#Repairing this thing is a CINCH

[michaeldrawrrett]

Extradimensional Farming Equipment

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: Steve Harrington has bad parents, holiday celebrations, period typical homophobia, show typical trauma tags: it's the 90s y'all, older steddie, established steddie, stancy is mentioned, reclaiming holidays word count: 728

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written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "stocking" and the @steddiemas prompt "surprise"

Christmas had never been Steve’s favorite holiday. He was more of a Thanksgiving guy. A big meal, friends and family, and a little bit of football? It was exactly how Steve would describe the perfect day.

Not to mention Thanksgiving was more relaxed than Christmas. There was a certain pressure around Christmas time that Steve swears he’d call one of his earliest memories. Life had moved on a long, long way from trying to eat the lights on the tree but the pressure to be well-behaved and happy was the same.

However, finding his own little community did help some. Not that any of them were any more Christmas people than Steve. Chrissy was the closest, she liked to entertain so any excuse. Nancy and Jonathan had a kid now so they had to celebrate but other than that, they were all fine to let the day come and go. It was an obligation best spent with friends who were suffering the same way.

This year was a little different. For the first time in Steve’s life, he had his own place to celebrate. Not an apartment he and Eddie shared with Robin and Chrissy, not his family home that he was allowed to stay in, this was his. And Eddie’s. Mostly his though.

A modest little home just outside suburbia with a lawn and a two-car garage, Steve loved the place. He’d spent the last nine months fixing all the things that needed repaired and updated which only made him love it more. This was where he was going to spend the rest of his life.

It was that ownership, that security of something for forever, that had him buying a Christmas tree a little early this year. Not out of obligation but because there was a perfect spot in the living room for it. Right in front of the window yet not in the way. It wouldn't take up the only communal space and no one would tell him how to decorate it, so why not?

They gave it a few simple decorations and a new string of lights, Steve wasn’t going crazy here. He still didn’t care about Christmas, but this symbolized so much more. Something that became more and more obvious with each new bit of seasonal decor that found it's way up. What really cinched it was the stockings, though. Something about really said "Christmas" to Steve.

One for him and one for Eddie. Their stockings hung in their home as they would be for the rest of their lives. It probably shouldn’t have made Steve as emotional as it did. He couldn’t stop looking at them. All that they’d fought to be alive, everything they went through, made this feel like a luxury. One Steve couldn’t believe he’d earned.

But he had. There were scars, nightmares, and weekly trips to the therapist to prove it. Whether he’d ever feel like they were safe or that he could fully let his guard down, time would still tell, but Steve was starting to feel worthy of more than just existing.

And there was one more thing this picture-perfect life needed.

It wasn’t exactly possible but times had changed enough that Steve and Eddie could live together and even if it raised a few eyebrows, people kept quiet. It wasn’t enough but it was something. Still, Steve knew. He knew there wasn’t anyone else on this planet for him and the only reason he wasn’t married to Eddie was because it wasn’t legal.

So with a bit of scrambling and all the romantic creativity in his body, Steve bought a ring and wrote a little speech. He sat on both for almost a week without saying anything so that he could pull off the surprise a moment like this was worth.

When Christmas morning rolled around, Steve’s stocking was overflowing with trinkets, candies, and other little goodies but Eddie’s sat looking practically empty. Steve rooted around through his and tried to not watch a very disappointed man dig down to the toe of his monogrammed stocking, chasing the only thing in it.

By the time he’d succeeded, Steve had ditched his candy and was waiting on one knee. This was the last thing he needed to make this the life he’d always dreamt of and maybe the first step in making Christmas something truly magical.

[gatheringbones]

[“Turns out that being a lesbian outside of the privacy of your own home was quite hard. I’m not talking about the various manifestations of homophobia—oh, that old thing. I’m talking about scoring. Picking up chicks. (As it turns out, I would come to prefer the type of woman few would recognize as female, the type who would cheerfully deck you if you called her a chick, but might, if I were lucky, see me as such: a chick, a babe, a femme fox.)

In the oeuvre of Mr. Spillane, being a lesbian seemed so easy, like shooting fish in a barrel. In my favorite lesbian novels, No Blonde is an Island and My Gun is Quick, all a gal had to do was brush up against another woman by the water cooler and, watch out, the sapphic sparks would surely fly. Lesbianism was something any woman could do, no special equipment, messy creams or liquids were required.

But when I walked into my first dyke bar in New York City, I had a rude awakening. It was like transferring to a new high school. No, it was worse than that. A new junior high school. You walk into the class on the first day and everyone turns to stare. Your clothes, your hair, the way you move, it’s all wrong. You have to change everything or die a horrible and lingering death.

I guess the moral of this story is that there are some pursuits, such as lesbianism, that one can’t learn from a book, no matter the author. A more crass sort might make some tasteless jokes at this juncture about “boning up” on lesbianism, or about “hands-on experience,” but the reader can be assured this dyke will not sink to that level.

I watched the other women dancing, talking, flirting. All transactions were conducted in a lingo as incomprehensible to me as straight guy sports speak. My late-seventies disco fever look was out of place here. Everyone looked like they’d raided the closet of their bigger, older brother while he was out repairing refrigerators.

I was the only one wearing makeup.

Someone approached me: “This is a gay bar.” I shriveled up and a gust of wind blew me out into the street.

I had no skills. No lesbian skills. I was stared at, rather than cruised, at the bars. I couldn’t find a way of singnaling to another dyke that I was open for business, a friend of Dorothy, in the life, on the bus. Let alone desperately horny.

Somehow I managed a few invites to lesbian parties. I’d figured out that wearing lipstick was wrong, but I was still doing it. I’m such a congenital WASP that my lips disappear without makeup; I couldn’t imagine having sex without lipstick. I had tried to pull a lesbian look together: oversized second-hand men’s clothes, an unbuttoned black vest, but Annie Hall does not work on someone five feet tall.

Nor could I play softball. When something is thrown at me, even if it is specifically designed for that purpose, I automatically duck. All I had going for me in the lesbian skill department was ownership of a cat. Enough to break the ice, but not cinch the deal.

Certainly I couldn’t just come out and ask some other dyke to show me the ropes, so to speak. The seventies were still going on even though it was now the eighties. Feminism and lesbianism had kind of merged, become one big multinational entity with Andrea Dworkin as CEO. You had to be sneaky to get laid.

Yikes. It had been so easy with men. All you had to do was bend over at the bowling alley and something would happen.

After two years, the drought ended. I saw a sign that advertised: “Double-X-Rated Christmas Party for Women.” The party was held in the basement of a Catholic church. Perhaps the priests had passed out upstairs and had no idea what was going on. Or perhaps the priests were the drag queens working the bar. Nevertheless, I was there as soon as the doors opened. And the doors were not the only thing that opened.

I walked into the basement where the party was taking place and saw rows of thrift store tuxedoes, second-hand prom dresses. The doorperson made it clear that these outfits could be borrowed for the evening. After they checked their coats, many party-goers were borrowing outfits from the racks and disappearing into the bathroom to amend their attire. As the evening went on, I noticed more and more women trading in their flannel and denim for sharkskin and taffeta.

At this, my first encounter with the women who produced the WOW Festival and would later open the WOW Cafe in a tiny linguini-shaped storefront on East Eleventh Street, I fell in love. In love with all of the women, with their outrageousness, their unruly desire. I wanted desperately to be a part of whatever it was they were doing…if the WOW Cafe had been a support group for lesbian skeet shooters, that’s what I’d be doing now.

Instead, I found theater, or it found me. And the theater, it seemed, offered a wonderful solution to my involuntary celibacy: the casting couch. In theater you are encouraged to have sex with as many people as possible; it’s an integral part of the process. At least at WOW it seemed like the shows were almost an afterthought to the flirting, a byproduct of the endless parties where women of every imaginable gender rubbed up against each other.

This last paragraph reads like a natural cue to cross-fade to the Story of the First Girlfriend, doesn’t it? At this point, I should see a stranger across a crowded room, our eyes should lock, and the violins should swell like wieners on the grill. But this scene isn’t part of my coming-out story. Who even remembers my first girlfriend? Not me. I remember lots of bodies, I remember rooms lit by lots of small lights, and above all else, I remember lots and lots of Rolling Rock. This movie doesn’t end with a soft-focus closeup on two women kissing; this is a coming-out story that crescendos into a crowd scene. It’s a wide-angle shot. The climax of my coming-out scenario isn’t a closeup on a lesbian couple but a panorama of a lesbian world.”]

holly hughes, from what comes first, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday:

"Responsible Adults", the sequel: Jak tries to do a regular Jak Stunt and is shocked that it doesn't go over well

(Roughly a week after this one ends. Long post warning, as most of these are lol)

Night terrors were not an uncommon experience for Jak. They may not have been his nightly companions anymore, but when he did have them, they were intense. He woke up in a corner of his room, wedged beneath the sink. There was a vague sense that he was taking cover from something, or someone.

Blessedly, he remembered no details of the nightmare. But the terror still sent his guts quivering the way they had in the prison. Huddled under the cot both for warmth and silently praying the boots wouldn't stop at his door. That he wouldn't end up Tyber's new punching bag when he got bored of the old man in the cell above Jak's.

Tyber is dead. Errol is dead. Praxis is dead. I watched them die.

Jak repeated the words like a mantra until he could move his limbs again. He crawled out from beneath the sink, but the lingering fear made his room feel claustrophobic. Smaller than it really was.

At least he hadn't woken Daxter this time.

Jak put on his boots, but didn't bother getting fully dressed. He didn't even know what time it was. Why bother if the doctor and the king guy were just going to nag him about being sleep-deprived anyway?

It must have been early morning, before dawn; the moon had vanished and people were outside doing repair work on houses and fog-catchers.

Early morning was the best time to get any outdoor work done in Spargus. A small girl led a flock of caprids out of the stables and towards one of the other districts to graze on the cactus there, and a gang of trainees only a little older than Jak were taking advantage of the temperature to do an endurance run around the city.

Personally, Jak didn't see the good of such things. You learned to be fast enough or smart enough to escape your enemies, or you didn't. He'd learned through life and death experience, not a footrace with no winners.

"Easy with the straps there!" A stocky man backed into Jak, calling up to a team of three people.

"Ope-! Scuse me there, pipsqueak." The Wastelander stepped to the side as if Jak was barely worth noticing.

"Howland, that thing ain't cinched tight enough!"

They seemed to be trying to remove a corroded beam from the supports of one of the multi dwelling houses. It was already leaning at a precarious angle, as big around as a grown man. If that beam came down the wrong way, it would take a lot of the adobe structure -- and probably a lot of people -- with it.

"It's fine, Daru!" Howland complained, "I just cinched it!"

"Well cinch it again! That sucker’s leanin'!"

Jak frowned, but let his curiosity wash away the dregs of the night terrors.

"What's wrong with it?"

The unofficial foreman tugged at a bushy red mustache and shook his head. "Don't rightly know yet. Could just be age. Sand storms and salt air will do a number on this kind of metal after a while."

Jak wondered if that had anything to do with Sandover using wood and stone almost exclusively. He was about to ask why it had been anchored to a mud wall when there was a loud metallic clang. The last bracket holding the beam snapped under the weight, and the straps weren't enough to hold it.

Jak didn't remember moving. But then he was there, with the beam on his shoulders and the foreman on the ground, having narrowly avoided being crushed to death. Cold metal dug into his hands, pressed down against his head, and Jak knew that by rights he should've been dead.

There was a thrill of revulsion in his chest when he reluctantly acknowledged that the only reason he was standing right now was that the dark eco experiments had lengthened his muscle strands to twice the size of a normal hu'men's. It wasn't just in his dark form. That element of...unnatural...was just with him. Every moment.

"Frith! Oh my- HOWLAND! GET DOWN HERE!" Daru roared, "YOU COULDA KILLED SOMEBODY!"

"I got it," Jak said through gritted teeth. "Is there a place to put this thing down?"

"Not yet," Howland admitted as he shimmied down a ladder.

"We were going to cut it into pieces once it was secure, transport it that way to be recycled."

Jak craned his neck, but the motion jarred the beam. Hastily, he adjusted his grip.

"What's- What's around me?"

"Too much," said Daru grimly. "Just- Hold on, kid."

He winced at the boy's flat stare.

"Er...no pun intended. We're gonna, gonna get you out from under there, I promise!"

"Get it cut up first," Jak grunted, "And you won't have to worry about getting me out."

"And what if your hands get sweaty, huh?" Daru demanded, "Fat chance, little man! We're going to find something to hold this up!"

The other two men hurried down from the roof with saws in hand.

Oh gods. Handsaws. This was going to take a while.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Honestly, Damas should have been expecting trouble when he didn't start his day with a free heart attack after seeing eyeshine in the kitchen. The kid was diametrically opposed to the concept of sleep, so he wouldn't have been in bed. If he was off his routine -- and by now Damas had learned to dread something interrupting the kid's self-imposed routine -- then there was probably going to be trouble later.

When he refilled the fuel in the Beacon, fed the birds, and actually had a cup of coffee uninterrupted, he was suspicious.

When the sun rose and there were no echoes of truncated curses in the halls from guards running into Jak, he started to wonder if the kid had decided to work outside. Unusual, but as long as he didn't do anything that would make Dr. Petros yell at them both, more power to him.

But when the talking ottsel showed up in the throne room about an hour after dawn, frantically demanding to know where Jak was, Damas was concerned.

Those two were attached at the hip! Jak wouldn't have gone to look for work without Daxter.

There was a small crowd forming by the time Damas stepped outside. People were shouting encouragements, or conflicting advice about pulleys and snatchblocks. Had something fallen? Damas hadn't heard any impacts. As he began to pick his way through the crowd, the shouts took on new meaning.

"He's slipping! Somebody get under there!"

"How many more hands do you want? There's ten people holding the beam up!"

"Why won't he just let go?!"

"Standing this long, maybe his arms locked up-?"

A beam? People holding a beam-?

An accident. There'd been an accident and night watch hadn't caught it.

Thoughts of crushed citizens and mangled houses circled Damas’s imagination as he pushed through the rest of the crowd, close enough to hear the rasp of handsaws and the buzz of a lone angle grinder.

"Get the cart back in!" Someone yelled, "Next piece is almost off!"

From the looks of things, a crew of four had reduced a two-story high support beam by a third.

Ten Wastelanders were beneath the colossal pole, hands and shoulders braced against the metal as it shrieked and groaned. If even one of them slipped-!

Damas threw down his staff without thinking to join them, racing to catch the end beginning to slide.

"What happened?" he demanded, straining with the others to keep it from crushing the houses and themselves.

"Tie straps broke!" a man three people down called back, "If it weren't for the kid, it woulda come down right through the roofs of a couple houses!"

Kid?

Oh gods don't tell me...

Jak was standing in the very center of the line. His arms trembled, and sweat poured down his face. He didn't seem to hear anything happening around him, too focused on keeping his grip. He was beginning to pale.

"What's he doing here?!"

"Dunno!" A woman to the left answered. "He was already there when me and the girls showed up, but that was two hours ago."

"Hours?!"

Jak had been out here for hours, trapped, and Damas had been none the wiser?

"Why hasn't anyone gotten him out yet?!"

"We tried! The poor kid froze up!"

Damas gritted his teeth and pushed away images of the kid standing alone under that crushing weight for hours until help had woken up.

"Get a truck and winch out of the pit!" He ordered, "Forget damage to the streets, we'll fix it later! I want this thing taken care of now."

It took a full twenty minutes to get the Dozer through the narrow streets of the tower district. By that time, those who had been holding the beam first had cycled out for fresh arms to allow for water and eco. All except Jak. He'd accepted some water that someone poured into his mouth earlier, but still seemed to be unable to let go. He was at the fulcrum point, he insisted, and he wasn't going to let it tip. (Not that he thought he'd actually be able to move at this point.)

Fifteen people attached pulleys and cables to the beam from above, careful not to dislodge the hands of those below. When the cables had all been hooked to the Dozer's winch, the weight began, at last, to lessen.

There was a ragged cheer from the assembled Wastelanders as the end of the beam tipped up and the rescuers eased the other end to the ground. There would be extensive damage to infrastructure to deal with. But nobody had died, and there were no major injuries, and Damas would count that as a victory. Shaking out aching arms, he hurried to the center of the line, where someone was physically holding Jak upright. Damas took hold of the boy's stiff arms carefully.

"It's gone," he said, easing the limbs down, "It's gone, let go, Jak. Come on, you're done."

The kid made a sound, a soft rasping whine that might’ve been words. Then he collapsed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When the world drifted back into focus, Jak didn't know where he was. The smell of eco lingered around him, confusing the other scents that could have identified his location. He couldn't move his arms. Why couldn't he move his arms?!

It took a massive effort just to pry his eyelids up. Jak’s breath caught harshly between his teeth as he forced himself onto his side.

Well, that explained the lack of mobility in his arms. He ached like he'd been fighting beyond his limits again. The injection sites would be agitated again, he knew without looking. The pain radiated from his shoulders to his fingertips, skin, muscle, and bone.

The room was a blur. Brown and yellow slowly settled into more colors, ending in something either white or pale blue in front of his nose. The longer he stared at it, the more detail he could see. Pills of thread, clinging to loosely woven fabric. The texture and shape of the warp and weft shifted as he tried to move his hand.

He hissed in pain.

"Well that's what happens when you try to make a career as a load-bearing wall."

Jak tensed. Not alone. Not with Daxter.

Biting down on the pain, he dug his fingers into the pallet beneath him and forced himself upright.

This wasn't the hospital -- small blessings -- but it wasn't his room either. There was a low wooden bedframe on a wall a few feet away, on the other side of some kind of half partition full of plants.

"Where...?"

"Well you're about to think of it as prison," Damas answered from the opposite direction.

He was sitting at a table, hunched over a cup of coffee. The empty pot beside him was a story of its own.

"By the way, you're grounded."

"What?!" Jak sputtered. He started to get up, but fell back onto the pallet with a grunt of pain.

"Like rot!"

Damas glanced back over his shoulder. "Take it up with the doctor. He put you on bedrest, not me. Better yet, blame your own self! You could've let go at any time once the rest of the district turned up to help!"

"The whole...district?"

Jak blinked.

"I don't...remember that..."

Damas sighed and peered into into his mug.

"You've been sleeping most of the day, I'm not surprised. Even with the eco you'll probably be sore for a while."

"How -- ow! -- long was I out there?"

Jak cringed at the look in Damas’s eyes when the man turned around fully.

"Four. Hours. Four hours! Why didn't you let go when others arrived?!"

Was this a trick question? It had to be a trick question.

"Be...cause...I'm not supposed to let other people get hurt?" Jak answered with slow confusion.

Damas stared in complete silence for several seconds. Then,

"You're insane. My foster-son is insane. That's insane! In what world is "throw the youngest under the pillar" a rational solution?!"

"Uh. Haven?" Jak muttered peevishly. He tried to sit up again. "Look, just. Tell me which way my room is and I'll get out of your hair."

Damas pushed his chair back with a scraping sound.

"Mn. No. What part of "bed rest" didn't you hear?"

In brusque motions, he knelt and pulled the blanket back over Jak.

"You are not to do anything even mildly strenuous, or Petros will strangle me. And since I apparently can't trust you not to willingly walk into harm's way unsupervised, you get to camp out in here, and I get to work from home for the next few days to make sure you don't go try to lift a car or something!"

Jak was appalled. "You can't do that!"

Dry as dust, Damas retorted, "First of all, I'm king. Secondly, I'm your legal guardian. Yes I can."

Jak groaned in frustration.

"Where's Daxter?"

"Not grounded."

"Oh come on!"

[b-afterhours]

Avenue of Sins: Neon

A Sequel to Avenue of Sins

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debaucherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

Author's note: Again, thank you all so much for reading! This is the conclusion of AOS. It's another long chapter to enjoy. I plan to have one shot posted soon that'll show some parts I was unable to fit within the main story. Thanks again. Lots of love x

Epilogue

Summer 1994

Ulyssa was back in Seattle for the summer after being away in New York for school. She was sitting on top of the cash wrap counter at Sheisty Sound Records, finger-weaving a friendship bracelet on pink dye-stained digits for Ash, who was pricing CDs next to her. 

“Who’s playing on the speakers?” A young man asked out loud. 

The women both turned towards him. He was a wiry, nerdy-looking guy, holding onto an easy-listening record. They informed him of the band playing in unison and giggled. 

“They’re playing here in two months,” Ulyssa informed with a polite smile. 

"Sold out show," Ash winked at him, pressing the trigger of the pricing gun pointed at him.

The door chimes sounded, and in came Alma, looking a bit flustered, but she put on a smile for them when they greeted her. She was in a tight cap-sleeve shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans cinched with a black designer belt. 

“Hey!” She said, approaching them after swerving around a customer. “Your hair looks so good, ‘Lys!” She complimented her pink shaggy pixie cut.

“Doesn’t it!” Ash said in agreement.

“E’ is going to be so obsessed when she sees it! Uhm,” Alma placed her hands on her hips and took on a more serious tone. “Did the light fixture guy come by with a delivery this morning?” 

Sheisty Sound had been going through various repairs and upgrades since the beginning of the year under the new ownership. Once Lewis gave Bill the keys a week before he and his family left for New York for the holidays, they began drawing up a timeline. 

~~~

It was a chilly, drizzly day in November when Bill met Lewis on a Sunday after hours. He had his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket and pulled the fabric tighter against his body while he walked to the store. He showed up alone, of course. Alma and the baby stayed home, waiting anxiously for him. It was a big day for them, but as far as they knew, Lewis still hadn’t any idea his employee was in a relationship with the gentleman purchaser from New York.

Bill knocked on the store door, but through the glass, he saw Lewis seemingly doing one last private walk-through of his beloved record shop. Once Lewis unlocked the door for Bill, they greeted each other with a handshake and began congratulating and thanking each other. Walking through the shop together, Lewis asked what his plans were for the shop now that he had full reign. Of course, Bill and Alma wanted to upgrade areas of the shop and venue and add little personal touches without losing the charm of the place the locals loved so much. 

“I’ll have to pay a visit once things are settled,” Lewis said while they stood in the office. 

“For sure,” Bill nodded. “We would love that.” Bill noticed a slight shift in Lewis when he uttered the plural, ‘we’. “Um, so after today, Cancun?” He quickly asked to cover his mistake.

“Yup. My wife Helen and I fly there in a week. The whole family will be there for the holidays this year.” He smiled. “And you?” 

“I’m going to New York, where it won’t be as warm.” Bill chuckled. 

“With your family?” 

“Mhmm. My partner and daughter.” He adjusted the brim of his black baseball cap, feeling a little awkward. 

“You know,” Lewis paused and crossed his wrists behind his back. “I have an employee here who is going to New York for the holidays too.” 

“Uh huh,” Bill licked his lips. He wanted to smirk, having realized they were caught, but he refrained. “And she has a kid about my daughter's age too?” He said for Lewis before he could disingenuously question. Lewis stood there, looking up at him for an explanation. “We should have told you.” 

“Well isn’t that something… I wasn’t too happy to learn about it, frankly. I was rather upset about being deceived.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He said just to placate him, he was hardly sorry at all. “How long have you known?” 

“Since Darby���s wedding.” 

Bill tilted his head, surprised by that. Lewis had known for months and held on to the fact until now. 

“Were we obvious?” 

“No. I’m a bit impressed by your acting.” He had to admit. 

“Could I ask how, then?” 

Lewis sighed. “As I left the wedding, I ran into Gregory in the parking lot. I think he was getting stoned in his van, but he mentioned your coupling in conversation. I guess by accident?”

He knew it would be someone from the record shop who would blow their cover, but he never suspected it would be Gregory. He kept to himself so much that Bill could hardly read him. Even Alma couldn’t pin him down at times. What Bill could sometimes sense was that Gregory didn't care for him at all. Ulyssa let it slip that he was a strip club owner, and he felt validated in his suspicions about him. Whether he told by accident or meant to sabotage was still surprising. 

“I see.” Bill leaned on the office door frame, crossing his arms. “We should have been upfront. We felt that it would have been a conflict of interest, you know. And I really wanted this to go through.” 

“It almost didn’t,” Lewis revealed. “I told you I was upset. My wife and I went home, and she had to hear me gripe about it. I was so close to calling Sam Goody and letting them have at this place, but my wife talked some sense into me.” 

Helen could tell Lewis was more upset at the thought of being officially detached from the family record store. It was hard to hand over, and the deceit began to make him second guess. She couldn't have that; she was so close to her dream retirement. Besides, business was business at the end of the day. It just so happened that the handsome buyer from New York knew when to hold and play his hand better than most. 

“It was Sam Goody that I was up against?” Bill chuckled in disbelief. 

“It was! But they wouldn’t have honored anything I’ve said. Unlike you?” He raised a skeptical brow at Bill.

“I’m not firing anyone.” He assured.

“Not even Gregory?” Lewis chuckled. 

“Nah,” he chuckled. “He’s getting a dollar raise along with everyone else. Darby is staying as the general manager and will be on salary at the start of the year.” 

When he and Darby went on their lunch meeting at a country club his family was members of, Bill laid out his plans for his role at the store. They negotiated a bit about his yearly salary, but once everything was square between them, they ended up enjoying an evening out. A late one they didn’t expect to have, which caused both their respective partners to be a bit upset because neither could get a hold of either of them. Alma wouldn’t have been upset, but it was the fact that Darby’s wife called her worried and made it a problem. It was as if they were two boys, and Darby was out with the bad kid. The men arrived at their respective dwellings, three sheets to the wind, via cab. 

“Oh! Good deal,” said Lewis. “Well, looks like you know what you're doing. I mean, I kinda figured that myself over our email correspondences. But it’s good you have Alma. You know, when she had the baby, she took off for a bit but promised to return. She kept my books in order better than Darby, and I was close to making him visit her to make sure she would come back, but luckily she turned up on her own. So—you two meet in New York?” 

Bill scratched the back of his neck. “No, we’ve known each other for a long time now.” 

“Ah, yeah. She’s definitely someone you’d want to keep by your side for sure. Smart.”

Lewis passed a large ring of labeled keys to Bill, and they shook hands, completing their deal. They promised to keep in touch, and now Bill was alone inside the record shop he now owned. He called Alma from the store telephone he now owned, and now she was on her way to meet him. He was busy matching keys to locks around the place when she walked in with Echo through the front door, which he didn’t bother to lock. Both of them came in happily, skipping towards him, together in their family business.

~~~

“Yeah, I told the guy to put them backstage,” Ash informed Alma. She had been such a good asset to her since they switched roles, always on top of things, and very organized, which Alma appreciated. 

“Oh good, thanks.” The door chimes sounded once again, which caused Alma to turn her head towards it. 

Ulyssa noticed Alma glare at Bill when he entered, and he gave it right back to her. Scowling under his brow, displeased. 

“Uhm, I’m going to go check on that,” she quickly said and began walking away even quicker. 

Bill promptly greeted the employees as politely as he could, but he still looked tense. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black tee and well-fitting jeans, but this summer he was sporting a buzz cut. It was late at night when he did it impulsively, bored and stoned in the apartment, while Alma was out with friends. 

He hadn’t established a proper barber in Seattle yet and just got rid of it. He was lying in bed in the dark when she arrived, undressing and speaking to him, completely unaware. It wasn’t until she was out of the shower she climbed into bed with him, leaning over for a kiss, that she paused. In the dark, she could sense something wasn’t right with him. 

“What happened?” 

“What?” 

She startled him slightly when she swiftly climbed over and straddled him to turn his bedside lamp on. She gasped when she saw what he had done. 

“It’s hair. It’ll grow out.” He said, feeling a little embarrassed about it now that his high was gone. Alma ran her hands through the short hair, which Bill thought felt quite nice, and smiled. 

“I don’t hate it.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his shorn head. 

Ulyssa watched Bill briskly catch up to Alma weaving between record tables, but she shrugged him off when he grabbed her arm. 

“What the fuck A’? I wasn’t done talking to you.” Bill could be overheard saying to her. He hooked his finger in one of her belt loops to keep her from straying away.

“I was fucking done. I told you. I told you I paid for the delivery already. You can’t just write checks out like it’s nothing without me knowing. Now I have to—” 

That was all that Ulyssa was able to overhear as they walked away to the stage area. 

“What’s up?” Ash asked her, noticing her worry. 

“Oh,” Ulyssa lightly shrugged. “They’ve been arguing a lot,” she grimaced. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Ash said, unbothered as she dismissively waved her hand. “But like, you know it’s not for real, right?” 

“What do you mean?” Ulyssa asked, noticing a coy look on Ash’s face. 

“It’s like foreplay for them.” Ash laughed when Ulyssa got red in the face. “You know they’re some freaks!” 

“Oh yeah, these are nice,” Bill said, crouched down backstage looking through the boxes, poking at the contents with the tip of a pocket knife to make sure nothing was broken during transit. “These are better than what we have at the club.” 

“And apparently, they don’t get as hot as the stage lights we have now,” Alma informed.

They had been following the timeline they had written and were still on schedule. Luckily, part of the deal Bill made with Lewis involved having the roof fixed on his part before everything became official. A big project they were able to avoid.

So they started with the next dire situation. The bathrooms. It was on top of their list, underlined multiple times. They were gutted first thing, as they looked and smelled like the embodiment of hell. Bill and Alma knew it wouldn’t be realistic, believing they wouldn’t be defaced at all, so once they were back open for business, the record crew had a graffiti party. Tagging the newly painted walls with magic markers and drippy paint pens. Matt happily took the opportunity to draw the first dick in the men’s stall. 

So far after that, the stage had been reinforced, the threat of possibly caving in was gone, and the old dusty, cigarette-smelling stage curtain had been replaced. Once the new light fixtures were up, they could finally transition to fixing the main shop by giving it a few tweaks here and there. First with the office until they could finally focus on the outside. Adding a large neon theater-style marquee.

Bill straightened up. “Before you slammed the fucking car door in my face,” he smirked. “I was trying to tell you that the realtor called.” 

“About the house? Is everything fine?” She said worried. 

“Yeah. He called to tell me we can pick up the keys tomorrow.” He let out a strained groan, caught off guard when she jumped into his arms excitedly, but then he smiled.

…

Closer to the beginning of the year, Bill was alone in the apartment when the realtor unexpectedly called. He was packing for a short visit to New York but had taken a break to check his email. There wasn’t anything in his inbox to note except a stupid chain email from Giancarlo. He had replied to him: Don’t send me this shit.

He got up to grab a pickle spear from a jar in the fridge and began walking back to the room to resume his packing when the phone rang. He groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned his tracks to answer. 

“Mm,” he said, still chewing. “Hello?” 

“Mr. Skarsgård?” 

“Mhmm.” He swallowed. 

“Hey, it’s Chase.” 

“Oh,” he cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you and Miss Lucio wouldn’t happen to be busy today. I’m at a showing, but my client rescheduled. However, if you’ve got the time, I’m happy to show you all this home. It’s a bit out of the city, though. I know Miss Lucio wanted to remain within city limits, but…”

“How far is it?” 

“About a thirty, forty-minute drive from the city.” Without traffic, he finished in his head. “I really think you should take a look.” 

Bill quickly pulled a charcoal hoodie over the white tank he wore and left the loose-fitting pants he had on. After tying his Vans shoes, he was out the door and in the Jeep, taking another glance at the address he had written down and the directions Chase had given him. 

He decided to see the home on his own. Alma had taken Echo to the record shop that day, and with the property being out of the way, he wanted to check if it was even worth bringing them along later. It felt that they had seen so many houses at this point that the search just started to feel more like a job rather than a pleasant daydream. It was taking much too long to move out of the small, cramped apartment they were living in. After Bill found a note on the front door complaining about the noise from their unit, the itch to leave worsened.

As he left the city, the landscape became veridian and dense with tall mossy trees. He turned on a winding road, and he could see homes through the breaks the long driveways provided. They were rather large homes, but they all seemed to look newly built and felt too boring. Bill and Alma wanted something with some history, with leftover character they could build on. 

He slowed down to check the address and search for the road he was told to turn left at, and saw it just ahead. Just a bit later, he arrived, taking the long driveway and parking right underneath a breezeway connecting the four-car garage and the house. The style of it looked different from the home; it was an addition. The home stood tall and wide. He took note of the large windows and the surrounding acreage. There were neighbors on this road, but the tree cover fencing the property provided privacy that you couldn’t get in intercity Seattle. 

He put his black cap on, exited the Jeep, and looked at the foundational brick skirting of the home as he walked down the length of the driveway and continued up the top of the arching drive to meet Chase at the front door. He had on his megawatt smile when he shook Bill’s hand. 

“Hope it wasn’t too hard to find.” 

“Nah,” Bill said, looking at the home while anxiously jingling the car keys in the palm of his half-fisted hand. “This is quite big. How many rooms are there?” 

“Just come on and look for yourself.” He said, nudging his head for him to follow.

After going through the vestibule, it opened up to the living room. It had large, vaulted ceilings with tall windows, and a fireplace, and there was a mezzanine with a library at the top. Chase was grateful that his client looked genuinely surprised as his eyes scanned the room. He quickly learned he couldn’t help his clients settle on a property, in fact, they were a bit dismissive when he tried. He found Bill and his partner quite picky. Always bickering about the most inane aspects. Sometimes they even offended him because some things they hated he secretly loved. 

“And Miss Lucio?” Chase inquired. 

His eyes flicked down at him. “At work,” he sighed. “I just came to see if it was worth dragging her out here for.” He said honestly, maybe too honest for Chase. “She really does want to live in the city—but.” 

“You know what? Why don’t you have a look around yourself? I’ll be in the den if you have questions about anything.” 

“There’s a den too?” Bill asked intrigued. 

Bill took a look around and was pleased with what he was seeing. It was hitting all the needs and wants he felt Alma had, too. It had five bedrooms and the appropriate amount of bathrooms. The dining room was stereotypical, but it was nothing to complain about. The large kitchen, with an island and breakfast nook, impressed him. He was in the primary bedroom, checking out the hardwood floors and the large walk-in closet, when he noticed a narrow entryway tucked in a corner. At first, he assumed it to be a randomly placed powder room, but as he turned the rounded corner, he discovered a small sitting area. Windows were facing the backyard, and there was a small metal fireplace right out of the 70s. Bill found it a bit bizarre and out of place but fascinating at the same time. 

In the room, there was a narrow, encased staircase leading down, and he discovered the den where Chase was sitting with crossed legs reading an old issue of Vogue on a couch. 

“I see you found the private sitting area!” He stood up, smoothing his salmon-colored button-down. “You could always make it into an office too.” 

“Right. Pretty cool thing to find.” Bill glanced out the window to the backyard and noticed the large porch and the stone walkway to the garden. 

“Check this out, though.” Chase walked over to a tall, standing bookshelf and slid it back into place, acting as a secret door to the room above. 

“Oh, sick!” 

“Right! Have you checked out the basement yet? It’s been redone by the previous owners. It’s like having an apartment below you.” 

“Yeah. That’s really nice too.” Bill said, turning towards him. “Why are the owners selling this place?” He wondered. 

“The gentleman of the home is relocating for work. He works in oil and gas. And no, no one has died here either.” He said because some way or another either he or Alma would jokingly ask. While it was a valid question, Chase found their gallows humor a bit tasteless. “The house was built in ‘68. There’s a really great Montessori preschool opening in town, and there’s a grocery store ten minutes away.” 

Bill nodded. “Uhm. How long are you here for?” 

“You’re my last showing here. I have another one to go to.” 

“Could you do me a favor?” He asked, smiling at the man, knowing he’d get his way from him. 

…

Alma was surprised to see Bill suddenly enter the office, jiggling the car keys again, while she was on a call. It wasn’t time for her to get off the clock, so to speak. She didn’t have to punch her time card anymore and made her schedule, but she wasn’t expecting to see him for a couple of hours to get picked up.

Echo was asleep in her mother’s arms while she spoke on the phone while soothingly swiveling in the office chair. He gently picked their daughter up, and Alma smiled at him as she stretched her arm out. She pushed the sleeves of her oversized knit sweater up her forearms, which she wore over a long maxi dress and heeled boots.

When Alma finished her call, she found Bill sitting on the edge of the stage watching his daughter run around happily after rising in his arms. When she saw him at first, she could tell he was eager to tell her something but refrained, seeing she was busy. She worried that he had come to tell her he changed his flight and that he would be leaving earlier than expected. Bill scooped up Echo in his arms and closed the space far quicker to reach Alma. They kissed, and he took her hand, leading them out of the shop. 

“What’s going on, babe?”

“Chase called about a house.”

He could feel Alma taking several glances at him as he drove further and further away from Seattle. They had just driven over a truss bridge, and you could see a cascade of waterfalls further up the river. The area was gorgeous, almost out of a fairy tale, but Alma didn’t leave small country-suburban life in Missouri for another. Bill knew this. 

“Look. Just be open-minded. It’s not that far. You can see the city skyline from the second floor of the house.” 

“You’ve already been there?” 

“I wanted to make sure it wasn’t bullshit before bringing you out here.” 

Alma smiled, looking at him knowingly. “You like it.”

“Yeah, but,” he muttered, scratching his studded ear. “Only if you do.” 

They arrived, and Alma tilted her head back to take in the whole house. It was rather big but very pretty. It had Victorian elements, but it wasn’t so ornate but rather tastefully modernized. 

“It looks haunted.” She stated. 

Bill turned to her, with an annoyed glint in his eyes. “Well—then we fit right in.” 

Alma scoffed with amusement, and then he opened the door with the key he convinced Chase to leave with him. Only if Bill promised to leave it behind under a rock on the porch. He didn’t believe his clients to be potential squatters, but he found them unusual. The first time he met Alma, she wore a button on her jean jacket that read, EAT ME. However, with their budget, he was willing to just overlook their liberal personalities. 

When they entered, Alma bit her lip to keep her grin at bay; she was already excited by the living room.

“I’ll leave Echo with you,” he said, putting her down on her feet. “I gotta check some other stuff out, but just take a look.” 

“Well… okay.” She said, watching him stalk away, continuing to jiggle the car keys in his palm as he did. 

While the realtor was away, he was going to take advantage of taking a look at the working parts of the house that owners and realtors like to embellish to conceal how badly they were operating in reality. It would give Alma space to see the home without his opinions; he wanted her to make her own mind up. To genuinely fall in love with it and envision their family in it.

Alma and Echo walked hand in hand around the stage-furnished home, picturing what she would do to the spaces. She was already thinking of what color house paint she’d choose when going down the long driveway. She liked it the moment she saw it. However, she wasn’t going to let Bill have that satisfaction yet. 

After checking out a room, she could envision having an office. They were in the room that would more than likely be Echos’, and she was elated about all the room she’d have to herself. A Jack and Jill bathroom was adjoining a room of equal size, and she imagined this was where her siblings' nursery would belong.

Bill and Alma decided after their first year of ownership of the shop, they would try for another. When things would be less hectic, and they settled somewhere permanently. He finally asked in earnest the week between Christmas and New Year's one night snuggled warmly under a thick duvet in bed.

“Do you want another baby?” His hand drifted to her belly, resting above her womb. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” He said softly. 

“I want to give you another one.” She said, snuggling her body to become more flush against his. “I know… I know you’d want it to happen sooner, but we’re going to be so busy this coming year.” 

Bill sighed, but she was right. He wanted it now, but the timing couldn’t be less than ideal. “Okay,” he digressed. 

Alma put a hand on his high cheek when she turned her head to search his eyes. He looked disappointed yet understanding. 

“This time next year. We can try. I promise.” 

When she found the primary bedroom, her heart fluttered. This felt like the place. She could briefly see Bill in the backyard through the large windows that faced it. He was walking back from a small shed close to the edge of the tree line. In the distance was Seattle's skyline, and if it wasn’t for the rain clouds further out, she’d probably be able to see Mt. Rainier too. 

She was admiring the walk-in closet when she started hearing random toilet flushes throughout the house. While they walked through the house, the lights were intermittently flickering, he was checking the breaker box in the basement. Then she could hear the keys again and his footsteps falling on the hardwood herringbone-floor hallway. When the ensuite toilet was flushed, she met Bill in the bedroom. Echo was walking about it on her own. It made Bill smile. 

“It’s pretty. Do you like it because of all the windows?” She asked because he always enjoyed natural light; he felt it always made any space bigger. 

“Well, that's one reason.” 

“What were you doing in the shed out there?” She pointed.

“It’s not a shed. It’s a sauna.” 

“Really?” She said with surprise.

“Yeah. Do you like it?” 

“Hmm,” she turned to look out the window with her hands on her hips in thought. “Do you like it, Echo?” Hearing her name called, she approached her mother and hugged the side of her leg. “Do you want to live here?” 

“Just tell mommy you like it, E’.” Bill chuckled. The house was for her as well, but he didn’t want a major decision to ride on the preference of a two-year-old. 

“I like! I like it!” She squealed, making her parents laugh, but then she started running towards the walk-in closet.

“Wait, Echo,” Bill said, going after her.

“It’s just the closet.” 

“No! There are stairs in there. Hey, hey.” He caught up to her and took her hand while they stood in the private sitting area. 

“Whoa!” Alma said, surprised by the hidden discovery. 

Bill showed her how the stairs led to the den and the secret door, which hid the room. She looked rather impressed with it. It was a cool feature. A place only they knew about, and they liked sharing secrets. 

“So?” Bill asked impatiently. 

“It’s private, like you wanted. Lots of rooms. I love the laundry room in the basement,” and she really meant love. She was tired of taking trips to the laundromat. “The mezzanine library is cool. The kitchen—”

“The kitchen is fucking tight!” 

Alma giggled. “Yeah. Yeah! Let’s put in an offer. This is it!” 

“Thank fuck!” Bill said, relieved, pulling her in to kiss her. “Because I put in an offer before I left to come get you.” 

…

Bill was in New York on a three-day trip the day after they found their home. He made up some story about why he had to go, as they had only left just a few weeks ago for the holidays. It wasn’t a complete fib; he would be at Trigger Finger working, but he was there to personally pick up Alma’s engagement ring. 

While there on the holidays, he visited his jeweler, Kaan, sitting with him in his private body-guarded office looking at loose precious jewels together. 

“What about emeralds?” 

“Mm,” Kaan twisted his lip. “Emerald is pretty, yes. The stone, though. Too soft for engagement ring.” He spoke in his slightly broken English.

Bill sat stumped for a moment. He wanted something different to give her than a solitaire diamond ring. 

“Diamonds. Diamonds are what the ladies want.” Kaan said, but it didn’t seem to sway his particular client. “You want different. We can do a braided band.” He suggested. “We can do anything custom for the band. I have examples.” He said, using his stiff belly to push away from his desk and grab a portfolio book from a shelf. 

Bill flicked through for a bit as Kaan left him with a security guard to assist an apprentice. Everything he saw was gorgeous and admirable, but there wasn’t anything that spoke to him. Nothing that he could picture Alma with. Until he reached a random tab near the back of the portfolio, flicking the rest of the sheet-protected pages away just to feel like he actually looked through it all. He quickly closed it and pushed it away on the desk in frustration. However, right when he did so, a glimpse of an image caught his eye. He reached for the portfolio and searched for the photo he saw. 

“Anything?” Kaan asked, taking his jeweler's glasses off. 

“Something like this.” Bill tapped the photo.

“You and me.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Toi et moi. That’s the style. We do diamond, offset, pear shape. You like green. We do green sapphire. Emerald cut, that’s better. Tougher stone. I’ll show you what I have.” 

He had Giancarlo accompanying him when he went to pick it up, as they were going to have dinner at a rooftop restaurant for the good marks he’s been getting in school lately. They were chatting as they walked there.

“Maybe I could come to work at the record shop in the summer?” Giancarlo gathered the courage to ask. 

“Yeah. But maybe not this summer, maybe next summer. If your mom allows it. And I’m not going to ask her for you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He grumbled as they entered the store.

Giancarlo had never been to a jewelry store like this before. He had to give up his navy Adidas track jacket to security, same with Bill handing off his coat before they were patted down to enter the owner's office. 

“Now run me your shoes too.” A guard pointed at Gian’s new Reebok sneakers. 

Gian’s eyes widened when he froze a bit until the guard began snickering. He had caught a whiff of his nervousness and poked at it. Bill chuckled at his young friend's trepidation and patted his shoulder reassuringly. 

“Watch out, he’s got a mean uppercut.” Bill winked. 

While Giancarlo continued to work out and had grown to 6ft now—which he liked to brag about having surpassed his big brother in height—he was a self-admitted lover, not a fighter. 

“I know Miss Alma loves you, but doesn’t it make you nervous to finally ask?” The young boy asked Bill while they sat and waited on the ring.

“To marry me? Eh, well, she kind of already knows.” He said, fiddling with his wristwatch.

“You asked her already?” Gian asked, surprised.

“Mm, sorta.” 

“Isn’t it bad luck to propose without a ring?” 

“Where’d you hear that from?” Bill glanced over at Gian when he didn’t respond right away. “Your mom?” He internally rolled his eyes. Bianca and her superstitions, he thought.

“I’ve actually heard that too,” a big security guard in the room said. 

Bill looked at him over his shoulder and frowned with annoyance, but the man just shrugged. 

“Sorry, for the waiting,” Kaan said, hobbling over to his desk. 

He opened the velvet jewelry box gracefully and gently placed it in front of Bill on the desk. It was shiny, polished, and perfect. The ring. Bill sat there with his hand on his chin, admiring it, picturing Alma wearing it, and then he became pleased with himself. 

“Fuckin’ shit, Mr. Skarsgård!” Gian exclaimed. “Two rocks!” 

…

Even after acquiring the keys, it still took a full month to officially move into their new home. They moved in all the basics, filling only the rooms that would be immediately occupied. It was Echo’s room that Alma fixed up completely. With cute fluffy pastel bedding and ballerina slipper pink painted walls speckled with flower motifs. She had space for all her toys, a play kitchen set, and a reading nook. To say she was elated would be an understatement. However, for the little girl in a big new home, she was hesitant to sleep alone.

It was a speech her father had given her about being brave while her mother hung up frames in the living room that she finally decided to give her bedroom a try. Bill and Alma fully expected her to come running to their room at some point in the night, but when they woke up without her in bed, they were shocked. Shocked them enough to immediately get out of bed to make sure she was still in hers. She was cozy with her stuffed animals lined on the foot of her bed as if she put them in charge to keep guard of her. What they didn’t know was that she did try. While their rooms were fairly close, the journey down the long, soft-lit hallway to her parents' room proved too daunting, so she ran back to the safety of her bed. 

It was a Sunday evening, and Echo had slept nearly a full week in her room. The parents were upstairs on the mezzanine, arranging their little library to accommodate a stereo system. Down below, Echo watched a movie, with popcorn unavoidably littered around the living area. Still, she sat content in her big girl underwear with her little legs crossed and wearing sunglasses, which she insisted upon.

Bill paused to make sure she was still fine and then sat on a cushioned bench, looking out the window and towards the skies. There were thick, dark clouds billowing into their little cove. 

“They keep asking to open every other gig,” she said, complaining of a local band as she wired a speaker she had between her legs. “Even for that hip-hop troupe when it’s not the vibe. I just can’t.” 

“Yeah, they suck. Their drummer is good, though.” 

“He is! He needs to ditch them.” Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning flickered, causing her to pause. 

“It’s storming tonight,” Bill playfully sang in a daunting tone with raised brows. 

The downpour was pelting down on the home, sideways, front ways, and back ways. Luckily, it seemed like the thunder and lightning had passed them by. Bill and Alma made sultry love that night while the rain cascaded down the windows, and the heavy rainfall lulled them to bed quickly after. 

A loud crash of glass and a piercing, blood-curdling shriek was heard through the house. Alma was in a sleepy stupor when Bill leaped up from his sleep and jumped over her lying body. She saw him running out of the room in his boxer briefs as she tried to find her short silk nightgown to cover her naked body. 

In seconds, she ran down the oddly chilly hallway to Echo’s room in a panic, as she could hear her frightful cries over the torrential rainstorm. A faint thought was in the back of her mind. Should she have brought the gun?

“Mama!” Echo screamed in terror.

“Do not come in here!” Bill commanded, and she stopped dead in her tracks at the threshold. “There’s glass all over the floor.” 

Alma’s eyes darted around the room, assessing what had happened the best she could with her poor eyesight. There was a big, beautiful tree just outside the window, but the high, erratic winds had caused a branch to snap and burst through the bedroom window. 

“Is she okay?!” Her barefoot rose to take a step forward but stopped when a flash of lightning illuminated the jagged shards of glass scattered along the floor. 

Bill's heart strained trying to assess the bleeding cut on Echo’s cheek. He was shielding Alma’s view of it, but the branch was still banging against the house, and the wind was blowing cold mist into the room. He had to do something about it. 

“Bill?! Is she okay?” Alma cried. 

“Stay there.” He said picking Echo up, and that was when Alma saw crimson covering the side of her face. Her eyes widened in horror, her heart racing so hard, seeing her little baby in such a state. “Check her. I have to find something to cover the window.” He said, passing their terrified child into Alma’s trembling arms. 

Alma, having experienced an accident involving her daughter, suddenly retreated into herself and pulled out the more focused and level-headed version of herself. She placed her hand on Echo’s head, trying to soothe her as she swiftly took her to the ensuite bathroom. She sat her on the large double sink counter, stripped her of her bloody nightgown, and left her in her underwear.

“It’s okay, baby,” Alma said, wetting down a washcloth and putting it to the cut on her daughter's beautiful face. “That was scary, huh?” She softly said. “You’re okay, though.” She blotted the blood and tears from her face and could see that the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked. 

The banging of a hammer down the corridor accompanied the sound of thunderclaps. Bill had run to the basement for slabs of broken-down moving boxes to temporarily cover the window. He’d deal with the repair first thing in the morning. 

When he joined them in the ensuite bathroom and saw Echo standing up on the sink counter and Alma pointing at her reflection.

“See. Just an ouchie.” She said, trying to settle her as she sniffled and hiccuped. 

Bill swallowed hard, seeing the collar of the child's nightgown covered in blood. The sight of it was grimly unsettling. He approached them and held Echo’s face in one hand to examine the cut on her cheek. It looked more like a clean, precise scrape now that she was cleaned up. Anger rose in his chest, seeing how close the rogue shard of glass came to her hazel eye. Alma could sense what he thought when she saw his nostrils flare and his lips going in a hard line. It was a scary close hit. Thankfully, the graze wouldn’t scar, it would just fade away.

“I’m calling someone in the morning to cut the tree down.” He kissed the top of his daughter's head, sealing the promise. “I’ll go make her a bottle.” 

Alma nodded, but as he walked away, she saw tracks of smeared blood on the white marble tile. She followed them and saw that they came from Bill’s bloody heel.

“You’re bleeding.” She announced flatly.

“Huh?” He turned his head towards her, perplexed, until he followed her gaze down to his bare feet. He huffed in annoyance. He never even felt it happen. 

“Sit down.” She instructed, passing along Echo and a band-aid.

He sat on the edge of the tub, holding onto his daughter as tightly as she did him. It was difficult to pull her away enough to apply the bandage to her face, especially because she would flinch when he got close. 

“It’s fine. You’re brave, remember?” Echo solemnly nodded and then allowed him to patch the cut. “I’m sorry that happened.” 

When Alma returned, he noticed her trembling hands when she passed the warm bottle of milk to their daughter. There was a bit of a faraway look in her eyes while he watched her wet down a clean washcloth to help mend his foot. He knew where her fears were taking her. They had been having trouble sleeping in their new home, too. It seemed like the change of environment was conjuring new terrors upon the old ones that plagued them at night. For a good while they came seldomly, however, they only lay dormant. 

“Just do it,” Bill said, seeing her hesitate with the rubbing alcohol. He sucked air between his teeth while she apologized. “Is it bad?” 

“Mm.” She bit her lip. “You nicked it pretty good.” 

He raised his ankle to rest on his knee to examine the inner side of his heel. “It’ll be fine.” He said, taking the bandage she was holding to stick it on. “Thanks, love.” 

“Yeah.” Alma nodded as she rose from the floor to put all the supplies away. Bill caught her free hand before she walked away and grabbed the wet washcloth to help her clean the smears of blood on her neck and chest, but when he tried to apply it to her delicate skin, she flinched. 

“I can do it,” she said, holding his hand back, making him frown. 

“Hey.” He said softly. “Wherever you are… Come back. Everything is okay. She’s okay.” He nudged his head down at their child. “It’s only us, here.” 

Alma took a deep, shaky breath and then allowed him to help as she stared off. She didn’t speak for the rest of the night. They cuddled their daughter extra tight in their bed that night. 

The next day, Alma seemed back to normal spirits. She woke up and began scrubbing the blood from the bath and hallway with peroxide before carefully sweeping up the shards of glass. Bill called a window repairman and Zeph, who owned a small landscaping business when he wasn’t moonlighting as a security guard. 

Bill had nixed the illegal bar, stating he didn’t want to run into issues so early into his ownership, so instead he spoke to The Wayward Sons and asked if they’d stay on as security. Big Rod agreed as long as they were reimbursed for securing licenses. He didn’t have a problem with doing so, and they shook hands.  

Zeph came straight away, but the window repairman Bill had to bribe to start his services at his home first thing, as the storm had damaged quite a few homes in the area. So he learned. Alma gathered all the bedding, she shook off and piled in the hall to drop them in the laundry chute on the way to check on her daughter from atop the mezzanine. Alma looked out the library window and saw Bill outside, one arm across his chest and the other holding a cigarette as he watched one of Zeph’s workers rev up a long pole saw. 

The noise startled Echo, where she occupied herself with toys in a playpen. She might have been okay without being in it, but it was a big home, and after last night they didn’t need any more incidents. 

“I’m right here, baby,” Alma said, walking the long landing and descending the stairs. “Do you want to watch the men working? Daddy is outside too.” 

“Papa,” Echo said happily. 

Bill and Zeph were speaking and pointing at the overgrown shrubs in the archway garden when they approached. They had the same stature, but Zeph was double Bill’s width. 

“So sorry about what happened last night,” said Zeph after greeting Alma with a fist bump. “Glad to see little E’ is doing okay, though.”

“Thanks for coming straight away,” Alma said appreciatively. “I hope all was well in your home last night.” She knew he had children of his own as well.

“By god it was, ma’am. Thank you.” And off Zeph went to join his workers. 

The family stood watching the tree slowly being dismantled piece by piece. Alma had tried to convince Bill to just have a few precarious branches trimmed off, but he didn’t want to hear it. His only reply to her was, “Fuck that tree.”

Bill was holding Echo and gently kissed her injured cheek. “Say bye-bye tree!” He told her as he waved at it. 

“Bye-bye tree!” She giggled, flapping her little hand. 

…

After that eventful night in their home, things settled again. They were surprised that Echo only slept in their bed just one more night—mostly at their behest—and then decided on her own to sleep in her bedroom again like the brave little girl she was. Two weekends later, they arranged for her to stay the weekend with ‘Lani, the babysitter. Echo had been missing her. Yolani had been busy at her nursing residency but had finally gotten the time to spend with Echo, whom she also missed. When they dropped her off, Echo quickly kicked off her shoes and hardly said goodbye to either of her parents. She didn’t even care when they mentioned they had brought ice cream and sundae toppings for them to enjoy, but she made sure they left it behind. 

They arrived home with a bag of a few missing ingredients needed to make a romantic dinner in, but they were dismissed by the doorway along with their clothes. 

He had Alma bent over their king-sized bed while he vigorously thrust into her from behind. They had started in the living room, his head buried between her legs, but when Alma was close to orgasming, he stopped and led them to the den. While in the den, she sucked him off before he finally dipped himself inside her, mostly still while they tongue kissed. He gave her some long, slow, deep thrusts, but then he did the same, much to her frustration, and led her to the private sitting area. She rode him sensually on the loveseat, grinding down on him while he needily sucked on her tits. She was close to a climax finally when he abruptly pulled her up and held her tightly. The sudden disconnection made her gasp in surprise. 

“The fuck?” She was exasperated, her heart beating hard in her chest. 

He looked at her deviously, giving no explanation, and instead led her to their bedroom, where he had her now. Thrusting deep inside her without mercy. She was so close again. Moaning loudly with hands gripping the expensive bedsheets. As her hand went to her clit to help him usher in the orgasm she was desperately seeking, Bill grabbed her hand and pinned it behind her back instead. 

“Oh, fuck!” She said, finding the restraint so seductive, she offered her other hand. 

Bill held on to her wrists with one hand as he continued to plow into her from behind, and he grunted deeply, getting lost in it. She was dripping and so tight and warm around his cock. His eyes fluttered closed, almost succumbing to the feeling, until he miraculously came to his senses. 

“Are you gonna cum,” he asked, peering down at her from where he stood. 

“Fuck yes!” She groaned into the mattress. “Make me cum, baby. Please!” 

Bill swallowed hard as his heart pounded in his chest and his dick, but he willed himself to cease his thrusts.

“No! No, what!?” Alma turned to look at him, where he stood with a sheen of sweat covering his body as he held his hard, engorged cock flat against his muscled stomach while he breathed shallowly. “Babe, you look like you’re going to bust. What are you doing?”

“No, no.” He raggedly breathed. “Later.” 

“Later? I was so—we were so close?” She tried to reach out to him, but he rebuffed it. 

“You’re gonna cum when I want you to,” he said, holding her face with one hand, effectively puckering her lips, which he kissed. “We’re gonna start dinner.” He announced going to the closet and pulling on some silk onyx boxers. “Just wear this.” He said, passing Alma her short black silk kimono. She stayed there a moment after he left the room, dumbfounded, but so incredibly hot for his domineering attitude. 

In the kitchen, Alma was incorporating seasonings together for a dressing for the chopped salad, while Bill prepared the branzino they had bought from Pike’s Market the day before. While music played lightly, they were speaking about incoming deliveries to both the house and the shop, and other little decorative odds and ends they wanted to do with the house. However, in the back of their minds was the ache in their loins nagging at them, which they ignored. Their hunger from their empty bellies was taking over, but the signals were continually crossing.

Bill put the salad away in the fridge and foil-wrapped the herb-covered fish and asparagus when Alma brought paint swatches from the office. They were nearly in agreement with how they wanted to paint the exterior. Their room was recently painted a sun-dried tomato red, and they could finally move on from that.

“Why don’t we do this black for the trim?” He pointed at the pitch-black swatch as he stood behind her looking at samples she laid on the kitchen island. 

When Chase, the Realtor, dropped in some weeks ago to see how the family was settling in, Bill revealed the swatches of potential house paint. All dark, nearly black hues. Chase put a hand to his lips to conceal the ghastly gasp from escaping past his lips, but Bill noticed, and he lightly chuckled at him.

“Mhmm.” Alma licked her lips. They were standing so close again that the sexual tension was reverberating between them. “And uhm, this black for the rest has some green undertones to it, so it’ll contrast. Do you still like—” Her words caught in her throat when she felt his long fingers curl into her. Her eyes rolled back as he gripped her with his arm, pinning her flush against his chest. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he moaned into her neck as he peppered it with hard-pressed kisses. “You’re still so fucking wet.” She whimpered in pleasure as his fingers felt the inside of her warmth. “You want to cum so badly, don’t you?” 

“Don’t you want to fuck your cum into me already?” She said, taking hold of his cock as blood rushed to it, the cool silk fabric did nothing to restrain it and felt hot in her palm.

Bill mockingly chuckled at her attempt to tease him enough to get her way. He abruptly removed his fingers from inside her and then smacked her hand away from his cock. He washed his hands with a smug smirk on his face. 

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Alma sneered. 

Bill just laughed at her attitude as she walked away to gather some things upstairs. 

“If you’re not back in less than ten minutes, I know what you’re doing up there!” He hollered in reference to their growing vibrator collection, and he heard her laughter drift his way. The thought did cross her mind.

Together they walked out to the back porch. Bill went to the grill, and Alma went out by the garden, laying out a blanket for later in the evening to enjoy the clear night sky. At least they hoped it’d be. 

Closing the lid on the propane grill, he glanced over at Alma, her bare round ass fully on display as she bent over to pick out the wooden weed box and a bottle of wine from a wicker basket for them to enjoy in the sauna. The glistening of the wetness slicking her thighs was not missed by him either. He pulled off his boxers and jogged to her as she made her way to the sauna. He offered to hold the items in her hand, while at the same time discreetly pulling the sash of her kimono from its loose knot. He began running to the sauna when she suddenly found herself naked. Reflexively, she tried to cover herself. Until she realized there wasn’t a need for modesty in their private haven. Alma pounded on the sauna door with the side of her fist, while Bill could be heard laughing from the inside. 

“Fine, then,” she relented. “I have the lighter. Enjoy the shitty wine.” 

The door cracked open then. “Just pass the lighter through.” 

Alma responded by pushing the door closed on him. He was surprised by the force of it, but then he finally opened the door with a mischievous grin on his face, to which Alma shook her head amused. They shared the wine, drinking it straight from the bottle, and enjoyed a fat joint. 

“We should try hotboxing this one day,” Bill said, scanning the apt size of the sauna as he passed the joint back to her.

“I’d just pass out.” 

“Whatever shit you were smoking just does that to you, love. This stuff from Darby’s uncle is a hybrid. More up, not down.” 

“Darby’s uncle? What are you talking about?” 

“Eh,” Bill scratched his sweaty neck. He misspoke. “Uh yeah. Harold. He’s got other businesses. You can’t be wealthy like they are without being a little crooked.” 

“And what does that mean?” She raised her brow, passing back the joint. 

“He just mentioned these farms in Northern California. He’s got his hands in it.” He gestured.

“Weed farms.” She deduced.

“Mhmm.” He took a deep drag, a plume of thick smoke left his lips, which he inhaled back into his lungs. “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and removed the white towel he had across his lap. 

“Where are you going?” She lightly pouted, but she was still curious about the farms. 

“I gotta check the fish.” He winked.

His return took a bit longer than expected, but Alma sat in wait with low eyes, comfortably hugging bent legs. He informed her that the food was done, and she suggested they finish off the joint. He flashed a goofy smile and happily took the joint she was holding out to him. 

Reaching over him, she grabbed the bottle of wine for a sip, her ass in the air trying to entice him, much to his amusement. After putting it back, she remained very close to him. Kissing his damp shoulder, prompting him to put his arm around her. He felt her hand slide down his relaxed abs, but he stopped her before she could remove the towel from his lap. She furrowed her brows and frowned. Tilting her chin with his hand, their low-lidded eyes met, full of desire. Both rosy-cheeked, glowing with dew, they began feverishly making out in the haze of steam and smoke in the sauna. 

When he felt Alma trying to straddle his lap, he gently pushed her back to lie on the bench. He passed the joint he was still holding and began tracing along the side of her pussy. It was tantalizing with how he took his time kissing her inner thighs. His long pointer finger gently swiped up her slit and traced the strip of hair at the top, and then went back down again, pressing lightly on her entrance. It made her heart thump hard in her chest. With the joint between her lips, she tossed her head back when he firmly put his whole mouth on her swollen pussy. His tongue pressed into her entrance, sucking and lapping like a parched man finally taking a drink of water. He rose, pressing his face against her soft thigh.

“Do you want to come?” He gave her a puppy dog gaze from under his brow, and she eagerly nodded. He took her hand to help her stand up, while he slouched a bit in his seat, spreading his legs wide, yet the white towel never left his lap. The gaze he kept on her intensified and then flicked down to his right leg. “Do it yourself.” Alma hesitated for a moment; she wanted him to make her cum. “Hurry. Before I change my fucking mind.”

Alma bit her lip, feeling the fire blaze in her core, and straddled his right thigh. Bill leaned forward to kiss her sweetly and then coaxed her to start grinding on him. She rutted against him but gently, which made Bill smirk. 

“I know you’re not shy, babe.” He chuckled. 

It caused her to giggle because, no, she wasn’t. She was trying to behave a little more submissively to match his dominant behavior. However, she was behaving just how he wanted her to be this whole time, frustrated and eager. Finally, she placed her hands at the top of his thigh for leverage and began grinding down harder. He took one last hit of the joint before laying the stub on the wooden box, then leaned back and spread his arms across the top bench to enjoy the display. Enjoying the look of her dewy body and how her arms pushed her tits out. He reached around her head to pull the scrunchy holding the low, loose bun she had and watched as her long brown hair fell and stuck against her. 

Her eyes fluttered closed as she was catching a satisfying rhythm for herself. He bit his lip when her shallow breaths quickened. Though they were covered in perspiration, he could feel her wetness and heat spreading across his skin as she rode his thigh. 

“There you go.” He encouraged pinching one of her nipples and rolling it between his fingers. 

Her movements were causing the towel he wore to slip, and she could see his pink hooded tip rising just above the edge of it. Bill noticed her intense, hungry gaze on it, and his breathing picked up as he tried to not give in to his carnal desires. She was getting off from just a glimpse of it. He wanted her on his cock just as much as she did, but he concealed himself once again. Holding his erection down with one hand, while the other hand on her hip assisted her deep rutting thrusts against him. She let out a sharp gasp and threw her head back. 

“Please don’t stop me.” She begged. 

“Squirt for me.” 

“I need your cock for that.” 

His jaw clenched and chest tightened, disappointed that he was giving in. He stopped her movements, causing her to whine loudly. She watched as he swiftly tore his towel away, finally revealing his blushing, hard cock. 

“Sit on it, right now.” His chest visibly rose as she did so. Agonizingly slow, too, because she wanted to tease him for what he had been putting her through. When he bottomed out, they both let out a strained moan from the reconnection. “Don’t fucking move.” He demanded. 

He placed his thumb on her overly sensitive clit, and she threw her head back again as he rebuilt upon her ruined orgasm. He could feel her pulsing all around him, getting tighter, hotter than a furnace, and he felt doomed. The high was adding an extra intense layer to it all. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Bill groaned. “Are you going to come for me?” 

“Yes,” she squeaked out. “K-keep going. Please!” She cried out. All the tension she felt from the previous denial built upon itself, and then it imploded. A flood erupted out of her and onto him. The release was dizzying, making her ears ring from the intensity, while her hips involuntarily jolted. Bill sat in awe, covered in her wetness, feeling everything while buried inside her. 

“Fuck me!” He conceded. 

Alma began to thrust her hips into his eagerly with his help. “Give me your cum, baby.” She said, running her hands through his short hair. 

“I’ll give it to you.” He said through clenched teeth.

“Give it to me deep.” She moaned. 

A few short thrusts later, he let out a loud, deep moan from his whole being. “Ah, fuck me! Don’t stop.” He smacked her ass before gripping it and assisting her thrusts.

Alma was surprised, she was sure that was it. As their bodies rocked against each other, she could see a look of bewilderment in his eyes until he shut them tight. His cock was sensitive; she could sense that. Suddenly, he held on to her tightly as he stood up, unsatisfied with her work as her legs were wobbly from her climax. He laid her down on the bench and plunged back between her legs. He was still rock hard. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bill muttered as he rocked his hips into hers. “Baby… I’m going to cum again.” 

Again? She briefly thought until the feeling of another orgasm overrode it. She pulled at him, hands gliding on wet skin, to hold him close as she hit another crescendo. Hollering in the sauna so loud it was a blessing they were secluded. Their lips met as she began falling from the peak. 

“Cum on me.” She breathily said in his ear. 

He leaned back, ready to let go, and pulled out, stroking his cock before her. A guttural scream came from deep within him when he released pearlescent ropes glazed her torso and pussy. His jaw was slack, admiring her covered in his essence and running her fingers through it to have a taste. 

“You made a mess,” she giggled. “Are you breathing?” 

Bill cracked a bashful smile and then sat, trying to catch his breath in the stuffy sauna. Bill had his head tilted back with his eyes closed while Alma kissed along his jaw and throat as he processed what happened to him. Edging for half the day, he had done alone, in the penthouse, but never once did he deny himself this long to the point his balls felt heavy, though. If he was ready, he was ready. Today was the day he actually tried to push through but failed. Even on Alma’s birthday the year prior, he was too weak to hold off. However, what he didn’t expect was to release twice. That hadn’t ever happened to him. Maybe the weed contributed to it, he wondered.

“Felt good, didn’t it?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Finally getting to cum.” She whispered against his hot skin. “I felt what you did.” She said, as if she had uncovered a secret he wasn’t ready to reveal. She could feel his cum dripping out of her, while also covered in it. 

…

They enjoyed their lukewarm dinner as they finally filled their hungry bellies appreciatively. After a quick intimate shower, they were half-dressed in the backyard again. Alma was wearing a thong and an oversized band shirt, and Bill was in his usual boxer briefs. There were two, three-wick candles lit next to them, providing a romantic glow, and the lightning bugs shone on the edge of the property. They even spotted a white bunny rabbit hop along before disappearing into the brush. While enjoying a bowl of chopped fruits and cheeses with accompanying gummy fruit candies, a piece of mango fell between Alma’s crossed legs. Bill bent over, burying his face in her lap, and ate it off the blanket they sat on, making her laugh. 

Alma was talking about her upcoming plans of decorating their home, and he happily listened. It felt nice that they could make such permanent decisions. When they lived together in New York, they never bothered with decor, knowing their stay would be temporary. They moved somewhere new every year. 

However, he could recall a night in which Alma stayed the night with him in his home in Strathburg. She had been dancing on his spring-broken bed, and he playfully tackled her down and cuddled right after. She asked him what his future home would look like. He gave a generic answer at first, and listened to her talk about having a dog and describe rooms that seemed inspired by Barbie's dream homes. That’s when he finally decided to share how he wanted a big backyard and a dog, too. A Doberman Pinscher, to be exact. He also added that he wanted a nice kitchen but, most importantly, a full pantry. 

“We need to get outdoor furniture for the office balcony,” she pointed. The office was in the opposite wing of the house. When Bill first took a look around, he assumed that was where their room would be until he found the secret sitting room in their bedroom. “But the gallery wall I want to put in there, you can help me with that. Is there something you want to do to the house?” 

“Mm. We should take one of our family portraits and get it painted to put over the fireplace in the living room. Like five feet tall.” He laughed. 

“Do you want it to come with spooky cobwebs pre-applied, too?” She laughed with him. “Be serious!”

“Maybe after I’m done with the stuff at the shop, I can really think about it.” He smiled.

“You’ve done such a good job with it so far,” she praised.

“Well, I have hel—”

“Help.” She interjected. “Take the credit for once,” she giggled, shaking her head. “You work hard, you know. All those nights.” 

Bill nodded and leaned back on his hands, admiring their home from where he sat, feeling a bit small under it for a change. “It’s a big home. Almost. Too big.” 

Alma laughed. “You chose it!” 

“You did too!” He playfully defended.

“Yeah. But you knew, I’d like it. You always seem to know.” She kissed his cheek and looked at their home before them under the star-studded night. Thinking of the humble Missouri homes they grew up in compared to now. 

Bill’s hand crept towards the edge of the blanket they sat on, and underneath, he gripped the velvet ring box he had hidden there when he had gone to check the food on the grill. He looked at her, taking in the moment of her, completely unaware. She knew this would happen, just not exactly when. He felt himself becoming nervous. He had been in possession of the ring for a few months now, trying to find a good moment to ask for her hand. He nearly asked her on her birthday, but he didn’t deem it fair for the proposal to overshadow her day.

There was also the fact that he was unsure of what to say. He figured outside the obvious; he’d just speak from whatever came to heart. He wasn’t so good at these things, but for her, he’d try. 

“What are we going to do tomorrow?” She giggled, feeling like they had done so much on their first night alone at their house. “Maybe we could check out the woods behind us.”

“Hmm. Maybe you can tell me what tomorrow will be like if you say yes.” 

“Say what?” She turned to him, perplexed. 

She thought her heart stopped for a moment until she gasped. Taking in the sight of him holding onto an opened jewelry box with the most beautiful and unique ring glittered before her, illuminated by the candlelight. Her eyes were wide when she looked at him in wait and back at the ring.

“Really!?” She gasped. “Wait, I-I should stand up!” 

“Okay,” he chuckled, and then got on one knee before her. “Okay,” he inhaled deeply, looking up at her with nerves swimming in his belly. “Alma?” 

“Yeah!” She smiled. 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Yeah! Yes!” She leaned down to kiss him deeply, and then she giggled, tickled by it all. She knew they’d be married someday when he had told her as much at the springs, but she hadn’t any idea of when he’d officially ask. He really did catch her by surprise. 

Bill laughed happily as he stood up and embraced her. “I love you.” 

“I know! I know it!” Happy tears welled up in her eyes as she giggled. “I love you!” 

“Let me—let me put it on you,” he said, taking a step back and taking the ring out of the box, which he let fall on the blanket. 

He carefully slid the jewelry on her ring finger, and it looked like it belonged there all this time. 

“It’s fucking beautiful, Billy! Two!?”

“I felt like you deserved more than one gem.” 

“And this one?” She pointed. 

“Green sapphire.” 

She smiled, looking up to gaze into his eyes. “Green. Like your eyes.” 

“Mhmm.” He flashed a dimpled smile. “It’s forever for me.” He said seriously. “Until,” he paused, feeling a swell of emotion suddenly fill him. “Until I’m no longer breathing. I promise. I don’t want to live this life without you with me all the way.”

She smiled wistfully, placing her left hand on his high cheek. “Until I’m no longer breathing. I promise.” She repeated and they sealed it with a kiss. 

“Unless…” Bill side-eyed her once they settled on the blanket again, lying down this time. 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you divorce me one day,” he laughed.

“Don’t ruin the moment. I wouldn’t!” She laughed with him. 

“I know you wouldn’t but say you did. Could I like, booty call you sometimes?” 

She shook her head, amused. “Seriously?” She raised her brows at him. “Yeah. You can booty call me.” 

And together they laughed loudly under the clear night sky. The stars tonight seemed dim now that Alma had two shining right on her hand. 

…

Fall 1997

The family was in New York City as Echo would attend first grade at a highly competitive private school. Today was the first day of school. Bill was up before everyone, everyone except his son, whom he found lying awake contently in his crib. Luxe looked a lot like his mother, with wavy chestnut hair and a soft tan complexion, but he had his eyes. Exactly like them. Big, curious, green eyes.

He loved his boy so dearly, but there was a time when the thought of having a son terrified him. Worried that the generational curses, which his brother seemed to claim loomed over them, would continue with him. However, he had to remind himself that he was very much Alma’s child too. That he would grow to be better because of her, just like he had. 

After changing him and making a bottle, he held onto him while starting the coffee pot. Upstairs, he could hear Alma’s feet patter quickly to the bathroom, hearing her cough, making him grimace sympathetically. He reached into a tea jar and produced a mint leaf blend to make a cup for her.

“You’ll be okay by yourself, huh, Lucky?” He said, kissing the top of his head before laying him in a baby bouncer in the living room. 

“Da-da.” He giggled contently, making his father smile. 

He appeared at Echo’s doorway and lightly knocked the frame. She lay in bed with her eyes closed with a small smile on her face, quite obviously pretending to be asleep. She wasn’t all too thrilled to be going to school in New York. Not only that, but she loved Seattle and the school she attended there with her friends and favorite granola teacher. Her parents explained to her that they just wanted her to have the best education, but that fell on deaf ears for an almost six-year-old. She didn’t care; her home was in Seattle.

“Echo?” Bill said, approaching the side of her bed and taking a seat. “Echo.” He tickled her side, and she began to lightly giggle, much to her dismay. “I knew you were pretending,” he chuckled. “You gotta get up. It’s the first day of school.” 

She lifted the covers over her face and whined. “I’m tired.” 

“C’mon,” he said, pulling the covers away. “You have to get up, honey.” 

“Where’s Mama?” 

“I have to go wake her up, but I’m here with you. She’ll be down to help you once you start getting ready.” 

Echo sighed, but she accepted her father's kiss on the cheek and then begrudgingly made her way to the bathroom. Bill bit his lip, amused by her attitude, and made his way back upstairs. 

Alma was in bed, sitting against the headboard, looking a bit clammy as she drank a bottle of water when he entered. 

“Echo is up.” He said, sitting next to her and handing her the mug of tea he made. “You okay?” He asked, putting his hand on her damp forehead before running his fingers through her scalp. 

“Yeah,” she sighed, sounding a bit defeated before taking a sip. “I’ll be fine. Who’s up.” 

“Everyone except Vida. For now.” He smiled. 

How he loved his little, loud baby daughter. She gave them hell, but they loved her so much for it. Though she couldn’t talk much, her expressions let you know just what she was thinking. Half the time, it looked like she was cursing you out, which they found amusing. She looked a lot like Echo did as a baby, with light hair but with deep brown doe eyes. She could also be very sweet, but it was her brother who was the charmer of the two. However, that was just how the twins operated, he was the cute distraction for her to pick your pockets.

“Spoke too soon.” Alma giggled when they could hear her loud cries down below. 

“V’ is awake!” Echo hollered as if they didn’t know, but she liked to be helpful. 

“Lay down for a little bit,” he yawned, patting Alma’s thigh before kissing her. “It’s still early as fuck.”

She glanced at the clock, it was hardly 6 am. She lightly groaned while she settled back down into the bed. 

“I hear you, baby! Everyone heard you!” She could hear Bill playfully say below to their disgruntled daughter. Suddenly, she stopped and began giggling loudly seeing her father, which made Alma smile. 

Echo crept up the winding wrought iron staircase with her school uniform. “Mama?” 

She turned and sat up and gestured for her to climb into bed. Echo smiled brightly and jumped in. “Good morning, baby,” she said, peppering kisses on her daughter's cheek, making her snicker. “Are you excited about going to your new school today?” Echo's face fell, making Alma feel bad. “What is it?” She asked, tucking a piece of her caramel brown hair behind her ear affectionately. 

“I don’t know anyone.” 

“But you will. You’ll make friends, baby. Is that all?” 

“It’s smelly here.” 

Alma laughed. “Well—yeah. I’m sorry, I can’t do anything about that.” 

“Echo?” Bill hollered down below when he was unable to find her. 

“She’s up here!” Alma replied to his relief. He wouldn’t put it past her if she left the penthouse just because she didn’t want to go to school. “You want some cuddles? And then I can help you get ready.” 

Echo nodded happily and embraced her mother, soaking in all the love and comfort she provided. Shortly, Echo began getting dressed upstairs while Alma went downstairs to check on the other children. Both of them were in their bouncer and smiled at her happily babbling. They could speak well enough for a year and a half, but they often felt comfortable in their strange twin language. 

Echo was brushing her hair in her parent's closet before her father came to get dressed. Besides looking through her mother's vanity, she loved to look through her mother's clothing in the closet. So many pieces, from designer to vintage. In all classifications of fabrics. She helped pick out some pieces while shopping with her father searching for a dress, and he’d ask her valued opinion. She liked those days because it meant she could pick something out for herself too.

“Do you want some help?” He asked her while she sat on the bed trying to put on her white stockings.

“Mm,” she scrunched her eyes in thought. “I’ll wait for mommy.”

“Hm, okay.” He said, even if it was hard to leave her to struggle. Lately, she wanted to do most things without her parent's help. 

“Look how pretty you look!” Alma said to Echo’s reflection in the bathroom mirror before them after fixing her hair into a single french braid. “You look like such a big girl.” She could feel a lump form in her throat, suddenly feeling sentimental. When she started kindergarten, she cried in the car after dropping her off. Today, it just made it more apparent that she wasn’t a baby anymore. It didn’t help that she was also an inch or two taller than most of her peers. “Do you like it?” She asked, brushing her bangs down. 

Echo nodded and appreciatively ran her hands along her neat braid. Alma led her into the closet and pulled two tops out. They were similar black long-sleeve turtleneck shirts, but one had a cutout in the chest. She would pair them with a tight over-the-knee pencil skirt, sheer black pantyhose, and comfortable pumps. Bill found them in there when he went to grab a turtleneck for himself. He was only in dress pants and a black tank. He smirked when he heard Echo suggest the top with the cutout. It was what he would pick too, but it reinforced that fact that one day she’d want to dress the same, and he had to be okay with it within reason. 

“Could I wear some of your perfume too, Mama?” He heard Echo ask.

“Mm. Just a spritz, okay? But which one?” 

He announced that breakfast was ready before leaving them upstairs. While tucking in his shirt, he saw Vida, who was supposed to be secured in her bouncer, running toward the kitchen and sighed. He waited a moment and caught her in his arms when she came running past on chubby legs, giggling mischievously. He buried his face in her neck, blowing raspberries, which made her shriek delightfully while he placed her in the high chair. 

“Stay seated, okay?” He looked at her pointedly, and she just flashed him a drooly smile as she nibbled on her fingers. “I didn’t forget about you, Lucky.” He said, getting him out of the chair swing to join his sister at the table. That’s when he noticed a cookie lying underneath him, apparently Vida had broken out to dig in the pantry to give him. 

After they ate breakfast as a family, it was time to leave. The college-aged nanny had arrived with her book bag and a big travel mug full of coffee. She would watch the twins while the parents and their eldest child left.

“We’ll be back around, uh, 1:00?” Bill told her while rocking his son in his arms. Alma asked for him, and he gently put him on his feet, where he bumbled over to his siblings. “Maybe make it two. After our appointment, we’ll be having lunch.”

Alma was helping Echo put her backpack on. A backpack her father Antonio sent the money for, to gift his granddaughter. She told Vida and Luxe to hug their big sister before they left.

“Say I love you, Echo.” She tried to encourage them, and they did the best they could with their babbling speech. Both Vida and Luxe addressed their big sister as Coco.

“Coco, Coco!” Luxe made kissy faces at his big sister, and she leaned down to let him kiss her cheek. 

“So sweet of you, Luxe!” Alma giggled, seeing Echo wipe slobber from her cheek. Luckily, Echo had learned to love him just the same as she loved her little sister and giggled when he hugged her tightly again. He was always a very affectionate little boy. 

Bill helped Alma put on her coat while she watched the babies pulling at Echo’s backpack curiously. Emotion welled up within her again, and then she felt sick. Her mouth watered, causing her to thickly swallow it back. She took in a shaky breath after saying goodbye to the other children and the nanny, and off they went. 

Echo watched her father turn the volume dial down on the radio and listened to her parents discuss where to park when they approached the school. 

“You see?” Alma pointed at the building, and when she glanced back at her, she did a double take. “Are you wearing my lip gloss?” 

“What?” Bill said, trying to peer at his daughter through the rearview mirror. She was indeed wearing a thick application of pink glittery gloss on her lips. 

“Hand it over,” Alma said with her palm out. “You have to ask first, baby. You know that.” 

Echo frowned and begrudgingly pulled the tube from her uniform skirt pocket. Bill glanced at it when Alma put it in her purse and shook his head disapprovingly. Before they approached the front door of the building, Alma dabbed off some of the gloss with her hand so that it looked like she wore a more tasteful chapstick. 

Together, they joined the other families, escorting their respective children into the building. Bill looked around and noticed some heavy-duty-looking SUVs politicians would usually be chauffeured in, and wondered who his daughter would be going to school with. 

While heading to the classroom, Echo noticed that her father was no longer next to her, and she turned her head to look for him.

“I’ll be right behind you, baby!” He lightly hollered and stayed behind to talk to the principal. 

Echo met her teacher, Ms. Hartford, who had a sweet, enthusiastic attitude as she greeted her students. Alma helped her daughter look for her cubby and assisted with taking her coat and backpack. She expected Echo to run off to join her classmates mingling on the brightly colored carpet where they were enjoying mini donuts. However, she was hesitant and stayed close.

“E’,” Alma crouched down to her level. “Go say hi to everyone. They all look nice.” 

She glanced over with trepidation in her eyes. “Where is Papa?” 

“He’ll be here. He won’t leave without saying goodbye, you know that. Okay?” 

Just a few paces away, a thin, honey-blonde, well-put-together woman was reassuring her son similarly. Echo hugged her mother tightly and mustered the courage to join the others, and soon after the little boy did too. 

The women nodded at each other, greeting each other with a friendly smile. 

“Uhm, I’m Carmen,” the woman said, putting her hand out for a friendly shake. 

“Alma,” she smiled politely, shaking her hand. “First day of school, right?” 

“Oh, yeah. Joseph is my little boy. He can be a bit nervous.” It was an understatement. It seemed like her boy was terrified of everything, which frustrated his father a lot. 

“He seems sweet. Echo is my little girl. Maybe they can be friends. She’s always been friendly. It’s just that she was going to school out of state, so it’s all new again for her.” 

Bill was speaking with the principal, whom he mutually knew through a Trigger Finger patron, a brother of his who worked for the state. How weird he felt speaking amiably with a school administrator when, while he was in school, he’d daydream of spitting in their faces. In fact, he still did sometimes. 

“Uhm, sorry,” said Principal Everton, looking rather regretful and nervous. “I have to address this. Would you excuse me?” 

Bill nodded and watched him walk towards the entrance. There were several private police, and then his stomach sank. Joey Russo stood there, greeting the principal. He was currently on bail and facing a massive RICO court case. When Bill and Alma heard the news, they were conflicted at first, wondering if anything could come back on them. They settled, knowing nothing could, and celebrated over Joey Russo’s misfortune. 

He turned on his heel, his coattails splaying with how urgently he headed towards Echo’s classroom, walking past a New York State representative he recognized. He entered the classroom and spotted his daughter talking to a little shy boy while they ate mini chocolate donuts with the other schoolchildren. The teacher cheerily greeted him, and he gave her a hard-lined smile, introducing himself. Finally, he spotted his wife when a group of parents broke apart and noticed her speaking to another mother. It wasn’t until he noticed her ice-blue eyes that he internally groaned in irritation. He recognized her, Carmen, Joey’s wife. 

This can’t be fucking happening. He thought to himself. When the little boy who Echo was speaking to ran back to her, clinging to her leg, he just didn’t know what the hell to do. He tried to think of what his brother once said—that the kids are innocent under the sins of their parents. His only move was to get Alma out of the school building without noticing what was going on, but he knew it would be for naught. 

He approached Alma and pulled her a bit away from Carmen while distracted by her son. “Uhm, we should probably start heading out, love.” He flashed his wristwatch to her for the time. 

“Oh. Yeah, we should.” She called Echo over for them to say goodbye. 

“I love you, baby. Have a good day.” She said to her and laughed a little when she affectionately nuzzled her face into her belly. 

Bill crouched down to her level. “You look so pretty today, honey.” He lightly poked her nose before pinching her cheek. “I love you. Be brave, remember?” 

Echo nodded, hugging him. “Can you make spaghetti for dinner?” 

Bill chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds good! With garlic bread, right?” 

“Mhmm!” Her eyes lit up, happily. “I love you, Papa. I love you, Mama.” And off she went and joined the class confidently. 

Bill took Alma’s hand, noticing her blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay, and led them out of the school.

“What’s going on?” Alma asked, noticing some commotion just off to the side of the entrance, but Bill remained quiet, looking straight forward.

“But I should be able to see my boy!” Someone in the middle of the gang of people harshly demanded. 

“Yes, yes. And that’s perfectly fine, but without the security, Mr. Russo.” Principal Everton tried to reason. 

Alma’s heart sank hearing the name, but when they rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of Joey Russo in her daughter’s school. She paused, stunned, but Bill tugged her arm. 

“Keep walking.” 

“Bill! It's. W-we can’t.” She stuttered as panic rose in her chest. 

“Not here. Keep walking.” 

“Bill, she cannot go here!” She said once they reached their car. “Fuck! I’m so—I’m so fucking stupid!” She looked up to the sky with glassy eyes. 

The idea of Echo attending a swanky private school was all hers, and now she cursed her line of optimistic thinking. However, this school wasn’t their first option. Bill was partly to blame for this situation because, at their preferred school, the dean was a woman he had a short-lived tryst with when Alma had moved away to Seattle. To say Alma was pissed when he revealed that to her would be an understatement. She asked if he could get over it, to which he replied that he was over it, but that it was just too weird. He deeply regretted that now. He could have dealt with weird because now the situation they were in was just plain fucked up.

“Do not say that! You’re not,” he said, opening the passenger door. “We couldn’t have known.”

She glanced at the opened car door and back at him, appalled that he was really trying to leave their daughter behind. “Bill, no! We need to get her out. We’ll,” she paused, feeling herself getting sick again. “No!” She shook her head. 

“Get in the car, Alma.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!” 

“We’re not doing this outside the fucking school. Get in!” 

Alma ran a hand through her hair, stressed, but did as he said. He looked back at the school as he rounded the car. When he entered, Alma was pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to will the tears falling from her cheeks away, but it was futile. Even justified to cry from the situation, she couldn’t stop the tears. She had too before she became hysterical and inconsolable, though. She could feel it building to that point. 

“They knew!” She said trying to figure out how this could happen. “They know who she is!” 

“Alma… I don’t think so.” He sighed. “You, you were speaking to his wife in there.” 

“What!? No, no! No, we have to get her out right now!” 

“We’re not doing that.” 

“What are you talking about?!” She sobbed, feeling helpless. 

“She is going to this fucking school, Alma!” He huffed, and then he did his best to settle himself. He shouldn’t be making Alma upset in her state. “Look at me.” He said, unsuccessfully trying to take the edge off his voice, but she refused to look at him. 

“I can’t believe you, right now!” 

“Listen to me, then. We are not taking her out of this school.” He stressed. “We are not fucking scared of them. Do you hear me?” 

Alma bit her quivering lip as tears ran down her face. “BUT I AM!” She cried, turning to him and clutching onto her chest. “I’m so fucking scared. I just want to go home!” Home, a thousand miles away from there.

Bill had to look away for a moment. “I know.” He turned to her. “I know, baby, but you can’t show them that. Taking Echo out today and going back to Seattle will just prove—” he sneered, disgusted at the thought of tucking tail. “The school year will come and go. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t know, Bill.” She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. “I want to believe that-that,” she sighed, feeling defeated. 

“If we take Echo out today, what will she think? We tell her all the time to be brave and,” he quickly cleared his throat when he felt it tighten. “And if she sees us backing out like this—if those motherfuckers see us. I can’t. I won’t do it. I fucking refuse.” 

Alma remained silent, trying to compose herself. “Oh, god, this is such bullshit!” She groaned, agitated as tears slipped from her eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tilting his head to peer out for her gaze.

Alma closed her eyes and then finally looked at him. “I do. I trust you.” 

“Remember, Joey is going to federal fucking prison. I know this is upsetting, and this is—this is fucking crazy. But Echo will be okay. He can’t move an inch without the police being right on his ass. She’ll be okay.” He willed. “I promise.” 

“Okay... Fuck him, though.” She sniffled.

“Yeah. Fuck him.” He leaned over to put an arm around her. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t be doing that.” He kissed her.

“It’s fine. We were just surprised—caught off guard.” 

“No. You’re pregnant, Alma. That was ugly of me.” He said, affectionately rubbing her small, round belly. She was four months pregnant. “I’m sorry,” he said again, leaning over and kissing the top of her belly. “Are you okay?”

Alma lightly frowned. “No, but… I trust you.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, he would accept that. “Now. I’m going to start the car, and we’re going straight to the OB appointment, okay?” 

She let him start the car but placed her hand on top of his while trying to turn the gear in drive. He took a deep, shaky breath, his anxiousness and stress wanting to spill over, but he felt he needed to be strong at the moment and composed himself. “Baby… I don’t want to leave her, either. But we have to. Trust me, please.” He pleaded. 

“Okay, okay.” She nodded and then allowed him to proceed. 

While driving past the school building, they kept their eyes on it until they no longer could. They were silent for a moment and then accepted that this was just what it was going to be. Bill reached for her hand to hold tightly and kissed the back of it several times. 

“What do you think the baby will be?” He asked, trying to bring back some levity. 

Alma cracked a small smile. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’m okay with whatever.” 

“I just need them to double-check there’s only one in there again.” He said, making them both laugh. Their first ultrasound proved as much, but still, a second confirmation would be nice. 

Soon the school year would be over without incident. Echo had learned so much and thrived in the city and learned to love living there. Joey Russo and some other unfortunates were implicated and sentenced to prison. The court proceedings were televised, and they watched it every day like a telenovela. However, the conclusion was a bit disappointing, they felt the sentence was a mere slap on the wrist for what he really deserved. 

Ultimately, they returned to Seattle with one extra newborn in tow. Back in their home, where the rain fell on their children, giggling and running around the back garden. Grass stuck to their legs and mud covered their bare feet while chasing their Doberman, Reaper. Alma introduced their small baby to the rain, welcoming them home, and then joined the others. Bill put an arm around her with a content, dimpled smile on his face, and they stood together, letting the soft rain wash their sins away.

FIN

[atlas-of-the-mind]

[Img ID'S in alt text and below cut]

Introducing tlr!Sun and MC! Both just as much victims of the pizzaplex as they are perpetrators. They're both doing the right thing though.... right?

Sun: [IMG ID: A colored sketch reference of Tlr!Sun on a gray canvas. There's two versions of the sketch, one with large puffy sleeves that bell out at the wrist and cinch at the elbow, and one without. Sun is posed with their right hand loosely resting on their chest and their left hand held out and down in a welcoming gesture, and their feet close together as they stand on tiptoe. They have long pants that flare at the hips and the ankles, and a ballet-styled vest with a short bodice that only covers the ribs and has long coattails. The curls on the toes of his shoes are angular, and there's large bells where his pants wrap around his ankles. His face is simple, with a single marking across his forehead extending from the top of his nose ridge and a wide smile that curls up at the outer corners of his eyes. He has 2 layers of rays; the front layer is smaller diamond shapes and the back layer extends into long points.

His coloring is shades of yellow, orange, and red, with his base color being a yellow-cream color. There's darker yellow swirling markings across his arms and hands, and a large central four-pointed star on his stomach. His vest and pants are a vibrant red with a gradient to a dark red at the bottoms, and appear sparkly. His pants also have yellow cartoonish stars all over them, and two large 12-pointed starts at their hips. Their fingers are orange, with darker orange tips, and their rays are yellow(front layer) and orange(back layer). The puffy sleeves on the second sketch are a light cream color, matching his smile and eyes. His shoes are the same yellow as the rest of his markings, and have a small white eight-pointed star on the side of the heel.

On the right side of the canvas is text that reads:

"__The Daycare Attendant__

"Sun" they/he/she

~ Anxious

~ Repurposed from theater program

~ Stutters (from ^)

~ Hero Complex

-> can be petty + obsessive"

Next to the sleeveless sketch's upper arm is also an arrow pointing to their markings, with text that reads "Markings glow in blacklight". End ID.]

NOTES ABOUT THEM:

- Sun has no memory of there ever being a moon animatronic, nor of being a theater bot.

- The Daycare Program was rushed and is full of bugs, causing processing + vocalizing issues. These manifest as an easily overloaded system when stressed and a stutter when she speaks.

- The Daycare has been neglected for years. Sun has had to fend for themselves and very rarely does he come in for repairs, as there's no longer a technician trained in their unique mechanics.

- Short circuits cause hallucinations and/or "dreams" when powered off.

- Sun works like Moon, but in reverse. The darker it is, the harder it is for Sun to move. Also, he toe walks.

M.C.: [IMG ID: A colored sketch reference of M.C., the protagonist of The Light Room. They're a human with long, messy red hair, and a black mask and large glasses cover most of their face, hiding their eyes, nose, and mouth. They're posed facing 3/4 to the left with their hands in the pockets of their large jacket, a slight slouch to their posture. They wear faded light blue jeans that appear baggy, and a jacket with puffy sleeves that's colored to look like a S.T.A.F.F bot -- light grey with dark grey forearms and shoulders, and three gold buttons down the center next to the zipper line. The hood is also dark grey and there's a gold patch on their left shoulder. Their skin is a desaturated grey.

To the right of M.C. on the canvas are small references of the front and back of their jacket, and in the top center of the canvas is a more detailed reference of the patch on their jacket. The patch has a S.T.A.F.F. bot head in the center of it, and the words "Fazbear Entertainment" along the edges.

To the left of M.C. on the canvas is text that reads:

"M.C.

"Mike"

Definitely Fine ->

~ Fazbear Entertainment Employee

-> (repair tech)"

The background is grey. End ID.]

NOTES:

- The ProtagonistTM

- Very tired. Suffers from sleep paralysis/night terrors. Tries to sleep as little as possible.

- Manager of S.T.A.F.F. bot repairs. Also.. the only one who repairs staff bots.

- Being subjected to the Horrors.

[practicingsmut]

Oh My!

druid!soonyoung x bard!reader, 2.5k words, dry humping, sorry that this one's a little lackluster I've been sick and haven't had the time to work on it as much as I wanted

You weren’t lost. Sure, you were in a forest you had never been in before, and you couldn’t find the path marked on your map again after having stepped off of it hours ago to find a secluded place to do your business, but that didn’t mean you were lost. You had a map, and you were sure that eventually you’d find some sort of landmark that will help you find exactly where you were on the little piece of paper you held in front of you.

At least, you were sure up until the point that you stepped in a snare and ended up dangling six feet off the ground from your ankle. That certainly put a damper on things. You attempted to catch your bag as it slid off your back, but only succeeded in sending everything in it flying as it was knocked a few feet away. You cursed to yourself and hoped to the gods that your lyre hadn’t broken. The strings had just been replaced and you didn’t have enough money to repair them again.

For a little while you did try to get out of your predicament. You weren’t sure how long you were at it, but a decent effort was made. Eventually, though, you gave up with a sigh and resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that the owner of the snare would be by at some point to check it. You pushed down any thoughts of the snare being abandoned that threatened to sneak up on you.

Despite the odd positioning, you actually found yourself dozing off a couple of times. Your eyes were closed, your breathing slowing into a deep, steady rhythm, when a twig snapped behind you. A small scream escaped your lips and you flailed about for a moment before realizing that you couldn’t really do anything. All you could do was wait for whoever or whatever snapped the twig to come into your line of sight and hope that they were friendly.

The man looked friendly, at the very least. You could tell immediately from the armor he wore and the staff he carried that he was a druid of some sort. Druids tended to be nice people, you told yourself. His eyes were near-closed into crescent shapes as he stifled a laugh.

“You, uh, you need some help there?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh no, I’m just hanging out, perfectly fine,” you spat back. Maybe he was being a little too friendly as he laughed at your situation. “Obviously I need some help, I need to get down.”

The man threw his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Just poking a little fun is all. We’ll get you down in no time.”

You were dangling much too high for the part of the snare that cinched around your ankle to be disarmed, so he moved to the other end where it was attached to a tree. You watched intently as he fiddled with it for a moment and then the air was being knocked out of you as you fell unceremoniously to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The man rushed over immediately, hesitating for a second before reaching forward to help you up.

“I am so sorry, I should have realized you’d come down fast,” he said, clearly wanting to do something to help you but not wanting to cross any boundaries you might have.

“No, it’s alright. It didn’t hurt too bad, it was just a surprise. Thank you for helping me down,” you replied.

“I’m Soonyoung, by the way.” You introduced yourself in turn before asking that he help you to your feet.

Your right leg was fine, if a little bit unused to working. Your left leg - the one that had been caught in the snare - refused to hold you up. Pins and needles shot up the length of it the second you tried to put your weight on it. You lurched forward and Soonyoung was barely able to catch you in time and keep you from falling back to the ground. One of his strong arms held you around your back while you leaned against his chest. Even with the leather armor he wore you could tell he was quite muscular, and you blushed at the realization of how close the two of you were.

“I think I might have been up there for a bit too long,” you muttered. Soonyoung chuckled in response. “Would you mind getting me to that tree over there so I can lean against it and then helping me gather my things? My bag fell when I was pulled into the air and my things sort of scattered.”

Soonyoung nodded and did just as you asked. A moment later you had all of your things once more packed safely away - your lyre was unharmed except for some smudges of dirt, thankfully - and you could finally think about what you were going to do next. Unfortunately, you had no idea what you were going to do.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest inn is, would you?” you asked. “I had hoped to make it to Neverwinter proper before nightfall, but I don’t think that’s a possibility anymore, both with my loss of time and my newly acquired injury.”

“Unfortunately, you’re deeper in the woods than you must have realized. The nearest village is almost two days’ travel by foot, much more than that with your leg the way it is,” Soonyoung explained. Two days? The only way that was possible is if you went in the exact wrong direction after getting lost that morning - something that was very much a possibility. You hung your head and sighed, about to resign yourself to another sad night camping in the woods, when Soonyoung spoke up again. “My home isn’t too far from here. You’re welcome to stay with me.”

You looked up at him, sure that your face bore a resemblance to a puppy pleading for scraps of food at the dinner table. “Are you sure? You’ve already helped me and I wouldn’t want to impose upon you.”

“It wouldn’t be imposing at all. In fact, it’s been quite a while since I’ve had any visitors, and the company would be a nice change of pace.” He flashed that same smile that made his eyes crinkle at you once more. How could you say no to that?

Leaning most of your wait on Soonyoung for support, the two of you moved slowly through the forest in the direction of his home. It felt good to be going in a sure direction rather than just wandering around hoping you were headed the right way. The sun moved overhead and was starting to get low in the sky, though it hadn’t yet begun to set. You were limping badly but you were doing alright, right up until you tripped on a tree root you hadn’t noticed. It was all thanks to Soonyoung’s tight grip on your waist that you didn’t fall flat on your face.

“Would it be easier if I carried you?” he offered. “It would let you rest your leg, and plus we’d get there much more quickly.”

“Soonyoung, you’ve already done so much for me—” you started protesting.

“And I wouldn’t offer to do more unless I was willing to actually do it,” he interrupted. “People have to help each other when they can. It’s only right.”

You nodded, unable to help yourself from melting a little at his soft voice. It truly was lucky that you were rescued from your stupidity by someone so incredibly kind. It also didn’t hurt that he was handsome, too. You hoped he couldn’t hear how hard your heart was pounding as he scooped you into his arms, one of them supporting your back while the other went behind the crook of your knees. Your arms found their way around his neck to hold you steady and your back sat right in your lap for easy transport.

He wasn’t kidding when he said you’d arrive at his home much more quickly if you weren’t walking. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding him up until you weren’t anymore. It couldn’t have been more than an hour from the time he picked you up until the time his front door came into view. His home was a cute little cottage with a tree growing straight up the center of it, the canopy of which spread out far beyond the bounds of the building.

You thought he’d put you down outside so that he could open the door, but he had no trouble whatsoever doing so with you still in his arms. Living in the woods so far from other people must mean that locking the door was unnecessary. The living room you stepped into was cluttered in the coziest type of way and Soonyoung set you down on the most comfortable sofa you had ever felt beneath you.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, but before you could answer he was gone, off to what you assumed was the kitchen.

You relaxed on the sofa and listened to the whistling of the kettle while you waited for him to return, rubbing your sore hip in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure. Luckily your boot had been thick enough that the snare wire hadn’t cut into your ankle, or else you would have been more worried about that than your hip. Just a few minutes later Soonyoung was back with a whole tray of tea accoutrements.

You accepted a cup from him, mixing in a decent scoop of sugar before pulling it close to your chest in the hopes that the heat of it would help you relax more. You watched as Soonyoung fiddled with his own cup for a minute before sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the sofa. It was then that you realized you were taking up all of the seating.

“Oh my gods, let me move out of the way,” you offered. Soonyoung tried to wave you off and insist that that wasn’t necessary, but you were already putting your cup of tea down and shifting to pull your legs in. A loud crack resounded through the air as a sharp pain shot through your hip and up your back.

Soonyoung was on you a moment later, concern etched deeply on his face. One hand came to rest on your upper back while the other hovered over your injured hip while he waited for permission to touch you there. After you nodded and his warm hand settled gently on the joint. You winced in pain before Soonyoung started rubbing his hand over the injured area; the pressure was uncomfortable for a moment before it started to chase away the pain. You found yourself melting into his touch, especially after he shifted the two of you so that you were on your back with your legs over his and he was half leaning over you.

He had to have been working some sort of druid magic as he massaged over your hip. A warm slightly tingling feeling radiated out from the area he touched; you closed your eyes and threw your head back against the arm of the sofa as you relished in it. A moan slipped out of your mouth a moment later completely involuntarily. Your eyes shot open and your face flushed with embarrassment, but Soonyoung didn’t seem awkward about the situation. Quite the opposite, in fact - his breathing was steady but heavy, and when you trailed your eyes down the length of his torso they came to rest on a very obvious tent in his pants.

You put a hand on his to stop him and only then did the embarrassment and shame cross his face, but you only wanted to halt him temporarily so that you could rearrange yourself on the couch. You moved slowly so as to not further injure your hip, settling into a position where your upper body was laying flat while your legs were twisted onto their side and your knees were bent. Your bad hip was the one facing upwards.

Placing your hands on Soonyoung’s shoulders, you gave him plenty of time to move away should he want to, but he didn’t. You pulled him down so that he was laying overtop of you, his arms holding him up so that he didn’t crush you underneath him. You bit your lip to stifle the moan that wanted to come out of your mouth when his clothed erection came into contact with your clothed core.

“Is this alright?” you asked. Your voice came out in a whisper as if talking too loud would ruin the moment that was building between the two of you.

Soonyoung cleared his throat before answering in just as soft a voice. “Yeah, it’s uh… it’s alright.” You chuckled and leaned up to press a light kiss to his cheek before laying back and letting him take charge.

He moved slowly at first, almost too slow for your liking, his hips rocking back and forth. His hard cock rubbed against you with just enough pressure to leave you wanting more, catching your clit and teasing you through the layers of clothing you wore. He also leaned over you at just the right angle that his pelvis was on your hip, massaging it not quite effectively as his hand did. You welcomed the contact all the same.

Soonyoung picked up speed incrementally, the change so minimal that you barely even noticed it was happening until suddenly he was moving at a speed you didn’t want him to change. Your hands scrambled for something to grip so he brought his forward to lace your fingers together on either side of your head.

“Just like that,” you gasped out. “Keep doing that.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he responded.

A moment later you felt a shudder run through him as he reached his peak. He kept up with his pace until you were orgasming too, the slickness of your underwear starting to get to you as you both came down from your highs.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Soonyoung asked, a hand trailing over your hip. It was still sore, of course, but the high of orgasming did a wonderful job of distracting you from it.

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” you answered with a giggle. “I do feel a little gross though. Maybe a bath is in order? I might need some help getting there, though.” You still didn’t trust yourself to be able to walk very far. As much as your hip felt okay now, it would probably start throbbing again the second you put weight on it.

“Oh, don’t worry. I can help with that,” Soonyoung assured you. He then scooped you into his arms, pressing kisses along the side of your face as he carried you deeper into his home.

[dookins]

Your head cannons, hand em over 🧲🕵️🌻🧠

Since I’m trying to distract myself from the potential implosion of the fruits of a month long labor, I’ll answer some asks….

🧲 - Truthfully I was hoping someone would ask me this…. This might be a long one. So just by default, we can see that P03 is a CRT monitor boi. UuU these were the relics we used in our computer labs in elementary school thousands of years ago…. In the 90s…. However CRT computer monitors have been around since their invention in the 70’s. In the 90’s CRTs and pretty much everything else was framed in plastic. But the shine on P03’s grungy metal exterior tells us he’s probably based on more of a mid 80s model. But what cinches it, is the little d-pad on his cheek.

This cute thing 🔝

The D-pad is an invention of the 80s. So I imagine most of his inner workings must follow that ‘futuristic 80’s tech design’ look. What I mean by that is, imagine technology is what it is today, but with an 80’s filter over it. Like the setting in Alien Isolation if any of ya’ll played the game. So his internals must all be made of things one could find in an 80s computer factory…. More or less…. His hovering unit I would assume is powered in one of three ways. Smaller and less harmful versions of EMPs, magnetic repel, or ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ‘science magic.’ And while that last one sounds like a cop out, I wanna bring something else to your attention. It’s been stated time and time again that the OLD_DATA is responsible for giving these characters awareness and true sentience. So perhaps all the scrybes have some of it at their center. The spark that provided their souls. P03’s would just be the most literal of all since he’s a computer in a computer. So you can think of it as the magical science glue holding him together. I feel like the OLD_DATA would interface with him in a way that’s far more unique than the other scrybes…. But I think I’m getting off topic. TLDR; He’s made of late 80s computer scrap and obsolete future tech/evil game code magic. ;)

🕵️ - I think right now P03 is simply existing as sentient data…. I mean, he was before. Everyone in the game technically is. But in the ARG you can see Stoat P03 in code form wink at you. Interestingly, and I didn’t know this, if you go on the Inscryption site and look in the notepad, he’s in there too!! Alerting the player to open the game https://www.inscryption.com/desktop The only difference between than and now is he uploaded the Great Transcendence and was given a bunch of user rights. Mostly I think getting access to the internet was the problem. Maybe now he can go about the web ordering stuff on behalf of a dead Luke Carder, using his information so he can gain access to things in our world later on? So, really chya boi is floating around the internet, with a strong possibility of being attached to Steam since that’s where he was uploading his files to…. I could branch onto another topic on how P03’s motivations never really made a lot of sense to me, but this is runnin hella long already.

🌻 - SECRET SOFTIE!!!! Obviously you can’t just be ANYBODY. You have to be…. (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖) In the KN03! Someone he would explicitly trust showing that side to. And even than, it wouldn’t be a stark change. Let me set the scene….

You pass out exhausted in your clothes from work, drooling on a stiff pillow with your Switch going slack in your hands. You’d fallen asleep playing Inscryption again. Shocker. Since P03 was making repairs to the factory’s Prized Particle Scanner, he couldn’t spare a moment to pause. It was his tool of inscryption after all. Integral to the production and progress of what he found worthy to be recorded. It was his duty as a Scrybe to oversee it. You understand of course, and aren’t perturbed. But without the conversation and witty banter that only a proper opponent could provide, the soft grinding of your thumb against the A button repetitively brings your tired eyes to close. It’s the wee hours of the morning now, and the automatic door to the room slides open revealing the Scrybe in question. He can see you’re sound asleep, sprawled out in what appeared to be an uncomfortable position at best.

…. How did you even manage to fall asleep that way any how? It baffles him. He follows the odd bend of your arm to the Switch barely being held upright by your boneless little fingers. Hmm.. Guess you fell asleep with it on. Quietly hovering over, he removes the Switch from the risk of falling from your hands and looks at the dimmed screen. Your cards are on the board and he can’t help the involuntary smirk as he notices your last play. A Stoat…. A Stoat you’ve leveled up to a 4,6 with the maximum sigils allowed overlapping the card’s inky illustration. Briefly he looks back down at your sleeping face…. Your mouth hanging open mid snore. Wordlessly he sets the Switch back on it’s dock to charge, and grabs the jacket you’ve slung over the back of a chair.

He floats back over, face still neutral, but his eyes carrying a mild trace of softness as he returns to your side…. Delicately he places your jacket over your sleeping form, watching silently as you curl up beneath it for warmth… he turns back to the door, taking one last look at you…

….the corner of his stoic upper lip ticks upwards as he stares and morphs into a light smile. A smile no one would see. Not even the cameras could pick it up…

And after that moment he leaves, the automatic door closing behind him.

When you awake the next morning, you try to remember if you fell asleep with your jacket or not…

🧠 - Kind of a two parter here. So remember when P03 brags to his diary notes about his shiny new OP card Plasma Jimmy? A part of me can’t help but think that Plasma Jimmy got special treatment from him. I would absolutely LOVE to see P03 pulling out his card from the deck and into his hand all surprised and internally going “Alright! P.J. !!” XD Like, YOU KNOW HE’D BE THAT KID RIGHT? The one who brings his rare card to school in a shitty top loader showing it off to all your friends and using it to crush them in battle. Ahhhh youth 😌

[limerent-object]

In The Fray, Pt 1

If Priya hadn't spent every day for the past quarter preparing for the Fray Theater's winter charity gala with Salem, she probably would have been more nervous about this cliffhouse weekend she had somehow convinced him to play along with. Priya's live-in partner, Paul mocked her relentlessly for packing and re-packing the same, slightly different four outfits all throughout the week. "Priya, the man has seen you naked during the uniform fittings. There are no surprises here!" Paul said as he took a bite out of a sloppily made ham sandwich, standing in the living room watching her fiddle with her duffel bag the day prior to her departure. Priya stared distantly at the crumbs from the rye bread tumbling from Paul's hand to the living room floor and grumped, though she knew he was right.

Salem and she had basically spent more time together over the past three months than your average group of theater kids at the local community college before the big year-end musical. They were on calls in the morning, and shuffling around downtown Philadelphia trying to get paperwork cleared by afternoon. These past three weeks especially had been hellish. She felt like she was planning a wedding, she was both the bride and the maid of honor simultaneously, and she wasn't even getting married or allowed to eat lobster at the reception!

Well, that last part wasn't entirely true. But still, even though Salem was pulling his weight (probably more, honestly) she felt overwhelmed. Her typical submissive exercises with Paul were barely keeping her on an even keel, despite the usual cold-bath routine's effectiveness at bringing her back to planet Earth. She was careful to keep this dynamic and her current stress levels from bleeding into her work, but despite her meticulous efforts to keep her exposed skin unblemished and unbruised, she didn't expect a few drinks to kick her scrupulous routine in the knees.

As far as Priya was aware, Salem was too slavishly busy managing city permits and AV agencies to have time for romance, let alone be concerned about her own orbit. She liked the way his dark hair crowded his jawline, and his hard brow... she was sure he wasn't lacking opportunity, after all. Yet, one night after a particularly rough day of wrangling contractors to repair the ceiling of the theater's foyer, Priya's assumptions were corrected over three and a half whiskey sours at the Ranstead Room.

"Women? Priya, women do not see me. They assume with a name like 'Salem' and casual use of the term 'polyamory' that I am some exiled escapee of the Muslim community, or something." Priya felt a small zap at the word, like the release of a static shock. Salem recognized the lack of guard on her face. She barely remembers exactly why or when, but somehow it all came out. The stress. The protocol. The constant attempt to tame the weird carnal energy on the job. The wearing of harnesses under her business suits and the shock collars cinched to thighs under her woolen skirts. Her eyes searching his face for... recognition? Familiarity?

Salem laughed casually at first. They had entered that state of inebriation where someone could admit to murder and their audience would hardly careen from the news. But as the alcohol's effects dwindled in the smaller hours of the morning, the laughs became more hesitant, the locking of eyes a little more sustained.

Many days passed after they parted ways that night where even the subject of personal life did not cross their usual conversational bound. Priya began to become anxious about her professionalism, fiddling with her glasses while they reviewed schematics over lunch. Had she made things awkward? Maybe Salem wasn't that kind of open. Did he think her a freak? Was there a way to rectify the image?

A week later, while standing in the box office many hours before the theater opened to do routine PA tests, Salem entered the booth. Priya looked up from her clipboard but before she could break the silence, he cautiously lifted his hand to her throat and pulled down the lip of her turtleneck, exposing her clavicle... and a discreet prong collar. Her eyes locked with his in a panic, and he released the fabric with such nonchalance she wasn't even sure she had been exposed at all. The corners of his mouth, however, betrayed his amusement as he handed her a cup of coffee in a paper cup and exited the booth.

When she found the little cliffhouse up the coast posted on a vacation rental website, she did not resist the impulse. She booked it for the weekend after the gala was set to take place. She told herself it was to guarantee she would actually take a vacation after this frenzy. She told Paul it was to truly unplug. But she knew... she wanted to be confined to four walls with Salem, where no one could watch them from the light booth.

[a-solitary-sea-rover-backup]

Over the past few years the legend had grown, as legends tend to do. On the eve of the gala honoring the Louis Vuitton Cup winners there was hardly a soul in New Zealand who didn't know it, and much of the sailing community abroad could say the same.

It went something like this: Dean Barker, the skipper of the defending Team New Zealand, was living a modern fairy tale. A millionaire's son and Olympic hopeful, a driver of fast cars, he was clean-cut and handsome. Just a few months shy of thirty, Barker had been considered one of Auckland's most eligible bachelors until his recent engagement to field hockey player Mandy Smith, a fellow Olympic athlete. Three years before, at the turn of the millennium, he had made his America's Cup debut as the protege of the brilliant Russell Coutts, the skipper responsible for New Zealand's first, near-flawless victory in 1995. At first just Coutts' understudy and assistant, in the final race with the Italians, the old master had stepped aside, leaving his apprentice Barker at the helm to cinch the final win– and he had, resoundingly, giving Team New Zealand another flawless 5-0 victory to ring in the century.

A few months later the bombshell had dropped that the sailors who had made up the core of the 1995 and 2000 crews were becoming free agents and signing up with a new team being put together in Switzerland, led by Coutts and tactician Brad Butterworth. Barker, suddenly the new skipper and in charge of repairing a hollowed-out team, had been thrust into an even more mythic light. The noble prince carrying the pride of a nation, preparing for a showdown with his former colleagues, now revealed as wicked traitors– this was the stuff of romance and chivalry. But surely he was more than up to the task– after all, for such a golden boy, surely everything must come easily.

Well, that was the legend. But the trouble with legends is, they don't leave much room for the human behind them.

And at the moment, things were not going easily for Dean Barker. Far from it.

[x]

Constantly obsessed with the concept of a man forced to be a myth. What do you do when every step you take is embedded into the text. Every word you say prose to read. You're part of something bigger than yourself. The narrative tugs you along like water currents. There is no time to rest, to be human. You must be great, you must be legend

[thebadapple76]

A Deep Breath

A bus horn blaring, cars racing down the roads, people yelling, laughing, having fun. You are getting ready in your apartment for a night of intrigue and excitement, or so They tell you. You stand in the bedroom before a mirror as you dress yourself. You wear all black, an elegant silver necklace with a clasped pearl hung loosely around your smooth, naked neck; like a noose, it keeps you down, tying you to this place, to Them. Your eyes travel up and down your reflection, looking to repair any detail out of place. The makeup you wear, plastered against your face like paper mache, was a mask hiding you from the outside world. Your disguise, your character. The role you played required this mask and this costume. A deep breath.

Your eyes shift to the side as you pull down the edge of the shirt hugging your body, trying to cover as much as possible. Fabric scratches against your skin as black lace cinches your waist and pulls your body together; A marionette. Dull eyes trace your figure before tearing away, cringing as you make your hasty escape. Ripping off the bandaid was always easier. A deep breath.

The apartment you are housed in is dismal, dark and dank; not the kind of place you had seen young girls on television stay at as they “found their independence”. You had left your family for this; left everything to pursue…what? Had you known you would be trapped by your own selfish ambition, would you have left in such a hurry? A deep breath.

Heels click down black asphalt streets, stopping in front of the illuminated, neon sign shouting Walt’s Bar. The California heat had died down, night bringing cool air over the hills and into the city of Los Angeles. Even still, as you enter the bar, the smell of sweat invades your nostrils. You let out a huff through your nose before fixing your face and sliding onto a barstool. Beside you is an older man, clearly a few beers in, whose eyes looked up lazily at the TV screen hovering over the bar. Noise bellowed from every corner of the small bar, pushing against your temples, sending waves of discomfort through you. Nothing about this was right. Maybe you should go home. A deep breath.

The bartender steps up to the plate, a smile plastered on his tanned face as he asks you what you’d like to drink. With a smile of your own, you ask for a tequila sunrise with a small nod. He chuckles, nodding back as he quickly grabs his mixers and begins pouring your drink. Once the ice cold glass is sitting in front of you, you latch onto it like a lifeline. You lift it to your mouth, allowing the red and orange liquid to drain down your throat. You quickly realize you didn’t ask for the top shelf, the well tequila dries out your tongue and your throat closes. Hoping that the vile sensation will go away, you take a bigger gulp and try to distract yourself with other things. A deep breath.

All it takes is a few minutes before a man sits himself next to you with a car salesman smile and asks to buy you another drink. Of course you say yes, trying to fix a smile of your own; the kind of smile a cashier gives a customer as the store is about to close. He asks for your name, so you give it to him, leaving out your last name just in case he’s some kind of stalker. He gives you one back, Alex Turner. The kind of name that he probably would have been bullied for in high school. You look over his features. Under different circumstances, you might have found his confidence alluring and his almond brown eyes gorgeous. But these were not favorable circumstances. A deep breath.

You spend another hour or so chatting with Alex, soon realizing how drunk he really is. When you ask him to leave the bar with you, he hops at the chance. You are certain he is under the impression that he’s getting laid tonight. He follows you out of the bar on staggering legs, trailing behind you like a lost puppy. “My place?” he slurs out, a lopsided smile gracing his features. A deep breath. 

“My place is closer, I’m sure,” you giggle nervously. He needs to come with you. He nods in agreement, not in the right state of mind to argue. The fake smile drops from your face, replaced with a solemn look. You knew this wasn’t right. A deep breath.

As you approach your apartment building for the second time that night, you stop in front of the door. Turning, you face Alex, fear in your eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t go here,” your voice wavers. 

“Nah, it’s alright babe. I won’t judge. I don’t live anywhere special either,” he chuckles, body already pressing into yours expectantly. 

Trying to create some kind of space, you push yourself into the door, opening it. Alex tumbles through, barely holding himself together. Your eyes move about the hallway carefully, searching for any sign of life. Were they hiding somewhere? 

“Where’s your place, baby?” Alex interrupts your thoughts once more, your head snapping to the side. 

“What?” your question comes out startled, you were not listening to him. 

“Where’s your door? Do we have to climb the stairs?” He sways in place. “I’m not sure I can go upstairs.” 

“No, no. It’s on this floor, just a bit further down.” You nod along with your words, not sure if you are trying to assure him or yourself. 

“Alright, cool.” His smug smile returns before he stalks off into the hallway once more. 

Finally, you stop in front of the door to your apartment. Sweat is beading on your brow, nerves sending tingles down your spine. There was no way you were doing this. Your fingers fumble with the keys, trying to find the right one. Alex must attribute this to you being drunk, because he asks if you need help. You politely decline his offer, sliding the golden key into the lock. A deep breath. 

You twist open the knob, pushing the door wide and stepping through. A flick of a switch and the room is illuminated, flooding your senses once again. Your heart beats rapidly against your chest, breathing becoming more shallow with each passing second. Alex waltzes through the door frame, making himself comfortable on the bed, kicking off his boots. A deep breath.

The alarm clock that sits at your bedside table goes off, the time flicking from twelve fifty-nine to one am. You were on time. You step forward, sliding off your heels and kicking them into the corner of the room. Alex’s eyes trail down your body, hungry. You feel an uncomfortable itch under your skin, like something is trying to get out. Your face itches, your hair, your fingers. Your heart continues to beat faster. Your eyes burn. Your neck is straining, the incessant feeling of needing to crack it starting to build up. This was your moment. A deep breath.

Your body started to move on its own, toward Alex. You were barely thinking, your mind elsewhere as he roamed you, perusing the untouched territory. Warm hands caress you on every surface, gripping and clawing as they work their way down. You feel hands all over you; your arms, your breasts, your waist, your thighs. You feel it, you do, but you don’t at the same time. Your mind is elsewhere, no longer connected with your physical being. A deep breath.

You hear panting breaths, you feel your skin tingle and burn like fire is all around you. You hear the movements of the bed and him on top of you. You feel the stretch and the pain, and then it subsides. Your senses are dull, your brain is fuzzy. You can’t seem to concentrate on what is happening right in front of you. Your eyes are glued to the ceiling, not even able to look Alex in the face. A deep breath.

What would have been an hour felt like seconds in your mind, flashes of the night going in and out in the darkness. As quickly as it started, it stopped. Alex was unconscious beside you, face down on the bed, half covered with white sheets. A deep breath.

Lifting yourself up, you slid off the bed and walked to the mirror that sat directly across from you. Your fingers combed through your hair half-heartedly, trying to soothe yourself as quietly as possible. You slide your arms through a black robe and your legs through flowing satin pants as you walk about the studio apartment. A deep breath.

The world was quiet, not even the air conditioning blew. You wait patiently by the window, gazing out onto dark streets. Had you stayed home, you might have seen the stars in the sky rather than the engulfing darkness overhead. Perhaps you could have heard the cricket chirps or the howling winds. Thinking of home makes you feel sickly, nowadays. Just thinking of it feels wrong in some ways. A deep breath.

A quiet knock sounds at the door. Quickly, you tiptoe to the door and open it, revealing Marie Cassidy. Marie stood a good three inches taller than you. Her coiled, dark hair which usually sprung out is wrapped back tightly. Without a word, she walks into your apartment and looks at Alex’s still body. Nodding, she gestures her hands toward him. You follow her lead, eyes downcast. When she stops before Alex’s body, she pulls out a small needle from the pocket of her sweatpants. The needle is capped and contains a clear liquid. Your eyes follow it as she pops it open. Marie leans over Alex, a hand gently pressing into his neck before the needle plunges in. A deep breath. 

The needle pulls out slowly before she turns back to you. “He won’t wake up for a bit. Go get Gio.” Her smile is small but it still fills you with the smallest bit of confidence. 

You nod, going through the open door and counting down the apartment numbers until you make it to Gio Beckette’s. You barely have to knock before she opens the door with a large smile. She knew tonight was your night, everyone did. She follows you back to the room where Marie is waiting and the three of you hoist Alex into a rolling laundry bin. A deep breath. 

“Now, roll this down to the last door on the left, the door should be open by now. Make sure to lock it once you’re inside,” Gio says, eyes not leaving where Alex’s body lay, covered in a sheet. 

“How will you get in?” you ask, suddenly concerned. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there,” Marie encourages you.

You nod slowly, grabbing onto the bin with trembling fingers and pushing it forward. The hallway is dark, not a single light turned on. You squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the darkness as you walk aimlessly. Your bare feet press against coarse carpeting, toes scrunching against the itchy material. As you walk, all you can see are white door frames, the doors themselves having disappeared. Voids of emptiness surround you, each rabbit hole seems worse than the last. Unlike the bar, just hours before, there are no noises around you. All you can hear is the sound of your own breath, in and out like clock work as your feet tap against the carpeted flooring. A deep breath. 

The end of the hall appears in front of you, seeming to materialize out of thin air. Your vision buzzes, static forming in the corners of your eyes. With shaky hands, you twist open the door knob and push forward with the bin, bumping it with your waist. The room is dimly lit, small lamps litter the floor. This room has no furniture, you notice. No pictures, no kitchen, no TV. There is nothing that makes it seem lived in, nothing personal. As you scan the room, you notice a gathering of people at the far end. Their eyes are like small flames, filled with the reflections of the lamps. Thirty-six women stand before you, all in their night clothes, hair tied back. A deep breath. 

“Come forward,” the girl in the middle says. Her name: Evelyn Sanders. Behind her stood Gio and Marie, already waiting for your arrival. 

You do as you are told, pushing the bin forward along with you. You want to say something but words get caught in your throat. Your body stiffens as you get closer and closer to the half circle of people. They seem welcoming, their smiling faces dawn on you like hopeful beams of energy. But, as you take another step, you realize you do not feel energized. You feel energy being stolen from you, slowing your movements and making your eyes burn. You suddenly feel exhausted, your feet drag along the floor as you continue to move forward. A deep breath. 

Thirty-six girls open their arms to you, awaiting your acceptance. You try to smile back, lips twitching upward. Once you reach the center of the room, six girls circle you and the laundry bin. You stop moving, stepping aside to allow the six girls access to the body. Alex’s body. A deep breath. 

Gio, Marie, and Evelyn, along with three other girls push the bin on its side, Alex’s body tumbling out in a heap. His arms are bent in odd directions, chin pressing into his chest. His eyes are closed, but his chest is still rising and falling rhymically. You know he’s completely alive, and it terrifies you a bit. More than anything, though, you start to become excited. The energy in the room increases, the girls that had stayed back now circled around the body of this young man. One girl grabs the laundry bin, tossing it to the side as two other girls straighten out Alex’s limp body. A deep breath. 

The girls spread out in the room, forming a circle around you, Gio, and Evelyn. As much as everything around you is moving, all you can focus on is the body in front of your feet. All you can think is that he’s alive. Gio and Evelyn straighten themselves, walking up to you in sync. A deep breath.

“Are you ready?” Gio asks, hand outstretched to you. Her fingers unwind from around a thin object resting in her palm. A blade. 

You nod quickly, eyes glued to the thin knife. You swallow thickly. “You know what you need to do,” Evelyn says, pulling herself and Gio back into the group as the knife slides into your grasp. 

Eyes drift to you, boring into your soul. They are watching your every move, the very breaths you take in. Don’t breathe. 

Taking a step forward, you kneel down to the body, your legs straddling it without touching. Sweat drips down your lip, you can taste the bitter liquid in an instant. Your vision narrows as you gaze at the thing’s neck, open and inviting, like it was asking for it. Your hands trail down soft skin, mesmerized for only a moment before you slide the knife across pale skin. Scarlet blood leaks out of the open wound, choking sounds emitting from the body as it spasms. You don’t know what to do, you thought it would die quicker than this, so you plunge the knife into its throat repeatedly. Arterial spray leaves spots of liquid dripping down your face, covering up the sweat that built up. Don’t breathe. 

On shaky legs, you lift yourself off of the blood covered corpse, standing up. Marie walks up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder as she backs you away from the carnage you created. Your throat is tight and dry, you are unable to swallow the lump that sits in it. The girls around you are smiling, but you are not. You’re completely frozen, unsure of what to do. Marie takes your hand, leading you away as another group of girls begin to surround the body. The two of you stop at the door you came through, turning to face the group once again. When you look back, you see two girls standing over the body with large machetes. Before you could register what was happening, the machetes were reared back and slammed down with immense force. Don’t breathe. 

You could hear the crunch and crack of bones. The squelch of flesh as it is sliced through over and over echoes through the room. No one speaks as the ritual takes place, as the body is broken and separated. Only when each limb is formally detached do the girls begin mumbling softly. All around you, soft whispers are resounding in the room. Girls standing, hands clasped in front of them, eyes wide as they whisper some kind of chant. Don’t breathe. 

Your eyes are heavy as Marie chants behind you, hand now clasped with yours. You’re trembling. You feel as if the whole room can feel the tremors wrecking your body; an earthquake shudders through you in silence. Then, everything stops. The chanting, the tremors, the river of blood at your feet. Don’t breathe. 

“Come forward,” says Evelyn, beckoning you closer with her long fingers. 

Stiffly, you do as she says, stopping just in front of her. You do not speak. 

“Do you swear,” she starts, bending down to dip the tips of her fingers in the river. “To listen and to obey?” 

You nod. “Speak!” her voice is thunderous. 

“Yes.” You can barely force out the word, like jabbing fingers down your throat. 

“Do you swear,” cold, wet fingers touch your forehead. “To give us your life and livelihood?” 

“Yes.”

“And do you swear,” fingers drag across my skin. “That your life is no longer your own?” 

“Yes,” Your voice waivers, but continues. Do you know what you’re doing? 

“With your offering and sacrifice, you are now welcomed into your sisterhood,” Evelyn finishes, stopping her handiwork. Something drips down your forehead, into your eyebrow. You want to scratch it so badly. Don’t breathe. 

“Welcome sister.” The sentence reverberates around the room, each girl claiming you as her sister, now and forever. 

After the ceremony is complete, you shuffle your way back into your room, alone. Silence greets you like an old friend, wrapping around your neck. The reality of what you have done never settles, a disconnect forming in your mind. A body. A sack of meat. That’s all it was. What you did tonight was join a group that would take care of you as their own. You finally belonged somewhere. You have waited so long for this, months, and now you have finally done it. A smile creeps onto your lips, stretching out your skin and making your heart flutter. Slowly, you close your eyes and brace yourself against the closed door. Now, you can breathe.

[swiftplasticpallets-blog]

6 Advantages of Using Swift’s Drum Spill Containment Pallets

In any industrial setting, safety is of utmost importance. This is particularly obvious with regards to taking care of unsafe materials like chemicals, oils, and fuels. A drum spill containment pallet is a machine that is used to contain spills. Swift Technoplast typically produces pallets using exceptionally sturdy polyethylene material and intended to gather water and oil spills from the drum. Drum spill containment pallets are accessible in various sizes and can be used with both steel and plastic drums and can be used in a wide range of industries such as manufacturing, oil and gas, and transportation.

Here we will talk about a few significant advantages of using Swift Technoplast’s drum spill containment pallet in industrial applications.

Top Advantages Of Using Spill Containment Pallets

1. Prevents spills and leaks with help of spill containment pallets

Spills and leaks can easily mess up your floor – but not when you have our Drum spill containment pallet designed to prevent spills and leaks from reaching the ground or other surfaces. They are typically made from high quality polyethylene materials and reliable construction, ergonomics and safety on the shop floor. This helps stop dangerous substances from spreading and polluting nearby areas, making it safer for workers and the environment.

2. Resistant to most chemicals

The materials used to make drum spill containment pallets are carefully selected for their resistance to chemicals. Primarily these pallets are Chemical resistant, corrosion-resistant, UV stabilised PE, and fully recyclable.

It’s crucial for drum spill containment pallet to resist chemicals effectively. This quality ensures that these pallets can safely store and transport a variety of hazardous materials, which is vital across numerous industries.

3. Easy to clean spill containment pallets

Swift drum spill containment pallet is a lifesaver when it comes to keeping your workspace safe and clean. Here’s the best part: cleaning it’s a cinch! Just make a habit of draining the built-in collection tray (the sump) and giving the whole pallet a good scrub with soap and water. This quick routine will keep things clean and safe, not to mention extend the life of your pallet. Plus, it’s an economical choice for all your spill containment needs.

4. Complying with regulation

When it comes to spill containment, drum spill pallets aren’t just about following the rules. They’re actually a shield for your business, saving you from those hefty fines that nobody likes. But it’s not all about avoiding trouble. Drum spill containment pallets show you care! They prove you’re a responsible company that takes the environment seriously. This keeps your reputation sparkling clean and makes a positive difference in the world around you.

5. Versatility

Drum spill containment pallets are incredibly flexible, serving a variety of roles beyond just managing spills. They’re not only handy for spill management but also find their way into various industrial tasks. They are available in different sizes to carry different drum sizes. They are designed to be Customisable for holding one to four drums. This implies that utilization of these pallets across different industries handle potentially harmful liquids.

6. Cost-effective

Drum spill containment pallets are a super practical and budget-friendly solution for dealing with spills like a pro. And guess what? You can keep using them over and over, which means no more stressing about constant repairs or buying replacements. It’s not just about saving cash; it’s about making a smart investment that keeps on giving in the long haul.

Conclusion

As we wrap up, it’s clear that adding drum spill containment pallets to your industrial setup brings loads of benefits. For any company dealing with possibly risky liquids, the threat of spills and leaks is a big concern. These accidents not only harm the environment but also cost a ton to clean up and put employees’ safety at risk. By bringing in drum spill containment pallets, you’re not just making the workplace safer but also showing a real commitment to taking care of the environment.

[biggestdev]

Bike posting

Today's Thing I Did is some fixing-up of my motorcycle. It's a 1981 Yamaha XS400. I got it for free, but as you can guess, that doesn't actually mean free...

To get it road legal when I got it, I had to replace both tires, replace the seals in the front suspension, replace the corroded start button, and repair the front brake cylinder. Since I got it running, I've also had to add a windshield, replace the seals in the carburetors, the air filters, tachometer cable, the right side muffler, patched the left muffler (where the right muffler coming off ripped a mount off the left side), replace the front brake lever/resevoire, the battery, and a few frayed wires. I also DIY'd side saddle bags out of old ammo cans, at least that part was fun!

Today's fix was the tachometer, mirror, and headlight. Some gears in the old tach started slipping, Making a loud buzzing noise and the needle to bounce around. Not user serviceable, so I bought a used one and swapped it out. A bit disappointed the paint on the outer ring is worn off on the replacement, I might try to repaint it later.

The side mirror broke off when a freak storm rolled through a couple weeks ago with hurricane level winds; strong enough that it tipped the bike over, smashed the mirror off, dented one of the side saddles, and ripped up the rain cover (and also dumped gas on the ground, because carburetors don't like being sideways). For the mirror, epoxy with zip ties to cinch it down while it cures overnight.

The headlight was, as far as I can tell, original, or at least was replaced soon after it was bought. By today's standards, it's atrocious both in terms of light distance and pattern. The assembly is a sealed beam setup, that means I can't just swap the bulb, the whole thing's gotta go. The new assembly has a replaceable car headlight as a bulb, so hopefully this won't be a problem any more. I'll have to wait for dark to aim it properly.

Future plans are... To wait and see what breaks. The whole point of this thing is "get me from A to B as cheap as possible" (doing pretty good at that with 60+ mpg), so I'm not trying to restore it to like-new or anything. I'm keeping an eye on everything made of rubber. Since the thing is over 40 years old, most of the rubber bits are completely thrashed. In particular, the turn signal stalks are pretty wobbly from the disintegrating rubber bumpers, so those might be next.

[patchworkgargoyle]

So, hi OP, I hope this is okay but I wrote a fic for this amazing art. I swear it fucken possessed me. 😅

Steve pov, post season 4 vol. 2, ~1.9k words and content warnings for some mild but graphic violence and demogorgon consumption. Completely unedited, sorry!

---

Steve forced himself to breathe, measured and sure, much more certain than he felt. He couldn’t help the trembling. His hand, bracing Dustin’s chest to hold him back, shook worse than the first time he’d seen a demogorgon. Because this was so much worse.

—

A few weeks had passed since Hawkins cracked open and unleashed hell. Creatures began to spill out of the fissures, vines slithering into their world while toxic spores rotted away any plant life; Vecna’s influence spread and all Hawkins had to defend it was incompetent military and their ragtag group of barely experienced monster hunters. Finally, after all these years of stopping it, they found themselves in an apocalypse. They didn’t even have time to grieve Eddie, or find ways to help Max who still lay silently sleeping in the heavily guarded hospital. They’d been on their back foot just trying to survive.

Nancy, Jonathan, and Hopper had seen the new monstrosity first when they’d been on patrol. The angle of the sun meant they only saw it in silhouette, casting a shadow over the three of them from high in the air as it soared past. According to Hopper, its wingspan was wide, barely falling short of a small glider, and was obviously the newest thing the Upside Down spawned to harass them.

A few other patrols had caught sight of it, but no one could say what it was. Dustin and Mike’s spying on military comms hadn’t gotten them much more info, though they’d tried to shoot it down and missed. The bizarre thing was it never seemed to attack anyone. The Party had thought it was Vecna’s eyes in the sky and started calling it the Black Dragon (after an annoying amount of arguing). Steve didn’t care what it was called so long as it still kept to itself. He hadn’t seen it himself yet, but he sure as hell didn’t want to.

Halfway into their second month of the end of the world, Steve and Robin had to escort Dustin to the middle school to salvage radio parts from the old AV Club room after Dustin’s Cerebro started crapping out. Mr. Clarke, who’d somehow found himself in their slowly growing band of survivors, said there were parts in there that could help repair it, make the signal stable or whatever, and Hopper delegated that to the three of them, begrudgingly. Steve and Robin didn’t know what Dustin needed, might not get the right parts, so Dustin insisted he came along. The adults trusted the teens to get him there and back only because the school was far enough away from any of the fissures that the track fields were still green, and only a handful of demobats had been seen flapping past. It was supposed to be easy.

Sneaking in had been a cinch. Some demobats were roosting under the eaves, but didn’t even twitch when the trio inched under them, holding their breaths. Robin and Dustin led the way through the school hallways, Steve at the rear with his nail bat in one hand, a gun holstered at his hip at Nancy’s insistence. The silence would’ve been eerie, but every building they scavenged from these days was the same. All Steve thought about it now was at least they could hear something coming when things were quiet.

At the AV Club room, Dustin unlocked the door with a muted snick and hurried inside. Steve and Robin guarded the door, facing each other but looking down opposite sides of the hall. They could hear Dustin rummaging and muttering to himself, and Steve couldn’t help a small, fond smile. He’d grown too much too fast since spring break, gotten quieter and somehow more stubborn, so anything he did that reminded Steve of the kid he used to be was a relief. Robin, catching his expression, shared the smile with a wry twist. Ten minutes passed as they waited for Dustin before he finally emerged, shrugging on his backpack with a serious nod. At that, they made their way back through the school.

Once outside, and far enough from the bats, Robin radioed home base. “We’ve got it, we’re on our way back, over.”

“Copy that,” Jonathan replied a few seconds later, the walkie giving a short beep. “Any trouble? Over.” Dustin smiled proudly, probably pleased with their walkie etiquette, and Steve rolled his eyes, nudging his shoulder.

“Nope, seems to be smooth sailing, we’ll be home in twenty, over-”

A high screech like a serrated knife cut through Robin’s words and echoed over the parking lot. Steve broke out in goosebumps. He heard Jonathan swear through the walkie as Robin dropped it to pull out her gun. Whirling, he brought up his bat and faced the demogorgon.

This was the third he’d seen, now, and it hadn’t gotten easier. Somehow hulking and spindly, the beast, with its grey, moist skin, stalked closer. The petals of its face fluttered out of sync and Steve felt like it was sniffing them out. He stepped in front of Dustin. It must have heard the scuff of his sneakers, because its head jerked up, straight at them.

“Robin,” Steve warned, and she nodded, pistol held just like Nancy showed her. They stared it down. It stepped forward once. Twice. Steve white-knuckled his bat, ignoring the rush of blood in his ears. Its chest heaved. Then, the demogorgon roared. Charged.

Shots rang out, deafening, as Robin unloaded into it. Steve shouted, “Dustin, run!” Hoped he’d listen for once. It’d be on them in seconds. He could smell its rotten breath, count the rows of teeth. Just as Steve drew back the bat, ready to step in and probably get torn to shreds, a huge black shadow swooped low with a leathery wing beat.

The demogorgon’s feet left the pavement as it shrieked, shrill and awful, and the thing that picked it up flew high into the air before folding its wings and plummeting. With a gross crunch the demogorgon collapsed under the thing’s weight, crushed into the pavement with a hollow noise of pain before going still. Then, the thing began to– eat.

Hunched over the demogorgon, it ripped into the rib cage and pulled black-blooded organs out, slurping them down with a noise that made Steve’s guts churn. At least its back was turned. Frozen, Steve could only stare. Taloned feet and animalistic legs bent to meet a long expanse of pale, scarred skin, half hidden by its own folded wings which attached at the too-long arms like a bat. Fingers capped with claws tore further into the demogorgon’s chest and brought the gore to its mouth. Dark veins radiated out from the scarring, and a mass of matted hair hid its face from view. 

Robin now aimed at the new monster. Steve still held his pose, ready to swing. Dustin, though. He gasped.

“Eddie?”

The creature stilled.

“Dustin, what the fuck? That isn’t-” Steve started to hiss, but the thing’s head rose, twisted.

His heart could’ve stopped right there. Red eyes flashed in an all too human, too familiar face. Rounded nose, sharp jawline, full lips coated in monster blood. Dustin took a few steps but Steve stopped him, still staring at the twisted thing that looked like Eddie, but wasn’t. Couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, because he was dead. They’d had to leave his body in the Upside Down while the ground tore itself open, while Lucas had sobbed into Erica’s walkie that Max was hurt. Dustin had raged and begged to bring Eddie with them, but they couldn’t. Steve had said he’d go back, but after the Upside Down invaded their world, there wasn’t any time. The same guilt and self-blame that choked Steve then came screaming back now.

Those red eyes flicked over the three of them, stalling on Dustin. A whimper, like the demo-creatures but lower, raspier, clawed its way out of the thing– Eddie’s throat, eyebrows drawn together in what might’ve been worry, or fear. He hunched and brought his wing up to hide his face and Dustin, voice thick and wobbly, called his name again.

“What– what is this, Steve?” Robin asked. Her hands shook too, but still aimed at Eddie. He warred with himself over whether to tell her to put it away or not.

“I don’t fucking know, Robs, this is…”

At his voice, Eddie fixated on Steve, saw the bat and snarled.

“Put it down, Steve, you’re scaring him!” Steve gave Dustin a skeptical look, but he doubled down. “He’s not attacking! He literally saved us, and hasn’t attacked yet. Put it down. The gun too, Robin. Please.”

He looked back at Eddie, finally met those unnerving eyes. Somehow he still had that same intense gaze that made Steve feel stuck and examined like a bug. A tense moment passed, Eddie still growling lowly. Swallowing past his fear and shame, Steve slowly took one hand off the bat, palm out, and bent to place the bat on the pavement. Robin gave a shaky exhale and, just as slowly, holstered her pistol. The growling stopped.

When Eddie didn’t move, Steve patted Dustin firmly. “Stay here,” he said, and, possessed by either bravery or insanity, he started to walk forward. Eddie turned to face them, hesitantly, looking like he wanted to back up but held his ground, and Steve saw the brutal scars the demobats had left in the softness of Eddie’s stomach. His own ached in sympathy and his guilt threatened to rip him apart again.

Ten deliberate steps, and Steve was in front of Eddie, who gave an unsure chitter that sounded like, “No.” Propped up by his distended arms, he towered over Steve now.

“What happened, Eddie?” he asked quietly.

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed with a flash of sharp teeth, working to form words. “D– d– died, sss– stuck,” he managed, distorted by the same stuttering sounds the demo-creatures made.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Eddie, I was going to come back for you–”

Steve was cut off when Eddie shifted, shoving one of his distorted hands at Steve’s chest with another rough, forceful, “No.” It nearly knocked Steve on his ass.

“Come back with us,” Dustin asked, “please, Eddie, we have a base and everything. We’ll keep you safe, maybe we can find a way to turn you back.” But before he finished Eddie was shaking his head, matted curls flying. Dustin kept begging, started to come closer, but Eddie backed away and refused to look back up at Dustin again. Steve was sure Dustin would keep asking, but Eddie’s head snapped up and stared down the road. At the same moment, Steve thought he heard the distinct sound of Hopper’s truck.

Just as it came racing down the street, gunning for the school, Eddie stood to his full height and spread his wings, clipping Steve as they stretched several feet wide, the taught membranes dark with thready veins. Dustin begged again but Eddie just shook his head, eyes clenched shut, and shot into the air so fast that Steve stumbled in the wake of displaced air, sneakers skidding in demogorgon blood before he fell back with a pained grunt.

As fast as he’d appeared, Eddie was gone.

more monster eddie doodles.

[projectcubicle1]

Owning a Home Doesn’t Have to Burn Your Budget: 12 Things That Frugal Householders Do

Owning a Home Doesn’t Have to Burn Your Budget: 12 Things That Frugal Householders Do

  Whether you’re a first-time homeowner or have experience running a household, cutting everyday costs can be quite a challenge. The average US household spends $61,334 per year – which is a lot. The good news is that you can get a lovely home and not burn through your budget, not to mention that you can save valuable resources. Frugal homeowners swear by these ten money-saving tips. 1. Explore Your Tax Deduction Options In 2022, the standard tax deduction for homeowners was between $19,400 and $25,900, depending on the homeowner’s status. Take advantage of tax deductions because you can save thousands each year, but only if they exceed the standard set by the IRS. Otherwise, claiming your tax dedication won’t be worth it. These are some of the things you can deduct: property taxes, mortgage interest, and even your home office costs. 2. Have a Home Warranty Coverage A home warranty will help you protect your budget in the event of unforeseen expenses and sudden repairs. “Your major applications and built-in systems, like your air conditioner, hot water heater, refrigerator or stove, can be repaired without having to pay costly repair feed,” explains Steve Upshaw, CEO of Cinch Home Services (https://www.cinchhomeservices.com/faq-library/-/faq/what-does-a-home-warranty-cover), a cross-country home warranty provider. And that’s not all. According to Mr. Upshaw, if your appliance is deemed irreparable or will cost more than a new appliance to repair, “your home warranty company will replace it with an appliance of similar value.” 3. Do Research on Utility Providers Knowing who you are paying and what for is one of the most effective cost-cutting measures for savvy homeowners. Between the electricity bill and your ISP, the costs of basic utilities can vary drastically from one provider to the next. Even if you’ve done your research when you first bought your home, it doesn’t hurt to compare new electricity prices and reassess your utility choices every couple of years. 4. Avoid Wear and Tear Preemptively It’s common advice given to new homeowners, but one we rarely follow – when something’s broken, don’t wait too long to fix it. Damaged systems and broken appliances often consume more electricity and put your household at risk of immediate havoc.

If you want to avoid spending thousands of dollars on repairs, do your best to maintain your key systems and appliances and fix them while you still can. 5. Switch to Smart Home Solutions According to one study, your household could save 10–12% on heating costs and 15% on cooling by using a smart thermostat. And that’s only one small thermostat in a vast network of interconnected devices. Other affordable game-changers include smart light bulbs and plugs, as well as leak sensors, ceiling fans, shades, and blinds. On top of saving energy, smart fridges can also monitor and prevent food waste. 6. Don’t Skimp on Your Wall Insulation Speaking of energy savings, most homeowners lose thousands of dollars a year due to poor insulation. When walls are not properly insulated, they let the warmth in when it’s summer and out during winter. Your heating and cooling systems must always be on to maintain the desired temperature. With air-tight insulation, you can turn them off as soon as you’re nice and balmy. 7. Give Your Appliances a Day Off It’s a matter of habit, but everyone can get used to relying on technology less rather than more. We live in a digital age, and many people have digital jobs. But isn’t that a reason more to disconnect and enjoy some peace and quiet on the weekends? Try turning off all your computers, screens, and inessential tech devices one day a week. It will help you recharge your own batteries and keep a few bucks in your wallet. 8. Become Your Own Handyman Handiwork can be surprisingly rewarding, so why not make it practical, too? With millions of detailed guides and tutorials online, you no longer have to rely on professionals for help. Of course, some complex tasks require expertise and experience, such as electricity and plumbing. However, other tasks are unexpectedly simple and relaxing. Learn one household skill a month, and you’ll save a lot. 9.  Repurpose Old Furniture Pieces DIY interior design has become a major online trend - so much so that thousands of blogs are dedicated to crafting furniture from scratch and refurbishing old pieces. The second option might be even cheaper and more amateur-friendly, as it doesn’t require lots of expensive tools. The old furniture is of finer craft and higher quality, which is a huge plus. Most of the wooden tables, chairs, and beds made in the last century could still be used or repaired to perfection. And the best thing about them is that they will last longer than most brand-new pieces. 10. Develop a Minimalistic Mindset Home organizing and interior design have become very important to us during the lockdown, but do we really need more of the same thing? Think about all the tiny, decorative things you don’t need – your spice jars and shampoo decanters, ceramic pots, and bookholders. All those things that IKEA wants you to think you cannot live without are just tinsels. If they make you happy, great, but keep it moderate! 11.  Manage Your Subscription Fund Do you need more than one or two streaming services? Becoming a homeowner is a good time to learn how to manage resources. That involves recognizing your daily patterns, habits, and activities. Spend a couple of weeks on this task. Be mindful of everything you do during the day - if you watch only one movie every week, this might be a moment to unsubscribe from Netflix and spend that subscription fund on something more important. 12. Create a Budget and Stick to It

Ultimately, being a frugal homeowner doesn’t mean you have to say goodbye to every superfluous thing. It’s more about staying aware of your spending habits and curating your life. Sticking to a monthly budget aids both of these resolutions. If you never spend more than you have to, you’ll be able to afford something nice and still put some money on the side. The trick is to be realistic and stay committed.   Do you have a cost-cutting tip you’d like to share? Let us know in the comments!   Read the full article

[runawaymun]

Hey :) Please could you do a Thranduil/Reader (romantic) after a battle or something & they have a minor injury and Thranduil instantly gets really overprotective and sweet? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort pls! (I use she/they pronouns btw)

Thranduil x Reader - Devotion

genre: hurt/comfort, romance warnings: minor battle-related injuries, non-graphic gore for: @narniaandthenorth reader pronouns: she/they sindarin translations: hiril nín - my lady

The ground is soaked black with the blood of hundreds of fallen Orcs and spiders, and you can’t breathe. Neither are you able to push this damn spider off of you, and neither can you call for help. It’s painful enough just to suck in what little air reaches your lungs. 

And if you’re being perfectly honest: you’re terrified.

They won’t leave me here. They won’t. 

You know they won’t.

As soon as Thranduil knows you’re missing, he’ll turn the battlefield inside out until he finds you.

You’re not sure what exactly is wrong, but it can’t be anything good. When the spider fell on top of you something crunched, and your chest feels like someone has cinched a belt around it. The spider isn’t even all that big, it was just the velocity of impact that injured you somehow. That means you can’t find the strength to shove the corpse off or wriggle out from underneath it.

Just as your vision starts to blur, you hear it: a cry of horror that slices through the red night.

“No!” 

He’s next to you in half a second, running to your side and collapsing to his knees, sword clattering to the forest floor. His cloak is a pool of silver around your head. 

“Not dead,” you wheeze. “Get this thing off me.” 

Thranduil lets out something that might be a sob of relief and mutters a curse before shoving the spider’s corpse away, giving it a vicious kick of disgust for good measure. His armor is splattered black. He peels off his gloves before sinking back down to take you in his arms.

At your wince, his expression tightens, and he thunders: “I need a healer, now!” 

“Not dead,” you insist. “Not dying.” 

“I will let Emlithel be the judge of that,” he snaps back at you, though his voice sounds fragile like glass-- too much stress and it could crack and shatter. 

You don’t even think you’re bleeding anywhere, except for a few cuts and scrapes. Your plate armor absorbed every blow thrown at you and most of the impact of the spider. The steel is crumpled beyond repair. 

“Are you in much pain?” he asks, voice shaking as he brushes your hair back from your forehead. 

“Some,” you answer. “As you would be if a giant spider fell on your chest.” Talking feels like someone is taking a knife to your chest. The cough slices through you like a razorblade.

He opens his mouth to demand what’s taking that healer so long, but before he can say anything Emlithel arrives with her satchel of medical supplies. 

“What happened, hiril nín?” she asks as she sets her bag down on the ground.

“Crushed,” you cough. “By that.” You nod in the direction of the spider Thranduil had yanked off of you. 

“I need to get her armor off to examine the damage, my king,” she says to Thranduil. 

“Well? Make haste.” 

She first unhooks your cloak from your pauldrons. Thranduil adjusts his grip to prop you up against his chest and combs his fingers through your hair. When another healer passes by, he snaps at them to come help Emlithel. The work goes faster with two. They unbuckle your broken breastplate and Thranduil scolds them and whispers soothing things to you in turns as each little movement makes you wince despite yourself. 

“You are doing so well, my love,” he whispers. “It will not hurt so much soon, I am certain.”

The last bit is said with an almost threatening glare at Emlithel. He takes your hand and squeezes it as Emlithel slides the breastplate free and starts to prod at your ribcage.

At the fourth poke, the pain sharpens and shoots through your spine and you cry out. Thranduil’s grip on your hand tightens. Emlithel mutters an apology, shrinking under his blazing scowl.

“It is not serious,” she proclaims. “Just three bruised ribs. I can give you something for the pain and support the injury. An ice bath will work wonders.”

Thranduil looks visibly less anxious, but still makes Emlithel examine you from head to toe to make sure you aren’t hurt anywhere else. She wraps up your chest and gives you an herbal painkiller, and he wraps you in his cloak and carries you back to camp and makes both your squire and his draw you an ice bath immediately, then shoos them away to help you into it.

You shiver. He grabs a bucket of warm water and some soap and settles down next to you.

“I’m perfectly capable of cleaning up by myself,” you grumble.

“Hush,” he commands, brokering absolutely no argument. He cleans away all of the battle grime and carefully washes your hair for you, then slips in the bath next to you and draws you up to his chest. His skin is warm against yours, and that helps make the ice bath easier to handle.

Thranduil fusses over the red and purple bruising blooming on your lower chest, tracing it with the tip of his finger and immediately apologizing when it hurts. He presses kisses to your head, your temple, your ear, your neck, and says over and over that he should have never left you alone. 

“My heart could not bear it if I lost you,” he says, stricken. 

You cup your hand to his cheek and stroke his pale, knife-sharp cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. There are tears gathering in those shimmering blue eyes. 

“You didn’t. You didn’t lose me,” you reassure. “I am still here with you. It is only a little bruising.”

When the cold of the bath becomes too much to bear, he lifts you out and helps you dress, and then tucks you into the bed you share with him and sends for Emlithel to rewrap your bandages. 

Now that the battle is won, the two of you return to Mirkwood’s caverns with your army, and Thranduil hardly lets your feet so much as touch the ground, delegating most of his duties to his steward so he can stay by your side. Emlithel insists that you need four weeks to rest and heal. Naturally, to your exasperation, Thranduil doesn’t let you out of bed for six.