#//I also have an hour before work so hit me up

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[ec1ipticshadow]

i made these potatoes and brought them to a thanksgiving potluck, and they were absolutely a hit! leftovers that had been in the fridge for two hours picture in the read more as i forgot to grab a photo before they got demolished + recipe notes

^ the picture!

this is the recipe i've been using the past two (now three!) years of thanksgiving potluck mashed potatoes: https://tasty.co/recipe/ultimate-mashed-potatoes. typically i multiply the whole thing by 1.5 and go with that, and for the potatoes (ans garlic) i kept that! went with around three pounds of potatoing

the pot did get a little too full, so i took out some of the water (it was fairly below the recommended potato/water level) and then left the lid on to basically have it steam itself. this actually worked out really well, and i think i'll do this same thing with basically steaming the potatoes! might look into straight-up steaming them, actually, but that's not the point shh

i ended up using the same amount of milk & cream that the recipe calls for, but i think next time i make it i'm gonna half the amount - the potatoes were still very much good before i added the milk & cream, and adding it just results in more liquid. i also didn't add any butter, unlike the original recipe!

the potatoes were very soupy so we (myself, assisted by my mom) ended up putting it in the oven at a low temperature for an hour or so to let the water evaporate. not sure how it might've affected other flavors, but it came out well!

unrelated to the original recipe this post introduces, but i definitely left the garlic to simmer for too long (went with the tasty recipe's method of garlic!). the potatoes are very garlicy. good news for the me community i (and everyone else at the potluck) love garlic, bad news for the my mom community she can't stand garlic. next time i think i'll use green onions instead and use op's method of frying it up with a little bit of butter beforehand, since green onions are good and i don't have to break my mom's nostrils.

rambles aside, altogether this recipe is really good! despite my sister's quite mean and judgemental looks i'm really happy with how they turned out, and i'm definitely gonna do this again next time (albeit with a few personal changes). potatoes good, happy holidays and fuck columbus!

My perfect mashed potatoes

The secret is in the water; literally, it’s IN the water.

See, when you boil potatoes, a lot of special starches and sugars and stuff leeches out into the water. When you drain the water before mashing them, you throw away a lot of good stuff, which is a big part of what makes mashed potatoes “dry” and bland, even when you add large amounts of cream and butter and things.

So don’t throw out any water.

Here’s how you do that:

First, cut your potatoes into smaller cubes than you probably do. (I’ve left the skins on for flavor and also, that’s where a lot of a potato’s nutrients are, like protien and iron and vitamins B and C, just to name a few)

The reason for cutting them smaller (besides avoiding giant peices of skin) is so that there is less space in the pot between each peice for water to fill, so you use less water to cook them. That’s important because you won’t be draining any water, so you can’t afford to have too much water! For the same reason, just barely cover them with water when they go on the stove.

But! Before you do that, put the pot on the stove with some butter, garlic, and seasonings; let the butter start to sizxle just a little then put most of a single layer of potatoes in the pan and let the brown and sear. Turn them, brown them on all sides, get ‘em fairly dark (I forgot to get a pic here because I was worried I’d burn the butter).

Ready? now throw the rest of the potatoes in right on top, and add your water, give them a stir. This way, you’re boiling in some of that lovely fried potato/french fry flavor.

Okay, so, as they cook, you may need to add a little water, not too much! ideally the very highest piece of potato will be poking just above the surface. Now, when your potatoes are really really soft, mash them directly into the water. Just pull them off the stove, leave all the water in, and start mashing. Trust me. At first you’ll think there’s too much water. If you get them mashed and they ARE a little too liquidy, just put ‘em back on the stove. You’ll have to stir often or constantly, but they will steam off additional water without losing any good stuff.

Now add some salt, and taste. Right?! And you haven’t even put in any cream or cheese or anything yet.

Speaking of which, you can use like, a third of the amount of butter or cream or anything, and they will still taste better than usual. So they taste better AND they are higher in nutrients AND lower in fats and salts! That’s a lot of win — enjoy your potatoes!

Fuck Columbus! Indigenous Rights! And happy Thanksgiving!

[xxsquiddkiddxx]

Heels ~ Viktor x Reader

Pronouns for reader: She/Her

Relationship type: Platonic, romantic feelings, slight enemies to lovers if you unfocus your eyes a bit

General Idea: Viktor used to hate the sound of those damn boots of hers, but now he's grown to find an odd sense of comfort in the noise. Along with... a series of other feelings.

Content Warnings: Fluff, swearing, Viktor being sassy, s1 Viktor, Takes place between S1E3~E4, Viktor's kinda down bad but in a denial way, Viktor also isn't good at realizing he has feelings for the reader, Jayce needs a 32hr nap

A/N: My Viktor headcanons got a LOT more love than I thought they would... so I decided to write some more Viktor XD

(Nobody's POV, but it's mostly told. through Viktor's thoughts)

~☆~

The lab was pretty much silent. The only sounds heard were the sounds of Viktor tinkering with a Hextech device and the occasional flipping of pages as (Y/N) read some notes that Jayce had written. It was late, definetly past midnight as the two worked.

"(Y/N)," Viktor says, breaking the silence. The girl's head pops up at the sound of her name. "Come here for a second? I need a second pair of hands."

"Be right there." She says, finishing the page she was on. She stands up and walks towards him, the sound of her boots hitting the tile as she walks.

Clack

Click

Clack

Viktor used to hate the sound of her boots. "Those damn boots are so annoying," He had complained to Jayce during the first week of (Y/N) working as a part-time assistant. "Click clack click clack, drives me insane!" He had mocked before sighing.

"Viktor... don't both your boots AND your cane make that noise as well?"Jayce had responded, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. This made Viktor at a loss for words.

"Well... It's annoying when she does it!" He had sassed back in response, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

That was 3 years ago. Now, he found a weird sense of comfort in hearing the sound of her boots hit the floor. He couldn't explain why, enjoyment of familiarity maybe?

"What's up?" (Y/N) says, standing behind Viktor. The smell of her perfume was almost overwhelming to him, overloading his senses. Which was weird, seeings as it must've been almost 13 hours since she'd last applied perfume. And that doesn't last long... was he delusional? Or maybe just tired? Whatever. It doesn't matter.

"Yeah, I just need you to hold this in place." Viktor says, not even looking up from what he's doing. He gestures to a little piece of metal he's holding. (Y/N) leans over Viktor and holds the piece in place as requested. The scientist trys his best to ignore the feeling of her closeness and the racing of his heart... holy crap was it warm in here? It must've been. Although it seemed strange to him that it was magically warm in here all of a sudden. This spirals him into a memory, a memory that took place a little less than a week prior to now.

Viktor sat at his desk, for once not to work on Hextech, but to run his hands through his hair and stay deep in thought.

"Viktor?" Jayce asked. "Are you OK? You haven't been as focused as you normally are today. Did something happen?"

"I think... I think there's something genuinely wrong with me." Viktor says. "Like... maybe I'm coming down with something?? I don't know." Viktor stands up, leaning on his cane slightly for support.

"Oh?" Jayce asks, raising an eyebrow. "Could you, uh, possibly elaborate on that?"

"Well, for one everytime Ms.(L/N) comes near me I about have a damn heart attack." Viktor says, his cane clacking softly on the floor as he paces. "Like yesterday, perfect example. She accidently brushed my hand when she was passing me a paper and I actually thought I was dying."

Jayce suppresses a smile, trying not to laugh. Was Viktor really getting THIS worked up... over a little crush? "Oh?" Jayce says, still suppressing a smile. "Is that it?"

"Whenever she's near me, I swear to the gods that I become hyperaware of... like... everything." Viktor says. "Like the room feels warmer, her perfume or her shampoo is ALL I can smell, I'm almost convinced I know every single speckle of color in her eyes... I think I might actually be going crazy." Viktor says, stopping his pacing. "I'm positive. I've actually hit the breaking point and am decending into insanity."

Jayce now can't help but laugh. Maybe it was his lack of sleep from working on Hextech for days on end, maybe it was the seriousness in Viktor's voice about his "decent to madness." Jayce's laughter came out as almost wheezes due to how hard he was laughing.

Viktor throws his hands up in exasperatedness. "Jayce!" Viktor scolds. "This ISN'T funny! There's-"

This just makes Jayce laugh more and more. "Yes it is, Viktor." Jayce manages to say through wheezes. He's holding onto the desk for support as he laughs. It gets to the point where passersby become mildly concerned for the scientist's wellbeing. "I assure you you're not decending to madness."

"Then what the hell is going on????" Viktor exclaims, collapsing into his chair.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine." Jayce says, wiping the tears of laughter away as he tries to steady his breathing.

"Viktor?" The sound of his name snaps him out of the memory. "You good? I think I said your name like five times." (Y/N) says with a chuckle. Viktor shakes his head slightly.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Viktor says, continuing what he was doing. He tried to ignore the slight shake in his hands, the side of his own hand pressed against Ms. (L/N)'s own hand. When he's done. He about throws the screwdriver down. "Thank you for your assistance." Viktor says, the weight off his shoulders earning a little sigh of relief.

"Was that all you needed?" (Y/N) asks.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah." Viktor says. (Y/N) hums in response, walking over to her desk. Click, clack, click, clack. Her boots echo in the room. She grabs her coat and walks towards Viktor again.

"I'm gonna head out then." She says. Click, clack, click, clack. The sound of her boots ring in Viktor's head, a haunting sound that he didn't actually mind having on replay in his brain. "You should too soon." She says, her voice kind and soft.

Viktor's stomach feels like it's about to leap out of his body. Even though it was scientifically impossible, he couldn't help but worry about it. "I will soon." He says, the softness in his voice actually shocking him. Normally he'd just lie out his teeth and sleep in the lab, or not sleep at all. However, when he said that he would... he truly meant it. His eyes move away from the project and to (Y/N). "I'm just gonna finish this little bit up."

(Y/N) smiles, it's tired and small, but it's still a smile nonetheless. Seeing her smile along made the corners of his lips feel like they were moving on their own. He suppresses a smile the best he can, but it still shows on his face. "Goodnight, Viktor." She says, her voice still soft. She didn't speak full volume, and that for some reason made Viktor's heart rate skyrocket.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." He says, the same tone and volume as (Y/N). She turns and walks out of the room. Click, clack, click, clack. He listens to the sound of her shoes until they completely fade out.

"Relax you just have a little crush, it's fine."

Viktor didn't have a crush on (Y/N)... did he?

~☆~

For more fics: my masterlist

Feel free to request fics!!!

~Squeed

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymmetrical Symphony

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written and GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

··········· • ············ •

There was a second. Less than a second before Ekko's time flowed again. In that, second before Jayce and Viktor vanished into nothingness, before time turned in your favor. In that second you felt your mind separate from your body, your consciousness being bent into a spiraling corridor of Hextech, your soul being erased and repainted with the runes you studied. And then…white…a flash of nothingness and the ticking sound of a clock and in a blink of an eye you jolted awake.

The impact with something cold and hard took the breath out of you, feeling it hit right below the diaphragm. You kept sliding down something until you woke up enough to figure out where you were and how fast gravity was working against you.

You quickly figure out where you were: the Hexgate rooftop. The place you had been standing a second ago, looking at a white construct plucking all your memories away, now a dark slide with a not-so-fun ending. You cured under your breath, your hands finding anything they could grab and stop the swift descent. Finally, your fingers clawed at a sill and you haphazardly stopped your death by floor. 

With two big puffs of air, you managed to pull yourself up the ledge and immediately fall on your back, when you figured the ground was straight. You could feel your lungs explode with cold air, the tears you had before drying out in the night air. 

You frowned. Night air? Something snapped in your brain and straightened your back, sitting on your small perch. It was broad daylight … The flood of memories and images hit you all at once, and you felt all of them all at once. You felt your brain split open and be sewn back together. Jayce, Viktor, your two friends, broken and made whole again. The hextech, the hex core, and its idea of a hive mind world. Mel, a force of nature finally found what she was truly made of, marble and gold. Caitlyn and Vi, the backbone of the enforcers. You, a high society figure tangled in the science you patronized, turned fighter for Piltover's survival. 

You heard the chaos of the last hour in your mind, the screams, the clinking of swords and blasts of guns. The smell of blood, fear, and magic. 

You felt it all until…you didn’t. And it all became quiet. The silent whisper of the wind on your face and the normal sound of a city under your feet.

You got up on unsteady feet, realizing you were still wearing your makeshift enforcer armor. You looked around, seeing the skyline of the city, bathed in an orange moonlight, until you reached the Academy’s dome. A silent gasp came out of your mouth.

It was still intact. 

The gasp turned to frown and the hope to realization. You took a step back as you watched the red moon reflected on the glass pane.

It was still intact, but not for long.

You remembered Jayce talking about how he got to go to a different time, an alternate universe. A divergence in reality that sent him somewhere. His description was dire, filled with what he called ‘Hex Angels’ coming after him. But this seemed like your world, your time. Before Jinx attacked the council.

Before Jayce placed Viktor in the hextech bath, turning him into the Herald.

You had one chance. One impossible chance. 

The urgency of needing to get to council chambers hit you like a brick and you started to try and make your way inside the hexgate. Find an enforcer, tell them to get you into the chamber, and warn the councilors of the attack. If it would be easy, you were a well-known face in Piltover. Your father was a respected figure, an old councilman, only giving up his seat when your mother died 20 years ago. Getting into that chamber would be easier than getting down from this rooftop.

Which you managed with surprising ease, thanking Caitlyn for showing you the many ventilation entryways where the enemies could try and get inside.

And your feet hit the metallic floor of a walkway you ran as fast you could to any place you deemed safe to jump down. It seemed like a never-ending spiral that was clawing into your anxiety. But when you were about to scream you found yourself face to face with a door with a sign “Maintenance. Do not open it if Hexgate is hot.”

You gave it a few tugs. Nothing. You groaned and started pounding on it, until you saw an enforcer come to the door, frowning. 

He opened the door, a hand on the handle, another on his electric baton.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” 

You frowned at the first question but answered it. His eyes looked nonplussed and you frowned deeper. You hated to pull this card but you didn’t know how much time you had.

“Do you not know who I am?” Your voice echoes through the tube. “I don’t care who you are! You are trespassing on government grounds” He grabbed your forearm and roughly pushed you into a small corridor. “How did you even get in there?” He mumbled to himself, losing the door. “Doesn’t matter. I need to get to the council chamber.” You blurted out, knowing by his demeanor it was futile.  “Pal, you're going straight to HQ to answer how you got into a place with only three guarded doors, and why.”

He once more grabbed your elbow and dragged you away from the metal door towards a minuscule industrial elevator. With his free hand, he grabbed the key ring around his belt and unlocked it. It was beautifully crafted, as was everything in Piltover, but the cramped space and your shoulder pauldron made it difficult for both of you to get inside at the same time. 

You looked at the Enforcer, while he was trying to figure out if going down the thousands and thousands of stairs was worth it. The stairs were barely used, placed there by an overzealous engineer and much like the door to the elevator, it was locked. 

“I’m sorry…” you whispered to the guy and when he turned you did your best Vi impression and head-butted him, leaving him hurting and confused. You quickly snatched the keys from him and rushed to the stairs.

“Stop!” You heard him mumble, trying to regain his balance.

Yanking the door open you rushed down the stairs, jumping whole sets of stairs at a time, using the walls as a concrete cushion to break your descent. You kept jumping and running and colliding with the walls, begging that the ground floor appeared soon. 

The last landing was below you and you saw four enforcers open the door below you and rushed in, looking up and spotting you. You couldn’t take them all. 

Before you could do anything you felt something shift. Similar to when someone stretched after a good nap, but it was in the air around you. Not the air you realized, the reality around you awakened. It whispered something unintelligible, but you heard it even above the guards shouting at you. A faint piano note followed and right in front of you a rune appeared. Like a pattern on a broken mirror. 

A magical rune, you remembered talking with Jayce and Viktor about it.

The officers were approaching and without thinking you inscribed the rune with your foot on the dusty floor of the stairwell. Once made you waited. The guards stopped for a moment looking confused. Nothing happened.

A conversation between you and your father flashed in your head. You had finished practicing a piece on the piano, your father, ever the willing audience sat with a frown on his face. 

“What's wrong?” you asked, turning to him and he shook his head. “Is it supposed to be a happy song?” He asked and you shook your head. “No, it’s a requiem, but I didn’t feel like playing a sad song, so I changed the note.”

Your father smiled sadly and got up from his armchair.

“My dear child, if a song is intended to be sad, then it must be played as such. That was its intended purpose.” He placed a hand on your shoulder “You are only a tool to bring that song to life, your aim should be to bring it to life.”

Intention. You’re a tool with a purpose. You nodded and took a deep breath. Looking up at the enforcers you thought about what the objective of your plan was. Leave. Move from here. And then, you stomped your boot to the ground and a wave of air burst from it. Like a gust of powerful wind, knocking the enforcers down.

You looked at the groaning bodies on the floor, your chest heaving in deep breaths. For a second you were frozen to the ground, until the clanking of metal armor and footfalls snapped you out of it. 

“I’m so sorry…” You whispered to the guards on the ground and ran outside the hexgate, shoving whoever stepped in your path out of the way. 

You relied on your muscle memory of Pilltover to get you to the University where the Council of Clans was to be taking place. You managed to lose most of the enforcers by swerving into the building’s back alleys, stopping only by a garbage chute to dispose of the outer layer of armor you still had on, leaving you with a simple pair of blue pants and a tank top.

Arriving at the University steps you slowed down and walked confidently towards the enforcers at the door, hoping they had not been warned about your encounter at the Hexgated and that they knew about who you were. The last part was quickly dismantled as they stepped towards you with a hand up. 

“I am here for the Council meeting.” You announced, your tone showing the confidence you didn’t have, but that years of practice made second nature. “Good evening. We are not expecting any visitors.” The enforcer replied, politely. “Please turn back and come back tomorrow with an appointment.”  “Councilwoman Mel Medarda is expecting me.” Your tone dripped with the impatience only a Topsider was known to have. “I am truly sorry, but we are not expecting visitors. If any member of the Council was expecting you we would have been warned.” The other enforcer repeated and started towards you. “This is astounding. How dare you stop me from an engagement with a Councillor? Preposterous. I will tell your supervisor about this…” “As is your right. Now please turn around.”

You huffed and puffed, putting on a performance of a lifetime until you finished the rune you had learned minutes ago. Once that was done you turned to the enforcers and once again apologized, watching as they got knocked on their asses when you stomped the rune with your boot. It was enough for you to walk to them and grab another key ring for your collection. 

Unlocking the side door of the main entrance you stepped inside while hearing shouting approaching from the outside. Time is running out. You looked at the marble steps and both you and your knees groaned. You took the steps two by two until you reached the second landing and then you found the main elevator. You had no time to wait for the thing to arrive nor to go to the last floor by the stairs. 

Reality did the thing again and once more a rune whispered and showed itself as if it was a patch on the elbows of a jacket. There was no dust on the floor or walls, nothing for you to write the rune on. 

All of a sudden you felt a burning sensation in your hand and looked at it. In your palm, a bright blue rune appeared, glowing in the darkened university hall. The bright light spread, filling your palm, your knuckles and your fingers. When you moved your hand to turn it and watch the light consume the rest of your extremities, you noticed your fingers were painting light into the air. You moved your fingers in a wave a small path of light painted the air in front of you, like a stroke of a brush on canvas.

Once again, the clanking of armor and shouting kicked you out of your stupor and you used your now weirdly illuminated hand. For a second today, the rune did nothing and once again you thought of the purpose you had. Reach the last floor.

Another voice flashed in your head. Vi’s shouts when you were on the hexgate, back…back there.

“Well…don’t just stand there…push forward…get them out!”

Push forward. Quickly you drew the rune in the air and just as Vi sometimes spoke with her fists, you did the same, punching the rune with enough force to push it towards its destination.  

The elevator pinged and opened its double doors and you rushed inside. The elevator took off as fast as it could with its old gears but it was still quicker than the steps and by the quiet you were hearing, the enforcers were still finding a way up.

As soon as the elevator stopped you were darting towards the gigantic doors. Midway, you caught a glimpse of something shining through the sky through a window—the rocket. Jinx was going through the motions of pulling the trigger if she hadn’t pulled it already. If the rocket was already in the air, you had seconds to put a stop to the Herald’s ascension.

You swerved right, knowing the main doors would be guarded, but the side doors were usually…hopefully… left unattended. Never did a sigh of a door make you so happy. You grabbed the door handle. Locked.

Instinctively you made the gust of air rune in the air and punched it, the door rattled. You groaned loudly, your desperation evident. You painted the rune again but made it bigger. The door rattled again. If not size, then quantity. You made four runes on the ground, in a single line and stomped on it. 

The door flew open and you ran inside, watching as everyone in the room fell silent. You hadn’t been inside the chamber when the rocket hit, but you knew that Mel’s shield had naturally appeared to protect her. Jayce, being so close to her, had been protected, but Viktor was a breath away from it.

Mel’s eyes snapped to you as you took several gulps of air. Looking at a smaller window in the chamber you saw a light fly towards the dome. You locked eyes with Viktor, sitting on a chair, his expression confused. 

As you dashed towards him, Mel and Jayce, you were half tempted to use magic again, but when he reached for his cane you stopped that thought. You weren’t about to throw poor Viktor around, this was gonna hurt as it was.

A councilman got up in an attempt to stop you, but Vi and Caitlyn's training had paid off and you quickly skidded away. You were centimeters from Viktor when a blue glow bathed the chamber. Everyone’s face turned towards the domed ceiling. As everyone’s eyes were transfixed on the sky you grabbed Viktor's hand and pulled him to you as you rushed towards Mel. You heard the glass shattering as the rocket hit the target, the force of the impact enough to send you crashing to the ground, never letting go of the bony hand in yours. And then…blackness…

··········· • ············ •

[steddieasitgoes]

you can call me boyfriend for the weekend

I posted this earlier as a link to ao3 but I know some people like to read things straight on tumblr so this is for you people lol As noted, this was supposed to be a short little ficlet inspired by unfortunate "Black Out Wednesday"/hook up with someone in your hometown pre-Thanksgiving ritual and then Steve got a backstory and Eddie wanted a POV and it spiraled out of control like most of my work lol Also I wrote this all in twelve hours and it's not beta read at all lol but enjoy! And please ignore the wonky timeline. It's canon-divergent/no Upside Down. But basically in my head, all the normal things that happened to Steve/Eddie still happened in this universe and they got close during the Autumn months of 1986. I think that's all you need to know! wc: 8.8k | rated: M Read on ao3

The Hideout is unusually packed.

In hindsight, Steve should have figured as much. It’s not like he’s the only former resident in town who needs a shot or two (okay, maybe three, but who’s really counting other than the barkeep logging everyone’s tabs) of liquid courage before heading home to spend a few days with family. The overflowing parking lot and illegally double and triple-parked cars on the street are still a sight to see when he steps out of the Yellow Taxi.

Maybe he should have taken the cute stewardess up on the alcohol offer on the plane. Would have saved him a couple of bucks that’s for damn sure. Still, every time he was about to, Robin’s nagging voice would pop into his head, spewing one of her nonsense rambles about the importance of being fully coherent on an airplane, lest they have to land the plane as if he’d have the skills to land a plane in the first place. And yet, he remained stone-cold sober on the couple-hour flight into Indianapolis from Boston just in case.

Sure, there’s liquor at his parent's house — at least, he hopes they haven’t packed up the dry bar if they did, he’s really fucked this weekend — but he needs something now to keep the anxiety bubbling in his chest at bay. And last time he checked The Hideout is the only place within a twenty-mile radius that can serve up a quick, cheap drink. Plus, there’s the fact that the Yellow Taxi he took here from the airport has already disappeared into the night, and he’s not about to go inside to call another cab without buying something; that would be rude.

In yet another surprising twist, that shouldn’t be surprising given the parking situation; there’s a small line of people waiting to get in. In the nineteen and a half years he spent in Hawkins, Steve’s never seen a line in front of The Hideaway. He knows for a fact that the place never had a bouncer, much less one who meticulously cards everyone who walks in.

Well, everyone but him it seems.

Steve doesn’t even get his wallet open, much less out of his pocket, before the man is wrapping a bright orange ’21 and over’ wristband on his wrist. Which, like, ouch. He knows he just got off a flight after working a half-day shift at the stupid office, but he can’t look that much like an adult. Can he?

Thankfully, there’s no time to dwell on his fleeting youth as he’s pushed into the crowded bar with the rest of the customers who patiently waited their turn in the frigid Indiana November evening.

The familiar scent hits him the second he’s more than three steps through the opened doors — stale beer, nicotine, the undeniable musk bodies emit when they’re dancing and, well, horny. But there’s also something new going on, too. Crisp leather, a piney scene that can only be associated with floor cleaner, and something minty, peppermint, he thinks, maybe for the upcoming holidays. Gone is the stench of piss that no amount of power washing the concrete floors could ever scrub up. Steve notices the concrete floor is gone, too, apparently, as his shoes squeak against the shiny black laminate.

There are a few new booths from the looks of things, and the stage has gotten a major upgrade since the last time he was here to see… He shakes the thought from his head and keeps walking until he finds an open spot in the corner of the bar.

A bartender materializes the second his ass makes contact with the new vinyl seat. She looks vaguely familiar, too young to be in his class, but maybe someone from Henderson’s year. He figures he’ll be downing glasses of expensive wine when he finally musters up the courage to go home, so he orders a shot of tequila and a rum and coke in the meantime. She pours the shot right there, excusing herself to grab the rum bottle from one of the other bartenders working tonight.

He grimaces as he shoots it back, tequila burning his throat as it goes down before he sucks the sliver of lime between his lips. It’s impossible for the effects to kick in this fast, but he already feels the tension easing from his shoulders. He uses the reprieve from his anxiety to really take everything in. The Hideout may have gotten some major upgrades, but he can’t say the same about its patrons.

It’s a real who’s who of Hawkins High has-beens. Andy and a couple of younger guys he remembers playing ball with his junior year of high school, all wearing their Greek letter crewnecks, downing beers and slapping each other on the back. Jason’s in the center with his arm around a stereotypical-looking blonde who is clearly not from around here. Heather Holloway is unmistakable, pressed into a booth arguing with some guy Steve thinks was on their swim team while their three kids jump around unchecked. And is that Chrissy Cunningham with… Gareth? That nerd from Dustin’s D&D group? Steve makes a mental note to bring it up with Dustin when the little shit calls him next because holy shit.

It takes him a minute to spot Tommy and Carol, but once he does, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see them sooner. They’re pressed up against each other, practically dry-humping in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Tommy’s got his tongue shoved down Carol’s throat, and her hand is fisted into his buttoned shirt that’s definitely a size too small. 

Somethings never change, he thinks, rolling his eyes as the pair stumble their way towards the bathrooms at the opposite end of the bar.

Steve’s about to turn back around and disappear into the shadowy corner he’s found himself in when the static feedback of the seemingly brand-new speakers goes off, sending every patron in the bar covering their ears.

“Sorry! Sorry!” A man calls from the makeshift sound booth a few yards away from Steve. “Give it another go for me?”

“Check one, check one, two. Sounds great, Frank. We’re all set up here if you are,” a woman says from the stage. Steve figures she gets a non-verbal cue from Dave because then she’s talking again, her voice bright and way louder than it needs to be. The giggle that comes next is even worse. “Hi everyone! Lots of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the bright spotlight illuminating the stage, but when it does, he nearly falls out of his seat. Is that?

“Anyways, I’m Tammy, and these are the Townies, and we’re Tammy and the Townies!”

Holy shit! It’s Tammy Thompson. The Tammy Thompson. Robin is going to be so pissed when he calls and tells her about this tomorrow morning. She’ll probably say that he was just seeing things, blame it on the single shot of tequila he’s had since he’s still waiting for his drink, but he knows the truth. Especially when Tammy launches into the opening lines of “Santa Baby,” trying her best to be sultry but still sounding like a rejected Muppet.

Someone chuckles behind Steve, before an all too familiar voice says, “I haven’t heard that one before.”

His first thought is: Shit, did he say that out loud?

And then comes something even worse: Wait, I know that voice.

All the anxiety the shot of tequila chased off comes surging back to Steve, swirling in his gut, threatening to creep up his throat and out his mouth. No. He’s not going to throw up in The Hideout after one shot, not with the entirety of his high school class in attendance. And definitely not in front of Eddie Munson.

There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that it's anyone but Eddie Munson standing behind him and the bar. He would know that voice and chuckle anywhere, could pick it out in a line-up if he had to after the fall of 1985 when they— nope, not going there.

The way he sees it, he has two options. One, get the hell out of here without turning around. It’s dark in the corner, so there’s a chance Eddie hasn’t realized who he’s talking to yet; in fact, Steve’s pretty sure if Eddie knew who he just spoke to, he never would have opened his mouth to begin with. So, yeah, he could get the hell out of here, maybe leave a couple of bucks at the opposite end of the bar on the way out so he’s not drinking and ditching, and then hail a cab and head to his childhood house.

Or, he could woman the fuck up, as Robin would say, turn around and meet the gaze of a man he hasn’t seen since he was nineteen, confused and desperate to make something out of himself.

He weighs the cons: spend a few extra hours with his parents or face Eddie Munson, the only person other than Robin to ever see him. The real him.

The answer is easy.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, sizing Steve up with those big doe eyes of his the second Steve turns in his chair. “If it isn’t Steve Harrington in the flesh. What the hell are you doing around these parts? Thought you left to go make daddy dearest proud?”

Ouch.

Steve should have expected Eddie not to mince words, even if he is a paying customer and all. He doesn’t allow himself to get a good look at Eddie, meeting him with his own mean-spirited retort instead.

“Guess I should have known you’d still be around, Munson,” Steve snarks. Eddie wants to play? Steve’ll gladly participate. “Still flunking out of high school?”

“Now that one I have heard before.”

Eddie doesn’t stick around for a response. He slams Steve’s rum and coke on the bar counter and gives it a rough shove. The glass slides across the sleek countertop before crashing into Steve’s awaiting hand. The drink sloshes in the cup, a few droplets spilling out, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to wave Eddie down and demand a replacement, so he shuts up and brings the now half-empty glass to his lips. He takes a much-needed gulp and then another, alcohol going down better than the shot from earlier, dulling the regret from his mean-spirited retort with it. He sulks for a moment before letting his eyes drift behind the bar. Searching.

If The Hideout is crowded, the bar is just as congested. At least four bartenders shimmy around each other. Hands reaching for various bottles, glasses clinking as ice falls in. It’s the most people Steve’s ever seen behind the small bar top, and he’s willing to bet it’s more than they’re legally allowed.

Fire code and all that.

Not that he knows much about that.

Not yet, at least.

He will once he starts his Fire Academy classes in the new year.

That is, assuming his dad doesn’t kill him the minute he finds out about his career change.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, Steve thinks, shaking the thought away and chasing it further by draining the rest of his drink.

“Can I getcha’ another round?” The young bartender asks, reappearing like a damn bar fairy.

Steve’s not sure he’s fully thought his order out, too preoccupied stealing glances at Eddie, but his lips start moving anyway, words escaping before he has a chance to stop them, “Actually, can I get a Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice instead of pineapple.”

“Pickle juice? Are you sure?”

Shit.

No.

Yes.

Steve quietly contemplates changing his unusual order, tilting his empty rum and coke glass to his lips, desperate for another teaspoon of liquid courage. He’s met with the cool sensation of ice hitting his teeth instead. Another not-so-subtle sneak at Eddie, and Steve doubles down. “Yeah. Eddie should know how to make it.”

“Oh, uh, ” the bartender says, nervously glancing to her right.

Steve follows her line of vision, giving himself permission to do more than glance this time, and finds Eddie on the opposite end tossing around bottles and the shaker like he’s fucking Tom Cruise in Cocktails and not a super-senior who half the town was convinced was a Satanist.

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

Steve gives her his best customer service smile and a quick nod before watching her shuffle through the other bartenders on her quest to get to Eddie.

He lets his eyes linger as Eddie finally doles out the drink he’s been working on. Five years and some change has been good on him. His hair is still as unruly as ever, twisted back in a low bun at the base of his neck. Tending to the bar has clearly served his arms well judging by the tone biceps peaking out from under his black shirt. It’s done wonders for his entire body, if Steve’s honest, sizing up the way he finally fills out his jeans.

Eddie turns just so, new piercings catching in the reflection of the spotlight from the stage. Steve catalogs them, a few new ones to his ears, a hoop in his left nostril. There’s new ink, too, decorating his strong forearms and peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

Steve’s attraction to Eddie isn’t a surprise, especially after the Fall of ‘86. But it’s like a match has just ignited a new flame in the depths of his body. He looks good, is all. Really, really good.

Steve’s pulled from his not-so-subtle ogling when the young bartender finally gets Eddie’s attention. He can’t hear the conversation, but he spent enough time around Eddie to know what the man is saying without even looking at his lips. Her back is to him, but Steve knows the minute he brings up the drink because Eddie’s body goes stiff, his head jolting toward Steve, eyes growing wide as he glares at him from the opposite end of the bar.

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s truly fucked up. Well, more than he did five and a half years ago when he let his dad convince him to set him up with a job in Boston that forced him to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, least of all Eddie. But then he sees the moment Eddie’s stubbornness sets in, clouding his eyes and forcing his chunky boots to stomp through the hoard of sweaty bartenders.

“Did you come all the way home to fuck with me?” Eddie barks, still a foot and a half away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, hands smacking onto the countertop.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie rages on. If it wasn’t for Tammy Thompson’s wailing in the background, Steve’s pretty sure they’d have everyone’s attention right now. Thank God for Tammy Thompson.

“Seriously? Pickle juice!”

Steve’s hit with the familiar woodsy, nicotine smell he spent months chasing around town as Eddie drops to his elbows, leaning in closer to Steve. For a second, he thinks Eddie is going to deck him, at the very least fist his hand into his shirt and yank him forward, but he doesn’t.

“I know damn well you’re not ordering Vodka Party Punch with fucking pickle juice at the fancy bars wherever you ended up. What makes you think you can order one here now?”

“You’re right, I don’t order them in Boston,” Steve says, answering the question Eddie really didn’t ask. “But I’m ordering it now because you’re the creator of the drink, and I know you’ll make it taste right.”

Steve watches Eddie’s jaw drop. The bar is dimly lit but it doesn’t take florescent lights to catch the red tinting the tips of Eddie’s ears, fully exposed with his hair pulled back in a bun. It’s been a minute since Steve attempted this game with anyone, but Eddie’s always been a fun participant — especially when he’s pretending he doesn’t like it.

“I’m charging you double,” Eddie concedes, twirling the giant skull ring still perched on his finger.

“Better make it worth my dime, Munson.”

“You know I always do, Harrington,” Eddie taunts, clearly finding his footing in this flirtatious sparing match they’ve started. 

* * *

By the time Eddie returns with his drink, Tammy and the Townsies have wrapped up their set for the night — thank god — and The Hideout slowly starts to empty out. With a few less bodies occupying the actual bar, Eddie has no problem sticking around, tossing his dish rag over his shoulder as he slides the Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice over to Steve, much gentler this time.

The drink smells exactly like he remembers, but the presentation has improved since their days of mixing them in the Munson’s crowded kitchen. A mini pickle is skewered through a toothpick as garnish, and the glass is tall and clean, a rarity in the mug-infested kitchen of that autumn.

Steve makes a show of his first sip, slowly raising the glass to his mouth without breaking eye contact with Eddie as he licks his lips in anticipation. Eddie’s eyes dilate the second Steve’s tongue makes an appearance, and it takes everything in Steve not to jump across the bar and shove it down Eddie’s throat a la Carol and Tommy style. He knows the Eddie from five autumns ago wouldn’t mind, but this Eddie might.

He does the next best thing instead, taking a slow sip of the drink, exaggerating when he swallows before punctuating the first taste with a low moan of approval. Judging by the smattering of pink moving to Eddie’s cheeks, it works.

“Delicious, just like I remembered.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it the minute the words leave his lips, and the flush on Eddie’s cheeks drains to a ghostly white , eyes turning to fire.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that,” Eddie scoffs, snapping his dish towel off his shoulder to wipe the counter.

“I just, I—“ Steve groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Leave it to him to be back in Hawkins for less than three hours and already fuck things up. “Thank you,” he finally says, eyes trained on his drink. “You didn’t have to make it, and you did, so thanks.”

“Whatever customers want, they get here at The Hideout.”

Steve can’t help but snort, “S’that a new motto?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

When Steve glances up, Eddie’s smiling at him. Not his toothy grin Steve loved to coax out of him, but his lips are definitely quirked into a grin which he’ll take as a win. Small victories and all that.

“That what they pay you the big bucks for? Slinging drinks like Tom Cruise and coming up with new slogans?”

“Something like that.” Eddie finishes wiping down the counter in front of Steve and moves half a step to his right, working on the next area that’s vacated.

Steve thinks that’s it. The beginning and end of their civil conversation, but then Eddie looks across the bar, no doubt taking in the empty state of things, before turning back to look at Steve. Really, look at him.

If it weren’t for the liquor coursing through Steve’s veins, he doesn’t think he’d be able to sit there under Eddie’s gaze. But he does have alcohol on his side, so he stays glued to his seat, his own cheeks heating up as Eddie’s brown eyes roam over his body, taking him in the same way he did with Eddie a while ago.

When he’s done, Eddie cocks his head to the side and tuts. “You’ve seen better days, Harrington. I think your eye bags have eye bags.”“Corporate life’ll do that to you,” Steve grumbles, taking another sour sip from his drink. When Eddie doesn’t throw a dig he knows is on the tip of his tongue, Steve breaks the silence. “You look good behind a bar.” Jesus, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “I mean, uh, how long have you been working here.”

Eddie snorts, coming back over until he’s right in front of Steve. He drops to his elbows again, pillowing his chin in his hands as he makes direct eye contact. “About five-ish years ago. Right after I graduated.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I, uh, thought the plan was to get the hell out of here?”

Eddie hums. “It was. Took the job to save money so I could do just that.”

“And you ended up loving it?”

“Hated it at first, actually, but you know we’re not all lucky enough to be able to get the hell out of Hawkins just because people tell us we should,” Eddie says, eyes boring judgment into Steve’s own. “Figured if I have to stick around I might as well try and make it better for those of us still here.”

“That’s what you’re doing, then?” Steve asks, generally curious. He always knew Eddie had a savior complex, saw it firsthand when Dustin and the rest of the kids started high school, and immediately got swept up in Eddie’s inner circle of outcasts. “Making Hawkins better?”

“Trying to,” Eddie says, and Steve can feel the walls around him shrinking, only for them to harden in an instant. “Turns out it’s a lot easier when the assholes flee.”

Steve winces and downs the rest of his drink. When it’s drained, he sets it down and fumbles through his pockets for his wallet. He gets no more than three measly bucks out before Eddie is shooing him away.

“It’s on the house tonight.”

Steve shakes his head, digging back into his wallet “Don’t think your boss’ll be happy about that.

“Good thing m’the boss then.”

Steve gawks. He’s pretty sure his jaw is fully open, but it's worth it to see the pleased look on Eddie’s face. “Shit, seriously?”

“What, you think old Dave was the one to plan the renovation of this place? That cheapskate was slinging water tinted brown with food coloring to the regulars once they got drunk enough not to tell.”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t get distracted with the anecdote like he knows Eddie hopes he will. Eddie Munson might have his heart in his sleep, but if there’s one thing Steve knows about him, it’s that he hates being emotionally vulnerable. Steve can’t say he blames him, but still, he presses on.

“Eddie Munson, CEO of the Hideout. Who would have thought?”

“I don’t know about CEO,” Eddie says, fingers struggling with the elastic holding his hair back. It takes a second for him to get the strands untangled, and when it does, his hair cascades over his shoulder in those same unruly curls Steve tried to tame once or twice. Eddie’s hand immediately finds a strand, twirling it around his fingers and pulling it towards his lips. “Owner as of the first of the year, though.”

“Eds, that’s really fucking cool. Holy shit! Congrats! I feel like we should toast or something.”

If Eddie catches the nickname slip up, he doesn’t mention it. Maybe Robin’s patenting ramble so they can’t comprehend every embarrassing thing you’ve said method actually works.

Instead, he waves him off. “Sounds to me like you’re just trying to get another round of free liquor in you before heading home to the parents.”

“Damn,” Steve says, happy to play along. “Am I that obvious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but ducks behind the counter for a moment, popping back up with two clean cups. He blindly reaches for a top-shelf whiskey and pours just a bit too much to be considered a shot, but not a full serving either. They clink the glasses together in a silent toast before throwing back the over-poured shot like they’re nineteen and twenty again.

“You know,” Eddie says, closing the distance between them as he leans against the countertop again. “We’re looking for some silent investor, partner types to help out with financing. If you, uh, know anyone who might be interested.”

“Oh,” Steve says, liquor making his brain slower than usual.

Eddie pushes off the bar, shaking his head. “Don’t look too excited, Steve. I was just joking.”

“No, shit, I mean, yeah, I would invest. Love to even,” Steve rambles, desperate to keep Eddie from joining the rest of the bartenders in tallying up their tips. “It’s just, uh, I’m actually getting out of the investment world.”

“You don’t have to lie, Harrington. A simple no will do.”

“I’m serious. Today was actually my last day. I’m enrolled in the Fire Academy come January.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, that toothy grin finally making an appearance. “Way to bury the lede, Stevie! We should be toasting to you! Finally getting out from under your dad’s thumb!”

Unlike Eddie, the nickname isn’t lost on Steve, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Not if he wants to keep Eddie smiling, and dammit he does. It’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I mean, I still have to break the news to my dad. But yeah, assuming he doesn’t kill me, it’s happening.”

“Hey, Munson,” a bartender he realizes is Jeff calls from the opposite end of the bar. “Get your ass over here and close out so we can go home. Some of us actually want to see our families.”

Eddie flips Jeff off but doesn’t budge from his spot in front of Steve.

“I should probably head out, too,” Steve says, slowly rising from the stool. His legs are full of pins and needles, asleep from sitting so long, but he manages to stay upright.

“Wait,” Eddie says, shouting even though all Steve’s done is duck behind the counter to grab his duffle from the floor. “Did you drive here?”

Steve shakes his head. “Took a cab from the airport, gonna use the payphone out back to call another.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says in a rush. “I mean, I can’t let you waste your money on a cab when you’re unemployed now.”

“I’m not unemployed, I’m going to—“

“Fire school, yeah, yeah, I got that,” Eddie says, waving him off. “Just give me two minutes, and I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Steve makes a show of sounding inconvenienced, which earns a dramatic eye roll from Eddie and a victory for himself. His streak of pretending not to care actually working lives on another day.

* * *

Seven minutes later, thanks to a mathematical error and a hushed conversation between Jeff and Eddie, Steve finds himself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.”

“How is it any different from you still driving the Beamer?”

“How do you know I still drive the Beamer?”

“Please, the only thing you love more than that car is Buckley. Speaking of, where is your platonic other half?”

“Still in Boston. She got asked to write an article for her grad department’s journal.”

“Ah, so she sent you to the lion’s den all on your own,” Eddie teases, slowing to a stop despite the light still being yellow.

“Figured this was one Harrington vs Harrington battle she didn’t need to bear witness to.”

Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart. “My, my, it seems like us lowly mortals are in the presence of the Great Sir Stevebert tonight.”

Steve can’t help but snort. He’s missed this. The easy teasing, the openness. Eddie and his silly voices and even sillier words. He can’t believe he’s gone almost six years without him.

“So,” Eddie says, drawing out the vowel. “Isn’t Dick going to be extra pissed off that you’re showing up on his doorstep at three in the morning?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

“What time were they expecting you?”

“When are they ever really expecting me?” Steve laughs dryly. “I didn’t really give them a set date. Figured if I told my dad I was flying out today, he’d figure out the whole work thing so I told them I’d try to catch a late flight after I finished for the day and be there by Thanksgiving dinner at the latest.”

“So they don’t know you’re in town.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not unless someone at the unofficial Hawkins High reunion tonight ratted me out.”

“Jesus H. Christ you caught that too?” Eddie shouts, smacking his left hand against the dashboard. “I’ve worked plenty of Wednesdays before Thanksgiving, but none of them have pulled that many of our former classmates out. I don’t know why everyone is back in town this year.”

“Back in town or never left?”

“Hey,” Eddie scolds. “Watch it. Your life is in the hands of a Hawkins townie right now.”

Steve holds his hands up in surrender and is glad to see Eddie grinning at him when he musters the courage to steal a glance. He wishes he could offer a careless smile back, but the closer they get to Loch Nora, the more he feels the anxiety creeping in again. Eddie must sense it, too, because he slows to well below the speed limit.

“I wouldn’t mind having a roommate for the night,” he says nonchalantly. Like Eddie’s talking about the weather and not offering to spend the night in Steve’s presence. Steve, the guy who disappeared on him one day after months of fucking around — literally and figuratively. The same Steve who hasn’t been back to Hawkins because he’s been avoiding this exact situation like the chickenshit he is.

“Wayne probably will, though,” Steve says, trying his best to turn Eddie down without actually turning him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend the night with him. Hell, he’d sell his left arm for the chance. The problem is it’ll just be one night, and Steve doesn’t think he has that in him. Not when he wants all the nights.

“Good thing he’s not home.”

“Wait,” Steve says, turning in the passenger seat to look at Eddie. “He left you on Thanksgiving? Isn’t that against your Munson Family Code or whatever?”

Eddie snorts, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t believe he remembered that’ under his breath. “I told him it was okay. He’s up in Chicago spending the holiday with Scott Clarke’s family.”

“Scott Clarke? The middle school science teacher?”

Eddie nods.

“I didn’t know they were friends.”

Eddie breaks in the middle of the street, leveling Steve with a look he finds himself receiving from Robin all the time. She says people like them are supposed to know when other people are like them, but so far, Steve has yet to inherit that superpower.

“Oh, shit,” he says, finally. “I didn’t know your uncle was into guys.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie laughs. “It was a real memorable day in the Munson’s house when I found out.”

A comfortable silence falls between them as Eddie eases the van back on the rode. They stay like that for a light or two before Eddie rolls to a stop at a familiar intersection.

“Great Sir Stevebert,” he says, switching into his deep, DM voice. “It seems you have a choice to make. Shall you continue on your travels, taking the golden brick road to the lone castle on the hill, or shall you take the road less traveled and embark on the twisting journey to the Moors?”

Once again, the decision is easy.

“If you really don’t mind,” Steve says instead of a definitive answer.

Eddie whoops and makes the sharp right turn that’ll take them to Forest Hills. “Onward, Sir Stevebert, to the Moors, we go!”

_ _ _

Eddie has no idea what he’s doing. One minute he’s fighting with himself, desperate to keep his attention on the out-of-town in-laws of some Hawkins High alumni in need of a blissful night out before the family shit starts and not on the sulking figure of Steve fucking Harrington on the opposite end of the bar. And the next second, he’s ushering that same Steve up the steps of the Munson trailer like he did so many times before.

Jesus H. Christ.

He should have listened to Jeff. He should have called Steve a cab and paid for it himself if it made him sleep better at night. Hell, he should have kicked Steve out the second he mouthed off to him. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t.

Despite all the bullshit, Steve put him through, despite five whole fucking years without so much as a call, Eddie still has a soft spot for the goddamn fallen King. Time heals many things, but the love he has for Steve isn’t one of them.

Love?

No. Strike that from the record.

Infatuation.

A crush, maybe.

Not love.

Not anymore.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, shaking the thought from his entire body, and moves to unlock the door. He gestures for Steve to enter, and Eddie trails behind, bending down at the entrance to untie his work boots and free his sore feet. He wasn’t lying when he told Steve this is the busiest pre-Thanksgiving shift he’s ever worked. He’s pretty sure his blisters have blisters at this point.

His knees ache at the position, so he lets himself fall back, ass on the worn welcome mat as he finishes the task at hand. It feels nice to get off his feet, and he lets himself linger there for a moment. A hand massaging the ache from the arch of his foot while his eyes drift up, watching Steve asses the trailer much like he did the very first time he found himself in the humble abode.

As nice as it is to get off his feet, the last thing Eddie needs is for Steve to turn around and catch him staring at him from a spot on the floor. With a quiet groan, he hoists himself back into a standing position and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“Wayne getting rid of his mug collection?” Steve asks, breaking the silence. Eddie follows his pointed finger to the top, empty rack shelf the patterned couch.

“No, just relocated ‘m. He spends most nights at Scott’s house now. I basically own the place. Wayne refuses to let me pay the full rent, though, since it’s his name on the lease.”

Steve lets out a low whistle that doesn’t do anything, Eddie, nothing at all, and turns to face him with a look of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Now, who’s the one with a silver spoon.”

He can’t help but laugh at how absurd that sounds. As if inheriting the trailer is some kind of privilege, but in some ways it is, right?

“It’s no rent-free apartment in a big city, but it’ll do,” he says, trying his best to throw a dig back at Steve, but it doesn’t sting the way he wants it to. If anything, it makes Steve’s lips dip into a frown instead of stroking that familiar petty flame he knows stays lit in his gut.

“Come on,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “You think Dick Harrington pays for my place in Boston? The asshole got me a shit job and told me to figure the rest out. I was lucky Robin was already there when I showed up. Her RA wasn’t too pleased, but we made it work that first year.”

Great, now he’s the asshole.

It’s such a different picture than the one he’s spent the last five years painting in his head. That good ol’ Dick Harrington shipped his only son off, far enough away that the town freak couldn’t continue sinking his teeth (and dick) into him without him knowing about it. Set him up with a good job and a nice place to sleep at night that left Steve no choice but to stay even though he knew that’s not what Steve wanted. Never was.

But that’s not the story, is it?

The real story is that Dick Harrington is an even bigger prick than he thought, and Steve is a coward. Eddie can understand Steve staying away if his dad made his new life nice for him and kept him comfortable and just shy of miserable, but he didn’t. And yet, Steve stayed in a job he hated, in a dorm he had no business crashing in because Daddy Dearest told him to do it.

A part of Eddie wants to ask why. Wants to dig his grimy finger into the still-fresh wound in Steve’s chest, judging by the grimace on his face, and get to the bottom of what the hell his dad has over him to keep in line. But what good would it do, really?

Eddie opts for a different strategy instead.

“Why now?”

Steve cocks his head, brows knitting together in that cute confused face Eddie used to love coaxing out of him with a single nerdy phrase back in the day. “Why now what?”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He could change the subject, shrug off his question, and steer the conversation into calmer waters to get them through the night. But that wouldn’t be fair to him or Steve. Not in the long run.

“It’s been five years since you’ve been in town, Steve,” Eddie says blankly. “Why now?”

“My parents are selling the place,” he answers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Said they wanted one last family Thanksgiving in the place before it’s not ours anymore. It’s bullshit if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time we spent the holiday together, even when I lived here, but here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve groans, collapsing on the couch behind him. “I don’t know what it is about my parents that has me running to them every time they ask, even though they don’t give a damn about me 99% of the time.”

Eddie follows Steve's lead, settling on the couch but leaving the middle cushion open. An unofficial barrier between them. “I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like textbook daddy issues to me.”

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move, too stunned by the sudden contact to do anything else. Steve’s hand leaves his shoulder as fast as it finds it, but the effects are already in motion. Eddie’s entire body vibrates under the ghost of Steve’s touch, skin alive and hot in a way it hasn’t been in years.

Eddie turns, expecting to find Steve staring off in the distance, but instead, he’s staring at him with those open, honest hazel eyes. All it takes is one look, one single slip of his eyes to Steve’s lip and back again, and Steve’s surging forward, closing the distance between them.

Steve tastes like cheap liquor and pickle juice, and all it takes is one swipe of Steve’s tongue, and Eddie’s transported back to the Fall of 1986. Of experimenting with whatever ingredients they had on hand in the kitchen and throwing back drinks to nurse their respective education wounds — Eddie not graduating again, Steve failing to get into college. Memories of playful shoves turning into wrestling matches turning hot and heavy until lips met lips and skin, so much skin.

Five years may have passed, but it feels like no time at all as Eddie sinks further into Steve’s embrace, fingers tangling in the wisps of hair on Steve’s neck, and Steve’s own hands find themselves tangled in his curls.

It’s only when Steve moves to straddle Eddie’s hip that the reality of the situation hits him. Eddie jolts away; hands braced on Steve’s shoulders to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. He hates himself the moment he looks into Steve’s cloudy hazel eyes, but he’d hate himself more if he let this continue without checking in.

With Steve an arm's length away, Eddie studies him. Squinting as he stares into Steve’s eyes, checking for glassy, unfocused eyes, excessive sweating, and flushed face — all of which Steve has, but maybe not for the reasons Eddie is checking for.

“You’re drunk,” Eddie says plainly.

Steve shakes his head, words, not even the least bit slurred when he says, “No. Maybe a little buzzed, but that’s it. I promise.”

Something snaps inside of Eddie at those two words, releasing the anger his horniess has been holding at bay. In an instant, he feels the rage boiling inside of him, and he shoves at Steve hard enough to send him back to his end of the couch.

“With much offense, Steve,” Eddie says, venom dripping from his lips as he spits out Steve’s name. “Promises don’t mean shit coming from you.”

And just like that, they’re back where they started the evening off. Opposite sides of each other, scowling and hurt in their own ways.

Steve sighs and shifts on the couch, not-so-subtly adjusting himself in his pants. “Eds,” he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up, okay. I know I did, but what was I supposed to? My dad was threatening you just as much as he was threatening me, and it was just easier to leave.”

“Easier for you, maybe.”

“I—“

“What are we doing here, Steve?” Eddie asks, cutting off whatever lame excuse is coming next.

“I thought I was trying to apologize but clearly I was wrong.”

Eddie can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes him. “So you apologize, and then what? We fuck, you get one last blowjob by the former freak of Hawkins, and then poof, you’re gone again?” Eddie rises from the couch in an instant, sock-covered feet pacing the length of the living room. He steals one glance down at Steve and shakes his head. “I should have listened to Jeff. Should have listened to everyone and stayed the fuck away. This is nothing but a pre-holiday fuck, and I’m so fucking stupid for falling for it.”

“No!” Steve shouts, standing up now too. “I’m not, I mean, I didn’t even know you’d be at the Hideout. I just stopped there because I couldn’t stomach the thought of showing up to my parents' place sober.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Eddie snaps. “Tell me this: if I wasn’t at the bar tonight, would you have come to find me?”

Steve says silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t even know you were still in Hawkins until tonight!”

“Bullshit! I know for a fact Henderson has mentioned seeing me when he comes back for the holidays. Just stop lying!”

“You want me to stop lying?” Steve shouts, stalking over to where Eddie’s stopped pacing. He boxes him in against the new bookshelf he installed in the corner where Wayne’s roll-away mattress used to sit. With his shoes still on, Steve’s got half an inch on Eddie and it’s daunting staring up into those eyes when Steve’s jaw is set in a hardline. “I fucking love you, okay? I have for years! And yeah, I was a fucking coward for leaving, and I could have, should have called in the years since, but I was scared, okay? I was scared you figured out that I’m not worth it and found someone better, just almost everyone else in my stupid fucking life and—“

It’s Eddie’s lips that crash into Steve’s this time. The words die on Steve’s lip, and for a maddening moment, Eddie wonders if he’s broken him beyond repair. That maybe he sould have left him keep spiraling and hit rock button, but then Steve kisses him back and it’s perfect. Well, as close to perfect as they can get considering they’re both angry and exhausted and Jesus h. Christ when did Steve learn to do that with his tongue? It’s headier than the kiss on the couch, leagues better than their awkward teenage makeouts from that autumn. They’ve both grown up, practiced, and found what works, and god damn, does it work.

When they pull apart this time, it's only to catch their breaths before diving back in. Eddie gets his hands on Steve’s shirt, rucking it up and over his head in a tangle of limbs, his own shirt isn’t too far behind, flying through the air with reckless abandon. Steve’s lips find his throat and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to scream or sink into him further so he does a mix of both, a wanton moan falling from his lips as he pulls Steve closer by his hips and ruts against him.

They’re really moving now, stumbling down the familiar hallway until they’re crashing into Eddie’s unmade bed. Eddie hovers over Steve, admiring his flushed torso and blissed-out face for all of two seconds before Steve pulls him close, whispering want you and need you, and who is Eddie to deny Steve anything, much less mutual pleasure?

They fumble with each other’s jeans, hands shoving and hips lifting and twisting until there’s nothing between them but the thick, musty air. Eddie’s hands trail up and down Steve’s body, his lips and teeth following leaving marks on his favorite moles. He licks a stripe from the dip of his waist to his belly button and back down, and Steve keens under him.

“Please,” Steve whines. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s call foreplay, sweetheart,” Eddie chirps, but ultimately gives in, taking all of Steve in his mouth in one go.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve swears, fisting a hand into the sheets.

Eddie pulls away, eyes wide and full of mischief. “First you say no teasing, then you get mad when I take you? What do you want from me, Stevie?” He cups Steve’s ball, rolling them with enough pleasure to coax another moan from Steve’s lips.

“Just play nice, Eds.”

Eddie hums, then dives back in, slower this time but still just as desperate. He’s missed this almost as much as he’s missed Steve in general. Maybe even more, if he’s honest. There are a lot of dicks in the sea, but none as beautiful and responsive as Steve’s.

Eddie laughs at the cheesy thought, and the vibrations do something to Steve to elicit the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard. He almost laughs again just to hear it again, but before he has a chance, Steve’s shoving him off and flipping them over.

“Wh— what’s going on?”

“M’too close, and I don’t want cum without tasting you first.”

Despite his protests, Steve dives straight in with no preamble and Eddie feels the familiar coil of pressure building in an instant. He’s not going to last, not if Steve keeps doing that with his tongue and Jesus h. Christ he’s never going to live it down if he cums two seconds into getting Steve’s lips on him.

He tries to think of anything else. The disgusting bathrooms at the Hideout he’s going to have to clean tomorrow and the grocery list on the fridge he has to brave the last-minute holiday shoppers for, but nothing seems to work.

Eddie squirms, tries his best to get away from Steve but Steve hand settles on his hips, holding him to the mattress as he continues to move up and down. Eddie sees the stars building in his eyes without even closing his eyes and his hand moves on its own volution, finding Steve’s leaking cock and wrapping his hand around it.

If he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast, so is Steve.

He matches his strokes with Steve’s and they both fill the room with their moans and cries until finally they collapse on each other. Eddie’s hand and chest are sticky with Steve’s cum, and his own is spilling out Steve’s lips, but he doesn’t care. He pulls Steve closer, capturing his lips in a searing, sweaty kiss.

* * * 

Another round and an hour-long make-out session later, they finally get up to clean themselves up. Eddie leaves Steve in his room and disappears into the bathroom. One look at His debauched self in the mirror and Eddie can’t help the smile that breaks out. If someone had told him this was how he’d be spending the early hours of his first Thanksgiving without Wayne, he would have laughed in their face.

When he returns to the room a few minutes later, Steve’s back on the bed, the thin sheet doing little to cover his lower half while his torso lays on full display, light by the warm light seeping through the cracks of Eddie’s blinds as the sun rises outside.

“Hi,” Eddie whispers, suddenly shy as he slips back into bed.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, shuffling across the bed and making himself comfortable on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around Steve’s bare middle before bending the other behind his own head. He looks down at Steve, slowly drinking in the look of peace on his face and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he starves off sleep they’re both desperate for.

“How long are you in town for?” Eddie asks and mentally curses himself. Fucking Munson, just enjoy the moment!

Steve shifts, chin digging into Eddie’s solar plexus as his sleepy eyes find Eddie’s. “The weekend, at least. Maybe a few extra days.”

“Yeah?”

“I could be persuaded,” he says, reaching up to wrap a lock Eddie’s hair around his finger. “I mean, I am unemployed until January, as you so kindly pointed out.”

A part of Eddie wants to laugh, maybe even apologize for the uninspired jab from hours ago, but there’s something more important he has to do. Even if it kills him. He tries to keep his smile intact when he opens his mouth next, whispering the words as close to Steve’s ear as he can so he can’t deny hearing them.

“I’m not asking you to stay. You have to make that choice on your own, Steve. Start living your life for you.”

Steve’s smile falters, lips twitching, threatening to turn into a pout, but they don’t. Instead, he nods, and Eddie feels the weight of his confession and the fear-strikes anticipation of Steve’s reaction evaporate from his own body.

Steve nods, turning to press a chaste kiss to the same demon that’s been etched there since before Steve became his all those years ago. “I know.”

Eddie hums noncommittally and drags his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, nails lightly stretching at his scalp in the way he knows Steve loves. “So then, what do you want?”

There’s a moment of silence and Eddie watches the seven stages of grief wash over Steve’s face before he opens his mouth again. “I can promise you the weekend to start.”

It’s not the answer Eddie wanted, but it’s the one he was bracing for. He knows better than to expect Steve to make a life-changing decision in their post-coital haze. Wouldn’t want him to even if he gave him the answer he wanted. All he really needs is the truth.

“Boyfriends for the weekend?” Eddie says. The word feels foreign on his tongue and yet just right. “Does that mean I get a front-row seat to watch you ruin your dad’s life when you tell him about the fire academy?”

Steve snorts, hot air tickling Eddie’s love-bite-ridden neck. “I mean, if you want. Might make things worse, though.”

Eddie hums in agreement. The last thing he wants is to make Steve’s day even harder than it’s going to be, no matter how much he’d love to get some face-to-face time with good ol’ Dick Harrington.

“How about this,” Eddie says, turning so they’re nose to nose in bed now. “I’ll be your getaway driver. Drive you over, and when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be waiting around the bend like old times sake. And then…” He trails off, nose bumping against Steve as he peppers his freckled face with kisses and nips. “I’ll bring you back here and we can make good use of this whole boyfriends for the weekend thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, breathy and more of a sigh than anything else but the sentiment is there. “That sounds perfect.”

Eddie hums and pulls Steve’s lips between his in a long, lingering kiss before separating. “The only condition is I get to be the one who leaves this time when you have to come back.”

“Not forever, though, right?”

“Well, that’s up to you, babe.”

Steve nods, swooping in to give Eddie his own version of a passionate kiss. “Okay, but then we’re even.”

“Yeah, we’ll be even.”

Eddie watches the smile slowly spread across Steve’s face before he hides in the crook of his neck. Eddie presses his own grin into the mop of sweaty hair on Steve’s head as they lay there, completely intertwined from their head to their toes.

“Boyfriends for the weekend,” Steve mumbles through a yawn before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

“And then for life,” Eddie whispers, lips pressing into Steve’s forehead before his own eyes give in to the exhaustion coursing through his body.

[sagesariadnd]

My retail job didn't train me for the things I actually needed to know to do my job right. They expected me to be there in the mornings before the buses were even running, then didn't even give me a phone number to call to let me in because the doors were still locked. And when I DID have a number I could call, nobody answered. They told me to call the answering machine if I was gonna call out sick, but my manager never checked the machine so she'd mark me as a no call, no show if I didn't also call her, but I didn't have her personal number so if it was too early for the call to go through to my department, I was screwed. Should I have asked for her number? Sure. But you'd think that would have been step one on orientation day. They didn't even give me the number of the INTERCOM and yelled at me for never using it for several months. They didn't even pay me enough for their health insurance to be worth it.

My retail job's manager was constantly abusive to me. She'd tell me to do something with zero instruction, then yell at me for not doing it right. She'd huff if I asked a simple clarifying question to be sure I was doing something right, and snapping "*I'll* do it then, go clean." She'd scold me for the floor being a mess because I was busy helping customers on a busy Saturday afternoon. She'd scold me for missing that a customer needed help because I was focused on the thing she wanted me to get done faster. She was CONSTANTLY nagging me to work faster. She made me cry a few times from yelling at me, and said "I don't care that you're crying" as if I was doing it to manipulate her.

She constantly got my schedule wrong when I told her what days I was unavailable because of classes. She asked me EVERY WEEK to write it down, then EVERY WEEK she got it wrong, and she told me *I* was the one being inconsistent. She would acknowledge that I was going out of town one weekend, then call me demanding to know where I was that Saturday. She almost wrote up my coworker for being absent on his SON'S WEDDING. She threatened to write ME up when I tried to call out after slipping on the ice in my driveway and hitting my head, basically bullying me to come in. She screamed at me about calling out on Easter Sunday when I was up all night crying in pain from a COMPLETELY VERTICAL IMPACTED WISDOM TOOTH. I'd've loved to know a dentist that was open that day to give me a doctor's note.

The one time I actually reported her for screaming at me for using the bathroom and leaving the floor unattended (I TOLD my coworker where I was going and HE was the one who left the floor unattended to solve a problem at the register), the HR manager sighed and stared at the ceiling when I mentioned her name.

After she got transferred and someone else took over, my new manager was barely more tolerable because he was more passive-aggressive than abusive. He'd never confront me if he had a problem, just cut my hours to next to nothing. He never seemed to listen when I had to call out. He expected me to come into work the day after I called out indefinitely because I had been HIT BY A CAR. And when I did come back after months of recovery, I couldn't keep up anymore from pain and physical exhaustion. And the reason I'd already called out of work so much as it was was because being on my feet that much was literally destroying my ability to walk at all. My knees still have problems to this day from trying to kneel down to do lower shelf work to give myself some relief from my feet. And every time I tried to explain why I couldn't go any faster than I was he brushed me off. I literally quit that year, right before Christmas.

Someone who worked at a notoriously toxic retail store heard the name of the one I worked at and felt sorry for me.

I am never going back to retail.

People always gloss over how mentally damaging it can be to work in retail. I fucking hate that whenever I say “I could never work in retail again” someone has to reply “You snowflake millennials can’t take a starter job because you have to INTERACT with other people” No. Fuck you. I’ve worked as a planetarium host. I’ve worked as a public speaker. I’ve worked as a tutor and as a student teacher. I can work with people. I can work with crowds. Retail was fucking different. Retail was being treated as a subhuman. Retail was being treated so poorly that you have anxiety attacks before work. Having to work retail was a factor in my last suicide attempt. If I hear you say one fucking word about retail workers playing the victim I will personally break every bone in your body. Fuck You.

[jemilyvsjeid]

First fic ever doesn’t have a name yet I have ideas but ugh guys this is the first time I ever wrote something lowkey nervous let me know if you have any suggestions my anons are open my DMs are open comments…be kind tho like I said this is the first time I wrote something 😭🤚

Pics for reference 💀

Guys …

Ughhh here you go 😭🤚

Tw: language?

Quick Backstory

Sasha Simmons: 22, 6'3", model with a slender build. Naturally blonde but dyes her hair black. She has high cheekbones and icy blue eyes. Growing up in Brooklyn, NY, she's a true city girl, unbothered by the chaos around her. After her father abandoned the family when she was just 7, her mother never remarried. A selfish alcoholic, her mother uses Sasha to maintain her own precarious position in life. Sasha is an only child, with two close friends: Natalia, her childhood "sister," and Emily, who introduced her to modeling back in high school. Girly pop has a hard time recognizing her beauty.

Paige Bueckers:You all know what Paige looks like, so there’s no need for me to describe her appearance or go into a detailed backstory — unless you want me to.

— -

Sasha

Your alarm blares, no, actually it screams at you to wake up. You've hit the snooze button seven times already.

sasha’s mom hurries through the room and throws the phone towards the back of her head

“FUCK YOU!” Sasha bolts upright, searching for the nearest object to throw back, but her mother rushes out the door before she can retaliate. Scanning the mess around her bed, she finally finds her phone, just in time to see the glaring screen flash 8:05 AM.

“Oh no! Oh no! Fuck! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, Mom? I have that casting call for Nike today!” She races to the bathroom, all the while her mother rolls her eyes, inhaling the smoke from her Winston Reds, which have completely taken over their apartment.The apartment where she spent the last 22 exhausting, painful yet memorable years. The place where she learned to walk, where she learned about disappointments, where she realized being skinny could open more doors than being happy ever would. She never felt fulfilled. Despite winning every pageant she entered, graduating from NYU with a full ride, and traveling to cities in Europe that most couldn’t even name, it was never enough. Deep down, what she always truly desired was a townhouse filled with both parents, a dog, and siblings close to her age—maybe to actually celebrate holidays.

Her mother’s cough, loud enough to be heard from blocks away, snaps her out of her thoughts. The time now reads 8:20 AM. Has she really sat on the toilet for fifteen minutes? She’s got to be at the shoot in forty minutes — twenty on the train! In a frenzy, she jumps into the shower. Within fifteen minutes, she’s out the door, her hair still wet and half-dried, rushing to make it to the train just in time.

---

Paige

As I watch the stylist sort through outfits for my potential partner for this shoot, I can’t help but wonder what this person will look like. It’s strange they waited until today to find someone, but given my schedule, I can’t complain. I know my energy effortlessly charms those around me, making it easy for them to work with me, even if it's an inconvenience. While it feels good to receive such attention, I must admit it’s also awkward to have everything done for me. Glancing in the mirror, I remind myself that I truly earned this moment. The countless hours I spent on the court led to my recruitment by the best program in the country, paving the way for my success and growth as a leader. I’ve faced adversity over the past couple of years, but each challenge has helped me learn more about myself, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.

Robbie, the casting director, enters, enthusiastically explaining that he's looking for someone who's my complete opposite. We've gone over this several times, but his vision of this “dream girl” seems to intensify with each discussion. He hands me a piece of paper.

1.Jet black hair

2.Icy blue eyes

3.Sharp features

4.Tall

5.Shalom Harlow with a twist

With an incredulous expression, I ask, “How is this the opposite of me?” He chuckles and surveys me with a quick up-and-down glance (classic sassy gay man), saying, “Well, love, this dream girl will be the black cat to your golden retriever vibe. Sure, you both have similar eyes and features, but you're kind and sweet; this girl will walk into the room with a cold energy that’s anything but sunshine”.

“Oh wowww, you really have quite an imagination,” I reply, slightly annoyed by his specificity, as if such a person even exists. “Shalom Harlow with a twist?” I murmur again, baffled. She’s one of the hottest models out there, yet I can’t fathom meeting anyone close to that in real life.Let alone at a Nike shoot.Dropping the paper on the table, I walk over to the window, where the breathtaking views of New York City never fail to captivate me. So many experiences, so many stories. I can’t help but wonder what our “dream girl” is doing right.

---

Sasha

Glancing at my phone, I realize I should be right on time. My hair has fully dried, but it's slightly puffy now. If only I had a few extra minutes to fix myself! The casting call requested no makeup and natural hair—just blow-dried, nothing styled. They asked for jeans and a tee, preferably with sneakers, as they wanted to see how we “carry ourselves.” Silly, but I guess there’s a reason behind everything. I press the button for the 18th floor and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Despite never feeling confident, I've mastered the act well enough that anyone who sees me is impressed. As the elevator doors slide open, I’m greeted by what seems to be at least seventy girls, most already clustered in little groups. Casting a glance around, I note several familiar faces from previous shoots, some of whom are friends of Emily's. As I approach, the only thing I can hear is the name “Paige” around me. Who’s Paige ?

“Hey, you guys!!” I say with the most artificial smile I can muster. “I’ve missed seeing you! How is everyone?” To be honest, I could hardly care less about any of them, but networking is crucial in this industry. As we chat, I mention the mysterious Paige, “So who is this Paige girl? Is she a new model we should be watching out for?” Dolia giggles, giving me a pointed look before saying, “How do you not know who you might be shooting with? At this point just forget about even being here.” She bursts out laughing obnoxiously, solidifying my reasons to not befriend any of these people ever. Hannah, grinning from ear to ear, chimes in, “It’s Paige Bueckers! The basketball player from UConn! How do you not know this?” This is the second time I’m hearing about her; the first was when Emily’s roommate lost her mind over some “talent show” she joined last spring on her live. I still don’t know who this girl is, and frankly, I don’t care. I’m here to work with a major brand, and this could be my ticket to fashion week — possibly an invitation to the upcoming shows. After being ghosted by brands I’d previously collaborated with, last year’s New York Fashion Week made me a recluse.

Just then, the casting director bursts into the room, announcing his last-minute requirements. I dread these moments. “If you don’t have jet black hair, you can leave,” he shouts. As most girls exit, that dwindles to at least twenty of us. Then he states, “Anyone under 6 feet tall can leave,” and that knocks out even more girls. Now there are only fourteen of us left, mere minutes ago there were so many. My thoughts wander as I scan the room and catch sight of a tall blonde just a few feet away from the other room. She’s beautiful—really beautiful—and her laughter makes her glow like… sunshine? “If you don’t have blue eyes, you may exit, and thank you for coming,” the director retorts, pulling me back into reality. We’re now down to just five girls, all looking like identical versions of each other. We're ushered into a room where we're given instructions about what’s to come. I’m the last to go, thankful I can drift for a moment. Hunger and fatigue creep in, but I push it aside.I can’t help but drift back to the girl I saw by the door. I wonder who she is…

—

Paige

Robbie steps into the room, informing me that the number of girls has drastically decreased, and it’s almost time for the shoot. He gestures for me to follow him to another room where I’ll essentially rate the remaining girls. It feels somewhat wrong to assess others this way, but I suppose it's necessary. The first girl walks in—gorgeous, resembling Lauren Jauregui in build and hair type. She’s asked to walk, but struggles to keep up with the beat; she doesn’t stand out. The next girl has shoulder-length hair, giving major Kendall Jenner vibes. Another pretty face, but again, nothing memorable. As I zone out I can hear Robbie buzzing in my ear that we have one last person, and then we are done. Rubbing my temples in frustration, I suddenly hear footsteps approaching.A raspy but sweet voice breaks the tension: “Good morning, I’m Sasha Simmons.” My focus shifts back to the door, and time seems to freeze. The girl walking in ticks off every box. She exudes a captivating energy that pulls me in like a magnet. Our eyes lock, and it feels as if we can't look away from each other. This girl is it. She’s the “dream girl” for both Robbie and, I think, for me too.

As I shift my body and quickly adjust my top, pushing my hair back, I break eye contact with a nudge from Robbie. “I think we found the one,” he whispers excitedly. But like everyone else, he asks her to walk, which she does effortlessly. The silence in the room deepens as Robbie thanks her and tells her to step outside. Confusion knots my stomach as I jerk my head back at him, questioning why he asked her to step out. He brushes it off, mentioning it’s part of a procedure. Filling out a couple of papers, he then directs me to step into another room.

“I’d like to stay,” I insist, but he gives me a sharp look, stating it wouldn't be very professional for me to witness the one-on-one rejection talk. Reluctantly, I accept it and walk to the other room, still in awe. I finally know who the dream girl is… Sasha Simmons.

Sasha

As I’m asked to walk into the room, my eyes are immediately drawn to the blonde girl I spotted at the door earlier. Our gazes lock, and I notice her fidgeting with her top and running her fingers through her hair. A surge of curiosity hits me—did I make her nervous?.... Why would she feel that way around someone like me? She must be used to receiving attention from all the girls surrounding her.

I shift my focus back to the director, who gestures for me to walk for him. With a few swift notes taken, he thanks me and asks me to step out. The whole encounter was alarmingly brief, leaving me lowkey panicked; maybe I wasn't what they were looking for. I can practically count the minutes I spent in that room on my fingers.I make my way to a nearby seat, trying to steady my breath. One by one, the other girls are called back in for the results.

As I sit in my corner, I feel my mind dissociate from the chaos around me—at least now I know who Paige Bueckers is...

••• if you got all the way here thank you so so much for reading like I said it my first time ever writing anything. I’m open to suggestions and comments.I only read over it a couple of times so there might be mistakes. Let me know what you guys want for the next part I kinda have an idea on what I wanna go off of but you’re the reader lol let me know anons DMs everything’s open.

[otomes-and-tears]

♦ an unsung melody (is mine for safekeeping) (7/7) ♦

► tags/warnings: pregnancy, past character death, angst, childbirth

► words: 3812

► A/N: The long-awaited conclusion!

Part (01)  (02)  (03)  (04) (05) (06)

► Masterlist

“Oh, you’re finally home!”

Erika smiled, her voice carrying a cheerfulness that didn’t quite match the exhaustion in her eyes. It takes effort for her to stand up from their couch, waddling over to Nevra as he stood by the entrance of their little home.

Nevra rushes to close the short distance between them, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. His arms wrap tightly around her shoulders as he breathes her in, and his eyes flutter closed as he ground himself in her presence.

That was how Erika knew his day had been particularly difficult. 

With her due date approaching, and Eldarya’s growing unrest, Nevra more often than not would only creep into their new, shared home at odd hours of the night. If he came in at all.

Those days were usually the worst.  

The ones where she’d wake up in the morning and find the other side of the bed to be too cold. On the nights he did return, she could see how beaten down he seemed to be, carrying alone the weight of unspoken burdens. It has been a source of strife, lately. Nevra was too afraid of something going wrong to burden her with any more stress, and she refused to be so helpless, wanting to do anything to help.

“I would’ve gone over to you,” he murmured into her hair. “You didn’t need to get up.”

“I needed to move anyway,” Erika said lightly, squirming out of his embrace just enough to study his face, her eyes flickering over him to check for any signs of injury. “My back was starting to hurt from sitting so long.”

Nevra frowned, brushing her hair back with a tenderness that still made her heart flip. “I thought your back hurt if you stood too long?”

“That too.” She grimaced “Honestly, my back hurts regardless of what I do. My feet too— But having to rest so much is making me antsy.”

“I can tell.” Nevra locks the door behind him, double-checking all the locks to ensure the door is properly secured. Chrome complains about how often he has to herd you back home. Lately, just seeing you outside makes him nervous.

“You’re not that much better.” 

She chuckled. Despite it bordering on annoying, Nevra’s increasing protectiveness could be, on occasion, terribly endearing.

Karenn had taken some time to explain it: it was a vampire thing. Being this close to the due date, his instincts asked him to make sure she was somewhere safe and familiar when their child was born. He’d be more over-protective in the weeks following the birth, but at the very least his attention would also be focused on their baby instead of just breathing down her neck and stopping her from walking to their kitchen for a glass of water.

Personally, Erika believes Karenn made it up to justify his, and her , bouts of overprotectiveness. 

In truth, everyone around her had been on edge since she hit her third trimester.

The morbid part of Erika’s mind thinks they might be preparing for the possibility of death in childbirth.

Eyes linger on her even more often than before, and friends, old and new, seem a little too willing to stop by to reminisce. 

No one tells her, but she knows. She knows all too well.

Nevra’s hands find the small of her back, as he gently guides her to the couch again. 

He’s exhausted, but winding down with her at night is the best part of his day.

With her pregnancy, he has avoided missions that require too much travel. As Huang Hua’s right-hand man, it’s not like such things are often expected of him anyway. It’s easier to delegate tasks, but now that Erika is on the home stretch, and the baby can come at any moment now, Nevra has been spending long hours getting his affairs in order, ready to go on leave when their child is born.

He has no hope of being able to properly go on leave, but he wants to make sure the amount of work he has is minimal, instead of the mountains of paperwork he usually has to deal with.

“You know I can’t help it. And the closer we get to the date…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking to her rounded belly with a mixture of awe and anxiety. She doesn’t comment on it but could sense a nervous energy to him, simmering just below the surface, just barely suppressed.

“How are you feeling? Have they…”

He starts, the words winding down into nothingness as the hand previously on her back moves underneath her shirt, caressing the taut skin of her belly. Erika cringes slightly at the coldness of his hands. Nevra is likely doing this both to greet their child and as a ploy to warm his hands. He has always been attracted to her warmth, which is especially annoying when her base temperature has been up, she’s feeling unbearably hot all the time, but her beloved partner insists on being all over her like a sentient weighted blanket.

“The usual,” Erika replied, resting a hand over his. “They’re still too cosy in there to want to leave, making me miserable. I swear, If they don’t decide to come out soon, I’ll reach in and pull them out myself.”

Nevra’s lips quirked into a small smile, but his lilac eyes betrayed him, still soft with worry. He didn’t speak for a long moment, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles across her skin, following any tiny movement he could feel in her belly. 

He used to complain about how sombre she could be. About all the what-ifs that tormented her, the dark jokes she made at her own expense as a consequence of her past, and all the terrible misfortune that coloured their time together.

Things got much better after her pregnancy progressed and she got too focused on their move, obsessing over every little detail of their shared home, to concern herself with these things. It felt like a burst of optimism, being allowed to focus on the future for once rather than being tethered to her painful past.

But as her due date approached, it seemed like things became sombre again.

The light dimmed, a heavy fog settling in between them. She could only walk towards the light, hoping that it would lead to something good, rather than more tragedy. 

“I started writing in the baby book again,” Erika said, breaking the silence. Her voice was light, almost casual, but there was a tremor underneath it. Nevra’s hand stills for just a moment before he forces himself to continue tracing shapes in her belly.

The rhythm is broken, however. Too stilted to seem natural.

“Just little things,” she murmured, looking away. “The way you hum when you’re stressed. How you always bring me fruit for breakfast, even though you hate how it smells, the lyrics to lullabies from back home…”

“It sounds like you’re writing a farewell letter,” Nevra said softly, his voice tight.

She swallows, hard, there’s a beat where the conversation dies, too long, too uncomfortable when things around him felt so easy beforehand.

“Maybe I am.”

His grip on her tightened, his fingers curling protectively over her stomach. She distantly recognises the shapes he’s tracing as protective runes.

“You shouldn’t,” Nevra pleas, and she can’t bring herself to look at him. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“I just… want them to know me,” she said, her voice breaking. “In case I don’t—”

“You will,” Nevra interrupted, his voice firm. “You will know them. You’ll be there for everything.  And if you can’t finish that stupid book, I will. I’ll fill every single page... They’ll know you, Erika.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak, and leaned into his shoulder. He held her, a little too tightly, as the baby stirred between them, both of them lost in their thoughts.

—

It starts gradually.

She never expected labour to be like this. It doesn’t really matter how many baby books she read, or how many times medics walked her through all the steps of labour, the idea of it that always seemed to come to mind came from all the movies and shows she watched back home.

Things always start suddenly. A sharp pain, then your water breaks, then all hell breaks loose. In a neat twenty-one minutes, you’re holding your perfect, healthy, clean baby.

Reality is much, much more painful than fiction.

For starters, there’s a lot more waiting involved.

Waiting and counting.

Waiting until the contractions get strong enough, waiting until they’re timeable. Waiting until they’re close enough apart and last for long enough. 

Waiting until the water breaks, until her cervix is dilated. Until they can give her something to manage the pain.

Waiting, waiting, waiting .

It’s worse than the nine months that came beforehand. The wait seems far longer, heavier, and more anxiety-inducing.

Nevra was there the whole time. Labour lasted far longer than either expected, but he refused to leave Erika’s side, or their shared home until his firstborn was safe in his arms. He must’ve snapped at Eweleïn three times, begging her to do anything to do anything to mitigate Erika’s pain, before she threatened to kick him out and only let him back inside once it was finished.

He was much more compliant, then.

The early morning hours blurred together as Erika gripped the edge of the bed, her breathing ragged. Each contraction tore through her with an intensity that made the world tilt, and yet it wasn’t the pain that filled her with dread—it was the knowledge that this might be the end of the road.

The room was silent, save for the occasional rustle of fabric and Eweleïn’s hushed instructions. Erika can only barely process the flurry of movement around her as nurses and healers rush into position, getting vials filled with colourful potions into a table and preparing the station where her child is going to be examined. Why they hadn’t bothered to do so in the hours she was waiting for her cervix to dilate enough for her to be able to push was beyond her.

Erika’s laboured breaths filled the air as she clung to Nevra’s hand, her grip tight as she bordered on desperation. The birth had been harder than anyone expected, threaded with extreme caution. Her mind felt too hazy to properly process any words that weren’t “ push” and the vague notion that she had lost a little too much blood. 

She was exhausted and hungry by too many hours of labour and in terrible pain. Nevra whispered soft assurances into her skin, which made her feel a little better, even if she couldn’t understand them.

“Almost there, Erika,” 

Eweleïn said, her voice firm but gentle, though even she looked strained. As exhausted by the experience as they all were.

Erika nodded, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She couldn’t waste energy on words. All she could think about was the fragile life she was bringing into a world that had never shown her mercy.  

“You’re doing amazing,” Nevra said, his voice trembling as he pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “Just a little longer, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

She nodded, her grip tightening on his hand. 

“Nevra,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “If I don’t—”

“Please,” he cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended. He softened immediately, brushing her hair back, guilt flashing in his eyes. “You’ll be just fine. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, and you’ve come so far..”

Erika closed her eyes as another contraction hit, her scream muffled against his chest.

Eweleïn’s voice broke through the tension.

“One more push, Erika. You’re almost there.”

Part of her wanted to scream at her old friend. It seemed like she was insisting that it was just one more push for hours. 

With a final, desperate cry, Erika bore down with all the strength she had left, and then there was silence. 

For one agonizing moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, Erika’s heart pounding in her chest as a familiar dread washed over her, until the piercing, shrill, wail of her newborn shattered the stillness.

It’s like they all breathe a sigh of relief. 

Her body slumps back into the pillows, finally allowed to relax after what felt like an interminable effort, but she is still trembling from the aftermath.

Then she cries.

Out of relief they both shared, that the worst was over. That she managed to overcome the biggest hurdle and they both pulled through. All those months of dread, all those nagging thoughts that tainted every happy moment were finally proven wrong.

Nevra let out a choked laugh, his own eyes wet as Eweleïn finally handed the baby to Erika.

Her hold on the newborn is a little awkward, but with her Eweleïn’s assistance, she’s able to hold the baby securely in her weak limbs. Her dear friend wipes away her tears with a proud smile, holding back her own tears through a thin veil of professionalism.

"It's a girl"

The elf announces, her giddiness is as infectious as her smile. Eweleïn lingers around the new parents for a brief moment, the three old friends relishing in the victory of a battle well-fought, before she leaves them, caught up again in the flurry of activity inside of the room. Their time with the newborn right now is limited, before she's weighed, cleaned and thoroughly examined, but Erika is glad to have this little moment of privacy. To be inside of this perfect little bubble with Nevra and the child she finally gets to meet.

The vampire regards them both with awe, his eyes lighting up as he watches their tiny, bloody little baby squirm in her mother’s arms. 

“You did it,” he murmured, his voice raw with relief. “You’re both here. You’re both safe.”

Maybe in a few years, when this is all long past them, Erika will manage to feign being offended at his blatant disbelief, but right now, she echoes the sentiment. 

They’re both there, and safe .

She had grown too used to things being good, too good , and then being ripped away from her.

In her eyes, the past few months, where she got her life back with Nevra, was an anomaly. She lived in fear, waiting for her time to run out, for the inevitable other shoe to drop, for another world-ending event to wipe away all of those she had loved.

But now she holds her baby close. Her precious little girl, with her father’s pointy ears and her mum’s nose, allowing herself to enjoy the moment with no reservations. No catastrophising. Even if it doesn’t last, and the fear of their future crushes her again, she allows herself this one thing.

The weight of her survival was heavy, but for this moment, it was worth it.

For her.

—

The stars were scattered across the night sky as Erika sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking the forest, weeks later. The baby, swaddled and asleep, was cradled safely in her arms. The aengel had insisted on being left alone, though Nevra had hovered like a shadow at the edge of her vision, reluctant to leave her or their daughter’s side for even a moment.

She allows him to walk the familiar path with them, a few steps behind. It’s a little game— He can join, just as long as he stays out of her view. If she spots him directly before they reach their destination, he needs to go home.

There isn’t much one can do with a child this new, but Erika manages. As soon as she could, she started taking her baby on little walks around the HQ, strapped to her chest, covered in soft clothes she hated to wear. Her walks usually happened at night, when the baby couldn’t stop crying and she needed to do something to keep herself sane when everyone else was asleep, and they were both away from prying eyes and well-meaning advice she frankly did not want.

She started by walking to the centenary tree, sitting by her own statue, talking to an old friend who was long gone, hoping the dim lights and her soft voice would soothe her child to rest. Later, when she was strong enough, her feet took her to the same cliffside that had shaped so much of her recent life.

Erika was no longer fragile from the delivery, but she wasn’t whole either.

The same powers that had once healed her so quickly now seemed sluggish, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something about them had changed , evolved, much like everything else in her life.

Her bond with Leiftan still existed, and on the worst nights she could still sense him, sending her comfort in the only way he knew how, but he had mostly blocked her off. Her senses had grown mostly attuned to her child, helping her understand her daughter’s needs without fumbling as much as she feared she would. 

It’s strange to think that she’s a mother, now.

It only feels real now that her baby is in her arms, but it’s still an adjustment to be given this new title, to the way that people now perceive her.

Nevra joined her without a word, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched. He said nothing at first, allowing her a moment of quiet if she wishes, or to tell her what has been bothering her.

He just wanted to be nearby.

“Funny, right?” Erika’s voice cuts through the night, barely above a whisper, not wanting to wake their child. “We were sitting here, seven months ago. In this exact spot. And I told you I was pregnant.”

He smiles, almost despite himself, filled with a sudden nostalgia. She knows he’s just as exhausted as she is.

“The best, most terrifying night of my life.” 

Nevra announces, which makes Erika laugh, almost despite herself.

“You didn’t seem scared .”

“I was.” He admits “I still am.”

Why wouldn’t he be, after all?

Parenthood was scary. The moments leading up to it were, and the reality hit her much worse.

She loved her daughter more than words could say, but sometimes she felt like she had a hard time truly bonding with her. Feeling like herself again.

It’s a strange thought, that defined so much of her time after she woke up from her sacrifice. Others perceived her as a saviour, as a living legend.

The last Aengel.

Her friends regarded her as a long-lost friend, someone they loved but couldn’t quite remember. An echo of a different time.

She was always so lost in the different expectations. In all the titles she was given, and how much they clashed with the reality of who she is. Or at least she perceived herself as being.

The truth, she found, is that she, herself, doesn’t know the definitive answer.

Perhaps it was presumptuous to once think she did.

She’s a mixture of everything and nothing at all. Beyond all the suffocating titles, the weight of expectations, her fears and her story, she’s Erika .

The only way to feel like herself is to be herself. To stop pretending like she’s okay and like she isn’t afraid for the sake of others, to stop acting like the perfect sacrifice. The heroine they all craved.

It’s who she wants her daughter to know her as. It’s something she’d known for a long time, what was harder was to be that person, not just simply write down those words in a journal.

“She deserves more than this,” 

Erika said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“More than what?”

Nevra tilted his head. 

“More than a mother who will probably leave her before she learns how to walk,” Erika replied, bitterness lacing her words. “More than a father who has to juggle the world’s problems with raising her.”

Nevra didn’t flinch. He had always been steady like that, even when everything else felt like it was crumbling. He was just as scared as she was, she often reminded herself, and only recently had grown comfortable in expressing those fears to her.

“You’ve survived everything thrown at you so far,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “I know you don’t want to be the saviour again, but you’ll do it. Because you’re you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She looked at her daughter’s face. As how her plump cheeks are squished against her mother’s chest, deeply asleep, so serene, so full of life, and felt her heart ache. How could she bring herself to love this fiercely again, knowing it could be taken from her in a second?

Nevra rested his hand over hers, where it lay against the baby’s form. 

“She has all she needs, Erika. She has parents who love her, and people from the HQ and beyond who’d lay down their lives for her in a second if asked.” That makes her chuckle. “And most of all, I know that if something were to happen to you, you’d fight like hell to come back to us. You have before, back when you had much less to fight for.”

He said simply, the weight of his sincerity breaking through her walls. He’s right, she knows he is. She just needed to accept it.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears come.

When the sun rose, Erika stood at the edge of the forest, her daughter in Nevra’s arms as he waited nearby, shielding the baby’s eyes from the bright light. The horizon blazed with gold, and for just a moment, it felt like clarity.

It was her lighthouse, her way out of the fog that obscured her vision, out of the darkness and weariness that had once consumed her.

Erika spent so long fearing her death that it was hard to accept that, for once, she was allowed to live.

Things wouldn’t always be easy, and the calm she now knew wouldn’t last forever, but there was no use in suffering for what might be and losing all the joy of the life that she painstakingly built for herself. She had her happy ending all along, but in her fear, she didn’t even realise it.

She was tired of losses and of every single milestone being tarnished by her fear of the future. So, for now, she looked to the present. 

Erika turned back to them, her family , and smiled through her weariness.

“Just a little longer,” 

She whispered, more to herself than anyone else. When she smiles, she finds it to be sincere.

The road behind them was filled with darkness, perhaps, but she looked to the light that guided them. 

For her child. 

For Nevra. 

And most of all, for herself.

[soranker]

Favorite Trigun character?

teehee..... can u guess 🤪🙈

[achairwithapandaonit]

watched space babies and the devil's chord today. i enjoyed space babies but not so much the devil's chord???? tho tbh i think that was because i was going into sensory overload and also my mum happened to be there and i was just like :) wow she will not be able to handle queerness on the level of a drag queen and is going to decide doctor who is shit now based on that and won't give ncuti gatwa a chance. but overall! i did really enjoy it. i love how much joy ruby gets from it all, and how the doctor responds to that. it's genuinely adorable to watch them giggling together and running around

[mashmouths]

skipping class but staying on campus to do work for. another class. bc i said i'd have it done before friday bc i'm scared of telling profs no so now i have to read all of robinson crusoe this weekend and watch the nbc pilot of the crusoe series on top of finishing the 2 late essays bc i deluded myself into believing i have a chance of finishing this annotated bibliography in 2 hours. without half the books i'm citing. tee hee <3

[venomgaia]

i also have been testing pngtuber+ vs veadotubemini and heres rhe fruit of a 49 layer model

[immortalsins]

going boxing for the first time in months (at a new place, with my brother) and i wish i was normal i wish i could chill and enjoy my day without getting stressed over absolutely nothing

[watery-melon-baller]

lads a script is being written!!!

[abstractlesbian]

I think the routine my new job is giving me has been really good for my mental health but it's funnier to say Ive been too tired to be mentally ill

[swordsmans]

CON CRUNCH IS REAL I THINK IM GONNA JUST START HOT GLUING SHIT TOGETHER TONIGHT FUCK IT WE BALL!!!!!!!