#IT'S THINKING ABOUT CLAUDIA HOURS AGAIN GUYS

[weidli]

Claudia was— A band-aid for a shitty marriage? I was going to say ... something else.

[pitchsidestories]

when grumpy met sunshine II Kika Nazareth x Reader

masterlist I word count: 2382

It was the first day of training after the summer vacation marking the start of pre-season. With the new players coming in on the one hand and on the other hand the familiar faces it almost felt like the beginning of a school year. Everyone was buzzing.  

One of the fresh signings approached you quickly once she recognized you, her face lit up with joy and excitement.

“Hi y/n, I love your playing style and can’t wait to play with you!”, Kika Nazareth greeted you. God how you hated that footballer and her stupid smile. Also how dare she is saying that after what happened a year ago.

“Uhu, sure. It seems like you forgot what you did during the Champions League group stage games.”, you answered coldly.

“Huh, what do you mean?”, the Portuguese woman frowned confused.

“Forget it.”, you waved it off and rushed off leaving a very bewildered Kika behind.

“Don’t take it personally she never forgets anything really. Come on you need to meet the rest of your new teammates.”, Mapi padded empathetically the shoulder of the young forward.

“But I don’t get it, Mapi. What did I ever do to her?”, the brunette asked the defender, while her brown eyes followed you across the room. S

he was genuinely excited to play with you, if you hadn’t stopped her so abruptly the Portuguese might have said even more. How Kika loved the way you looked and.. she should stop thinking any further you clearly were mad at her, but why?

“I don’t know.”, the older Spanish woman shrugged equally as clueless.

“Weird.”, the forward mumbled.

“Let’s go the others are so thrilled to see you.”, Mapi tried to cheer her up.

“Hey, everyone.”, Kika begun anew, beaming at the teammates. Hoping, no praying, she wouldn’t cause a reaction like yours earlier. The dark haired forward didn’t want to ruin the first day at the new club anymore.

“Hi, welcome to the club.”, Claudia replied grinning.

“And thanks to special agent Aitana for this transfer who sadly can’t be here right now.”, Mapi continued, trying to soothe the fresh signing. It worked Kika did feel more relaxed in front of them.

“Guys calm down she still hasn’t proven herself in the team.”, you commented rolling your eyes, suddenly appearing next to Ingrid.

“I’m aware of how good this team is. But I’m sure I can help.”, the Portuguese swallowed hard, trying to sound as optimistic as possible.

“We’ll see about that.”, you shot back.

“Don’t worry you’ll.”, she promised. The football player was waiting for a response but once more you vanished without a trace. What a strange behaviour Kika thought to herself.

Thankfully Ellie delivered a much-needed distraction.

 “Kika? Ewa and I wanted to ask you if you’d join us for a coffee sometime soon? As we’re all new to the city.”  

“Yes, sure, I’d love that.”, she nodded happily.

Ellie beamed: “Wonderful.“

“Can’t wait.“, Kika smiled back at the young goalie.

Once again, you rolled your eyes and turned away from them to focus on your warm up.

You were one of the last to leave the pitch two hours later, thinking that you would have the dressing room for yourself. You did not expect Ingrid and Mapi waiting for you there.

“So?“, Ingrid said with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

You didn’t want to talk about your new team member so you decided to play along: “So what?“

With a half smile she finally formulated a question: “Why are you pouting?“

“I’m not pouting. Just annoyed by that smiley…“, you stopped yourself. You couldn’t come up with the right word for her anyway.

Mapi shook her head: “You’re not annoyed.“

At this point, you were starting to get annoyed with these two as well.

“Yes, I am. We didn’t need her in our team.“

“That’s not our decision though.“, Mapi shrugged.

You were about to say something but Ingrid was faster: “Y/n?“

You turned to her: “Yes?“

“Tell us why you’re mad at her.“

You heaved a frustrated sigh. They were worse than your parents.

“Remember when we drew against Benfica in Lisbon?“

Both of them nodded. Of course they would remember last years UWCL games. “Yeah?“

“What happened there? Why can’t you move on from it?“, Mapi asked.

Her girlfriend added: “Come on. It can’t be that bad. You can tell us.“

They looked at you with those soft eyes, all parent-like. Almost like your team psychologist.

The sudden urge to tell them disappeared completely so you just shrugged and grabbed your bag: “Whatever.“

You could feel their eyes on you as you left the dressing room, still in your workout clothes.

Ingrid looked at her incredulously: “Well, that was strange, Mapi.“

“Very.“, she agreed slowly.

As you went back to your own place, Kika and the other new players sipped on their coffees at a tiny little coffee shop.

“No, I’ll win her over with my charm, Ellie.“, Kika announced confidently. Even they had noticed the awkward tension between the two of you.

The English goalkeeper nodded slowly: “Sure you will, Kika.“

“Anyone wants some cake with their coffee?“, Ewa changed the topic. She had been eyeing the tasty looking sweet treats on display right from the start.

The Portuguese striker nodded: “Of course.“

“Can’t say no, they look delicious.“, Ellie laughed.

“We have to celebrate. It’s our first coffee date in our new home.“, Kika laughed.

Ewa stood up and agreed: “We do.“

She quickly returned with three different slices of cake so all of them could try.

“Knowing we play for such a prestigious club now feels great, right?“, she said as she sat the plates down on the table.

“This feels like a dream come true.”, the goalkeeper agreed with a dreamy look in her blue eyes.

It has always been something the blonde fantasized about since she was a little girl, playing for that club and now the fantasy turned into reality which she was forever grateful for.

When Ellie continued, she sounded serious. “Especially after the last year that I had.” The other two women knew about the stroke the English player had suffered.

That was why Kika pulled her into a soft hug whispering into the ear. You deserve to be here so much, Ellie.”

“Thanks. I’m happy that I got to start with you two.”, the goalkeeper smiled at her new teammates.

“Same. I’ve a feeling this will be a fantastic first season for us.”, Ewa replied enthusiastically.

“And we got each other if it’s getting hard.”, the Portuguese striker added.

“Yes, plus I’m sure even grumpy will like you eventually, Kika.”, Ellie remarked.

Immediately the smile vanished from the brunette’s face. “Not so sure about this. Apparently, I must have done something to her during our UWCL match last season.”

“But you don’t remember?”, Ewa questioned curiously. Quickly Kika shook her head.

“No.”

Although she tried her hardest to think what the striker could have done which made you hate her so much. Usually everyone warmed up under Kikas positive radiance, but you were her first exception, following her into her dreams.

In training Kika and you were much to your dismay supposed to be partners.

“Kika, I think Ill swap with Esmee.”, you declared.

“You can’t swap training partners.”, Mapi interjected in a tone which didn’t allow any dissent.

“Fine.”, you groaned. Even though you had played a few years in the first squad of Barca now aged 21 the defender was still like the big sister you never had, and you didn’t want to disappoint her. Even if it meant you needed to work with the person you disliked.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.”, Kika observed, wearing a huge smile on her lips.

“Yes, with the one who showed me the middle finger last year.”, you muttered under her breath. Unfortunately, it was still loud enough for the striker to understand the words you were saying.

“I never did that!”, she objected loudly.

“Yes, you did.”, you responded.

“No way, I’d never do that.”, Kika insisted.

“And when you said something about the way I played.”, your voice trembled.

“That’s not true.”, the striker denied strongly.

“What’s true?”, you wanted to know.

“Nothing of what you think happened is true!”, she stated passionately.

Hearing her statement made your heart pound hard against your chest. “Are you saying that this is all a huge misunderstanding?”

Obviously!“, Kika said with emphasis and the slightest undertone of anger.

“Oh.“

You didn’t know what else to say. Was she telling the truth? Did it really only look like it at the pitch? Was it a gesture to you or her own teammate?

All the Champions League games seemed to blur together in front of your inner eye. Now you weren’t sure anymore.

“Wait… so you don’t hate me because I’m here and could potentially take your place in the starting squad?“, Kika asked.

You frowned at her: “No, we play two different positions. So why should I be afraid of that?“

“Because I know that you like to push forward too.“, she explained.

You stalled once again. You found it impressive that she had already analyzed your playing style.

You shook your head: “Yes. But I don’t hate your for that. I’m used to tough competition, Barca is my childhood club.“

“Okay… wow.“

“What?“

Kika started laughing: “I really thought you hated me because you had a good reason.“

At first you just glared at her for making fun of you but her laugh was incredibly infectious and you suddenly found yourself laughing with her.

“Stop laughing. This is a good reason!“, you told her as you playfully hit her arm.

“That’s not a good reason.“

“Come on. Focus on your exercise.“, you reminded her, still smiling.

Kika raised her hands defensively and grinned: “Okay, okay. Can’t make you mad at me again.“

“No. Also I have to maintain my grumpy status.“, you replied and tried your best to keep your face serious again.

Kika giggled: “Sorry, of course.“

“Good.“

“Don’t worry. I think I can handle your grumpiness.“

You squinted at her: “Might need some sunglasses to deal with your sunshiny attitude.“

“I know you love it.“, she winked at you. She really dared to wink at you!

You shook your head: “No, you’re still the most annoying person around here.“

“You don’t mean that.“

She was right. You didn’t.

Still, you continued to tease: “Are you sure?“

She flashed you a confident smile: “Yes.“

“Dream on.“

Kika shrugged casually and focused back on your partner exercise: “If you say so, y/n.“

After your talk, you didn’t feel that intense anger towards Kika anymore. Everything was a bit lighter once the misunderstanding was cleared up. It went even so far that you didn’t react with pure disgust when she asked you to room together at your first pre-season match against Hoffenheim.

“Can’t believe we’ve to share a room, Kika.“, you joked as you sat on one of the beds.

Kika threw herself onto the other one: “Quit complaining, you grump.“

You shrugged with amusement: “At least it’s just for one night.“

The Portuguese striker smiled: “You will survive. I’m a quiet sleeper.“

After you both changed into your pyjamas and brushed your teeth you happily let your head fall on to the soft pillow.

“Good night, Kika.”, you mumbled.

“Night y/n.”, the striker hummed.

Yet something was off, the heat in that southern part of Germany still hung in the room, plus Kika hasn’t stopped moving in her bed. 

“Can’t you sleep?”, you asked her with a heavy sigh.

“No, what about you?”, she returned the question, directing her gaze straight at you.

“Me neither.”, you admitted. There was some restlessness and tension between the two of you, it was almost unbearable.

“Do you want to talk?”, Kika offered kindly.

“Sure.”, you agreed softly.

“So, what keeps you up?”, the Portuguese wanted to know.

Even though the moonlight enhanced her features and made you think thoughts again you tried to avoid you started with a less heavy confession.

“The adrenaline of the win. I think I’ll never get tired of that feeling, what about you?”

You waited for her response, did you imagine it or did her cheeks turn red, it was hard to tell in the dark.

“Oh, yeah, I get that. I love it too. But there’s something else that keeps me awake.”, the brunette replied nervously.

“There’s? Are you missing Portugal?”, you listened up.

“A bit yes, but that’s not it. This might be a bad start for the new season, but there’s someone in this team that I think I’ve a crush on.”, Kika confessed.

“You do?”, you answered stunned.

“Yeah.”

For a moment you paused before the realization hit you hard.

“Wait, it’s me, right?”

“It’s yes.”, she confirmed quietly.

“That’s too bad because I.”, you begun.

“Oh, you don’t have to say anything, I get that. I didn’t want to ruin anything.”, the striker interrupted you quickly.

“No stop talking for a moment.”, you begged her, placing a finger of yours onto her lips. God, that woman really loved to talk, even though now the time clearly was for listening as you tried to demonstrate to her.

“I fell too.”, you added in a whisper.

“You did? Am I not way too annoying for you.”, Kika frowned.

“Yes, you’re and yet I’d like to kiss your mouth who loves to annoy me with it’s yapping.”, you grinned.

“You should give it a try maybe.”, she smirked.

“Maybe you can sleep better afterwards.”, you suggested playfully.

“Maybe we both can.”, your teammate wiggled her eyebrows.

“I’m sure of it.” First the kiss was cautiously before it was getting more intensely until you heard the door open loudly.

“Oh my god!”, Mapi yelled.

“Mapi, get out!”, you shrieked.

“I didn’t see anything. Promise!”, the defender gesticulated wildly. With that said she was gone as quick as the older woman came.

“This news will run like a wildfire, right?”, Kika chuckled.

“Yes, by tomorrow morning everyone knows.”, you groaned as she pulled you into a hug.

“I don’t mind that. They can know that grumpy and sunshine always belong together.”, she announced solemnly placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

[oneforthemunny]

something new |rockstar!eddie munson x nepobaby!reader|

prompt: eddie takes you to your first drive-in movie during the fall.

still on my fall shit and not sorry about it lol. had to do one for my faves. timeline wise- established dating but not yet engaged, still secret. very fluffy and sweet and i'm so in love with them. mentions to reader's shitty parents but the sweetest fluff <3

“Should I get in the back?” You chewed on your manicured nail, ducking lower and lower into the seat of the old van, hoping the headlights from the car behind you wouldn’t give you away- reveal your little secret. 

“What?” Eddie’s brows pinched in confusion. 

“No, don’t do that. They’ll think we’re tryna sneak people in. They won’t let us in. Trust me.” He snorted lightly. “Used to do that all the time. If this old guy’s still workin’ up here, he’ll definitely remember me. Think I’m still up to no good.” 

“You are still up to no good.” You grinned. 

“Yeah? You think so?” Eddie’s lips curled in a half smirk, the vans breaks groaning as he let off them, rolling towards the ticket booth. “Thought I was being pretty good takin’ you here. Can’t believe you’ve never been to a drive-in, baby.” He cranked the window down, the cool autumn air filling the space quickly. 

“You really think Victor and Tana would take me to a drive-in?” You scoffed lightly, ignoring the bitter pang of hurt in your heart at the mention of your parents, the crueling reminder of a less than happy childhood. 

“C’mon, I didn’t have any parents around and I still went.” Eddie leaned his head back against the seat, looking over at you with lidded eyes. “Didn’t even go to South Bay Six? Even I’ve been there.” 

“Oh?” You scoffed, brows lifting in a snarl of disgust. “Yeah? What girl did you go there with, Ed? Claudia?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I took a girl there? Used to come here by myself all the time.” Eddie threw a hand out towards the Hawkins drive-in, busier than usual for ‘Slasher Saturday’. 

Eddie had told you about it, pillow talking while you shared a cigarette, chatted about Halloween and swapped bittersweet childhood memories. He’d told you about the Hawkins’ drive-in, the Slasher Saturdays they always did in October. 

“I’ve always wanted to go to a drive-in.” You had hummed, stretching against the cool silk sheets with a content sigh. “Always thought it was so romantic.” 

Eddie blinked at you, the cigarette burning between his fingers. “You’ve never been before? Never? To a drive-in?” You had shook your head, that sheepish look took over your features, shy and sweet and always had Eddie’s heart soaring. He flew you out the next morning to Indiana. 

Your chest filled with warm heat at the thought, swelling with love that still felt surreal. 

The old man at the window definitely recognized Eddie, but not as the lead of Corroded Coffin. Oh no, as the same curly haired kid that had been there before, that had caused trouble there before. “You two enjoy the show,” The old man gruffed, glaring at Eddie with disdain. “And make sure you keep your clothes on. I’d hate to have to throw you out again.” He grunted, leaving Eddie barking out a laugh as he pulled away. 

“Thought you came here alone?” You scoffed, feigning annoyance. “So you have brought girls here?” 

“I didn’t say I came alone here all the time.” Eddie grinned, eyes lighting up in that mischievous way that had your stomach flipping with excitement. “But, don’t worry about it, alright? You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever brought here.” 

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you bit back a grin. His hand found your thigh, squeezing it lightly as he backed into a park easily. A secluded spot in the back, not the best for the showing, but away from the potential wandering eyes who might see the two of you. Who might tip off the paparazzi and ruin your secret oasis of a relationship with Eddie. 

An hour and six blankets later, Eddie had you pinned to the floor of the van, hips slotted over yours, lips hungrily pulling at yours. A wonderfully sloppy makeout that felt juvenile and thrilling all at once. 

“Part of the experience,” Eddie muttered, halfway through the opening scene, his hand sliding over your shoulders pulling you close to him. 

Your clothes were still on, a rarity for the both of you, your jean clad legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer and closer into you. Hips rockings against each other, the slightest bit of friction that had you groaning into this kiss, muffled by the final girl screams that echoed throughout the lot. 

“This what you wanted?” Eddie whispered, lips kiss bitten and bruised from yours, his nose sliding over yours. “Everything you thought it would be?” 

“Yeah,” You sighed airily, a giggle slipping from your lips. “Can see why you like them so much. It’s pretty fun.” Your hands balled and grabbed at the material of his shirt, pulling him back to you, lips back on yours. 

The rough knock on the window came twenty minutes later, the same man from the ticket box barking at the two of you to “knock it off” and “grow up”. You and Eddie held your giggles until he walked off, snickering into each other like school girls. 

“Guess we better knock it off.” Eddie muttered, craning his neck to look out the back window. “We can finish later. It’s about to get to the good part anyways.” 

You snorted lightly, settling against his shoulder under the blankets. “Is this what you did? Makeout until the good part came on?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie grinned, chin ducking down to look at you. “I mean, these kinda movies always start out slow anyways. Gotta do something until it’s the good part.” 

You giggled, rolling your eyes, leaning into his shoulder. Eddie reached into the console behind him, pulling out a bag of candy corn, tearing it open with his teeth. You cringed at the handful he ate, lips curled in disgust. 

“What? Best fuckin’ Halloween candy.” Eddie shrugged through a mouthful. “You ever had any?”

“No,” You shook your head. “It just… I don’t know about corn flavored candy, that sounds disgusting.” 

Eddie laughed, nearly choking on the colorful candy. “Baby, are you serious?” He grinned lightly at you. “It’s not corn flavored. It’s just… I don’t even know, I think it’s just sugar. It just looks like corn. Try some.” He tilted the bag towards you, snickering at your snarled lip. 

You hesitated, looking from the bag back to him. “Are you lying to me?” 

“No, promise.” Eddie squeezed your hip lightly, affectionately rubbing the bare skin above your jeans. “Just try one.” 

You reached in the plastic bag, plucking out the candy corn carefully, eyeing it skeptically before placing it in your mouth. Sugar was a good way to describe it, because you were sure it was pure sugar. You chewed it carefully, swallowing the chewy candy. 

“How was it?” Eddie grinned, eyes lit with excitement. 

“Very sweet.” You muttered. “Didn't taste like corn.” 

Eddie howled in laughter, head tipped back against the cracked seats, shaking the van with his laughs. You rolled your eyes, settling back into the blankets, pulling them around you to stop from the frigid chill of the night, the glow from the screen cast over your features. Eddie thought you looked positively angelic. Hollywood’s princess, here in Hawkins, embracing the culture, embracing a part of him. 

He could barely focus on the movie, his favorite part of the film, mind racing with words and feelings of affection that had his heart skipping. Eddie hoped you couldn’t feel it. He’d take you to a pumpkin patch, a real one tomorrow, to do a hayride and maze and all the cheesy activities people did in the fall- all the ones you had never got to do. 

Eddie called his assistant early the next morning, before you were awake, when the sun had just barely begun to rise over Lover’s Lake. Cigarette and coffee in hand, he sat in the quiet of the fall morning, speaking softly into the receiver. 

When you both returned to Los Angeles the following Thursday, Eddie left you early Friday morning, still jet lagged and exhausted from the week, and drove an hour and a half to the jewelers. He had no doubt in his mind, after that trip, that he wanted that forever. Wanted it forever, with you, and he decided right then and there- at the drive in, that he’d spend forever with you. 

[girlgenius1111]

Always Will

After a bad game, Claudia takes her frustration out on you. You realize it runs deeper than just one game, and Claudia realizes that she can’t push you away very easily.

Shorter than normal, and probs all you’ll get for a couple more days, but I hope you guys like it anyway ☺️☺️

——-

Claudia sat in the front seat, glaring out the window. Her anger was palpable from where you sat in the drivers seat. You were tempted to break the silence, assure her that she didn't really have that bad of a game, but you knew better. Your drive continued in silence, and you wanted more than anything to reach over to her, and grab her hand, but knew she wouldn't accept the comfort. You'd allow her time to cool down, and then you'd talk to her about it.

What you hadn't considered, though, was that Pina wasn't just frustrated with herself- she was frustrated with you. This was made clear when she bolted out of the car as soon as you pulled in, and slammed the front door shut behind her before you could reach it. You walked in after her, slightly bewildered, as you couldn't think of what you'd done to make her upset.

"Babe? What's wrong?" you ask calmly, watching as the striker practically throws her bag down, stomping into the kitchen.

"What's wrong? Are you being serious?" She asked, whirling around to glare at you.

"Calm down, Clau, and tell me what's bothering you." You work hard to keep your voice even, despite feeling yourself getting annoyed with the other girls' behavior.

"You!" she shouts, and you step back, startled. "It isn't enough that I have the worst fucking game of my life, miss every shot I take, but you have to hover over me afterwards like I'm incapable of handling myself. It was humiliating, y/n, you treated me like a child."

You assume she's referring to when you tried to comfort her after the game. Her frustration had been evident, and you'd just wanted to make sure she was okay. She'd ignored you though, until you pulled her aside in the locker room, and she'd told you she was fine, which you didn't believe. To be honest, what you'd done didn't really warrant this reaction, and you knew that she was just taking her frustration out on you.

"That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," you tell her, inching closer when you notice the tears in her eyes.

"Well, I didn't need you to. I'm fine. Now leave me alone, yeah?" she snaps, before marching off into the bedroom, yet again slamming the door behind her.

You sigh, running a hand over your face. Claudia got like this after she didn't play well, but you'd never seen her this upset before. Deciding to give her some space, you head into the kitchen, grabbing a snack, before settling on the couch and flicking on the TV. You'd showered in the locker room, and Claudia had not, so you expect her to do so now.

You tried to lose yourself in the show on, but your thigh ached from where you'd been stepped on. It wasn't a big injury, just a couple cuts and what was sure to be a huge bruise. You're sure Claudia didn't even see it, having gone right into the locker room when she'd been pulled off in the 80th minute. It had happened a couple minutes later, and the physios had thrown a bandage on it before sending you back in. That same bandage was wrapped around your leg now, under your sweats, and you elected to ignore it for the time being.

Claudia hadn't come out of the bedroom, and it had been almost an hour, which you judged to be long enough for her to have cooled down. Standing, you walked to the door and knocked lightly, before pushing it open.

Claudia was sat on the floor, chin resting on her knees. She hadn't showered, and she looked to be completely lost in her thoughts.

"Clau?" you murmur, trying to get her attention. Her head turns towards you, and your lips tug into a frown when you see her flushed cheeks and watery eyes. Deciding to give her a few more minutes of quiet, you walk over to her wordlessly, and hold your hand out. After a second, she grabs it, and you lead her into the bathroom, turning the shower on. You're about to reach out, and pull her top off, but her hands stop you, and she does it herself. Claudia seems intent on showering by herself, but you don't feel particularly like leaving her alone in this state, so you perch on the bathroom counter and pull your phone out as she gets into the shower.

She finishes quickly, sniffling every so often, and you pretend to be engrossed in your phone, when really you're watching her every move. It's unlike your girlfriend to be so quiet, and paired with her earlier behavior, it worries you. She remains silent as she dries off and you follow her out of the bathroom.

This time, though, when she tries to head to the dresser and get clothes out herself, you stop her, and nudge her in the direction of the bed. She frowns but does as you direct, sitting on the edge of the bed in just her towel. You grab comfy clothes from your side of the dresser, walking back over to her. You take your time, gently pulling the shirt and hoodie over her head, as well as a pair of shorts onto her legs.

“Stay here, alright?” You tell the brunette, heading back into the bathroom with her damp towel and return with her hairbrush. She’s right where you left her, staring at the ground. You’re trying to get a good read on her emotions, but her face is blank. The only thing that tells you she’s upset is her shoulders, a slight slump in her usually perfect posture.

You brush through the knots in her hair, and you’re almost done when she reaches out to grab your wrist, bringing your motions to a halt.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asks quietly. You realize the emotion playing across her face is one of guilt.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” You reply, setting the hairbrush down and stepping in closer to rest your hands on her cheeks. She shakes you off though, standing and walking a short distance away from you.

You allow her the space, but turn towards her, waiting for her to explain.

“I was so awful to you, and you’re acting like I haven’t done anything,” she chokes out, and you soften.

“Claudia, don’t worry about it, I’m not mad,” you tell her, because you’re not. She can apologize later, but now, she’s so upset, you don’t care about anything other than making her smile.

“You should be. I was horrible to you in front of the team, and—“

“— and nothing. You were frustrated and embarrassed and I wasn’t helping. You can tell me sorry later, love, but please let me hug you.” You insist, walking towards her. She shakes her head at your words, but you pull her into your arms anyway.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles into your chest. “I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“It’s okay, baby.”

Claudia settles against you, relaxing slightly in your embrace.

“Why were you so upset today? I mean I don’t think you played that bad, Clau.” She scoffs in response. “Seriously, love, everyone has off days.”

“I feel like I only have off days. I haven’t scored in games, amor, I’m letting everyone down,” the striker responds, tears beginning to fall steadily down her cheeks. You realize that this goes deeper than just one bad game, and you curse yourself for not noticing earlier.

“Oh, baby. You’re not letting anyone down. It’s just a slump, you’ll come out of it.” You tell her, placing a kiss onto her head. She just shakes her head in response, though, and you sigh, before pulling her over to the bed. She sits on the edge, and you stand between your legs, guiding her chin up to look at you.

Her eyes are wide, eyelashes wet, as she gazes up at you. You can’t resist kissing the tip of her nose gently. It scrunches adorably and you smile, before you speak.

“You haven’t let anyone down, Claudia. Not me, and not anyone on the team. You have to be patient with yourself. You aren’t going to be perfect all the time, and no one expects you to.”

She looks only slightly reassured. “I just get so into my head. I don’t know what to do, I’m so stressed all the time,” she admits, and you frown down at her.

“Why haven’t you brought this up before?” You ask, because although you knew she was struggling slightly, you didn’t realize she was having an entire crisis of confidence. It explained her moodiness recently, and her outburst today.

“You’re stressed too, amor, I didn’t want to add to that,” Claudia dismisses.

“No, baby what stresses me out is not knowing why you’re so upset. Please, tell me when you’re feeling like this. You’re supposed to lean on me, Claudia, just like I lean on you.”

“Okay,” she mumbles. It isn’t much, but you can see a determination in her eyes that wasn’t there before, a spark. You know she’ll try to open up to you more, even if it’s a slow process.

She leans in, resting her head on your stomach, reaching her arms around you. In the process, her elbow clips your thigh, right over your wound. You let out a hiss, involuntarily jerking back.

“What? What is it?” Claudia asks, eyebrows knitting together as she scans your fully clothed body for injury.

“It’s nothing,” you say, leaning back into the hug. Claudia is insistent though, putting her hands on your legs to stop you. Again, you wince.

“You’re hurt.” She accuses. There’s an unspoken rule between the two of you that you always tell the other when one of you is hurt, which Claudia clearly feels you have broken.

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, but Claudia is already standing, pulling your joggers down your legs, and carefully pulling the bandage off, then dramatically gasping at the sight of your injury. It’s really not that bad, but Claudia is looking at you like you’ve been hiding a gunshot wound.

“Claudia,” you begin.

“No! Now I’m mad!” She says, lips twisting slightly into a smile, and you know she’s only joking. She turns, heading to the closet where you keep the first aid kit.

“I didn’t hide it!” You call after her and she sends you a glare over her shoulder.

“What would you call not telling me you were hurt?”

“Well, if you hadn’t stormed into the locker room before the game ended, or shouted at me when we got home…” you say casually, dodging the box of bandaids she throws at your head, laughing.

“I thought you weren’t mad,” she says, beginning to treat the cuts on your leg. You don’t tell her they’ve already been cleaned, enjoying the gentle way she’s pressing a light kiss to each cut before running the alcohol wipe over it.

“I love you,” you say suddenly. The way her attention has completely flipped, from her own horrible day, to your slight inconvenience, laser focus on making sure you’re okay, makes your heart flutter.

Your girlfriend looks up at you, a small grin on her face. “I love you too, amor.”

Claudia wraps a new bandage around your leg, before heading off to get some ice for it. When she returns, she finds you tucked under the covers already. She puts the ice pack on your leg, before settling into your side.

“Thanks for making me feel better, even when I wasn’t very nice.”

“Always, love. Always.”

She presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, before resting her face in the crook of your neck. You hold her tight, like you always will.

——-

Lord I hate writing on my phone. Also I think this ending sucks. But! Hope you enjoy anyway :)

[super-cosmic-library]

staring at you staring at me

written for @steddie-week day 3: mutual pining

wc: 1085 I rating: G I tags: alpha steve harrington, omega eddie munson, courting, happy ending I [ao3]

“If you don’t stop staring at him, I’m going to tell Keith you’ve been slacking on the job.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve says, turning away from watching Eddie examine every single VHS in the horror section of Family Video.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Robin agrees. “Did you know he tried asking me out again?”

“What the fuck? What’s wrong with him?”

“I could give you a list. First off, he needs a better deodorant, his sense of humor is abysmal, he thinks that women can hold their periods in like pee, he doesn’t know what the Loch Ness Monster is, he . . .”

Steve glances back at Eddie as his best friend continues to prattle on about their manager’s flaws. Eddie’s examining the same copy of Friday the 13th he’d looked at the day before. Steve loves the way the omega’s face scrunches up as he reads the synopsis before putting it back on the shelf and moving on to the next film.

Eddie’s attention flickers over to them, catching the alpha’s eyes. Steve gives him a little finger wave, which has Eddie pulling a chuck of hair in front of his face to hide behind.

“Steve, are you even listening to me?”

“Uh, yeah,” he whips around to look back at her, trying to recall the last thing she’d said. “Keith calls mashed avocados guacamole.”

“It’s just avocado, salt, and lime juice, Steve! That’s not guacamole!”

“Yeah, no, totally.” His gaze wanders back to Eddie, who’s now examining Fright Night.

“Just court him already.”

It’s a discussion they’d had repeatedly over the past several months. Steve had come up with excuses to not court the omega every time, ranging from giving him time to heal from his demobat wounds to having to kill Vecna again to Steve just having a bad hair day.

“My hair can’t be a mess if I’m going to start courting someone. It’s my best feature.” Steve had said.

Now, though, after months of excuses, he doesn’t have the energy for anything less than the truth. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

Robin raises an eyebrow at that. “Really? You think that Eddie doesn’t want you?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not exactly the type of alpha a guy like Eddie would go for. I mean, you’ve heard his cafeteria rants. I represent everything Eddie hates in the world.”

“He hates secretly nerdy guys who fight monsters and mother pups that don’t belong to him?”

“Preps,” he gestures to his starched polo and jeans. “He hates preps and rich kids.”

“Well, you’re not exactly rich anymore.”

She’s right. His parents had cut him off back in June when they found out once again that he’d not been accepted into any of the colleges they’d wanted him to apply for. In the year since he had graduated, his parents had expected that he would use the free time to round out his character and develop more “real world” experience to make his college applications more appealing to admissions boards. Unfortunately for them, the colleges they’d demanded he apply to required better greats than the ones he’d eeked by with. So his dad decided to cut him loose. Now, he rents the Henderson’s basement from Claudia, happy to help out around the house and get more time to torment Dustin like a real brother would.

“Come on, Steve. He’s in here practically every day for hours at a time, browsing the same selection of movies and making eyes at you. I mean, have you ever even seen him rent a VHS?”

“That’s because I rent them for him with my employee discount.”

“Does he even watch them?”

“Yeah, we watch them in the trailer for our weekly movie nights. I’ve told you about them, Rob.”

“Uh huh, uh huh,” she nods. “And how, exactly, do you two sit when you ‘watch’ these movies? Opposite ends of the couch? Separate seats entirely? Cause I’m willing to bet that not only do you cuddle during them, but Eddie initiates it.”

She’s right. But friends can cuddle without being romantically interested in each other. He and Robin cuddle sometimes. He and Tommy used to cuddle all the time before they drifted apart. Cuddling doesn’t mean Eddie’s interested in being courted by him.

He repeats the sentiment to her.

“I’m just saying, I think he’d be interested if you court him.”

“She’s right.”

Steve practically jumps out of his skin. He hadn’t heard Eddie approach the circulation counter. Embarrassment floods his cheeks. “Eddie, what–”

“You know I can hear everything you guys say, right? This place isn’t that big, and your voices are loud.”

Steve wants to shrivel up in a hole and die. He’s going to have to change his identity and move to a different state in order to escape his mortification. He’s going to have to–wait. Did he say . . .

“Did you say she was right?”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m going crazy with anticipation for when you start courting me,” Eddie easily admits. “I would have started courting you, but you seem like the kind of guy who’s traditional in that sense.”

Oh, god. He gets to court Eddie. Eddie wants him to court him. This revelation makes him want to sprint home to grab the gifts he’s been accumulating over the past few months and give them all to him at once.

Calm down, tiger. No need to rush it. Eddie deserves a proper courting ritual.

“So, when I ask to court you, you’re going to say yes?” His thoughts are in overdrive. He needs the confirmation before he gets ahead of himself with planning.

“Yes,” Eddie smiles.

Steve takes in a deep breath. “Eddie, sweetie, I’m going to need you to leave.”

The omega’s face falls. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m going to start freaking out in a really embarrassing way, and I don’t want you to see it. And,” he shoots him the signature Harrington smile. “I’ve got to start planning out our first date.”

Eddie pulls his hair in front of his face, swaying on the balls of his feet. “Will I still see you for our movie night tonight?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it. You still want Beetlejuice?”

Eddie nods.

“See you at eight, then.” He gives him a wink.

As soon as the shop door closes, Steve turns on Robin, eager to start talking through all his ideas until he comes up with the world’s best and most perfect first date.

The beta slumps against the counter. “Oh, god, what have I done?”

[fuctacles]

Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

*

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break. 

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

*

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently. 

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

*

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah.”

*

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice. 

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”  

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

*

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting. 

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[wosoluver]

There's a place for you hc

Part 3

Claudia Pina Masterlist

Patri Guijarro Masterlist

Between the three of us

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Finally!" you said jumping on the bed you saw in front of you.

You, Claudia and Patri were traveling together this summer, just for a couple of days until you had to meet with your other friends. You had booked a villa and getting there you guys did the usual 'first to get to the best room gets it' and you were the first to enter it.

"You cheated!" said Patri, coming in to the bedroom.

"I didn't, you were the one who offered to carry our bags in!"

"Yeah, she's right. Also let her be, she never wins anything!" said Clau laughing.

"Hey!" you faked offended, throwing a pillow at her, who easily dodged it. "I don't know about you two but I'm going for a swim!" getting up to look for your bikini.

"What about lunch though?" asked Patri.

"We can cook something!" said Clau exited.

"Count me out!" said the midfielder.

"What? Your the one who brought it up!" argued the forward.

"I'll help! We are better off without her, she can't even fry an egg." you said poking some fun at Guijarro once again.

"You are so lucky I'm not in charge of food, I would poison you!" she yelled while the two of you disappeared to the kitchen.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"I think I need a siesta after that spaghetti." said Clau.

"That makes us two."

"I'd say it makes us three but I'm going to clean the dishes. I'll be right back." said Patri.

"Do you need any help?" you offered.

"No. Just make sure you don't fall asleep in the sun again! You look awful as a shrimp."

You only looked her way and showed her your tongue as usual, as Clau only laughed and shook her head. Moving to lay by the pool.

"Here let put some sunscreen on ya."

You only followed her request, lying on your back as she softly massaged the cream on you. Making you shiver under the 30°C sun, just with her touch.

Again, only doing best friends' things. So why did it feel so much more intimate than that?

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

The three of you spent the rest of the day there, enjoying the weather and the water. When the sun started to set you decided to go in for a shower.

when you came out into the bedroom Clau was sprawled over the big bed.

"You showered already?"

she nodded. "You're the only person I know who takes one hour showers at least twice a day."

you gave her a small laugh as you layed down next to her.

"Why does the water makes us so sleepy?"

"And hungry! What are we ordering?"

"I don't know, wait till Patri comes out of the shower. She'll probably want something different again."

You both laid there peacefully, for another 20 minutes.

"Hey! What are you guys doing!" said Patri throwing her hair brush at the two of you lightly.

"We're just chilling." Clau answered her. trowing a pillow at her.

"What about me?" she argued back with a big pout, throwing the pillow across the room again to hit the other.

"Don't fight! My heart is big enough for the two of you and so is the bed." you said jokingly trying to reason with them.

But soon you realized they went a bit quiet.

"Ay, what's with the faces? It was just a joke!" you say again, looking between the two girls, Claudia with a somewhat serious look swallowing hard and Patri with a slight panicked face. "What are ordering for dinner?" you asked trying to change the subject.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Good morning." said Pina walking into the kitchen, going to give Patri a small peck in the lips.

"Be careful!" she whisper yelled.

"Don't worry, you know she'll probably only wake up in a couple of hours.

She's the most not morning person to ever exist."

"I don't know how she manages to make it to training." she said pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Probably only because she gets paid to."

Pina agreed. "Yes, but I think we need to talk about something."

"About?"

"Y/N."

"She keeps hitting on us."

"I'm not bothered, are you?"

"Of course not. But we should've told her already."

"I know but what if she gets upset? What if she distances herself? I don't want that."

"Me either, but she deserves to know."

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

By now you guys might know what they are up to, no? 🤫🩷

like & share & request!

[rongzhi]

genuine question, what other option is there other than to vote harris? because third party votes aren’t going to be able to overtake both democrat and republicans out of nowhere and the only other person to vote for is trump, who wants to completely dismantle democracy

I feel like I’ve seen this question get asked all over the place and there is no good answer to satisfy the person asking, because when you say “What other option is there” and then immediately discount the idea of third party voting, then you’ve already made it clear that all your faith is in the popular vote to prevent Trump from attaining office again, which is all that matters to you, presumably.

And before the accusations fly from anyone else, obviously no, I don’t want Trump in office any more than the next guy, however I do not think he will dismantle democracy even if he was because he would be incapable. The idea of project 2025 and Trump as some ultimate ender of democracy is ridiculous if you beat down the hysteria for long enough to think about: first, project 2025 is nothing new, just everything the likes of the Heritage Foundation and conservative lawmakers have already been pushing for years (ie turning the U.S into a Christian theocracy more or less), written out in a way to get liberals dizzy with fear. It is alarming but no more alarming than the slow slide in this direction that I personally think we have already been taking for several decades. And it is insane. People can see that it is insane and extremist and as much as people who are terminally online like to wring their hands about it, I think that the average voter that we don’t hear from is going to be put off by it. It is offputting to liberals/Democrats obviously, it is offputting to centrists, and it is offputting to many moderate conservatives/(mainstream) Republicans. It is fringe and unpopular enough that even Trump himself doesn’t want to be directly tied to the whole thing. Like, I feel like people are not grasping just how fringe true MAGA and extremist Christian Nationalists are in the broad scheme of things. I think the cable news is getting a lot of mileage out of the current election cycle in their usual gleeful way, but for all the 24 hour coverage and charts and panels and panic, I don’t think Trump is going to win. Of course, feel free to come back in a couple months and wag a finger at me if that turns out not to be true.

Either way, by asking “what other option is there?”, I feel you overestimate the power of your individual vote. You are not voting for the president anyway. You are voting for electoral delegates, and to put it broadly, those guys don’t have to listen to you. Or have we all just forgotten about that too?

And I’m not saying “don’t vote”, either. I just think you should be voting for something and not against something else, and I don’t subscribe to the way of thinking that a third party vote is somehow less of a vote (see previous paragraph for the irony). I think voting has its uses, especially in local elections where council members, etc, have the power to more directly effect your life. As to the matter of Harris, look, as I said, if you’re already planning to vote Democrat, I’m not going to persuade you to not do so—I can understand people feeling the need to do so, especially if they live in a swing state, and that’s their prerogative. Of course, I think that should also be done recognising what that means in terms of what foreign policy decisions you are voting for when voting for Harris. And that being the case, I think Harris voters have no ground to turn around votescold (not saying you are doing that, anon, but simply speaking to the broader trend I’ve seen online over the past months), especially toward any single-issue voters voting third party or abstaining over the very serious single issue of supporting genocide. Me personally, I voted uncommitted in the primaries and will likely vote for Jill Stein or Claudia de la Cruz, depending on who gets ballot access in my state, as Cornel West didn't get ballot access.

So, those are my approximate thoughts on the matter and sorry for any typos or unclear thoughts. Probably forgot to say some things, but I don’t think I’m saying anything new, either, and I will not be answering any additional asks about voting or the U.S elections, including the ones that have come in after this one, as it’s not really my wheelhouse. There's been enough discourse on the matter that I feel like at this point, you should know what you're going to do one way or the other.

EDIT: bolded a few areas that some of you could afford to reread!

[wosoragebaiter69]

double wham

patri guijarro x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: only 1 post tonight 😔 sorry guys, been busy with work and this was surprisingly hard to write… so it’s short, sorry anon

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

*NOT PROOFREAD*

Today is the day that I finally propose to my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for 4 years and it’s been the absolute best of my life. It seemed fitting because the whole team is going out on a hike through the mountains, so not only will it be scenic but it will also be in front of our other teammates.

I’ve already told Frido, Lucy and Mapi. Who probably told others in the process. So most of the team likely know my plan. The only thing I don’t have control over is the answer Patri gives. I know she’ll probably say yes but I can’t help but feel nervous.

Little did I know.

Patri and I arrive together, as per usual and she immediately goes to sit with Claudia. Again nothing unusual. I go and sit down next to Lucy who has a massive grin on her face.

“Jesus Lucy, I haven’t even asked yet.” I lean over, whispering in a hushed tone.

“Ohhh, I know. Can’t wait to see her reaction.” I squint my eyes, she knows something.

I shrug it off, plugging in my headphones, ready for the hour bus ride we have to make before getting to our destination.

- - - - -

Once we arrive, Mapi pats me on the back before going to annoy Ingrid about something. I make my way to find Patri, interlocking my fingers with her own. Too focused on my own nerves, I fail to see hers.

We start the trek, observing the views of the city and other wildlife around the place. Taking photos every so often. The weather is nice, not too hot and cool enough so that when we do sweat it’s a cooling feeling.

After an hour or so, we make it to the top. The views are absolutely gorgeous as the city is lit up by the glowing sun. In the distance, I can see the bay. The water glistening even from so far away.

(side note why tf do i keep rhyming things help)

This is the moment. I have to ask, so I pull Patri aside and make her sit down. We’re away from most of the others but the views do not miss.

“So what is it?” She asks, slightly nervous.

“Well I… We’ve been dating for quite a while and I thought, there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, soo.” I pause, pulling the box out of my bag.

“Will you marry me?” I ask.

I watch as her smile grows, and she starts laughing slightly.

“What’s so funny?” I smile, confused.

“Because, I was going to ask you the same thing.” She then proceeds to pull out her own box with a ring. Now it’s my turn to laugh.

“Oh God!” I yell into her shoulder, tears streaming out of my eyes.

“Well, I’ll put the ring I got on you, vice versa.” She nods and I take the ring out of the box, placing it delicately on her finger. It’s clear it suits her so well, even if my bank account cried for days. I’m assuming hers did as well.

Because when that ring is put on my finger, all I can think about is how right this feels. To the point I start crying.

“What’s wrong amor?” She wipes the tears away.

“Nothing, this just feels so right. I love you so much bebé” Her hands are on my face still, and she pulls me in for a long kiss.

When it’s done, realisation dawns upon me.

“Wait… do you think all the girls knew? I told Lucy, Frido and Mapi who probably told others and if you told people that means-“ Her eyes also go wide.

“True, very true. How about we go show them ah?” I nod and we get up walking toward everyone else.

“WE’RE GETTING MARRIED BITCHES!” Patri screams.

Most of them respond with the same energy, but all I can think about is how lucky I am to have someone like Patri. Someone I love so deeply.

[apparitionism]

Bonus 4

First, a PSA: If you are eligible to vote in next week’s US election, please VOTE FOR HARRIS as well as every other Democratic candidate on the ballot, and do what you can to persuade as many other people as you can to do the same. I assume anyone who bothers to read my writing is smart enough to understand why that’s necessary—and why engaging in any sort of protest-vote or sit-this-one-out charade is counter to the interests of most living breathing people at this point in history.

Anyway. Here I offer the final part of last year’s Christmas story... again and as usual, where were we? I recommend the intro to part 1 for where we are, canon-wise (S4, essentially, but diverging); beyond that, Myka has just returned to the Warehouse after a holiday retrieval in Cleveland (Pete, in town visiting his family, was tangentially involved), where Helena, whom Myka hadn’t seen since the Warehouse didn’t explode, served as her backup—a situation facilitated by Claudia as something of a Christmas bonus. Post-retrieval, Helena and Myka shared a meal at a restaurant; this was a new experience that went quite well until, alas, Helena was instructed (by powers higher than Claudia) to leave. Thus Myka returned home, both buoyed and bereft... and here the tale resumes. I mentioned part 1, but for the full scraping of Myka’s soul, see part 2 and part 3 as well.

Bonus 4

Late on Christmas Day, Myka is heading to the kitchen for a warm and, preferably, spiked beverage, intending to curl up with that and a book—well, maybe a book; a restless scanning of her shelves had left her drained and decisionless, hence the need for a resetting, and settling, beverage—and to convince herself to appreciate the peace of these waning Christmas hours. She peeks into the living room, just to assess the wider situation, and regards a sofa-draped Pete. He returned from Ohio barely an hour ago, which Myka knows because she had heard Claudia exclaim over his arrival. Then things had gone quiet.

Now, he appears to be napping.

Myka tries to slink away.

“Claud mentioned about your backup,” he says as soon as her back is turned, startling her and proving she’s a terrible slinker. Small favors, though: at least she hadn’t already had her beverage in hand and so isn’t wearing it now. “That had to be weird,” he goes on, sitting up.

She’s been wondering whether the topic would come up, whenever they happened to get beyond how-was-your-trip pleasantries... she entertains herself for a moment with the idea of referring to Helena, specifically with Pete, as “the topic.” So she tries it: “‘Weird’ does not begin to describe the topic.” It is entertaining, as a little secret-layers-of-meaning sneak. But there’s yet more entertainment in the offing, with its own secret layers: “Incidentally, speaking of weird—which I’m sure was also mentioned—I met your cousin. Thanks for giving her an artifact. Very Christmas of you.”

He rounds his spine into the sofa like he’s trying to back his way through the upholstery and escape. “Don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it was an artifact.”

Myka is tempted to keep him guessing about her feelings, but she doesn’t really have the energy; she gives up on entertainment and tells the truth: “I’m not mad. I’m serious: thank you.”

“I think you’re trying to trick me,” he skeptics. “Soften me up for something. But if that’s for real, then you should thank my mom more than me.”

Pete’s mother. The extent of Jane Lattimer’s role in Myka’s life is... surprising. Then again the extent of her role in Pete’s life has turned out to be surprising too, and that’s probably a bigger deal, all things considered.

Pete goes on, “Because I was gonna blame her, but should I give her props instead? It was her idea to give the little feather guy to Nancy, because of how after I got it I saw that it’d probably PTSD you.”

“I appreciate the seeing, but... wait. After you got it. How’d you get it in the first place?”

“I was in this antique store,” Pete says.

As if that explains everything—when in fact it explains nothing. In further fact, it unexplains. “Why were you in an antique store? According to you, you hated those even before the Warehouse turned them into artifact arcades.”

“Mom was picking something up there, and this guy showed it to me.”

“Your mom, this guy...” Myka is now beyond suspicious. “What did this guy look like?” A pointless question. As if knowing that could help her... as if anything could really help her. This is madness. “Fine. It doesn’t matter what he looked like, because I��m stopping here. I can’t keep doing this. For my sanity, I can’t.”

“Keep doing what?”

“Tracing it back. You win. You all win.”

“Do we? Doesn’t feel like it. And that doesn’t seem like a reason you’d be thanking me.”

“No. That isn’t. But as of now I’m trying to keep myself from focusing on... let’s call it the causal chain.”

“I’d rather focus on the popcorn chain.” He points to the strands that loop the Christmas tree.

They are the tree’s only adornment. Every prior holiday season of Myka’s Warehouse association, Leena has decorated the B&B unto a traditional-Christmas Platonic ideal; this year, in her absence, Myka, Steve, and Claudia, trying to replicate that, had purchased a tree. And transported it home. And situated it near to plumb in the tree stand, which was an exhausting exercise in what they earnestly assured each other was complicated physics but was really just physical incompetence.

They had then settled in to do the actual decorating, starting with popcorn strings... but once they’d finished those, they were indeed finished, pathetically drained of holiday effort. And they’d succeeded in that initial (and sadly final) project only because, as they’d all agreed once they’d strung the popcorn, Pete hadn’t been there to shovel the bulk of their also-pathetic popping efforts into his mouth.

“Take them down, slurp them up like spaghetti if you want,” Myka says now. “Christmas is pretty much over.” The statement—its truth—makes her stew. At Pete? But the situation isn’t ultimately his fault, no matter what part he played. And why is she so set on assigning, or marinating in, this vague blame anyway? She got something she wanted: time with Helena. It didn’t work out as perfectly as she’d wished it would, but she got it.

She tries to resettle: her heart to remembrance, her brain to appreciation.

The doorbell rings, its old-fashioned rounded bing-bong resounding from foyer to living room and beyond, bouncing heavily against every surface. Myka lets the vibrations push her toward the kitchen; she’s had enough of interaction for now. Her beverage and book, whichever one will provide some right refuge, await. As do remembrance and appreciation.

She hears Pete sigh and the sofa creak; he must have shoved himself from it in order to lurch to the foyer. A minute later, he yells, “Guess what! Christmas might not be over!”

Still kitchen-focused, Myka yells back, “If that’s not Santa himself, you’re wrong!”

“Never heard of that being one of her things!” Pete shouts, even louder.

“Quit shouting!” Myka bellows, so loud that she drowns out her own initial registering of what he’s said, which then starts to resonate in her head, a stimulating hum that resolves into meaning... her things? Her things... Myka’s torso initiates a turn; her body knows what’s happening, even if her brain—

“Hey, H.G.,” Pete says, and now every part of Myka knows.

Except her eyes, but once she moves to the foyer to stand behind Pete, they know too: There Helena is. Her body. Embodied. The illumination of her, in the foyer semi-dark... her bright eyes catching Myka’s, warming to the catch... oh, this.

Seeing the sight—greeting, once again, her perfect match—she is struck dumb.

There’s movement behind her, though, and she turns to see Steve and Claudia poking their heads into the space like meerkats—well, no, in South Dakota she should think prairie dogs... but they’re both built more like meerkats than prairie dogs, so she should probably keep thinking meerkats out of... respect? Whatever: they’re animal-alert, heads aswivel, faces alight. It surely signifies something.

Turning back to Helena, trying to get a voice in her mouth, she coughs out, “You’re back? Now? I mean, already? How did you—”

“To quote myself: ‘when I can, I will,’” Helena says, as matter-of-factly as anyone could possibly speak while maintaining intense eye contact with one person, and Myka thanks all gods and firefighters above that she is herself that person. “Now, not forty-eight hours later, I could. Thus I did. I should note that I’m unsure as to why I could, but perhaps it’s a gift horse?” Her focus on Myka does not waver. Pete and the meerkats might as well not exist, and Myka in turn is mesmerized.

“Maybe that’s the horse you rode in on,” Claudia says. Is she trying to break the spell? Myka wishes she wouldn’t... she ideates shushing her, even as Claudia goes on, “But better late than never, Christmas-wise, right?”

“Did you enjoy your additional portion of squash?” Helena asks Myka, ignoring Claudia’s interjection. Her tone is formal, presenting public, but her question is for Myka alone.

“It was very good for my heart,” Myka says. She doesn’t add, though she could, And so was that question.

Helena smiles like she heard both good-fors—like she’s grateful for both—and Myka thinks, for the first time out loud in her head, She feels the same way I do.

It’s... new. Different. Perfect? Not yet, the out-loud-in-her-head voice instructs.

But she can make a move in that direction. “Please put your suitcase in my room,” she says. Out loud, outside her head. Realing it.

“I will,” Helena says. She takes up her case and moves toward the stairs, presumably to real that too.

It renders Myka once again enraptured. She is taking her suitcase to my room. My room. She is.

The first stair-creaks that Helena’s ascent occasions sound, to Myka’s eagerly interpretive ears, approving.

Claudia and Steve don’t even blink. Pete does—well, more the opposite; he widens his eyes in the cartoony way.

But then he turns on his heel, Marine-brusque and not at all cartoony, and exits the space. Myka doesn’t know what to make of that. She’ll most likely have to address the topic—in fact, “the topic”—with him later. Fortunately, later isn’t now.

She does know, however, what to make of Steve and Claudia’s aspect: “I’m sensing some ‘aren’t we clever’ preening,” she accuses.

“We are clever,” Claudia says, dusting off her shoulder. “More Fred. Don’t sweat it.”

Exasperating. “Don’t sweat it? As I understood the situation, Fred was a retrieval and an insanely expensive dinner. Are we doing that again, or is she back for good?”

“She’s back for nice,” Claudia says.

Steve jumps in with, “To answer your question: we’re not a hundred percent sure.”

“See, we made a deal,” Claudia says.

“With whom?” Myka asks.

“Santa?” Claudia says, but without commitment. Myka’s response of an oh-come-on face causes her to huff, “Fine. Pete’s mom and company. And Mrs. F. And even Artie, in absentia.”

“What kind of deal?” Myka asks, because while she can’t dispute the indisputably positive fact that Helena is here, she mistrusts any deal involving Regents. Pete’s mom aside. Or Pete’s mom included: She can’t stop her brain from stirring, stirring once again to life those causal-chain questions: What’s being put in motion this time?

“A kind of deal about which things they’re willing to let us—well, technically Steve—say are nice,” Claudia pronounces, as if that explains everything.

Myka is very tired of proffered explanations that actually unexplain.

Steve says, “Claudia finally found the file on the pen. Seems that Santa’s list, once made, is kind of ridiculously powerful. And it turns out you can put a situation on the list.”

“For example,” Claudia supplies, “H.G. and you. Getting to be in each other’s... proximity.”

Steve adds, “And yours isn’t the only one I put there. That was part of the deal.”

“So you’re letting the pen reward nice situations with... existing,” Myka says. “And are you storing it on some new ‘Don’t Neutralize’ shelf? So nobody accidentally bags the existence out of them?”

Claudia says, “Kinda. At least for a while.”

This all seems deceptively, not to mention dangerously, easy. “But: personal gain, not for,” Myka points out.

“Right,” Steve says. “So here’s a question: what does ‘personal gain’ actually mean? The manual doesn’t have a glossary. So we’re trying to work it out. Let’s say Claud uses an artifact and then makes this utterance: ‘My use of this artifact was not for personal gain.’ And let’s say I assess that utterance as not a lie. The question remains, are the Warehouse and Claud and I agreeing on the definition of ‘personal gain’?”

“The question remains,” Myka echoes, fretting. “And the answer?”

“We’ll see,” Steve says.

It’s destabilizing, but that’s the Warehouse’s fault, not Steve’s. “I just hope the artifact won’t downside you for any disagreement. Because you’re remarkably nonjudgmental, and—”

“With a Liam exception,” Steve notes. “Or several. Ideally, though, the Warehouse and I can work through these things like adults. Unlike me and Liam.”

Myka respects his honesty. And yet: “I’m having a seriously hard time ideating the Warehouse as an adult.”

“We’re working through that too,” Steve concedes.

“You clearly have the patience of a saint.”

Steve chuckles. “Pete’s your partner, right? And in another sense, H.G. might be too?” Myka waves her hands, no-no-too-soon, because suitcases notwithstanding, she has certainly in the past thought she was making a safe all-in bet, only to lose every last copper-coated-zinc penny of her metaphorical money. “No matter what we call anybody,” he continues, “I think you get a lot more patience practice than I do. I’m just dealing with one little Warehouse and its feelings.”

“Aren’t its feelings... unassimilable?” she asks. “Or at least, shouldn’t they be?” It’s a building. Whatever its feelings, they should be talking about it like it’s an alien, not somebody who’s in therapy. Or somebody who should be in therapy.

“Maybe,” Steve says. “Or maybe not. That was part of the deal too, that I would test out how it feels. About personal gain specifically here, eventually maybe more. But if it has a meltdown...”

“Ah. We cancel the test, neutralize the pen, and face the consequences.”

Steve nods. “But ideally, if that happens, we will have leapfrogged whatever the looming Artie-and-Leena crises are. The two of them coming back here safely are the other situations we niced, as part of the deal.”

Claudia adds, “My big fingers-crossed leapfrog is over their stupid administrative ‘keep H.G. away from Myka and everybody else who loves her’ dealy-thingy. We’re hoping they’ll just forget about whatever their dumbass reasons for that were when they see how great it is for her to be back.”

“Dealy-thingy? Have you been talking to Pete?” Myka asks, trying for silly, for light—so as to deflect that “love her” arrow.

“Not about that. But wait, are you saying he loves her too? I mean I figured he was okay with her after the whole Mom-still-alive thing, but his Houdini out of here just now makes me think he’s not quite all the way to—”

“Never mind,” Myka says, as a command.

Claudia squints like she wants to pursue it. Myka crosses her arms against any such idea, in response to which Claudia says, “Fine. Here’s some funsies you’ll like better. Making that list, you’ve gotta have balance. Naughty against the nice.”

“And you think I’ll like that because?”

“I talked to Pete’s cousin, a little pretty-sure-we-don’t-have-to-tesla-you-but-let’s-make-super-sure exit interview. Heard some things about a guy. Bob? Seemed like a good candidate.”

Well. Pete had been right on several levels about Christmas not being over yet. “That’s the best news I’ve had in the past... I don’t know. Five minutes?” Other than the Pete-vs.-“the topic” question, it’s been an absurdly good-news-y several minutes.

Claudia goes on, “Personal gain, what is it? There’s also a warden from that place I don’t like to remember being committed to who’s about to have a Boxing Day that’ll haunt him longer than he’s been haunting me.”

That definitely raises questions—flags, even—about “personal gain” in a definitional sense, but letting all that lie seems the better part of valor, so Myka asks Steve, “Any Liam on there?”

“Too personal to let the Warehouse anywhere near,” he says, but with a smile.

Myka smiles too. “Would that I could say the same about my situation.”

Claudia snickers. “Your situation is Warehouse-dependent. Warehouse-designed. Warehouse-destined.”

“All the more reason said Warehouse shouldn’t object to easing the pressure,” Steve says.

“Are you kidding?” Claudia says. “Its birth certificate reads ‘Ware Stress-Test House.’”

Myka appreciates their positions—Steve’s in particular, even as she internally allows that Claudia’s is probably more accurate—but she would appreciate even more their ceasing to talk about her situation like they’re the ones whose philosophy will determine how, and whether, it succeeds. Or even proceeds.

And she would most appreciate their ceasing to talk about her situation entirely. So that she can go upstairs and be in her situation, because Helena hasn’t come back downstairs, a fact for which Myka’s rapidly overheating libido has provided a similarly overheated reason: she is waiting, up there in the bedroom, for Myka.

Which thought is of course followed by Helena’s preemption of same: she descends the stairs and presents herself in the foyer.

Damn it, Myka’s disappointed libido fumes.

Sacrilege! an overriding executive self chastises, and it isn’t wrong, for again, here Helena is. To fail to appreciate that—ever—is an error of, indeed, biblical, or anti-biblical, proportions.

In any case, now four people are just standing here, awkwardness personified.

Helena flicks her eyes briefly toward Myka—it seems a little offer of “hold on”—then turns to Steve and Claudia. “I didn’t greet either of you directly when I arrived. I apologize. Claudia darling, it warms my heart to see you... and this is of course the famous Steve, whose acquaintance I’m delighted to make at last.”

Striking to witness: Helena has essentially absorbed the awkward into her very body and transmogrified it into formality.

Myka loves her.

“Famous?” Steve echoes, like she’s said “Martian.”

“I’ve heard much of you,” Helena says, with an emphasizing finger-point on “much.”

Steve smiles his I’m-astonished-you’re-not-lying smile, through which he articulates, “Likewise? I mean, likewise, but with more. Obviously.”

Yes, Myka loves her: for her charming self alone, but also for how that charm extends; her sweet attention to Steve has him immediately smitten. Myka’s the one to catch Helena’s gaze now, intending merely to convey gratitude, but to her gratification it stops Helena, causing her to abandon her engagement with Steve.

Maybe she and Myka can stand here and gaze at each other forever. It wouldn’t be everything, but it would be something. Second on second, it is something. It is something.

Claudia interrupts it all, saying to Helena, “Can I hug you?”

Myka doesn’t begrudge the breaking of this spell, particularly not with that; she had been selfish, before, greedy to keep Helena and her eyes all to herself. She also doesn’t begrudge the ease of the hug in which Claudia and Helena engage; getting a hug right is simpler when its purpose is clear. And clearly joyful.

Over Claudia’s shoulder, Myka’s and Helena’s gazes lock yet again, and it’s spectacular.

However: it also seems to introduce a foreign element into the hug, some friction that Claudia must sense, for she disengages and says, “So. I have to go. I just remembered I have an appointment to not be here.”

Steve says, “I feel like I was supposed to remember to meet you there, wasn’t I,” Steve says, and Myka has never been able to predict when he’ll be able to play along instead of blurting “lie” (even if he does often follow such blurts with some version of an apologetic “but I see the social purpose”).

“I don’t think you were,” Claudia says, “because I’m revising the gag; it makes more sense if I just now made an appointment to not be here. So you couldn’t be remembering some nonexistent-before-now appointment.”

“But I still think the appointment ought to be with me, gag-wise and otherwise,” Steve says, doggedly, still playing. “In the first and second place.”

“Is this the first place?” Claudia muses, faux-serious, now rewarding his doggedness. “Is the appointment in the second place?”

They could who’s-in-the-first-place this for days, so Myka intervenes, “In the first place, if this is a gag, it desperately needs workshopping. But in the second place: Scram!”

“You mean to the second place,” Claudia sasses.

Myka scowls, wishing she could growl proficiently.

 Claudia’s eyes widen. “Scramming. Best scrammer,” she says, sans sass, proving the actual growl unnecessary. Interesting.

“Except that’s about to be me with the gold-medal scram,” Steve objects and concurs.

Myka pronounces, “I’ll be the judge of who’s what. Once you actually do it.”

“You’ll award the medals later though, right?” asks Claudia. Her words are jokey, yet her tone is weirdly sincere, as if Myka might forget they had scrammed on her behalf, and that such amnesia would be hurtful.

“Participation trophies,” Myka semi-affirms, “in the form of a healthy breakfast.” She adds, internally, Take the damn hint.

After much winking and nudging, the comedians at last absent themselves, and Myka and Helena are alone.

Unfortunately that doesn’t immediately yield the perfected situation Myka seeks, first and foremost because she doesn’t know what comes next. Take your own damn hint, she tells herself, but... how? They need privacy, and the only reasonable place for that is where Helena’s suitcase rests: upstairs. Myka can’t magic them there, so what incremental movement will be recognizable as an appropriate beginning?

She casts a wish for Helena to ease it all, as she had with Claudia and Steve, but Helena is stock-still, offering no increment. For both of them, upstairs seems to have become a different place... the promised land?

Nothing is promised, she reminds herself. Some things are newly possible, but nothing is promised. Certainly not when the Warehouse is involved.

So maybe the point, probably the point, is that it’s incumbent on Myka and Helena to realize the possibility.

Nevertheless, here they stick.

After a time—most likely shorter than Myka feels it to be—Helena announces, “Pete and I have had a chat.” Her articulation of “chat” shapes it into a synonym for “fight.” “Who won?” Myka asks.

“I believe it was a draw. He opened by saying he ‘didn’t get how far along this thing had got.’” Hearing Pete’s diction in Helena’s mouth is disorienting. “He then said he wants to protect you.”

That’s so Pete. “I don’t need protecting.”

Eyebrow. “I noted that I want to protect you too.”

That thrills Myka. At the same time, she wants to object to it nearly as much as to Pete’s assertion... internal contradictions, what are they? She lands weakly on, “I hope that persuaded him.”

“Pete finds deeds more persuasive than words,” Helena says. “Thus I’m ‘on probation where Myka’s concerned,’ until he determines I won’t damage you.”

That’s so Pete too. But. “That is my determination.”

“I expressed a similar sentiment. He responded, ‘And how’d that go last time?’” Helena’s wince after she says this is awful, and Myka dares to assuage it, stepping toward Helena with open arms, drawing her into an embrace.

This time, their hug—simpler because its purpose is clear—works, bodies soft-querying at the start, then firm, intentional. Not quite catching fire, but this is a palpable first cut into whatever membrane of uncertainty is obstructing their movement.

Slow, slow, they move apart. Yet they stay close, the embrace’s softness lingering as Helena says, “Selfishly, I didn’t concede his point, which is in any case indeed down to your determination. But I did note that circumstances have changed since then. And to be fair I must report that he allowed they have.”

“You’re both right,” Myka says. But: “Was this Cleveland mission contrived to... further change the circumstances?”

“I didn’t contrive it,” Helena says, fast. “I would have, if I could, but I didn’t.”

“I’m not saying you did. I’m saying I always wonder, because I can’t help it, how much, or how little, of what happens just happens.”

“And the rest—or if I’m understanding your implication, the bulk—would be...?”

“Some sort of social engineering.”

“On whose part?” Helena asks.

That’s disingenuous. “Your engineers of choice. Regents. Mrs. Frederic. Mr. Kosan. Ententes thereof.”

Helena runs a hand through her hair—frustration at the thought of those entities? Or just showing off? Then she shrugs, as if to dismiss both possibilities. “I favor any engineering that places me in private proximity to you.”

The words are beyond welcome. And yet. “I’m not objecting to it. I’m just...”

“Objecting to it.”

“No. Questioning its provenance.”

“Why?”

That brings Myka up short. “What?”

“If it produces an outcome you desire, what does the provenance matter? In this case, at the very least.”

It’s a reasonable question, and Myka’s most-honest answer would have something to do with the ethical acceptability of poisonous-tree fruits. For now, though, she goes with, “Because I don’t like being manipulated.”

“Don’t you?” That’s flirty, a near-whisper, compelling Myka to lean even closer. Helena knows—she’s always known—the power she has over Myka. And she’s always known how—and when—to wield that power.

“The manipulator matters,” Myka says, responding to the flirt, accepting the push away from ethics.

“Then would that I could in truth say I contrived that relatively banal retrieval. And sabotaged the elevator, so as to draw our attention to... that to which it was drawn.”

“I can’t say I was displeased with the drawing,” Myka allows. “So if you had...”

Helena moves her lips, a sly hint of curve, and says, “Oh, but perhaps I’ve manipulated you into that sentiment.” Again, an ostentatious flirt.

Myka’s knowing that flirt-show for what it is? That’s Helena-specific. In the past Myka has always had to be told when she was being flirted with: “He was interested in you,” an exasperated friend would explain of an interaction Myka found incomprehensible, and she would cringe internally at her inability to recognize such an apparently basic, obvious display. But with Helena she’s never needed a flirt translator. From the first lock of gaze, unto this night’s myriad connections; from that first brush of finger, unto the way Helena has just allowed their hug to linger; from the first just-for-you conspiratorial grin, unto this very moment’s slip of smile—all the advances, heavy and light, have been legible to Myka.

And based on what she is now reading, she has no ground left. “Fine. I like being manipulated if it means.” She clears her throat. “If it means I get closer to you. You win.”

“Do I?” Here’s the disingenuity again, but now Myka understands its intentional irony. Helena follows up with, “This establishment has no elevator,” Helena says, like it’s nothing more than a structural observation that checks a box on a form, a minor note in an overall architectural assessment.

“No,” Myka agrees.

“How fortunate,” Helena says.

Myka waits for the conclusion, the help... but it’s not forthcoming, probably in a that’s-down-to-your-determination-as-well sense. The next cut is clearly Myka’s responsibility too. So: “It has stairs though,” she offers. “That go. Up. Well, both down and up. Of course. As stairs do.” Stop talking, she tells herself, but her nerves don’t heed the advice. “As they have to? I don’t know; do they? Escher?”

“Ess-sherr,” Helena echoes, clearly uncomprehending. That she lets Myka hear her knowledge gap is a gift. For Christmas?

“He’s an artist. I promise I’ll explain later. Eventually. Anyway the stairs. I think you just used them? Without incident?”

Myka expects a comeback. She gets none, which leaves her in some non-place, absent as it is of Helena-attitude... but what form had she expected such attitude to take? Aggression? Naughtiness? Or “naughtiness”... does the lack of all that mean Helena is offering a self more authentic than the one who charms and flirts? But that doesn’t seem quite right, for the charms and the flirts have always seemed clearly intrinsic Helena-talents. Deployed, yes, but not inauthentic. So if this Helena is deploying fewer such talents, maybe it’s that she’s... less?

Ironically—of course ironically, because all of this is so, so layered like that—a reduced Helena is an even greater bonus.

All of this, which Myka had better figure out, fast, how to appreciate and accommodate. “Of course that’s no guarantee that travel will go well,” she begins. “So we should try not to trip on the stairs... wait, no, that would make it our problem, which I don’t think this ever was. Maybe better: we shouldn’t let the stairs trip us.” She considers. “But no again: what I really mean is, we shouldn’t give the stairs a reason to trip us. Right?”

Helena looks at her and blinks, charmingly blank. “I have no idea. Are you through?”

“I have no idea either,” Myka admits, still directionless without Helena’s attitudinal lead. Is this, like the semi-botched hug of two days ago, a seemingly terrible sign?

“Merely delay.” A little head-shake follows. Signifying disappointment? Making light of Myka’s inability to get through? Then Helena says, “And yet I don’t know how much more delay I can withstand.”

Those raw words are mediated by nothing more than molecules—the nitrogen-oxygen-argon-et-cetera invisibilities conveying waves to Myka’s ossicles—and for the second time, Myka ideates, in full awe, She feels the same way I do.

“Me either,” she says, literally heartfelt, sending the words back, a final push through everything, molecules and otherwise, that has stood between them.

Testing, she offers Helena her hand. Helena takes it.

These hands together: not a first. Not even a second. In the present circumstance, that translates to something very like “comfortingly familiar.”

Under the aegis of that comfort, they ascend the stairs, Myka leading the way, marveling that she can. Against her pulling hand, Helena offers what seems a single erg of resistance, a display, an I-am-letting-you affirmation.

They cross the threshold of Myka’s room, and then. Then, after Myka makes one turn and twist, a closed non-elevator door stands, for once and at last, between them and the rest of the world.

Closed, the door is, but not locked. In the door-closing instant, turning the lock—adding its presumptive click—had struck Myka’s hand as overly brazen: that’s a frustrating flinch her hand will have to work out with whatever part of her brain-body complex was certain enough to start this, start it by saying what she did about the suitcase... the same part that keeps telling her that Helena’s feelings match hers.

As Myka turns her back on the now-closed door, she sees her bed. She sees her bed. Disconcerting, in this new now, how large a percentage of the room’s space this one piece of furniture seems to be occupying...

But she’s self-aware enough to know that she’s overlaying the bed’s current brain space, the desires it signifies, on the physical. Whatever’s going to happen—or not—will happen, she tries to force into that space in her brain, pushing it down... for desire, sometimes indistinguishable from expectation, has devastated her before. But she tries too hard: missing the mark, she slips and falls into some past-obsessed cerebral fold, once again lost, quietly but deeply, in that devastation.

“Here we are,” Helena remarks into the silence. “Or, harking back to engineering: Here we are? I continue to be unsure as to why. I can accept unclear provenance, but I’d prefer more explication regarding my allowable movements.”

That’s help. That’s rescue. But oh: movements. The word nearly derails Myka in a different direction, but she gathers herself, resetting to reply, “It’s explicable, but I honestly don’t have the energy to explicate even my minimal knowledge of the mechanism. The most basic base is, Claudia and Steve worked out a deal to use that pen, and there’s a list that you and I are on. As a ‘nice’ situation. Anyway if you want real details, you probably should sit down with Steve.”

A mind’s-eye image comes to her, of Helena and Steve leaning toward each other, bringing complementary concentration to bear on some topic large or small... and then an incipient sound strikes her: the chime of their voices together, both seriously and lightheartedly, ringing notes she hadn’t before this new instant thought to anticipate. “Actually I think you and Steve sitting down would be really pleasant. Even productive. Given that you’ll be sticking around. I mean, if you’re willing, and if, or at least until, some definitional issues get worked out. As I understand it.” As I devoutly hope, she doesn’t quite utter.

“That addresses... some issues, I suppose. Yet a question remains.”

This is a bonus of a day: Helena turning into the queen of understatement? It’s freeing; Myka laughs and says, “Tons of questions remain. Which one’s on your mind?”

Head-tilt. “You said you didn’t have the energy... to explain the mechanism,” Helena says.

More delay, Myka knee-jerks... but she knows the reflex immediately as wrongheaded, for this is conversation, the value of which she should have learned by now not to discount. “Right. Sorry, I’ll try: so the pen, and honestly speaking of questions and provenance, I still have some questions about provenance, which I’m trying to ignore, but anyway, Claudia found the file, and—”

“That is not the issue I had in mind.”

“Sorry. I’m not getting anything right, am I?” Because of course she isn’t getting anything right.

“We’ll see,” Helena says.

“So what did I jump the gun on?”

“You don’t have the energy to explain.”

This muddles Myka; it will probably require another reset. “I did say that, but I can try to—”

“Myka,” Helena says, and her name in that mouth will never cease to be a singular wonder. “What do you have the energy for?”

Here again is the difference between the attitude that Myka, in her more cynical moments, might have thought Helena would maintain, and the reality she is instead offering: the question is suggestive, but guilelessly, graciously so; its import is genuine, not manipulative. “How do you do that?” Myka asks.

“Do what?” This question, too, is guileless, gracious.

“Stop me.” It’s the best definition Myka can produce of what Helena has in fact done, what she seems consistently able to do.

Helena breathes several breaths, like she’s waiting for the right words to arrive... no, more like they’ve already arrived, but she’s preparing herself, gearing up to deliver them. “I don’t want to stop you,” she eventually says, and Myka should have used that windup to prepare herself: for the admission this is, for how this don’t-want utterance nevertheless is want.

They are the most vulnerable words Myka has ever heard.

New, new, new... the fact is that historically, people have tended to twist and shy from revealing weakness to Myka. Fallout from her tendency to judge, no doubt, but it means that this, too, is new: here is Helena, and maybe in some other world someone else might have made such a mattering move but here in this best one it’s Helena, Helena ignoring that character defect, Helena blowing past it for a chance to change everything.

Everything. “It’s Christmas,” Myka says, because it is. And because now it is.

“So give me this gift,” Helena rejoins.

“You too,” Myka says.

For the space of one breath, they both wait—bracing for whatever fate intends to use to stop them this time.

But this time nothing stops them, for in the ensuing instant, they both give that gift, blowing fast past everything that, slow, might stop them, grasping at this chance to change.

The jolt of their contact reminds Myka of—no: the shock of it strikes her as—artifact activation, that calling of vested power into being, that enabling of such longed-for release. Before the Warehouse taught her to recognize this transubstantiating, she would not have understood this moment’s raw unleashing, its summoning and compelling of stored potential to manifest as what it has lain in wait, in desperate wish, to become.

But also: all the blood in her body knows she has never felt such power released nonartifactually before now, before this.

Before this world-encompassing, world-creating first kiss.

“You’re thinking,” Helena murmurs into the space of a pause for breath. “I can taste it.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Myka scrambles, kicking herself for not staying in the unprecedented moment, for letting thought intrude, as she always does, and it’s always bad, and Helena is now rightfully offended and disenchanted and—

“It’s delicious,” Helena says, punctuating—proving—by meeting Myka’s lips again, again again again, as if determined to never stop.

Myka would be perfectly happy, oh so perfectly happy, with that forever-continuation, but something in her brain has begun gesturing wildly, demanding her attention... something about her hand... brazen... she rips her lips away and yelps, “Wait! I have to lock the door!”

“The thinking continues,” Helena says, stepping back, freeing Myka, and spreading her arms in a ta-da endorsement. “You’re brilliant.”

A memory: “Bunny, you think too much.” No I don’t, she can now answer. Not for her. In time, given time, she’ll tell Helena how much this matters, but now is not that time. Not when Helena is saying, “However, as we’re behind a locked door, I’ll wager I can make you stop thinking... for at least one consequential moment...”

To Myka’s extremely consequential—and utterly, blissfully unthinking—delight, Helena wins that bet.

****

Later. Lazily, later: “I genuinely cannot believe we were stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. A thing to say, said. “As the prelude to all this.” Which is what she really means.

Against Myka’s neck, newly and blessedly intimate, Helena says, “Your limited capacity for belief is noted. Are you equally incapable of believing that we had the apparently obligatory, if not preordained, chat?”

“Obligatory... preordained...” Myka is still so lazy, she’s practically drawling, and the out-of-character surprise of it pricks at the edge of her ability to stay in such a state. Stay, stay, stay... “Honestly... just clichéd.”

“And yet I was able to add a reference to my Myka-index. Entry: Mirrors, your artifact-related discomfort with.”

Myka’s heart seizes: Helena has a Myka-index. That, plus their proximity now, surely requires her to do better than the little falsehood she’d rested on with regard to the mirror-discomfort. Pushing laziness aside, with something too much like relief, she acknowledges, “I misled you. There was an artifact, but that isn’t what bothers me. The real thing is that mirrors make me observe myself too closely. Too much. Which I do all the time anyway.”

“I wish you’d delegate that observational task to me.” Sweet. Helena sounds so sweet. And not just sounds: Myka can tell (hopes she can tell) Helena means it. Which is even sweeter.

And which in turn entails a need for Myka to think seriously about being observed. Being protected. Being willing—but more important, able—to delegate in the correct spirit, even minimally. “I can try.”

“I can accept that,” Helena says, and the approval is better than sweet: it’s buy-all-the-books-you-want indulgent. “But I must ask: do you honestly think any part of the Cleveland interregnum was the elevator’s doing?”

The true answer references Myka’s entire Warehouse experience, from day one: “Yes and no.”

Helena nods, her hair sliding mink-soft on Myka. “I can accept that as well.”

“And whoever’s at fault, our chat was interrupted,” Myka says.

“As it was poised to progress beyond ‘chat’... but in truth I would rather this happened here than in an elevator. Better environs for still further progress. Don’t you agree?” Helena moves her unclad limbs against Myka’s, in transcendent emphasis.

Of course Myka agrees. Which leads her to a painful realization: “So maybe the elevator wasn’t as judgmental as I... judged it to be.”

Helena bestows a kiss to Myka’s shoulder—small, intimate—bringing Myka’s mind back, sharp, to what those bestowing lips have so recently accomplished, which threatens to render her again overcome. She shudders, which reduces her to embarrassment instead, but Helena is kind enough to feign obliviousness as she says, “You did note your own judgmental nature.”

Myka’s soul twinges in genuine regret, collapsing her lip-recall. She regrets that too. “Do you think I need to go back and apologize? I feel all guilty now.”

“The elevator has most likely moved on,” Helena says, quite dry.

“You’re saying it doesn’t have my memory.”

“I’m saying that even if it does—an open question, though the lack of elevator memoirs argues in the negative—it’s unlikely to care as much as you do about what it does remember.”

“Story of my life,” Myka sighs out. Now she’s really saying it, because memory, and caring too much about it, is that story.

“For the best, I suspect. Your life story and an elevator’s shouldn’t be entirely congruent, should they?” Helena questions, and that makes Myka laugh and want to read an entire library shelf’s worth of elevators’ memoirs. Feigning seriousness, Helena continues, “Although we might revisit so as to investigate whether its conveyance of Bob proceeded properly after our visit. That could be revealing.”

“Speaking of Bob, I feel bad for Nancy. Because of course he’ll blame her.”

“For elevator mischief?”

Ah. Helena doesn’t know. “For naughty.”

“Naughty what?”

“The list. He’s back on it, thanks to Steve and Claudia.”

“Is he.” Her satisfaction is evident, and for a moment she and Myka are one in their schadenfreude. That, too, is delicious. “Better they punish him than we do,” Helena then says.

This sends Myka back to guilt. “It feels like cheating. We didn’t use the artifact, but we get the personal gain.”

Myka’s shoulder now receives an indignant exhale. In its wake, Myka is dwelling on how she would have preferred another kiss, but Helena says, “I was speaking of soul-consequences, not this personal-gain fetish you all seem to embrace. Or perhaps it’s an anti-fetish, but in any case was no hard-and-fast dictum in my day.”

“I’ll reiterate that you should sit down with Steve,” Myka tells her, and Helena accedes with a nestle that erases the exhale.

Are words about such things—ambiguously motivated elevators, deserved punishments, fetishes of undetermined valence—a waste of time? No... for again, they are conversation... the value of which, Myka has lately learned, is even greater when the words it comprises land as soft breath on skin.

In fact Myka has learned a great many things in this locked-door recent while. There is, for one, the gratifying fact that she and Helena are physically compatible, at least as evidenced by this first performance, in terms both of wants and of abilities to satisfy them. But nearly as important, particularly in its physical component but not only that, is her new understanding that while her life has offered her several circumstances with which she’s been reasonably satisfied—that she hasn’t minded—this right-now is orders of magnitude above such contentment. She must have in some soul-stratum known this would prove true, or she would not have been panting in its pursuit so seemingly hopelessly, with such dogged desperation.

She says, with gratitude, “This is what I wanted.”

Getting what she wants: that, too, is new. And very. very nice.

“I would hope so,” Helena says. As if she had some genuine doubt about Myka’s motivation? “No, that’s rhetorical; rather, I did hope so. You’ve realized that hope, and... well. I should be clear: this is more than I dared to want.”

Myka, endeavoring to bring everything together, says, “So what you’re saying, want-wise, is that it’s a bonus. A nice one.”

“I’m saying, want-wise, that my wildest hopes have been exceeded. Surpassed. Transcended.”

It’s something, that reply. Also more than a little over the top, rhetorically, which Helena obviously knows. “Pleonast,” Myka accuses.

Helena laughs. “Not inaccurate. I suppose your ‘nice bonus’ translation is technically correct, if a bit... with apologies, pedestrian?”

“It’s less pedestrian than ‘Fred,’” Myka says. A “hm?” from Helena reminds Myka that she hasn’t yet made that translation evident. “I guess ‘Fred’ counts as esoteric instead, so never mind. You’re right, ‘bonus’ is pedestrian. So is ‘nice.’ But maybe it’s a good idea to call our whatever-it-is something pedestrian. I don’t want to scare it away.”

“And what precisely do you think would ‘scare it away’?”

“Bigness,” Myka offers, weakly. It’s what she means, but—

“‘Bigness?’” Helena says, quotes evident. “From the woman who so recently deployed ‘pleonast’? Should I fear that you’ll regularly revert without warning to Pete-reminiscent locutions?”

Myka chuckles. “Spend enough time with him, it’ll probably happen to you too.” The laziness is back. Earned back?

After a time—or perhaps Myka only after a time processes the sound—Helena says, “God forbid.”

A further lag ensues before Myka manages to respond, with a drowsy “I agree.”

Sleep follows. That is certainly earned.

****

Consciousness resumes for Myka with a banging on her door and a shout from Pete: “It’ s really not Christmas anymore, because Artie’s back!”

“Being Artie about it!” Claudia shouts in addition. “He says get to work!”

“I’m awake,” Myka says as she becomes more fully so. This is a Warehouse morning, and Warehouse alarms ring as they do.

Then: I’m not awake; I’m dreaming, because the back of Helena’s head and her naked shoulders greet Myka’s opening eyes. That’s a bracingly new alarm.

Helena’s voice comes next. “He says get to work,” she quotes, playfully, and Myka would be willing to wake to such an alarm with joy for the rest of her life.

But assuredly, if the content of that alarm is the dictate, then no one is dreaming. There’s really nothing for Myka to say except, “Sorry, but one more time: Story of my life.”

“Now? Our life,” Helena corrects.

That is a literally life-story-altering assertion, and a self-deprecating impulse tempts Myka to scoff it away. Behind that impulse, however, lies a clear-eyed recognition that she must meet what Helena has said. How, how, how...

...and then her mind starts fully working. She begins to formulate a plan. One that will, if possible, manifest her gratitude, but also, display her difference from the Myka she used to be, that one from so few hours ago, who had not yet known the dream-surprise of this awakening’s sight.

“I’m going to tell them I can’t get the door unlocked,” she says. Steve isn’t there. She can get away with it. She sits up, ready to head for the door and tell that story.

Helena touches Myka’s shoulder. “Would it lend credibility for me to suggest out loud that I genuinely can’t believe we’re stuck in your bedroom?” More play, but the touch is becoming a don’t-leave-this-bed grasp.

Myka leans to kiss the restraining hand. “I think that would make them think you planned it. And were being nefarious about it. Shocked incredulity isn’t really your strong suit.”

“It’s true that my capacity for belief outstrips yours.” She pulls down on the sheet, exposing both her body and Myka’s.

Talk about overdetermined. Or is it, in this as-yet-unmapped terrain, underdetermined? To be determined later, if at all... Myka somehow marshals sufficient will to rise from the bed, while telling herself that she is not, conceptually at least, actually leaving it. At the door, she fiddles with the lock, expressing frustration to support her claim, after which Pete and Claudia make noises about toolboxes and battering rams, respectively, and then mercifully depart.

“They’re going to try to get us out,” Myka reports as she returns to bed. “Maybe violently?”

“Let them,” Helena murmurs. “That elevator and its manifestation of mischief... comparatively amateur. You’ve bested it handily.”

That jolts Myka out of a back-of-mind consideration of whether she might be able to jam the bedroom door’s lock with something easily to hand, or perhaps whether her dresser might be pushed across the room to block the door entirely. She then considers, front of mind, the possibility that Helena—her physical presence, her physical provocation—is a bad influence... or at the very least a naughty one... for these thoughts are so, so out of character.

“That, on the other hand, is not the story of my life,” Myka says, and the fact of it does make her more than a little nervous.

“A new chapter,” Helena counters, reading Myka’s mind and setting it right—in three words. Such economy.

****

Myka and Helena are engaged in adding to that new chapter (or at the very least, drafting a steamy interlude of same, even if it isn’t essential to the plot) when a banging on the door interrupts them yet again. As does shouting: “We’re back!” yells Pete, unnecessarily.

“Hey, Myka, what’s going on?” That’s Steve. Far more quiet.

“I brought Steve,” Pete says, also unnecessarily.

“I gathered that from his voice,” Myka notes.

“But!” Pete says, in aha-I-got-you mode, “what if it turns out all I brought was his voice?”

“Then I guess he’d still be here in some sense?” she says; she’s thinking on the Helena-hologram, on what a lack of visual might have meant, on how a more ontologically disembodied voice would have made her believe Helena was there, there but standing on the other side of a door. How she would have wanted to take her own battering ram to that door. The hologram’s present non-presence had stranded her, stranded them, in a strange shared space, offering no barrier Myka could use her body to break violently through.

“But!” Claudia exclaims, jokey, fighting with Myka’s ache of reminiscence, “what if it’s just me, doing my Steve impression?”

“That’d be a different thing,” Myka concedes.

“You do a me impression?” Steve asks Claudia.

Who exhales so dramatically, Myka’s surprised the door doesn’t just blow open. “You have stood next to me while I did it.”

“I have?” Puzzled-Steve is honestly Myka’s favorite Steve.

“Are we not a team?” Claudia demands. “Myka does a Pete. Pete does a Myka. Naturally they both suck, but the point is, why don’t you do a me?”

“Because you’d kill me?”

“Guys,” Pete says, “this isn’t getting Myka and H.G. out of the bedroom.”

Claudia says, “But let me just. Myka, H.G., you guys do impressions of each other, right?”

Helena raises her arms, a gesture of observe-this!—or maybe it’s at-last!—and exclaims, “I feel compelled to express disbelief about this circumstance!”

It takes Myka a second to get it, but once she does, she shouts, “I love blooming onions!”

For quite some time, there’s silence from the other side of the door.

Then Steve says, “Am I the only one who’s extremely confused?”

“Usually, yes,” Claudia says. “Except now, no. I’m with you. Pete?”

“Myka loves blooming onions,” Pete says, slow; he’s the one having trouble now with belief. Myka can picture his gobsmacked face. “There’s my endless wonder for the day. Also, I gotta rethink a whole lot of stuff she said about what she was willing to eat.”

Myka presses an apologetic kiss to Helena’s lips (and how nearly unbelievable it is to feel comfortable with such a touch being swift, to not need to hoard, to believe there will be more), then extricates herself yet again from the sheets, the bed. She heads for the door: to make a show of unlocking it, to send them away temporarily so she and Helena can reassemble themselves to rejoin the world—but. Problem. Big problem. “Guys. I really can’t get the door unlocked now.”

“‘Now’?” Pete echoes.

“You mean you actually could before?” Claudia asks.

Moment of truth. So, fine, truth: “I didn’t actually try before.”

“Ha!” Claudia barks. “Are we still on impressions? That might’ve been a decent one, for real, because the attitude? Way H.G.”

“Thank you so much!” Helena chirps.

“H.G.,” says Claudia, with a whiff of pedantry—and that she feels free to express such an attitude toward Helena is most likely because she’s on the safe side of a closed door—“I was complimenting Myka’s impression.”

“But in it, you recognized my attitude.” Helena’s words are a full preen, and as she speaks, she’s rising from the bed, approaching Myka, slipping arms around her, such that Myka loses her ability to track what’s happening on the other side of the door, even as splinters of sound catch in her ears—“hinges inside,” “lock plate solid,” and finally, “break it down”—whereupon she realizes anew that neither she nor Helena is clothed, and that being caught and seen in that state will constitute a disaster that outstrips a great many of the others in her experience.

“We have to get dressed,” she breathes at Helena.

“Wait,” Helena says. “I suspect a realization is about to occur.”

At times, Helena can be eerily prescient. But what is it this time?

As if in answer, Claudia says, “I have a really depressing theory. Myka, can you get the window open?”, whereupon Myka understands Helena’s deduction: this isn’t mechanical; it’s artifactual. More specifically, list-artifactual.

She cannot open the window.

“Yeah,” Claudia says, a defeated I-knew-it. “I’d be all ‘try to smash it!’, but since I can’t see you try it and, like, bounce off the glass, what’s the point? I mean, go for it if H.G. wants the lulz.”

“I don’t know what that means!” Helena informs her. That too is a chirp, and Myka’s pleased to note it’ll probably head off the slapstick.

“Kind of a shame,” Claudia says, but with a drag, like she’s picturing it, and Myka is less pleased to have to devoutly hope that picturing involves everybody fully clothed. “Anyway I hate to say it, but it’s pretty clear this is on us, the list-makers.”

Pete groans. “You were supposed to check it twice! It’s right there in the song!”

“Listen, we seriously argued about the wording,” Steve says.

“And oh guess what!” Claudia says, defeat apparently tabled for the moment. “Everybody in the world is going on about their day as usual due to the unshocking news that I was right.”

“No, I was right. I was the one who said ‘proximity’ was likely to be too vague,” Steve says.

Myka’s inclined to agree with him.

“Bro, I was,” Claudia says, “because I said it was likely to be not vague enough.”

Well. Now Myka’s inclined to agree with Claudia.

She sees the conundrum. “I appreciate it either way,” she says, and that quiets the combatants.

“Regardless, we obviously need different wording,” Steve diplomats.

“I think our first mistake was thinking an artifact would word like we thought it should. You need to get more into its head than you did before.”

“I was in a hurry before,” Steve says, a little less diplomatically. “Because you were yelling at me.”

“I am so so so so glad,” Pete hosannas, “that none of this is on me.”

Myka cannot let that stand. “Who gave his cousin a thing?”

A pause. Then, “Whoops,” Pete says, very sad-clown.

Later, she’ll thank him again, but for now, she doesn’t mind having wielded this little shiv, inflicting this little nick, so he’ll remember that there is, or should be, always a downside.

“How fortunate they’re not asking for our help,” Helena says, bringing her back to the upside.

“Who’s better with words though? You certainly are,” Myka says.

“You hold your own, Ms. ‘Pleonast.’ But ssssh. Don’t remind them.”

“We’ll fix it, we promise!” Claudia says.

“Don’t feel compelled to hurry!” Helena directs, cheerily.

Steve says, “I think she means ‘Don’t yell at Steve this time.’” His hopefulness is clear.

“He isn’t wrong,” Helena notes into Myka’s ear.

Pete announces, “I think she means bow chicka wow wow.”

“He isn’t either,” Myka notes back. “Even less so?”

Helena answers by kissing her with intent.

Claudia snorts. “I think no matter what she means, Artie’s gonna kill us.”

“Alas, the least wrong of all,” Helena grants with a sigh.

The wrecking crew’s voices fade, and they may still be making non-wrong statements, but for Myka and Helena there is at last, again, peace. And once Myka pulls Helena back to bed—a delectable spin she is now bold enough to put on their dynamic—there is at last again not-peace.

Lazily later—and these lazy laters are vying to be Myka’s favorite at-last—she says, “Not to overinterpret the artifact’s thinking, but this feels very nice. As an in-proximity situation.”

“This particular proximity seems more than a bit naughty, however,” Helena says, incongruously matter-of-fact. She isn’t wrong. “Pete obviously made an inference to that effect. Perhaps if Steve and Claudia can use that as a way of writing us out of the current situation.”

“I’m sure that’s for the best,” Myka says, with no small amount of regret, first attached to her embarrassment at Pete, Steve, and Claudia’s involvement in that inference, but even more due to the sad fact that this beginning must come to an end.

“Are you...” Helena’s words are a smile.

“No. I’d much rather stay here forever with you.” Her practical side then takes over, as even Helena’s body twined around hers can’t prevent. “But if they don’t fix it we’ll die—pretty soon, unless they can figure out how to get food in.”

“Would the artifact allow us to starve? That seem the antithesis of a situation that might be termed ‘nice.’”

“‘Termed’? Isn’t problematic terminology why we’re still here?”

“Granted. But of course we’ll die regardless.”

The casual, literal fatalism trips Myka up. She temporizes, “The artifact might have something to say about that,” placeholding, as she finds her way to a real response: “But artifact aside... will you though?” It’s a question about... well, about whether Helena is, for want of a better word, real. Speaking of terminology. “Die,” she adds, not as a word she must expel, for its terrible taste, but one she feels a need to place. As a marker.

Helena takes a moment. Before, Myka would have read that pause as censure; it would have pushed her overboard into I-have-overstepped agony. But the plates have shifted, and her footing feels—strange but nice (oh, nice!)—sure.

The answer, when it comes: “Here with you, I don’t want to be bronzed again. So yes.”

That leaves Myka warm, yet shaking her head. “I honestly don’t know a lot about romance.”

“Don’t you?” Helena asks, all of her limbs beginning to move again against all of Myka’s.

Which, for the moment, Myka resists: “So I’m not sure if it’s weird that I find it incredibly romantic for you to have said yes to dying.”

Now Helena’s smile is a smile; she rears away, back and up, showing Myka her face’s full measure of delight. “Weird or no, whatever you find romantic, I’m inclined to approve. If that’s acceptable to you.” Helena bows her head, as if to formally request Myka’s benediction.

The very idea of such an ask floods her with happy tenderness. “Is it okay for me to find that romantic too?”

“‘Okay’ seems a sadly weak word to convey the extent of my approval,” Helena says. “Further, I find it romantic for you to ask my permission to find any thing romantic. Unnecessary, yet romantic. Is that ‘okay’ as well?”

“It’s a relief,” Myka understates. “Can I call it a romantic relief?”

“I don’t see why not. However, to what extent is it romantic, or non-, that we seem to be finding—or placing—ourselves in recursive loops of romantic-allowable querying?” Helena accompanies this academically focused, seemingly serious question with yet more limb movement.

Myka is actively in bed with someone who’s questioning the romantic quotient of recursive loops of romantic-allowable querying. It is a level of “nice” that she could never ever have ideated on her own. “I genuinely cannot believe any of this,” she says.

“I can assure you that I will be taking some time—if allowed, and thus perhaps only in an ideal world, some great length of time—to determine whether your incredulity will ever cease to be tedious and elevate itself to ‘romantic.’ Some great length of time,” she repeats, playfully.

Myka knows Helena’s appreciation for time’s length is far greater than any ordinary individual’s... so this smacks of a promise. Myka’s gratitude rises, as does her willingness to pursue any and all romantic activity, despite her apparently romance-dampening incredulity... but then the limbs pause. “However,” Helena says.

“What’s this ‘however’?” Myka asks, now selfishly impatient.

Helena has, obviously and of course, heard and felt the impatience. Myka’s neck receives a press of lips, a curve of smile. “However: fortunately, at this juncture, belief isn’t required. Participation, on the other hand, is. So?” This is something Myka has always suspected was a Helena tactic, but here in intimacy she recognizes as true: challenge not for its own sake, but as an attitude in which to wrap something different, deeper, some authenticity Helena isn’t fully willing, or doesn’t quite yet know how, to express.

Myka moves her own limbs, her limbs that are even longer than, and just as flexible as, Helena’s. She moves them against Helena’s. She cannot believe she is doing so; nevertheless, she is. She is participating.

She places a chock under this particular incredulity, for unlike facts, the quality of emotions can escape her if she doesn’t consciously tie them down. She paints the word “bonus” on the emotion-wheel as she secures it, to ensure she elevates that felt quality too. Then she eases herself back to the full experience of the physical, this smooth beauty—and that is the word for every touch-heat-rise their bodies execute—that she and Helena together are creating... are enjoying.

She sighs soft against Helena’s neck; in return, Helena offers again her lips-on-skin smile.

They are participating. In this. Together. Lips on skin.

“So,” Myka agrees.

END

[krispycreamcake]

Interview with a vampire:

A Sakamaki exposé, episode 2

We're going on air in.....3.....2......1!

Gooood morning everyone! And welcome back to Interview With a Vampire, with our host Claudia Bogdan!

So Claudia, our last episode was quite a spectacle- at least according to our viewers. Since then, apparently public outrage has increased by at least 10%. Ranging from social media posts to downright strikes. What do you have to say about that?

Honestly, I wish I knew more vocabulary so I could express what I want to say. I think that it's a good thing that people are finally waking up, and last night actually- I know it's a bit silly, but last night I teared up at the thought of how we're actually doing some good in this world.

That's nothing to be ashamed of! And a little bird told me actually that we're having another guest star on today's episode.

Ha! Well you heard right, today we have someone else that we will be interviewing. Hopefully this time a little more responsive than the last guy.

Well don't keep us shrouded in mystery, who is this ominous stranger?

Why don't we all find out together hm? Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our very own renowned videographer and journalist, Decima Amadeus!

Welcome Decima, it's so nice to see your face again!

Ahaha- please no flattery until I'm sure you can cover the expenses of both our dinners tonight.

So Decima, are you ready for another groundbreaking interview?

I myself wouldn't call it groundbreaking- ahem. But yes, let's get on with it then. Today we have Ayato Sakamaki, the one and only, Prince of the Underworld, here with us today!

Yours truly is sure you must be eternally grateful to have me here on your show at such an early hour, so let's cut the small talk and get straight into it!

Right.... Well then. Let's start off easy. I'm presuming you've watched our most recent episode with your older brother, Reiji Sakamaki?

Huh? Oh that- Yes I've seen it. If you ask me, Reiji's too uptight to be doing interviews. You'll never get anything outta that guy, unlike Ore-sama, I'll actually provide for your viewers.

Ah, I'm sure you will. Now, the reason I brought that up is, would you like to refute any statements he's made? Add on to anything in particular before moving on with things?

Like I said already, there's nothing you'll get from focusing on him. Let's just continue with today's interview, kay?

Right, my apologies. So now that you confirmed for us that you're all receiving a healthy, if not gluttonous, blood supply throughout the years while the rest of us are here fighting a pandemic-

W-Wha!? I never said that! What're ya putting words in my mouth for, huh?

I'm not. Earlier I asked if you'd like to refute any claims made by Mr. Sakamaki from our previous episode, and you said you'd pass on it and instead would prefer to, and I quote, "continue with today's interview."

And the last time I spoke to him, a very interesting topic of classism was brought up and I highlighted the fact that you Sakamakis have a personal blood blank as to which you can access at any time. That to which, your brother did not deny.

First of all, it's not a blood bank! Get your facts straight woman. Secondly, I believe my brother stated that our family matters are none of your concern.

Oh? Well according to my sources, they state otherwise. You have a blood reservoir and refuse to share with the rest of the Bat clan, barely contributing anything to our society, yet we are meant to call you "Princes of the demon realm."

Ha! Talk truly is cheap! What? Do you think we just go out of our way to build a secret blood facility in the human realm and just pump out the blood whenever we feel like it?

Is that not the case?

You and your fans wish! I've dealt with enough women throughout the years to know how you all think. You're trying to get me to slip up and say whether or not we have some fancy stash of blood and where it comes from right?

I never-

Well let me tell you somethin lady, you may have duped my pain in the ass brother, but I'm Ayato Sakamaki, the one, the only, the great, Ore-sama and I refuse to sit here and be manipulated by some three star journalist.

Hm, is it fine with you if I circle back for a moment?

Ah? Sure, do whatever.

You said you're accustomed to dealing with women from your past experiences throughout the years, correct?

Yeah so?

Can you just give us a time span to be exact? I just need to make sure I have the timeline correct.

Haah? Time span? I dunno, I guess maybe from the past couple hundred years or so? I haven't been seeing anyone for a while so it's hard to recall. Why? What's it to you?

Ah- well you see Mr. Sakamaki, from what I've gathered from today is that, not only are you hording some form of a blood supply in the human realm, via containment unit or not, you've also spent the last hundred years leisurely lazing around with women-

Oi! Now wait a-

Please Mr. Sakamaki, I'm far from done. While our society is on the brink of collapse, you're drinking a free, and presumably, infinite amount of blood whilst simultaneously having sex with all these women you claim to have been with.

And on our last episode, when I called out the Sakamakis for sitting on their pampered asses, I was criticized and ridiculed by those of the higher ups.

Well you have it here everyone, the world as we know it is ending and our lovely princes have been engaging in adultery and gluttony.

NO! That's not!-

Til next time dear viewers!

From author: The next one's gonna be so juicy god I love doing these. Anyways, TYSM for all your support! I love you all, byebye!!

[delusional-mushroom]

Part one |•| Part two |•| Part three

And they were staring right at you.

Ironically, the figure in the mirror imitated your own shocked expression.

But it was obvious they were no mere reflection.

Their dark blue lips parted surprise. Tentatively, they brought their bedazzled hands up to pull back the hood of their cloak. Almost as if they were approaching a skittish stray cat. Their towering form bending gently at the neck.

They weren’t human — if their pointy ears and almost antler-like, purple horns were anything to go by.

For a few seconds, you froze.

It was like time itself halted, leaving you with nothing but your racing thoughts and the frantic drumming of your heart. Eyes wide, your gaze never left the mirror. You couldn’t turn away. Even a blink proved to be impossible with your tense form. You didn’t know why, but the figure looked oh so familiar. Like you’ve known it for a lifetime and more. And yet, you’re certain you’ve never seen anyone resembling a ridiculously tall, glittery smurf.

A thud interrupted your train of thought.

A hand — a large, calloused, blue hand — pressed up against the glass of the mirror, a desperate look on the figure’s face to boot.

Nope!

You flung the covering back onto the mirror, ignoring the almost pained look the stranger shot you. Although now once again obscured, you could still feel their unusual eyes raking over your unnerved form.

What. The. Fuck.

Breathing heavily, you glanced around the office.

Just like before, glimmering jewels and preserved parts stocked the sturdy wooden shelves. Save for the blown out candles, everything was the same.

But that didn’t ease your nerves. Not in the slightest.

Sparing the room one last spooked glance, you turned on your heel and ran out into the halls. Unlike the dimly lit chamber, the grand corridors welcomed plenty of sunlight through grandiose window. After the past few minutes, it was comforting, to say the least.

After a few minutes of walking, (a dubious look from one of the crown guards had you reigning in your speed) you found yourself striding through the library doors.

“[Name]?”

You nearly screamed at the call.

“Whoa, calm down, you scaredy cat—“ Claudia stood up from the library loveseat she was splayed out on, laying a thick book upside down on the armrest. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost — Hey! You were meant to wait for me in Dad’s office!” Her recollection came with pinched eyebrows and a pointed stare from the librarian.

“Claudia,” you start, tapping your fingers to your thumb in anxiety. “Something happened.”

“What? Ugh, did Dad catch you? I swear if I have to listen to another lecture about ‘respecting the sanctity of the high mages office’ I’m going to—“

“No, oh gods no,’ you chuckle at the thought. So many hours that you would never get back. “I found something…” the nervousness returned. Like the maddening screech of nails on a chalkboard, it invaded every inch of your conscious — that fucking mirror.

And that is how you found yourself in that room again.

At least Claudia was here, her presence was a much appreciated comfort.

“So whats this about a glittery guy in the mirror?” Claudia’s inquisitive query drew you back from the raging sea of your thoughts.

“I’m telling you, he was there! Or maybe she — either way! There’s a person in the mirror!” Now that you think about it, you didn’t even see much of the sparkly horror in the looking glass, yet their strange eyes remained ingrained in your mind.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Oh! Maybe there’s a spell,” she raised her hands and wriggled her fingers with funny face. “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, Who’s the fairest of them all?” Her reflection stared back at her, silly expression and all. “Oh my god, that’s so nice of you mirror guy!” You rolled your eyes at her bashful giggle

“Ha. ha. Very funny.” Your deadpan was strong enough to turn any normal person to stone. Claudia, of course, was no normal person.

“I know right? I’m hilarious,” she snorted., before her face lights up in a realisation. “Wait… today’s the first of April… Was this a prank all along??!”

The only thing you could do was sigh, shoulders slumped.

“Pfft, good one.” Suddenly, she grabbed ahold of your arm and led you back to the library. “Now come on, I have to show you something.”

Aaravos wasn’t dreaming.

It really was you. The change of your skin tone, and the deviation of your hair colour, even the lack of starry freckles — none of that meant anything. It was you, he was sure of it.

That wondrous look in your eyes, the way you stood, and the way you kept your hair, they all caused his breath to hitch and his hands to shake.

Every detail, both new and old, threatened to draw tears from his darkened eyes.

Your ears were round — so you were a human, and from the way you were dressed, he guessed that you were at least living comfortably, but standards change with the times. By the looks of it, you weren’t that old — probably still in your early teens.

Every curve of your face, every emotion that flickered in your eyes, it all brought him so much pain.

And now as he cradled himself on the floor with his hair a stranded mess, he sobbed pathetically. Fate truly was cruel.

His sibling, his nefarious goblin, he might even go as far as calling you his first child, ripped away from him and dangled just out of reach behind that blasted mirror.

And you were afraid of him.

Those eyes — bright pools of [e/c] wonder — that used to look to him with adoration and jubilance, now gazed at him with fear and unease.

His four-fingered hands clutched his pearly locks as he wept, bitter anguish reaping what was left of his soul.

The memory of the nova blade sinking into your heart like a knife in butter always haunted him, but he swore that your pained screams rung so much louder today.

And they never stopped…

[foreverindreamlandd]

Awake My Soul • Epilogue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

WC: 4.7k

Summary: It’s been 5 years since zombies first began their invasion, and despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve managed to survive up until this point. Now it’s time to face your most dangerous challenge yet….the grumpy, untrusting, fiercely protective Bucky Barnes.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of needles, shots, syringes, blood, stitches. I think that's it???

A/N: Welp :,) We finally made it to the end!!! It was a fucking year ago that I first had the idea to write a zombie apocalypse enemies to lovers fic...and I cannot believe it's finished. Thank you everyone for the MONTHS (I posted the first chapter freaking six months ago this Thursday) of love, patience, and support while writing this fic. It was a beast, but I would go through all of the hard moments again to experience the amazing reactions and kind words you shared with me. A million thank yous and I love yous <3 Oh and thanks for letting me talk about Twilight a fucking LOT.

Series Masterlist

**There is a playlist for this fic, but linking it here messes up the tags so feel free to check it out in the series masterlist!

“‘Don’t turn her into a squirrel. I can’t bear to watch it.’ Claudia grasped Lucinda’s wrist.”

The children giggled, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the ground in front of you.

“‘You can’t know squirrels lead charming, contented lives. I’m sure she prefers to be a human maiden.’”

“A squirrel!, Ella thought. I had to keep her from making a squirrel of me.”

More laughter. You moved your eyes to the chair next to yours, where a giggling child sat, attention totally on you as Shuri took hold of their arm, syringe in hand. 

You kept reading, maintaining the child’s attention on the story while Shuri injected the purple serum. They only winced a tiny bit, but continued laughing as Ella tried to convince Lucinda not to turn her into a squirrel.

Once the child was all set, Shuri dismissed them to go back to their seat, and the boy sitting next to them got up for their turn.

He looked a lot more nervous, hands trembling as they sat in the chair, biting his lip to keep it from quivering.

You took his hand, pausing your spot in the book to meet his gaze to give them a quick wink and reassuring smile.

He smiled back, squeezing your hand.

With that, you kept reading, and before he knew it, he was returning to his seat.

“Alright,” Shuri said a few children later, clapping her hands together. “That’s everyone. Can we all give Miss Y/n a mighty thank you for reading to you all?”

The kids grumbled out thank you’s and Shuri scoffed. “That was so lame, guys!”

“Can she keep reading?” one of the kids begged. “We wanna know if Lucinda breaks Ella’s curse!”

They all erupted in cheers, and you laughed. Shuri looked over at you with a shrug.

You held the book up. “I’m happy to keep going if you all are.”

They cheered some more, and you continued on for the next hour.

At one point, you looked up to the back of the outdoor space to see Bucky leaning against a tree, arms crossed in front of him, a small, content smile on his face.

As your eyes met, he scrunched his nose at you, smile widening, and you felt the same butterflies form in your stomach as you had when you first met him a year ago.

The morning after your grossly romantic Twilight date, you and Bucky headed over to the lab to meet with Bruce, where he and Peter proposed their crazy idea to you.

To pass on the cure to as many camps as you could.

When the bite mark on Bucky’s neck proved that the serum Bruce had created work, the scientists got straight to work on the next phase of the project: mass distribution. To turn the serum into something that could be administered to any and everyone, so that you could finally be rid of this world-ending virus.

That morning in the lab, Bruce opened up a metal briefcase containing what had to have been hundreds of small vials of purple liquid, a glimmer in his eyes that could only be described as hopeful.

“We could send you out to a couple of camps at a time. You’d get to know their leaders, make them feel comfortable and help show them that what we’ve created works. They could even help spread the word, distribute it to more people. There’s the potential to have everyone cured within the next five years.”

Five years. The same amount of time you had been in this mess in order to fix it.

What would the world even look like in five years? Would it be something worth fighting for, or would it be a lost, desolate place?

You looked up at Bucky by your side, squeezing his hand to get his gaze to meet yours.

When you saw the expression on his face, one a perfect mixture of skepticism and hope, you knew your answer.

Even if the world wasn’t worth fighting for, Bucky was. Your Shield family was.

So with a shrug, you looked back at Bruce.

“When do we start, Doc?”

It started off with Asgard, the home of Thor and Loki, two brothers who had met their untimely end shortly after you and Bucky met them.

You, Bucky, Steve, Bruce, Yelena and Kate set out a few days after developing a plan of execution.

Their leader, Valkyrie, was obviously skeptical. But when you and Bucky relayed the story of your brief encounter with her fallen friends, and with some fancy science jargon from Bruce - and a thorough inspection of the bite marks you and Bucky shared on your necks - she was a bit more willing to participate.

The group stayed there a few days, getting acquainted with the members of camp, allowing them to grow comfortable enough to realize none of you were a threat.

Then came administration. Bruce worked with Valkyrie and their medic Jane to teach them how to properly inject the antidote, bringing the adults up first to ease into the concept of being poked with a needle for the kids.

When it was finally time for the kids, there were still some who threw a fit when Jane tried to coax them into the seat, wailing and crying and creating way too much noise and attention to yourselves.

“We gotta do something,” Yelena muttered, eyes scanning the trees that bordered the camp. “If these kids keep screaming over a damn needle we’re going to be swarmed by walkers before nightfall.”

Bucky, who was on your other side, leaned down till his lips were by your ear.

“Remember what you did that time AJ scraped up his leg so bad he needed stitches? And he was freaking out, not letting Bruce anywhere near him?” You turned to face him and he shrugged in a couldn’t hurt to try way.

Without a second thought, you walked over to the kid, crouching down to get to their level.

“This feels really scary, doesn’t it?” you asked, taking their hands. They nodded. “I hate doing things that scare me, too, even when I know that doing the scary thing will help me or help the people that I love. You know what I try to think of whenever I feel afraid?”

The kid’s bottom lip jutted out and they nodded again. You smiled.

“I think about a man named Bilbo Baggins, who was a very small person.” You raised one hand just below the child’s head to display Bilbo’s height and they giggled. “Bilbo had to leave his home where he felt safe to go on a long, terrifying adventure with a bunch of strange - and very smelly dwarves - to go fight a dragon. Now, he absolutely did not want to go on this adventure, because he had never done something so scary in his life. And he not only had to try and defeat a dragon, but he fought trolls, giant spiders, and many other monsters along the way, and each time he fought those things he was terrified. There were many times he wanted to cry and run home where he felt safe. But you know what?”

“What?” the kid immediately responded, eyes now wide and excited, free of tears.

You squeezed their hands. “He found the courage he needed to save those smelly dwarves who had become his friends. And the more courage he had, the less scary all of the monsters became.” You cocked your right brow up. “Do you think you could be brave like Bilbo right now?”

The child bit their bottom lip, chest rising as they took in a deep breath. On the exhale, they nodded.

Your smile widened. “There we go. I know you can handle this, and I’ll be right here, okay? I won’t leave unless you want me to.”

Jane took a step forward, needle in hand and the kid’s hands tightened around yours. “Stay please.”

You nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Their eyes shut tightly, and Jane moved quickly as she injected the serum into their arm.

“Look at that,” you said softly. “All done.” The kid opened one eye. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

They nodded, a smile forming on their lips. “Was I brave?”

“The bravest. No dragon would ever dare to mess with you.” You winked and they giggled, letting go of your hands and walking away.

You were about to stand up and return to Yelena’s side, when a young girl ran up in front of you for their turn, eyes wide.

“Can you talk more about Bilbo? How big were the spiders he had to fight?”

You looked up at Jane, who simply shrugged before grabbing a new syringe.

“They were massive,” you replied, extending your arms out wide. “So big, in fact, you could probably ride one of them…”

Not even thirty minutes had passed, and now all of the kids were huddled beside you, eager to hear more of your recollection of The Hobbit, eyes bright with excitement, barely even registering that they were here to get a shot.

You made a mental note to bring a book with you wherever you went, just like you used to when you first were on the run with your parents.

“You’re amazing, you know that right?” Bucky asked when everyone was done and you walked over to him.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Beefcake,” you joked, winking at him.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “Seriously, though. That just changed the entire mood in the camp. Not just the kids, but the adults who were relieved to see them so relaxed.”

“Well, it was all thanks to you,” you reminded him, chin resting on his chest. “I wouldn’t have thought to do that unless you said something.”

He smiled. “Guess we make a good team.” 

You wiggled your brows. “Hashtag dream team.”

Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes and crushing you within his hold and you wheezed out a laugh.

When you left Asgard, an extremely grateful Valkyrie expressed that any member of Shield was welcome back anytime, and if you ever needed aid, they would answer your call.

“I can’t believe we did it,” Yelena muttered as you started your journey home.

“Neither can I,” Bruce mumbled, and you all whipped your heads at him, shocked. He shrugged. “What? I suggested we try, I didn’t know if it would actually work out this well!”

Your next destination was a smaller, nomadic camp, led by Hope Van Dyne. It was her, her parents, her partner Scott Lang and his daughter, Cassie. Hope and her parents were also scientists, and were intrigued by Bruce’s development of the antidote.

“We have our own mobile lab,” Hope’s dad, Hank, said, “We could recreate this serum and help distribute it, since we travel around so much anyways.”

“You’d do that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Anything to help undo what those Hydra bastards did.”

It didn’t take long for Bruce to teach them how to recreate the serum, and the rest of you spent that time working with Hope and Scott to work out the locations of other camps you could travel to.

“There’s a guy called Strange, who has a network of people all over. He’s based in New York, though, so you’d have to travel a ways to get there. That area is still largely populated with unturned though so it would be a great spot to get this to.”

“You could show me your old stomping grounds, Beefcake,” you said, bumping his shoulder with yours.

He chuckled, looking over at Steve. “We can go back to Coney Island, Stevie.”

Steve groaned. “I still get nauseous thinking of that place.”

After leaving Hope’s camp, Bruce decided to return to Shield to keep working on creating more antidotes, leaving the rest of you to continue traveling from camp to camp.

You asked Steve if he was going to go back, since he was technically Shield’s leader again now that he’d returned from the dead.

Steve shook his head. “Sam and I talked about it a while back, and he’s going to remain in charge. He’s so much better at it than I was, and honestly? I never really enjoyed it. Doing this, going out and helping others with you and Bucky, this feels right.”

You smiled, wrapping your arm around him for a side hug. “Well, I’m more than happy to have you tag along. I need to hear all the embarrassing stories about Beefcake.”

You heard Bucky groan behind you. 

After a few months, you had reached dozens of camps. Each one made you feel more and more hopeful, knowing that so many were still surviving after so many years. You had even run into people that Shield saved from Hydra when they came to rescue you. They welcomed you with open arms and tear-filled eyes.

Now, you were at the settlement known as Wakanda, by far the most established and advanced camp you had been to yet. Their sassy, smart as hell leader Shuri scoffed when you showed her one of the antidote vials.

“Dammit! I was so close to figuring it out.” She lifted her arm, tapping the screen of her watch until a holographic DNA strand circled above it. “I was at, like, a 76% rate as of this morning!”

You and Kate exchanged glances after gaping at the crazy device on the woman’s wrist.

“Is all of your tech this advanced?”

Shuri smirked. “You have no idea.”

“We gotta get Banner and Parker here,” you muttered, and all Kate could do was nod.

Once Shuri was done administering the antidote to all of the kids and they had finally relieved you from reading Ella Enchanted, she told you that a celebration was being held in your group’s honor. A way of thanking you for helping their community, as well as welcoming you into their family.

She led you over to four massive, long wooden tables that had been set up and dressed up in various shades of purples and gold, with jars of fireflies lighting the space in a dim, hypnotic glow.

The food was by far the best you ever had in your life, even compared to the meals you ate in the before times. The vegetables were perfectly ripe, the meat was tender and coated with spices you had never tasted, and the bread.

“I’m taking a hundred loaves of these back with us,” Bucky murmured to you, mouth full of sweet rolls. The moan he let out after taking the first bite was sinful. “I never want to eat anything else for the rest of my life.”

“I hope you intend to share with your one true love, Beefcake,” you replied, shoving your own face with the warm, delicious bread.

“Sorry, Sweetheart, but you’ve officially been replaced.” You punched his flesh arm and he tried to laugh through a grimace. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Everything I have is yours or whatever the hell they say.”

You gave him a rueful grin, taking another bite of your roll.

The two of you nearly shit your pants when men and women started grabbing instruments and playing music with reckless abandon, pounding on drum heads and singing their hearts out.

“Relax,” Okoye, Wakanda’s general, chided, patting your back in mock comfort as she bit back a laugh. “Shuri has this place soundproofed. Nothing can be heard outside our borders.”

Bucky looked around. “So we’re….safe?”

Okoye rolled her eyes. “You guys. So paranoid. What is there to be afraid of? It’s not like their are flesh-eating monsters swarming the earth or anything.”

The three of you paused for a beat before bursting into a fit of laughter. Okoye patted your shoulder once more and then went over to join others who had now begun dancing to the music.

You turned to find Bucky smiling at you, a suspicious light in his eyes.

You frowned. “What?”

He held out a hand. “Wanna dance?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What? Since when do you dance?” you asked incredulously.

“Since I was fuckin’ four years old. Ma’ was big into 40s music. She had Becs, Stevie and I dancing all the damn time.” His hand extended out further. “So?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I got some bad news, Beefcake.”

His brows furrowed and you sighed. 

“Ya girl can’t dance.”

You expected Bucky to frown, to feel disappointed in your lack of skill in something he apparently loved.

Instead, his smile widened, reaching out to grab your hand and dragging you to the newly formed dancefloor. 

“That is going to make things way more entertaining for me,” he said, stopping short so that you crashed into him, your hands pressing against his chest so that you didn’t break your nose in the collision.

Before you had a chance to regain your balance, Bucky was pushing you away, expression mischievous as he began a string of maneuvers, alternating between twirling you around, spinning you in the air, stepping in directions you didn’t think possible.

He was an unrelenting machine.

“Bucky, the moment you lose momentum,” you gasped, unable to catch your breath in all of the commotion, “I’m going to do the Yelena leg thing and kick your fucking ass.”

His grin widened, and he pulled you into him, hand resting on your back as you dipped down. You nearly let out a yelp at the feeling of falling backward, but Bucky kept a secure hold on you, nose rubbing against yours. Instead of falling, you felt as if you were floating mid-air.

“Baby, when I’m done with you, you’re going to need to be carried to bed.” he growled in a low, husky voice.

You blinked a few times in response.

He kissed you. “That’s what I thought.” 

The next morning, you and the gang packed up your things and got the horses settled for the journey home.

You snuck a piece of sweet roll to Hades, who nuzzled you immediately after in an attempt to find more somewhere on your person.

“Sorry, buddy,” you laughed, stroking his nose. “That’s all I got.”

He snorted in dissatisfaction.

“I can’t believe you gave the horse that last sweet roll instead of me,” Bucky pouted, massaging Alpine’s front legs.

You glared at him. “That’s because Hades is the one carrying me home since my legs are in so much pain from last night thanks to you torturing me!”

Bucky scoffed. “You had a fuckin’ blast, Sweetheart. Admit it.”

“Don’t worry, Y/n,” Steve said as he approached. “I’ll show you a few dance moves that will put Bucky on his ass in no time.”

Bucky groaned at the smug look that formed on your face. “I’m stealing your best friend, Beefcake. He’s mine now.”

“Hey,” both Bucky and Yelena said in unison while you and Steve laughed.

Shuri approached then, brow quizzical from the commotion. “Sounds like you all are in high spirits this morning. Happy to finally be leaving this wretched place?”

You rolled your eyes. “As if. Being here has been amazing. I thought Shield had nailed apocalyptic living, but you all blew us out of the water.”

The young scientist laughed. “You all are welcome back anytime. And don’t forget to bring your friend Banner along so I can harass him to dish his secrets on using your crazy blood to create a cure. I still consider that cheating, you know.”

Just as you were about to respond, Nakia walked over with a group of children with grins that threatened to split their faces in two. They each carried flower crowns in their hands.

Enough for the group.

“The children made these for you,” Nakia said, her usual angelic smile on her face as she watched them approach you all, extending the crowns out. Yelena, Kate, Steve, Bucky and yourself bent forward so that they could place them on your heads. “As a token of your kindness and friendship.”

You pulled the young girl in front of you in for a hug, trying to fight back tears as you squeezed them tightly. “Thank you,” you whispered.

You walked over to hug the rest of the children, then Nakia and finally Shuri.

When all of the goodbyes were complete, the gang mounted their horses.

Bucky looked over at you and you beamed. “You look so pretty in that flower crown, Beefcake.”

He blushed, quickly turning his attention to Alpine’s mane and trying to force a scowl on his face, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“So, where are you headed now?” Shuri asked.

“Home for a bit to rest and restock on antidotes,” you replied. “Then we’re off to a camp up north called the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Shuri’s chin lowered as she stared up at you with an are you fucking serious expression. “Guardians of the Galaxy? You’re kidding me. Sounds like a bunch of assholes.”

“I said the same thing!” Yelena and Bucky exclaimed in unison…again.

You were still laughing as Hades trotted off into the woods.

“Baby,” a low, grumbly angel spoke to you in your dreams. Calloused, gentle hands stroked your cheek. “Wake up, Sweetheart.”

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, focusing in on Bucky and the dark forest behind him. Once your brain processed that you were not in the safety of your bedroom at camp, your eyes widened and you shot up.

You were in the middle of the woods, still on your way back to Shield from Wakanda.

So why was Bucky waking you up at this hour?

“What is it?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, resting a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “It’s fine,” he whispered, eyes scanning the ground where the others slept. His hand moved down to grab yours, moving the both of you to standing. “Come follow me?”

Your eyes narrowed now, fingers interlacing with his as he led you East. “What’s going on, Buck?”

He looked over his shoulder, and the moonlight peeked through the canopy of trees above just perfectly enough for the smile on his face to glow.

“Wanna show you something.”

The two of you walked in silence for a few miles, the soft crinkling of leaves below your feet the only sound made in your vicinity.

Eventually, Bucky’s gate slowed to a stop, and you looked up to find yourself standing at the bottom of a cliff.

One that looked vaguely familiar.

You let out a small gasp. “Is this…?”

Bucky nodded. “This is the cliff where you and I first met.”

The cliff that you had found as a refuge for you and the two young, scared boys you had found lost in the woods, running away from a hoard of zombies. 

Two boys you debated even helping, since you were so used to being on your own and not having others to look after.

It was impossible to imagine a world where you hadn’t helped them, where those boys wouldn’t have a claim on a piece of your heart forever, just as their mother did, their uncle, and everyone else in Shield.

Still, you knew that the old you, who had stumbled upon AJ and Cass, could never have dreamed of what would follow after helping them find their way back to their mom.

You wouldn’t have a home. You wouldn’t have a family.

You wouldn’t have found your soulmate.

A small snort escaped you. “Is that what you would call it? You pinning me against the wall and threatening to kill me?”

A sheepish expression covered his face, and you knew he was blushing. “Would it be weird to say that even then - when I wasn’t sure if you were a danger to us - I kind of wanted to kiss you?”

There were those dang butterflies again. “Not at all. With the way you were displaying your strength, and your voice all growly and dangerous? That was super hot, Beefcake. Even if you had actually killed me, I would have been more than fine with a parting kiss before you took my life.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Oh really?”

Suddenly, his hands were gripping your arms, and he was just barely using enough force to guide you to the cliff wall, pinning your back against it.

When he let out a low, threatening growl, you responded with a high-pitched wine.

And then, he leaned forward and crushed your lips to his, his tongue colliding with yours.

If he hadn’t killed you that night a year ago, he was definitely going to tonight.

His hold on you softened, one hand moving to wrap around your waist. But first, his thumb tucked itself under your shirt and grazed along the rigid scar of the first zombie bite you got on your stomach, tenderly feeling along it until his fingers squeezed the soft fleshy part of your hip. 

You used your now free arm to wrap around his neck for support as your head grew dizzy.

Eventually, time forced you to pull away for air, your foreheads pressed against one another, chests moving up and down as you both worked to catch your breath.

“I should have done that night one,” he gasped, kissing the bridge of your nose. “Would have saved myself a lot of mental turmoil.”

You giggled. “True, but I gotta admit that watching you switch from Mr. Beefcake Grumpypants to soft mushy lovey dovey Beefcake was an absolute delight. And besides…” you caged his face between your hands, eyes boring into his, “I wouldn’t trade any part of our story for anything.”

His jaw clenched beneath your hands. 

You continued, “Every experience, every hardship, all the shit we went through, I’d go through it all again to have the good moments found in between, to get us to this point, right now. And every time, I’d fall in love with you.”

Bucky kissed you again, soft and slow this time, and you knew he was telling you that he felt exactly the same. That he’d fight heaven and earth for you over and over again, just as you would for him. 

When he pulled away, he kept his lips close enough to graze yours as he responded.

“And you call me a softie.”

You giggled, pretending to squirm out of his now tight hold as he peppered your face and neck with kisses.

“I love you, Sweetheart. Forever.”

“And I love you, Beefcake. Always.”

The gate started opening before you could officially make out the ragged Brookfield Boarding School for Girls sign.

Your pace quickened the moment you walked into the camp, eyes locking onto AJ and Cass as they ran toward you.

AJ lept into your arms, his small limbs wrapping around your neck as you embraced him. You looked to your left just in time to see Cass do the same thing to Bucky.

Sarah and the others took their time heading over to you, smiles on their faces at your return and the heartwarming reaction from the boys.

When AJ finally loosened his hold, you lowered him to the ground. His arms shifted to circle around your waist, not ready for the hug to end just yet.

“Welcome home, Y/n!” he cheered, body jumping up and down in excitement as he clung to you.

Bucky - after also putting Cass down - reached out to put an arm around your shoulder, tucking your body into his.

You looked down at AJ, scrunching your nose at him, then looked over at Cass.

Then to Sarah and Sam.

To Laura and Clint.

Pepper, Morgan and Dum Dum.

Bruce and Peter.

Wanda, Vision, Billy and Tommy.

Sersi, Druig and Makari.

Yelena, Kate, and Steve.

Each one of them meeting your gaze with as much love and care as you gave them.

Bucky kissed your temple, and when you looked up at his bright crystalline irises, you found your entire world. 

Your true home.

You smiled.

The End.

[team-avia]

Okay so my insomnia is really bad so I’m going to force you to listen to my raving and rambling about RL theories because I saw some old promotional stuff and now my mind is galaxy braining right now

SO HERE IT GOES

(Sorry if this has been brought up before btw and is old news)

Obvious potential spoilers!!! Beware everyone else!!!

This motherfucking promo image is the source of my thoughts, especially after playing Cass’s and Bella’s demo. Particularly the symbols used for every character:

Cassandra: obviously an prodigy actress and star of the department but the further we get into her demo we realize there’s more behind the diva persona than meets the eye— hence the symbol, while classic in theater, can also reflect her emotional state and her need to cover it up with smiles and arrogance. Her nightmares and sense of commitment to potential romantic lovers maybe be a symptom of a more deep reason.

Bela: THE HEART like bruh obviously it in reference to whatever Miranda did to her before the game started—being heartless and what not. And how she’ll eventually regain her ‘heart’ if we go down the route right.

Daniela: so far she’s seems normal, well adjusted, and tame in comparison to her sisters. Key world being SEEMS. There’s definitely something broiling beneath the surface with her and I bet it has to do with her family troubles and her always putting on a brave face. Hence the rose but the notable thorns beneath it. Every rose has its thorns and what not. Idk if it has anything to do with the rowdy crowd she associates with.

Angie: the doll obviously fitting her RE origin and over all her personality, sweet, kind, and maybe bombastic. But look closely—there’s a tear on the doll’s face. Like Cass (and maybe Dani) she has a mask—aka being a party animal and overall alcoholic. It may have something to do with being Donna’s niece and I’m assuming Claudia’s daughter. But where’s the latter???? I’m sensing a dark back story here and her maladapting to her mother’s death.

The last three are the hardest to theorize because we haven’t seen much of them in the Demos but I’ll slightly theorize here:

Donna: the recluse of the campus is pictured with a syringe. Could be a nod to her RE origin being with her pollen/hallucinations but could also have to do with why she’s so shy and introverted. Maybe in the similar vein to Angie’s, what with her sister and what not.

Alcina: Wine is an obvious choose to use for her. Bitch loves her red. Idk what else to pull from this. Again hard to speculate with no demo introducing her. It’s giving wine mom energy and not in the fun way.

Miranda: this bitch has some fucking powers or something—giving hag in the swamp vibes and doing shit to people. Bela with her heartlessness (and maybe Cass’s nightmares?). Also Mia being a witchy gal and giving Miranda a gift that’s warm? Hella sus. The Corvus skull is obvious to her RE origins but also a nod to witchcraft and supernatural things. Also a symbol of death. Bitch be brewing shit idk.

Anyways those are my thoughts. Idk how accurate this is and, based on how old the pic is, could be completely wrong. I’ve spent too many hours thinking on the Demo for it to be healthy so this was a long time coming.

Feel free to cuss me out for how wrong I am. I just needed to get my thoughts out there.

Make sure you take care of yourselves! Love you guys! Stay safe and healthy!

I DONT KNOW HOW TO RESPOND TO THIS WITHOUT SPOILING ANYTHING BUT

thank you for noticing the little details 😭 ❤️ ive been waiting for someone to notice HAHAHAHA

finch

[hargrove-mayfields]

________

Steve traveled a few hours for this.

Robin and Dustin came with him, taking turns driving since neither of them really liked to, but there wasn’t much choice. They would’ve brought the boys’ mom, but going a few states away isn’t something Claudia can do with her job if she still wants to retire in a month.

She’d entrusted Steve and Dustin with her car and settled for car-pooling with Joyce to work until the boys and Robin got back.

He really appreciated that. This trip is a very big deal to him; a visit to literally the only place left in the country he can visit his decades long hyperfixation. The Rock-Afire Explosion, in all its horribly tacky 1980s glory. Settled today at an independent arcade restaurant.

There’s one closer to home, but it isn’t the right group. Some corporate sellout place that uses digital screens and shit. Another is closed off to the public unless he was going to pay way too much money to see his favorite characters barely functioning. So to West by god Virginia it is.

They made it, and have spent probably two hours straight at this literal wonderland. Robin and Dustin are mostly hanging out in the arcade portion, dishing out little golden tokens into skee-ball games and spinning wheels for tickets. Actual print tickets. Just when he thought this place couldn’t get better.

Steve though, he’s mostly been parked in front of the stage the entire time. A basket of chicken tenders later, even though the place is known for pizza- which Steve in his post ileostomy world can’t eat- he’s still not going anywhere.

Each and every time the show selector board lights up again, he’s wheeling his way over and choosing one from the draw. So far, he’s seen probably half of the whole show tape, happy stimming his way through each song and skit that he’d wanted so desperately to see in person ever since the last Showbiz Pizza closed in Indiana during his early childhood.

This time, when it comes back on to signal the cooldown is over, he’s beat to the draw.

A small boy of about 10 or 11 years old comes darting past in little light up sneakers, on tip-toes to reach where the buttons are mounted up on the wall. He’s got a mop of blonde curly hair on his head, where it’s longer in the back pulled into a tiny ponytail, with the band of some strap-on glasses tucked underneath.

Steve looks over his shoulder to see where the little guy came from, and sees a man who looks almost identical. But not just any. The one approaching him is someone he used to know, an old crush that got away.

Billy Hargrove in the flesh.

It’s been over thirty years. These days, Billy is inked from shoulder to wrist, even more tattoos peeking out from just under the v-neck t-shirt he’s wearing. His hair has lightened, probably from the California sun that darkened his freckles and added more to any uncovered spot of skin. Those pale, almost peachy colored curls don’t do much to hide the dark graying streaks.

Steve is the same way, a whole patch of greyish-brown blooming at the front of his hair, and crows feet by his undercast eyes. Aging hasn’t done him particularly well, not the way it has Billy. That is what he thinks at least, still never quite breaking out of his self-critical shell. His mom says he’s still charming at least.

Being love-sick all these years hasn’t helped though. He wonders what Billy will think of him now.

Billy who, with an absolutely adorable laugh, calls after his boy, “Mackenzie! You gotta wait your turn little dude!”

Steve rushes to insist, “Oh, no, he’s alright!” After all, he’s the grown ass man getting his entertainment from a group of cutesy animal robots.

If that little boy in his cute sneakers wants to have fun too, he’s not gonna be some gatekeeping elitist about it. Not when he sees the wristband on his little wrist that proudly declares his extra 21st chromosome. He recognizes the rainbow infinity on the beaded bracelet beneath that one too.

Steve gets it. Hyperfixations and special interests are pretty huge for him too. Mackenzie being so excited about the band he’s loved for so long is not something Steve would ever dream of squashing out.

Not even when the young boy takes to climbing up the side of Steve’s wheelchair.

Billy intervenes and picks him up right away though, “Hey, hey. We don’t touch that, Kenz. That’s his legs.”

Mackenzie’s slanted eyes get big, his little head whipping towards Steve to apologize, “Sowwy!”

But the little guy was so genuine and curious, there’s no way Steve could be mad about that, “It’s alright! Here, do you wanna push a button?”

Billy looks relieved that Steve didn’t start freaking out on his kid, motioning with a little nod of his head that it’s okay for Steve to take Mackenzie’s little hand and guide it towards one of the buttons.

Together, they choose a blue one. Steve’s already watched this specific show, but it’s one of his favorites since it involves all eight characters. For some reason, he hopes the kiddo really likes it too.

Nothing happens at first- the animatronics have to get air pressure back in them before they can start -so Steve takes the few seconds of delay to roll back to his table. It doesn’t really surprise him when the two friends he’s made join him. Father and son in swivelly red chairs at the table Steve parked beside.

When the lights come up on stage, Steve finds he doesn’t want to look right at the show and stare the way he usually does. Instead, he watches the wonder in Mackenzie’s deep and emotional eyes.

Kids like him don’t do much to hide their emotions, which is honestly a huge inspiration to Steve, who grew up masking and hiding his disability. Pretending isn’t fun, and even though he just met this little dude, watching him just be himself makes Steve happy too.

They’re both letting their hands flutter about by the time the first set is finished, the hiss of air signaling the animatronics are done until the next time.

Mackenzie whips around in his seat and all but shouts at his dad, “Baba, t’ey sang to me!!”

“I heard, buddy! Wasn’t that cool?” Billy enthuses back.

Little Mackenzie nods his head over and over, giggles replacing his words.

Surprisingly, to Steve at least, he then looks to Steve for his opinion too. There is so much trust and adoration in that look. He hasn’t seen that since Dustin was a kid way back when Steve had first been adopted.

Steve gives a thumbs up for some reason, “Yeah, it was awesome!”

He reassures the little boy, but Billy is looking more skeptical. Not judgemental or anything, just aware of the surprised tone in Steve’s voice.

Non-confrontationally, he informs Steve, “Just a heads up.. I might’ve told Kenzie we were friends. I saw you and I panicked.”

Yep. That explains it. The sheepish looks from Billy combined with the excitement from his son.

Steve is actually really flattered that someone he used to think was so cool would want to be his friend.

“Highschool bullshit aside, I always kinda wondered what it would be like being close with the Billy Hargrove.”

“Well I still have the same taste in music.” Billy announces, after a moment to think on important fun facts about himself.

It makes Steve chuckle softly, “This tacky pop is probably painful for you then.”

Billy shrugs it off, “Hey, I heard some Springsteen in there. And the Beatles always get a pass. I can get by on this.”

Suddenly Mackenzie gets impatient with them having their own little conversation, and tries to get Steve’s attention. He taps him gently first, then starts waving and curling his hands into shapes.

Steve recognizes the gestures Mackenzie is making as sign language, but he doesn’t understand a word of it. It’s one of those things he always wanted to learn, and wished he knew, but never sat down and dedicated to. His communication board was way easier for non verbal days.

His confusion must be clear, because before he can even say anything, Billy starts acting as translator, “He wants to know your favorite member of the band.”

“Oh that’s easy! I love Beach Bear. His surfer theme and his curly blonde hair are so cool!” The answer is easy for Steve. He doesn’t mention the part where the character has always reminded him of someone his heart long yearned for.

Mackenzie seems to explode with happiness anyways, butterfly hands going faster than Steve can even finish his sentence. He guesses that’s his favorite too.

The excitement takes over totally, just then Makenzie taking off running unexpectedly.

Billy is up out of his seat so quick, jogging past his little one and intercepting him before he can complete his mission. It’s obvious Mackenzie had wanted to jump onto the stage, instead having to crash into his fathers open arms.

Before the little guy can get upset, Billy turns it into a hug. He’s so gentle, his hold on his boy loose, not crushing like the prone restraints Steve grew up with.

This is teaching through love, not fear. Steve may have just learned something about love himself if the way his heart skips a beat is any indication. He tries not to tear up.

Billy cups his hand real soft on the back of Mackenzie’s curly head, advising him, “Please don’t run off like that, baby. You could get hurt.”

“Sowwy.” Mackenzie apologizes, almost automatically.

Once again, Billy takes action to make sure his son isn’t feeling confronted or yelled at, “It’s okay, bud. You’re doing a really good job today, buddy. Daddy’s proud.”

With that, he carries him back over to the show selector to press one of the buttons that has now since lit up again, choosing a show with help from Steve through a series of pointing and lighthearted laughter from the trio.

They end up picking yet another one that Steve already heard, but Mackenzie clearly hadn’t, so Steve feels okay leaning aside with Billy and chatting while the boy dances and enjoys the show in close range.

“You’re really good with him.” He compliments softly, not just impressed but super enthralled

Instantly Billy’s face lights up with a smile, “Thanks, Steve. It’s just been me and him, I’m trying to fix a lot of shit his mom put into his head.”

Steve is going to say something, but Billy gets bashful, and interrupts it, “Sorry. Trauma dump.”

“No, it’s fine. I definitely get it. My uh.. my mom was the same way, you know.” Steve admits, to make Billy feel less embarrassed about it.

“Here, here.” Billy bumps their shoulders together, a weirdly intimate interaction, one that most people would be too afraid to do lest they break poor paralyzed Steve (not going to happen).

“It’s hard. I love my kid. More than the fucking world. I flew hours to this place just to let him be happy. But goddamn it’s not easy to unravel the shit that was done to me. To him too.”

“Listen, that happy, sweet little boy that ran over to me isn’t afraid. He’s not hurt, or scared, or hiding from anything. You’re doing great.” Steve compliments, all genuine.

His dream of six little nuggets of his own might not be something he’s going to have these days, but he admires Billy for his family. Not just because of his crush either. There’s always been a side to Billy that was so emotional and tender, and he’s amazed at how easily Billy can use that for good.

A lot has changed, but not really. Steve just wonders what Billy thinks of the fact Steve hasn’t made strides in growing a family or becoming some successful mogul.

Apparently he isn’t appalled, because he’s blushing as pink as Steve has probably been all day, as he says, “Thanks, Steve.. I needed that.”

And then there’s nothing left to say. Steve opens his mouth once, then closes it again, too overwhelmed to think of anything. All he wants to do is blab about how he’s been in love with his old rival the whole time.

The pause in conversation isn’t silent, between Mitzi Mozzarella singing her little mechanical heart out, kids laughing about something fun or crying about not getting the prize they wanted, and various machines begging to be played. But it feels intimate anyways.

A moment for just Billy and Steve, in all their nearing middle-aged glory.

It’s Billy who starts things back up, after checking that Mackenzie is getting enough to drink for all the moving he’s doing, “So. D’you really think blonde surfer guys are cool?”

“Maybe.” Steve goes along with it, seeing the opportunity to flirt in the way Billy held onto that one small moment, and tugging hard on that red string of fate, “They definitely get bonus points for having cool tattoos and being good parents, I’d say.”

Billy’s face looks absolutely frazzled, eyes big and smile all crooked and wobbly. And then he laughs, a loud, hearty laugh that has butterflies going through Steve’s whole chest, “Looks like you finally beat me at my own game, H.”

So they have been flirting.

In celebration of not reading the situation wrong, Steve turns it up ten more, leaving a locationally relevant move for Billy on purpose, “Do I get a prize?”

Of course the prize isn’t a stuffed toy or a handful of bubblegum, but rather, a kiss. A sweet, shy kind of kiss that has them bumping their noses together by accident. It’s all they can really get away with, considering where they are, but it’s enough. A thousand words in one chaste press of their lips together. It’s how Steve knows right away this was meant to be all along.

For what could have been several more hours they sat and talked, just the two of them in their little corner of the restaurant, occasionally taking breaks to go play a game, or take Mackenzie to the bathroom. In that time, they go from practically strangers, to having agreed to live together.

See, Billy and MacKenzie actually bought one way tickets. The California cost of living was way too much for single dad finances, and they had plans to settle in a rental trailer park, after a tour of a few states around the area, doing cheap stuff to make it seem fun. Like they weren’t searching for a place to live.

No way was Steve going to let Billy and his disabled kid be homeless in their rental car. Absolutely not.

He sent Claudia a text, and she said instantly she’d be getting Dustin's old room in order to house Mackenzie, and Steve could share his room with Billy. The situation is one plenty of people have already criticized, saying Steve at forty something is too old to be living with his adoptive mother. Adding a alternative queer man and his kid with down’s syndrome to the mix was destined to be the talk of the town, just as it was when Dustin moved out into an apartment with Lucas and Erica.

The fact is, he doesn’t care.

Steve hasn’t done babysitting since he was paralyzed in his twenties, but he’s more than happy to watch Mackenzie while Billy works. As soon as he saw him he felt like family, and Billy agrees Steve and he are soulmates. To him, this is just completing part of him that anguished and mourned and longed for so long.

The three of them together with Steve’s mom and caregiver, sounds like a dream to him.

“Who wants funnel cake!?” Robin appears out of nowhere, two greasy paper baskets in hand. But she freezes, “Wait a second- Hargrove?”

Okay, so there is a lot to catch her up on. Steve is more than happy to tell the story of rediscovering Billy, his beautiful son, and their long-lost love for each other.

_______

[theodore-the-chipmunk]

So yes i understand that The Dragon Prince Season 5 came out not long ago (like 7 hours) But i have already over analyzed it and it is my time to rant/talk about it Sooooo

SEASON 5 OF THE DRAGON PRINCE SPOILERS AHEAD

IM WARNING YOU MEGA SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF THE SEASON⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Okay, You have been warned😎

Basically in the last few minutes of Episode 9 of the season a-lot happens as it wraps it up.

One of these things is very important to Virens Character as Viren is one known only to go the route that gives power and/or what he “believes” is best for his family. So in the final moments of the episode Viren realizes that he is going to die and that he has to accept that he didn’t win once again, and that all the power he believed he had is now gone, which is so important for him to do. As the he lies on the sand, Aaravos’s words go through his head, they are the words “Tomorrow the sun will rise. And you will not.” as those words rush around his mind, we are shown only one of his eyes as it wells up with a tear, all the while he stares up into the sky. This event and moment is so momentous for his character as he finally accepts this fate that as he had mentioned to himself in a dreamscape, had already been written and it cannot be changed, as he looked to his younger self. So all in all this scene is very important for his character. (i genuinely didn’t know how to end this off as it is kinda bleak but it is what was needed for Viren as a character)

Now knowing from what you read above, Viren is known to likely be dead the next time the sun rises, as said by Aaravos, and Claudia (his only daughter) knows this. Before the scene where we see Virens acceptance, we see Claudia, and she is obviously not well. She has finally realized that all the tiresome work and power she had put into trying to save her dad, was not worth it. As she realizes this she is just barely surviving from drowning and she is washing up on the beach, where her boyfriend Terry (i have mixed emotions for this man) rushes too her and she collapses in a mix of tears and exhaustion.

As this is happening Terry notices Claudia only has one leg, as due to the octopus breathing spell thingy she lost one of her legs. So im guess this means next time we see present time Claudia she wont have a leg (im specifying present time just incase of dreams, very common this season, or flashbacks happen later on in the show) So ya girly is missing a leg, lovely jubly.

The final thing I wanted to write about was how we finally learned what Aaravos did to Janai’s Grandmother. Throughout the season we are shown very similar scenes of a dream of Janai’s that basically puts her in the place of her sisters death. It is a very trauma-induced dream, which from what I can see seems to happen in scenes after anxiety induced events. So, in the last few minutes we see this dream for a final time, but unlike the others in past times, we actually are able to hear what Aaravo’s whispers to Janai. What he whispered genuinely shocked me, he said that he swallowed her grandma. Honestly giving crab guy from Moana, but yk its okayyyy. I think. Who knows. BUT YA BACK ON TOPIC, Janai wakes up from the dream terrified and upset as normal and the scene ends with Amaya calming her down and its super cute and gay and stuff, lovely gays.

So ya, that’s basically what happened and i needed to rant and tumblr is the place to talk about fandoms so i did! Byeeee! (i started this at 10:50, it is now 1:43am😭)