#angst with a happy ending I promise

[afewproblems]

Prompt 53. "I'm flirting with you!" Part Two

A follow up to This Post

@happymediummm I promise the answer to your ask will be up soon in part three!!

Eddie stews in his room for three days following the incident at Steve's house. 

Wayne attempts to coax him out with food and coffee, even opening up the pack of bacon they'd been saving in the freezer, anything to try and get Eddie to talk to him. 

"I'm just worried s'all," he says softly from Eddie's doorway on the third day, his expression pinched in that way Eddie hates, "you should go out, do something, come on".

Wayne claps his hands together and disappears for a moment only to return with a tape case from the living room.

"Wayne, no--"

"It's overdue Eds, just bring it back for me would ya?"

Eddie groans into his hands at the triumphant expression on his uncle's face as he gets up from his bed and tugs on his leather jacket. 

"Since your friends work there," Wayne says brightly, gesturing with the tape as he hands it over to Eddie, "you should see if they waive the late fee for us". 

"I agreed to take it back, not talk to people," Eddie grumbles under his breath as Wayne shakes his head and gives his shoulder a squeeze.

"At least you won't be growing mold anymore, sitting there in the dark," Wayne says with a wink, ignoring the indignant scoff Eddie makes.

"Store closes in a half hour kid, you better hurry!"

Shit.

Eddie grumbless petulantly as he hurries out the door, ignoring the way Wayne compares his groans to a haunted house door.

He doesn't smile at the jib, and it doesn't make him laugh for the first time in days as he gets into the van, it doesn't!

The parking lot of Family Video is empty, but what did he really expect on a Wednesday at half past eight in the evening. 

The Open sign is still on at least but the low lights in the building and the bright copper glare of the sunset make it so much more difficult to see who is working tonight. 

He could just toss the tape into the return slot and wait out the late fees, he's sure another video store will eventually open up in Hawkins, they can take their business there.

Eddie sighs heavily as he shuts off the van and yanks out the key, "dammit Wayne," he mutters under his breath as he gets out and makes his way to the door. 

Eddie winces at the sharp jingle of the bell above the door and looks around, his head on a swivel, looking for any sign of Steve and his big, stupid, hair.

Robin waves from the counter as Eddie spots her, she's grinning at him with a sly look on her face as she leans against the counter, the multiple buttons and pins on her vest clink against the glass surface.

"There he is," Robin crows, drumming the counter, "I was beginning to think Steve had kidnapped you or something, were you allowed out for good behavior?"

She seems to realize what she had just implied and winces, shaking her head as Eddie snorts mirthlessly. 

"Uh, no, I just came to return this for my uncle," Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes level with the counter rather than Robin's eyes. 

She frowns at him, taking the tape he slides across the counter and scanning it without dropping her gaze. 

"What's with you?" She says suspiciously. 

Robin drums her fingers lightly against the counter, as the large computer beeps acknowledging the return.

"Nothing, tired," Eddie shrugs, he's not about to tell Robin about what happened, though it is weird that she doesn't already know? 

Maybe she wasn't in on it, he can't imagine that Buckley would approve of a prank like that on another 'friend of Dorothy' but she was Steve's best friend first and foremost.

A song comes on over the small Family Video speakers, humming in the background. 

'All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your eyes

Rosanna, Rosanna…'

Robin wrinkles her nose, her eyes traveling towards one of the large speakers in the corner before looking back to Eddie, a large grin in place.

"God this sappy shit, I told Steve not to put this one on the tape, you must hate Toto".

Eddie shrugs again, glaring at the floor, wishing he could burn a hole into it that he could escape through. 

"He did play it…didn't he?" Robin asks quietly, a small trace of anxiety in her voice as she leans away from the counter.

Eddie stops himself from rolling his eyes; if he was being honest, the tape was a nice touch --really sold the whole prank, honestly.

He looks back up to find Robin staring at him, and sighs heavily, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," he huffs, taking a step back towards the front door, Robin's eyes follow his path in confusion, "I wasn't much of a fan of the choices".

"But it's fine right," Eddie scoffs, "he can use his little tape on someone his shit will actually work on next time".

"What?" Robin says incredulously, her face scrunches into a frown as Eddie laughs.

"You know Buckley, I'm surprised you were on board with this?" 

"Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about?" Robin hisses, shrill and loud, as she finally walks around the counter towards him.

"Oh don't give me that, he's your best friend, you're going to tell me he didn't tell you about his plan?" Eddie shakes his head as a high pitched laugh bubbles up out of his chest.

"I don't know what plan you're talking about Eddie," she says in a low voice, her eyes wide and angry, "the only thing Steve was going to do that night was tell you how he felt about you". 

"Yeah right, Steve Harrington, wants me? And that's not a fucking joke?"

She sucks her teeth, letting her eyes roam over his face, "this was such a mistake, okay, get out". 

Eddie sneers sharply, "a mistake?"

"Yeah, I never should have gotten his hopes up". 

Robin crosses to the window behind the counter and shuts off the second neon open sign before breezing past Eddie to pull the cord on the other sign, nearly hard enough to yank it down. 

No, no, no, no, it's not true, she's just saving face, she has to be…

Robin stands beside the door, a furious glare aimed at Eddie, "we're closed, get out, I need to go check on Steve". 

Unbelievable, Eddie does roll his eyes at this and heads towards her for the door, he takes the push bar in his hands and leans on it to swing the exit open before turning to Robin one last time, he wants so badly to have the last word it hurts.

"Better go check on King-Steve, I'm sure he's devastated," Eddie snarls, the furious fire from before burns bright in his chest as he watches Robin stiffen in the doorway.

"I haven't talked to him since Sunday Munson, until just now, I thought he was with you!"

Robin reaches out to grab both doors in her hands.

"Asshole," she scoffs, her eyes never leaving his as she locks the doors in his face. 

***

1980, Hawkins, Indiana

Eddie sniffles as he walks home, he can feel blood trickle down his chin from the split lip Paul gave him while his knee aches from where he hit the ground. 

He's not even sure what he did.

Paul had been so nice recently, talking with Eddie almost every day, eventually taking him under his wing. Paul was a year above Eddie at their Middle school, and when he had told Eddie to meet him under the bleachers after school, how could Eddie say no? 

It didn't help that Paul had soft blond hair, big hazel eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and the nicest laugh Eddie had ever heard.

What Eddie hadn't been expecting was Randy and David, also in Paul's grade, to be waiting for him. 

He breathes out a wet sob and keeps walking, scrubbing his face harshly as their trailer in Forest Hills comes into view, almost home.

Eddie reaches into his pocket and winces when he realizes his keys are gone, alongside his backpack.

They must have fallen out of his pocket in the scuffle.

The backpack was a different story.

He limps up the steps of their porch, wincing as the fabric of his jeans pulls at the drying blood on his knee, and knocks on the front door.

"Comin," Wayne calls from inside, "coming, wasn't expectin' anyone-- Ed?" 

Wayne's face goes through a series of expressions, from surprise, to anger, before settling on concern. 

He leans down and brings his hands up to Eddie's face, turning it gently to see the damage.

"Who did this," Wayne says quietly, he stands up to his full height, looking around the trailer park behind Eddie while tucking him closer.

"It was at school," Eddie sniffles again, his voice growing tight, "I'm okay". 

Wayne looks down at him for a moment before shaking his head and moving out of the door to pull Eddie inside.

"Hurt anywhere else?" Wayne asks as he walks Eddie to the kitchen, one arm around his shoulder as though afraid the fourteen year old will collapse at any moment.

"I fell, my knee hurts," Eddie mumbles as he sits at the kitchen table in the corner while Wayne crosses to the cabinets and busies himself with grabbing two clean wash clothes and peroxide from the cupboard above their stove.

It's quiet for a moment while Wayne wets one of the clothes at the sink and makes his way back to Eddie.

He kneels on the floor, balancing his weight on his good knee while the other remains bent at a more comfortable ninety degree angle. His joints creak slightly as he gets comfortable but he still smiles at Eddie all the same.

"Won't you be sore after this?" Eddie sighs, wishing Wayne would just let him go to the washroom now to clean himself up. 

"You let me worry about that," Wayne grumbles as he reaches up to wipe the blood and dirt from Eddie's face with the wet cloth. It's warm from the water and Wayne's gentle hand.

"So, you gonna tell me what happened?" Wayne asks softly, as he reaches for the bottle of peroxide and tips it into the second cloth. He tilts Eddie's face to dab gently at the now dirt free cuts.

Eddie sucks his teeth at the sting and closes his eyes.

He doesn't even know where to really start. 

Paul hadn't been the one to push him off his feet, that had been Randy, but that hadn't stopped Paul from laughing and calling Eddie a fairy. 

David had been the one to take his bag, dumping everything out into the dirt and ripping it until the zipper broke. 

Luckily all of his school books were still in his locker, but all of the campaign notes from his most recent D&D game had been in there, along with the worn copy of the Hobbit his mother had given him. 

All of it was still sitting in the mud and grass by the bleachers, stomped into the ground by David's white sneakers.

Eddie shrugs as Wayne leans back slightly. He takes Eddie's leg and slowly bends the knee at the joint, his eyes search Eddies for any sign of strain. The only sting comes from the way the jean material pulls at the drying blood from his scrapes.

Wayne breathes out and scrubs a hand over his tired face, his fingers catch on the grey stubble as they slide down and drop into Wayne's lap.

"I'll make an appointment on Monday with the principal," Wayne says as he stands up with a stifled groan, turning away from Eddie who shakes his head like a wet dog. 

"Wayne you can't--"

"Edward, what do you expect me to do? You come home lookin' like hell and you won't tell me what happened?" 

Eddie bites his split lip hard enough for the faint taste of copper to stain his tongue once more, how could he tell Wayne just what those boys had yelled at him as he sat in the dirt cradling his head, wishing he'd just gone home.

Wayne sighs loudly as he raises his face towards the ceiling, his lips move slightly but Eddie can't make out what he's saying before he looks back at Eddie, his expression worn.

"Okay, okay," Wayne murmurs, walking back towards Eddie, he pulls one of the other mismatched chairs towards himself and sits down, "I won't call, but you have to meet me halfway, alright?" 

Eddie hesitates, swallowing roughly, maybe there was a way to tell Wayne without telling him everything.

"There were some boys at school, um," Eddie picks at one of the holes in his blue jeans, pulling at the frayed thread absently, "I guess just, one at first but…".

His eyes burn suddenly as the words rip through him once again.

"He told me to come to the bleachers and then," Eddie's voice wobbles this time as his throat tightens, "there were more of them and they…called me--" 

Eddie shakes his head, ducking it down to hide his shining eyes, he doesn't notice Wayne coming closer until he feels a hand in his hair and the dam finally breaks.

Six years later, Eddie can still remember what his uncle told him that day as he cried in his arms.

"People can be cruel, especially when they don't understand, and sometimes that means being careful of who you open yourself up to. But you can tell me anything Ed, and I'll love ya no matter what. You always have home to come back to". 

Eddie knew people like Steve Harrington. He'd been around them his whole life. 

Sometimes they went by Paul, sometimes by Jason, or Billy.

But that didn't make them any less dangerous, any less capable of inflicting hurt on people that were different. 

So, Robin could say that Steve wasn't like that until she was blue in the face, because she was…wrong…

Wasn't she?

Taglist: @ihavekidneys @superchellerific @zerokrox-blog @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @samcoxramblings @warlordess @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @lostonceandneverfound @shunna @fairytalesreality

Part Three now up!

[jovenshires]

is the 30 page shaymien fic all angsty??? or will we get a happy ending

oh anon you're in luck here have the second to last note in my outline

[rebelspykatie]

Part 2

Part 1

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie stands and follows Steve to the door as he’s pulling on his shoes. He wants to stop him, pull the shoe out of his hand and drag Steve back to the couch, but he doesn’t have any right. He’s not entirely sure Steve won’t push him away if he tries to touch him right now, anyways.

“You think I’m straight and I was convinced you were into me,” Steve leans against the door frame to pull his other shoe on. He mutters under his breath, “I should’ve never listened to Robin an-”

“Robin was in on this?” He interrupts that thought. It throws Eddie. They’re such a tight knit group, he doesn’t know how they were so far off track with him.

“We spent hours going through every stupid interaction we had. Thought we had it all figured out.” He huffs and walks back over to the coffee table to pick up his wallet and keys. “I guess we’re both idiots.”

“No, Steve,” he tries to reach out and grab Steve’s arm, but he moves too quickly and Eddie’s left grasping air, “you’re not.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it, anyways.” Steve scrambles to pull his sweater back on, the cold just starting to seep into the night air outside.

“Can you just slow down for a second?” Eddie stops trying to catch Steve and plants himself in front of the door. “What do you mean, you’re used to it?”

“Are you going to trap me here?”

“Answer the question.”

“This part, Eddie,” he sighs and gestures between them like that means anything to Eddie. “Everyone I’ve ever confessed to or made a move on has had the same reaction.” He looks off to the side, unable to look Eddie in the eye. “I’m pretty sure I’m the problem. Good ole Steve Harrington, too stupid to notice no one is interested in him.”

“Steve, you’re not stupid.”

“Feels like it most of the time.” He pinches his nose again, still not looking at Eddie, more like through him, gaze pinned to somewhere in the middle of Eddie’s chest. “Can you please move? We can pretend like this never happened and I promise I won’t make any weird moves on you ever again. I’m still friends with Nancy and Robin after everything, I can do it with you, too.”

Eddie skips over the whole Robin part of that in his head because he doesn’t have the brain power to analyze anything beyond Steve’s feelings for him. He never saw this coming. No one, boy or girl or anything in between, has ever made a move on Eddie before. He’s the local freak. There’s no way he could have predicted the town’s golden boy hero would make the moves on him.

He takes in how disheveled Steve’s become in the last few minutes. How hastily he’s thrown on his sweater. The mess of Steve’s hair from the hand that’s run through it several times since he got up from the couch. Barely laced up shoes so he could get out the door faster. He’s normally so put together and this, the sight of him so frazzled, frightens Eddie.

They were fast friends after everything happened with Vecna, leaning on each other for support. Becoming inseparable with King Steve wasn’t something Eddie ever imagined, but it was so easy. Neither of them were what each other had built up in their heads from the rumor mill around Hawkins. Eddie’s never had a guy friend as close as Steve. Sure, he had Hellfire and Corroded Coffin, but Eddie’s always been a bit of a loner.

It was impossible to feel alone with Steve as a friend. He had a way of knowing when you needed support, always just there when Eddie felt alone or needed a physical presence when the weight of the upside down was dragging him down. There wasn’t a day in the past six months that Eddie didn’t see Steve, even if it was only in passing or a quick little jaunt down to Family Video, he’s a constant presence in Eddie’s life.

To lose that? Would be like losing a part of himself. Like losing a limb. Losing his home.

And he’s scared. He doesn’t want to let Steve walk out that door, the weight of losing him forever lingering in the air. But he can’t trap him here. That wouldn’t be fair to Steve.

He moves out of the way, taking a step towards Steve, but he sidesteps Eddie and reaches for the door.

“Steve-”

“Don’t worry about me, Eddie,” he doesn’t turn around, but hesitates halfway out the door. “I’ll be fine.”

With the soft click of the door closing, he’s gone.

And that should be the end of it. Closed book. Eddie doesn’t like Steve and Steve needs to move on. There’s not much Eddie can do about that.

But it haunts him.

If you didn’t know Steve, you wouldn’t realize that anything was wrong. He’s acting normal, smile on his face when he jokes with Robin, complaining about the kids being terrors, going to his job.

But there’s something in the set of his shoulders, in the way his smile droops when he thinks no one’s paying attention to him, in the way Robin protectively hovers around him when Eddie is nearby. It’s clearly a facade he’s putting on to get by.

And Eddie aches. There’s a pit in his stomach that opened up that day and it hasn’t closed. Steve avoids his touch and the chasm grows larger, dragging Eddie further into the darkness. Casual hangouts halted. No more divulging of nightmares or fears late at night. A piece of Eddie is with Steve and he’s bereft of comfort. Unsettled.

He lies awake replaying that kiss over and over in his head. Thinking about what Steve said after. There’s no comfort in the way he handled the situation. It feels like he miscalculated, like pushing Steve away was the wrong move and now his life will never be the same again.

Maybe it won’t. Maybe there’s no way for them to move forward and for him to not break Steve’s heart every day. Steve said he was an idiot, but Eddie’s positive he’s got it all backwards. Eddie’s the idiot.

And he can’t stop thinking about kissing Steve.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit || Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!BAU Agent!Reader

Status: In Progress!

Follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new chapter goes out!

Main Masterlist || Hotch Masterlist

Gambit noun. an act or remark that is calculated to gain an advantage, especially at the outset of a situation.

Summary: Ten years after you first met Aaron Hotchner, you're placed on his team at the BAU. Ten years apart isn't nearly long enough to cool the hatred that began when you first met. In fact, it seems to have only gotten worse -- and the feeling is mutual.

General themes/warnings: enemies to lovers (these two HATE each other y'all), typical level of violence and cases for the show, depictions of panic attacks, eventual smut, chapter specific warnings will be given as well of course!

As always, ** indicates smut! Strikethrough means it's written, but not posted yet!

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

More to come as I write more!

Last updated: Dec. 26th, 2024

[imfinereallyy]

I wonder if you look both ways (When you cross my mind) pt. 2

pt. 1 pt. 3

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

June 1996, Chicago

Steve doesn’t exactly know when Eddie Munson became one of his best friends, let alone when he fell in love with him.

He supposes both things occurred between the end of the world, and Eddie’s back walking out the door for the last time, unbeknownst to anyone. Though, that is five years of time, who’s to say when it really happened.

Dustin will argue the friend part. He likes to think it was he who brought them together (it certainly wasn’t; in fact, it put a real bump in the road for them). Dustin also thinks, which Steve is more inclined to think is true, that the two of them had become friends during Eddie’s slow recovery and Steve’s guilt complex, which made him feel responsible for him.

Which—ouch, Dustin—but years of therapy would prove him right.

Little shit.

Dustin doesn't know about the love part, though, and Steve doesn’t think much of the party knows except for one or two of the perceptive ones.

Looking at you, Lucas.

Robin likes to argue that Steve doesn’t know when he fell in love with Eddie because Eddie was different from everyone else.

Steve puts everything into love, moves fast, falls hard, and ultimately gets crushed by his own passion. Steve doesn’t know how to take things slow or wait around for the right person.

Until he did, with Eddie.

Steve managed to have a slow decent into the madness of loving a man like Eddie Munson. And he never did anything about it, although he didn't mind. Steve was okay with just being friends and loving from afar.

Until they weren't even that, and Eddie was gone.

Steve can't think about that now, instead he should probably worry about the man himself breaking into his apartment at 3 a.m.

"Get. Out." Robin hisses, breaking Steve from his thoughts.

Suddenly, Eddie stands. His hands thrust forward in a placating nature, and nervous energy radiates off of him. "Robin, please—"

"No, Munson. You don't get to disappear from our lives for five years, and then break into our apartment!" Robin whisper shouts, the metal bat waving around in her grip.

Steve still hasn't said anything, still unsure of any of it is really happening. But he can't help but warm at Robin's fierceness.

She will go down swinging for Steve, even against someone she cares about.

Fuck, he loved her.

"Give me one good reason not to bash your skull in with this thing, Munson. I dare you!" Robin took the metal bat and pushed it into Eddie's chest.

Steve gets a good look at him as he stumbles backward. He doesn't look much different—well that's a lie. He does look different; more tattoos, more piercings and Steve is pretty surprised to catch him wearing anything other than a band tee. It is just so all quintessentially Eddie. The jewelry is all silver, any tattoo he got after 1986 appears to be in black and red ink only. Even his tee is still black despite the lack of a band on the front.

"Birdie, I don't think you should have Steve's bat in your hands, you're a bit dangerous." Eddie tries to grab the bat from her hands but Robin yanks it back.

"Oh, fuck you, Munson! You don't get to call me Birdie, and this is my bat. Steve's is wooden and full of nails and underneath his bed. You should know that, or has the last five years really rotted your brain?" Robin is now waving the bat around with gusto, nearly missing Steve's head at one point.

Trying to shake himself from his frozen state, Steve decides it is probably in everyone's best interest if he steps in.

"Robs." Steve speaks gently, hand on the bat as he slowly lowers it down. Her shoulders drop, the fight draining out of her in seconds. "It's okay."

It's not okay. Steve doesn't understand what's happening right now. But Steve is okay as long as he has Robin, and Robin has him. Steve hopes she understands that's what he meant.

Robin nods her head, and shuffles closer to him.

Steve takes a shaky breath, "What are you doing here, Munson?"

Eddie cringes at the use of his last name but doesn't comment. "Listen, I know it's weird me just stopping by suddenly—"

Robin snorts, "I wouldn't exactly call breaking in 'stopping by'."

Eddie shakes his head, ignoring her. Stray curls start to fall loose from their bun. "I just want to talk, for you guys to hear me out."

Steve rubs a hand down his face, he is getting too old for this stuff. Being blindsided, being surprised—being thrown sideways and upside down. Sure, twenty-nine isn't exactly old, but Steve has lived practically six different lifetimes by now. There is so much damage to him—physically and emotionally. He is supposed to be past nonsense like this.

Robin takes his silence as permission to snip at Eddie, "No. Go away, Eddie. You don't get to do that. Get out."

Eddie moves a step forward, he is now illuminated completely by the side table's light. He looks tired—good but tired. It's not the kind of tired you see of someone in distress, not the ache that comes along in the tunnel that has no light in the end. No, Eddie looks tired in the way that comes with healing. Like working hard exhaustion. As if coming home from a long but good day at work, and the night grows weary.

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, but Steve cuts him off. "It's fine, Robbie. It's late; let him crash on the couch."

Eddie's shoulders sag in relief, "Thanks, Stevie, we can talk—"

"No." Steve chokes out, moving his hand towards his throat so he can remember to breathe. "You don't get to call me that. And we're not talking about anything. You'll sleep here, but that's it. I might not want you here, but it doesn't mean I'm going to let you wander the streets at night."

"Steve, please—" Eddie reaches out his hands to touch Steve. It is most likely going to be a gentle touch, but Steve can't help the way he violently flinches.

Eddie looks taken aback, eyes wide and full of sadness. He pulls his hands back.

"No, Eddie." Steve grabs Robin's hand and starts to pull her to bed. She doesn't protest and instead leans into his touch. Steve turns over his shoulder to look at Eddie again. "You'll stay the night. It's not an option. But my morning? I want you gone. I don't want you to be the first thing I see after sunrise."

Steve turns quickly back around, ignoring the pained grunt from behind him.

Bypassing Robin's bedroom, Steve pulls them both into his. Robin doesn't question it and instead makes herself comfortable in his forest green blankets.

Steve quickly follows after, snuggling into the bed beside her. People have thought them weird over the years—always in each other's spaces and knowing every little thing about each other. Partners, friends, family—all of them had something to say about it, never even bothering to understand.

Well, except Eddie. Eddie appreciated it, accepted it. Adored it at times.

"Are you really okay with this, Dingus?" Robin whispers softly between them.

"No." Steve never lies to Robin; she'll know. "Not at all, but I'm not going to let him wander the streets, no matter what I loved him at some point. I don't let the people I loved, get hurt."

Robin squints in pity, "Loved?"

"Not now, Bobbie," Steve whispers.

Robin nods, "Besides, I'm pretty sure 'Ed Sloane' can afford a fucking hotel room."

Steve lets out a loud snort, it echoes throughout the room. "God, don't remind me. What a stupid fucking name."

The two of them dissolve into giggles, bumping their heads together. Under the covers, they clasp their hands together tight. "I just don't want you to derail your life, for someone who walked so easily out of it. I know you have that important lunch with Drew tomorrow."

Steve takes a breathe through his nose, "Yea, I do. But it'll be fine. He'll be gone before I'm even up. You know Eds, he's a runner. Wouldn't stop trying to prove it, in fact."

Robin's face is scrunched in pain, and her eyes pool with pity. It's as if she knows something Steve doesn't or sees something he chooses to ignore. She doesn't comment on it, though. Instead, she raises an eyebrow, "Eds?"

It isn't snippy or accusing. Her voice is soft against his cheek. Steve doesn't have the mental capacity to argue though. "G'night, Birdie."

"Goodnight, Stevie." She whispers.

Steve closes his eyes, knowing it will all feel like a dream tomorrow.

Steve is familiar with having dreams with Eddie in them.

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

more to come i promise, especially after your (loving demands). especially my mutuals who yelled at me in the tags and my dm's (it made my day).Part 3 is currently being typed up. Also might fuck around and make this a full-blown ao3 one shot; who knows.

tag list!:

@stevesbipanic @withacapitalp @emryyyyy09 @brainfugk @blueberrylemontea-fanfic

@slv-333 @thetinymm @connected-dots-st-reblogger @helpimstuckposting @dreamercec

@goodolefashionedloverboi @stripey82 @little2nerdy @anne-bennett-cosplayer @resident-gay-bitch

@ghostquer @sourw0lfs @devondespresso

(please let me know if you don't want a tag, I had to guess by the comments, and sorry if you’re getting a random tag after posting, I had to fix the tag list cause tumblr is weird)

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay. 

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway. 

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks. 

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.” 

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. 

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve asks, “How much time?” 

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.” 

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.  

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough. 

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids. 

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did. 

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.” 

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.” 

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond. 

“And us,” Erica adds as well. 

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.” 

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.” 

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him. 

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?” 

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally. 

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.” 

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.” 

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital. 

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them. 

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.” 

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.” 

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.” 

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...” 

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase. 

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.” 

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.” 

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.” 

~ 

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children. 

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.” 

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him. 

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!” 

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.” 

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!” 

“So you guys joined the club, then?” 

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed. 

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?” 

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.” 

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says. 

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.” 

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.” 

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.” 

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.” 

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

[indieyuugure]

Can we have some indie angst please ?🥺

Angst huh?

Well…okay, have some Donnie angst (this is concept art for the arc in book 2 when Donnie is captured by Bishop so please excuse the rough sketchy-ness)

Brace yourself though

You little angst gremlins have been quite hungry lately. Hopefully this satisfies you.

(By the way in this version I have added Sydney, that character from 2003 in the Ylytis (didn’t spell that right) side plot but as almost a mirrored role to Donnie) (also double ps, she’s in her late 20s so there’s no romance here)

Hope you like these!

[pit-and-the-pen]

Unrequited Love

A/N: I had to get to the airport to return a rental car like 5 hours early so I’m so sorry for the pure amount that I’ve been posting today but as a socially awkward girly, if I’m on my own phone then for sure no one is going to talk to me.

Anywho here is some angsty angst about day court!reader and Azriel.

Part 2: Here Alt Ending: Here Part 3: Here

Forgive any typos I wrote this on my phone.

Warnings: none

WC-1.4K

————————————————————————

My blood was boiling beneath my skin. Azriel has been complaining for the better part of an hour about Rhys gag order regarding Elain. I was trying not to roll my eyes as I had reached my wits end with his lamenting.

“I just don’t understand why he needs to meddle in this. I get she’s Feyre's sister but he doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair. “I just can’t help but think that sometimes the cauldron gets it wrong.”

His words were spoken so plainly. Anger wanes for a second as I swear I could feel my heart break inside my chest. The words seemed to echo in my head Maybe the cauldron gets it wrong. I almost would have rather had him carve out my heart with truth teller.

“What do you think?” He asks me and I sit reeling over his words. I can’t think of anything to say to him. The comforting words I would normally have for him can’t get past the anger starting to cloud my vision. So I simply shrug, avoiding the question. Desperately trying to change the subject.

“So this new book I’m reading…”

“Oh c’mon.” He interrupts me. “I know you have something to say. And I trust your advice more than anyone else. There isn’t anyone else I would rather talk to about this.” His eyes softened as he looked towards me. Instead of melting under his gaze like I normally do, red bites at the edge of my vision.

“I think you should leave her the hel alone.” My tone is not gentle. He freezes.

“What?”

“She has a mate already. And regardless of if you think the cauldron got it right. Lucien is the one mated to Elain,” I tried to keep my voice neutral. “And Lucien is a wonderful male who has been through a lot of shit. He deserves someone as sweet as Elain, if she ever comes around. You should stop meddling.”

His mouth opens, when no words come out, he closes it again. You see the muscles in his jaw tick as he clenches his teeth.

“What has gotten into you? When did you become Lucien’s spokesperson?” He spits at me. His face starts to get closer to mine as he leans over the table, slowly starting to rise to his feet.

The sane part of me is telling me to stand down. That one of the most powerful warriors in all of Prythian was starting to get angry at me. My mate was starting to get mad at me. But I would not cave under his intimidation.

“I became his spokesperson when you showed no respect for him. Or for Elain.” I noticed I was starting to get to my feet. “What about what she wants? She doesn’t owe you anything more than she owes Lucien. Rhys told you to stay away from a girl you feel entitled to and now you want to mope like a petulant teenager. Grow up Azriel.” He flinches before something stoney sets in his eyes.

“At least I’ve actually told her how I felt. What about you?” My stomach drops into my knees. “Sitting and pining over the same person for a century.”

“You knew?” My voice was nothing more than a whisper. This was not happening. I should have left when I had the chance.

“It’s not like you tried to hide it. I thought at some point you would get the hint that it wasn’t going to happen but yet there you always were trailing behind me like a sad little puppy.”

My hands on the table started to glow faintly. My anger was finally breaking through the surface.

“You asshole. You stupid Illyrian bastard.” The smirk that graced his face fell instantly. “After everything that I’ve done for you, you want to use my feelings for you as some fucking weapon against me.”

Even I was surprised at the venom in my words but I was on a roll. “I sat by for five hundred years. I sat by as you pined over Mor, someone I consider my sister. I felt that bond go unreturned.” He completely froze at my words. Words I have never spoken out loud to anyone.

“Wait-“

“No. You get to hear this shadowslinger.” I pressed my finger to his chest and he stepped back like I had hit him. A small part of me wishes I had. But this. This right here is why Rhys kept me around. I didn’t need to throw a punch to put someone on their knees.

“I followed you around like a lost puppy and you loved it. Every second of it. I was stupid enough at some point to believe that it was because you felt it too. And I couldn’t get away from those feelings,could get away from you. Every time I tried I would damn near drive myself crazy and then you would smile or say some funny joke and I was right back to where I started.” I willed the slight shake in my voice to disappear. “You just wanted to feel important because the one you truly loved wouldn’t have even entertained the thought. Took other males into her bed, but not you right? So why not go for the next available thing. Me. Who cares if I got hurt? Who cares that I still fucking loved you through all of it? Not you clearly. You played me like a fucking fiddle and I played my part well.”

When I finally looked back up at his face I saw nothing but a shell of the male that stood in front of me. Even his shadows had retreated from his side. Looking down I realized they were sitting at my feet. I pushed down the glimmer of something I didn’t have time to think about at the sight.

“Please. Just stop.” He pleaded.

“Why? Because it hurts to hear? Fuck you. “And you think that didn’t hurt me too?” I watched him pale. “You didn’t think it killed me to feel that empty weight in my chest every time I looked at you. Everyday that I waited and wished that you would feel that stupid bond I’ve had to live with for the last two centuries.”

He gasped at my words cutting me off

“You never told me about that. I just thought it was… I don’t know… I thought it was a crush like how I felt with Mor”

A muscle in my jaw ticked. “I shouldn’t have had to! The whole point is that you feel it too. Bonds aren’t supposed to be one sided but for some gods unknown reason, you didn’t,” I felt the anger really starting to boil over.

“Every time I heard you rambling on and on about how perfect Mor was, about the females you took into your bed. I sat by all of it, for what? Three sisters for three brothers?!” I was screaming now, my hands shaking by my side

“What happens when she’s all fixed up too Azriel? When she feels this same thing I feel when she looks at Lucien. Onto the next one for me to hear about I guess . Always on the sidelines. Always the sweet face to come back to at the end of the day but never the one you want to be with.” I took a deep breath for the words about to come out of my mouth, steeling my nerves.

“I’m done. With this. With you. Fuck this entire gods damned city. I will not sit by and play second to whoever you deem worthy enough for the rest of my life.”

He held up his hand like he was going to reach up for me but the light that was glowing off my skin was warning enough.

“Where will you go?” Was all he had the nerve to say.

I let out a cold, twisted laugh. “Anywhere but here. Hel I could finally go home. Helion has

been asking me to come back for years now. All I know it will be somewhere where you can’t come and ruin another half a century of my life. Because that’s what you did. I wasted all this time on someone I knew wouldn’t love me. But I can agree with you on something, Azriel.” I paused long enough to see the hope in his eyes as he whispered “what?”

“That sometimes the cauldron does get it wrong.”

I walked out of that room with my head held high

[killerpancakeburger]

Tags: suggestive, angst with a happy ending, gn!Reader, virgin!reader, low self-esteem!reafer, established relationship but they never went all the way. 300 words. Pic credit to @esteljune

When you tell Soap you've never had an orgasm, you fully expect him to laugh in your face.

And he does.

The carefree, genuine sound stings.

It's even more painful because until now, your brain and heart have grown accustomed to link Johnny's laugh to something soft, warm, pleasant. You’re used to your him laughing with you, not at you.

You shrink on yourself, the weight of your inadequacy, abnormality suddenly dialed up to eleven.

You never meant for the conversation to take that turn. He was joking around about how such thing would never be as good as an orgasm, and before you could bite your tongue, the sentence spilled from your lips— I wouldn't know.

You'd swallow the words back if you could. Take back the vulnerability you stupidly showed and tuck it back deep inside you.

"Very funny," he adds, and you sitffen upon hearing his voice again, but dare to give him a sidelong look, and the expression on his face makes it all clear.

He laughed because he really thought you were joking.

His features twist with concern as he takes in the pain on your face. He slowly raises a hand to cradle your face.

"What's wrong, hen?"

You look down in shame, retreat from his touch. There's no dignified reply you can offer him, so you stay mute.

It doesn't take him long to put two and two together, though.

"...Ye weren't kidding."

Withdrawing into silence, you don’t confirm, but you don't deny it either.

However you forsake that silence soon enough when Soap grabs your ankle to drag you down the bed, pulling a surprised screech from you.

You raise on your elbows to stare at him in shock; kneeling between your parted legs, he's attacking the button of your pants. You press the sole of your foot against his chest to stop him.

"Wowowoh, what are you doing!?"

He looks up at you like it's self-evident, his expression a mix of puppy eyes and righteous indignation at the interruption.

"Makin' up fer lost time. Gonna give ye an orgasm fer every one I've had. Only with my tongue and my fingers though. Dinnae want tae get distracted from the mission objective."

[fraugwinska]

If it’s okay, can you do Alastor x Reader where Alastor catches you relapsing after a fight with him? If it’s too much, you don’t have to do it. Just wanted some comfort for what I’m going through. You’re also a very good writer! Keep up the great work! xx

Hey anon - I hope you are doing well. I couldn't let this one sit too long in my inbox... Whatever you are going through: I hope this will help you with a bit of comfort. (I do hope I didn't misinterpret your ask...) I send you the biggest hug, my dearest! <3 TW:Self Harm,Depression,Angst - Minors DNI - 1.3k words

You were doing so well. So, so well.

Arguments with Alastor occurred from time to time, but you had done so well in not letting them become full-blown fights. His rationale and your restraint had always managed to hold the worst at bay and settle any troubles with a few deep breaths, calm words and a compromise. It was something you were hugely proud of, something you had never been able to do before, and with him - you finally seemed to manage.

But now, after a tirade of harsh words, hurtful remarks and slammed doors you are alone in your room, curled up in a bed that feels much too big and streaks of cold tears on your cheeks. Immediately after you stormed out Alastor's radio tower you regretted your tone, regretted what you said, the way you got irrationally upset and how you provoked him - just to hurt him. You were unfair, cruel even, and the worst part was you didn't mean a single thing you said in the heat of the argument. Of course, Alastor said some choice words to you too, nasty things said in cold calmness, but only in reaction to your emotionally charged onslaught. And it didn't change the fact that you had done him wrong, over a fucking triviality that spun out of control.

It doesn't change the fact that the feelings and thoughts you feared slowly return, thoughts of your inadequacy, your worthlessness, your shortcomings all coming back into your head in one big punch of guilt and insecurity. Spiraling, you feel yourself getting more and more tense, like a pressure cooker without a valve, ready to burst. Your chest hurts - no, everything hurts: Your chest, your arms, your head, your heart.

You had done so well.

But you are desperate, panicked - you've pushed the one person away that was able to ground you, the only one that could make you feel safe and strong enough to withstand this urge, this need to hurt, to release. You bury your nails in your thigh, but it is far from enough. He must hate you now, and could you blame him? No, no you couldn't, and you push yourself off the bed, almost frantic.

Release, release, release - where is it? The shame you hid when you first moved into the hotel, the valve you had used so often to momentarily drain yourself from this burdening pain, the tool you had to use because you weren't reborn in hell with the fortune of sharp talons.

The loose floorboard creaks under your erratic steps. Ah. There. Hidden under your feet, untouched for so long. You start to cry again as you kneel down, lifting the panel. You feel like a failure.

Sorry, I am so sorry, your head chants as you reach for it with trembling hands, please just let it be a little less, just a tiny, little...

"Darling..."

You freeze. His voice is quiet, tune- and toneless echoing from behind you. It sends a new shiver through your tense, quivering body. Your hand hovers over the small object but you can't move it away, eyes squeezed shut in defeat. Your brain races, thinking of anything to say but coming up empty.

"My sweetling, whatever you're looking for under there...", he continues slowly, softly, each step of his dressing shoes against the parquet resounding painfully loud in your ears. You're so mortified by him catching you in the act that the tight coil in you seems ready to snap. "...will not do you any good."

He halts when when he is next to you, kneeling down. You feel his shoulder brush your back as he lays a clawed hand on yours and gently pulls it away from the hole in the floor. Your shoulders begin to shake with ragged sobs and his tender touch on your cheek prompts you to tilt your head, face hot, and to look him into his eyes that seem both understanding and sad.

"Harming yourself will only make you hate yourself more than you regrettably already do."

You try to breathe, but fail miserably, choking on the air around you. How could you justify what you were about to do, how could you hurt him again like this, with this action, with this thoughts, after everything you both have worked for? You had done so well - Why didn't you have it more under control, like you should?

"I'm sorry, A-Alastor... I'm sorry, s-so sorry, please..."

He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, steady embrace. One hand comes up, stroking your hair in tender movements, shushing you quietly as he lets you sob into his shoulder. The longer he holds you the easier it gets to draw deep breathes, until you finally manage to draw in the air that your body lacked so much. With each rise and fall of your chest, you feel a tiny bit of the panic fade, as if his soothing static draws it out in humble waves, soft and soothing around and inside you.

"I know, darling...", Alastor murmurs, kissing the top of your head and tightening his hold, "It's all long forgiven already."

A shattered sigh escapes you. How could he do all this for you? Accept you, with all the flaws and mistakes and shortcomings? How can he forgive you with such gentle ease? And still care for you, despite and including it all, why? How?

"Please don't hate me..."

He only loosens his grip when you stop trembling, carefully taking your chin between his claws, prompting you to break the chain of self-degrading thoughts and silencing the whispers in your head as he locks his eyes on yours.

"I could never, darling, even if I tried. But you need to understand: You are fighting the most vicious and cruel enemy there is, my love.", his face is void of the smirk he often wore, the one he doesn't use to tease or ridicule, or mock, it's his serious smile. The one he wears when he's about to be blunt. "Yourself."

A sudden rush of fresh tears cloud your vision. He's right, you know he is - you have always been your own worst enemy. Never giving yourself a fighting chance, the help and care you didn't feel you deserve. It felt so tiring, hopeless, in these moments where you fell victim to your weakness and turned it all onto yourself.

"I'm... so weak."

"We all have our battles. And this happens to be one you exhausted yourself to win on your own. However...", he offers you a sweet smile, taking your hand, "...it's a battle you don't have to fight alone anymore."

He takes your face into one of his large hands - the warmth of his palm is soothing against the rawed skin of your cold cheek as you instinctively lean into it, chasing the gentleness of the touch. The smile he gives you is more serious than you've ever seen before, and he lifts his other hand, waving his fingers for a split second in the corner of your eyes - the loose floorboard squeaks as it magically sets itself back into its place and seals itself with the flooring, eliminating the option of taking it off again. Alastor sighs, tilting his head to recapture your gaze.

"Whatever angry words are exchanged and however vexed we might be with each other... please, my love, let me hold you together in my arms when you threaten to fall apart like this."

How long he held you in his arms that night, settled in your bed instead of his as you usually did - you didn't know. How many soothing touches he planted on your body – you didn't count. All that mattered were the soft kisses that he pressed on your cheeks, the way he held your hand, fingers entwined with yours, and the soothing words he repeated to you, over and over like a mantra.

"You are doing well, my love."

[levemetal]

Day 2: Timeloop / Xiao Qi and Jiu Ge

I am cringe and I am not even free

Feel free to reuse this idea but 24 hours are not enough for me to finish an entire comic. I could have taken the simpler prompt but nOOOOOO timeloop is too tempting. Past me why are we like this

[aesthetically-dying101]

Take me back, to the night we met.

A/N: gojo has just so much potential for angst and sad shit its fun.

Other Part: Part 2.

Warning: angst? is this angst? idk, just sad stuff, yes it'll get better, i think i use y/n like twice. she/her pronouns, no description of reader

Do not copy nor translate my work.

The once-bustling city was silent, a ghostly fog blanketing the streets.

Broken glass crunched underfoot as you and Satoru made your way through the ruins of a devastated shopping district. The air was heavy with residual cursed energy, oppressive and cloying like smoke.

Your technique had been invaluable in tracking the curse this far—it was clever, veiling itself in the chaos of its destruction. But now, even without your abilities, its presence was unmistakable.

“There,” you murmured, pointing to the center of the wreckage. A shadow writhed in the haze, its form shifting, contorting like a serpent coiled in fury.

Gojo’s usual carefree grin widened, an edge of exhilaration in his voice.

“About time. I was starting to think it didn’t have the guts to face us.”

He stepped forward, impossibly confident as always, the faint shimmer of his Infinity surrounding him.

You hung back, ready to support him as best as you could. You weren’t on Gojo’s level—no one was—but you could hold your own, and you knew how to keep him grounded when his arrogance threatened to blind him.

You were used to this, and honestly, you loved seeing him in action. Your too-pretty man.

The curse roared, its voice a grating cacophony that vibrated through your bones.

“Satoru Gojo.” The way it spat his name was venomous, dripping with hatred. Its grotesque form solidified—a humanoid shape with way too many eyes and limbs, each movement a jerking, unnatural twist.

Ew. Was the only thought going through your head.

“You think you’re invincible,” it hissed, its voice low and guttural, “but even gods have weaknesses.”

Gojo tilted his head, his blindfold concealing whatever expression flickered across his face.

“Weakness? Me? Funny. I’ll have to tell my fans about that one.”

The curse didn’t laugh. Instead, its many eyes swivelled to you.

“Her.”

Gojo didn’t react immediately, but you saw it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his head snapped toward you for a fraction of a second before returning to the curse.

“She’s your flaw,” it snarled, amusement dripping from its tone. “The way you care for her. The way you watch her. You may be untouchable, but she bleeds.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time in your life, you saw Gojo falter. It was slight—so slight that anyone else might have missed it—but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand tightened into a fist before relaxing again.

“And I will make her bleed.”

The curse lunged toward you with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. Your instincts kicked in, barriers flaring to life around you as you stepped back. The defensive layers you conjured groaned and bent under the curse’s assault- but didn't break.

“Stay away from her.”

Gojo’s voice was colder than you’d ever heard it.

The air shifted, the pressure around you becoming unbearable as his Limitless technique snapped into place. The curse was flung backward, its body slamming into the rubble with a deafening crash.

But it wasn’t done. It laughed—a horrible, choking sound, sounding like his vocal chords were snapping.

“So predictable,” it sneered. “You’d sacrifice the world to protect her, wouldn’t you?”

Gojo didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes.

Because he would, you both knew that.

The fight that followed was brutal. Gojo’s attacks were precise and devastating, yet the curse kept taunting him, weaving in and out of his strikes, deliberately drawing the battle out.

You supported him from the sidelines, tracking its movements and throwing up barriers when needed, but the strain was immense.

When Gojo finally delivered the finishing blow—a shimmering violet sphere of destruction that obliterated the curse in an instant—the air went still.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

You leaned against a crumbling wall, your energy depleted.

Gojo didn’t move. He stood there, staring at the spot where the curse had been, his hand still outstretched.

“ 'Toru?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He turned to you, and for a moment, you saw something raw in his expression, something vulnerable and deeply unsettling. Then, like a mask slipping back into place, his usual cocky grin returned.

“Guess I really do have a weakness, huh?” he joked, his voice light but forced.

Your chest tightened. “Don’t do that,” you said sharply. “Don’t pretend this doesn’t bother you.”

His grin faltered, just for a second, before he brushed past you. “Let’s head back. We’ll debrief at the school.”

You stared after him, frustration bubbling in your chest. He was shutting you out again, burying whatever he was feeling beneath layers of bravado.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

And neither could he.

*-*

A week later, the air was crisp, the fading light of the sunset painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. The quiet hum of the city below served as a distant backdrop as you strolled beside Satoru.

He had insisted on this walk after a long day, claiming he needed to “stretch his legs and enjoy the view.”

But something was off.

He wasn’t talking as much as usual, his cocky banter replaced with a contemplative silence. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and though his blindfold was in place, you could feel his gaze flickering toward you more often than usual.

You slowed your steps, letting the last rays of sunlight warm your skin.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Something on your mind?”

Gojo didn’t answer immediately. He stopped walking and turned toward the horizon, the wind tousling his snowy hair. His jaw tightened, and you felt the shift in his energy—subtle, but impossible to miss after all the time you’d spent with him.

Your stomach twisted.

“Satoru?” you pressed, your voice softer now.

He exhaled, long and slow, before finally speaking. “We can’t do this anymore.”

The words hit you like a physical blow.

“What?” you breathed, the air stolen from your lungs.

He turned to face you then, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension in his posture that betrayed him. “It’s not fair to you,” he said, his voice light but carefully measured, as though he’d rehearsed this.

You stared at him, disbelief turning to anger. “Not fair to me?” you repeated. “Satoru, what are you talking about? I knew what I was getting into when—”

“That’s the problem,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You shouldn’t have to ‘get into’ anything. You shouldn’t have to live with a target on your back because of me.”

“Is this about what the curse said?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Because if it is, I don’t care. I chose this. I chose you.”

Gojo flinched, just barely, but it was enough for you to notice.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low, almost bitter. “I am the target. Every damn curse, every sorcerer who wants to make a name for themselves—they’re all aiming for me. And now you’re in the crossfire. I won’t let anyone hurt you because of me.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“You don’t get to make this decision for me!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to walk away and pretend like it’s for my sake when we both know that’s not what I want!”

Gojo’s shoulders tensed, and for a moment, he looked like he might falter. But then he straightened, his face hardening into that familiar mask of nonchalance.

“You’ll be safer without me,” he said, his tone so calm it was infuriating.

“And what about you?” you shot back. “Who’s going to keep you grounded? Who’s going to remind you that you’re more than just the strongest sorcerer?”

He didn’t answer.

You stepped closer, grabbing his arm, forcing him to look at you. “Satoru, please,” you whispered, tears spilling over now. “Don’t do this.”

For a moment, you thought he might cave. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you, to wipe away your tears. But then he pulled away, taking a step back.

“This is the right choice,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You’ll understand someday.”

And then he turned and walked away.

You stood there, frozen, watching his figure retreat into the growing shadows. The ache in your chest was unbearable, a hollow, gnawing pain that threatened to consume you.

*-*

The mission had started as routine.

You’d been given a standard exorcism assignment—nothing too dangerous, just an annoying curse terrorizing a small town. The curse was relatively weak, barely enough to warrant any experienced sorcerer, let alone someone with your abilities. You’d even been assigned two younger, less experienced sorcerers to guide them through the process.

Routine.

Easy.

But something about this mission felt off from the start. The energy was wrong—too quiet, too still. And when the curse finally revealed itself, it was far more intelligent, more dangerous than anything you’d anticipated.

The students were frightened, their nerves betraying them as the curse's presence grew stronger, filling the air with a chilling malice. You quickly assessed the situation, your heart racing. You’d dealt with much worse, but this one was different. It moved too quickly, outwitting you at every turn.

"You two, get out of here!" you shouted to the students, pushing them back as the curse attacked with brutal force, sending shards of broken buildings flying toward you. "I’ll hold it off. Use the flare to call for backup."

The students hesitated, looking at you with wide eyes. They were terrified, their faces pale.

"We can’t leave you here!" one of them protested.

"I’m not asking, this is an order," you snapped, turning toward the curse. "Go. Now."

With a final, reluctant glance, the students ran, triggering the flare and signaling for backup. You stayed behind, your heart pounding in your chest as the curse advanced toward you.

Your technique was based on defense and tracking—always one step ahead of your enemy, drawing from their energy to fortify your own. You could feel the flow of cursed energy around you, stealing fragments of its power as it lashed out.

But this curse was intelligent. Instead of trying to attack directly, it hurled massive chunks of rubble at you.

Motherfucker.

You gritted your teeth, dodging, weaving, but your defensive barriers shattered under the sheer force of the blows. With every hit, your energy drained faster. You had to buy time. The students had to escape.

You activated your technique once more. Your energy siphoned from the curse, using its own force against it. The pain in your body was almost unbearable, but you could feel the balance shifting, just for a moment.

Then the curse retaliated in a different way—throwing an enormous boulder in your direction.

Well fuck.

You barely saw it coming before it crashed into your side, throwing you to the ground with a sickening crack.

Everything blurred.

Your vision darkened. You managed a final, shaky breath, but your body was already failing you. The last thing you heard before everything went black was the deafening roar of the curse, followed by the sound of your heart racing in your ears.

*-*

Gojo had returned from his mission, expecting the usual debrief. He stepped into Jujutsu High, the familiar scent of ink and wood filling his senses as his footsteps echoed through the empty halls.

It had been a long, exhausting mission, but he’d grown accustomed to the grind.

He hadn’t been expecting anything out of the ordinary, just the usual debrief and paperwork. But as he passed the infirmary, his eyes were drawn to the two students from your mission. They were lying in their beds, still bandaged, their faces pale and etched with a sort of exhaustion Gojo had seen too many times before.

His heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of them through the glass window of the infirmary. Bandages wrapped around their arms, their faces pale, eyes wide with the lingering fear of the mission’s chaos. He didn’t even need to ask what had happened.

He approached the infirmary door, but when he saw the students’ tired faces, something inside him snapped—something that told him, without a single word being spoken, that you were not there. The absence was suffocating.

There was no sign of you.

He opened the door quietly, but before he could say anything, he noticed the students’ quiet glances. Their eyes avoided his, a shared sorrow pooling in the room, thickening the air.

Gojo stood still, his breath shallow. He didn’t need to hear the words. He could already sense the unease, the guilt in their eyes.

You weren’t there.

There were no questions. No requests for answers. Gojo didn’t even need to ask about your condition, didn’t need to hear the inevitable truth.

He just knew.

He turned on his heel, his heart heavy with a burden he couldn’t shake. The weight of everything seemed to settle on him all at once, an unbearable pressure in his chest. Without another glance at the students, he walked out, his footsteps muffled by the deafening silence that followed him.

The headmaster looked up from his paperwork, his face unreadable. But Gojo knew that even without words, he could see the sorrow in the older sorcerer’s eyes.

Without hesitation, Gojo spoke, his voice low but laced with a quiet panic.

"Where is she?"

The headmaster’s eyes flickered with something almost imperceptible—regret, maybe. But he didn’t answer immediately. He pushed his glasses up and set his pen down, leaning back in his chair.

"You’re asking about Y/N, right?" the headmaster finally said, his tone measured but tense.

Gojo didn’t reply, his gaze piercing. The silence stretched between them, both men knowing what was coming but refusing to speak it aloud.

"She’s..." The headmaster paused, his voice faltering. "We couldn’t find her. No trace of cursed energy. No body. Nothing. We—"

Gojo felt the air leave his lungs, as if the words had physically struck him. His hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white. The headmaster's words blurred, muffled by the rising pressure in his head.

No body.

He couldn’t process it.

Couldn’t grasp the idea that you—someone so powerful, so fierce—could vanish into nothingness. He thought maybe he’d just missed you, maybe you were injured and being treated in another room.

But no.

No trace. No energy.

No remnants of your presence anywhere.

The thought that you might really be gone—erased from existence entirely—was something his mind could not, would not, accept.

"Satoru," the headmaster said, his voice softer now. “I’m so sorry. We... we have to presume she’s gone. The mission—”

Gojo’s body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His chest felt tight, his heart hammering in his ears.

"No." The word slipped from his lips, quiet but sharp. His voice wavered just slightly. He never let his guard down, never showed weakness—but now, there was nothing left to hide.

“Please,” Gojo’s voice cracked as he turned to the headmaster, his eyes searching. He ignored the previous statements. “Tell me you found something. Tell me you found her.”

The headmaster’s face was solemn. He shook his head, slowly.

“No,” he said simply. “Nothing.”

His legs felt weak, but he held himself up. Barely. He needed to walk. He needed to leave, but his body felt anchored to the ground, unwilling to move. Every part of him screamed for the impossible: that you were out there somewhere, just waiting to be found.

But reality was a cold, harsh thing. And in this moment, the weight of it crushed him.

He had failed you. He had chosen to leave, to protect you by walking away, and now you were... gone.

"She was the one who stayed behind," Gojo murmured, almost to himself. "She stayed behind." His voice trembled slightly, betraying him.

"She was an incredible teacher and sorcerer-"

His voice droned on. Gojo wasn't listening. The truth had settled into his chest like a stone, cold and heavy.

He turned and walked out of the room without another word. He could hear the headmaster's quiet sigh behind him, but he didn’t stop.

His heart ached in ways that words couldn’t describe. And though he told himself that he would find you, that he would search until the ends of the Earth if he had to... a deep, gnawing emptiness told him that you weren’t coming back.

*-*

The small memorial for you was a quiet affair—too quiet for someone as vibrant as you. It was simple: a few flowers, a candle, some soft words from your colleagues, and then… silence.

Gojo had stood there, watching the flickering candlelight, his blindfold concealing the turmoil behind his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What could he possibly say?

He felt trapped in his own skin. And it was all his fault.

He couldn’t stop replaying that last conversation—the look in your eyes, the way you had begged him not to leave you, to not make the decision for you. He should have listened. He should have fought harder to keep you by his side. If he hadn’t pushed you away, if he hadn’t been so damn sure that he was protecting you by letting you go...

You wouldn’t have been alone.

You wouldn’t have had to face that curse by yourself.

The guilt ate at him, a slow, insidious poison coursing through his veins. He couldn’t escape it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face—your smile, your fire, the way you’d always challenged him.

It haunted him.

*-*

The days blurred into each other.

He threw himself into missions with a reckless, almost manic energy, as if hoping to exhaust himself to the point of forgetting. But it didn’t work.

It never worked.

He fought like an animal, like a machine, unleashing his cursed energy with a fury that no one had ever seen before. He’d take on missions that others would hesitate to touch, pushing himself to the brink, demanding more and more of himself, as if trying to outrun the demons inside his head.

The other sorcerers at Jujutsu High began to notice the shift. His smiles were rare, almost forced. His cocky demeanor was gone, replaced with a dangerous edge that made everyone uneasy. His actions were unpredictable, reckless. In battle, he was a force of nature, but outside of it—outside of the fights—he was unraveling.

“You’re overdoing it,” Utahime had told him, her voice laced with concern as she watched him wipe blood from his hands after another gruelling mission. “You need to slow down.”

Gojo had just stared at her, his blindfolded eyes piercing her with an intensity that made her back off.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered, the words sharp, but hollow. He wasn’t fine. But he couldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t.

*-*

Weeks passed, but it only got worse. Gojo was spiraling, and no one knew how to stop it. After the loss of Suguru Geto, Gojo had fallen into a dark place, but this... this was different. That loss had been a betrayal, a brutal cut from a man he had once called his closest friend. He had blamed himself then too, but with you, it was all his fault. He could barely look at himself in the mirror without feeling like he was drowning in his own shame.

Gojo had always been the unshakable force.

The invincible one.

But now, the cracks were spreading.

The worst part was the isolation. He would come home after long days of missions, covered in sweat and blood, but the silence in his apartment would swallow him whole. He couldn’t escape it. There was no one there to talk to, no one to help him forget.

He would lay awake, staring at the ceiling, hearing the faint sound of your voice in his memory, but it was always just out of reach. The regret twisted inside him, like a knife lodged deep in his chest.

He’d let you die alone.

The world continued to move forward.

But Gojo Satoru didn’t.

Not without you.

A/N: i hope this is even half decent, i had an idea and wanted to make smth out of it, and yesss part two will be posted very, very soon

:)

[luxtoony]

S..so.. 👉👈 @somerandomdudelmao

I really didn't want my first fanart for Cass series to be angst but my hand didn't listen. The pose and atmosphere was so cool, I couldn't resist :(

Me showing up to my college after another (very very and that's two very's) late night dedicated to turtles.

(sorry for reposting but tumblr pranks me as always)

[tired-truffle]

Even the Gods Cry For Us

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 6.4k

Part 14/17

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

"I know my existence is temporary and so is yours. But god, please, as much as I love the stars they don't last forever. I don't mind being temporary as long as it means I'm temporary with you. I would paint a hundred more stars in the sky if it meant you never burnt out." - ambsthom

Warnings: Episode 6 of season 2

Masterlist

Frozen, your legs unresponsive in their stride. Your ears rang, not with the white noise that signalled your magic, but with echoes of words spoken between teacher and former pupil.

“You’re power is finite, diminished by every use.”

“The regenerative qualities of his blood will stabilize you. Apex Shimmer combined with you, the apex form of Hextech. And to think of what it could do for your lover…Mila is her name, isn’t it?”

Singed, or Dr. Reveck, as your brain supplied, though you couldn’t place the significance of his name.

It came to you in a rush, little details you hadn’t noticed until they converged into a bigger picture. Viktor’s winces when his magic faltered - he’d brushed it off as nothing more than feeling the complexities of Vander’s psyche. The exhaustion that clung to the skin under his eyes as of late, the paleness he’d chalked up to spending most of his time inside the greenhouse. The purply-grey and lines of gold that had begun to reach for his eyes, traverse across his forehead. He’d dismissed it all, and in your need for reassurance, you hadn’t challenged him. You’d believed him. Yet he seemed to know exactly what the doctor told him, like he had known for some time.

“He’s a man. And he needs my help.” Viktor paused, his sympathy for Vander running deep within his tone. “I will not sacrifice his humanity for your cause. You may leave.”

“Very well,” Dr. Reveck said, resigned too easily to be sincere. “But I assume you understand already, if you perish, this community is soon to follow. And how long will your beloved Mila last without you, do you think? You of all people know how…volatile Shimmer can be.”

Heavy boots padded towards you, and you stood still as Dr. Reveck approached. His gaunt figure cut a stark silhouette against the greenhouse's luscious backdrop.

As he passed, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. "Mila," he intoned, a slight nod accompanying the greeting.

He continued down the path, his coat rustling softly against the foliage. Just as you thought the moment had passed, his voice drifted back, barely loud enough for you to hear. "You did the unthinkable to keep him alive. It would be a shame if all your hard work and sacrifice didn't make a difference in the end."

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs. Memories you'd buried deep clawed their way to the surface - the fire that ate at your skin, the metallic tang of blood, life slipping away beneath your hands. You wanted to scream, to lash out, but your body remained stubbornly immobile.

Dr. Reveck's footsteps faded, leaving you alone with the thundering of your heart and the whisper of leaves as they responded to your magic, crackling along your limbs. You stepped forward in a daze, your legs unsteady as if you'd forgotten how to walk.

Viktor stood tall beside Vander, his head tilted in deep thought. If he’d noticed you he made no motion to acknowledge it.

You shook your head, struggling to find the words. "Viktor, I thought we talked about you telling me when something is…going on," you finally managed, your voice trembling. "Your magic, your life force, is fading and somehow you managed to hide it from me - or maybe I was just foolish enough to trust you at your word."

Viktor turned towards you then, guilt washing over his features. He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed heavily. "I…yes. I didn't know how to inform you of my decline. You've been happy lately, for the first time in ages you’ve been without suffering. It felt wrong to steal that away."

The greenhouse suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. You paced, your footsteps echoing off the glass windows. Flowers bloomed around you in a riot of colour, their sweet scent nauseating. You’d stored as much of your magic away in the sparks as you could, but being so heightened had your emotions pulling on it against your will.

"Wrong to steal that away?" you repeated, incredulity seeping between your teeth. "How can we face what's coming if we're not honest with each other?"

Viktor's shoulders slumped and he turned his face to the side. "I believed that I could handle it on my own, find a solution before…"

"Before what?" you demanded, whirling to face him. "Before you collapsed? Before your magic gave out entirely and you died?" Your voice cracked on the last word, fear threading through your anger.

Viktor flinched as if you'd struck him. "I didn't wish to worry you," he said softly. "I thought I could spare you this."

You laughed, a bitter sound that tasted like ashes in your mouth. "Viktor, this is the opposite of sparing me. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that before you get it through your apparently leaden skull!"

Silence fell between you, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of your face and you wiped it away with a shaking hand. The greenhouse's climate control system hummed softly.

"How long?" you asked, dreading the answer.

Viktor held your gaze, his jaw tense. "I have time. It’s not immediate. I would have informed you if the situation became dire.”

Your anger dissolved into a piercing ache, like he’d taken a needle to your heart. Your eyes stung with unshed tears as you stared at Viktor, this man you'd trusted with your life, your heart, your soul. How could he have kept something so significant from you? You knew the answer, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

"I can't believe you," you whispered, your voice thick as you swallowed back your tears. "After everything we've been through, all our talks of facing things together, and you do this?" You ran a hand through your hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

A terrible thought struck you then, cold and sharp as an icicle through your chest. "Do you not…trust me?" It came out small and broken as though you were afraid to say it aloud.

Viktor's eyes widened, a flash of panic crossing his face. "No, that's not it at all," he insisted, reaching out to you. But you stepped back, your body instinctively recoiling from his touch.

"I don't believe anything you say right now." The words tasted sour on your tongue, like the caustic smoke of burning bridges. "I need space."

You turned away, unable to bear the sight of his stricken face any longer. The greenhouse stretched out before you and you longed to lose yourself in its winding paths, to disappear among the exotic blooms and delicate foliage.

"We’ll talk about this later," you added, glancing over your shoulder. Viktor stood frozen, his hand still outstretched, a statue of regret. "But not right now. I just…I can't."

With a heavy heart, you strode away from Viktor. As you reached the greenhouse door, you paused. Without looking back, you could feel Viktor's pleading gaze boring into you, heavy with desperate apologies he didn’t voice - out of respect for your request for space or too stunned at your anger. The weight of it pressed against your spine, urging you to turn around, to forgive, to understand.

But you couldn't. Not yet. With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped out into the fresh air, leaving behind the man you loved and the trust that lay shattered like shards of broken glass.

You made your way through the winding paths of the commune, your vision blurred by brimming tears. The vibrant colours and bustling activity around you became distorted, as if seen through a sheer veil of gauze. The sounds of life in the commune faded into an indistinguishable hum, overridden by the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Your feet carried you to the outskirts of the settlement, where the neat rows of buildings gave way to fields of produce, carefully tended, but deserted as lunch rolled around.

You sank to your knees among the high-reaching stalks, finally allowing the tears to fall. They streamed down your cheeks, hot and salty, dripping like raindrops onto the earth, the dirt soaking them up like a sponge.

Your body remained still, no tremors or sobs, only a silent cry. The emptiness inside you had numbed any deeper emotions. Had you left your heart behind with Viktor?

You didn't hear the approaching footsteps. It wasn't until a gentle hand touched your shoulder that you realized you weren't alone. You looked up, hastily wiping at your eyes, to see Charlotte's kind face peering down at you.

"Oh, sweetheart," she sighed, as warm and comforting as a well-worn blanket.

You tried to smile, to put on a brave face, but your lips trembled traitorously. "I'm fine," you managed to croak out, sounding hollow even to your own ears. 

Charlotte's eyes, wise and knowing, saw right through your feeble attempt at deception. She lowered herself to the ground beside you, her movements slow and deliberate. "You know," she said, a hint of levity in her tone, "it's been a long time since I've had a daughter cry to me about a boy. You'd be making me feel young again if you'd indulge me."

Her words registered slowly, like honey dripping through your consciousness. Daughter. The word echoed in your mind, a simple yet profound revelation. It didn't matter if she had called you her daughter or simply a daughter; the significance remained the same. With a choked sob, you collapsed against her, burying your face in her shoulder.

Charlotte's arms enveloped you, strong and secure. The delicate scent of herbs and sunshine, of home and the sweetness of motherly love clung to her. Her hand stroked your back in calm circles as you cried, your tears soaking into the fabric of her dress.

"Let it all out, dear,” she soothed. “You're safe here."

And so you did. You poured out your soul to her, the words spilling from your lips in a jumbled rush. You told her about Viktor's fading magic and the burden it placed on his body, about his withholding the truth, and the fear and hurt that pecked at your insides like a hungry bird. You couldn’t lose him, not again. Charlotte listened, patient and understanding, and you were thankful for every second she gave you.

Once the tears had slowed and you’d fallen into silence, Charlotte gently pulled back, her hands on your shoulders. She studied your face, her eyes soft with understanding. "Now then," she said, "let's untangle this mess, shall we?"

You nodded, wiping your dripping nose on your sleeve. Charlotte produced a handkerchief from her pocket, embroidered with delicate flowers. You accepted it gratefully.

"First things first," Charlotte began, settling more comfortably on the ground. A breeze rustled through the stalks, carrying the earthy scent of tilled soil and ripening vegetables. "You're hurt because he didn't tell you his life-sustaining magic was finite, yes?"

You nodded, twisting the handkerchief in your hands. "He promised we'd face things together. How can we do that if he keeps hiding things from me?"

Charlotte hummed thoughtfully, her fingers absently plucking a nearby weed. "Men," she said, a wry smile tugging at her lips, "have a funny way of trying to protect us. They think by shouldering burdens alone, they're sparing us pain." She shook her head, chuckling softly. "Fools, the lot of them."

You laughed, a watery sound that loosened the knot in your chest.

"Now," Charlotte continued, growing more serious, "that doesn't excuse his actions. You have every right to be hurt and angry." She reached out, taking your hand in hers. Her skin was warm and weathered, a lifetime of hard work carved into every line and callus. "But ask yourself this: do you think he kept this from you out of malice? Or out of misguided love?"

You closed your eyes, picturing Viktor's face when you'd confronted him. The guilt, the sorrow, the desperate need to explain. "Love," you whispered, opening your eyes to meet Charlotte's knowing gaze.

Charlotte nodded, squeezing your hand. "There's your answer, then. He made a mistake, a big one, but his heart was in the right place."

You sighed, shoulders falling forward. "What if he keeps doing this, thinking it's for my own good? I’ve already asked him not to and yet here we are."

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, her eyes distant as she watched the stalks sway. "Trust is like a garden. It needs constant tending. Sometimes weeds spring up, and you have to pull them out by the roots. But if the soil is good, if there's love at the foundation, it can grow back stronger than ever."

You mulled over her words, plucking absently at a nearby weed. "So what do I do now?"

Charlotte smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "You talk to him. You tell him how you’re feeling. And then you listen. Really listen. Not just to his words, but to what's behind them." She patted your hand. "And remember, it's okay to be angry. It's okay to need time. Healing isn't always quick or easy."

The path ahead wasn't clear, but at least now you had a direction. "Thank you," you breathed, leaning in to hug Charlotte tightly.

She returned the embrace with a soft pat on your back. "Anytime, Mila. That's what mothers are for."

As you pulled away, you bit your lip. "Charlotte," you began hesitantly, "you called me ‘a daughter’ earlier. Did you mean that like in general, or more specifically?"

You weren’t sure that you could have asked more awkwardly than that.

A tender smile played on her lips. "Family isn't just blood, you know. It's the people who stand by you, who love you even when you're at your worst." She cupped your cheek gently. "And you, my dear, have become as much a daughter to me as if I'd borne you myself."

Hot tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of pure joy. Unable to contain yourself, you threw your arms around Charlotte once more in a crushing hug. "Thank you," you sniffled, "I've missed having a mother."

Charlotte petted your hair, humming softly. "Well, you have one now. And I'm not going anywhere."

You stayed like that for a long moment, and when you finally pulled away, you felt steadier, more grounded. The hurt was still there, a dull ache in your chest, but it no longer rose up your throat like bile.

"I should go talk to Viktor," you said, rising to your feet and brushing dirt from your clothes.

Charlotte nodded, accepting your offered hand to help her up. "Remember," she said, giving you a final squeeze, "love isn't about never making mistakes. It's about how you handle them when they happen."

You smiled, feeling a surge of affection for this wise, kind woman. "I'll remember," you promised.

And you did.

You found Viktor in your shared room, halting his pacing mid-stride when you crossed the threshold, his doleful eyes locking onto yours. His hair was dishevelled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.

“I wanted to say—”

“Milá, it wasn’t my—”

You both spoke at the same time, stopping abruptly when you registered it. A rueful smile tugged at your lips despite the heaviness in your chest.

"You go first," you said quickly.

Viktor shook his head. "No, you. I insist."

With a deep sigh, you moved further into the room, stopping a few feet away from him - even as you longed to close the distance. Your hands clasped behind your back, fingers twisting nervously.

"I'm hurt," you began, your voice soft but steady. "I'm hurt that you didn't share this with me."

Viktor’s face twisted into a grimace, his eyes clouding with guilt. You pressed on, determined to say your piece.

"But I know you didn't do it to be cruel. You were trying to protect me." You paused, gathering your thoughts. "I understand that impulse, I know I’ve done it before, and I don’t fully know why this instance has affected me so much. Maybe I’m just tired of it, or maybe every time your mortality is in question I’m brought back to the same place I was for seven years; wondering if I won’t be enough to keep you alive. And I can’t even imagine how this must feel for you, it's your life and your body and it all just makes me so angry that you have to carry this, but I wish you would see that you don’t have to do it alone. We’ve fought so hard and it's so unfair and I can’t lose you again, Viktor, I won’t.”

You sucked in a shuddering breath, pinching the bridge of your nose to keep the tears at bay. To Viktor’s credit, he gave you space, waiting patiently for you to compose yourself.

Exhaling through your nose, you tucked your clenched fists into your pockets. “We're together. In everything. That means sharing the burdens, the fears, the ugly truths. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."

Viktor nodded solemnly, his gaze never leaving your face. "I'm sorry, miláčku" he whispered, guttural with remorse. "It was not my intention to cause you distress, in fact, it was quite the opposite. But I recognize that it was the result all the same. If you are open to hearing it, I would appreciate the opportunity to explain further, as I have had time to reflect.”

You unclenched your hands, letting them fall to your sides. “Go ahead.”

With a deep, heavy sigh, Viktor began, “I am aware that you do not expect me to heal you as I have the others, but I find myself struggling with my lack of ability. It has always been my greatest desire to provide help and support for those who have no one else to turn to, and it has been difficult for me to let go of this when it comes to you. Without realizing it, I transferred this…need to heal into a need to protect - even from things that you did not wish to be protected from. I only wanted to minimize the harm done to you, as you have suffered enough, more than anyone should. But I now see that this was not the correct path, and I apologize that I betrayed your trust in this matter.”

He took a tentative step toward you, his hand outstretched but not quite touching. "Do you think that in time, you could forgive me?" he asked.

You studied him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the subtle tremble of his fingers. This was the man you loved, every flaw and vice. He’d stood by you through countless struggles, had held you as you came down from your nightmares, whispering soothing words in the dark. He had brought you back from the brink of death, sacrificing himself in the process, and had cared for you when you’d been so lost in your own mind that you hadn’t been able to care for yourself.

"I'd be a bit of a hypocrite if I didn't," you said with a wry grin. "We've both made mistakes. What matters is that we learn from them, right?"

Relief washed over Viktor's face, his tense features softening with gratitude. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between you, his hand cupping your cheek with infinite tenderness, and you leaned into his touch.

"Thank you, lásko," he breathed, low and reverent.

You tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze. Viktor's eyes flicked to your lips, a question in their depths. You answered by pressing forward and slanting your mouth across his in a soft, sweet kiss.

Viktor's lips were warm and pliant against yours, tasting faintly of mint and honey. His hand slid from your cheek to tangle in your hair, cradling the back of your head. You gripped his robes, feeling the soft fabric beneath your fingers, anchoring yourself as the world spun around you.

As you finally pulled back, your chest heaving and your cheeks flushed, you opened your eyes - only to be met with a shock. Where Viktor's handsome face should have been, there was now a cold, unfeeling metal mask. It stretched from his forehead - two horn-like protrusions on either side - to just below his jawline. A thin metal bar ran down the center, dividing his face into two halves that lay still and undisturbed in their slumber.

With a startled gasp, you jumped out of Viktor's embrace. You blinked rapidly at the floor, willing the hallucination to disappear. When you dared to look up again, Viktor as you knew him had returned, the metal mask vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"Milá?" Viktor's brow scrunched with worry, his hand hovering uncertainly between you. "Are you alright?"

You swallowed hard, trying to calm your racing pulse. "I'm fine," you managed, your voice slightly shaky. "Just…another hallucination, I think."

Viktor took a cautious step toward you, moving slowly as if approaching a spooked animal - it felt mildly accurate so you remained uninsulated. "What did you see?"

You hesitated, unsure how to describe the unsettling vision. "It's that same metal mask I saw before.” You searched Viktor's face for any hint of recognition and he nodded his understanding - though you found nothing deeper. "It covered your whole face, with a bar across your forehead and down the middle. And on either side, it looked like…like your face was sleeping? I don’t know, but I got a better look this time."

Viktor's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something - surprise? fear? - passing over his features before he schooled his expression back to neutrality. "That sounds…disconcerting," he said.

You nodded, rubbing your arms. “At least they aren’t as frequent as before I got control of myself. I can handle a few jump scares here and there.” You laughed nervously, giving him a tentative grin.

“You’re sure that they are simply hallucinations?” Viktor asked, eyes narrowed in thought.

You frowned, considering Viktor's question. The hallucinations had become such a part of your life that you'd almost stopped questioning them. But now, faced with Viktor's probing gaze, you found yourself re-examining your experiences.

"I thought they were," you said slowly even as your mind raced with the implications. "They've always felt so seamless, you know? Like reality just shifted for a second." You gestured vaguely, trying to put the feeling into words. "Not like before the attack on the council, when I'd feel myself being pulled away. Now it snaps back to normal so quickly I can almost convince myself it never happened."

Viktor paced a few steps, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Have you noticed any patterns?" he asked. "Any commonalities?"

You chewed your lip, your gaze drifting to the potted plant on the windowsill. "Maybe? It seems to happen most with you and the other members of the commune, but it's not like I’ve spent much time around anyone else," you ventured, uncertainty colouring your tone. "I don't know though. I try not to think about them, but maybe I should."

"It's okay," he said, reaching out to take your hand. "These glimpses can be difficult to pin down. But I think it might be worthwhile to pay closer attention in the future. Perhaps keeping a journal would help?"

You considered his suggestion, absently tracing patterns on the back of his hand with your thumb. The idea of cataloging your hallucinations was both intriguing and slightly terrifying. What if you found something you didn't want to know? But it would be better to be prepared.

"You're right," you said finally, meeting Viktor's gaze. "I'll give it a try. It can’t hurt."

The pride that radiated from him was enough to reinforce your decision. While nervousness and unease may prick at your neck, when Viktor looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars and everything in between, you found yourself unable to be afraid.

The warm rays of the afternoon sun were making their slow descent as you meandered through the commune. Before attempting to write down any of your observations on your hallucinations, you needed to organize your thoughts - and what better way to do that than to get fresh air and take a stroll?

As you rounded a corner, lost in contemplation, you collided with something unexpectedly solid.

"Oof!" came a startled yelp as you both stumbled backward.

When you caught yourself, narrowly avoiding falling on our ass, you found yourself face-to-face with Jinx, her electric blue braids askew from the impact.

"Oh, sorry!" you exclaimed. "Didn't see you there.” At a loss for anything else to say, you went with, “I believe Vander’s still in the greenhouse if you're looking for him."

“Of course he is.” Jinx rolled her eyes, dusting off her pin-stripped pants. “He won’t stop picking the flowers and givin’ ‘em to me.”

A smile tugged at your lips, warmth tingling in your chest at the thought of Vander's sweet gesture. "Aww, that's so-"

"Ugh, not you too," Jinx groaned, throwing her hands up dramatically. "It's not cute, it's annoying. Do you know how many flower crowns I've had to wear this week? My head looks like a walking garden!"

You couldn't help but giggle at her exasperation, picturing Jinx adorned with a rainbow of flowers. The image was both endearing and slightly ridiculous. Hadn’t she blown up the council just a few weeks ago?

Jinx shuffled her feet, her eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route. "Well, anyway," she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal, "wouldn't want to keep you from your Machine Herald’s loving arms, so I’d best be off."

The words hit you like a bucket of ice water poured over your head. You stared at Jinx, your mouth hanging open in shock. "What…” you swallowed thickly, “what did you just say?"

"What?”

“You called Viktor the Machine Herald.”

“Well, yeah.” She played with the end of her braid, a nervous gesture that you had noticed in your limited interactions. “Everyone calls him the Herald, and he's part machine, isn't he? So, Machine Herald." She shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your vision from Progress Day - it had only been months, but it felt like years - that man with the large metal armour, his face behind a mask with glowing yellow eyes, came to the forefront of your mind. His shaggy, dark brown hair reminded you distinctly of Viktor’s, but outside of that, they bore little resemblance. Unless…the arm on his back, a laser at the centre, you’d seen one just like it; it looked identical to the one that Viktor had invented for Piltover’s artificers.

No, it couldn’t be.

But your vision had supplied his name: The Machine Herald. With your hallucinations - could you even call them that anymore? - there were too many similarities to ignore your unease.

Shaking your head, you said in a rush, “I have to go.”

“Uh, see you later then!” You heard Jinx call after you, but you were already moving.

The world around you blurred, colours and shapes melting together as your feet carried you forward on autopilot, weaving through the commune's winding paths without conscious thought.

The Machine Herald. Viktor. The two names clashed in your mind like cymbals, sending shockwaves through your soul. How could they be one and the same? The Viktor you knew was kind, compassionate, driven by a desire to help others. The Machine Herald from your vision had been cold, ruthless, more machine than man as he stood amongst the rubble, ready to fight.

Your mind raced, piecing together fragments of memory, frantic in your approach. Viktor's fascination with technology, his tireless work to improve the lives of those around him. The gleam in his eyes when he spoke of progress, of pushing the boundaries of what was possible. Had that passion twisted into something darker in your vision of the future?

You thought of the metal arm you'd seen and the one that Viktor had created; the Hex Claw, he’d called it. The Machine Herald’s was so similar to Viktor's in design - attached to their backs, a high-powered light or laser at the palm, and three pincers - yet weaponized, turned from an instrument of creation to one of destruction. How many steps separated the two? How fine was the line between innovation and devastation?

A butterfly fluttered past, its delicate wings a vibrant blue against the pale sky. You watched it dance on the breeze, soaking in its fragile beauty. Was this how Viktor saw the world? As something delicate, in need of protection and improvement? Would that view somehow warp?

You knew, deep in your bones, that the Machine Herald was a figure to be wary of. But why? What had you seen in that fleeting vision that filled you with such dread? Try as you might, you couldn't recall any specific actions, only the overwhelming sense of wrongness that had permeated the air around him.

You took a deep breath, centring yourself. There was only one way forward: you had to talk to Viktor. Maybe, if you worked it out together, you could find a way to stop him from falling down that slippery slope.

It was then that it hit you, like a slimy snake slithering over the back of your neck, its tongue flickering against the shell of your ear; that feeling of imminent danger, of death, of being watched, had returned. You’d thought it was gone when you’d tucked away your magic, a by-product of your hallucinations that wasn’t real. You were safe here, this was your home, but as you shuddered, that snake - that foreboding feeling - wrapped itself around your spine and squeezed.

Something was very, very wrong - and your magic had been trying to warn you. You hadn’t listened.

You needed to find Viktor, now.

It took no more than a split second for you to turn, pulling your magic from the sparks as you did so, facing towards the orb-like building - towards your room, your safe place where you and Viktor had spent countless nights curled up together - just in time to see someone disappearing into the building.

The man's dirty white coat flapped in the breeze, and in his hand, he clutched an unnatural-looking hammer, held up by his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Your heart skipped a beat. Surely that couldn't be who you thought it was? At that distance, it was impossible to tell.

Dread filled your lungs, a thick and suffocating fog. You broke out into a sprint, each step fueled by your magic and pushing you to inhuman speeds. But you were halfway across the compound, and you wasted precious seconds in your panic. 

You reached the building, but it was too late. 

Before you could catch a glimpse inside, a deafening boom reverberated through the ground as the top of the building erupted in a violent explosion - shattered like a bullet through a skull. The force of the blast slammed into you, lifting you off your feet and hurling you backward with an alarming velocity.

You landed hard on your back, the breath knocked from your lungs, but adrenaline surged, and though your head pounded, you scrambled to your feet. Your ears rang with a high-pitched whine and white-hot panic rattled your bones.

Viktor was in there.

Ignoring the protests of your bruised body, you burst through the entryway, your heart beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Please, if any gods are listening, I am begging you to let Viktor be okay. I will do anything you ask, just let him live.

You stopped short, your panicked gaze pulled to the man heaving for breath before you.

“Jayce?” Up close, you’d recognize that jacket anywhere, stretched across his wide shoulders, metal embellishments upon stark white fabric. Or rather, dirt-covered, off-white fabric, torn at the hems. His hammer had changed and become…warped by the arcane, you could feel the wild magical energy pulsating off the device like it had a heartbeat of its own. 

Chest heaving with stilted breath, he turned towards you, hammer pointed at your chest. Teeth barred in a snarl, lips scarred and dry, eyes darting over you, searching and seeking. For what, you didn’t know. He planted his feet, your gaze catching on the brace that held his left leg, the shaggy length of his hair, the beard and the grime that covered his face. 

He was your friend, Viktor’s friend, he’d never hurt you. But the explosion, you’d felt it beneath your feet, had seen the shards of the dome crack and float in the air like broken bones suspended in time. 

“What…” A whisper, a tendril of wind curled beneath your chin, serene and tranquil, pulling your gaze away from your friend - weapon aimed at your chest, gritting his teeth, shoulders tense as he ducked his head - and towards the figure laying crumpled on the floor. 

All sound cut out, replaced by a ringing silence. Your lungs emptied of oxygen, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever taken a breath before in your life, you no longer knew how. A chill spread through your heavy limbs, accompanied by the sharp prickling of pins and needles. Your vision swam, your feet tripping over each other as you struggled to maintain balance. Distantly, you registered a dome of blue energy forming around Jayce, and his agitation as he pounded against the barrier, yelling warnings you couldn’t hear. 

“No, no, no,” you breathed as your lungs expanded against your will, ragged and wheezing. 

It couldn’t be him, not after everything you’d been through, everything you’d survived together. 

And yet there Viktor was, lying slumped against the wall, eyes fluttering as the hole in his chest sparked and spluttered with each laboured inhale. 

Your feet felt like lead and you fell to your knees beside him, ignoring the sharp pain as your bones collided with the hard floor. Your hands shook so uncontrollably that you almost couldn’t move him to cradle his head into your lap.

A gear fell from his palm, rolling away, and he smiled weakly at you but you didn’t miss the fear that stopped it from reaching his eyes. Your chin wobbled, a barely contained sob stretching your ribcage, feeling like it may crack.

“Viktor, please,” you begged, “you promised.” You bite your lip, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me. We’re supposed to do this together.” 

He coughed once, lacking any real force. He couldn’t clear a gaping hole from his chest. “I’m…” his breath rattled once as he inhaled, he reached up and his arm trembled with the effort. He tapped your chest once, over your heart, arm falling back to his side. “Here. Always.” 

He went still, peaceful, almost as if he was asleep, but his eyes remained open, devoid of any light, and his chest did not move with breath. Your hand fluttered over his face, shaking along with your body. 

“No,” you sobbed, breaking over the vowel, hot tears falling onto his lifeless face, serene and beautiful, even in death. Not like this, not again. “Please, don’t go, please, Viktor, I need you, I need you, please.”

Your head snapped up, weeping around scattered breaths as you focused on the man responsible for this. His jaw hung slack, hammer dangling limply at his side. The barrier flickered and spat.

"Give him back!" you screamed, voice raw and cracking. "Bring him back, Jayce! You did this, now fix it!"

But no amount of begging would revive him. You could plead and pray to the Gods themselves but they wouldn’t not answer your call. What had been done could not be undone. Jayce didn’t need to respond, you already knew. 

Beneath your hands, Viktor’s life spark extinguished, and your heart crumbled to ash and dust. 

A blood-curdling, keening wail rent itself from your throat, primal and filled with anguish. You cried your grief into a world that didn’t care, curling into his body, holding him tight against you like you could hold onto him for just a little longer, stretch your last seconds with him. But time was not your friend, and it kept moving, without Viktor. 

You screamed and you cried and something inside your chest snapped. Years ago, when you’d learned what a Motus Mage could do, you’d sworn that you would never fall into that trap. But then you’d fallen in love - had already been in love, if you were being honest with yourself, head over heels for that wonderful man. And he had been stolen from you, while your back was turned. By someone who had called himself a friend.

Why? 

Why did you let your guard down?

Why did Jayce do this?

Why did the world give you Viktor only to rip him from your side?

Why did Soraka say that you could save this world if the one you wanted to save it for wasn’t going to be a part of it?

You were a woman grieving the loss of her beloved, a daughter who’d found a mother and now sat on the precipice of losing her too, a friend who’d lost all who saw her that way - a mage whose vast wealth of power was tied to your emotions, and the strength of your loss, your sorrow and pain, shredded your restraints like fine paper. 

Your magic exploded from you like a supernova, raw power erupting from every pore. Your hair whipped wildly around your face, each strand crackling with arcane energy.

Time seemed to slow, the world around you grinding to a halt. Specks of dust hung suspended in the breeze, glittering like stars in the eerie stillness. Jayce’s fist, pounding against your barrier once more, froze mid-beat. Even the tears on your cheeks paused in their descent, tiny crystals of grief suspended in time.

For a heartbeat, everything was perfectly, impossibly still.

Then, with a sound like reality itself tearing apart, a blinding white light erupted from your body. It consumed everything - the room, Viktor's lifeless form, your own anguished face - until there was nothing left but pure, searing radiance.

You fell back, and there was only nothingness. Weightless, dark, nothingness.

Next Chapter

A/N: Please don’t hate me, I promise there is still gonna be a happy ending! The next chapter will be up tomorrow.

At least Viktor didn’t die before they resolved their fight…aha

You're welcome to yell at me in the comments or join the Discord server and yell at me there! (We also have art and general fun chats about arcane)

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part two

part three: you search in every model's bed for something greater

Steve had been doing his best trying to go back to some semblance of normal after Eddie walked out of his life. It wasn't easy and he spent countless nights dreaming up how he could have handled it differently or made Eddie stay or call Robin immediately and beg her to let him tell Eddie (Steve knew she would have but he hadn't wanted to ask her). He knew he could have done countless things differently but the result probably would have ended up the same. At the end of the day, Eddie didn't trust him and at the most basic crux of everything nothing else really mattered.

He was happy for Nance and Robin though. That was the big secret of it all. Robin wasn't ready to come out publicly and Steve offered to let Nancy stay at his place so that if there was any press it would be tied to him and not Robin. Eddie came over at maybe the worst time before he had been able to clear everything with Robin and Nancy was still sleeping off the jet lag from whatever Eastern European country she was reporting in that month. Steve and Nancy had an on again off again thing as kids when they were both getting famous in their own fields having grown up in the same small town. Steve knew Nance was bigger than him but it still stung when they finally admitted it to each other.

Thankfully, the next project Steve was on he met Robin who was the light of his life and his soulmate. He'd been pretty convinced they'd get married at one point until Robin drunkenly admitted she was gay on the bathroom floor of some random afterparty their heads a little fizzy from the champagne. Their relationship quickly pivoted from romantic to platonic and Steve was more than happy to play arm candy to stave off any rumors Robin was sick of circulating. As the years passed and Robin and Steve's circles melded together, Robin and Nancy started gravitating together and even Steve couldn't deny they were kind of perfect together. He'd happily agreed to lend whatever subterfuge he could to keep the two out of the tabloids. Unfortunately he hadn't really thought about bringing his boyfriend in on the plot until a little too late. Fuck him for thinking Eddie would trust Steve though, right? Steve was trying to be more positive as he didn't want to burst Robin and Nancy's new relationship bubble with his grumpy attitude. Instead he was doing what he normally did after a bad breakup -- wallowing and forgetting it happened.

Tabloids followed him around and accused him of sleeping with everyone including Robin’s secret girlfriend but in reality he was mostly at home only scheduling nights out every so often to give the girls some privacy at his loft. Nancy had convinced Robin to head out to the Hudson Valley to have some alone time outside of Steve's apartment so Steve was using his night at home alone to rot on the couch flipping through channels until he spotted a familiar flash of dark curls hammering away on his guitar apparently playing some new single.

Steve was livid. He would’ve been pissed if he had found out about the song in a more low key way way like scrolling through TikTok or getting a text from Robin but he was fucking livid because he found out about the song when Eddie fucking Munson was on Jimmy Kimmel.

Apparently, Eddie had thought it would be fun to release an unexpected single ahead of his band’s rumored fourth album. Steve knew Eddie had to have seen the tabloid fodder after he started going out again making headlines about how his and Robin’s relationship was on the rocks and Steve was auditioning most of the city to take her place. However, he hadn’t expected for Eddie to believe all of the rumors about him. 

Steve's relationship with the tabloids had always been trying. From his very public breakup with Nancy (who everyone asserted won because she immediately starting seeing Jon) to his "slut era" before "settling down" with Robin and more recently to speculating on his relationship with Eddie and what happened with Robin. Steve and Robin had a pretty long discussion about how to handle Eddie and if she wanted Steve to keep Eddie quiet so they could continue playing up their relationship. Robin had given her blessing but Robin wasn't quite ready to come out to anyone outside their tight nit circle of friends even though Steve and Eddie quickly became inseparable. Eddie had understood when Steve told him about Robin's agent and how it was helpful if there were at least rumors of the two dating even though it couldn't be farther from the truth. While they hadn't been super public with their relationship fans of both Steve and Eddie speculated in comments to pictures and stories the two posted but the boys never confirmed anything other than a few cheeky hearts here and there.

Steve had learned about Eddie because one of this kids he grew up babysitting was a huge Corroded Coffin fan and begged Steve to bring him as his plus one to some award show the band was also nominated at. Steve tried to explain to Dustin that is was not common to just run into famous people while they were heading to the carpet but of course the universe proved him wrong and they were right behind Eddie Munson himself. Dustin never had any sense of social propriety so he went right up to Eddie and introduced himself. Steve had pretty quickly fallen for Eddie's quick wit and how kind Eddie was to one of Steve's kids. Steve hung back in the wings but became enamored with the man from afar. Later when they found themselves at the same 30 under 30 event Robin all but pushed Steve into Eddie to force him to finally talk to him. They pretty quickly fell into the rhythm of exclusivity and from there it was a short road to boyfriends.

Early on in their relationship, Steve had thought Eddie and him had gotten over the hump of his history with the press. When Steve and Eddie had started going out on dates without trying to be coy about anything, there was lot of rumors that Steve was cheating on Robin. It had taken a lot of long nights and talks but Eddie seemed to trust that so much of Steve's public persona was presented by reporters who were only looking for a story. Steve thought they'd moved past believing rumors about each other that the press loved to spin. Eddie's song made it pretty clear Eddie believed every shitty headline or tweet or deuxmoi that had come out about Steve fucking his way across town.

It wasn't like Steve could have even tried to set the record straight with Eddie. Steve had tried to contact Eddie shortly after reorienting a very confused and awake Nancy after Eddie slammed Steve's apartment door. Steve didn't tell Nancy exactly what happened but he did tell her that Eddie broke up with him. She held him as he sobbed and realized each way he had to contact Eddie was gone. He'd blocked his number, blocked all of his socials, turned off any messaging Steve could think of.

Steve was devastated Eddie thought Steve was the man the tabloids presented him as even thought he'd worked really hard to make sure all his found family knew he wasn't that person. Apparently Eddie had forgotten all of that. It certainly wasn't helping that Eddie's song was already a Tik Tok trend and Steve was enough of a masochist to scroll through the sound. Steve found far too many edits of him and Eddie timed to the chorus.

Steve felt like he couldn’t escape it or figure out how to at least tell his side of the story. Anything he said would just make him seem like an asshole for moving on so quickly or trying to cover up for cheating on his ex, so Steve kind of resigned himself to private wallowing.

In the end, it wasn't even really all of that that hurt Steve the most. Steve couldn't help but fixate on that one line.

at least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight

Steve was heartbroken that Eddie had already moved on. Steve may have been going out and putting on a smile at whatever club or restaurant he was passing time in that night. As much as the magazines wanted the world to believe Steve was finding a home in a new girl's bed every night, reentering his notorious bad boy era, Steve went home alone or found himself with Nancy and Robin cuddling on his couch. In Steve’s less than proud moments late at night when he lay awake staring at the ceiling, he’d pull up Eddie’s public insta and may or may not have set up a google alert for any references to Eddie or his band. None of that prepared him for the reality of hearing Eddie croon about his new relationship with someone who wasn't Steve.

Steve had been trying to keep the specifics of their breakup from Robin and Nance. He knew they'd both feel terrible and with no real way to contact Eddie it wasn't worth dragging Robin and Nancy down with him. After going down a Tik Tok rabbit hole listening to people say all kinds of terrible shit about him and doubting his sincerity with Eddie, Steve slunk out of his room to where Nancy and Robin were finishing up their Thursday night movie.

"Steve?" Robin asked as soon as she saw Steve wrapped up in his blanket, eyes puffy and red.

"Rob, I need to talk to you about something." Steve sat across from his friends, tucked his knees into his chest and got ready to dive into the reasons Eddie actually left.

part four

@lololol-1234 (we're getting close to the happy ending i promise)

(if you saw this version earlier when i forgot how i had these two fools meet, no you didn't)

[taeiris]

got possessed (haha get it) and drew this in like 30 mins.

i love sketching like this like just black. yk

ANYWAYS ANGSTY S5 BYLER RAHHH