#this is like the third time and i get sadder every time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bimrwolf · 2 months ago

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The Christmas Arrangement

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 12,672 warnings: eventual smut!!! 18+ (minors dni) steve's emotions are supressed in this one.... his dad died summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: everyone writes for summer steve... but i need more christmas steve sigh Part 1 / Part 2

The office was quiet except for the low hum of the heater kicking in and the occasional rustle of cardboard boxes. You stood in the middle of the sleek, open-plan space, hands on your hips, surveying the mess of holiday decorations strewn around you. Red-and-gold garlands coiled like lazy snakes, tangled string lights blinked in erratic patterns, and a stuffed Santa Claus stared at you from his perch on the countertop, looking unimpressed.

The office smelled like old coffee and artificial pine as you adjusted the garland on the filing cabinets for the third time that morning. The decorations were your idea—an attempt to liven up the drab Harrington & Co. Advertising office.

"Corporate holiday spirit, my ass," you muttered, yanking a plastic wreath out of the chaos. The smell of fake pine hit you in the face as you tried to fluff it up, but it only ended up looking sadder.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall made you freeze mid-fluff. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Fantastic,” you grumbled. You purposely turned up the radio to blast Santa Baby. You were the first person in the office and you knew your boss, Steve Harrington, would make a comment about you being early for once.

Your boss was, how you say, an asshole. It took you selling your soul for him to agree to use the company credit card for these cheesy decorations.

Steve Harrington stalked past you toward his glass-walled office, shedding his coat and scarf like they were physically offending him. His dark hair was windswept in that annoyingly perfect way, and he looked like he had stepped straight out of a GQ spread, down to the polished leather shoes and a slight pout that made you want to smack him or… well, something else you weren’t going to admit.

You turned to watch him cross the room, his broad shoulders stiff under his tailored navy suit. He dumped his briefcase unceremoniously onto his desk and flopped into his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked tired. More tired than usual, which was saying something. For someone who seemed to have it all—wealth, looks, charm—Steve Harrington carried a cloud of stormy energy around him that seemed to zap the joy out of every room he entered lately.

You couldn’t help it. You strolled into his office, smirking when it was clear your presence was unwanted.

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington.” You knew he hated when you called him that.

He winced, rolling his eyes. “Morning,” he muttered.

You waltzed closer to his desk, holding an animatronic snowman, hopping on the desk, crossing your ankles. You placed the snowman in front of him, pressing the button that made it wiggle back and forth as it blared a jazz version of Frosty the Snowman. Steve gave you an unimpressed brow.

You hesitated, humming to the tune. "Bad morning or bad life?"

Steve's hazel eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. "You always this…perky, or is it just when I haven’t had coffee yet?" He pressed the button on the snowman to make it stop.

"Wow, Grinch vibes already. It’s not even eight," you said, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Don’t tell me you hate Christmas, Mr. Harrington. That might actually make me quit."

“That would be a Christmas miracle!” He snorted, though it was more a tired exhale. "I don’t hate Christmas. I hate…" He gestured vaguely, his mouth flattening into a grim line. "Stuff."

"Stuff," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Very descriptive. I’ll be sure to add that to my notes: ‘Boss hates stuff.’”

Steve didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes briefly flicking to the decorations scattered behind you. His gaze landed on the garlands outside, and his jaw tensed.

"Remind me why I agreed to all of this?”

You didn’t answer right away, busy adjusting the stuffed snowman that now sat precariously on the corner of his desk. It was probably a bad idea to push him this early in the morning, but it was hard to resist. Something about Steve Harrington’s thinly veiled irritation was endlessly entertaining.

“Because I wore you down,” you said finally, sitting back on his desk with a self-satisfied smile. “Persistence is a key marketing strategy. Consider yourself sold.”

"No," he replied, dragging a hand through his hair and leveling you with an exasperated look. "I agreed because it was faster than arguing with you."

This was how most of your interactions with Steve went: a series of minor battles where you, armed with stubborn optimism and just enough sarcasm to keep things interesting, chipped away at the polished, vaguely disheveled wall he called a personality. Most days, he didn’t give you much to work with—just clipped answers, unimpressed glances, and the occasional reluctant smirk when you pushed the right buttons.

Today, though, something was different. The faint crease between his eyebrows had deepened. His tie was slightly askew, like he’d thrown it on without bothering to check the mirror. He looked... off. The usual self-assured edge was dulled, replaced by a quiet tension that made you hesitate, just for a moment.

You reached over, straightening his tie and he quickly swatted your hand away. “You’re in a mood,” you huffed.

He looked at himself in the reflection of his computer, fixing the tie himself. He raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

“Mine’s the fun kind. Yours is… whatever this is. Like someone pissed in your cheerios.”

“I don’t eat cheerios.” You rolled your eyes, messing with some papers on his desk. It was obvious he didn’t want you to touch them because he snatched them from your hands.

“It’s a figure of speech, Mr. Harrington.” You paused, examining him. “What’s going on?”

"Nothing," he said too quickly, picking up a pen and tapping it against the desk. "Just tired."

It was a bad lie, and you both knew it. But if he wasn’t going to elaborate, you weren’t going to push. You learned early on that prying too much only made him retreat further into himself.

Instead, you tilted your head and let a teasing smile creep back onto your face. "You sure? Because you’ve been walking around like someone canceled your favorite TV show."

“I don’t watch TV.”

"Of course you don’t," you said, sighing. "Too busy glaring at people and sighing dramatically."

The sudden buzz of his desk phone broke the tension. Steve reached for it, but you were faster, snatching the receiver off the hook before he could stop you.

"Harrington & Co.,," you answered, saying your name brightly, giving him a look that dared him to stop you.

He didn’t care, leaning back in his seat, probably thinking, one less person I have to talk to.

"Hello, dear!" a warm, feminine voice said on the other end. "I wasn’t expecting such a cheerful voice. Who is this?"

You froze, your bravado faltering for the first time. Steve noticed your demeanor change. “Uh…” You scrambled for a response, ignoring Steve trying to reach for the receiver.

The woman answered, “This is Steve’s office? He gets on me for always calling his personal telephone. So I thought today, I would call the office. How rude of me, this is his mom. Who am I speaking to?”

“Steve’s mother?” You asked absentmindedly. You grinned cheekily when Steve’s eyes went wide.

He took a sharp intake of breath, reached out to take the receiver away, and hissed, “Don’t–”

“Mrs. Harrington!” You greeted her, pulling away from Steve. “I’ve heard so much about you from your son.”

Steve quickly stood up, standing in front of you when he saw you were going to try and jump down from the desk. You held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer. Steve’s jaw tightened, and he mouthed, Hang up.

"Oh! Are you the girlfriend he’s been hiding from me?" she asked, her voice bright with excitement.

Your stomach dropped. Girlfriend? You glanced at Steve, who looked like he was actively regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"I..." You hesitated, torn between correcting her and seeing where this was going. "Well—"

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You shrugged at Steve. You would be smarter to say no and just give him the phone, but also watching him react the way he did made you buzz.

"It’s all so new," you said vaguely, tilting your head to shoot Steve an innocent smile. You twirled the phone cord around your finger, taking far too much delight in the way he was practically vibrating with barely contained frustration. "We haven’t really put a label on things yet."

Steve’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand down his face like he was trying to physically wipe away the situation. He mouthed again, Hang up! but you ignored him, your smirk widening.

"Oh, that makes sense," Mrs. Harrington said brightly. "Steve has always been so private. But I knew something was up! A mother knows these things."

"Of course," you said, your voice light and agreeable. "He’s such a delight to be around. I can see why you’re so proud of him."

Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, pointing at the phone like it was going to combust in your hand.

"And you sound so lovely!" Mrs. Harrington continued. "You must come to Christmas. We’d love to meet you properly."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "Oh, um..." You hesitated, glancing at Steve, whose expression had shifted from exasperation to outright panic.

"It’s just a small family gathering," Mrs. Harrington added, as if sensing your hesitation. "Nothing too formal, in fact, it’s mostly his friends. Steve hasn’t brought anyone home in ages, so this will be such a treat!"

You opened your mouth, half-ready to backtrack, but Steve grabbed the phone from your hand before you could say another word.

"Mom," he said sharply, his tone strained. "Hi. Yeah. No, she’s not—"

He paused, his free hand rubbing at his temple as he listened to whatever his mom was saying on the other end. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like the weight of the world had just landed squarely on him.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Fine. Yeah. I’ll talk to you about it later. See you then. Bye."

He hung up with a sharp click and turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief, annoyance, and something you couldn’t quite place.

"You’re unbelievable," he said flatly.

"You’re welcome," you replied, hopping off the desk and dusting your hands like you’d just finished a job well done.

Steve just stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to will himself into a different dimension where this conversation had never happened. Finally, he sighed, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “Will you just go finish polluting the office with more cheap plastic while I try to write your termination letter.”

You knew he was fibbing, but you still frowned. “What? It’s not like I told her your deepest darkest secrets.” You just made his mom believe he was in a relationship.

He laughed incredulously. “You know exactly what you did. You made her believe we…” he motioned between you two. “As if.”

You crossed your arms, scowling. “Excuse me? As if? Mr. Harrington, you would be lucky to even dream about dating me.”

He held his hand up. “This is your fault,” he said, his tone sharp, “If you hadn’t answered my phone–”

“You’re seriously blaming me?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You’re the one who didn’t tell her the truth.”

“And say what? Say, ‘No mom, that’s only my annoying pain in the ass intern who can’t stay out of my business. Not my girlfriend.’” He readjusted the items on his desk from the spot you had sat on.

“Yes, although I would leave out all the filler words, that’s not really important.” You regretted your comment immediately.

Steve’s nose flared. You looked at the clock. Wow, new record of making Steve Harrington angry enough to kick you out of his office. He shut the door in your face, the lock clicked on the other side. You tried to peer inside, but he closed his curtains so no one could look into the office.

The next morning, the office was humming with quiet activity. A few coworkers had come in early, and the sound of keyboards clacking mixed with the faint murmur of a distant phone ringing. You were nursing a cup of coffee at your desk, trying to forget about yesterday’s debacle. Steve hadn’t spoken to you since slamming his office door, and frankly, you were hoping to ride that silence out for the rest of your internship.

But peace wasn’t in the cards.

Your name was called out. Steve’s voice cut through the office like a blade. You glanced up to see him standing in his doorway, his tie slightly loosened and his jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “In my office. Now.”

A few heads turned toward you, and you resisted the urge to groan. With a quick glance at your coffee as if it could save you, you stood and made your way to his door.

When you stepped inside, Steve closed the door firmly behind you, leaning against it for a moment like he needed to gather himself. His office smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, and the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“You okay there, Mr. Harrington?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

His jaw tightened when you called him that. But he didn’t say anything about it. There seemed to be more pressing matters on his mind. “No,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “We need to talk about yesterday.” He walked past you, leaning against his desk.

“Oh, come on,” you said, throwing up your hands. “It wasn’t that bad. Your mom seemed thrilled. I bet she even slept better knowing her darling son isn’t as emotionally unavailable as he looks.”

“This isn’t funny.”

You frowned, suddenly aware of how serious he looked. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he interrupted, cutting you off.

Your mouth fell open. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My mom is expecting you. She’s already told everyone that I’m bringing someone.” He walked behind his desk, looking out at the busy Chicago streets. You thought he was being melodramatic.

“That’s not my problem,” you said, crossing your arms. “You could’ve told her the truth, but instead, you—”

“You’re the one who answered the phone,” Steve said, his voice rising. “You’re the one who decided to play along and make it worse.”

“Worse?” you scoffed. “I saved you from having to explain why you’re still single and miserable. You should be thanking me.”

Steve’s face fell. “You think I’m miserable?” He turned away, and you thought he looked almost sad.

“Don’t dodge the point,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re the one dragging me into your family drama.”

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” he said, leaning forward and planting his hands on his desk. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“A deal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ll pay you. Whatever you want. Double your hourly rate for every day you’re there. All you have to do is show up, pretend to like me, and keep my mom happy.”

You stared at him, your brain working overtime to process what he’d just said. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

“You want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend for Christmas?” you asked. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“No, what’s insane,” Steve shot back, “is the fact that my mom is already planning to introduce you to half of Hawkins like we’re engaged. So unless you want to explain to her why you suddenly bailed, this is happening.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of a response. Part of you wanted to storm out and let him deal with the fallout on his own. But another part of you—the part that had seen the vulnerability in his eyes—hesitated.

This wasn’t just about avoiding an awkward conversation with his mom. Steve was clearly under a lot of pressure, and as much as you hated to admit it, you’d helped create this mess. Walking away now would feel… wrong.

“Fine,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “But I have conditions.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What kind of conditions?”

“For starters,” you said, holding up a finger, “I’m not answering any weird questions about how we ‘met.’ That’s on you.”

“Fair,” Steve said, nodding.

“And I get final veto power over all cringe-worthy PDA. In fact, minimal to no PDA unless absolutely necessary,” you added. “I’m not about to get handsy with my boss.”

Steve grimaced. “Trust me, that’s not on my list of priorities.”

“Good,” you said, ignoring the small flicker of irritation at how quickly he’d agreed. “And finally, you’re driving.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Deal.”

You studied him for a moment, still trying to wrap your head around what you’d just agreed to. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Steve said, sitting down and leaning back in his chair.

You shook your head, already regretting this. What a Merry fricking Christmas to you.

***

The road stretched out ahead, flanked by frost-tipped trees and the occasional weathered fence. The closer you got to Hawkins, the quieter it became, as if the small Indiana town had been forgotten by time. Even the car seemed to absorb the silence, its heater humming softly against the chill that seeped through the windows.

You glanced at Steve, who was gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather. He hadn’t said much since you left Chicago, aside from the occasional grunt in response to your attempts at conversation. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be closed off, but there was a weight to his silence now, something that settled in the car like a third passenger.

For the past few hours, you’d filled the space with music and idle chatter, throwing out observations about roadside diners and Christmas light displays in an effort to keep things light. But as the miles ticked by, your energy waned, leaving only the sound of a muted playlist in the background.

When Steve finally turned onto a narrow residential street, the tension in your chest grew. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting—some sprawling estate with a wrought-iron gate, maybe—but the house that came into view was surprisingly… ordinary.

The two-story home had a certain charm, with its neatly trimmed hedges and a string of multicolored Christmas lights hanging from the roofline. A dusting of snow covered the front yard, softening the edges of the picket fence and the stone path that led to the front door. A wreath hung crookedly from the door, its red bow slightly frayed, as if someone had pulled it out of storage at the last minute.

Steve pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, leaning back against his seat with a deep exhale. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the house like it was something he’d rather avoid. You resisted the urge to ask what was on his mind, instead focusing on the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the trip began.

This was it. You were about to step into Steve Harrington’s world—the one he avoided talking about, even when you pried. The weight of that realization made your throat tighten.

"Home sweet home," Steve said finally, his voice flat as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You followed suit, stepping out into the cold. The air was sharper here, biting at your cheeks and turning your breath into soft clouds. As you stood by the car, taking in the house, you couldn’t help but notice how still everything was. Hawkins felt like a far cry from the bustling chaos of Chicago, a place where time moved slower and the world seemed quieter.

Steve grabbed your bag from the trunk without a word, slinging it over his shoulder before nodding toward the house. You trailed after him, your boots crunching against the snow-dusted path.

The door opened before you reached it, revealing a petite woman with short, dark hair and a radiant smile. She stepped out onto the porch, clapping her hands together against the cold.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. "I was starting to think you got lost."

Steve’s mom, you realized. Diane Harrington was every bit as charming as her voice had suggested on the phone. She descended the steps quickly, wrapping Steve in a tight hug before pulling back to examine him.

"You look tired," she said, brushing a stray piece of lint off his coat. "Have you been eating? You look thinner."

Steve sighed. "Hi, Mom."

Her eyes shifted to you, her expression lighting up as she stepped closer. "And you must be the girlfriend," she said, taking your hands in hers before you could react. "I’m so happy to meet you. Steve said you were pretty but I wasn’t expecting you to be this gorgeous."

Pretty? Heat crept up your neck, and you shot Steve a quick glare. He looked away, suddenly very interested in the snow beneath his boots.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harrington," you said, mustering your most polite tone. "It’s, uh, really nice to meet you too."

"Diane," she corrected with a smile. "Come inside, both of you! It’s freezing out here."

Steve brushed past her into the house, leaving you to follow. The moment you stepped inside, warmth enveloped you, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. The interior was cozy, with polished hardwood floors, soft lighting, and a large Christmas tree dominating the living room. Ornaments dangled from its branches, reflecting the twinkling lights, while neatly wrapped presents were piled underneath.

"This is... cute," you said, glancing around. It was homier than you’d expected, filled with little touches that spoke of a family that cared about the details—a bowl of candy canes on the coffee table, stockings hanging from the mantel, and framed photos lining the walls.

"You make it sound like a dollhouse," Steve muttered, dropping your bag by the couch.

Diane bustled in behind you, already pulling off her scarf. "I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got cookies in the oven and plenty of hot cocoa if you want some."

"That sounds amazing," you said, offering her a genuine smile.

"Good! I’ll grab you both a cup," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

The moment she was out of sight, you turned to Steve, your voice low. "You could’ve warned me your mom was this... friendly."

Steve let out a short laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch. "What, did you expect her to interrogate you at the door?"

"Honestly? A little," you admitted, glancing toward the kitchen.

Steve smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something guarded about him now, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t eased since you arrived.

"You good?" you asked quietly, crossing your arms.

"Fine," he said, brushing off the question. "Just... try not to make this worse than it already is."

You frowned, about to respond, but Diane returned, balancing a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of cookies.

"Here we go!" she said cheerfully, setting them down on the coffee table. "Now, sit, both of you. I want to hear everything."

You exchanged a quick glance with Steve, the unspoken weight of the situation settling between you.

This was going to be a long few days.

You weren’t sure what you had expected from Steve’s mom, but “relentless enthusiasm” wasn’t at the top of the list. Diane seemed to have a bottomless well of energy, firing off questions between sips of cocoa as you and Steve sat side by side on the couch. The way her eyes sparkled with every word made it clear she was thrilled you were here—and just as clear that Steve hadn’t prepared her for your arrival.

It was a stark contrast from her annoyingly moody son.

"So," Diane began, leaning forward with a curious tilt of her head. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at Steve. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t deeply regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"A little while," you said finally, keeping it vague.

Steve let out a small, sharp breath—relief, maybe—but you weren’t about to let him off the hook completely. "Steve didn’t tell you?" you added, shooting him a pointed look.

Diane’s brow furrowed slightly as she turned to Steve. "No, he didn’t."

"Must’ve slipped my mind," Steve muttered, his tone flat. He grabbed his cocoa and took a long sip, clearly hoping to disappear into the mug.

"Slipped your mind?" you repeated, incredulous. "Wow. That’s not the kind of thing you forget, Mr. Harrington."

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you, his hazel eyes narrowing. "I’ve been busy."

"Too busy to mention your girlfriend to your mom?" you shot back, the word "girlfriend" sticking to your tongue like peanut butter.

He returned a sarcastic smile. “Seems I get a bit distracted when I’m worried about my employees coming in late to work and messing with things that’s none of their business.”

Ouch, that was definitely targeted at you.

Diane’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smile turning a little more amused. "You two bicker like an old married couple," she said with a laugh.

Steve groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’re not—"

"That’s just how he is," you interrupted, cutting him off. "Always so cheerful and charming. It’s why we get along so well." You grabbed his hand. You suddenly became aware that you had never touched him before. It felt strange. His hands were softer than you had imagined. Not that you had imagined what they felt like… but you just assumed they were callused just like his personality.

His glare deepened, but he couldn’t exactly contradict you without blowing the whole thing wide open. Watching him squirm was deeply satisfying. He gave you an awkward smile, laying his other hand on top of yours.

"Well, it’s nice to see him with someone who keeps him on his toes," Diane said, clearly delighted.

"Trust me," you replied, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. "It’s a full-time job."

Steve didn’t respond, instead finishing off his cocoa with a pointed slam of the mug onto the table. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, but he kept his cool, probably for Diane’s sake.

"Speaking of full-time," Diane said, seamlessly steering the conversation back to you. "What do you do? Steve said you work together."

"That’s right," you said, nodding. "I’m a marketing intern at Harrington & Co."

"Oh!" Diane’s smile widened. "So you work for Steve?"

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Technically, yes."

"Technically," Steve repeated, his voice dry.

You shot him a look. "Yes. Technically."

"Interesting," Diane said, her tone growing more curious. "That must make things... complicated."

"It’s not so bad," you said quickly, plastering on a smile. "We’ve got a great dynamic."

Steve snorted, earning a sharp nudge from your elbow. "Right, dear?"

"Sure," he said, rubbing his side where you’d jabbed him. "Great dynamic."

Before Diane could ask anything else, the sound of the oven timer chimed from the kitchen. She clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. "The gingerbread cookies are ready! Stay right here—I’ll bring some out."

The second she was out of earshot, Steve turned to you, his voice low and tense. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Me?" you said, feigning innocence. "I’m just being the charming, delightful girlfriend your mom thinks I am."

"Charming?" Steve repeated, his brows lifting. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

You ducked your chin into your chest, taking away your hand from his because there was no point since his mother wasn’t in the room.

You hoped he was too self-absorbed to notice the shift. But you were never that lucky. “Wait, don’t tell me…”

“Just, shut up.” You snapped.

Steve shook his head, muttering something under his breath as Diane reappeared, balancing a tray of perfectly iced gingerbread men. You quickly fell back into the good girlfriend role you were hired to play.

"Here we are," she said, setting the tray down with a flourish. "Steve, be a dear and get her a blanket from the closet. I don’t want her catching a chill."

You smiled sweetly as Steve stood, his frustration barely hidden. He stalked toward the hallway, mumbling something about how "this was all a mistake."

When he was gone, Diane leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "He really likes you, you know."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"My Steve," she said, her smile softening. "He doesn’t bring just anyone home. At least not since his father…” she sniffled. She gave you a hopeful smile. “You must mean a lot to him."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Steve reappeared before you could process what she’d said, tossing a folded blanket into your lap without a word.

"Thanks," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Don’t mention it," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The tension between you lingered as Diane handed you both cookies, her voice filling the space with cheerful chatter. You focused on nibbling the edges of your gingerbread man, trying not to think too hard about her earlier comment—and why it made your stomach flip.

“Uh… sorry. Is there a restroom I could use?” You asked shyly, biting your lip.

Diane put her hand on her cheek. “Oh dear! I got so excited I forgot to show you around. Steve, can you meet us upstairs in your room with the bags?”

Diane led you up the staircase, her steps light and quick despite her small frame. You followed behind her, gripping the railing as you took in the house. It was cozy in the way older homes often were, with creaky wood floors and framed photos lining the walls. One caught your eye—a younger Steve in a basketball uniform, his face frozen in a proud, gap-toothed grin. Another showed him with his arm slung around a shaggy-haired boy, both of them laughing mid-moment.

“This way, dear,” Diane called, pulling your attention back to the present.

She stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed open a door, gesturing for you to step inside.

“Here we are!” she said brightly. “Steve’s room.”

You hesitated at the threshold, peering inside. The room was surprisingly neat, with a made bed covered in a navy comforter, a single wooden desk tucked into the corner, and a few sparse decorations on the walls—mostly framed posters and a few shelves of books. It was plain, a little impersonal, like the room of someone who’d stopped living here a long time ago.

"Uh, nice," you said, stepping inside awkwardly. "Where, um… where am I staying?"

Diane blinked, her expression shifting from cheerful to confused. “Here, of course.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Uh… here?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s plenty of space, and the bed is big enough for the both of you.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. “Oh, that’s, um… generous of you, but—”

“Mom,” Steve’s voice interrupted from behind you. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, bags in hand, his expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “You didn’t say we’d be sharing a room.”

Diane’s brows knit together in a faint frown. “Well, where else would she sleep? The guest room hasn’t been used in years—it’s full of boxes. And the couch is far too small.” She smiled at you. “I’m sure you two don’t mind. You are a couple, after all. I’m not a naive mother, I know you had girls over back in your high school days.”

Steve coughed, “Mom!”

You glanced at Steve, your heart pounding. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. His cheeks were red.

“Right,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of course. No problem.”

“See?” Diane said, beaming. “I knew you’d be fine with it.” She reached out and patted Steve’s arm. “Be a gentleman and help her settle in. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving the two of you standing in thick, suffocating silence.

Diane’s footsteps creaked softly down the stairs, leaving behind a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You glanced at the door, half-expecting her to reappear and tell you it was all some kind of misunderstanding. But no—this was your life now. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington, who looked about as thrilled as you felt.

You stole a glance at him. He stood near the bed, his hands on his hips and his lips pressed into a tight line. His jaw worked like he was biting back a string of words he wasn’t quite ready to say. It was strange, seeing him out of his usual sharp suit and into something more casual. The Steve Harrington you knew from the office had a confidence that bordered on arrogance, like he could handle anything thrown his way. But here? He looked... different. Smaller, somehow.

You pushed that thought aside and forced yourself to focus on the practicalities. The bed was big, sure—but not big enough to share without bumping into each other all night. And the floor, with its thin, scuffed wood, didn’t exactly scream comfort. You could already feel the ache in your back if you tried to sleep down there.

“This is a disaster,” you said quietly, half to yourself.

Steve snorted from where he stood, arms crossed. “Tell me about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head and leaned back, letting out a long, slow breath. His hazel eyes drifted to the window, where the faint glow of the Christmas lights outside cast soft shadows across the room.

“Look,” you said finally, breaking the silence. “We have to figure this out.”

Steve turned back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Figure what out?”

You gestured at the bed, your voice sharp despite your best efforts. “The sleeping situation. Because I’m not sharing that with you.”

His brows knit together. “You think I want to?”

“Good,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Then you can take the floor.”

“Why do I have to take the floor?” Steve snapped, his voice rising slightly. “It’s my room.”

“Because you’re the one who… hired me. I can walk downstairs right now and tell her this was all a lie.” From the grunt he made let you know you had won the battle.

“Fine. Only because I don’t want my mom on the list of people who think I’m a loser,” he mumbled. He started to unpack his suitcase, mostly toiletries.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you said quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Steve paused, his mouth half-open like he was about to retort. His walls crumbled for a split second before he composed himself upright, turning back around to the suitcase. “Tonight we always go downtown to the tree lighting ceremony. You’ll probably see some of my friends.” He changed the subject quickly, walking into his bathroom to put his stuff away.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The weight in his voice was unexpected, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t like. You wanted to poke fun at him, to say something snarky and lighthearted to cut through the tension. But the words caught in your throat, stuck behind the realization that Steve Harrington wasn’t as bulletproof as he seemed.

He came back into the room, eyeing you up and down. “Are you wearing that?”

You looked down at your denim jeans and sweater. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

The corner of his lips upturned. “Nothing. Nothing…” he trailed off, pretending to be busy with something. “I just imagine if you’re dating a wealthy man then you’d wear something…” he was treading in dangerous waters. “Sophisticated.”

You scoffed. “Sophisticated? Have you tried hearing something called, humility, Mr. Harrington?”

“You know, it’s weird to call your boyfriend that.” He turned, tilting his head. His 5 o’clock shadow was becoming painfully obvious to you.

“Good thing you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Then what am I paying you for?”

You flopped on his bed, legs up, smirking. “Have you seen Pretty Woman?”

He shot you daggers. “You wish.”

“Don’t think I catch you staring when I wear that one skirt.” The statement was casual.

Steve froze for half a second, his hand lingering on the edge of his suitcase. He recovered quickly, scoffing like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I wasn’t staring. I was—”

“Admiring? Appreciating? Objectifying?” you supplied, your smirk widening as you folded your arms behind your head and sank into the plush comforter. “Take your pick, Harrington.”

“Monitoring,” he retorted, zipping his bag with far more force than necessary. “Making sure you weren’t breaking the office dress code.”

“Is there a dress code?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’ve seen your ties. If we’re holding people to a standard, you might want to start there.”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he couldn’t decide which insult to throw at you first. He shook his head and grabbed a pair of shoes from his bag instead, sitting down on the chair to lace them up. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” you said, feigning innocence. “I’m just making sure you’re held accountable. You know, for all your staring.”

“I wasn’t—” He stopped himself with a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like your name.

You let out a laugh, leaning up on your elbows to watch him. It was too easy to get under his skin, and honestly, it was the most fun you’d had all day.

“So,” you said, shifting gears, “this tree lighting thing. Is it, like, a big deal? Or just another excuse for small-town folks to put on their Sunday best?”

Steve glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “It’s a thing. Hawkins doesn’t have much going on, so the tree lighting’s kind of... important. Everyone shows up. Friends, old classmates, people you try to avoid but somehow always run into.”

“Sounds delightful,” you said, swinging your legs off the bed. “Can’t wait to meet all your friends. Maybe I’ll find out what you were like before Chicago turned you into a grumpy corporate sellout.”

Steve gave you a flat look, tying his second shoe with more aggression than necessary. “Careful, or you’ll blow your cover.”

“Oh, please,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Your mom already thinks I’m perfect. I’ve got this in the bag.”

“Right,” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “You’re a regular Oscar winner.”

“Thank you,” you said, hopping up from the bed. “I like to think I bring a certain… authenticity to the role. But hey, if you’re worried, feel free to jump in and charm your way through the night. Oh, wait.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shrugging into his coat. “Keep talking like that and I’ll tell everyone you begged me to hire you.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shot back, grabbing your own jacket. “They’d believe it. Who wouldn’t want to work for Mr. Harrington?”

He paused at the door, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something serious, something that would shatter the rhythm of your playful back-and-forth. But then he smirked, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “You ready, or do you need time to come up with more ways to embarrass me tonight?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harrington,” you said, brushing past him with a grin. “I’ve already got a list.”

***

The drive to the town square was brisk, the chill of the evening air biting at your cheeks despite the layers you’d bundled into. Hawkins, for all its sleepy charm, had a way of making winter feel like something out of a picture book. Strings of warm lights crisscrossed overhead, illuminating the streets in a soft golden glow, while shop windows displayed carefully arranged holiday scenes. Wreaths hung on nearly every lamppost, their red bows fluttering slightly in the cold breeze.

As you followed Diane through the growing crowd, your gaze wandered over the scene, taking in the families, the couples, the quiet buzz of a small town coming alive for the holidays. It was… nice. Not the kind of “nice” you were used to in Chicago, where everything felt rushed and artificial, but something simpler. Quieter.

Beside you, Steve walked with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his posture a little stiff as he glanced around. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or the fact that he was being dragged into a public event he clearly wasn’t thrilled about. Probably both.

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him. His hair, ruffled by the wind, still somehow managed to look effortlessly styled. The sharp lines of his jaw stood out against the glow of the lights, and the way his coat fit—broad shoulders, lean frame—was almost unfair. He was handsome in a way that felt infuriatingly natural, like he didn’t have to try.

You quickly looked away, embarrassed by your train of thought. Since when were you noticing things like that about Steve Harrington? You chalked it up to being stuck in close quarters—forced proximity was bound to mess with your head.

Before you could dwell on it any further, Steve’s pace slowed, his head turning sharply toward the sound of a voice cutting through the crowd.

“Harrington!”

The name was called with an edge of disbelief and excitement, and Steve’s expression shifted immediately. His stiff shoulders loosened, and for the first time since you’d arrived in Hawkins, a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real irritation in his voice. “Robin.”

You turned your head, catching sight of the woman weaving her way toward you both. She was tall and lanky, with short brown hair that framed her sharp, curious features. Her grin was wide, a little lopsided, and when her eyes landed on Steve, she broke into a jog.

“Steve!” she said, launching herself at him in a hug that nearly knocked him off balance.

“Robin,” Steve said, laughing as he stumbled slightly. He hugged her back with a fondness that felt almost out of character for the grumpy boss you knew.

When Robin pulled back, her gaze flickered to you, her brow quirking as her grin shifted into something sly. “And who’s this?”

Before you could answer, Diane appeared at your side, her voice brimming with pride. She gave Robin your name. “She’s Steve’s girlfriend!”

You froze, feeling your cheeks heat as the word hung in the air. Girlfriend. It sounded so foreign—so wrong—and yet, Diane said it with such certainty that you almost believed it yourself.

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint in her eye now, a sharpness that made your stomach twist. She looked between you and Steve, her grin growing wider. “Girlfriend?”

“It’s new,” Steve said quickly, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive.

Robin turned to you, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her handshake was firm, her gaze lingering just a second too long. You forced a smile, hoping you didn’t look as awkward as you felt. “Nice to meet you too.”

Robin’s eyes flicked back to Steve, and the smile on her face turned mischievous. “Well, isn’t this interesting. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Harrington.”

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Robin—”

“I mean, a girlfriend?” Robin interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell me? I called you three days ago and you never mentioned her.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Steve muttered, his cheeks reddening.

Robin shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re talking later.”

Before Steve could respond, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, drawing everyone’s attention to the tree in the center of the square. The mayor stood on a small platform, microphone in hand, as he began his annual speech.

You took the opportunity to lean closer to Steve, your voice low. “Your friend seems nice.”

“She’s fine,” Steve said quickly, his gaze fixed on the tree.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” you pressed, unable to keep the smirk out of your voice.

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t know anything. Yet.”

“Right,” you said, drawing out the word. “Because she definitely didn’t look like she was onto us.”

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you. Then he looked back at Robin, noticing the way she was still looking at you two suspiciously. “I’m going to put my arm around you,” he said, looking straight ahead.

You were taken aback. You hadn’t really been physical, but I guess it was different when it came to being around friends. They probably knew him better than his mom. So, you just stepped closer, leaning into him. His body tensed, arm wrapping around you. It was another odd feeling, but different from how it felt when you held his hand. A jolt of warm electricity buzzed through you as you relaxed into him.

The mayor’s voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the countdown, and the crowd erupted into cheers. You let yourself get swept up in the energy, your smile lingering as the tree came to life in a brilliant display of twinkling lights.

For a moment, you forgot about all the lies that were bubbling inside you. The air was filled with warmth and light, and for the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you felt yourself start to relax.

But then you glanced at Steve, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked at the tree, and that knot in your chest tightened all over again.

As the cheers from the crowd subsided, the tree’s twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the square. People milled about, sipping cocoa and chatting, their voices blending into a low hum that filled the crisp evening air. You found yourself lingering near Steve, half-listening to Diane’s enthusiastic conversation with a neighbor while Robin hovered close, her sharp gaze bouncing between you and Steve like she was piecing together a puzzle.

“Well,” Robin said suddenly, stepping into your personal space with a grin that could only be described as trouble. “Since Steve clearly doesn’t plan to introduce us properly, I guess I’ll take matters into my own hands.” She extended her hand again, this time with exaggerated flair. “Robin Buckley, certified Steve Harrington expert and general pain in his ass.”

You laughed, taking her hand despite the slight wariness creeping up your spine. You introduced yourself again, and this time, it felt genuine. Something about Robin Buckley made things less awkward. “Nice to meet you, Robin. It’s been... an eventful few days.”

“I bet,” Robin said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she released your hand. “So, how’d you two meet? Steve’s not exactly Mr. Social these days.”

Before you could think of a plausible lie, Steve jumped in, his voice a little too quick. “Work. We met at work.” You wanted to to stomp his foot. You had given him the job to explain how you met, but you had thought he’d at least come up with something unique.

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Work, huh? And now you’re dating?”

You felt Steve tense beside you, and it took everything in you not to burst out laughing at the way he was fumbling. “It was, uh, kind of unexpected,” you said, jumping in to save him. “One of those things where we just... clicked.”

Robin’s grin widened, her eyes flicking between you and Steve with laser focus. “Clicked. Interesting choice of words.”

“Robin,” Steve said, his voice low and full of warning.

She ignored him completely, stepping a little closer to you. “So, tell me—what’s your favorite thing about Steve?”

Your heart skipped, panic rising in your chest. What was your favorite thing about Steve? His ability to get on your nerves? The way he always found new ways to irritate you at work? The fact that, despite everything, you couldn’t stop noticing how stupidly handsome he was?

“He’s...” you started, glancing at Steve, whose face had gone pale. “He’s thoughtful. In his own way.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Thoughtful? Harrington?”

“He is!” you said quickly, warming to the idea. “Like how he makes sure everyone at work has what they need, even if he doesn’t say it outright. Or how he always, uh, remembers little things—like how I like my coffee.”

Steve’s gaze snapped to yours, surprise flickering across his face. You weren’t sure why you’d said it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. And now, looking at him, you realized they weren’t entirely untrue.

Robin studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before finally shrugging. “Huh. Well, guess there’s a first time for everything.” She turned to Steve, smirking. “Look at you, Harrington. All grown up and thoughtful.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Can we drop this now?”

“Fine,” Robin said, clearly amused. “For now.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, Diane reappeared, holding two steaming cups of cocoa. “Here you go,” she said brightly, pressing one into your hands.

Steve frowned. “Where’s mine?”

Diane took a sip of her hot chocolate tauntingly. “Maybe you should have been the one to bring her cocoa instead of standing around like a bump on a log.”

Steve groaned, his breath misting in the cold air. “Seriously, Mom?”

“Seriously, Steven,” Diane shot back, her tone sweet but firm. She patted his cheek with a gloved hand, clearly delighted by his irritation. “You could learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, muffled slightly by the rim of your cup. Steve turned his glare on you, but it lacked his usual bite, his cheeks tinged with more than just the cold.

“Oh, come on, Steve,” you teased, swirling your cocoa for emphasis. “Maybe if you were more thoughtful, your mom wouldn’t have to show you up.”

Robin snickered, enjoying every second of the exchange. “She’s got a point. Chivalry, Harrington. It’s dead because of people like you.”

Steve threw up his hands. “Great. Gang up on me. Real festive spirit, guys.”

Diane grinned, clearly pleased with herself, before excusing herself to chat with a neighbor who waved her over.

Robin, still grinning, folded her arms and leaned closer to you. “So,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “What’s it like working with him? Does he actually do anything? We used to work together in our younger days and I wondered if anything had changed.”

You hesitated, unsure how much to say. Robin’s sharp gaze made it clear she was fishing for something, and while you couldn’t exactly throw Steve under the bus, you also weren’t about to give her nothing. “He’s... efficient,” you said carefully. “Most of the time.”

Robin barked out a laugh. “Efficient. That’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘bossy.’”

“Thanks,” Steve said flatly, glaring at both of you.

Robin clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I’m sure she’s just being polite. Take it from me, it is exhausting dealing with you all day.”

Before Steve could respond, Diane called out from across the square, waving for you all to join her by the skating rink.

As you started walking, cocoa warming your hands, Steve fell into step beside you. His usual scowl was back, but there was something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you.

“Efficient?” he said under his breath, his tone low enough that Robin wouldn’t hear.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“That’s how you describe me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Efficient?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your cocoa. “Would you rather I say ‘thoughtful’ again? Because I think we both know that’s a stretch.”

Steve huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” you shot back, your grin widening.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the rink. “Let’s get this over with.”

For a moment, he looked younger, softer—like the weight he carried wasn’t quite so crushing under the glow of the lights.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” he said, snapping out of it. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Steve hesitated, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

The square buzzed with holiday cheer as the three of you approached the rink, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off the ice. Families glided hand-in-hand, couples laughed as they stumbled together, and the faint sound of holiday music filled the air.

The rink was smaller than you expected, a modest oval surrounded by strings of lights and wooden benches dusted with snow. A few families skated in lazy circles, their laughter cutting through the quiet hum of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

You stood at the edge, sipping your cocoa and pretending you weren’t sneaking glances at Steve as he leaned against the railing. He looked more relaxed here, his expression softening as he watched the skaters.

“You used to skate?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Steve snorted. “Not exactly. I was more into sports that didn’t involve falling on my ass.”

“Ah, so basketball and being a high school heartthrob?” you teased, smirking.

He shot you a sideways look. “Something like that.”

Before you could press further, a group of skaters passed by, waving at Steve. One of them called out his name, laughing, and you could see his old reputation hadn’t faded entirely.

“Small-town royalty,” you said under your breath, shaking your head.

“Jealous?” he asked, his smirk returning as he straightened up.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I prefer the anonymity of city life. No one there knows me well enough to make assumptions.”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the good part, isn’t it?” The weight in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he turned away, his gaze fixed on the skaters again.You wondered what memories were circling in his head, what had caused that flicker of something—regret, maybe?—to cross his face.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “if you want to prove Robin wrong, this would be the perfect opportunity. Show me your moves, Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement behind them. “I don’t skate.”

“You just said you don’t fall on your ass,” you countered, grinning.

“That’s not the same thing,” he replied, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “And besides, I don’t have anything to prove to Robin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, tilting your head. “Then why do I feel like you’re avoiding it because you know you’ll look ridiculous?”

Steve straightened, his brows knitting together in mock offense. “I do not look ridiculous.”

“Then prove it.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I’m not playing this game.”

“Scared?” you teased, stepping closer and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s fine if you are. You can just admit it.”

Steve stared at you, his lips twitching as though he was trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Efficient and insufferable,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s called versatility.”

Robin reappeared then, her grin wide as she caught the tail end of your exchange. “What’s this? Harrington getting cold feet?”

Steve groaned, running a hand down his face. “Not you too.”

“Oh, definitely me too,” Robin said, slapping him on the back. “Come on, Stevie. Show your girlfriend how it’s done.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to remind Robin that you hadn’t actually agreed to this skating charade, but the words caught when Steve turned to you. There was something challenging in his gaze now, something that made your stomach flip.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low and even. “Let’s do this.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted proof, right?” he said, already pulling off his coat and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “I’ll show you.”

Robin’s laughter rang out as she clapped her hands together. “This is going to be amazing.”

Steve stepped onto the rink, his movements deliberate and measured as he adjusted to the ice. For someone who claimed not to skate, he wasn’t half bad—his steps steady as he began to move in slow, cautious circles.

“See?” he called out, flashing you a smug grin. “No falling. No looking ridiculous.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re going slow enough for a toddler to keep up.”

“Keep talking,” Steve said, his grin widening as he picked up the pace.

For a moment, you just watched him, the teasing comment you’d planned dying on your lips. Under the glow of the lights, his smile was defenseless, easy—something you weren’t used to seeing from him. He moved with a kind of grace that caught you off guard, his confidence radiating as he made another smooth lap around the rink.

“Okay,” you said reluctantly. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Steve echoed, stopping just in front of you. He leaned against the railing, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “That’s all you’ve got?”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Fine. It’s impressive... for someone who spends most of his day sitting behind a desk.”

Steve’s laugh was warm, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the crowd faded away. Then Robin appeared at your side, nudging you with her elbow.

“Careful,” she said with a sly grin. “Keep looking at him like that, and people might start thinking you’re into him for real.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Steve pushed away from the railing, his gaze flicking to Robin.

“Alright,” he said, his voice full of mock bravado. “You’re next, Buckley. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Robin snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Steve smirked, gesturing toward the ice. “Scared?”

“Not a chance,” Robin replied. “I just have this thing where I don’t voluntarily humiliate myself in front of an audience.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That’s a shame. Because if you’re half as bad as I remember, it would’ve been a great show.” Robin rolled her eyes, muttering something about “childhood trauma” before stepping back toward the bench.

Steve turned back to you, his grin softening. “You coming or what?”

You hesitated, your heart doing an unexpected flip. “I... don’t skate.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Really? And here I thought you were fearless.”

“Fearless,” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “Or just smart enough to know my limits?”

Steve held out his hand, his smirk fading into something gentler. “Come on. I won’t let you fall.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached for his hand.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over Steve’s outstretched hand. It was warm, even in the freezing air, and the way his hazel eyes held yours felt... different. For a moment, you forgot the small-town square, the hum of holiday music, and even Robin’s knowing smirks. All you could focus on was Steve.

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Steve’s smirk softened, and he tightened his grip, leading you cautiously onto the ice. Your boots wobbled the instant you stepped off the safety of solid ground, your legs feeling impossibly unsteady.

“Relax,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder as he guided you. “You’re not going to fall.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered, clinging to his arm. “You’re not the one flailing like a newborn deer.”

Steve chuckled, and the sound sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. It wasn’t his usual scoff or the dry laugh you’d heard before—it was quieter, more genuine. “You’re doing fine,” he said, slowing his pace.

Fine wasn’t the word you’d use. Every step felt like a battle, your balance precarious as you gripped his arm like a lifeline. You caught a glimpse of Robin on the sidelines, her grin wide with amusement. “Do you think she’s buying–”

Before you could finish, your skate caught on the ice, and your legs gave out. Steve’s hand shot out to steady you, but in the process, his own balance faltered. The next thing you knew, you were both tumbling down in a tangle of limbs, hitting the ice with a loud thud.

The cold bit into your palms, and for a moment, all you could do was blink up at the string lights above you, your breath fogging in the air.

“Okay,” you groaned. “This was a mistake.”

Steve’s laugh broke through the haze, full and unrestrained, and you turned your head to see him lying beside you, one hand over his face as he tried to catch his breath. It was the first time you’d ever heard him laugh like that—loud and free, without any trace of the prudent bitterness you were so used to. The sound was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing too, the absurdity of the situation overtaking you. Your head fell carelessly on his chest.

“You’re terrible at this,” Steve said between breaths, his voice light with amusement. You felt his hand splay against your back.

“Me?” you shot back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You’re the one who said you wouldn’t let me fall!”

“I didn’t think you’d take me down with you!”

Your laughter mingled with his, echoing across the rink. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just the two of you, lying on the ice, laughing like kids.

When you finally managed to untangle yourselves and scramble back to the railing, Diane was waiting, her expression soft. The two of you giggling as you took off your skating boots. “That laugh,” she said, her voice wistful. “You sound just like your father.”

Steve froze. The easy warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a tension that tightened his jaw and straightened his posture.

“Mom,” he said flatly, the single word carrying a warning.

Diane’s smile faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—”

“I’m going to return these,” Steve cut her off, his voice clipped as he turned toward the rental booth.

You watched him walk away, the lightness from earlier evaporating with every step. The Steve Harrington who’d been laughing with you on the ice was gone, replaced by the closed-off version you’d first met.

Robin sidled up beside you, her expression unusually serious. “That’s a sore subject,” she said quietly, nodding toward Steve.

“What is?” you asked, though you already had an idea.

“His dad,” Robin replied, crossing her arms. “It’s been... hard on him. They weren’t exactly close, but, you know, losing a parent messes you up. He tries to act like he’s fine, but... well, you’ve seen how he is.”

Your stomach twisted. You had no idea. The Steve you knew from work never mentioned his father, and you hadn’t thought to ask. Now, pretending to know him—really know him—felt heavier than ever.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding as if you understood. “I know it’s been hard on him.”

Robin gave you a small, sad smile. “You’re good for him, you know.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “What makes you say that?”

Robin shrugged. “You make him laugh. He hasn’t done that much lately.”

Your chest tightened as you looked back toward Steve. He was at the rental counter, returning his skates with a forced politeness that didn’t reach his eyes. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself like he was bracing for a fight.

You weren’t sure what to say or do. But as you watched him retreat further into himself, one thing became clear– Steve Harrington wasn’t just your grumpy boss or the boy-next-door pretending to be your boyfriend. He was someone who carried more weight than he let on.

The drive back to the Harrington house was quieter than you expected. Diane hummed along to Christmas music on the radio, and Robin had waved goodbye at the square, promising to catch up with Steve later. You’d stolen a few glances at him in the passenger seat, his profile sharp against the faint glow of streetlights. He hadn’t said much since the rink, his jaw tight and his gaze fixed on the snowy roads ahead.

By the time you reached the house, the warmth of the living room felt almost stifling. Diane retired to her room with a cheery “Goodnight!” and Steve muttered something about getting water before disappearing into the kitchen. You lingered in the living room for a moment, trying to steel yourself for what would inevitably be an awkward bedtime arrangement.

When you finally made your way upstairs, Steve was already in the room, leaning against the dresser as he scrolled through his phone. He glanced up when you entered, his expression unreadable as you shut the door behind you.

“Uh, so,” you started, gesturing toward the bed. “How do you want to do this?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“The sleeping thing,” you clarified, crossing your arms. “You’re right. It’s your room, so—”

“No.” His voice was firm, cutting you off before you could finish. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, then... I can grab some pillows or something. Make it work.”

Steve shook his head, setting his phone down on the dresser. “That’s not happening either.”

“Steve—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone a little softer now. “Just take the bed.”

You frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt. “What about you? Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, but the way his gaze flickered to the bed made it clear he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

You let out a sigh, brushing a hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous. We’re both adults. We can share the bed. It’s not a big deal.”

Steve hesitated, his jaw ticked as he glanced at the bed again. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not weird unless we make it weird.”

Steve let out a breath, nodding slightly. “Okay. But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Because I’m the one who snores.”

He smirked faintly, grabbing a spare pillow from the closet. “Just don’t hog the blankets.”

The bed was softer than you expected, the navy comforter heavy and warm against the chill seeping in from the windows. Steve lay on his side, facing away from you, his breathing steady but not quite even enough to pass for sleep. You stared at the ceiling, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, listening to the faint creak of the house settling, before you finally worked up the nerve to speak.

“Steve?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shifted slightly but didn’t answer.

“You’re awake. I know you are,” you pressed.

After a moment, he sighed, his voice low and rough. “What?”

You hesitated, turning onto your side to face him. His back was still to you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenched slightly against the pillow. “I was just... thinking about what your mom said earlier,” you ventured carefully. “About your laugh.”

Steve didn’t respond, but the silence felt heavier now, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“No.”

The word was curt, final. But you didn’t back down.

“Sometimes it helps,” you said quietly. “Talking, I mean. You don’t have to, but—”

“I don’t want to,” he interrupted, his voice sharper now. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

You frowned, your chest tightening. You should’ve dropped it, let him have the space he clearly wanted. But something about the way he said it—like he was pushing you away out of habit, not because he didn’t need to talk—made you stay.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I just... I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. Losing your dad.”

Steve stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he’d snap at you again. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost bitter.

“You don’t have to pretend you get it,” he said, still not turning to face you. “We weren’t close.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt,” you countered gently.

He let out a hollow laugh, finally rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “You don’t get it. My dad wasn’t... He wasn’t some great guy. He didn’t care about me or my mom. He only cared about what I could do for him.”

You stayed quiet, letting him find his words.

“He wanted me to follow in his footsteps,” Steve continued, his voice low and bitter. “Take over the business, be just like him. I thought... I thought maybe if I did what he wanted, he’d finally be proud of me. But it didn’t matter. Nothing I did was ever enough.”

Your chest ached at the weight in his voice, the years of frustration and hurt wrapped up in every word.

“And now he’s gone,” Steve said, his jaw tightening. “And I’m still doing this job because... I don’t know. Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Because I don’t know what the hell else I’m supposed to do.”

The room felt impossibly still, his words hanging in the air like fragile glass. You wanted to say something, anything, to make it better. But you knew there wasn’t a quick fix for something like this.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice soft.

Steve let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah. Me too.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a while, and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped. His breathing was steady, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling, and you wondered if he was retreating into himself again.

You sighed softly, turning your own gaze back to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth,” you started, your voice quiet but steady, “tonight was kind of... nice.”

Steve glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression skeptical. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a small laugh. “The lights, the skating, even Robin grilling us... It was different. A good different.”

He frowned, shifting slightly. “Different from what?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. This wasn’t something you talked about often, and definitely not with people like Steve Harrington. But something about the quiet of the room, the faint hum of the heater, and the way he’d let down his walls just a little made you feel like you could.

“From how I usually spend Christmas,” you said finally, your voice soft. “If I was back in Chicago right now, I’d be on my couch. Probably eating takeout. Watching some random TV marathon.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “That’s it? No family dinner? No tree?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve never really done the whole Christmas thing.”

His frown deepened. “Why not?”

“I was a military brat,” you explained, letting your hands rest on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling. “We moved around a lot. My dad was always deployed, my mom was always busy, and holidays just... weren’t a priority. There was no time for decorating or big dinners. Half the time, we didn’t even know where we’d be by Christmas.”

Steve’s gaze softened, his brows furrowing slightly. “That sucks.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It was what it was. I didn’t really know anything else. But nights like tonight? They’re kind of a breath of fresh air. Hawkins is... cozy. Even if it’s a little chaotic.”

Steve let out a small huff of laughter at that, and you smiled despite yourself. You thought you heard him whisper, “You have no idea.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you continued, glancing at him. “Your mom is relentless, and Robin is terrifying in the best way. But the lights, the tree, the skating... it was nice. A little overwhelming, but nice.”

Steve didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering back to the ceiling. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. “So you’ve never had a tree? Or, like, stockings or presents or any of that?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the "p." “I mean, there were a couple of years where my mom tried to make it festive, but it was always last-minute stuff. A wreath on the door, maybe some cookies if she wasn’t too busy. But the big, magical Christmas? Never had it.”

Steve turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “That’s... kind of depressing.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Gee, thanks, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t know. Christmas was always a big deal in my house. My mom would go all out. Lights, decorations, giant tree. My dad hated it, but she didn’t care. She said it was her favorite time of year.”

You smiled faintly. “She’s good at it. Making things feel festive.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “She is. She’d approve of your atrocious office decor.”

You snorted.

Silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt... softer. Like the weight you’d both been carrying had eased just a little.

“You know,” you said after a moment, turning your head to look at him. “If you ever get tired of this job, you could probably make a killing as a skating instructor.”

Steve snorted, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, grinning. “You were, like, weirdly good out there. It was kind of infuriating.”

“Infuriating?” he echoed, his smirk growing.

“Yeah,” you said, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “You’re annoyingly good at things you don’t even like. It’s not fair.”

Steve chuckled, the sound warm and low, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the fake relationship, the awkward sleeping arrangement, even the tension lingering from earlier.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Thanks for coming.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile before flopping over. Sleep finally took over.

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gaelsstuffiehome · 18 days ago

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Welcome back to our third and final part where we learn all about Gael's Stuffie Home and meet the various plushies who help her each and every day! Click here for part 1 and Gael's own story, and click here for part 2 where we meet the first members of her team!

While she's resting a bit as we get ready for new listings this Friday at 12 Noon EST, let's meet the others!

Trumpet: An odd little multicolor elephant from Avon and their Full of Beans line! He came to us from another adoption home, as did a few others of Gael’s friends, so he understands how important it is for the stuffed animals who come to the home to feel as calm and safe as possible. This has made him something of an expert on the best blanket and snack combos for stuffies who are sad or scared. He might be a little too cheerful sometimes for some of our grumpier stuffed animals, but everyone loves him all the same.

Bonnie: A non-binary handmade bee who came to live with us after my wife found them at a craft fair! Bonnie is very squishy, not soft, so is a little different from the others in the group. Not a problem! We love all sorts of stuffed animals, and Bonnie is a good reminder that friends can come from all sorts of interesting places! Bonnie loves to drink chocolate milk and sometimes provides a lot of calm to some new-arrival stuffies who might be overwhelmed by everything that’s going on.

Winks: While obviously a very good friend, Winks the TY elephant is also perhaps the most argumentative member of Gael’s staff. It’s not that he’s a know-it-all. He just happens to think he’s always right and everyone else is almost always wrong. It would be nice if everyone could just get on board with that. To be sure, Winks does know quite a bit about important things like picking a good go-kart and how to make the best ice cream sundae, but when it comes to things like thrifting or quantum physics, everyone generally agrees Gael is the expert.

Tiny: This poor elephant has always had a bit of an identity crisis. To be clear, Tiny loves being here and loves her friends and family, but she also wishes she knew just a bit more about where she came from. This is something stuffed animals can struggle with sometimes, if they don’t have any tags, and it’s hard to figure out where they might have come from. Tiny doesn’t want this to be the only thing about her, because she loves to visit the ocean and enjoys karaoke and old video games, but someday she would like to learn more about her origins. Gael and the gang help her whenever possible, and maybe someday, we’ll find something!

Freakshow: The story of Freakshow is a bit sadder than the others. He’s very quiet and sometimes gets very anxious around humans, or even other bears, but he’s incredibly kind and loves to spend time in the sun. He enjoys stories and giving hugs to smaller plushies. Gael and I are so glad we were able to rescue him from a haunted house that had glued a horrible mask to his face. Then someone threw him in a pile of old broken things the haunted house wasn’t using anymore, and that’s how we found him. We brought him home and learned that the mask could not be removed without severely damaging his face. In the two years he’s lived here, he’s learned to love the way he looks, even if it’s very different, and he picked the name Freakshow because he wants others to know there’s nothing wrong with being a freak. In fact, he sometimes says very, very softly, being a freak is actually pretty amazing.

Freddy & Chica: Found on the floor of a Dave and Busters arcade. Freddy and Chica try to cause murder and mayhem wherever they go, but they’re extremely small size, soft bodies, and lack of functional limbs makes it almost impossible to do anything more elaborate than growl once in a while. When they aren’t wee little harbingers of doom, they like to watch horror movies and love to help Gael make snacks for some of the older stuffed toys in the home.

And that's our team! Gael's Stuffie Home opened almost three years ago, and in that time, I've watched Gael make so many neat friends, while finding homes for every sort of old stuffed animal you can imagine. I can't wait for you to see what we're going to do next, and I thank you for coming along with us!

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thepenandthepistol · 3 months ago

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Fragile Machinery (Mumbo x reader)

This has been a long time coming. You've felt his death being sown through the land in every failed trap attempt and close call. With a single mistake, you are helpless in preventing it.

A/N: Honestly, did not know I had this fic in me. I was already kinda sad and pissed with some other stuff and watching Mumbo explode has made me a little sadder than it has the right to. Haven't watched everyone's pov so player positions are probably inaccurate. Reader and Mumbo aren't platonic or romantic in this, but are the secret third thing. Also reader is an avian. Again. (1270 words)

Art by @/YongyiMoon on Twitter and dividers by @saradika-graphics

You thought Mumbo was finally safe. For the last few weeks, you’ve followed him like a shadow, dark wings and hood obscuring your face like a damned shade. Most people haven’t chanced a hit at Mumbo, not after Jimmy’s stunt and your subsequent presence. Thankfully, that’s given you the chance to parse out the competition, the dark green names and their hideouts, your neighbors, above and below. From the distance, wild shades of pink fly in the air. Lizzie’s set of lives calls to you from your place atop the highest of Mumbo’s bridges.

You hear him sit beside you, but don’t manage a word; there’s a silent type of dread in the air, the type you’re afraid to speak into existence. He looks you over, and despite all the unease, the sweet smile on his face drips through the cracks of your tough facade. You recognize it now, the emotion. Terror.

“We need to get you another life.” The only thing you can get to leave your mouth is the obvious. You steady your trembling fingers at your side before encasing his hand. It’s gentle in a way you’re not experienced in being.

“We will. We’ve got my mace. From here on, it’s smooth sailing.” His eyes crinkle, and his goofy mustache draws upward from his smirk.

“You can take one of mine.” The phrase leaves you before you can word it in a less desperate way. The warmth from Mumbo’s hand only partially eases the chilling anxiety that races through your veins. He looks at you and can only frown. “Get another kill with the mace, and you’ll be back to green. Besides, if anyone here should try their hand at fighting, I think I’m our best bet.” Silence follows.

“No. I- Genuinely, I don’t think I can do that.” He says it, laughing almost. Like the thought of sacrificing yourself for him is some unthinkable deed.

“Alright... I’ll help you get your kill, then.” This is your promise, and it weighs so much heavier on his shoulders than it should. It’s new, this type of arrangement. He could only recall being taken seriously through faint memories of another life, even then surfacing only in death.

He rests his head against your shoulder, and you pretend not to cave into docility, your gaze still like a hawk’s, following the rats below.

The next day, preparations start early and eat into another evening. As the air cools with the sun’s descent through the horizon, you trail your friends from above. Grian talks casually with Etho and BigB, but he often glances up at Mumbo upon the wall, betraying his unease. No one suspects your dark form in the pitch black sky above until a trivia bot glides down and you dash behind the taller cobble pillar with Mumbo.

“I can’t hit anyone from here.” He checks around the corner and down into the commotion. An idea strikes you and paints a mischievous grin on your face.

“I can help with that.” You suddenly yank him into the air from under his armpits and hover over the clearing. Mumbo goes limp in your hands but then tightens his grip on the mace once again. A green heart glints from a speck on the ground, and with a nod from Mumbo, you let go.

A bone-breaking crunch reverberates as you hear your friend’s victory cries. You zoom out to join them through the castle’s front gates as the others yell out in shock. Mumbo runs for his life, but even in the chaos, you clearly see his heart stay the same forsaken yellow.

With a glance behind you, the terrible realization catches up. Gem’s body. You dropped him in the wrong spot.

The entire way home is spent in an even worse silence than before. Mumbo laughs it off, but your mind can picture it so clearly now. His own body, bloodied and cold.

You begin fervently building the tower alongside Grian. Its threatening presence is a small reprise from the vulnerability of defeat. You run your fingers along the cool deepslate and look out onto the meeting room.

Skizz and Mumbo are messing with a trivia bot, pushing him around while he boops and bleeps. Scar makes his way down the mountain, obviously up to no good, and steals Skizz’s bot. He rows off the platform in his little wooden boat, and you scoff at the absurdity. Mumbo looks up at you, and it only takes a second to send you both into laughter. Skizz drops into the water below after Scar before Grian can yell out a coherent answer to his bot’s question.

You can’t really believe it when you feel levity in the air. The sun begins setting one last time, but you, Grian and Mumbo, move around the tower, now turned turret, and make shots at the people on the ground. It’s incredible how a killing machine can inspire such giddiness, but finally, there is hope. There’s more than hope. This thing is bound to kill someone at one point. Its range and the recklessness of the teams in traversing the mountain assure you that if not green, Mumbo will go back to a healthy yellow.

Faraway cries draw your attention back downward as a massive group stands right in the traps danger zone. Your eyes shine with wonder as you turn back and face Mumbo. He takes a step back hesitantly, and Grian questions him without losing sight of Gem, ominously standing in the middle of a past crater.

“Jimmy’s there as well.” Shit. Restlessness returns to your stance as the perfect chances make their way up the cherry wood stairs and leave range one by one.

Instinct drives you to fly into the air. Straight up into the cloudy, dark sky, leaving a gust of wind in your wake. Mumbo looks up at you with furrowed brows before you dive toward the crowd. Like a bullet, piercing the space between you both, your arms quickly wrap around Jimmy. The others present jump back in surprise as you take off just as quickly as you arrived. Eyes focusing on those pink braids, you brutally knock Jimmy’s flailing body into Lizzie. She stumbles into a puffer fish trap, giving you all the time you need to safely get Jimmy into the air, outside the blast radius.

The sun begins to rise behind the turret; time seems to slow. Grian woops and yells from the tower’s parapets. He eyes you with mirth in his pupils; they dilate as he places the explosive minecart, and Mumbo sends it chasing its own tail to power up. Lizzie has decided to go for the worst course of action and climb back down into the dead center of the craters from past failed attempts.

Your wings are heavy as you fly overhead while Jimmy continues to struggle in your grasp. He doesn’t seem to have a sword, and the blunt cobble he uses to scratch your talons is only secondary to the relief of Mumbo’s eventual kill.

He smiles, wider than you’ve ever seen him, and in a single distracted moment, Jimmy manages to land a hit to your wings. You yell, more from surprise than hurt, and catch a glimpse of Mumbo pulling out a bow and arrow, taking the stance to shoot, putting his foot back just barely on top of the powered track.

Your yell is bloodcurdling. Mumbo hears the minecart stop at his side. Terror fills his eyes, and in the split moment he has, he reaches a desperate hand out toward you.

#hermitcraft x reader #mumbo x reader #platonic!mumbo x reader #mcyt x reader #x reader #don't mind me editing this a day later because i wrote Skizz's name wrong #i should keep a fic at least one day after i write it and before posting it so that doesnt happen

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kentuckyfriedmegumi · 2 months ago

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fanfic writer interview

thank you @uriekukistan for tagging me!

no pressure tags @yearnwormwrites @hijinks-n-lowjinks @fluffy-bacon363 and @philosophiums <33

How many works do you have on AO3?

i have 14 works; 13 are for jjk and 1 is just a writing exercise thing i wrote

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Itadori Yuji's Totally Foolproof Plan to get Fushiguro Megumi to Fall In Love with Him

Closing the Distance

is it gay if our pinkies are intertwined?

Too Soon?

I Have to Protect You

all of them are jjk itafushi works!! yuji's plan is my first fanfic piece i've ever written!

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes!!! i try my best to but lskdjflsd sometimes it gets ahead of me or life gets all wonky. i really do try tho, and most of the time i'm pretty responsive <3

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

oh for sure it has to be To See You Again. it's an alternate ending to What I'd Give, and i've had ppl argue that that one is sadder, but i feel like (without getting into spoilers) the lack of resolution leaves this one feeling a bit more bleak. i felt bad writing it.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

probably yuji's plan, even tho it's an ongoing series. it's only "ongoing" bc of a series of spin-off one-shots that follow the ending, but they are all pretty happy. the series overall has very light angst too, but if not yuji's plan, then perhaps Closing the Distance.

Do you write crossovers?

naur but i have considered writing characters in other universes. idk tho, seems intimidating.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not hate in the traditional sense where someone is actively disliking my story or writing, but i do regularly get jumped by my readers for my angsty stuff. i wouldn't call it hate tho.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

naur and i probably never will, but i do have little FLIES IN MY EARS that want me to.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

last i checked, naur. but im keeping an eye out bc im willing to throw hands over it ksfdjsdl

Have you ever had a fic translated?

no, but i've had someone ask me if i ever will. i can't do the translating, but it would be cool if one of mine were.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

YES OMFG!!!! @sunnyyflowerrs and i wrote pinkies together and it was SOOO MUCH FUN!!!! it's crazy like how well our writing styles meshed together, and i really liked working with her. i'm her number 1 fan fr so like this was just a dream to me. i loveee it and it's my third most liked fic!!!! i'd lovee to work with her again, and there are also some other writers that i hope to work with!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

itafushi literally sucked me into the ao3 rabbit hole like nobody's business. i never read fan fiction ever in my life before june, and then next thing i know i'm writing a multi-chapter fic in august. now i have 13 itfs works and kfm socials on like. every app. crazy how that works.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i don't know if there's one that i don't think i'll ever finish. i hope to try and finish all of my works eventually, i guess the *only* thing that i could really think to put here is just that the yuji's plan one shots are going to keep going til i run out of ideas.

What are your writing strengths?

the kfm trio: angst, miscommunication, and tension. i feel like i really do well with tension, but i've been told that when my angst hits, it hits. also currently have my readers tweaking out in CTD with the miscomm, so we got the holy trinity.

What are your writing weaknesses?

my prose and descriptors are a work in progress. i feel like it can come out sounding clunky and it's really hard to get the flow right. that's what i'm struggling with in skinny dipping, an unpublished wip of mine. the more i work on it, tho, the better it gets.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

oh goodness, i would be soooo bad at it i fear. the only other language that i know is american sign language ahahaha, so the best that i could do is accurately capture inumaki signing in ASL kajsdfldsk the closest i get is using when i use -chan or -sensei in dialogue, but i don't use it anywhere else.

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

OH MY GOD I SWEAR I WILL WRITE A SHIGUANG FIC FOR LINK CLICK OMFGGG THE POTENTIAL THERE IS CRAZYYYYY I NEEDDDD TO WRITE IT however, i must pace myself and finish skinny dipping first, and also probably closing the distance before i even try to start writing a new fic, much less for a new fandom. oh also kagehina is slowly creeping up on me the more i watch haikyuu... i can feeeeel it

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

currently, it's actually Hot Off the Press teehee. it's a fun, low-pressure fic that i can self-indulge in and use my degree for! it's been a ton of fun writing and i really like being able to pull stuff that i learned for this story. also it's just a fun story to write teehee

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #yuji itadori #itafushi #ao3 #jjk fan fic #fan fiction #fan fiction author #ao3 author #tess yaps

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fluffysucker · 1 year ago

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Than I was at 16

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess

ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

You didn't expect how your day will turn out to be

A/n: Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

It's my birthday today so this is very self-indulgent. I'm sorry. I needed this. Hope you like it

Main Masterlist

You tried. You tried so hard. You tried to act like you didn't care. Like, it didn't matter. It didn't mean anything to you. But you couldn't. especially now that you were alone.

Moving the food around the plate with no appetite at all. You signed, as you knew you weren't going to eat a bite more. You wrapped the plate up next to the food you donate weekly. You were proud of how almost wasteless your restaurant was.

You got back inside, hoping maybe work would be the way to take your mind off things.

It was nothing. No big deal. That's what you kept repeating in your mind as you worked.

But it all went off the wall when you saw the text from Bucky telling you he was leaving the gym early and to meet at his place later.

You wanted to cry. It was so stupid, but it felt like a stab to your heart.

You knew Bucky wasn't a sentimental man, but he was thoughtful and considerate. He wasn't one for loud affection, but he cared so much.

So why did he forget about your birthday?

It was six o'clock now, and not a single simple 'Happy Birthday'. For the whole week, he had been acting like there was nothing important. He never mentioned it. It was a completely normal week for him.

You couldn't say that didn't hurt. It hurt much more than you wanted to admit.

You knew that the nature of your relationship wasn't like others. You knew yours, and Bucky's personalities had their big differences. And you were okay with that. You enjoyed it most of the time. It was fine.

However, you hoped that maybe today Bucky would be willing to step more into yours.

Birthdays were a big deal for you. Everyone who knew you knew this about you. You cared about birthdays. You thought of it as a chance to show your friends and family how much you truly loved and appreciated them. You wanted the people you love to have a special day every year when they were reminded of how lucky you were to have them and of how great and wonderful they were.

You had already received a couple of texts and calls from some of your family members and friends. But none of them were the ones you wanted.

You expected at least a small happy birthday kiss when you woke up tangled together in your bed this morning. And that would have been enough for you. You would have been the happiest. But you got nothing. You carried on with your routine like any other day. Until you separated at the doors of your workplaces, it was like every day.

But it wasn't. It was your birthday.

You tried to cheer yourself on, reminding yourself that not everybody cares about birthdays like you do. And that was okay.

But you almost shed tears when the staff working with you in the restaurant brought a leftover cupcake from today's work with a candle in it, singing Happy Birthday before you closed.

It was just you and them as all customers had left, and you were closing up the place. They even chipped in and bought you a present. You tried to turn it down politely, but they insisted that they wanted to give you something nice like you always gave them. You almost cried on the spot. But you weren't sure if it was all happy tears.

As you thanked them for the hundredth time before you parted ways so each of you would go home, you couldn't help but feel sadder. Your staff remembered your birthday, and your boyfriend didn't. The young adults took away part of their money to get you a present, and your boyfriend didn't.

While their simple gesture meant the world to you, leaving you with a full heart, you couldn't help but think about how the staff working with you had shown you more love and care than your own boyfriend.

Maybe it was your time to compromise. It had been Bucky who was putting in the most effort so you could meet in the middle. And it was all for your wishes. While you did wait for him, gave him all the time he needed, and took things at his pace, it was he who had to find a new comfort zone where both of you could exist together.

So maybe now it is your turn to give up and learn to accommodate. And Bucky was worth it. So worth it.

But would a small happy birthday have killed him? How could it have slipped his mind like this?

You breathed in and out, trying to keep your emotions together. It was going to be fine. You would get used to it. It was okay.

You loved Bucky so much that you would let go of this. You prioritized your relationship over failed expectations.

You tried freshening your mind, so you chose to walk to Bucky's apartment. It was a bit of a long way, but you didn't mind. You needed it. And it was quite nice.

While the gym and restaurant were in what could be called good areas of the city, Bucky lived upstate. He had a luxurious, big apartment that he refused to call a penthouse. But it kind of was. And it was immaculately decorated. Morden with hints of vintage It took your breath away the first time Bucky brought you.

You weren't going to lie and say you weren't surprised by how comfortable and financially stable Bucky was. You thought boxers always struggled to make ends meet. It was a misconception on your part. You blamed media representation for that.

You greeted the doorman, who you grew to be friendly with as your visits and stays became more frequent. You got in the elevator and pressed the floor number. You reminded yourself for the last time that it didn't matter. It would be better and easier if you let it go.

You got out of the elevator to walk to the back of the floor, where Bucky's apartment was. You noticed the pattern of always preferring the back of a place where privacy was most granted.

You used the key that Bucky gave you a while ago to open the door. You shared the apartments' keys long ago. You were going so steady. Another reminder to yourself not to make a big deal of this

You frowned at the complete silence as you walked in. Hasn't Bucky come back yet?

"Bucky?" You called out of your boyfriend because it wasn't like him to not hear you coming in. You always teased that he somehow had enhanced hearing.

"In the guys room." His voice rang in the apartment.

You put your stuff on the table as you walked into the apartment. The guys room in Bucky's apartment was the second-largest room in the house. And that was why it was the guys room. Because Steve or Sam, sometimes both, stayed over in this room way more than they stayed in their own homes. The closer you got to Bucky, the more you saw how close the three men were. It was a beautiful friendship that you admired. They teased each other and bickered to no end, yet they would die for each other in a heartbeat. You were happy your boyfriend had this kind of bond in his life. He deserved it.

You assumed both men were here as well, and they all left together. It was fine. You enjoyed their company very much.

It was unusual for the guys to have the door of the room closed. But you didn't pay much mind as you opened the door.

You should have.

You stood there in awe, shock expressions written all over your face. Your feet were rooted in their place. It was taking you a moment to comprehend what was in front of you.

The room was bare of any furniture that once occupied it. From the ceiling to the floor, glistening decorations were all over the room. Balloons, foil metallic fringe curtains, and everything. The word "happy birthday" hangs hugely in the centre of the room.

The room looked better than the pictures you see on the internet. It was like it came out of your dreams. Like someone got in your brain and copied it and made it even more beautiful.

Someone who cared so much

The feeling of two strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you towards him broke you out of your trance.

"Happy Birthday, Princess." Bucky's raspy voice whispered in your ear.

You turned around to face him. Still unable to form words, you stood on your tiptoes to hug him and bury yourself in him for a moment.

"C'mon, let's celebrate."

The only furniture left in the room was the sofa and table. The table was covered in presents and gifts. In the middle, there was the most gorgeous, wonderful cake you had ever seen in your life.

"You remembered." These were the only words that could come out as surprise wore off.

"Of course I did." Bucky was confused.

"Doll, did you think I forgot about your birthday?" Bucky asked.

Looking at the room from your seat on the sofa, you were ashamed to answer. But Bucky didn't need a verbal answer.

"Oh, princess. I'm so sorry I made you think, though. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to surprise you."

Of course, Bucky remembered. He had been planning for this for over a month now. He had been counting the days until he finally had a day where he could spoil you endlessly. It's not like he needed a special occasion to spoil you. Bucky found out very early on in your relationship that he loved to do things for you. He was happy spending all his money on you. However, you never let him do that in peace. So he couldn't wait for your birthday so you wouldn't complain.

It wasn't his intention to make you think that he had forgotten about your birthday. It was just that he knew that if he said a word to you, he would spell out all his plans. He had no willpower when it came to you. It was like he was a completely different person from you. a person he very much enjoyed.

He didn't even spend two hours at the gym today. He just went to drag Sam and Steve with him. He had a long day ahead of him, and he needed help so the results would be perfect. And both men couldn't do anything but oblige. Moving furniture around was a pretty easy task for the men. However, hanging up balloons presented a great challenge for the men. But they overcame it, thankfully.

"You didn't have to do all of this." You were so grateful for this.

"Of course I did. I wanted to." What kind of boyfriend was Bucky if he didn't go above and beyond for his girlfriend?

"Now, let's celebrate." Bucky took the lighter off the table and lit up the candles on the cake, then started singing Happy Birthday.

In that moment, you felt a surge of emotions. Overwhelming even. The overflowing feeling of being loved engulfed you. There was someone in this world who wanted to celebrate you like you dreamed. Someone who put all the effort into you. Someone who gave you happiness you thought was only in fairy tales. Someone who chose to love you

Someone who was everything and more.

You knew what your wish was going to be this year. And you made it as you blew off the candles.

"Happy Birthday, princess."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you. You kissed him back and deepened the kiss, hoping to let him know how much you loved him.

"Want to open your presents?" Bucky spoke as you broke apart.

"I don't want to hear it. Just see them." Bucky added quickly before you protested that he shouldn't have brought you so many presents.

"Okay. Which one should I start with?" And you listened to him.

"This one." He brought a small box to your hand.

You took the box from him and opened it, only to be stunned.

"Bucky..."

"You don't have to wear it. I just wanted to give it to you." You could tell Bucky was nervous. Maybe he should have left this one to last.

"Are you kidding? This is so beautiful." You brought it out of the box.

Holding in your hand was a simple gold necklace with Bucky's initials in it. You loved it more than you could describe.

You turned your back to Bucky so he could help you put it on. It looked so delicate on your skin, and it meant so much to you.

"I'm never taking it off." You would never.

Bucky smiled at your words. He loved you so much that he didn't believe it sometimes. He gave your lips a little peck.

"That would have been enough of a present." You couldn't help yourself. You didn't want any presents. Every day with Bucky was a gift.

Bucky glared at you, warning you not to say stuff like this again, and let him spoil you once in silence. And you nodded.

The rest of the presenters were a variety of things. all things that you loved and had big interests in. even things you mentioned before. It was heartwarming to see how thoughtful Bucky was.

You are beaming with excitement and joy. Until the last present.

You grabbed the envelope with a tie wrapped around it. You had your eyes on it, but something told you to leave it for last.

And you were right.

"OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD." You got up screaming and jumping.

"Please tell me this is real." You turned to Bucky, holding the paper so tight in your hand.

"I can't joke about this." Bucky answered. His eyes were shining from seeing you so happy. That's all he ever wanted in life. You are happy because of him.

"I love you so much." You shouted as you threw yourself on him, hugging him so tightly.

"I love you too, doll." Bucky giggled as he hugged you back. Your happiness automatically makes him happy as well.

The envelope had tickets for a concert for your favorite singer. They had been your favorite since forever. You always talked about how long you wanted to see them live. But each time, either you couldn't afford it or tickets got sold out so quickly that you didn't get any.

However, Bucky managed to get the tickets. He knew people who knew people. And it was all worth it.

"I wanted to get the tickets for this weekend, but the team wants to celebrate your birthday." Bucky could vividly remember the look Natasha gave him when he told her they didn't need to do anything for you and that he was already planning something for you. If looks could kill, He would have been dead. How dare he think that they wouldn't celebrate your birthday? Their favorite sunshine. The audacity.

At the moment, right now, Yelena was already ordering the cake for the weekend, while Natasha was impressed by Steve and Sam's skills at hanging up balloons quickly.

Steve and Sam had no idea how they got dragged to decorate for your birthday twice on the same day. However, they weren't complaining at all. It was like having a little sister. So they were very okay with it.

"I got an extra ticket, so you can bring whoever you want with you." Bucky knew you had a couple of friends who were fans as well. He wanted you to have the choice to pick as you liked.

You had already picked.

"I know it's not to your taste so much, but would you join me and go together?" This concert had been your dream for so long, and you couldn't think of anyone other than Bucky to experience it with.

You wanted to be holding his hand as you watched your favorite singer take the stage. You wanted to dance with him as your favorite love songs played. Because all the love songs are about him now.

"I would love nothing more." Bucky replied before you could tell him that he could turn it down. He wanted to go with you. He wanted to see you check something off your Wishlist.

"I get to pick your outfit, though." You added, laughing.

"We will see about that." Bucky joked, but he knew he would wear anything if it meant making you happy.

You looked at Bucky with so much love and adoration. everything he did for you. You were beyond thankful.

"Thank you, Bucky."

"Thank you for being born."

Years ago, you were born to bring so much light and joy to this world. Years later, you become his light and joy.

And he wanted to spend all his life celebrating you.

Today was better than you ever expected.

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natequarter · 3 months ago

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romana appears so often in the dweu that one can fairly linearly chart her relationship with the doctor across literally hundreds of years in a way that just isn't possible with most other companions; every so often she just shows up again in the doctor's life and rather than the 'oh so this is the tragedy of travelling with humans' which is fucking endemic to human companions returning it's 'oh shit dr. who has an ex (who doesn't want to murder him for kicks)'. which is infinitely funnier but also becomes infinitely sadder because they go from not liking each other in the ribos operation to best mates in the ribos operation the rest of s16 and just grow closer and closer until eventually they part on amicable terms and the doctor gets so miserable he dies and spends a whole body moping. then they repeatedly run into each other again and it's clear that they're still very much friendly only for their relationship to fall irreparably apart after the events of zagreus... and from then on gallifrey is on some level haunted by the doctor's distinct absence, which is sad for leela but i think unbearable for romana because he explicitly rejects everything she's doing and he's right! he's fucking right! gallifrey does corrupt her and they never talk again! (from her perspective. from the doctor's perspective, they do meet again in her third incarnation, but like. she also sucks, famously.) but it's also the fact that the doctor is really her first true friend and first exposure to the outside world, someone she thinks she can trust wholeheartedly... and then he abandons her, not once but twice, at the two points in time when she needs him most. horrible.

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turning-the-frigging-frogs-gay · 1 month ago

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An analysis of the use of tonality (key signatures basically) in Epic: The Musical

(and what it tells us about the mental state of the characters)

@ryu-deagon @elixs-mythology-corner You seemed interested? Hopefully I do a good job at explaining it!!

For those new to music theory. Major key sounds happy, minor key sounds sad/scary. That’s literally it. You can probably already work out which one most of the songs you know are. Thing is, in Epic, sometimes you can’t. Let’s get into why.

Here’s the pattern of notes for the simplest major scale:

Every major key has a relative minor key - to find it you start on the note a minor third (3 semitones) below it and play a slightly different pattern of notes, but there are different versions of a minor scale you can play.

You can change nothing, play all the notes of the major scale just starting in a different place, which gets you the “natural minor”

Or if you want it to sound even sadder you can sharpen the seventh note by a semitone, this is the “harmonic” minor, the most common kind of minor we see in classical music

And there are other versions but these are the two that are important for Epic. If you have access to a keyboard I’d suggest you play the notes in the order to hear how they sound!!

Examples… uhh … for a major key think “twinkle twinkle little star” (usually played in C major)

And for a minor key. Just search up any piece of classical music in the key of A Minor, start of Chopin’s waltz in A minor is a good example, would link it here but I have a feeling tumblr won’t like that lol

Crucial thing is: epic almost never has that sharpened seventh note. You could also consider the tonality of most of the songs to be something called a “mode” which is a scale used in folk music before classical music popularised the use of the “harmonic” minor keys. This could signify the musical’s taking place in an ancient time before classical music?

I noticed it in Ruthlessness first but then I realised it’s in nearly every song.

“If the song has pretty much without exception only the notes of the major scale why don’t you just say it’s in the major key?” Well I’d say it can be argued that way. But the reason i would say most of these songs are in the minor keys is because they often seem to land/“resolve” on the tonic of the minor scale at the starts and ends of phrases. Like Full Spead Ahead

Every time he says Just a Man

Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves

Thunder Bringer

And for that reason to me they sound more like they’re in the relative minor keys although with Just a Man especially I think you could argue it either way which is very telling about Ody’s mental state. More on that now…

So all the songs seem to be having this kind of identity crisis about whether they’re in major or minor keys (to the point where when you look it up different sites give different answers). I guess if this is intentional it’s meant to mirror Ody’s identity crisis about whether he is good or bad? you may ask “but Fliss, i guess it makes sense to include it in songs like Just a Man and Monster, but you said it was very noticeable in Ruthlessness?” Very true. I kind of see it as symbolising Ody’s perspective on the world, especially given he later tries to justify Poseidon’s actions, he’s constantly mentally debating himself on whether ruthlessness is the answer

And adorably the only songs that are completely unambiguously in the major key are Open Arms, Legendary (well… up to the point where the suitors join in) and We’ll be Fine.

Even the tonality presents Polites and Telemachus as a source of goodness and light. This is especially sweet if we consider the Wisdom Saga to be from Athena’s POV and the way she views Telemachus. I’ll probably come back to this after Ithaca Saga but I’d imagine would you fall in love with me again will stay pretty definitely in the major key as well.

Concluding thoughts; the majority of the songs in epic have all the notes to be in a major key but they don’t sound major. Just like how ody has all the potential to be good but he is put in situations where he is forced to choose violence again and again.

I would be very interested to see what key signatures Jorge actually wrote when composing these songs

#epic the musical #jorge rivera herrans #epic Poseidon #etm #epic Odysseus #epic Telemachus #epic Athena #epic the vengeance saga #epic the Ithaca saga

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misseviehyde · 10 months ago

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THIRD TIME UNLUCKY

You really don't take a hint do you loser?

This is the third time you've made your friend take Elixir and turn into me, in the hopes of you both finally losing your virginity. Don't you think it's kind of pathetic?

I can see you slobbering to get your filthy incel hands all over my big tits, but it isn't gonna happen you dweeb. I thought the last time I transformed and kicked you in the balls I made it quite clear that I have zero interest in your scrawny body.

You fucking disgust me and so does he. Two pathetic nobodies who think they deserve to get laid just because they found how to make the Elixir. I bet that little bitch has jerked off so many times imagining becoming me. Imagining having my big tits on his chest, my tight pussy between his legs. He's even sadder than you are.

Too bad for him our memories are separate. He'll never fully remember how good it feels to be me, just that he knows it is better. To be fair, if I was him I'd transform into me every chance I got. I'm definitely the superior version of him.

If you think I'm gonna help you out though, you have another thing coming. I'm going out to have some fun instead. With these big milkers I won't be paying for any drinks tonight at the bar. Who knows, maybe I'll meet some hot guy and spend the night at his getting railed. I bet you'd love to imagine that wouldn't you?

Bah - you're so fucking sad. I can't believe you even thought you had a chance with me. Don't you get it simp? Girls like me don't like boys like you. You're fucking pathetic.

The Elixir has made me into a Goddess with all the natural drives a hot bitch like me should have. I'm gonna make sure your friend keeps getting addicted to being me, I think it's time I took over his life for good.

The only way you're getting laid tonight is if you drink Elixir too and become a girl. Maybe then I'll even make out with you. If you turn out as hot as I did, perhaps we could be friends?

Otherwise get the fuck out of my way. I have no time for reject incels like you.

Now scram...

#evie hyde #bitchification #m2f transformation #tg elixir

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choosingwhatmatters · 5 months ago

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Music in The Loyal Pin, Episode 5

Hello dear friends of musical endeavours. Welcome back to the journey through the soundscapes of The Loyal Pin. This is going to be a short post as I spent most of my time this week away from home. Still, I hope you enjoy.

Today is about a piece of music that has been fascinating to me since the very first time I’ve heard it in the show, and more so with every reoccurrence. But from the beginning first. We are in episode 2. Anil has just dismissed Prik from what could have been a shared afternoon snack with Pin, had Pin been able to eat anything. But Pin cannot stand the thought of Anil leaving. She is standing with her back to Anil, crying, and there’s a sweet, descending melody that starts out like this:

I dubbed the melody “Helpless.” On first listen, it sounds harmless. It is a melody featuring the notes of a major scale, thus sounding relatively happy. It derives its pain mostly from the onscreen visuals. Still, when hearing it for the first time, there was something about the piece that caught my ear, and I was curious in which contexts we would get to hear it again.

In episode 4, Lady Ueang hurts herself while cooking and Anil tends to her wounds with a tenderness that is hard to endure for Pin. However, the scene that put a bow to my heartstrings comes at the end of episode 4. Pin clings to Anil because of the thunderstorm. There’s a flashback to tiny Pin, shivering in the rain, begging her parents to wake up, and there’s the music again. The sweetness of the melody stands in stark contrast to the darkness, the despair. The discrepancy is hard for me to bear. Which is why I believe it’s a brilliant choice for the scene. Pin’s pain is mirrored by the high starting note and the rapid descend of the melody, which goes down whole octave in only four notes. A tiny outcry, a wail into the night, into the noise. What is striking to me is that the melody is still in a major scale. The obvious choice would have been a minor scale which by its nature sounds more sorrowful. You just lower the third note of the scale by one half tone and suddenly the piece sounds like this:

But that’s not Pin. True to her character, her music stays sweet. Kind. That is true for Pin in all stages of life that we see her in. I’ve talked about another piece that is connected to Pin’s suffering, “Pin’s heavy heart.” This piece sounds more wistful because the beginning revolves around a minor third. But the underlying harmony that calls us towards it – our homebase, tonic, first chord, whatever you want to call it – is a major one. Like most humans, Pin has become sadder as she got older, but underneath, she’s still hopeful.

Back to “Helpless,” though. It is one of the first things we hear in episode 5. Pin has fled from Anil’s embrace and has locked herself away. Anil is then alone, wondering whether Pin is angry at her. That is when the piece sets in. My theory is that it is not Anil’s helplessness we’re hearing, but Pin’s. In the past, we’ve heard the piece whenever Pin was overcome by emotions she could not suppress, and if an emotional onslaught due to royal kissing lessons does not fall into that category, I don’t know what does.

The piece reappears in what is one of my favourite scenes of the series so far. Anil is away for the funeral, and we have parallel shots of Anil and Pin with memories of one another echoing through their minds, accompanied by “Helpless.” We see Anil first, and her part of the music is unstable. Restless. There’s no determinable time signature (that I could make out). The melody wanders, looking for a place to rest but finding none. It stumbles through the harmonies, doubles back, sidesteps. My goodness, I just watched the scene again and it is only now that I noticed that Anil has tears in her eyes! This show is killing me.

In contrast to Anil’s despair, we have Pin reliving times of her life when her feelings for Anil have made her feel helpless. When she took care of Anil despite being afraid of her emotions. When she was jealous of Lady Ueang. When Anil comforted her through a night of thunderstorm. And then she’s smiling because she realises that what she is feeling is the unstoppable force, and against the unstoppable force, we all are helpless. Her acceptance is mirrored by the music. We have a steady 4/4 metre and the melody as well as the harmony create a familiar, recognisable atmosphere. Pin is ready to face the woman she loves.

There is something incredibly nerdy to say about some of the chords used in this piece, but I am unsure whether this is exciting to anyone but me. If you, by any chance, want to read what "Helpless" has in common with a lot of songs by Radiohead, please let me know. Then I'll write a short post about minor subdominants. However, I won't be offended if nobody does.

In any case: Thank you so much for reading and listening! I hope you enjoy the music of the series as much as I do. Have a good one and see you soon!

#the loyal pin #utsch choosing music #i hope it's okay that I didn't talk about the intimate scenes #I talked about most of the music used there in my last post #have I mentioned how much I enjoy the loyal pin?#no?#big oversight #i adore it #thai love you

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tenderhooked · 1 year ago

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Any thoughts about Foggy’s family reacting to Matt being back in the post-blip Daredevil fic?

HOUGH. thank you for asking this my love because i DIDN'T have any thoughts about it and now i DO. oh BOY DO I!!!!

See, what seems to be a million years ago, now, Anna's son brought home his roommate from college for Thanksgiving. He had told them all that Matt was different, whispered hushed through the phone, that he didn't come from anywhere nor have anywhere to return to, and that it had taken days of embarrassing pleading on his part to get Matt to even reluctantly agree to the visit. So Anna had said okay, honey, sounds good, and then she'd hung up the phone and worried with her husband as to what exactly it was that Foggy was bringing home with him. (What it was, was this: A kid, mop-haired and shy, mumbling please and thank you and offering to clean the dishes and jerking with surprise every time her husband clapped him on the shoulder.) (What it was, was this: Anna's third son.) She remembers Foggy telling her about Matt's--disappearance, the first time. She'd kept making an extra serving of dinner and dessert, just in case he returned, and eventually, he had. A bit quieter than before, a bit sadder, but whole. She doesn't remember Foggy telling her about Matt's second disappearance. Her own hands had been gritty with dust, or ash, or whatever it was they called it. She'd watched her husband crumble to pieces between her palms and then she had to open the front door to tell her son that his father was gone, only to find out that her other son was gone, too. And yet. And yet. Her husband is here again, and Matt is-- Matt is sitting at her kitchen table, socked feet tucked up beneath him, Foggy at one shoulder and Karen at the other, and he's saying please and thank you and offering to clean the dishes and it's like no time has passed at all, even though so much of it has. She passes her fingers through his hair as she sets their plates on the table. He doesn't flinch, not anymore. Instead, his body leans into the touch, and remains.

#AUGH WEEPS #ask #readwing #thank you for asking this i love u 4ever MWAH <3 #no one touch me i'm emo about found family and adoptive parental figures and the love that brings people together again #daredevil #matt murdock #foggy nelson #anna nelson #(yes i did forget foggy's dad's name hence why he is shrimply. The Husband.)#sid speaks

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0sincerelyella · 1 year ago

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OMG BROTHERS WAS SOO GOOD! could you please do an alternate version where Sejanus still gets his heartbroken by coryo but he lives instead of dies, and so he walks away from coryo, silent tears rolling down his cheeks knowing coryo betrayed him (the only person he called a friend/could trust) and just goes home and sobs

caught - Sejanus Plinth

Summary: sejanus has his own tricks up his sleeve too. once a brother not always a brother

notes: Bare with me this one might get a tad bit confusing

snow wasn’t always as smart and sneaky as everyone had assumed, and as he himself had portrayed. he slipped up sometimes too, said things he shouldn’t have to the wrong people, betrayed friends. brothers.

sejanus wasn’t as arrogant as everyone decided they wanted him to be, he wasn’t blinded by his own kind heart like everyone thought.

he stood around the corner listening to the recording of his entire plan on the mocking jays. his heart sank to the bottom of his chest when he knew coryo was the one behind it. his coryo, his brother.

his first instinct was to find lucy gray, he couldn’t cry, he couldn’t hurt, he had to save his chance at saving countless lives. he had to make a difference.

lucy gray was stunned, her heart shattered as the love she had for coryo melted away like snow.

like how the coryo they knew melted away into the carcass of his father.

“your lying” she wouldn’t believe it. she thought they had trust, she thought she finally had something to put her hope in. “he’s going to get me killed” sejanus admitted, his chest heaving rapidly as his lungs tighted, he gripped his shirt in fear. “no he won’t” she promised, grabbing sejanus’ hand and dragging him towards where she thought he was.

the area where lucy gray spotted snow was crawling with peacekeepers, a place only they could step foot. “you have to get him yourself sejanus, then run, as fast as you can and destroy it.” sejanus nodded, following snow closely behind. “coryo!” he called, coryo wasn’t slick. sejanus saw the small bead of sweat above his eyebrow, which is unusual for their cool headed coryo that has killed. sejanus knows he will be the third if he isn’t quick, his heart grows sadder as the time passes

he eyes coryo up and down in search of the recording. but coryo is clean, he has hidden it. and sejanus knows where he had to have put it. “you know coryo i just wanted to say thank you” his heart burned. his blood boiled. “for what?”

“for being my brother, someone i can lean on. we’re gonna make a difference here. whether im going to be hanging in the tree someday or not” he hinted, he hinted that he knew of the betrayal but snow didn’t catch it. “a difference you shall make sejanus” he said, the two parted ways.

sejanus booked it to the peace keepers quarters, he ran as fast as he could and barrled through the doors. he knelt under coriolanus’ bed and rummaged through his box. low and behold right at the bottom is the recording of his speech to the mockingjays.

with anger seething through his bones he ran to the back corner of the district and destroyed it, he smashed it with a rock as much as possible, he smashed it to pieces. his eyes welled with tears as he smashed it away and his remembrance of his brother was brought to. every memory of coryo was being burnt through his mind.

he looked up, locking eyes with coriolanus snow as he saw his blackmail smashed to the ground. “hello, brother” sejanus said, smacked their shoulders together as he walked passed him. “brother is more than blood isn’t it. the blood of your brother won’t be on your hands anymore” and he was gone as fast as he was seen.

with a new, broken, burnt up heart.

#lucy gray x coriolanus #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x sejanus #coriolucy #coriolanus x lucy gray #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coryo x reader #coryolucy #coryolanus snow #coryo snow #hunger games #the hunger games #sejanus my beloved #sejanus x reader #sejanus deserved better #sejanus plinth

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

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Backfire

Three Thanksgivings in the lives of the Hotchner family.

-x-

Hi friends, this is the third and final (for now) part of my Thanksgiving fic Backfire.

This got a little sadder than I initially intended, but I don't think that will surprise anyone.

This week has been...rough. But as ever I am grateful for this community and the distraction it provides from real life <3

-x-

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Grief/Loss of a parent

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Somewhere along the way, Thanksgiving had become her least favourite holiday.

She’d felt the tension it brought the moment she woke up, torn from sleep by her hungry one-month-old, the baby girl demanding her attention almost constantly. Eliza was a clingier baby than Zachary had ever been, something that Emily would have once called impossible, and she was exhausted.

She yawns as she lays Eliza down on the changing table, a smile flitting across her face at the sight of the outfit, that had been bought by Penelope, that she was about to dress her daughter in. The swirling writing and cartoon turkey on the onesie so cute it made her ache.

Mommy & Daddy’s Little Turkey.

“You’re going to hate me when I show you these pictures in about 14 years, sweet girl,” she says as she picks up the outfit, rubbing the soft material between her fingers, “But you’re going to look so damn cute I don’t care.” She feels a rush of love sweep through her as she slips Eliza’s arms into the onesie, her heart aching at how cute her daughter looks. She picks her up and rests her against her chest, “You are the fucking cutest baby on the whole planet.”

“Don’t curse in front of the baby.”

She turns to look at her husband and smiles, rolling her eyes at him before she adjusts her hold on Eliza so he can see her outfit, “Am I wrong?”

He chuckles as he walks over, his hand on Emily’s lower back as he leans in to kiss her. He then stamps a kiss against Eliza’s head before he pulls back to look at them.

“I stand corrected, she is the fucking cutest.”

Emily mock gasps, “Don’t curse in front of the baby.”

Aaron shakes his head at his wife, but his response is cut off as the doorbell rings, quickly followed by Jack’s voice, the 11-year-old’s excitement clear.

“Mom, Dad, Aunt Jessie and Grandpa are here!”

She hears two sets of feet thundering down the hallway downstairs, Zachary always on the heels of his older brother, the 4-year-old always copying his every move.

Aaron feels Emily tense in his arms, her shoulders tight as she holds Eliza impossibly closer. He kisses her forehead and cups her cheek to make him look up at her.

“Remember sweetheart, we don’t have to do this. We can just send him home.”

She found Thanksgiving challenging when she was at her best, something that she definitely did not currently feel. It was the only holiday when they got together with Roy, who still tried to undermine her or make comments towards Aaron at every opportunity. Emily hated it, the tension the man brought into her home enough to make her skin crawl, but she put up with it. Her love for Jack and her desire for him to be happy and surrounded by family who loved him far outweighing her own dislike for a man who made a point of being actively rude to her husband.

Aaron had checked more than once if she still wanted to go ahead with Thanksgiving as planned. He’d even asked her that morning, his arm around her shoulder as she fed Eliza whilst it was still dark outside, a serious look in his eyes as he said he’d uninvite Roy at any time, right up to the moment he stepped foot on the porch. She’d insisted she was fine, that she wanted things to be as normal as they possibly could, but as she watches the clock tick closer to the time Jess was supposed to arrive with Roy, she wonders if she had made the right decision.

Not only was Emily only a month post-partum and still getting used to having a newborn again, the four years since she’d done all of this with Zachary feeling like both a lifetime and a blur all at once, but it was the first holiday since her mother had died.

Emily was working when it happened. Regulated to the office at almost 8 months pregnant, her bump pressed against her desk as she looked over paperwork she was struggling to focus on. Her phone screen lit up with an unknown number, and dread she still didn’t understand flooded her veins. Her instincts that something was wrong kicking in before she even answered the call and listened as a stranger whose voice she’d never forget told her that Elizabeth was critically ill.

Aaron had been away on a case at the time, something she knew he still felt guilty about as if him being at home would have changed anything. He’d flown back to her as soon as he could, putting her and their family above his job, a lesson he’d learnt the hard way with spilt blood and tears. He’d held her hand as she made the decision to take her mother off life support, the roll of her baby girl in her stomach feeling displaced against the repetitive beeps of the machines around them, and her mother’s cold hand.

Emily wondered if things would feel different if her relationship with her mother had been a good one. If they’d had the type of relationship she knew she had with her children whether she’d feel different. Grief was complicated, she knew that, it wasn’t linear or easy. But she sometimes thought her chest wouldn’t feel like it was hollowed out if she had more good memories of her mother to fall back on, if all of her favourite moments with her hadn’t all happened since she’d become a mother herself. Elizabeth may never have been the mother Emily wanted or deserved, but she was an excellent grandmother.

On some level, she was jealous of the relationship the boys had with Elizabeth, an emotion that made her feel so guilty it made her feel sick. She wished that she could miss her like Jack and Zachary did. They had no complication in their grief, no caveats. They just missed her.

Emily was angry. Furious that her mother had been capable of being the person she’d needed all along, and sad that Elizabeth had never chosen to be like that for her. She missed both who her mother was and who she could have been, the old adage that ‘two things can be right at once’ as infuriating as it was correct.

She sighs as she shakes her head, “No, we can’t send him home, honey. He’s Jack’s grandfather, it’s Thanksgiving,” she turns her head to kiss his palm, “We can’t send him home. Plus, that would mean Jess would have to leave too and I love spending time with her, and so do the boys. And she cooked the turkey this year so we’d have no food.”

He smiles at her and leans in to kiss her softly. He knew that she was making the decision she thought was right for everyone other than herself, her own comfort was always her last priority. He doesn’t want to argue with her though, and doesn’t want to push her when he knows she’s already more delicate than usual, something she wouldn’t thank him for pointing out. So he steps away.

“I’ll go let them in,” he says, his smile so loving it warms her from the inside out, “You come down when you’re ready.”

She nods and smiles gratefully, turning all of her attention back to Eliza the moment they are alone. She smiles at her little girl.

It may be her first holiday without her mother, but it was also her first with her daughter and she wanted to enjoy it as much as she could.

“Come on Eliza,” she says, kissing her temple, “Let’s go see the grumpiest man to ever exist,” she pauses, smiling to herself as she kisses her daughter again, “And before you ask,” she says as she starts to walk out of the nursery, “I don’t mean Daddy.”

___

“That was the best Thanksgiving meal I’ve eaten in years,” Roy says as he sets his knife and fork down on his plate, turning his attention to Jessica, “That was delicious, Jess.”

“It was so good Aunt Jessie,” Zachary says, smiling as he sinks back into his chair, making his parents laugh as he rubs his belly, something he’d clearly picked up on someone else doing.

“Thanks, Zach,” she says, smiling at the young boy she considered her nephew just as much as Jack before she turns to Roy, “And thanks Dad, I’ve never cooked a whole turkey before so it was quite the learning curve.”

Aaron smiles as he puts his arm around the back of Emily’s chair, taking a quick peak at Eliza who was fast asleep against her mother’s chest, “We really appreciate you cooking, Jess,” he says, “I don’t think we could have managed it.”

“Oh don’t worry,” she replies, “You have a new baby and have to chase my nephews around, I can handle doing the cooking.”

Roy mutters something under his breath, but Emily doesn’t quite catch it because Eliza starts to cry, the brief reprieve she’d given them so Emily could eat, all be it one-handed whilst she held her daughter, is already over.

“Oh sweetheart,” she says, already moving to stand up so she pace, the movement one of the few things that soothed her, “You’re okay.”

Jack stands up too, beating Aaron to it, as he offers help, always keen to be the best big brother he could be, “Do you need me to go get one of her pacifiers, Mom?”

She sees a flash of something across Roy’s face. It’s an echo of a moment a few years ago when it was Zachary’s first Thanksgiving, his tiny face covered in mashed potato as she tried to wipe him clean, and Jack’s innocent comment aimed at his younger brother, the name Momma slipping past his lips without real meaning. He’d still called her Emily back then, the use of the moniker for his little brother’s benefit more than anything, the then baby on the brink of saying his first word.

Jack had switched to calling her Mom a year ago. It felt like it had happened overnight, something that felt natural and wonderful all at once. He still called her Emily in front of Roy, something she knew he did to prevent his grandfather from getting upset, all of the comments he’d made over the years always lingering in the back of his mind. The empathy her eldest was capable of never failed to blow her away, his kindness so much a part of him that she sometimes worried one day it would be something that people would take advantage of. It’s a slip-up Jack doesn’t even seem aware of, his smile soft as he looks at her.

She looks back at Roy, and watches as Jessica stares at her father, a fierce look in her eyes that has almost no effect.

“That would be lovely, Jack,” Emily says, turning her attention back to her eldest son, wanting him out of the room before anything was said, “The clean ones are in the kitchen,” she says, and Jack nods before he runs out of the room. Emily looks at Zachary. Usually, the frown on his face, the one that made him look identical to Aaron, would make her smile, but it makes her chest get tight, the thought that her son was picking up on the tension in the room enough to make her cry, “Zach-”

Her attempt to get him out of the room, to distract him by suggesting he go to the den and played with his toys, is cut off by Roy.

“What did he call you?” He asks, his jaw tight as he glares at her, and any usual defiance she has against the man is nowhere to be found, the crying of her baby in her arms, the absence of her mother and the usual jibes she’d throw at the man, setting her on edge. “How many times do I have to remind you that you’re not his mother?”

It was something that had come up time and time again over the years. Roy’s desire to keep his daughter's memory alive so misguided he didn’t realise he was going against what she’d wanted - for her son to have exactly what he had now.

“Roy,” Aaron starts, his protective instincts kicking in, but he isn’t given the chance when Emily cuts over him

“You know what, Roy,” Emily says, shaking her head at him, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob catching in her chest, “I don’t have the energy for this. I need to go feed my baby,” she softens when she smiles at Zachary, “Want to come with me to go feed your sister?”

Zach nods, slipping out of his chair and walking over to his mother, avoiding eye contact with everyone else as he reaches her side. Emily adjusts her hold on Eliza to make sure she’s secure against her with one arm and she reaches down to hold Zachary’s hand. She leads him out of the room and she doesn’t look back.

Aaron wants to follow her, but he knows she wouldn’t want him to, instead, he folds his hands together in his lap and looks at his ex-father-in-law, anger he hasn’t let himself feel in years bubbling in his stomach.

“You couldn’t just leave it alone this year?” Aaron asks, his eyes stern as he stares at Roy, “She lost her mother a couple of months ago.”

“How long has Jack been calling her mom?” Roy asks as if Aaron hasn’t spoken, staring him down. It reminds Aaron of when he was a teenager and accidentally got Haley home after her curfew, the traffic on the way back from the concert they had been to worse than he’d anticipated. Roy was furious, yelling at Aaron for making his daughter late, for making him worry about her, and Aaron had promised it would never happen again, and that he’d always keep Haley safe.

It was a promise he’d broken without meaning to, the shattered pieces of his already tenuous relationship with his once father-in-law destroyed beyond repair.

“For a long time, Dad,” Jessica answers, sighing as Roy turns to look at her, “He’s called Emily his Mom for over a year.”

Roy frowns at his daughter, “You knew?”

She scoffs, “Of course I did,” she says, shaking her head, “I babysit all the kids, I love them all. And unlike you, I can see past my own grief over Haley to see how happy Jack is.”

Aaron smiles gratefully at Jessica and then he sighs as he turns back to Roy, “I know it’s difficult for you. But Jack came to this decision himself, he also wanted to make sure he did his best not to call Emily ‘Mom’ in front of you so he didn’t upset you.”

Roy all but growls, his frustration clear, “She is not his-”

“She is my mom.”

They all turn to look at Jack, the pre-teen standing in the doorway with a pacifier in his hand, his grip on it tight. Aaron stands and steps towards his son.

“Jack-”

“Mom was my mom too,” he says, cutting off his father as he crosses his arms over his chest, “But so is she,” he adds, pointing towards the stairs, “I don’t remember Mom, Grandad,” Jack says, shrugging his shoulders, “I miss her but the only things I know are what you and Dad and Aunt Jess tell me. Emily…Mom is the one I remember. She’s looked after me and she loves me. And that’s what a mom does,” he frowns, seemingly unable to stop now he’s started, the words he’d wanted to say since he was too young to understand them spilling out, “And you have to be nice to her, and to Dad, and to my brother and sister or I don’t want to see you anymore.”

His words settle around them and Roy sighs, “Jack, I’m just trying to make sure no one forgets your mother.”

“But no one has,” he says, furrowing his brow, looking so much like Haley that it makes the three adults in the room ache, “Dad is always telling me about her and you are. And even Mom does even though she only met her a couple of times,” he adds, watching as shock washes over his grandfathers face and he sighs, feeling some of the anger in his chest go away, “She asks Aunt Jess and Dad for stories so she can talk to me about her too.”

Roy looks at Jessica who nods, her lips pressed together, “It’s true.”

He sighs as he shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” he says as he looks at his grandson, “I didn’t know.”

“You never asked,” Aaron says firmly and Roy nods, clearing his throat as he avoids eye contact. Aaron looks at Jack and smiles at him, “Why don’t you go find everyone else? They’re probably in the nursery.”

Jack hesitates for a moment, but he nods, turning and leaving the room as quickly as he’d entered it. Aaron looks over at Roy and sighs, his hands on his hips as he looks him up and down. He’d always allowed his anger when it was aimed towards him, partially because it felt like a punishment he deserved. A penance for failing Haley and by extension Roy, But he also allowed it because he knew Roy was grieving, that he’d lost his daughter in a horrific way.

It didn’t take an FBI profiler to realise he was overcompensating to make sure he didn’t lose anyone else, his anger and his short temper were side effects of so desperately trying to cling on to what he had left of his daughter.

Her memory and her son.

“Look, Roy,” Aaron says carefully, “I can’t imagine how difficult it is, and I know we don’t particularly like each other,” he looks over at Jessica who smothers a chuckle with a fake cough, her eyes on the ceiling as she avoids looking at him, “But we both loved Haley, and we both love Jack. Surely the fact he’s happy, which is what she wanted, should be enough.”

Roy is quiet for a moment before he stands up, blowing out a steady breath as he nods slowly, “You’re right,” he says, clearing his throat, “It should be. And I’ll try to make sure it is going forward.”

Aaron smiles and relaxes a little, some of the tension in his shoulders finally easing, “Thank you.”

Jessica laughs again and shakes her head at herself when both men look at her, their eyebrows furrowed, “I’m so sorry,” she says, clearing her throat, “It’s just…wherever Haley and Elizabeth are right now, I know they would have got such a kick out of Jack telling you off, Dad.”

___

Aaron sighs as he closes the door behind Roy and Jess, briefly leaning his head against it before he makes sure the locks are in place.

“Long day, huh?”

He turns to look at his wife and smiles at her, opening his arms for her to slip into his embrace, “Long day,” he repeats, kissing the top of her head, “Where are the kids?”

“Eliza is sleeping, and Jack is reading Zach a book,” she says, smiling up at him, “So we might have 5 whole uninterrupted minutes to ourselves,” she says with enthusiasm as if she was talking about a lottery win or a luxury cruise, “Want to snuggle until someone needs us for something?”

“With you? Always,” he says, cupping her cheek and leaning in to kiss her before he leads her to the living room. They sit on the couch together and she settles into his side, breathing him in and letting his comfort wash over her, “You ok, sweetheart?”

She shrugs, because she’s really not sure how to answer the question, “I guess. I don’t know. She would have loved watching Jack tell Roy off.”

He chuckles, “Jess said the same thing,” he tilts his head to look at her, “You heard everything?”

She nods, her smile turning sad, “It was sweet. Zach heard too, and he asked me if it meant Jack was his real brother,” she says, her heart aching when Aaron sighs, his eyes closing as he shakes his head, “But I reminded him about Haley, how she was Jack’s first mom. He understands it all as best as he can.”

“I wish it was simpler sometimes,” Aaron says as he opens his eyes to look at her.

“I know,” she replies, reaching up and pushing his hair out of his eyes, “But if it was simpler, it wouldn’t be our family.” There’s a cry from upstairs and Emily groans, leaning forward to press her forehead into Aaron’s chest. “That girl is relentless.”

“Wonder where she got that from,” Aaron mutters and Emily pulls back to look at him, her eyes narrowed.

“What did you say?”

“I said, you stay here, I’ll go get her,” he says quickly, kissing her forehead and standing up.

She shakes her head at him as he leaves the room and sinks back onto the couch. She sighs as she looks around the room, her gaze locking on a picture from when Zachary was a baby that is framed and on the coffee table. In it, Elizabeth is sitting down with Jack on her left and Emily on her right, and a tiny little Zachary in her arms.

Emily picks it up and she traces her finger over the edge of it, smiling sadly at her own reflection that she can partially see in the glass. She looks at her mother, at the joy in her eyes, the happiness she would have once joked the woman was incapable of and she chuckles, her vision going blurry as tears gather in her eyes. When she speaks, it’s quiet, a secret just between herself and someone she isn’t even entirely sure is watching.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

-x-

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