wouldn't really matter but the point is what's important. “Didn't you say we're making a ton of money on it?”

“If we get to keep any of it, the music copyright claim system is confusing and we've never really made enough money on anything to do more than splurge on nice pizza and wine on movie night. I think we're going to have to start a podcast.”

“The world doesn't need one more podcast. We would be like the Basement Yard but better.”

Robin wiggles down the bed like a worm, arms tucked in tight to his sides, moving until the two of them are nose to nose. A fucking busybody, Stevie saves them both the trouble and adjusts the phone so he can see it too. It took a couple tries but they finally found the tweet from Eddie, he had followed back too.

“Are you sure that’s the first thing you want to say to the guy?”

“You think I’m coming on too strong? He already knows I’m into him and his stuff.”

He shrugs, makes a face that Stevie easily interprets as yes but with exceptions. Robin actually says, “You’re better at this than me.”

Stevie Harrington reformed babysitter @believieinstevie Replying to @eddiemunson_ohfishallI’d love to hear how you sound screaming over top of it. If you ever actually wanna take your shot.

Sending it off, Stevie spares a second to wonder if maybe they should have thought this over a little longer. Here in the middle of their fifteen seconds of fame, a thirst tweet is more than just an ill advised harassment it carries weight. These thoughts aren’t going to get buried under an avalanche of fellow desperate attention seekers.

They take a screenshot to capture for posterity what will either be the last moment of semi-normal life or one of the most embarrassing faux pas they’ll probably ever have. Either way it’ll make an interesting story a couple years down the line, especially if Robin keeps this digital media creator thing up.

Another text from Mike comes through at the top of their screen. A series of frantic question marks and on the wind Stevie thinks that they can hear the sound of his scream.

They’re just vain enough to be certain that he turned on post notifications waiting to see what they would say in response to his current favorite musician.

The floating dots are in the text window when Stevie opens it up to respond. “How mean are you going to be?” Robin asks.

“He told Holly to ask me if I was really old enough to remember when phones still had buttons this week. So exactly as mean as that deserves.”

“I feel like I should be jealous that you haven’t dated Nancy in years and he’s still giving you the snot nosed little brother treatment.”

They knock their forehead against Robin’s to transfer their shared brain cell and clue him in on what he’s actually asking. “He’s a shit because I babysat him for three years longer than he probably needed a babysitter. But I’ll gladly transfer ownership, once you actually land something more than a lingering mid-afternoon wine bar thing where you both go home sober but out twenty bucks.”

Robin knocks back, “I think whatever bitchy thing you say to him will cement me as the forever favorite.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

[Stevie]: didn’t even have to pull my hair up in a messy bun to get the y/n treatment

[Stevie]: when i get they try to anna todd me i want you to write the book

[Favorite Wheeler]: i want an autograph, 0 details and to get to be the one to tell Dustin why you turn on post notifications for your favs

[Stevie]: if this works, you can officiate the wedding

[Favorite Wheeler: [Img]

[Favorite Wheeler]: Move this to the dms before you both get canceled.

[Favorite Wheeler]: And I’m happy for you or whatever

[Stevie]: thanks, kid

[Stevie]: if it wasn’t for your 8th grade wattpad fanfiction I might not have known how to handle this