#and I carried a piece of furniture down from the attic

[jennhoney]

BABES I did two loads of laundry. Down two flights of stairs and back up two flights of stairs. Folded and put away in one day. This used to be something that I was constantly doing. Pre pandemic, no problem. But for months it has been my unattainable health goal with my DM (that sadly has nothing to do with dragons). Now I’m a little worried I’ll crash tomorrow but we’ll see and either way I did it.

[irb-pascalito-99]

Text you Later

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Summary: Joel calls while at work for some lunch time shenanigans.

Warnings: phone sex, masturbation, pictures, dirty talk, praise, semi public sex

A/N: This is an excerpt from chapter twelve of my ongoing fic Always an Angel, Never a God to read more visit A03.

I try to ignore the buzz of my phone in my back pocket as I carry my end of the armoire. Bill huffs when I adjust the piece of furniture in my arms. Once we’re in position we put the legs down carefully.

I automatically pull out my phone to check my texts once my hands are free. A smile spreads across my face when I see it’s Joel again.

Joel: Meet up for lunch?

I bite my lip and look up at Bill who has continued to walk around the store adjusting other items. I lean my hip against the armoire as I type out my reply.

Me: Can’t :( leaving early today for Ellie’s appointment

Frank appears over my shoulder as I press send. I jump as he attempts to glance at the screen.

“Who you texting?” He asks with a sly smile. I shove the phone back in my pocket. I shrug in response and walk toward the front counter. “A man?”

“No Frank,” I lie. “It was just Maria asking if we could hang out tonight.”

The look on his face says he clearly doesn’t believe me. I ignore the next buzz from my phone, and the one that comes immediately after.

“Okay then…” Frank says. “Well I just wanted to see if you wanted this desk we just got in. I know you mentioned wanting to get something Ellie can use in that room.”

Ellie and I agreed to change our parents’ room to an art space the two of us can use. We’ve already packed all the stuff that remains there in boxes. Joel helped put them in the attic for safekeeping. Tomorrow everyone is coming over to help move the furniture out and paint the walls

I follow Frank to the back of the store where we keep the inventory before we put it out. While his back is turned to me I quickly pull out my phone to respond to Joel.

Joel: But I miss you…

Joel: Can we call at least?

Me: Give me like 15 minutes ;)

I throw my phone back in my pocket as Frank stops in front of an old writer’s desk. I run my hand along the cherry stained wood. It’s in great condition, probably worth a decent amount of money.

There’s a lot of drawers as well. I open a couple, they seem decently deep so Ellie could probably store a decent amount of supplies in it. She’s been getting really into sketching lately so a place where she could sit and draw would be really nice.

“How much do you want for it?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it,” I turn to Frank as he waves his hand. I give him a frustrated look, while I appreciate his generosity it doesn’t feel right to constantly like Frank and Bill take care of me. I don’t want to be their charity case, but Frank won’t hear it. “Think of it as me supporting local artists. You can pay us back with a painting or have Ellie draw something.”

“I’m sure Bill would love whatever she draws of him,” I joke. Frank laughs. I run my hand over the wood again. It would really mean a lot for Ellie to have her own dedicated space in the room.

I let out an exasperated sigh. Frank grins as I concede. He pulls a SOLD sign out of his back pocket and puts it on top of the desk.

“I’ll have Bill load it up when we come over tomorrow.” He says.

He wraps an arm around me while we walk back up front. I feel my phone buzz again. Frank must hear the sound of the vibration because he looks at me amusedly.

“Maria again?” I shrug and walk around the counter to keep myself busy until I can find an excuse to go somewhere private and talk to Joel. “Girl can’t seem to get enough today, you’ve been glued to that phone all morning.”

“It’s probably that contractor guy,” Bill grumbles from across the room. I snap my head to him, trying to keep the blush off my cheeks. “The one she’s all goo-goo eyes for.”

So much for not blushing. I try to hide my burning face from view of Bill and Frank. I feel like a child caught crushing on the popular boy at school.

“Ahh yeah, Joel right?” Frank says. He turns back to me. “Is he coming to help tomorrow?”

“Joel? I think so. I know Maria said Tommy’s coming to help out with the muscle so I’d imagine Joel would be there too.” I try to act casual, but my voice comes out slightly higher than normal.

“Hmm, yeah we know that one has some muscle,” Frank says. I blush even more, just barely managing to stop myself from dropping my jaw at Frank’s comment.

“Sounds like you’re the one with the crush, Frank.” Frank laughs.

“Just making an observation,” he chides. “I think you could use a man like that…”

“Stop,” I beg. I hide my face in my hands. Frank laughs. Bill walks over to help a customer who just walked in while Frank pats me on the shoulder. “I’m taking a break.”

Frank shakes his head, still laughing. I walk toward the back of the shop. I take one more look over my shoulder before I disappear into the backroom.

I make my way to the bathroom and pull out my phone. I lean against the bathroom wall as I call Joel. He answers almost immediately.

“Someone’s needy today,” I joke. I make sure to keep my voice down so anyone who is outside of the bathroom door can’t hear.

“Babygirl, you have no idea.” I shudder at his nickname for me. His voice is deep with a sultry thickness pouring out like molasses. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Haven’t seen you all week, it’s killing me.”

“I know,” I respond. I half whisper into the phone. “I’m sorry, I miss you too. It’s just been crazy with work and Ellie. Getting Ellie caught up with classes has been rough. Turns out I’m really bad at math…”

“Darlin’ why are you whisperin’?” Joel asks.

“I’m in the bathroom at the shop. I don’t want Bill and Frank to hear me, they’ve already been making jokes about me crushing on you. I don't need them to hear anything else.” Joel laughs on the other end. “Stop that, it’s not funny!”

“Sorry sweetheart, but it kinda is.” I roll my eyes. “So you’re crushing on me huh?”

“Shut up,” I grumble. Joel laughs again and then the line goes silent.

“So…what are you wearing?”

“Oh, so it’s one of those phone calls. You’re really over there making fun of me while you’re waiting for me to help you get off?” I tease.

“Well I was going to pick you up and fuck you on a back road in my truck somewhere, but someone couldn’t get away from work.” I whimper at the thought.

It has been getting increasingly harder to sneak around these days. I’ve had to put so much focus on Ellie in order to prove to Marlene that things are solid with us. Joel has been extremely understanding, and my relationship with Ellie has never been better, but it’s been frustrating not to have alone time with him.

“You like that huh? Want to ride my cock in the front seat of my car, naughty girl.” I feel my pussy start to drip at his words. Fuck, I need him. “Go on, tell me what you’re wearing princess.”

“I can send you a picture…” I say. I smile when I hear Joel groan.

I position myself in front of the mirror and adjust my clothes a bit. I pull my neckline down a bit to show off more of my breasts. I turn to the side slightly so he can see the curve of my ass and then hook my thumb in the top of my jeans and pull them down just enough that he can see the top of my lacy black panties.

I take a couple pictures until I get one that I really like and send it over to him. I hear him moan when I pull the phone back to my ear, and then the sound of his belt clinking as he undoes it.

“Another baby, please. Let me see you.” I go back to the door and crack it open for a second. I don’t see anyone outside so I close it and lock the door.

I walk back to the mirror, setting the phone on the counter for a second, and take off my shirt. I push my jeans off as well and stand in front of the mirror wearing only my bra and underwear. I should be embarrassed doing this in the store bathroom, but a rush if adrenaline pumps through my veins as I position myself in front of the mirror. I nice one hand down, ghosting the lips of my pussy on the outside of my panties. I bite my lip and throw my head back, taking the picture and immediately sending it to Joel.

“Fuckk baby, so pretty for me.” I moan quietly at his praise. “Touch yourself gorgeous. Touch that pretty pussy for me. I want to hear you.”

I lean against the wall again and snake my fingers inside my underwear. I run them through my soaking folds, my underwear drenched as I hear the faint slapping sound of Joel’s fist moving up and down his cock.

“Oh Joel, I’m so wet for you,” I moan, making sure to keep my voice down.

Joel groans and a shiver runs down my spine. I dip two fingers inside my hole, my thumb starting to make circle motions. I whimper into the phone as I start to pump my fingers in and out. I try to match my pace to the sounds of Joel jacking off on the other end of the line. He moans loudly at my noises.

“Tell me what you’re doin’ right now sugar. What’s makin’ you make those sweet little noises?” He starts to pick up his pace, panting into the phone desperately.

“I’m touching myself.” I huff. “I got…got two fingers inside… wish it was your fingers, or your cock. Fuck, Joel wish you were splitting me open right now.”

Joel groans again, the sounds of him pumping himself getting louder.

“God, babygirl fuck. I wish I was there too.” I speed up my fingers, my climax building as he goes on. “Wish it was your pussy clenching around my cock right now instead of my hand. Got me fuckin’ jackin’ off in a goddamn parking lot, that’s what you do to me.”

I moan, a little louder than I probably should have. I move the phone to rest between my face and shoulder so I can cover my mouth as my other hand continues to move underneath my panties. I close my eyes and picture him in his truck outside his job site, thrusting his cock into his hands with his phone to his ear.

“Can anyone see you?” I ask. Joel chuckles darkly at my question.

“I don’t think so, not right now,” he grunts into the phone again. “Why gorgeous? That get you off? You like the idea of me gettin’ caught fuckin’ my fist to the thought of you?”

My stomach tightness and I moan again. I’m so close. So fucking close.

“Yeah, I think it does.” His words send another wave of pleasure through me. I’m right on the edge. “I think you like what you do to me. Think you like how desperate you make me, can’t stop thinkin’ of that pussy all goddamn week. You gettin’ close baby?”

“Yes, god yes, Joel please don’t stop.” Joel groans again.

“That’s it darlin’, I’m almost there too. Come for me babygirl. Come for me.”

I keep pumping my fingers in and out of my pussy until I’m finally pushed over the edge, panting and moaning around my other hand as I try to muffle my noises.

It doesn’t take long for Joel to follow. His groans sound more animal than human as I hear him pump his cock a couple more times and then stop. We both pant into the phone as we come down.

After my heart slows down I walk back to my discarded shirt and jeans on the floor and put them back on. I hear Joel’s belt clink again on the other line as well.

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then?” Joel asks as I straighten my shirt in the mirror.

“Yes, but remember it’s going to be a full house so you need to behave,” I remind him. He scoffs at my remark.

“Darlin’ I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” I chuckle at his remark.

“Would a gentleman jack himself off in a parking lot in the middle of the day?” I ask.

“You got me there,” he laughs. “But I’ll do my best to keep my hands to myself tomorrow, no matter how hard it’ll be after not seein’ ya for so long.”

I smile sheepishly, giddy at the thought of him having missed me so much after just a week.

“Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” Joel agrees and we say our goodbyes. I wash my hands before heading back out to the front of the shop.

To read more visit A03

[offorestsongs]

stubborn heart

ship; Vil Schoenheit x OC (Rosienne)

summary; A rocky beginning of Rosienne's and Vil’s friendship; Vil tries to teach Rosienne how to tie a tie, Rosienne tries to not pick a fight with him.

Sitting on the nice plush rug laid out in the middle of Vil’s room was something that Rosienne was apparently allowed to do now. Because they were… friends? Friendly? Something close to that? They weren't fighting anymore, at the very least, which was a considerable improvement, but using any strong words to describe their newfound relationship didn't feel right.

Nothing about it was genuine, after all.

The only reason why they even called a truce in the first place was because Vil had seen Rosienne crying in an empty classroom the other day, because Rosienne couldn't even handle the same sharp words that he had heard from others his whole life. It seemed that he was pathetic enough, it strung some cord even in Vil’s eternally frozen heart. Not only did he sit down on the floor next to Rosienne and stayed there until Rosienne calmed down, but ever since that day, he seemed to stick closer to Rosienne. And now, he had invited Rosienne to his dormroom. To spend an afternoon together. Like friends did.

Vil’s room was all classy and sleek, and bright; exactly what one might have expected from somebody like him. It was almost comical, how much Rosienne stood out. He felt like a piece of old furniture, dragged from some dusty attic.

“You can sit on the bed, you do know that,” Vil said. He looked like he already regretted extending his invitation.

Well, that was exactly what happened when one took the residential weird kid of their dorm as a charity case.

“I know,” Rosienne replied, not showing even the slightest intention to move.

Just because he had apologized to Vil and agreed to not pick any more fights, it didn't mean he had to play nice. There was something about Vil’s very presence that made Rosienne want to act like a mule that stopped in the middle of a road and refused to move even by a centimeter. It wasn't even a conscious choice, just a reflex that awakened everytime Vil looked at him.

Maybe Vil just had an annoying face.

Meanwhile, Vil raised his eyes at the ceiling, as if searching for patience. With his search unsuccessful, he sat down on the floor. It was the second time Rosienne had made the Vil Schoenheit sit on the floor next to him and that felt almost like an accomplishment.

“It's been almost a year and yet you've never even bothered to learn how to tie a tie,” was apparently Vil's idea of starting a friendly conversation.

“Oh I did bother, thank you very much.”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “It certainly doesn't look like it.”

“Well, yes…” Rosienne looked away. Vil had seen him crying already, what was the harm in making himself look even more like an embarrassment? “All these tutorials on the internet were too complicated. I kept getting lost in all the steps and I get my left and right mixed up when they're mirrored. Or when they aren't, to be frank. So eventually I just gave up. I mean, it's just a tie. It's not like anyone cares.”

He shrugged as he said it, like the words meant nothing. Like his heart wasn't fluttering wildly against his ribcage. He waited. Waited for Vil to laugh, to call him stupid.

But Vil, somehow, didn't do any of it. “It's not like anyone cares!” he repeated in a disbelieving tone. That was all.

And suddenly breathing got a little easier for Rosienne.

“I mean— I don't usually look at people's ties.”

“I do.”

Rosienne rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Your stubbornness really earns you a place in Pomefiore, even if the way you carry yourself doesn't.”

Before Rosienne even had the chance to get offended (and he would, because what was that even supposed to mean!?), Vil suddenly got all up in his personal space, his hands on Rosienne's tie. He looked all calm and composed, like it was a completely normal thing to do.

Rosienne, on the other hand, felt like an animal caught in a trap. He could smell Vil's perfumes. Never before did he get close enough to Vil to be able to smell his perfumes. Or to see his individual eyelashes. And since Rosienne's back was already facing Vil's bed, he couldn't even escape!

“Wha-what are you doing?”

Vil looked up at him with a face so deadpan, it almost calmed Rosienne down.

“If you have trouble following instructions, maybe it will help you if somebody shows you in person,” he explained.

Rosienne's first instinct was to protest, to say he didn't have any troubles, that he's doing fine, but he bit his tongue. There was no judgment in Vil's tone. He was just stating a fact.

“Why? Why are you helping me?” Rosienne asked. It was still the thing that didn't make sense to him. What could Vil possibly get out of spending time with him?

Rosienne wasn't even a particularly pleasant companion.

“Well. Your disheveled state is bringing shame to our dorm.”

What a very Vil answer. Rosienne didn't know what else he was expecting. That Vil was being nice to him out of the kindness of his own heart? As if.

“But most of all,” Vil continued, hands swiftly working on untangling the mess that was Rosienne's tie. “you're doing a disservice to yourself. If people are saying things about you, to you, why do you keep proving them right?”

“So what? Should I just change myself to please some idiots?”

The very idea was so antithetical to Rosienne's very core. Just thinking about it made his chest flood with iron-hot anger.

“Of course not,” Vil replied calmly. “You should very much be yourself. But while you're at it, you should stop slacking and be the best version of yourself you can be. Be more confident in yourself than they are.”

“That's nice and all, but I still don't see what my tie has got to do with it.”

“Everything, of course.” Vil smiled. It was the same smug, self satisfied smile that always made Rosienne's blood boil. “Before you can learn how to ignore what others say, you need to build yourself a shield. This,” Vil tugged at the end of Rosienne's tie, now completely undone. “is just a part of it.”

A thought suddenly struck Rosienne. He glanced over at Vil, at his perfectly pinned hair and manicured nails and crisp school uniform. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the classmate that Rosienne had dubbed as his nemesis the first day of school, who was now sitting on the floor with him, was also Vil Schoenheit, the famous star. He's been in the public eye ever since he was a little kid.

Some of the stubbornness inside of Rosienne melted away.

“Alright,” he said. “But don't be surprised if even you can't get through my thick skull.”

And there it was, that infuriating smug smile again. “I wouldn't worry about it. I was told I am very persuasive.”

[vaultofqueenorion]

Prompt: Wings

As in all new houses, they had been checking out the rooms, slowly making their way across. It was a dream come true - small but with enough space for them to have both an office and a room for all of the ideas that always seemed to flutter around in their head.

It would be nice to hunker down on the couch with a good book while they waited for their parents to bring the rest of the furniture. They’d brought the first portion, enlisting the help of their brother and renting a van for the larger pieces. But even that had not been enough and the last couple of pieces of furniture were idle at their previous apartment until their parents would bring them.

It was likely just a ploy for them to see their new house.

They shook their head with a smile at the thought as they moved towards the final room - the attic.

You could have just asked, you know. They had said to their mom when she had offered. We can go twice.

Nonsense, their mother had replied and that was the end of that.

Cracking open the door to the attic illuminated the dusty surfaces, light glinting in the cobwebs. They held the broom out in front of them, wiping away the webs that would have otherwise hit them in the face as they ventured inside.

“Stupid cobwebs. I thought he said that the previous family would clean this up before they left?” They muttered, coughing as dust entered their throat.

They sighed. They’d have to spend hours here to make it livable.

With a shake of their head, they smiled again. They refused to let anything come in the way of the pure bliss that was fluttering in their chest today.

A mouse scurried from a hidden spot, weaving along the wall. As a reflex, they swatted after it, but it was too fast, disappearing into a crack in the woodwork.

They just hoped it would get out and stay away.

They pulled back the broom. Or tried to - it had lodged itself beneath a single, lonely cabinet that had been left behind, smashing through one of the wooden cabinet doors. They pulled another time and with a horrendous cracking sound, the broom flew out the cabinet, taking a chunk of the cabinet door with it.

Something white and feathery seemed to glitter in the light from the hall, and the sound of chiming bells went through their head.

They crouched in front of the cabinet, carefully prying open the door. It was stuck. Sticking out their tongue, they grabbed the rotten boards and pulled. With the sound of thunder, the entire cabinet door broke off, sending them flying backwards.

They sat up, glancing briefly at the piece of wood in their hands as the thunder died in their ears. The piece was covered in markings - clouds and lightning and a whole menagerie of birds.

Placing it carefully on the floor, they crawled forwards, eyes going wide as they took in the pair of pristine white wings that spanned the entirety of the cabinet, their wingspan dwarfing them in height.

Granted, they weren’t very tall, but the wings were at least half a size larger than them.

They stepped closer, mindful of every breath that they took, every tiny sound in the room that had suddenly become too small.

Reaching out, they let their fingers glide over the feathers, relishing in the silky texture. Whenever they brushed away the dust, golden light branched out until a spider web of gold covered the feathers as they emitted a soft light.

Wings.

They blinked. Could barely believe their own eyes as a breeze curled through the feathers, and the wings seemingly fluttered on their own with barely suppressed longing for the sky. Awestruck, they reached out again, only to pause at the piece of paper on the ground.

If you’re reading this, it means we failed.

It means that they have stripped us of all that we are.

It means that we are a broken people.

It also means that your family was once, for better or for worse, one of us. That golden blood runs in your veins, unseen - a secret carried within a thousand forgotten hearts.

No matter what, you were meant to find these wings. They are yours by right, with the implications that might follow.

If I were you, I’d take a good look around at the people you know. They are not beneath infiltrating families to get what they want; not beneath destroying their loved ones to reach their goal.

Our complete extinction.

So beware. Keep an eye out for the world around you.

And if you do accept this piece of your heritage, know that even at your weakest, you are not alone.

We are out there.

- Uriel, Angelus Circulus

The knock on the door ripped them from the letter and they stuffed it into their pocket before running down the stairs.

“On my way,” they yelled when another knock sounded, their parents’ smiling faces visible on the other side of the window built into the side of the front door.

“Hello you two. It’s a bit of a mess in here, but we should be able to get everything inside,” they said as they opened the door, dust coating their fingers and clothes.

“I see you’ve already started on the cleaning,” their mom said before narrowing her eyes as she plucked a feather off their sleeve. “This is a peculiar feather. One that I haven’t seen in a very long time. Where did you find this extraordinary thing?”

[whitepolaris]

The Ghost House of Plains

Sometime between 1840 and 1850, Sumter County resident Matthew Rylander constructed a sizable home a few miles outside of what would become Plains. The structure, plantation style with Greek Revival elements, has double doors at the front and back and a wide fourteen-foot-long hallway that divides the house. Before Jimmy Carter became President Jimmy Carter, he and his wife, Rosalynn, rent the house, which they loved and wanted to buy. However, its owner refused to sell.

In 1973, when Mrs. Carter was First Lady of the state of Georgia, she told the ghostly story of the family who had lived there. Mrs. Carter and some of her dearest friends visited the house, accompanied by Mrs. Gussie Abrams Dewitt Howell, the resident at the time. With them was Jacqueline Cook, a writer with the Atlanta Journal-Constitution Sunday Magazine, which published a lengthy article about the visit.

"I don't know when I first heard it was haunted," said Mrs. Carter, who grew up in nearby Plains. "Over the years, there were many bizarre occurrences, but one story I remember was that a light in the attic window was a candle kept burning by a lady so soldiers would know where to hide during the Civil War.

"When I was a little girl, my best friend was Jimmy's sister, Ruth," Mrs. Carter said. "We had to walk by here to visit each other because I lived in Plains and the Carters lived in the country. We were about eleven, and we were so afraid of the house that we walked down in the woods."

The two children took the long way, descending into a ravine shaded by dense woods. That would seem to be a frightening locale for young girls, but to them it was preferable to passing the haunted house.

"I'm sure the ghostly manifestations persisted," Rosalynn continued, "but I tended to forget them when Jimmy returned from the Naval Academy and we began to date. When we married, I moved about with him. Following the navy duty, we returned to Plains in 1953. It was during this time that we began to visit Dr. Thad Wise, who was then living in the haunted house."

"Dr. Wise thoroughly enjoyed the psychic phenomena which continued to surround this house," Rosalynn stated. "When we visited him, he kept us amused with ghost stories. One was about the little white dog which would come up on the porch when you were sitting there. IF anyone reached down to pat the dog, it would disappear."

Inez Laster, Wise's cook during that period, accompanied the 1973 expedition. "It was a real spook house," she said. "Things started happening when Dr. Thad was sick. I heard someone knocking on the door of that room. The door slammed open and then shut back. Then I heard walking. Later I saw a woman with a long white dress coming from toward the cemetery. I saw her from twelve whole months-I had to keep my job-and Dr. Thad could see her, too. . . . She would come in the daytime, and when she came at night, she carried a light as big as the moon. You would always see her coming but never see her leave, because when she turned, she disappeared."

In An Hour Before Daylight: Memories of a Rural Boyhood, a recent book by Jimmy Carter, he recalled that Mrs. Howell requested his assistance when Dr. Wise was dying. Young Carter spent "some nights with them to help care for Dr. Thad. Late one night as she and I were preparing some food in the kitchen, we heard all three of his dogs begin a weird howling, unlike anything we had ever heard before. Miss. Abrams [who would become Mrs. Howell] rushed into the bedroom and found that Dr. Thad had just died. We assumed that the dogs had seen his spirit leaving the house."

The most famous intense paranormal activity occurred in the front west room of the structure.

Jimmy Carter recounted a story about the room to the Americans Times-Recorder: "One night, Rosalynn and I were in our bedroom when we heard a loud, house-shaking crash like a piece of furniture had fallen over or something, and we could tell it was coming from that front room. But when we went in there to check it out, we found nothing out of place."

"I really tried to discount these kinds of tales," Jimmy went on, "but I sometimes thought I had glimpses of the searching woman."

Long before the Carters, Tink Faircloth occupied the house in 1940. When his brother Sonny arrived for a visit, Tink put him in the haunted room for the night. Before daylight, Sonny had his luggage packed and was waiting only for the family to rise before he departed. During the night, he reported, some force had levitated him out of the bed, placed him on the floor and then lifted him back onto the mattress.

"Old folks say someone died dissatisfied and wanting to tell about something hidden to make a spook act this way," Laster explained. "It's a house you can fear," Rosalynn added, "but love at the same time, because of its beauty."

"Ain't nobody been in that house for quite a while," said Bobby Salter, a local entrepreneur. "The haunts might be restless out there."

[gotjacobian]

Ok, so: up until very recently, I owned an enormous fuf I had bought online. I got it because I live in a converted attic, whose ceilings are too short for normal furniture, but not too short for enormous (seriously - like 5′x4′x3′) fufs. It arrived compressed in a box with plastic straps holding it together, which were actively in the process of splitting as I rolled it up the stairs. I unpacked it, forced it through a doorway over the course of half an hour, and expected to be able to get ~4 years use out of it before I’d have to think about moving it again. It has mostly served as a cat bed. 

Until my landlord told us with exactly 60 days notice that she was selling the house and my roommates and I had to move. It became clear very quickly that the fuf was not gonna make it in into whatever pre-furnished, shared apartment I’d be moving into. This makes me mad, because I wasn’t really emotionally up to furnishing the place I lived at all for the first year or so, because I was paranoid about having to move on short notice, and anything I owned having to be thrown out.  (A bunch of things I owned and/or made, including many of the original inks for pages of Tailslide, got lost by whoever was moving things around in the dorms when we got kicked out of EC during COVID. I then threw out a bunch of things of personal sentimental value when moving to Providence because I wasn’t in a good mental place, and regretted it after. ) The fuf purchase was symbolic to me of not feeling like I had to be able to live an ascetic lifestyle that could fit in a car at short notice. Getting kicked out of the place I live against my will, again, hasn’t really helped, but that isn’t the point. The point is that I resented the idea of having to throw away the fuf, so instead I sent this email to the Brown grad student mailing list. 

I proceeded to get approximately 5 bazillion email responses, which I assume were mostly from people assuming they could fit the thing in their car, who probably could not have fit the thing in their car. The sheer volume of interest baffles me - it’s a giant bag of foam that’s covered in cat hair, I get that it’s normally $200 and I was giving it away, but still - but I was happy it wasn’t just going in the garbage. I used my seller’s discretion to find someone who responded quickly and lived a couple blocks away and wasn’t banking on it fitting in their car. She said she could pick it up that night, so I immediately set on trying to get it down the stairs. The problem was, I do not work in a fuf factory with fuf box compression technology. My converted attic living space has a tiny, tiny stairwell going up to it. I spent 45 minutes trying to shove the fuf through it. I gave myself blisters trying to grab and pull the fabric, and succeeded only in blocking my own way down the stairs. It quickly became clear that the only way the fuf was leaving was if it was surgically opened, had its stuffing removed, and then was restuffed at its destination. I estimated (correctly) that removing ten garbage bags of stuffing would be enough to get it down the stairs. I messaged the person who was supposed to receive it explaining the situation and apologizing that the fuf was only going to be available in an incredibly stupid form factor (half filled fuf bag, ten full garbage bags of foam pieces). To my confusion (and respect), she said she would take it anyway if I could help her carry the foam to her house. So my very patient girlfriend and I spent an hour pulling foam out of a tiny hole in the enormous fuf, until we could shove it down the stairs. Evidence: 

We then helped the receiver carry a 30 pound, half-stuffed fuf bag and 10 additional bags of foam to the basement of an apartment down the road. Then went back, and I cleaned up the enormous mess the destuffing process made and started packing boxes because I need to move next week. There isn’t any moral or message here. Other than fuck landlords, I guess? (like, fun fact: the other moving problem I had yesterday was the landlord trying to claim my apartment came furnished and she owned the bed/mattress that I personally purchased and assembled after moving here. I slept on the floor for a month while I waited for it to be delivered. She was never gonna win this fight - I have a receipt and pictures of me assembling it - but like, is there anything more stereotypically landlord than accusing your tenant of trying to steal their $200 ikea bed as they’re moving out of the house you’re kicking them out to sell??)  It was an extremely stupid problem to have. I’m glad there are people in the world willing to help me solve stupid problems.

[kellanswritingblog]

Wilde could hardly believe it.  It was years in the making, between the world falling apart, magic disappearing, and their various coping methods thereafter.  But now, there they were, he and Zolf, in front of their new house.  They weren’t staying in Wilde’s apartment anymore, no – this was theirs, together.

The crew of the Venga had helped build it.  There was no way Wilde and Zolf could build a whole house on their own, and, once Cel learned about a construction project, there was no way to keep them from lending a hand and taking over.  The kitchen counters had levers to adjust the height, depending on whether Wilde or Zolf wanted to use them, there was a lift to the attic, and Cel installed a strange cannon-like device that would fire a blanket at someone if they stayed stationary in the living room too long, since both Wilde and Zolf had a penchant for staying up late with their work and falling asleep there.

And now, it was done. Their furniture was in place, the walls had been painted, and the front door was open, waiting for them.

“Ready?”  Wilde asked.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t already been inside while building it, but this was different.  This was their first proper entrance to the life they’d thought was out of reach for so long.

“Ready,” Zolf replied. “Come here.”

Wilde stepped closer, not entirely sure what Zolf had planned.  The curiosity didn’t last long, however, as Zolf immediately scooped him up into his lap, and then began to wheel his way down the front walk and through the door.

Once they were inside, however, Wilde didn’t abandon his position, and Zolf made no effort to remove him.  Instead, Wilde shifted so that he sat sideways in Zolf’s lap and was able to look him in the eye.

“I’m pretty sure that carrying someone over the threshold is something married couples do,” Wilde said, a smirk on his lips.

“Oh, I thought it was just when a couple moved into a new house together.”

“I mean, I’m sure it works like that too.”

Before Wilde could say anything more, Zolf casually added, “Well, when we get married, it’ll be your turn to carry me over the threshold.  Then we’re even.”

Wilde’s coy expression faded in an instant as his jaw dropped.  Some days he scarcely believed that Zolf had come back to him at all, and that he was still there, still with him after so much time had passed.  They still had their bad days, of course, and occasionally Zolf needed significant periods of time to himself, but he never disappeared so drastically anymore.  And he always came home.

It had been Wilde’s idea to get a house together in the first place, and part of him still feared that he pushed Zolf too hard with that, even though it had been a vague suggestion at best until Zolf started drawing out shaky designs.  He wanted Zolf to always feel welcome, and they needed a place that belonged to both of them, not just to Wilde, if that were to be the case.

But he never considered marriage.  Last time he thought about it was when he was a boy, before he started working constant overtime for the Meritocrats, before the world went to pieces, before they had to try and put those pieces back together one by one.  He was happy just to have Zolf in his life, someone that would hold him tight when the nightmares came back and who cooked him meals that were seasoned with devotion.

Marriage, though…

Wilde knew when Zolf was teasing, could recognize the glint in his eye and the faintest rise at the corner of his lips, but this was a sincere comment, said without hidden humor or prodding.

“You alright?”  Zolf questioned, shaking Wilde from his thoughts.

“Yes!”  He answered, a little too readily.  “Sorry, I just…”  He didn’t want to press this issue, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.  “‘When we get married’?”

Zolf hesitated.  “Is that… bad?”

With a wide smile, Wilde breathed, “Not at all.  I didn’t expect it, though, I guess.”

“Yeah, it’s not really something we’ve ever talked about.  I don’t know.  It doesn’t have to mean anything.  I just… I’m finally thinking about my future, believing that I’ll have a future. And when I think about it, you’re always there.  It’s taken me a lot longer than it probably should have to realize it and allow myself to realize it, but… I want to stay with you.  And not for a couple of months, but as long as you’ll have me.  And if one day, you would want me as your husband, then…  Yeah, I want that too.”

Wilde couldn’t manage any words.  All he could do was bridge the little space between them and wrap his arms around Zolf’s shoulders.  He breathed him in and held him tight, so overwhelmed in the best kind of way.

“I would really like that,” he murmured as he drew back from the embrace, meeting Zolf’s nervous gaze and forcing him to look at him.

“It’s not like we have to do anything now,” Zolf added.  “We still have things to unpack.”

Wilde chuckled.  “Always the pragmatist.”  After a pause, he continued, “You’re right though.  We should get settled here first, and then maybe we can talk about marriage again later?”

“Yeah.”  Despite himself, Zolf smiled, a contagious sight to Wilde.

“Besides, you know I have to put on an extravagant proposal.  A simple chat simply won’t do,” he teased, and Zolf let out a laugh.

“Of course you do. Now, get off my lap before you crush what’s left of my legs, you insufferable…”

He couldn’t finish his joking retort.  Wilde removed himself from Zolf’s lap, but Zolf stopped him soon after by gently grabbing his hand.  Instead of more teasing, he spoke again with sincerity.

“Thank you, Wilde.  For being there for me.”

“Always.”

“I want to be there for you.  I haven’t always been, but I want to be better.”

Wilde bent down so that he could press a kiss to Zolf’s knuckles.

“We’re both still working on it,” he replied.  “We both still have our bad days.  You wheel off, I throw myself into my work.  But what matters is that we sort it out together, yeah?”

Zolf smiled and gave Wilde’s hand a squeeze.  “Yeah. Together.”

[levieske]

𝟏.𝟐 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

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It was weeks before they went to the vault, she remembered.

Taking a box from her best friend’s porch, Cora helped Mikasa to carry her stuff to her new bedroom. The black-haired teen led the way to the stairs, crossing momentarily her parents’ path. The adults smiled at them.

“Thank you again for coming to help Mikasa.” The mother handed her husband the vase she was holding, stopping by while he continued walking. “Will you stay for dinner, sweetie?”

Cora nodded, following Mikasa’s steps. The girl carried effortlessly the two remaining boxes, heavier than the one Cora had, and still managed to get to her room quicker than she ever would. Unlike her friend, Cora had to adjust her grip on the box before getting upstairs.

Upon the death of Mikasa’s grandmother, the Ackerman’s moved to the property that was left for them in her will, a colonial home located in the outskirts of town. Trost was considered barely a tiny city in comparison to the capital, Mitras, and the nearby districts, which meant Mikasa hadn’t moved too far either way. A 15-minute ride on her bike and Cora would be there.

Still, she would miss not being her neighbor anymore.

Pushing her grief aside, Cora appreciated the beauty of the historical home. Mikasa’s parents had made some arrangements before moving, renovating the living spaces and donating what they didn’t want. Their new home had a refreshing mix of old and new architecture. White wall paneling, dark wooden floors and mid-century modern furniture. Engrossed by it, Cora didn’t notice Eren’s body getting on her way to Mikasa’s bedroom and collided with him.

“Watch out, dumb fuck.”

“If you weren’t such a tiny shit, I wouldn’t have crashed you, Cora.”

Their banter didn’t go missing by Mikasa, who rolled her eyes at the two of them. It had always been like that after she introduced them when they were ten. Eren’s natural hot-headed reactions and Cora’s teasing remarks tended to clash from time to time. Their playful bickering was interrupted by Mikasa’s command to enter her room, to which they complied not only after Eren took the box Cora was carrying.

Oh, yes, a gentleman.

Inside her big bedroom, Armin was already set on Mikasa’s carpet, legs crossed as he waited for his friends to join him. Cora had also been introduced to him when they were ten, instantly clicking because of their bookworm personalities. Mikasa took a pair of cutters from her clean desk and handed Cora one before sitting next to Armin. Eren placed the box down and followed Cora to the floor. They opened the boxes, taking out Mikasa’s clothes, books and posters. Although the main rooms were already fixed to their liking, the bedrooms, studies and attic were in the making.

Mikasa’s new room resembled her old one as it had the same black and wooden furniture. Cora smiled at the many memories she had of playing with Mikasa inside her tiny old room ever since she moved to the house next door. That was eight years ago. The pigtailed head of her friend moved from item to item, letting all the decorations clutter on her bed as the pieces of clothing were folded on the floor. Armin and Cora were given the tough task of arranging her clothes in color order. The clothing of their goth friend had a wide color range, going from black to slightly cool-toned, dark colors. Eren, on the other hand, was hanging Mikasa’s frames and posters, all due to his height.

Eren’s chin length, brunette hair shook in the air as he jumped on Mikasa’s bed to place the higher posters. He had been growing his hair for so long, ignoring his stepbrother’s puns during the process. Now that he was quite past the bowl cut phase, Zeke couldn’t say much to annoy him. Almost the entire wall next to Mikasa’s bed was covered with pictures of her friends and her favorite bands, mostly rock and indie ones. On a nearby shelf, she had put on display the CDs of said bands, which more often than not were lent to Cora. Mikasa approvingly hummed when Eren got the posters perfectly hanged.

Cora and Armin kept placing the girl’s shirts in her cabinets as she moved on to organize her books and notebooks. In Mikasa’s fashion, they all had dark covers, either decorated with pentagrams and stars or made out of leather. They were just normal books she happened to have given a makeover, not that it concealed her love for the occult in the slightest.

The sky started to darken when Eren and his blond, short haired best friend decided to go. Luckily for Cora, it was a Friday night, which meant her parents wouldn’t be upset with her if she stayed for dinner like she had promised Mikasa’s mother. An hour after their friends left, the two girls were called for dinner.

They walked down the stairs, following the delicious smell of the traditional East Sea cuisine. Every time Cora stayed for dinner, Mrs. Ackerman’s food would delight her. Her soups and stews couldn’t be outdone, especially in comparison to Cora’s parents’ recipes. They were a busy duo with crazy schedules that often made it impossible to cook food for Cora daily. That and her mother’s clumsiness were the reasons why his father had taught her how to cook ever since she was a teen.

Cora followed Mikasa to the big dining room, where her parents had already set the table and brought the food. She thanked them for the food and they started eating, having a casual conversation about her family and their academics. Cora and her friends were in their last year of high school, which meant an awful amount of work and stress as everything now mattered for their futures. Fortunately for them, Mikasa and Cora had previously decided to go to a university in Stohess that had great reviews and scholarships. Eren and Armin were also inclined to attend there, seeing it was a prestigious yet affordable option. It was a fact many other students, such as Jean from arts and Sasha from AP literature, hadn’t ignored either.

After helping to clean up, Cora and Mikasa ran back to her room. The blond teen took her phone and jacket, ready to head home until she was stopped by her best friend.

“My mom told me to leave the boxes in the attic, would you help get them there?”

Cora nodded, hanging her jacket back to where it was and taking the empty boxes along with Mikasa. She led the way to a stairwell on the opposite side of the corridor. The girls walked upstairs, where the faint moonlight barely helped them to step into the attic. Mikasa tsked when the switch didn’t turn on the lonely lightbulb that was placed in the middle of the room. The attic was dark and significantly colder than the rest of the house, probably due the fact that power didn’t seem to work properly over there. Using their phones’ flash, they got around to set the boxes on the floor. Giving the attic a quick look, Cora realized they hadn’t really done anything to it other than swept and mop. Something seemed to have caught Mikasa’s attention, as she tugged her friends’ sleeve, pointing at something with her phone.

“Look!” The raven-haired girl took an old and unkempt doll. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“If your definition of gorgeous is decrepit, then very much so!” Cora mocked her, getting closer to the amount of stuff that cluttered at the end of the room. Vinyl records, more creepy old toys and books. A leather covered one caught her eye. “What is this?” She muttered for herself before grabbing it and patting the dust away.

“A book.” Mikasa deadpanned and Cora gave her a funny look before eyeing the notebook.

“This is a journal.” Mikasa didn’t pay much attention, rather intrigued by some boxes filled with fabric. Cora read the first page. “Levi Ackerman, born on 25th of December of 1920 and dead on 29th of December of 1941.” Looking up from the blue ink, she stared at Mikasa. “Does it ring any bells?”

“Never heard of the man.”

“Huh.”

Cora closed the journal, leaving it once it was.

“You can take it home if you’d like, weirdo.” Mikasa laughed as soon as she saw her friend take the journal in the blink of an eye.

“Don’t mind if I do, then.”

Cora smiled at Mikasa. She took her jacket and her black messenger bag and put the book inside it. Mikasa walked her to the entrance, where she patted her awkwardly on the back and watched her step out of her home. Her friend’s stiffness provoked a smile on Cora’s mouth, making her wink at Mikasa before getting on her bike.

Once Cora arrived home, her parents had just ended their dinner. They greeted her as she walked through the open plan kitchen to reach the corridor. She practically ran to her room, taking her bag off her shoulder and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. Her oversized denim jacket followed and she changed into a graphic tee and some black sweatpants. She sent Mikasa a quick text, informing her she had arrived home safely. She washed off her makeup before plopping on her bed, journal in hand.

Cora caressed the leather cover and opened the journal. After passing that first page that stated the name and birthday of its owner, Cora realized someone else must’ve written it because it didn’t match the handwriting that covered the next pages. The immaculate black ink described the misfortunes of those who lived in Trost during the Second World War. Levi Ackerman’s polished writing contrasted with the sickening events he witnessed, probably the reason why he had first started writing.

Not that Levi ever stated it, though. It was like he just took the notebook one day and started reflecting his thoughts, always dating his entries and using an impeccable cursive handwriting. Levi wasn’t quite constant when writing in the journal, often leaving it untouched for months. He depicted the shady deals he got into with two friends of his, Isabel and Farlan. As Ackerman explained in his journal, he wasn’t too fond of his odd jobs but they were the only thing keeping the three of them from dying. The war had struck all nations hard and Paradis wasn’t the exception. Trost was a tiny town in the 40’s, with little to offer aside from being a good place to settle a rear headquarters and torment the villagers.

The military regime had toughed their laws once the war officially started, especially where they had headquarters settled. Their policies served both to maintain their authority over the population and to find new recruits. Joining the ranks was the sentence for those who broke the law.

Unfortunately for Levi, he and his friends ended up experiencing that policy personally.

Cora stretched to take a bookmark that laid on her desk, having no desire in ruining the perfectly conserved journal. After placing it between the pages she last read, the blonde closed the notebook and put it on her desk. Looking at her phone, she realized she had been immersed in Levi’s words for at least two hours, something that didn’t faze her in the slightest.

She loved books. It was a fact even the classmates who she barely talked with, like Annie or Reiner from PE, knew. It was all due to her signature look of having a book in hand anywhere she went. Usually they were fictional, literature ones. While she was interested too in history, Cora had never felt so invested in a historical book that depicted the harsh reality of the war.

Perhaps it was Levi’s storytelling what got her hooked. His crude humor, fine irony and vulgar wording was refreshing, charming Cora into reading until midnight. She only stopped once she felt her eyes sore from concentrating in his perfected handwriting, which only seemed to get even more beautiful as she read the entries. The teen was mesmerized by the man who poured his soul into those pages. Intrigued, she wanted to learn more about him.

Levi didn’t talk much about his past, at least not specifically. From what Cora could gather, his mother was dead and she supposed his father had never been in the picture. He never wrote about any relatives that could have tied him to Mikasa’s family, only knowing that they’re linked because they shared the Ackerman last name. Aside from the family aspect, Cora also knew he was a 21-year-old man, born and raised in Trost. Since he didn’t seem to ever have had the commodities to live properly, Levi hadn’t really gone much out of the town other than to make some business. He was a troubled young man, cold and distant even in the pages where he could express himself the most.

Battling the growing curiosity inside her, Cora got under the covers and drifted to sleep, pleased with her acquisition.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 1

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship

Length: 1.4k

Notes: Okay, here we go! Giving our babe Frankie an ending he deserves, with a few bumps along the way for fun. Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛

It was almost comical, you thought, at how different the realtor's listing was, compared to the real thing. You’d seen it enough times in bad Hallmark romances: city girl buys a property, property is falling apart, city girl miraculously has the funds to fix it up with the help of the perfect farmer neighbour.

This was reality though and you had already poured your life’s savings, which amounted to very little after all the surprise debts had been paid off, into this farmhouse. 

The "Quaint New England farmhouse, filled with the patina of a bygone era" was a wreck. Nothing to be done about it now, though. The crumbling two-story, just a few minutes drive from the small Vermont town, hadn’t been occupied in over a decade and was now in a total state of disrepair. 

Swallowing back your tears, feeling the burn behind your eyes and the hot swelling in your throat, you told yourself there wasn’t time for a breakdown. You first needed to take stock of the depth of damage, decide which rooms were habitable enough for the time being, clean, unpack, and prepare yourself for this new life.

The next few hours went by in an exhausting blur. By late evening, there was a larger-than-expected pile of rotten, broken, or otherwise unusable furniture in the driveway; your meager few belongings taking their place. On top of renovations and remodeling it appeared you would also be refurbishing. 

Sitting on the porch in the one spot where you felt confident the decking wouldn’t crumble beneath your weight, you looked over your list.

 3 cracked windows (can wait?)

 no running water in kitchen (ASAP FIX!)

 missing shingles (bad??)

 deck boards and upstairs bedroom floorboards rotten

 carpeted bathroom

 questionable smell coming from attic space 

peeling wallpaper/paint EVERYWHERE

Folding the list and slipping it into your back pocket, you made your way back inside to discover one last glaring issue, previously unnoticed until now. The electricity had been shut off.

Well, fuck me sideways...

Deciding it was too late and you were too tired to deal with anything else today, you settled for the flashlight on your cellphone for light. Eating the apple you had nicked from the motel lobby the night before, you laid back in your makeshift bed on the floor and gazed around your new home.

Your home.

The first thing you had ever owned on your own.

First, the corner of your mouth quirked up then you quickly allowed it to flourish into a grin. It may be a piece of shit, but then again, you were always attracted to broken things with the innate need to fix them. Maybe this time you’d actually succeed. With that sobering thought, you settled down into your sleeping bag and were quickly asleep.

Frankie couldn’t believe his eyes when he drove past the old McClure farm. Some fool had actually bought it! Chuckling to himself, he could already imagine the gossip that would spread through town tomorrow, everyone clambering to find out who had moved in.

He had moved out this way five years ago and was still considered the “new guy” in town. Hopefully, the new arrival would take that mantle and everyone could start using Frankie’s actual name. 

He’ll probably just be dubbed “newer guy”...

Breathing out a huff of a laugh at the thought, Frankie began to turn down his driveway. The long, meandering drive leads to a barn surrounded by rows and rows of apple trees.

Two weeks after having moved in, you’re certain you’ve met, or at least seen, everyone from the town. Muffins, pie, casseroles, and even a case of cider had been brought over by a few of the braver townsfolk who drove out to say hello. While they may have been thinly veiled excuses to come snoop, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. The food was delicious, and best of all, it was free.

She had stayed for most of the afternoon, helping you clean and setting her kids about to do menial chores. The eldest, Cole, was sent scurrying up the road to tell his dad to bring Gerta. ... You dared not ask.

The very first visitor was a neighbour from just down the road. “Jacquie,” she had informed you over the noise of her four kids running around the yard, “How do you do?”

She said it with the barest hint of a southern drawl and you instantly fell in love with the soft cadence of her voice. With a beaming smile and a surreptitious wipe of your dusty hand on your pant leg, you shook her hand and introduced yourself. 

A short time later, the most devastatingly handsome, all-American-looking man you had ever seen climbed out of a tractor and started carrying a large object towards the house, Cole at his heels. 

“Jac, babe, where d’you want her?” He called, voice straining a bit due to the weight in his arms. Smiling at you, he nodded his head in greeting, "Hiya, neighbour! The name’s Mark"

“Oh, I don’t need it,” Jacquie replied airily “I just wanted an excuse to watch your muscles at work.”

With a roll of his eyes, that did nothing to hide the adoring sparkle in them, her husband carried his load to the side of the house and with a thump, set it down.

Turns out that Jacquie had a fondness for naming EVERYTHING and Gerta was their gas-powered generator. Claiming they had no use for it, Gerta was yours to keep for as long as you needed her. Which, you had to be honest, was looking like a good long while. Willing away the tears, not for the last time you were sure, brought on by her kindness, you settled for giving her a bear hug. It wasn’t until you heard a little voice calling “Mama?” that you realized you had been clinging to Jacquie for longer than could ever be considered acceptable.

Pulling away gingerly, you started to apologize, quickly stopped by her hand coming up in front of your face, making you involuntarily flinch. 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” She started to exclaim before taking a deeper look at you. Then, without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head to the side and hollered at Mark to gather the kids and head home.

“I’ll be back past bedtime, so come give me y’all kisses now!” She lovingly bossed her brood.

Once they had cleared out, she turned to you, gently taking your hands in hers, and said, “Now, where do you want to start?”

“What kind of voodoo, witch doctor, hippy-dippy magic do you possess?!” you asked with a laugh while sniffing back the lingering tears. 

You had just laid out your entire life to a complete stranger. She had sat there, the whole time, holding your hands and your gaze while you had talked. Everything, you had told her absolutely everything. From the California upbringing in an affluential family to marrying your Highschool Sweetheart days after graduation. The sudden move, his surprise enlistment, his changing demeanor, the beginnings of abuse, all ending with his death while stationed overseas.

The pathetic Death Gratuity from the military barely covered the truck. You’d had to sell everything in order to settle all remaining debts. Your parents had offered to move you back home but the thought just made you ashamed. Moving back home? Being seen as a victim, being pitied by those who had seen your potential wasted? No way.

“Nothin’ supernatural, Darlin,” she assured you, after taking a deep breath to steady herself. It appeared that your emotions had started to affect her as well, you noticed with chagrin. “just the power of a good friend and a strong cider.”

Then came the aftermath. The debt collectors, the funeral without a body, his family claiming anything of value and you meekly allowing it, unaccustomed by that point to standing up for yourself. His grooming of you had started so early, and so slightly, that no one had seen it happen. He had controlled every aspect of your lives; it had made you feel like a fool during that first month as a widow. How could you not know about the multiple maxed-out credit cards? The ignored truck payments? The bank loans?! 

That comment made you look around and laugh, breaking the morose atmosphere in a flash. Scattered around the two of you were at least a half dozen bottles of the alcoholic beverage, which you had both sipped on during your sad monologue.

“Ahh, so it’s the maker of the drink I’ll have to kiss,” you proclaimed with a laugh. “I just saved a fortune in therapy bills!”

With a sly smile, Jacquie nodded, “That you will, send him my best when you do.”

Part Two

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, violence and abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of death [other warning to be added throughout series]

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader’s husband brings home an unexpected houseguest.

Note: So i just worked my ass off and retail is always crummy this time of year so I’m gonna escape with some sweet Arvin Russell writing. 

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The spring air was warm as the breeze swept over the low fence and fluttered the tails of shirts hung across the line. You grabbed two pegs and a swathe of damp fabric and stretched it over the cord, pinning it in place before moving along. Your old machine had taken much of the day to wrangle and had even received a kick. It was decades old, an heirloom inherited with the old country house and much more clunky than the modern machines. Not many in the county had anything more than the old wringing machines.

Roy would be home soon. Your husband hated to hear about how the wringer jammed so easily and the fear that your fingers might again be bruised by the mechanism. Even so, you were certain it wouldn't last for much longer. It's rattles foretold its imminent fate. You'd be back to a bucket and board soon enough.

As you hung the last piece, Roy's oil stained overalls, you heard the putter of the truck. You picked up the woven basket and headed for the gate along the front of the house. You waved as he pulled up, tires loudly mulching the dirt, and you stopped short as he came to a jagged halt. He wasn't alone and you were stillwearing your grimy and wet apron.

Roy pushed his door open so roughly it creaked. He stepped out and gave an exaggerated stretch as he glanced across the roof of the truck and slammed the door.

"Don't forget your bag, boy," he growled at the other man as he felt around the chest pocket of his overall for his smokes. "Looks like you're too late for laundry day."

"Roy?" You unclasped the gate and opened it as Roy stomped across the gravel and lit up a smoke, "How was your day?" 

You peeked over at the other man who climbed out of the truck. He wore similar overall, though they were unbuttoned over a greasy white shirt, and he was shorter and thinner than your husband. He reached back into the truck and grabbed a long military style duffel before he swung the door shut. 

Your husband grumbled and blew out a mouthful of smoke.

"We have a guest?" You asked as you stayed by the gate.

"Arvin Russell," Roy flicked the ash away, "You remember I was talkin' 'bout renting out the attic."

"Um, yes," you blinked as the other man, Arvin, neared meekly. Roy had mentioned the idea once when he noticed the way his truck had started rumbling.  "It'll need a good dusting."

"So you better get on that." Roy coughed. "What's for dinner?"

"Meatloaf," you answered and turned back to smile at the other man as he bowed his head and passed through the gate.

"Hello, missus," he said kindly, "Nice to meet ya. I work with your husband, says you're a fine cook."

"The one thing she can do," Roy muttered as he ambled up the steps of the porch and dropped onto the bench sat by the window. "You go grab us some bottles."

You closed the gate behind Arvin but he waited for you to precede him before going any further. He was surprisingly polite for any man who worked at the shop. 

"Yes, Roy," you hid your disappointment. Those nights when Roy started drinking before dinner rarely ended well.

"Can I just have some water?" Arvin asked as he followed you onto the porch, "Please. I didn't get to my lunch today so I'm not really feeling like drinking."

"Of course," you said, "If you're hungry, I got a box of crackers and some cheese I can bring out."

"Thank you but I'd hate to spoil dinner." Arvin sat on the end of the bench and kept his bag between his feet as Roy threw away his cigarette. "Thank you both for having me."

You nodded and quickly skirted inside. You were a bit confounded by Roy's sudden burst of generosity. He rarely did anything for anyone else. To think he'd offer a room to a coworker was unlike him.

You went to the old fridge, marked with dings and dents, and wiggled the handle until it opened. You remember the day you Pa had broken the handle, he'd always promised to fix it but had only managed to make it worse. You missed him. It was easy to miss him in this old place. His wedding present to you and Roy. It was too tragic he hadn't lived long enough to see you enjoy it.

You grabbed a brown bottle then filled a tall glass from the tap. You went back to the door and opened it with your elbow. You handed Roy his beer as Arvin stood to accept his glass of water.

"Thank you," he chimed but your husband only popped the cap of his beer with his teeth and glared out at the yard.

"Well dinner is in the oven still. I'll just be finishing that before I get started in the attic." You told Roy but he only shrugged and gulped down the beer. "Let me know if you boys need anything." 

"Peace and quiet," Roy snarled. "S'all I need right now."

Arvin gave a sympathetic look and traced his thumb along the side of the glass. You hid your discomfort and retreated inside. That was just Roy. He was always in a mood after work. An hour or two and he would mellow out. The beer would surely help.

🚬

When you finished supper, you called the men in to eat. Roy started his second beer as Arvin remained quiet and awkward at the table. You didn’t say much as you pondered the work still left to be done. You had to tidy the attic before the night ended and collect the laundry from the line. You would also have to clear the table and clean up the mess of your cooking.

You stood before the men finished. You scraped your untouched scraps into the dish of leftovers and placed the glass lid on it. You scoured the loaf pan as you listened to the clink of cutlery on plates and set the pots on the drying rack. You returned to the men to gather their empty dishes and Arvin thank you as Roy belched and stood with a satisfied but gruff rumble.

Arvin watched you as you tried to ignore the pity in his face. You knew your husband wasn’t the most loving or vocal, but he was yours and he worked hard. You turned away and went back to the kitchen. You finished washing the last of the glassware and dried it before stacking it in the cupboards.

As you passed through the dining room, Arvin was gone and you could hear the buzz of the radio from the front room. Roy always liked to listen to the game after he ate. Sometimes you sat with him and crocheted or read but not often.

You tiptoed upstairs and found the footstool hidden in the bottom of the linen closet. You climbed onto the step and reached up to unhook the cord of the attic door. It dangled down and you pulled it carefully as you backed off the stool and kicked it away. The steps unfolded and you barely stepped out of the way of their descent as the heavy wood thumped against the carpet.

It had been a while since you ventured up to the third floor. There was only dust and forgotten memories up there. You slowly made your way up and sneezed as you reached the top. A wall of boxes blocked the window along the front of the house and shrouded furniture sat beneath grimy sheets.

You started with the boxes. You took one and peeked under the flaps. Some old oil lamps hoarded by your father from his own parents. You awkwardly made your way back down to the second floor and placed the box at the bottom. When you had them all down, you’d take them into your father’s old room to store. Perhaps you should sort through them at last and get rid of the unneeded artifacts.

You were six boxes deep when you were startled by a shadow in the open hatch. You exclaimed and nearly dropped your armful as Arvin poked his head through and peered over at you.

“Arvin,” you gasped. “My apologies, this place is a mess.”

“Not so bad,” he climbed up and stood, “You need some help?”

“Don’t be silly, I can manage--”

“You’re right. It’s a mess,” he insisted, “A lot for just one person.”

You stared at him and gave a small smile. He was funny. He neared you and reached out for the box in your arms.

“How about this, I’ll stay on the ladder and you bring the boxes to me and I’ll take ‘em down.” He took the box gently from you, “It’ll be much quicker.”

You looked into his soft brown eyes and let him. He backed away and cautiously made his way down the ladder. You turned and grabbed another box and he reappeared through the hatch. You handed him the box of figurines and he retreated once more. You carried on and soon, the boxes were stacked high on the lower floor.

“Alright,” Arvin climbed up and dusted off his hands, “Already lookin’ better.”

He neared the old sofa against the wall and pulled off the sheet. He coughed as the dust was kicked up and it soon turned into a chuck as he waved away the cloud.

“We can keep this here,” he draped the sheet over his arm and pulled the next from the tall lamp with the glass shade, “Move this into the corner,” he continued on and peeked under a sheet before unveiling the tall shelf, “If you don’t mind, of course?”

“Not at all. We should’ve sold all this years ago.” You teetered on your heels anxiously. Every piece reminded you of your father. “There’s a cot folded up over there,” you pointed behind a hidden end table, “But that wouldn’t be much better than the floor.”

“It’ll do,” he assured you and turned to sit on the sofa. He bounced as he hugged the sheets. “This isn’t too bad.”

“Well, there’s a bed down in my pa’s room. We could try to bring it up tomorrow. If you don’t mind offerin’ a little more help.” You wrung your hands. You were never very good with strangers and Roy’s friends often weren’t much nicer than him. You were tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I think I could do that,” he stood and wiggled his nose as a sneeze threatened. “You got a broom? Maybe a duster?”

“You’ve done enough, I can finish it--”

“Ma’am, I’m a guest in your home. I might be paying for the room but it doesn’t make you my maid,” he intoned, “You’ve already done more than enough. I don’t think I’ve eaten so well since before my momma died.”

“Oh, I’m… sorry,” you uttered. “I--”

“Now, don’t be sorry,” he cooed, “Nothing to be sorry for. I assume you lost your daddy if his bed is free.” 

You nodded dumbly and blinked.

“Well, at least let me take these,” you reached for the sheets and he hesitated before he let you take them. You struggled to keep them balled up and hugged them against your hip as you turned back to the hatch. “I’ll bring you the broom.”

“Thank you,” he said behind you and you looked back at him as you took your first step down the ladder, “You let me know when you bring that washin’ in and I’ll help you fold.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I want to. Makes me feel a little better about stealin’ your attic,” he assured you.

You looked down and slowly descended. As your feet met the carpet, you sighed and looked around at the boxes. You couldn’t remember a time Roy had ever offered to help with anything. If it wasn’t to do with his truck, he couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger.

🚬

You were completely drained by the time you retired to your bedroom. You were still on edge, your exhaustion laced with anxiety as you unbuttoned your blouse. You sat on the side of the bed as you slowly undressed. It was still absurd to you that another person, barely more than a stranger, was living in your home. In your father’s house.

It changed your whole routine. You couldn’t help but go over it in your mind. That meant three plates, not two, for every meal, that meant the laundry basket would fill up quicker, than meant the shoes tracks in the front entrance would need to be mopped up more often. That mean you had to act like your marriage was truly happy.

You pulled on your night gown, the short sleeves tickled your upper arms as you dropped your clothes in the wicker basket on your chest of drawers. A framed photo of your parents’ wedding day sat beside it and on the shelf beside the door, was your own wedding portrait.

Three years wasn’t so long but it felt an eternity. You couldn’t quite recall when Roy had changed. When the beer had started to taint his kisses and his words. When all pretense fell away and only the man remained. The brutish country boy with the churlish demeanour.

Maybe the first day of your marriage. Maybe. You were so nervous on your wedding night that it angered him. You’d mend your dress one day, hopefully when you had a daughter of your own so you had something to promise her. 

Or maybe a week after the wedding, when you broke the vase gifted to you upon your nuptials and it shattered across the floor. Roy’s booming voice and his boulder-like fists.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, a month in when the world went black with his hand on your throat and you awoke alone on the kitchen floor.

Maybe a year when your finger was dislocated by a slammed door. Maybe the next year when you couldn’t sit for the pain in your hips. Maybe the one after when he’d grown impatient for a child only to find your sheets soaked in blood. 

Maybe it had always been there, from the first date, but you’d simply refused to accept it. Not you. Not Roy. You loved him and he loved you, didn’t he?

The door slammed and shook you from your sombre recollections. You looked up as Roy stumbled in. He snickered darkly as your eyes met his and his legs wobbled beneath him drunkenly.

You slid off the bed and turned to plant your elbows on the mattress. A prayer before bed, as your grandmother had taught you. Another sarcastic chuckle aimed in your direction as Roy’s stained white tee missed the basket.

“On your knees for me already,” he sat beside your elbow as he unbuckled his belt.

You couldn’t focus on your inner recitation. You could smell the alcohol on him, the stench of oil and his sweat. You clutched your hands together and cleared your throat.

“Why didn’t you call me?” You asked calmly.

He frowned and stood to shove his pants past his knees. He kicked the jeans away and fell heavily back to the bed.

“Call you?” He sneered.

“To let me know about our guest?” You wondered innocently. “I could’ve readied for him better.”

“Workin’,” he growled. “I don’t got time to be callin’ you with my head under an engine. Fuckin’ Christ.”

“There isn’t a bed in the attic.” You said.

“So. Arv’s small enough. I’ve seen him sleep on a stool.” Roy spat. 

You hid your chagrin behind your hands as you pressed them to your lips.

“Why’d you bring him?”

Roy’s nostrils flared and a fist formed atop his hairy thigh. “I gotta explain to you?” He snapped. “He paid me outright and he been sleepin’ at the motel since he started.”

“Mr. Dace has a room--”

“Mr. Dace lives twice as far as we do. I did the kid a favour. He saved my ass his first day.” Roy stomped his foot. “Woulda burned down the whole garage if he hadn’t caught that leak.”

“Kid? He that young?”

“Couple years younger than you, I s’pose, maybe less,” Roy rubbed his cheeks and shook his head, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Curious,” you said quietly and closed your eyes as you rested your chin on your knuckles.

Roy was quiet. He let out a long, thick breath and the bed jolted beneath your arms.

“You finished bleeding?” He asked gruffly. 

“I’m praying, Roy,” you insisted.

“How long’s it take you? I’m sure God’s heard it all before.”

“Don’t talk like that, R--”

You squeaked as he grabbed your wrist and wrenched your arms away. He rose and lifted you with him. Always a strong man, he moved you like a puppet to his will. He took your other wrist and pulled you against him.

“You know, I don’t even care if you’re bleeding.” He turned you and shoved you onto the bed. You cried out as you bounced so hard you bit your tongue.

“Roy, please, I’m tired,” you stared up at him fearfully as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. You could taste blood.

“You’re my wife. You do your duty.” He pushed his underwear down as his cock twitched. “You got energy to wash all them clothes, you can lay on your back for your husband.”

“Roy--”

“Shut up!” He shouted. “We got company. I don’t need ya keepin’ him up with your whining.”

You closed your eyes as he fell onto you. He crushed you beneath him as he tugged your skirt up harshly. He pushed your legs apart with his knee and you braced yourself for his painful intrusion. Even so long into the marriage, you had never grown used to his touch.

He retracted his hand and began to touch himself. He stroked his cock as he swore under his breath.

“Fuck. Come on.” He moved his hand quicker and rubbed his soft tip against your folds. “Open up.” 

He forced his dick against your entrance and tried to push inside. He was still half-flaccid and struggled to get further than an inch. You balled your hands and sank your head into the mattress as he thrust. He fell out of you, softer than before.

You opened your eyes sat up on his knees and looked down at his limp dick. He gritted his teeth as you watched him.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he punched your stomach as hard as he could and you wheezed as you folded in on yourself. “Can’t even keep me hard.”

“Roy--” You hissed. “I’m s--”

“One more word and you’ll be real sorry.” He pushed himself from between your legs, making certain to pinch you as he did.

He stood and turned. You barely moved out of the way before he sprawled over his side of the mattress. You held your stomach, a painful pressure lodge there, and rolled to the edge of the bed. You reached over and pulled the chain on the lamp. 

As you laid back, Roy caught the back of your neck and kept you in a painful limbo.

“On the floor,” he jarred your neck as he tried to throw you off the bed. “Like the dog you are.”

You slid off the side and landed sharply on your knees. You stifled a shameful sob and lowered yourself down onto your side. You bent your knees and cushioned your head on one arm. You stared into the void beneath the bed as the frame groaned beneath Roy’s heavy body.

“Goddamn bitch,” he uttered groggily. “Fuckin’--”

His words turned to snores as he finally drowned in his bellyful of beer. You listened to his jagged, drunken breaths as you shivered on the cold wood. You closed your eyes and recalled the first night you’d slept on the floor. You’d been in much poorer shape and it had been the dead of winter.

At least, you didn’t have to sleep next to him.

[dippydots]

December 14, 2021

Some VERY important plot stuff

@a-model-of-propriety ;)

Henry's birthday was tomorrow. The gang had respectively bought gifts for him, and it was Edward's first time getting him a gift as well. Now that he had his own body, he could surprise him with something he wouldn't think of. But he was stuck. He didn't know what to get him. What could he get him? The guy pretty much had everything. He decided to consult Adam about it. "Well you know what he likes, don't you? After all you've shared a body for about six years," Adam said, stirring his tea. "Well, yeah, but everything that I think of, someone's already gotten!"

"Well, Henry likes baking," Adam offered. "Dorian bought him a new mixer," Edward said plainly. "Well what about a new book? He likes reading."

"Books are boring and you and Victor already got him some."

"True, true. What about something for his lab?"

"Erik bought him new test tubes. Dorian got him a gift card to his favorite restaurant, and Jack got him joke gifts. There's literally nothing else," Edward frowned. Adam bit his lip in thought. Then his eyes lit up. "Maybe you could find something up in the attic from his childhood! Something that'll mean a lot to him!"

"Great idea, Stitches!" Edward gleefully exclaimed, "Thanks, dude!" And then he bolted out of the room.

The following morning, Edward headed up to the attic. He didn't want to be up there at night. He opened the attic door, and coughed a bit. It was pretty dusty. The last time he was up here was last year, when Adam gave free therapy to everyone. He had helped Dorian carry his portrait up here. A slight shiver went down his spine as he looked at the covered portrait across from him. He looked away, making his way to a shelf. There were children's books up here, a book of nursery rhymes, Corduroy, The Ugly Duckling, just to name a few. Any of these would probably make Henry cry rather than happy. He looked around some more. There worn books, as well as ugly furniture. There was nothing really interesting. He walked to the other side of the room. There was a blue leather-bound book alone on a shelf. Edward picked it up, and blew the dust off. He opened it, and there were a bunch of photos of a baby. He smiled slightly. These were obviously photos of Henry. This would be a good gift, right? Some hand picked photos of Henry in his happier years would be nice. He sat down with the book in tow, and as he continued to look through, he saw something fall across the room. Curious, he put the book down and went to see what it was. It was a piece of paper folded in half hamburger style. On the front it read, "To Henry", but the Y was backwards. Did a child write this? There was a lot of dust on it, so clearly Henry didn't read it. Edward opened the paper, and read what it had to say.

****

"Dad! Doc! Doc Dad!" Edward shouted as he ran into the study. Henry flinched slightly at the abruptness. He ran to up to Henry and tried catching his breath. "What is it?" He held up the paper. "I was trying to find you the perfect birthday gift, and I think I hit the jackpot. Read this, please," he panted. Henry put on his reading glasses after taking the paper. He recognized the unmistakable horrid handwriting of Lisa Carew. His heart thumped in his ribcage. When was this written? He didn't recognize it at all. He opened it up and began to read it, despite all the grammatical errors.

****

Hi, Harry.

Do you even want me to call you that anymore after that night? I don't know. I don't even know if you still like me or not. I'm sorry for yelling and getting mad at you for not wanting to run off with me. I know you want to be a doctor and help others, and that's awesome! You're awesome, I'm not. You might not think that, since I'm the one who's got all the magical abilities, but its true. There's not many boys like you. You're sweet, smart and really cute. I'm not any of that. I don't even know why you decided that I was going to be the kid who was your best friend, but I'm really happy that it lasted for thirteen years. I had fun playing with you and messing with my family and just growing up with you in general. I'm really gonna miss that. Maybe that's just part of growing up. But I don't wanna let go of you just yet. You know that I've always hated being alone. You just being here beside me was enough to make the cloudiest days seem brighter. I've found this old cottage that's been abandoned outside of London. Its near that little village that we drove out to on my sixteenth birthday, Bibury. It could use some fixing up, but its got stuff in here, so that's cool. If you ever want to come over here, you can, I can't make you. If you read this and you hate my guts and you move on from me, that's completely okay. I want you to be happy, and whatever choice makes you happy, it's the right one. I came back here but I was afraid you wouldn't let me in, and you know why I can't go back to my family. So I left this in the attic so that way your mom wouldn't see and then yell at you or something. Its only been a few days, but I miss you Henry. I miss your eyes and smile and basically everything about you. I hope that you'll forgive me someday.

Yours Truly, Lisa

*****

Tears stained the paper as Henry's shocked face stared down at the paper. "I could've visited her this whole time?!" he nearly shouted, "And she thought I was cute?!"

"Well you were better looking than most teens," Edward said nonchalantly. Henry's eyes widened. "Wait a second." A look of utter defeat appeared on his face. "She had a crush on me this whole time and I didn't even notice." Edward bit his tongue in order to hold back a laugh. Henry held his face in his hands. "Oh my God I'm such an idiot! I could've met up with her again this whole time!" he exclaimed. "Well, what's holding you back now?" Edward asked. "What?"

"You should go. You've beaten yourself up about it for too long. You deserve to be happy, and don't you want to see her again?" he asked. Henry was silent. He looked at the letter again. He took a few deep breaths. "Tell the others that I'll be gone for a while," he said, standing up and walking out. "Wait where are you going?" Edward asked. Henry turned back to look at him and gave a "are you serious?" kind of look. Edward instantly understood, and a giddy smile played at his lips. "Ok have fun!" Henry nodded, and went to go grab his coat.

[mammonprotectionsquad]

Very self indulgent fic incoming!

But first of: I'm sure a few people are gonna say I write Vandy a bit ooc. But listen. We know he's more caring than he likes to admit. And I have the hc, that once he is really comfortable around his s/o, he can get real soft and opens up way more. Thanks for coming to my small ted talk xD (istg it's too easy for me to start rambling about Vandy...)

Welcome home

Vanderwood x Reader

"Can I look now?", you chuckled, taking cautious, small steps as your boyfriend led you forward, one of his hands covering your eyes, while the other rested on your hip to steady you.

"Not yet...", he murmured, his voice nearly getting drowned out by the sound of small rocks crunching under both your feet.

It didn't take much longer until he finally stopped you and pulled his hand away.

"There we are."

You blinked a couple times, your eyes needing a bit to get used to the bright light. But when they did? They grew big and round and all you really could do for a moment was stare at the house in front of you.

"Is that...?"

"A cottage, yes. It can be ours, if you want it to be."

"You... But... How?", you stuttered and finally turned around to face Vanderwood, who simply shrugged.

"Someone still owed me a favor."

Without thinking about it, you threw your arms around his neck, showering his face in kisses and drawing a chuckle out of him with your actions.

That all happened three months ago and even to this day you couldn't believe he actually remembered something you only mentioned once, very briefly.

Smiling to yourself, you set the box you carried down in the kitchen. The only room that had come fully furnitured. The other rooms only had a couple pieces so far. Mainly because Vanderwood didn't want to take any of the things from his former apartment along, which was very much understandable. That place barely held any positive memories. So for the time being all the furniture you owned were the things from your place.

A bed that was a little too small for two people, but gave a great excuse for cuddles and entangled limbs all night long. A big armchair your grandma had once gifted you. A couch that had already seen better days and definitely needed to get replaced. Closets that were barely big enough to hold your clothes.

The house itself wasn't the biggest, but you didn't need a mansion-like home to begin with. You loved how cozy every room was. With a lot of wood details, a fireplace in the living room, an attic that could've easily been turned into another bedroom, if it should've been needed. Not to forget about the big garden and no neighbors anywhere close by. It was peaceful and quiet. Just what you both needed.

You got pulled out of your thoughts when a kiss got dropped to your head.

"Penny for your thoughts, baby girl?", he asked, while adding another box to the ones in the kitchen.

"I just... It's still so surreal that this is actually our home now."

"You better start believing, because that was the last box."

The last box holding your belongings. Making it all the more official that you did, in fact, now live in a house you'd only ever dared to dream of. On top of that even with the man you just knew was your soulmate. Making it all the more special and exciting.

"We're home now", you nearly whispered as you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning into his broad chest.

His arms immediately snaking around you as well, while you both let those words sink in for a moment. You didn't need to hear him say it to know just what kind of meaning that one sentence probably held for him. After all it was the first time for him to have a real home. Where he could do whatever he wanted to, without the constant need to keep his guard up in order to survive.

When you pressed a kiss to his neck, he let out a content sigh.

"Let's call it a day, hm? We took care of the most important things. And someone seems tired."

There was a teasing lilt in his voice, though you knew he actually said it because he cared about you. And there was no denying that you were exhausted. You'd forgotten how draining moving actually was.

"Maybe we should've accepted the help the RFA offered."

"No. It would've only been pure chaos."

"Could've also been fun chaos, though", you laughed, when he simply threw you over his shoulder and carried you over to the bedroom. Lightly and playfully pinching your thigh.

The next days were filled with picking and buying the missing furniture. Putting everything up as far as possible and unpacking the things that were already able to find their spots.

And when you waited for other pieces to arrive, you painted some walls. Currently you were in what would be a small guestroom, each of you working on a different wall. Of course Vanderwood was all meticulous, wanting everything to come out perfectly.

You on the other hand had a different plan that suddenly hit you. With the most innocent smile, you put down your brush and dipped a finger into the paint, before you sauntered over to him.

"Babe~"

"Hm?"

As soon as he turned his head, you reached up and booped his nose. Leaving a pastel blue spot on his skin.

For a couple seconds he was quiet, only staring at you in confusion. Though as his eyes landed on the paint on your finger it seemed to click, his expression shifting. He wasn't mad, that much you knew. But he also wouldn't just let you get away with it. So when he dropped the paint roller on the well protected floor, you shrieked and immediately darted out of the room, Vanderwood following you closely.

"I'll get you!"

You squeaked and chuckled as you rounded a corner, slipping ever so slightly on the wooden floor. Before there was even a chance for you to fall, you already got scooped up and twirled around. His nose rubbing against your cheek to wipe the paint off. His genuine, bright laughter making your heart skip a beat, before it began to race. You loved that sound and the fact that you've gotten to hear it a lot more, recently.

"Did you really think you'd get away with that?"

"Nope. I simply wanted you to experience the normal relationship shenanigans when you move together with your girlfriend~"

"Doubt anything with you is normal", he retorted with an amused snort. Making you gasp overly dramatic.

"Hey, rude!"

What followed was another fit of laughter, the entire situation making you feel all light. Because there was nothing you wanted more than seeing the love of your life happy. And apparently you were doing something right, judging by how much more relaxed he had gotten ever since you moved into the cottage.

Once dinner time rolled around, the guestroom was fully painted. And when Vanderwood put your food into the oven, you busied yourself with pouring two glasses of wine. Humming along quietly to the vinyl you'd put on earlier.

Suddenly the bottle got taken out of your hand, placed safely on the counter, before he grabbed your hand and twirled you around. Afterwards he pulled you close into his chest, one hand resting on your hip as the other one still held yours.

"What are you doing?", you laughed brightly, head tilted to the side.

"Dancing with my girl. Obviously. They do that in movies, don't they?"

"Mhm... I guess they do, yeah. And I get why. It's nice."

For a while you both stayed quiet, just swaying around the kitchen, exchanging glances that held nothing but pure love and adoration for each other. Occasionally sharing tender kisses, here and there. Just enjoying a peaceful moment where it was only the two of you in your own little world.

"Are you happy?", his voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke up again, nearly sounding a little unsure.

"Very much so~ How couldn't I be? Got my dream man, my dream house...", you smiled, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, with him leaning into the soft touch. "Are you happy?"

"Happiest I've ever been. All thanks to you."

He leaned in for another kiss, one that lasted a bit longer and easily made you weak in the knees.

"I love you..."

"I love you too, Y/N."

Masterlist I Masterlist II

If you'd like to get added to the tag list, please let me know 💕

@ayamewhump @the-purpleblushh @just-a-key @dis-gorl @otomaticallyobsessed @latte-delf @hopebunnywrites @duhsies

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

original post/idea came from @memes-saved-me

and thank you for encouraging me to write it! i had lots of fun <3

———

Steve Harrington’s parents weren’t around often. People knew that, they were aware. Now, they weren’t home much, yes, but they weren’t not home enough for it to be a worrying case of neglect. They still called in, had the neighbor keep tabs, and came home at least three times a month.

When you asked Steve about his family he’d simply shrug his shoulders and tell you that his father had a firm in the city. When someone asked Mr. and Mrs. Harrington about their son they’d wave a hand and mention how ‘he’s just on his way to graduating’ and then change the subject. Was Steve Harrington the perfect son? Maybe not. Were the senior Harrington’s good parents to begin with? Debatable. But they had something close to functional. They digress.

And so, as children who didn’t have prominent leaders in their life usually turn out, Steve was a lost cause when it came to actually living on his own. He had the money for food and his parents kept up with the bills. But he was horrendous when it came to actually keeping the house up to shape.

Until he had to figure it out to save his own ass.

The first instance was messy.

His first party had been wild. Junior year. Half his grade and then some had shown up. He’d gone all out. The long, fancy dining table had been loaded with foods all fatty and desirable. Kegs had been placed outside for peoples free flow. The expensive stereo which had been installed that spring blasted music from a collection of mixtapes. And by the end of the night, the party had been raging. Raging as in fights broke out, people got reckless, everyone started getting destructive.

That was when Steve regretted not having a plan, he was too sober to just let it go and deal with it in the morning. He knew that wasn’t a good idea. Multiple things happened all at once. Someone dragged a keg in from the backyard, too drunk to find the strength to carry it. And apparently too deaf to hear it scratch up the maple wood floorboards. Then, two seniors bashed their heads into the wall. Successfully denting two very noticeable holes in the drywall. But, oh, that wasn’t all the destruction. Some junior (Steve vaguely registered his name as Jake) was thrown into the wall, actively also breaking a shelf there too.

He had turned off the music and then clanged pots together to get them all out. It worked. A little surprisingly.

And then he’d been left with a damaged house to deal with.

He picked up all the litter both indoors and outdoors, put the little leftover food into the fridge, vacuumed, and then went to bed in exhaustion.

===

The next day he’d then been overwhelmed with many worries over the destruction caused to his home. He was just thankful it had been Saturday. He had the weekend to figure this shit out. He went around the house and made a list of everything that needed repair.

1.) The floor

2.) The holes in the walls

3.) That shelf (REPLACEMENT)

4.) The table

Oh yes, the table. His family’s long, fancy table had an abundant number of scratches engraved into it. Something no amount of waxing could fix.

His first thought was to look for all the tools his prestigious father had to offer. So, he looked everywhere. The basement, the attic, the closets, the offices, the shed. And he did find some. A hammer, two screwdrivers with different points, a tape measure, a wrench, a measuring level, and exactly 28 screws. But even that wasn’t enough and he knew. Next stop was the local hardware store.

Mr. Jimmy was the local handyman and he was nice enough to everyone. But not so much to the Harrington’s.

“What’re you doing here, boy? You know, son,” Jimmy’s neglected beard rustled when he spoke and his shop smelled of anchovies and cheese doodles. “I used to know yer Mama. Back in the day. She was a purdy thing, that woman.” He sighed something fond, “I miss that there woman. She’s not the same. Barely see her nowadays.” Steve was used to Mr. Jimmy’s delays, wasn’t subsided too much.

“Hey, Mr. Jimmy,” he stepped through the threshold of the old shop. “I’m looking for some tools today. Think you could help me?”

Mr. Jimmy regarded him with squinted eyes, “You using yer Daddy’s money?”

Steve blinked, “Yeah?” Mr. Jimmy folded his arms impassively. He had obvious tan lines that peaked out through his sleeveless shirt. Skin red over age.

“I don’t want no money from that bastard’s account!”

“But—“

“I’ll have none of it,” the bulky man stepped forward and Steve’s back hit the cold glass door.

“But, Mr. Jimmy, you’d be taking from him. Wouldn’t that be better than just letting him keep all that money for himself?” Steve reasoned. Adding the suggestive and innocent lilt to his tone, worked his bystander charm.

The scornful eyes grew with joy, “Why—“ he laughed suddenly, loud and invasive just as he was. “You’re a rotten little junior, aren’t yeh!” he galloped over to his counter with the same joyous lilt. Steve stood still in case the man swerved into another decision. He watched as Mr. Jimmy himself walked around his shelves, searching. “What kinda stuff you lookin for anyways?”

Steve struggled to find his voice, “Er- Uhm- Hah. W—Well I have to replace some wood flooring, fix a scratched table, replace a shelf, and patch up some holes in the wall?” He received a raised eyebrow before the man started hurriedly piling supplies throughout the shop into the counter by the cash register. Steve didn’t even want to think about how much it would cost. Although, if he thought about it, replacing everything and then paying someone else to do it all was probably more of a hole. Sure, the emergency cash that had added up over time would be gone, but at least he wouldn’t be disowned for the ruined furniture.

“That’ll be $78.75,” Mr. Jimmy pressed some buttons and Steve startled a little when the loud clang of it opening echoed. He pulled out his wallet anyway and dug around for the cash. He handed over four twenties only a smidge reluctantly.

Mr. Jimmy was giddy at least, “This here money will do me some good,” he nodded to himself as he stored the greens away and started packing the supplies in tightly within big paper bags.

“I’m sure my father will miss it,” Steve fibbed, “Keep the change.” And carried the three hefty loads up and out the door.

===

He had Queen playing the speakers and a crow bar in hand. What he was supposed to do now that he supposedly had all of the materials was a toss up to him. But he had to try.

He got down on all fours and began prying between the first ruined board and one of the unscarred ones. It lifted with a creak and he watched it carefully as he moved the bar up and down repeatedly. At one point it didn’t peel off any more and so he went side to side with it. Still nothing. He tried to push forward but there was too much resistance.

“What the hell? Come on you pathetic piece of wood!” he muttered exasperatedly. He pulled back a little and then slammed the bar back under the board. There was a sharp snapping sound that made him freeze. But the board was unstuck. And, oh would you look at that. He was unceremoniously proud. The floor board popped off. He saw that there was some dried up white lines underneath. He decided that it looked like that stuff in the bottle labeled ‘liquid nail’ and placed the board to the side.

He spent the rest of the late morning tearing up floorboards. By the time a late lunch break was approaching, he had accomplished removing all the damaged floor. He went into the kitchen to wash his hands quick before calling for a pizza when he realized the water accumulation in the sink. And it wouldn’t go down.

“Okay!” he cried in frustration, “What the actual hell now?” He got down again and opened the cupboard doors to the pipes coming down from the sink. There were steel pipes that started from the sink and curved around down into the bottom of the cabinet. There were rings that Steve assumed connected them. So to see what was backing up the sink he’d have to unscrew a couple. Right? He got up and dusted his pants off (a lost cause by this point) and went over to the pile of tools by the front door.

He grabbed a wrench, or at least what looked like one the plumber had used when he’d visited once or twice when Steve was a kid. It took him a minute but he finally loosened the mouth of it and fitted the groves over the ring of the pipe. He twisted and some water started dropping down. It started making a puddle so he hurried and grabbed a pot, placing it right underneath. He twisted again and again and again.

He sputtered as some sprayed into his face, “Awe hell! Disgusting!” but he kept twisting anyway.

Eventually it came off. But the water was quickly overflowing. Not to mention rancid. He yelped in shock and ran all around the kitchen trying to find more bowls. He found one, a china bowl that was his mother’s great aunt’s. He yelled out as he saw the grey water streaming down onto the kitchen floor at that point. He ran back and held the fancy ceramic serving bowl up to the open pipe. He sighed in relief as it worked and when it stopped, finally, just barely brimming the bowl, he saw tons of little pieces of orange.

“Who the hell put orange peels in my sink?” he muttered as he carefully waddled out to the back yard. It was cold out and he didn’t have shoes nor socks on. He jogged on his toes all the way back to the tree line and tossed the gross contents into the bushes there. He ran back shivering with a tight hold onto the rim of the china bowl. When inside he set it on the counter and fluttered about gathering towels. He mopped up the rest of the water mess and went to turn on the sink to check his work.

“Wait!” he jumped down in panic just as he turned the water on and off in the same second. The water inevitably dripped down through the open pipe but it was only a little. He leaned his head tiredly against the open cupboard door, face sweaty and hairline damp. He took the wrench and attached the rings back on snugly. Then, he turned the water on with a quick flick at the knob. He laughed happily as nothing leaked and the water trickled down without blockage. He leaned back against the counter and panted as the slight adrenaline rush flowed away.

===

Some time later he figured that he should probably work on the holes in the wall. He had some sort of paper roll made of one thick strip and a big bucket of smooth and pale mud textured stuff. He took the wide spatula thing that Mr. Jimmy had instructed of him to use and stared at the two dents in the white accent wall.

“Ummm,” Steve looked from his full hands, roll of paper stuff around his wrist and mud bucket in one and the spatula in the other. “Well what the hell do I do now?” he asked himself. He could really use Mr. Jimmy’s insight right now. Or Tommy. Tommy knew this stuff his uncle was one of the local handymen. But Tommy had also been the one to drag the keg in so maybe not him. He stepped up to the biggest of the damages and pulled off a piece of the thick paper. He held it up to the wall and blocked off the hole.

“Oh!” he realized excitedly, “I see,” Steve nodded to himself proudly and crouched to set the bucket on the floor. He stuck the spatula in and took some up with it. “Like paste,” he mumbled to himself and started smoothing the mud stuff on one side of the tape strip he’d measured out. He grinned and stuck it to the wall over the hole so that the top and bottom connected to the uncracked wall. He did that same thing until the whole hole was patched up. He looked at the pale ‘paste’ and looked back at the wall thoughtfully.

He started, then, to slather more joint compound (he’d finally read the bucket) on top of the tape (he had also then remembered the rushed instructions Mr. Jimmy had thrown out). He smoothed it out tediously and left it be to repeat on the other hole. When he’d finished with that task he found his arms and pants speckled with clumps of dried and crumbly spackle. Steve didn’t think it would be this messy. He picked it off his arms as he walked back to the upturned floor. He winced as the dried beads pulled at his arm hair.

Now, to get the new flooring in, Steve grabbed the hammer and the cylinder with the glue stuff. He really had no clue what it was supposed to be. But he did have an idea of what he had to do. So, he laid out all the new flooring, which he was happy to note was just about a perfect match to the old floor, and started patching the right lengths in place. When he had the puzzle figured out he stared at the tube thoughtfully. He scratched at the tip to see if it would give and when it didn’t he went to the kitchen for scissors.

He snipped off the cap and held it upright as he ran back to his station. Steve turned over one of the boards and pushed in the bottom to get the contents out. Which proved more difficult than he’d hoped. A spurt squirted out but then it stopped.

“Okay,” he sighed defeatedly, “What the fuck?” he set it down and went back to his pile of hardware supplies. There was an odd contraption that did have a base with the same diameter of the cylinder canister. He shrugged a grabbed it, “Worth a try.” He fitted it in and adjusted it so it looked somewhat how he assumed it should. He set the point on the board plank and pulled the trigger a few slow times until the glue came out. He laughed a loud ‘AH-HA’ and swirled it around. He flipped it over after setting down the canister and contraption and fitted and locked it in as best he could with the hammer. Sure, there was about two dents because he hit it a little bit too hard. But it was in and he only had five more boards to fit in. He felt happy enough.

Throughout the rest of the installment he had managed to not get the ‘liquid nail’ on his hands and there weren’t any too obvious dents in the floor, nor anymore scratches. He went back to his list to cross things out and check his progress.

1.) The floor

2.) The holes in the walls

3.) That shelf (REPLACEMENT)

4.) The table

He knew he had to use that block thing to sand down the dried compound. and then he had to repaint the wall white. But that would be simple. The shelf though, that was something else. He had seven wood planks that Mr. Jimmy had cut down for him already. He just had to screw them together and sand them down. Mr. Jimmy had said something about stain or wax but Steve waved it off, the only thing that went on the old shelf was little boxes that held his great great great grandmother’s spoon collection (something he had stored away before his party).

He went outside to the patio with the small hand drill, the 3x4’s, and the thin screws that he’d bought from the store. He sat criss-cross on the concrete and set up the little shelf. It took fifty six minutes and a couple minor slivers and scrapes, but he had the shelf put together with the screws just barely noticeable. He inspected the wood and decided that it was fine as it was. A close enough replica. He went back inside with it, not bothering to sand all the little nooks, and placed it against the wall experimentally. If he put it down a little the holes from before would be concealed just fine.

He drew two little lines with a pencil down the line where the original screws had been. He knew he needed a post to screw into, that the drywall wouldn’t hold. See? He was learning. He lined up the backing plank and placed the level on top, shifting the shelf just so the bubble was in the middle of the lines. He then drilled a screw through it and into the wall. Before he let it go he drilled in the second with some struggle since the he kept loosing balance. But eventually, it was in the wall. His arms were sore and he felt a headache coming on but he had the new shelf up and if his mother was kind enough to not go inspecting it, it would pass just fine. He laughed victoriously and skipped a little around joyously. He was almost done.

“Just a few more things, just a couple,” he consoled his aching limbs. Drills were hefty little things and reminded him of those wild horses in movies that always tried to buck the cowboys off. He groaned a little as he spotted the mess of a table on his way to grab a snack.

He turned his nose to the visual reminder, “I’ll be back to deal with you,” he grumbled. “I need a damn Jell-O cup.”

===

It was actually the next day that he finally got to it. His parents would be back home Monday and he still had a few things left to do. So much for an easygoing weekend. Tommy had called that morning and asked him to go with him to a neighborhood baseball scrimmage, but he’d said he was busy and hung up. He had been mid-sanding down the dining table. And after three hours of perfecting and perfecting it all again. After so much time getting sore and sweaty and coughing from dust. The table was finally flat and there was no more sign of scratches. He got the cloth that Mr. Jimmy had thrown at his face the day before and opened the strong chemically smelling can. He gagged but dipped it in and started applying the wood stain carefully, following the lines of the wood on pure instinct. It made sense too even if he wasn’t totally sure if it was actually right. But, either way, within that hour he had the table back to its original color and left it to dry completely.

He stared at the bumpy wall of compound. He knew this would be bad. If the wood dust was bad, this mud stuff was going to be worse. He wasn’t that naive.

And he was right. By the time it was smooth he was coughing and in dire need of a glass of water. He was never having a damn party at his own house again. Tammy and Sara could continue to host them, people didn’t react well to the spaciousness in the Harrington house apparently. In a rush and loss of interest in his work, Steve quickly painted over the patches with white and left it to dry. He got the can of wax and rubbed it on around the table in his final task.

He was tired as hell and he still had to go to school tomorrow. And he really needed to speak with the person who put orange peels down the damn sink.

===

On Monday morning, at approximately 5:48 AM, Steve Harrington sat in the living room watching I Love Lucy while eating toast as his parents bustled inside.

“Hello!” he heard his mother chirp tiredly as she entered through the foyer. She hurried over and he gave her as welcoming of an embrace as he could. “How are you, dear? Foods in good supply?” she pulled away to inspect him with her hazel eyes, “Heating system still working alright?”

Steve nodded and smiled, “Everything’s just fine. But I have to go and meet Tommy before school, that alright?” he stepped to the side and towards the stairs.

“Of cour—“ his mother was cut off by the monotone cords of his father.

“Stephano, what is up with this mess!” In that moment, Steve Harrington didn’t think he’d ever felt as much fear as he had in that moment. He bolted to the kitchen.

“What mess?”

His father pointed to the wrench, screw driver, and tape measure on the island counter, “Away with this mess, Steve. Clutter is nothing to approve of. It accumulates and it’s unprofessional.” If he only knew.

===

Years later, when he was in everlasting love with Billy Hargrove and they had their shared, small and cozy Chicago apartment, his handyman skills came back to great use.

“Steve! Steve!” Billy shouted in a panic.

Steve rushed from the bedroom to the kitchen, socks skidding on the floors, “What is it? What happened?” he flocked around his boyfriend and checked for any injuries.

Billy pointed rigidly to the sink, “Somethings up with the pipes or something.”

Steve rose his brows in bewilderment, “You don’t know how to unclog pipes?”

Billy furrowed his, “You do?” Steve nodded and opened the cupboard, kneeling to check the pipes.

“Okay so there’s PVC pipes here, I don’t even need a wrench!” he peaked back up at Billy’s wide eyes. “Can you get me that bucket I usually give you when you get hungover?” Billy nodded and jogged out of the room. Steve got a hand towel and placed it down, “What did you put down the drain anyway?” Billy almost hit him in the face with the bucket when he turned back. He froze and took it from the nervous man.

“Uhm. Potato peels,” he answered.

Steve scoffed, “It’s always peels isn’t it?”

Billy stepped back when Steve started turning the rings, “What?”

“Nothin’.” He twisted it quick and managed to not get sprayed in the face while the murky water and loads of potato peel flowed out into the large bucket. When the flow stopped he reattached the pipes together and hefted the bucket out to Billy. “Put that down the toilet, Tiger.” He turned back and heard the sloshing in the bucket and the grunts from Billy as he went through the hallway. Steve chuckled to himself and wiped up the small water spillage.

When Billy returned he had opinions.

“First of all, that shit was gross as hell,” he left the bucket by the front door before returning into the kitchen. “Second of all,” he boxed Steve in with a smirk in his face, “I didn’t know you were so good at pluming.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Finish making the calzones, Bill, and maybe I’ll show you how to fix that hole in the wall behind Max’s photo hanging in the living room. It’s suspiciously shaped like that baseball I told you not to throw around.”

Billy fumbled for his words.

Steve shook his head, “Don’t think you can hide that shit from me, Tiger, I’m the one that dusts.”

===

The next time was when Max and Lucas visited.

“William, do not throw that!” Steve scolded as he held a pan with tomato sauce in it. Lucas dropped his hands that had been ready to try and catch the ball and Max turned a page of her book from where she was on the sofa boredly.

Billy grinned and threw the football anyway, of course. Steve sighed and then grew furious as the same football smashed instantly into the rickety bookshelf and the sad, old thing crumbled on impact. It fell over from Billy’s uncalculated, rebellious force and the shelves snapped apart from the sides. Books strewn out in a messy wave. Steve stomped over and only lowered his near growl of scolding when Billy showed himself already terrified. Max grinned and set her book in her lap to watch.

“What did I say?” Steve demanded while whacking Billy’s shoulder with the oven mitt. The other flapped his hands back to stop the assault.

“I’m sorry!” he yelped, “I’m sorry! We’ll just buy another one!” Steve glared and whacked his head, lighter than before, but still with vigor.

“We don’t have the money, William! We bought the last one at Goodwill for $14!” He bustled back to the kitchen and put the pan into the oven to cook the sauce the rest of the way. “I’ll just have to go down and ask Jeffery to use his wood scraps and nail gun. He’s always kind enough.”

Billy, who had followed him in, looked skeptical, “Jeffery Jeffery or creepy Jeffery?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Old man Jeffery. And Jeff isn’t creepy, he’s just anti-social.”

Billy went unswayed, “I want to go with you. Let’s go,” he went to the coat closet and Steve sighed, unsurprised.

Steve took his coat and boots from Billy and called to the kids, “Lucas, Max, the sauce will be done in a couple hours. If we’re not back by then just take it out and let it cool please!”

“Sorry, Steve!” he heard Lucas say sincerely.

“Got it, Boss!” Max answered with another flutter of a page in her book.

===

While Steve attached the air hose to the nail gun Billy watched with creases in his forehead.

“What are you ogling, Tiger?” Steve asked as he applied wood glue to a piece.

Billy stooped forward, “Can I help?” he was almost eager sounding.

Steve grinned, “I was hoping you’d ask.” He lifted his own hands from holding the planks together, “Hold that as I nail it together would ya?” Billy nodded a bit unsurely but placed his hands and pushed just as Steve had. Steve lined up the gun, pushed down, and pulled the trigger. Billy flinched at the loud noise and Steve set the gun down and stood up from his focused crouch.

“Are you alright,” he cupped Billy’s cheeks, thumbs gently smoothed the corner eye crinkles.

The other nodded and pecked Steve’s forehead before shrugging it off, “Was just surprised is all.” Steve nodded back and smiled kindly before returning as he was before and finished the line of nails.

Not too long later, the book shelf was put together and Steve handed Billy a piece of sand paper. He showed Billy how to use it and he got complaints in return due to the uncomfortable noise it made.

But they did return home with a lovely new bookshelf. And they’d made it together so it was all that extra bit of special.

Maybe Steve didn’t disapprove of that party all those years ago after all. Look what he got out of it?

The smile Billy got whenever he looked at that shelf filled with Steve’s mystery romance and his own horror thrillers, that fond and euphoric smile was enough for Steve Harrington in the long run.

[fics-n-stuff]

Secondhand Sofa

Pairing: Willie x Alex

Summary: Alex and Willie need to buy a sofa for their new apartment, domesticity insues. (Alive AU)

Word Count: 1097

A/N: There is nothing that actually connects them, so you don't have to read it, but I wrote this in the same universe as my previous Willex fic Really, Really. It's like a few years in the future from that.

Alex felt like he was dreaming watching Willie dance around the kitchen, but he couldn’t be because he had just woken up not five minutes earlier. Therefore, it had to be real that he and his boyfriend had moved into an apartment together, and said boyfriend was currently the cutest thing on the planet while they made breakfast.

“Morning.” Alex said softly, a fond smile on his face. Willie spun around to look at him, a grin spreading across their lips at the sight of the sleepy blonde. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.” Willie chirped, turning back to the pan. “How’d you sleep?”

Alex hadn’t expected to sleep well that night, it being their first night in the new apartment. Technically they had started moving in almost a week ago, but they had only gotten a bed yesterday and still didn’t have a sofa. But, to his surprise, he had gotten a full night of sound sleep and he was pretty sure it was because he’d had Willie sleeping beside him.

“Pretty good actually.” He answered, coming up behind his boyfriend to watch the pancake making process over their shoulder. Completely predictably, both the countertop and the stove were a mess. “I am not helping you clean this up.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Willie chuckled. They reached back to grab Alex’s arms and quickly wrapped them around their own body, smiling when he tightened his hold and rested his chin on their shoulder.

The two of them stood there silently while Willie finished making the last few pancakes, and then Alex grabbed some toppings and plates and they moved through to the living room. The area was sparse – they didn’t actually have any furniture to sit on – but they did have an old table that Ray had gifted them and a slightly ugly rug that Alex had stolen from his parents' attic. They had ordered a TV that should have arrived already but seemed to be delayed in it’s delivery.

“There’s a pretty good sofa at the second-hand store a couple blocks away, if we buy it before noon they’ll deliver same day.” Willie said as they sat down on the rug. “Before you ask, it’s not an ugly pattern and there are no mysterious stains.”

“That sounds pretty good. Is it yellow, orange or green?”

“No.”

“Can we afford it?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go after breakfast.” Alex smiled, making Willie giggle and they leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You have to clean the kitchen first.”

“Ugh, why’d you have to ruin it?” They sighed.

“Because you have a habit of making messes and I need to get into the habit of making you clean them up.” Alex answered. “If I don’t start enforcing the rules early then you’ll never listen to me.”

The two of them finished their breakfast, chatting and joking while they ate, and then Alex relented to washing the dishes while Willie cleaned the kitchen surfaces. He really struggled saying no to Willie.

The walk to the second-hand store wasn’t very long, and when they arrived Willie pointed out the sofa through the window before they went in. It was a plain grey, fabric three-seater without any stains, just as Willie had said.

“You know, I didn’t expect it to actually be so alright.” Alex teased, earning himself a light punch on the shoulder from his boyfriend.

“Come on, let’s go pay for it.” They smirked, pulling Alex into the store by their joined hands.

Not only did they get the sofa, but they also came away with a couple of blue tie dye beanbags; Willie’s eyes had lit up when they saw them and Alex didn’t have the heart to say no. The sofa was set to be delivered that afternoon but they carried the beanbags home on their backs, earning a few amused glances from the people that they passed.

“Now we’ll have space for guests!” Willie beamed, dropping their beanbag onto the living room floor. “See, perfect!”

“Yeah, perfect.” Alex smiled fondly, setting his down too. “Two steps closer to having a fully furnished apartment. We have about three hours until the sofa is delivered, what do you want to do?”

“Cookies, cupcakes or brownies?” Willie’s eyes shone so brightly with excitement that Alex almost didn’t think about the mess that they would make baking. “Please?”

“Willie, I love you, but I cannot deal with you constantly making messes in the kitchen; the kitchen that I also have to use.”

“Yeah, and that means you can make the mess with me.” Alex wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Willie look so mischievous, which was saying something. He pursed his lips, trying so hard to resist giving in to his adorable boyfriend. But, alas, he was a weak man.

“Okay, fine, let’s make brownies.” He sighed, and Willie’s smile widened.

“I love you.” They cooed, grabbing Alex’s hand and dragging him through to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but feel that the words were some type of precursory apology for the mess that was about to be made.

+ + +

“I hate you.” Alex huffed, looking at the mess of flour and chocolate around him. “I love you, but I hate you.”

“You helped me make it so you gotta help me clean it.” Willie grinned teasingly. They had somehow managed to get brownie mix smeared across their cheek, and Alex couldn’t help but move his hand up to wipe it away.

“You tricked me. It was entrapment.”

“No, it was baking with your very pretty boyfriend.”

“The prettiest.” Alex smiled, placing a light kiss on the tip of Willie’s nose. Just then, his phone started ringing where he’d left it in the living room. “Start cleaning.”

“You got it, hotdog.” They chuckled, and Alex scoffed as he went to answer the phone.

The caller ID said it was Julie, but when he picked up he heard Luke talking to somebody else – probably Reggie - on the other end.

“What do you want?” He asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“Do you guys have furniture yet? We’re still waiting for a housewarming party.” Luke said, and Alex could just picture the smirk on his face.

“Who said we were gonna have a housewarming party?”

“Bro, Willie definitely wants to have a housewarming party.”

“And so do all of us!” Reggie called from the background.

“So, do you have furniture yet?” Luke questioned again. Alex let the silence drag out for a moment before he sighed loudly.

“Our sofa arrives in an hour and a half. We still don’t have a TV but if you wanna come then tonight works.” He answered flatly.

“Awsome!” Luke cheered. “See you tonight.”

“We’ll bring takeout!” Julie managed to yell before Alex hung up. He rolled his eyes, stuffing his phone into his pocket and going back to the kitchen.

“What time should we expect them?” Willie asked with an amused smile, wiping down the counter.

“I have no clue.” Alex shrugged. “But we don’t have to cook dinner.”

The two of them finished cleaning the kitchen while they waited for the brownies. It was so utterly domestic, and Alex couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face the entire time. Once the brownies were out of the oven they settled on the beanbags with Willie’s laptop to watch some Netflix while they waited for the sofa to be delivered.

The delivery guys were nice when they arrived, getting the sofa into the apartment and not complaining that the building’s elevator was broken and they had to carry it up five narrow flights of stairs. Now, finally, they had an almost fully functional living room. And to top it all off, the sofa not only looked good in the space but it was also comfortable.

“This place is really starting to feel like a home.” Alex said, taking a moment to stand back and take in the room.

“It’s always gonna feel like a home as long as we’re here together.” Willie replied sweetly, grabbing his hand and dragging him with them to sit on the sofa. “I definitely think we could use a few plants though.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say such sentimental things and then immediately follow them up with a throwaway comment.” Alex explained. He'd never brought it up before but it was something that Willie had been doing a lot for quite a while, and it made Alex’s chest feel funny. He wasn’t particularly good at verbalising heartfelt sentiments – it had taken him a while to even get comfortable with saying “I love you" – but Willie didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

“Because I love you.” They shrugged in answer. “And I love you all the time, even during the most mundane moments. Sometimes I love you and it’s a really big deal and it’s a special moment, but sometimes I love you during super casual moments like getting our sofa delivered.” Alex just stared at them, his brain struggling to process what Willie had said beyond how fuzzy it made him feel.

“Okay.” He mumbled after an unnecessarily long pause, not knowing how else to respond. Willie giggled, adjusting the laptop on the table and hitting play before curling into Alex’s side.

“You could say it back.”

“Oh, I love you too.”

“I know.” They grinned.

They sat together on their freshly delivered sofa for hours, watching Netflix and chatting about random things. Their apartment was turning out to be actually quite cosy. They’d been sitting in silence for a while when all of a sudden Willie spoke up.

“You know what we need to buy?” They asked.

“A set of shelves for all of our miscellaneous stuff and more storage for our ridiculous collection of socks?” Alex suggested, practical as always.

“Well, yeah, but not what I was thinking.”

“Of course not.” Alex chuckled. “What were you thinking?”

“We need fluffy blankets.” Willie smiled excitedly. “And pillows to put on the couch.”

“Why?”

“So that, when our TV arrives, we can have movie nights on the couch and be all warm and comfy.”

“Hm, maybe that’s a good idea.” Alex smiled. He pushed a piece of hair away from their face and tucked it behind their ear, leaning in.

“Yeah, I think so.” Willie replied softly.

They were both smiling, faces only centimetres apart, when they were interrupted by very loud knocking at their door.

“FBI, open up!” They heard Flynn call from the other side. Alex groaned.

“Our idiots are here.” He said flatly. “What incredible timing.”

“We’ll have plenty of time another day. Go answer it, before we get complaints.” Willie replied as the knocking persisted. They pressed a very quick kiss to Alex’s lips before pushing him off of the sofa towards the door.

“Stop knocking, I’m coming!” He yelled, then lowered his voice to a bitter mutter, “I swear to God, this better not become a regular thing.” Willie laughed, and the sound warmed Alex’s heart.

He finally had his own space away from his parents and he shared it with the most perfect boyfriend he could have ever imagined having. He reveled in the feeling for a second before he opened the front door and his rowdy friends destroyed the quiet domestic moment. But that was okay, because this was his family and, although he acted like he was mad, Alex wouldn’t want it any other way.

[ellewriteswrongs]

freefall - a black sheep oneshot

hey y’all!! even though i’m still on hiatus from the juce fic since i fell behind on work and school stuff, i figured i’d give y’all this to pass the time :)

check out the fic on ao3 for a full taglist here but as far as content warnings go, this fic will include references to child abuse and neglect, one instance of physical violence (between adults), mentions of blood and injury, one brief misgendering, and a few vague mentioning of food

i’m hoping to be able to write more of these quick oneshots once the juce fic is done so be sure to send in requests if there’s anything y’all want to see in the future. i’ll probably also reblog some prompts soon too, so keep your eyes peeled :)

He had never driven faster in his life.

How could he not? In an attempt to invite his fucking dumbass little brother and his friend to come stay at his place for a weekend while they toured the local college, he ended up finding out Dylan had been fully kicked out of their childhood home and had been living with the Castillos for almost three fucking days.

And he had no idea.

How could he have possibly not known—

He’s a fucking awful brother. That’s literally the only explanation. He failed—he failed as an older brother, he failed as a friend, he fucking failed him.

Which, of course, led to him speeding through the forty-five-minute drive from his apartment to his old street. Since he was basically delirious with the absolutely sickening gut feeling he had, he missed his turn three times before he finally wound up squealing his tires into the driveway and staggering out of the car.

Out of pure guilt-ridden nausea and blind anger, he puked in the bushes on the way to the door.

He’s fucking seventeen and you fucking left him behind—! What fucking business do you have trying to fix things now, huh? What the fuck is that gonna’ do?

No. No, he had to do this. He had to do something.

He pounded the door with the heel side of his fist before kicking it a few times with the toe of his boot for good measure when there was no response. His phone in his pocket was vibrating, but he couldn’t find it in himself to notice.

He turned around just to confirm that their parents’ cars were, in fact, in the driveway in front of his own shitty van.

With his patience dwindling even further, he pounded on the door again.

And it opened.

“Well,” his mother huffed once she saw who was at the door, folding her arms and pursing her lips, “I’m surprised it took you this long.”

Wow, for once I agree.

“Where is he?” He spat, pushing past her into the house, not waiting for an answer.

“Why, your father’s working on installing our new treadmill,” she mused with her cruel smile, closing the door and walking back into the kitchen to collect a glass of water, “I trust you still know your way around.”

He did. Honestly, he was fairly certain he’d never forget.

His feet carried him to the stairwell without thinking. The attic. His old “bedroom.”

Or theirs.

Not that his parents ever cared enough to notice that Dylan moved into his room when he was eleven.

The door was already gone.

His father was indeed drilling together a treadmill, pressed up against the small window where his bed used to be.

And everything was gone. Every poster, every old hand-me-down piece of furniture, and even the nicks in the walls had been painted over like they’d never been there in the first place. In some convoluted way, he couldn’t help but miss it. Despite how horrible some of their memories were, that bedroom was their sanctuary. That bedroom kept them safe.

“Your mother send you up?” The man spoke, clearly unimpressed. He only looked up from his work for a brief moment before turning back.

Reece said nothing.

“Almost four years and you still can’t speak when you’re spoken to,” the older grumbled under his breath, not caring whether his son could hear him or not.

“What the fuck did he ever do to you?”

The words came out on their own. Still, despite feeling like he could burst into tears at any moment, he tried to stiffen his posture enough to fake it.

“Excuse me?” The older man spoke as if he’d been personally offended by the question, “I don’t know who you think you are—“ He was off his knees and across the room in a heartbeat, forearm pinning Reece up against the wall behind him while his other hand gripped fistfuls of his hair. “But if you think you can come into this house and act like you know anything…” he paused, “You’re about to see just how wrong you are.”

He was terrified. He was fucking terrified.

Over three years since he last set foot in his childhood home and, what had previously only been shouting and cruel words, had become pure terror of suddenly being more aware of his own physical safety than he’d ever felt. He was sure the man could tell, not that he could really do anything about it. Not that he ever could.

“We made a deal,” he asserted, hand gripping a fistful of Reece’s shirt, “that if you left, you’d never have to come back. You’d never have to deal with any of us again.”

Reece said nothing.

“So tell me,” he continued, “what on God’s green Earth are you doing in my house?”

Breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe just breathe—

“You kicked him out—“ he choked, entirely unable to stop his voice from coming out pathetically strangled. “You…he’s…he’s just a kid.”

“I’m not entertaining this,” he spat, letting go in favor of yanking the boy to the ground, only for him to catch himself on the many boxes of new furniture.

“But why?” He called out desperately, struggling to his feet, “I don’t get it! What did we ever do to you?”

His father paused just outside the door frame, not facing him. He was almost certain he couldn’t breathe.

“She was your responsibility.”

The pounding rage in his eardrums just got louder and louder.

“That was your job, and just because you left,” he paused, turning around and slowly approaching the boy, “doesn’t mean you get to put that on us.”

His heart was about to pound right out of his chest. Everything was shaking, every part of him felt like it was going to burst, he couldn’t—he couldn’t stop.

“He’s your kid!” He couldn’t hear the way he screamed, only felt it in the way the air was sucked from his chest. “That’s your job, you can’t—! You can’t bail on that!” He stood for just a moment, trying desperately to fill his lungs. “Why weren’t we enough for you? Why…why couldn’t you just—”

Just nothing.

Nothing worth asking for now. Nothing worth begging for closure.

“How…could you?” He eventually spoke, eyes terrified wide, “please, just…why?”

The man stood in front of him, only an inch taller, yet easily towering.

“If you truly think we’ve done you so wrong, then I hope to God that you will never be a father.” Once the words left his mouth, Reece was certain he’d never forget them. “Maybe one day you’ll learn how the world should work and then you’ll be begging for forgiveness.”

Make your choice. There’s no going back now.

With perhaps the largest surge of courage he’d ever had, he steeled his expression, took a breath, and spat right in the older man’s face.

And then the impact came.

He found himself on the floor once more, this time only having caught himself on his hands and hips. And for just a moment, he didn’t move an inch. He just watched.

Watched the blood drip along his nose and onto the wood floor just inches below. Because that was the most sickening part of it all. The thought that came first.

Look, now you’ve stained the floor. Good going, dumbass.

His hands itched at his side, tempted to smear it away and pretend it wasn’t real. In all his years in that house, things had never been that real. Never physical, not that it really made a difference in the long run.

Well, you don’t know, do you? You don’t know they never hit him. If he didn’t tell you they kicked him out, what makes you think he would’ve told you if they hit him, hmm?

He gave in to the urge to smear the small puddle of blood into the wooden floor, creating a streaky blob of red.

That’s what you get. That’s what you get for all the years you spent living so blissfully ignorant out in the world while he sat here getting treated like shit—

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, wincing at the pain as he scrunched his face and the feeling of needles spread across his cheeks. Okay, definitely broken.

Not his first broken bone, that’s for sure. He could manage that.

He picked himself up off the ground, not caring much for appearances as he used the back of his hand to smear the blood flow away from pouring out of his nose, to minor results. Not really having any other options, he ended up smearing that across his jeans and didn’t bother to think about how it continued to drip down his chin and onto the front of his t-shirt.

There were two courses of action. Three, if he wanted to count the thought of driving home, not saying anything, and just blindly hoping Juno wouldn’t notice his nose was fucking busted to shit, but he was not about to set himself up in the direct path of whatever inevitable fury came from their reaction. So he could either leave, go to the ER, and hopefully get his nose reset without too painful of a bill, or he could go find his brother.

Assuming the reason Dylan hadn’t told him he got kicked out wasn’t that he finally decided he hated Reece for leaving him behind in that house, which in his mind was at least somewhat of a possibility.

He definitely wanted to go to the Castillos’ in search of Dylan and the others, but the thought of facing what he’d done made him even more nauseous than the blood all over his face and hands. But he had to make sure he was okay. That they were all okay.

Then maybe he could just call Juno and let them talk some sense into him and maybe drag him to the hospital after all.

Yeah. Yeah, he could handle that.

He could hear the clinking of kitchen dishes down the stairs, along with muffled conversation. Like his father hadn’t just hit his own son for the first time. Casual chats while making dinner. Like a family.

His old bedroom window was just too tempting. They had both scaled the stretch from their attic bedroom to the backyard countless times over the years, earning Reece a solid third of his scars simply because he always seemed to grab the parts of the trellis and siding that had all the jagged splintering parts. It was a fond memory, despite what the necessity usually came from, but he managed not to sour it.

It had been fun, like a little adventure. When they were especially young, it was easier to pretend it wasn’t needed. That they were choosing to scale the side of their house because it was simply more fun than going through the front door. Not because their mom and dad liked to lock them out whenever they wanted to take a break from being parents.

Even as he slid open the window and awkwardly slid his overgrown body across the windowsill, he remembered it all.

The night they spent at the Castillos’ for the first time when Dylan genuinely panicked because there wasn’t a window in Logan’s bedroom so how does he get in when the front door is locked? Even over a decade later, he was sure he’d never forget the way his little brother looked at him the next morning before asking him why their parents wouldn’t say they loved him but Logan’s did. And he never did have an answer. He never did find a way to spell it out that sometimes people think they can love someone but they can’t.

Sometimes a baby fixes a marriage, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it brings them together over their shared frustration. A shared love of controlling something that’s theirs. Maybe because it gave them that rush every time they left their children alone for a week to run off together.

And maybe there’s something beautiful in that. Something special in rekindling a fiery passion over a shared disinterest in the life they created. It wasn’t like he would know anything about that, so who would he be to judge?

But that’s what they always say about parenting—you raise your kids to be better than yourself. If the bar is being better than their parents, maybe he just hasn’t given them enough credit.

I am better than them. If nothing else, I am better than them.

He took one look at the brand-new white linen curtains hanging above the window and, sitting on the windowsill where he sat every time he needed to be free of the drag that was the absolute bare minimum of what his parents were apparently capable of. He took one fistful of crisp white fabric and, before he could think twice, blew his bloody-ass nose on them like a tissue, not even caring about the searing pain that came with it when the satisfaction of a giant bloody mess was so perfectly petty.

His feet hit the ground out of pure instinct, having climbed the rest of the way out of the house without even thinking. Before he knew it he was sitting on the curb outside the house, once again debating whether or not to just get back in his car and hope for the best. Plus, he had fully convinced himself he could figure out how to reset his own nose if he needed to.

He probably stared across the street for a solid fifteen minutes before his phone rang again. Admittedly, he knew he’d ignored it buzzing in his pockets prior, but there had been more pressing issues in the moment. Still, he figured he owed them an answer.

“Fucking Christ, dude—I’ve been calling you for like half an hour,“ Juno’s agitated voice rang out, “we’re supposed to have rehearsal in twenty, where the hell are you?”

He stuck his thumb in his mouth, absentmindedly biting at a piece of frayed dead skin around his nail.

“Reece? Hello?” Whoops.

“‘m here,” he answered plainly, not more than a mumble.

There was a pause before they spoke.

“Honey, where are you?”

He hummed, trying to find it in himself to take his fucking finger out of his mouth.

“M’ parents’ house,” he slurred, reeling and all the more delirious as the adrenaline started to wear off.

“Fuck, okay hold on,” they spoke, frantic rustling sounds coming from the background, “I’m calling a ride, I’m coming, baby. You stay where you are, I’ll be there.”

He nodded, not really thinking about the fact that they couldn’t see it.

“Are you inside? Are your parents there?”

He shook his head.

“I can’t see you, honey, can you please just say something? Anything?” He knew he was scaring them. Hell, he hardly ever got like this, only after the occasional nightmare or otherwise.

“Outside,” he confirmed, wrenching his hand from his mouth in favor of biting on his first finger knuckle, “no one’s here.”

Their sigh of relief was audible through the phone.

“Okay, that’s good, you’re doing really good,” they assured him, the sound of doors shutting and their footsteps frantically descending their apartment complex steps echoed through the phone, “I promise I’m on my way, I’ll be there before you know it, just breathe for me.”

He stared out at the sidewalk across the street.

“Stupid lady’s starin’ at me,” he grumbled under his breath, not really meaning to say it to them, but rather just thinking out loud.

“What was that? Honey, who’s staring at you?”

The woman in question, some thirty-something jogger approaching the corner of their block, slowed down enough to stare for just a few moments before turning away and losing interest.

“Some lady,” he repeated, “pro’lly thinks my face looks bad.”

He could practically hear the way they startled.

“Baby, did somebody hurt you?”

They asked like they didn’t want to know, not that he could really blame them.

“Broke my nose,” he spat, as if embarrassed, “I think.”

“Fuck—“ they hissed, “okay…okay new plan. You think you can walk to the Castillos’ for me?”

He looked up, glancing down the street to the house on the corner he knew better than his own. Faded dusty orange paint with a tire swing in the front yard and a treehouse in the back. He could probably walk there blind, even from his apartment.

“Yeah,” he spoke through an exhale.

“Okay, that’s good,” they mirrored his reaction, clearly trying to talk themself down from panicking alongside him, “it’s gonna’ be okay, I’ll be there before you know it.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding once again, “Love you.”

Juno made a slightly strangled noise on the other end, somewhere between relieved and still terrified.

“I love you too,” they spoke carefully, clearly trying not to let their own panic show, “I love you so much, I promise I’m on my way. Just hold on a little bit longer.”

They exchanged closing pleasantries before Juno reluctantly hung up and Reece just sat there, holding his phone in both hands.

It’s like twenty yards, just go.

“Yeah, but he’s there,” he spoke to himself, huffing and groaning as he pushed himself up from the curb, standing as his knees popped.

Still, he put one foot forward and just went. Ripping off the bandage, metaphorically and also maybe literally. Hopefully putting on a bandage, but that would depend on how mad all of them were. Which would probably be a lot.

He stepped up onto the porch, the familiar creak of the boards under his feet sounding like a welcome home.

He knocked before he could talk himself out of it. Carla Castillo, easily in competition for his favorite person on Earth, opened the door with the same easy smile she usually wore, only for it to fall instantly as her face went pale. She went from opening the door just enough to see who was there, to flinging it open so quickly he was surprised it wasn’t ripped right off its hinges.

“¡Ay! M’hijo, get in here,” she hissed, grabbing Reece by his arm and pulling him inside. Luckily for the fact that he still hadn’t decided whether he was prepared to face the rest of the family or not, he was immediately swept into the kitchen and made to sit on a wooden stool as Carla quickly filled a bowl with water and grabbed a washcloth.

The look on her face as she reappeared in front of him was so tortured. He couldn’t help the guilt that seeped into his gut at making yet another person worry and leaving her to clean up even more of his negligence. It was bad enough he left her to take in his little brother when he couldn’t be bothered, now he was just giving her more work to do.

“Sorry,” he spoke under his breath as she gently took the wet washcloth to his face and tenderly wiped away the blood in its various states of moisture.

“Don’t start,” she scolded, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot of dried blood on his cheek, “here, look at me.”

She prompted, letting go of where she held his face so tenderly in favor of propping one hand on her hip and dipping the washcloth back in the warm water with the other. Reece looked up, feeling the shock settling in more and more with every second.

“Who hurt you, mi chiquito?” She spoke so gently he could almost believe he’d earned that term. That he wasn’t going on twenty-two and long gone from the days of being a part of her family.

He looked down, staring out at the other side of the kitchen where the remains of what had likely been breakfast dishes were sitting beside the sink.

She waited for a few moments before sighing heavily, collecting a stool of her own and sitting right in front of him.

“I want to help you, mijo. Please, will you at least tell me something?”

“I…” he started, focusing intensely as to not let his voice crack, “I didn’t know.”

Well, so much for that.

“Know what, sweetheart?”

He sniffled, leaning back against the cupboards behind him.

“They kicked him out,” he said, even though it barely came out a whisper, “And I didn’t even know—”

She didn’t hesitate to hold him to the best of her ability without continuing to maim his nose any further. All he could make out from what the woman grumbled under her breath was something that sounded distinctly like swearing, at least from the few Spanish words he knew. After all their years, she knew he still loved the way she would rake her nails, long but never sharp, through his hair.

If he hadn’t been completely smothered in his position, he would’ve noticed an unsuspecting Sofía walking into the living room and her mother frantically gesturing to him and the stairs to the second floor before the younger woman got the memo and disappeared to go collect his brother.

“I’m sure it hurts like the devil, but if you can wait just a few more minutes, I’ll have Sofí come set your nose. Lord knows she’ll do a better job of it than I could,” she chuckled, continuing to run her hands through his hair as he nodded. “I’m sure you’re gonna’ fight if I even think about takin’ you to the hospital, so I—“ she chuckled at the pointed look she received, “I know, I know, I won’t push it.”

He deflated a little more, leaning into her hands as he sat, feeling altogether empty and full.

“Reece?”

He knew that voice. He knew that voice he knew that voice he knew that voice he knew that voice—

His head snapped up, jolting himself backwards in an attempt to stand.

Dylan stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking the perfect picture of ‘okay’ that he could’ve hoped for. Still, he took off towards him, absolutely burying himself in the hoodie the younger boy wore, clinging desperately to the front of it as he pressed his face into his shoulder. His whole face hurt like a bitch, but he literally could not have cared less.

“Woah, woah, what’s going on?” He spoke, clearly confused but patting the older boy’s back awkwardly nonetheless, “You good dude?”

Reece shook his head into the crook of his neck.

“What’s all this for?” He continued, speaking more directly to his brother. “Is…did I miss something?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Carla spoke in what ended up being a terrifying mom-voice, “dios mííío, he’s your brother! He deserves to know!”

“I…” Dylan paused, looking between the two of them genuinely confused before it dawned on him what this was about, “I thought I did…seriously, I…shit, I really thought I did.”

Reece leaned back, awkwardly letting go in favor of scrubbing furiously at his face. As the pain ultimately sank in, he winced, making the mistake of touching the bridge of his nose only to be met with the painful burning sensation of a gash on top of busted cartilage.

“No no, don’t touch it!” The older woman called, rounding the kitchen with her washcloth to press it once again to the bridge of his nose. For as gentle as she was, it was nearly impossible not to wince.

“I know, I’m so sorry mijo,” she mumbled sweetly, stroking through his hair with her free hand to the best of her ability when he towered quite a bit over her when standing, “the cut’s worse than I thought it was, he must’ve caught you with his ring.”

Dylan, altogether lost in this conversation, finally put the pieces together.

“Dad broke your fucking nose?” He balked, grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him away to face him, “holy shit dude, I…oh my god.”

Reece made some half-hearted gesture of waving him off, turning back and leaning down to allow Carla to continue her fussing over him.

“Quit it, this is serious!” The younger refuted, elbowing him in the side, “why the hell would he punch you?”

“I don’t know, maybe ‘cause I yelled at him for kicking you out!” Reece fought back, scoffing, “I fucked up their new curtains though, that was pretty sick.”

“Why the fuck would you do that? I’m fine! I had it handled!”

The older woman sighed, rolling her eyes as she handed over her job to her daughter as she descended the stairs with a first aid kit and retrieved a chair to make the older boy sit at a reasonable height for her to reach his face.

Reece huffed a sarcastic laugh.

“You didn’t have shit handled,” he fired back, “you can’t live here forever, you know that? What the fuck were you gonna’ do, huh? Never tell me? Fall off the face of the Earth and hope I wouldn’t notice? I mean, god—“

He sighed, the stress of the afternoon rolling off his shoulders.

“I know I’m not good at this! I know, okay? I’ve been a pretty shitty brother your whole life, but I fucking care about you!” His chest heaved, head spinning from the force of it all combined with the last hour of activities, “you’re…you’re my responsibility, I’m supposed to take care of you, to look out for you, and I know I fucked up, but—“

He looked back over to Sofía, who nudged the stool for him to sit down. He looked at the door, knowing how easy it would be to just leave, to hop in his car and just go home, but he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t.

“I never meant to fuck up this bad, I swear,” he pleaded, looking at the younger boy with desperately watery eyes, “I can fix this, I promise, I just…I’m sorry. I should’ve been here, I should’ve…I should’ve done something, but…”

“Hey,” Dylan spoke up, looking up at his older brother, still just barely taller even years later, “you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

The latter just stared at him as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I don’t know how I didn’t tell you, and it sounds so shitty to just say I forgot, but I swear, I would’ve never kept it from you on purpose,” he continued, hands clinging to the flaps of the jacket the other wore as if he knew Reece was seconds from bolting out the door. “So can you please just let them help you?”

He looked back over at the pair, patiently waiting for them to sort their shit out. Not wanting to waste any more of their time, he sat on the stool, tilting his chin up as Sofía gently poked around to sense how severe the break was. Before long, Dylan sat on the floor beside him, leaning his hand against his arm.

In the end, it wasn’t as bad as he thought. Having his nose reset, that is. Everything else sucked about as much ass as he expected.

“Can you two handle being civil?” Carla asked teasingly once Sofía seemed satisfied with her bandaging, proclaiming she had taken one pre-med course on emergency preparedness in undergrad as part of her venture of graduating college in half the time and that she could finally put it to use.

“‘Course,” Dylan assured her, the two women leaving them alone in the living room.

Reece just sat there, looking at his hands.

After a few minutes of waiting, Dylan moved across the rug to sit right in front of him, looking up at where his brother sat.

“You gonna’ start talking or are we just gonna’ be mad at each other?”

Reece looked up slightly, just enough to toss him an unimpressed look with his red-rimmed eyes.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted, picking at a particular spot of dried blood on the front of his shirt, “just…give me a second, I’ll sort my shit out.”

Dylan nodded, sitting crosslegged and fiddling with his hoodie drawstrings.

“I don’t know why I drove all the way down here, honestly,” Reece eventually spoke, “I want to say I came down here to make sure you were okay, but honestly I…I pretty much convinced myself that you didn’t tell me ‘cause you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“You…what?”

Reece just shrugged, looking at his hands.

“I wasn’t there for you, dude! I left!” He persisted, leaning his head into his hands, “at this point, you have plenty of reasons to hate me.”

“How could I hate you?” His voice was so genuine. So…hurt by the implication. “You’re probably my favorite person ever, I…I don’t know what to say, dude.”

Reece looked over at him, watching his face as if waiting for him to take it back.

“I swear I meant to tell you, it’s just…it’s been a lot. I mean, I turned around and went to school the next day like nothing happened,” he explained, “and…and it feels like it was just yesterday, honestly. I think I might’ve just needed time to…I don’t know, process?”

He nodded, hands itching to cling to the other.

Dylan watched him for a few moments before he stood, grabbing Reece by the arm and at least attempting to pull him to his feet.

“C’mere,” he insisted, tugging with limited success, “Up, come on. Hug time, asshole.”

Reece gave in, standing from his chair in order to grab the other around the shoulders, using the dwindling amount of inches he still had on the other to rest his chin on the younger boy’s head.

“Sorry I scared you,” he mumbled, “I would never do that on purpose.”

“I know,” Reece echoed. And he did. He did know that. It was easy to get lost in the panic of the unknowns and feeling like, in the span of a single phone call, the security he felt just disappeared.

“And I’m not mad at you,” he added, “about anything. In case you were wondering.”

The older hummed, exhaling and tightening his arms around the other’s shoulders.

“Sorry for yelling at you,” he spoke sheepishly, “I was never mad either, just…yeah. A whole mess.”

Reece was relieved to hear the other laugh just a little, both going a bit awkwardly stiff from the prolonged hug. Despite being close all their life, hugging wasn’t a particularly frequent activity for them. Hugging, like certain other activities of affection, just took a bit too much patience and a bit too long without moving, but in the moment it was needed.

Still, just as he was about to cut it short, something else did the job for him.

There was a knock at the door.

With no one but the two of them in the room, he took it upon himself to get the door, not realizing who it could be and just blindly opening the door.

And he ended up with an armful of panicking Juno. Right.

They fully latched onto him, hooking their legs around his waist and scrabbling to cling to him any way they could.

“Fuck, you scared me so bad,” they mumbled into his shoulder before pulling back just enough to see his face. Reece held them up easily on his own, so they let go with one hand and gently traced across his cheek, fingers brushing the ends of the bandages taped across his nose.

“I’m okay, J,” he assured them, leaning into their hand, “you didn’t need to come all the way down here.”

They shook their head, carding their hand through his hair and gently pressing the faintest of kisses to the space between his brows.

“You were practically incoherent, baby I can’t just hope for the best,” they rolled their eyes, all fond and bittersweet, “you disappeared, I didn’t know what else to do.”

He winced, recalling the events of that morning. He’d taken a phone call while Juno had been in the shower, he bailed on band rehearsal, he just left.

“The others are gonna’ fucking kill me,” he whined, realizing they had a gig the following night that they were supposed to be rehearsing for.

“Not if I do it first,” Juno fired back, sliding down until they stood on solid ground, “I’m mad at you, you know. Just a little bit, but I am. You scared me, you dick.”

That was fair.

“I know, I should’ve told you what was up,” Reece spoke through a sigh, rubbing at his temples, “I…I just panicked, I’m sorry. I never meant to worry you.”

They nodded, taking a deep breath.

“No, I get it. I get it, I’m mostly teasing,” they chuckled. “I mean, not to push but like…what the fuck even happened?”

He glanced over his shoulder and Juno followed suit, their face lighting up when they spotted Dylan standing on the sofa across the room.

They immediately raced towards him, latching onto his shoulders as he eagerly hugged them back.

“I missed you, kid, how’ve you been?” They squealed eagerly, “it’s been ages.”

He awkwardly looked past them, making eye contact with his brother over their shoulder.

“You wanna’ tell them or…?”

Reece huffed, walking over to sink down into the sofa beside the pair.

“Look, before I say anything—we have it handled, okay? I swear, we got this covered,” he prefaced, genuinely freaking out the other, “and getting, you know, socked in the face wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but you’ll see what I mean.”

Juno nodded slowly, looking cautiously between the two brothers and waiting for one of them to say something.

“Our parents kicked him out,” Reece spoke, electing to just rip off the bandaid and get it over with, “so he’s living here, at least for the time being. I’m still tempted to go kick my dad’s ass, but yeah. I didn’t know until this morning, so I basically freaked and drove down here.”

“Oh,” they whispered, looking over at the younger boy beside them, who flushed a bit and awkwardly turned away. “C’mere, D.”

They pulled him back in for another hug, this time running their hands through his hair just like they knew Reece loved.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, kid,” they rambled, thoroughly horrified. “You can come stay with us anytime you need, I swear, you always have a place in our home too.”

He nodded against their shoulder, looking past them at Reece, who just sat back and watched, a fond look of relief on his face.

“And—and if you ever need anything, and I mean any thing you could need,” Juno continued, leaning back and holding the younger by the shoulders, making sure he understood. “We’re your family too, we’re here for you no matter what, and we’ll figure all of this out together, okay?”

Dylan nodded, relaxing into the way they ruffled his hair.

“And you—“ they spoke, an abrupt turn around as they faced Reece again, “I can’t fucking believe you would go after your dad like that, fucking hell, man!”

Reece winced, shying away.

“I mean, god—I can’t have you getting hurt, do you get that? I fucking love you and I would’ve been there, you know that right?” They weren’t trying to yell at him, in fact they hardly raised their voice out of sheer panic, instead clinging to his hand and trying not to get caught up in the bandages across his face. “I would love to kick your parents’ asses as much as anyone else, and you know I would’ve dropped everything in a heartbeat to come with you.”

“I know you would,” he chuckled, leaning against their side, “it’s not like you ask me to let you egg their house for every favor I owe you or anything.”

Dylan reached over to match their high-five.

“I’m not actually mad at you,” Juno interjected, hooking their chin over his shoulder, “honestly, you’re fully justified in your actions, at least in my book.”

Reece couldn’t help but snort a laugh, immediately wincing afterwards.

“Okay, this sucks already,” he whined, rubbing his temples, “and of course I left my fucking Advil in the car.”

“What, you didn’t come prepared to get your nose bashed in?” Dylan teased, kicking a bit at his ankles, “seems like a you-problem, man.”

He rolled his eyes, elbowing back at the younger in rebuttal which quickly turned into a childish play-fighting match.

“Alright—alright! Chill out, you two,” they butted in with an exasperated look, “we should…um…probably get going, actually.”

Reece’s posture stiffened as if realizing what he had to do.

He had to leave.

He had to get up and leave all over again as if once wasn’t enough.

“Will you come with us?” He blurted, turning to his brother with desperation flooding from his body, “please, I—we have room. We can make it work, I swear—“

Dylan, amused in a way that hid how much it meant to hear the other offer that, rolled his eyes and laid back on the sofa.

“I’m good here, dude,” he assured the other, “trust me, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I can’t help it,” he whined, grumbling under his breath, “can we at least get you for like…a weekend? Eventually? Or—or maybe over the summer?”

And how could anyone say no to that face?

“Only ‘cause you came all the way down here and got all worried about me,” the younger teased, “And also I’m pretty sure L’s gonna’ be sick of me in like a week, so it might be needed.”

Reece glanced over his shoulder, catching the way his partner rolled their eyes but otherwise made no attempt to discourage them.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said ‘anytime you want’,” they agreed shooting a smirk back at Reece, “You know you’re my favorite Anderson.”

Dylan, prepared to hold that joke over him forever, stuck his tongue out at his brother, making a spitting noise.

“There, I win,” he proudly proclaimed, “now get out of here, I’m sure you have somewhere to be.”

The trio stood from the sofa, only for Reece to hesitate for just a moment before Juno took notice and gave him a nudge. With one last burst of affection, he swept the younger boy up in another hug, squeezing tightly as if it would be longer than actuality before they saw each other again. Dylan huffed a short laugh, but ultimately didn’t waste a second before returning the squeeze.

“Call me if anything happens, okay?” He whispered to the other, not caring how desperate he probably sounded, “I’m serious, I can’t fucking take it if this happens again.”

“I know, I promise I will,” Dylan confirmed, “you’re fully in the loop from now on.”

Reece seemed satisfied with that conclusion, letting go and forcing himself to step back.

“You want to go say goodbye to everybody and I’ll go grab the van?” Juno gently prompted, nodding towards the staircase.

He glanced over.

“You’re coming too, they’ll kill us both if they find out you were here and didn’t say hi,” he said, taking their hand and pulling them behind him up the stairs.

The pleasantries went by in a bit of a blur of arms and hugs and having his hair ruffled in a million different directions. The pair was eventually ushered out the door with an armful of tupperware leftovers and a dishrag around a bag of frozen corn for Reece’s nose, a gesture that nearly made him cry from the instant pain relief it gave.

Nonetheless, he followed dutifully behind with a few waves from the sidewalk, letting Juno take the keys and electing not to fight on letting them drive.

Even when the nearly hour-long drive finally concluded and the two headed up into their apartment, the weight of years and years of feeling like he’d failed his only family continued to press him into the floorboards. He stood awkwardly in the living room, stealing glances as Juno put away the food they’d been given and swapped out his cold compress for a fresh bag of frozen peas and a bottle of pain meds.

Just as they headed for the living room, their attention snapped to the other, standing rigid in front of their windows with his arms around his torso and his shoulders ever so slightly trembling.

They didn’t hesitate to dump everything onto the coffee table in favor of pulling him into their arms, finally relaxing as the tears started to fall. With a heavy exhale of relief, they resorted themself to an afternoon of canceled plans and skipping class, fully ready to stand there as long as they were needed while the other let himself finally break down.

Progress, even if it didn’t look like it.

They knew he knew it too. That even if it wasn’t ideal, it was a relief in and of itself to know they were finally both free from that house, especially knowing the Castillos were more than capable of taking care of him and neither of them would have anything to worry about.

It still sucked, to say the least, but at least it served as a decent distraction from the burning needles of pain from his nose. That, and the guilt that was steadily eating him alive.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

Chapter 5. We have stucky, we have stevesambucky friendship, we have a new place to live and strange being a good guy because tony definitely ranted at him. Also, we're beginning the creepy part of the plot. I have decided that sam will be one of the main platonic characters in this story because I love sam.

fun fact: I used to be a creepypasta writer! Going back to my roots here, hehe.

Things had stated changing, for better or worse, much sooner than I had been prepared for - but was anyone, ever, really ready for the next big step? Certainly not me - the view that greeted me after I'd finished my shift at Jeremy's was peculiar and unexpected, so I froze, eyebrows high at the two super-soldiers parked, once again, illegally, right in front of the entrance door.

"Hi, doll," Bucky was reclined against his boyfriend comfortably, his bike standing a pace behind Steve's, who nodded companionably, a sheepish grin on his face.

"G'day," I nodded, eyeing them warily. "I think I know where this is going..."

"No, no, nothing like that," both men frantically waved their hands around, Steve coming up close to approach me slowly. "You're not in trouble. I came out here to say thanks," giving a sappy look to the grouch that was his boyfriend, Steve reached into his pocket and handed me a slip of paper. "Just, uh..."

"Those are our phone numbers. Don't hesitate to give either one of us a call if someone bothers you," Bucky took over the stammering blonde, shaking his head at the soft blush that blossomed on the good captain's face. The brunette wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders with a shy smile of his own. "Or if you, I don't know, need someone to carry your groceries or something," he snorted. "The punk wouldn't leave it alone until we came out personally to thank you, the sap."

The laughter bubbled up from my chest as I grabbed and pocketed the paper, throughly amused and at the endearing gesture. "Sure, thanks."

"And, uh," Bucky's eyes briefly looked to the side. "We'd appreciate if you keep the status of our relationship to yourself for now. We're not, like, officially out yet."

I froze in place, mouth falling open. Surely they were aware that anybody with a functional pair of eyes could see that they were much more than 'good, lifelong friends'. "No problem, guys. Lemme know if anyone gives you shit about it though, this place," I gestured to the café behind me, "is strictly paparazzi and homophobe-free."

Steve's grin grew even more genuine. "Yeah, we heard all about it from Tony and Stephen. Said 'twas the only place they go these days."

I wasn't aware of that. "It's the paps, isn't it?" I remembered Tony's remarks.

Bucky shook his head, the metals of his prosthetic arm whirring as it recalibrated. "Not only. The public hasn't had the best reaction to a man goin' out with a man," the brunette looked away to the side, where Steve's face had fallen considerably. "And Tony's an eccentric rich man. We're jus' two soldiers. The US Army won't be too happy if we... Came out," both men were crestfallen yet determined.

I had a hunch nothing would be able to separate the two - seeing as not even seventy-odd years and brainwashing and ice couldn't keep the captain and his sarge apart, I doubted that a few government weasels could successfully do the job. Even so, it was unpleasant, to say the least, to see them deny themselves something that technically was perfectly fine in the 21st century.

I chewed on my lip, gathering my wits. "I've clocked out, I can tell you this as a friend- as a person. You don't owe the army jack shit. They do not own you, you are your own person that they experimented their German knockoff steroids on. Respectfully, fuck that shit." I firmly stated my opinion, figuring that there should have been at least someone that told Steve that he is more than his star-spangled uniform and giant metal frisbee.

The blonde scrunched his eyebrows together, fingers gripping onto his belt until the knuckles went white, the hard line of his jaw set firm.

Bucky laugh took me by surprise. "Agreed, doll. I'm too old to be hiding in back alleys and shit," he clapped on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Although I'm happy enough with just not going to prison for bein' in love with this idiot."

"Jerk," Steve's responding pout was downright adorable now that I knew the circumstances surrounding their relationship.

Which wasn't exactly surprising. As a barista, I knew my fair share about my regulars' love lives, their jobs, their kids. The tea was almost always piping hot. "Bye, boys," I smiled at them warmly, throwing a glance at the time, adjusting the strap of my bag for comfort. "Stay outta trouble!"

Steve scrambled for his bike, having noticed my pointed gesture. "Sorry, didn't mean to hold you back. There, I have a spare helmet," he gestured behind him. "I'll give you a ride."

"There's no way in Hell I'm getting on that death trap!" I shouted cheerfully, walking briskly towards my second job, hiding a laugh in the warmth of my scarf as two very offended motorcycle-loving gay fossils sped past me, making truly incredible amounts of noise. Good for them.

Odette was content to let me rummage around the bodega without showing herself more than necessary, taking her appointments and doing- well, witch stuff, I guess, only coming out to poke at the various jars for ingredients.

"Star, I have a proposition for you," right before closing time, Odette's voice filled out the store with its low drawl. "A good friend of mine owns an apartment building, not far from here actually, and one tenant recently moved out. It's a safe space for those who are different," she enunciated the last word, fixing it with a pointed stare. "She's not overly fond of total strangers coming to live there. The rent is reduced and the apartment itself is slightly bigger and more fashionable than yours..."

"Where's the catch?" I found myself interrupting her. I wouldn't lie: the reduced rent and increased size of the apartment did interest me, as well as the probability of a kinder, more involved landlord. My current one was - not the best, but such was life in the NYC.

"There are a few rules to follow, rules that might seem strange at first but they'll make sense in time. And your neighbors might be also a little... Unusual," Odette carefully studied my face for any signs of displeasure.

I sighed.

And then I sighed some more as I was signing my new lease in a few days' time, having spoken with Porter, my new landlord, and his boyfriend who had claws and fangs- after so much time spent around Odette's, I didn't even blink. The couple liked me enough to extend a secure but flexible offer and some furniture to choose from the attic where they kept the spares.

I quite liked the large, vintage couch I placed next to the wide bow windows in the living room. The floors were hardboard and well-kept, the walls a nice, homely shade of green and Porter didn't mind any new holes in them that might arise from hanging up decorations. I scheduled a thrift crawl at the next possible opportunity, happy with the "good employee" bonus Odette had given me after I sealed the deal.

My stuff was boxed up, a sleepless night and a call to a begrudging Jeremy to have a couple of days off to move; I was, thankfully, not late on my schedule and all that I had left was to rent a car to move the boxes of my things and the few pieces of furniture I had decided to keep - my haul in Porter's attic had been incredibly rewarding and my new apartment had all the basics to make it look like a warm, inviting bohemian home in a while.

My phone rang suddenly, startling interruption to the romcom I was watching as I ate my last lunch in my old apartment. "Hello?" I answered the number without looking.

"Hi, doll," Bucky's voice rang out cheerful. "A little witch told me you were moving. I thought you might need a hand?"

I blanked momentarily, the thought of enlisting two very busy super-soldiers to haul ten boxes and two endtables worth of stuff not having crossed my mind at all. "Is this the moment when you stop by my house just to unattach and put your prosthetic arm somewhere and leave?" I asked, hearing distinctive snickering - several more people were with him.

The cheer in his voice blossomed into a full belly laugh. "You're funny," he teased me. "And thanks for the idea. But no, I have a room full of men that have nothing better to do but get on my nerves. Might as well make 'em useful," his accented drawl thickened the more we spoke. Muted cheers rang out in the background.

"Uh, sure," who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? I rattled off my address and warned them I didn't have a car, after which Bucky assured me it will be taken care of. The last remaining knick-knacks packed away, I went down to take out the trash, and returned to four people standing in front of my apartment building, all except one unrecognisable in their civilian clothes. "Hello," I waved at them, side-eyeing the tallest, grumpiest man of the bunch.

Stephen Strange was there, looking around curiously, hands in the pockets of his plain grey hoodie. I had already forgotten how normal he looked without his robes, and, frankly speaking, I preferred him like that. His title and the attire that came with it were quite intimidating.

"Hey there," a dark-skinned man who I recognised to be the Falcon, raised his hand. I had not met him yet. "I'm Sam, Sam Wilson. You must be the Star we're helping?" His quick once-over and the tilt to his lips; the ease with which he flirted had me brandishing smirks of my own. I led them all upstairs, Stephen's silence being just so loud. Sam, however, had no such reservations. "So, you're a witch, right?" Wow, subtlety was his middle name.

"Yes, I'll show you my broomstick," I deadpanned, wiggling my eyebrows at him with a grim look.

"Woah woah," Sam raised his hands as the three men behind us snickered loudly. "What happened to 'how are you? let's have dinner sometime'?"

I did my best imitation of an evil cackle as I let them through my front door. The four newcomers looked around my nearly empty apartment with muted interest before zeroing in on the pile of things in the corner: a few pieces of furniture and nearly taped boxes. Should be a walk in the park for four men.

A hand on my arm pulled me from the stupor of observing Sam, Bucky and Steve act like a well-oiled trio, bantering and teasing each other as they discussed how to best move the things.

"Look," Stephen Strange had all the appearance of a chastised puppy. "I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that day. I was out of line," the low notes in his voice made the appearance of the apology being somewhat reluctant. Tony probably put him to it after our little burger run.

Irregardless, I wasn't looking to make any enemies. "Me too, I was under stress - not that I'm using it as an excuse," to give where it's due, I nodded at the sorcerer, immediately awestruck by the easy, boyish smile that stretched on his lips.

"You are strong," he added. "If you would like to learn our ways, we would welcome you." There was a spark in his eyes, something belonging to man that respected and collected knowledge. My own respect for him grew immensely just from that one thing.

"I'll think about it," I offered amicably, however, I still leaned heavily towards a negative answer to that particular proposition. I liked my current way of life.

Strange's grin made a momentary second appearance, until Sam's voice rang loudly: "Fire in the hole, Wizard-man," causing the former to groan loudly and look at me.

"Think about your new place for a second," he spoke, briefly touching out fingertips. As soon as that was over, a golden circle with my new living room on the other side of it appeared quietly, Strange's hands immediately going back into his pockets after that. I sighed and pointed the men into it, stepping in a second after. The sorcerer wasn't far behind. "You could learn that, too, you know," he added wryly, having seen my look of mild envy directed at him.

"I think I'll be good with having the 'pissed off the sorcerer Supreme and lived' pass for now," I retorted with an eyeroll, turning around to stare him down.

He had the decency to look somewhat sheepish, at least. "I'm not like my predecessor," his words were chosen carefully. "And, to be honest, I have no clue as to why your... Boss is so hostile towards me- us," Strange looked around the room before unceremoniously beelining for the couch and plopping down on it.

"Not to be a gossip," I started, slightly intrigued. "But Odette and some lady she called ancient had mad beef," I slipped into casual language easily, trying to recall the details of Odette's, quite often jumbled, stories. "Sounded almost like territorial disputes," I shrugged. "And the apprentices Odette took on before me found themselves in all kinds of compromising situations," I chewed on my lip. "Like the Arctic."

Strange rubbed his face with a noisy groan, large hands doing nothing to mask the resignation and slight embarrassment.

I focused on the thin, red scars on his hands - they had to have been something serious, the way slight tremors betrayed the deteriorating state of the nerves in his fingers. I frowned, quickly averting my gaze before he could catch me ogling him. The fact thag Stephen kept his hands in his pockets or covered by gloves at all times didn't go over my head.

He muttered something to himself, something that sounded like he was often forced to clean up his predecessor's mess. "I see," was the only thing he'd offered me, looking slightly pitiful and apologetic.

"Well," I started, noting the last of my stuff was about to be in its rightful place, "as long as you don't toss me into the ocean, I think we can coexist peacefully."

"Tony would kill me if I'd tried," Stephen groused.

"Probably," I agreed. "Considering the fact he hit on me, for you, it would make one hell of a lover's quarrel," my hand pointed towards the kitchen as Steve and Sam carried in the boxes aptly labeled "kitchen", looking around a place to put them down.

"Tony did what now?" Stephen's tone dropped, a wry smirk decorating his lips as he eyed me through his lashes.

"Don't ask me," I raised my palms, feeling my eyes widen. "He's chaos personified and Satan only knows what he's got on his mind."

That squeezed a laugh out of the tall man, followed by a fond, sappy smile as he looked out of my large, panoramic window, probably thinking of Tony himself. There was no doubt, Stephen Strange was utterly and throughly head over heels in love with Tony Stark. Good for them, good for them.

"A-and that's it," Bucky walked in, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel I'd provided them earlier. "I took some liberties and assembled the furniture, Steve is stacking the dishes as we speak," the brunette noisily plopped down next to me, arm carelessly thrown behind me on the back of the couch.

"Oh, um," I stammered, unused to such random gestures of kindness. "Thanks a lot, you saved me a day's worth of time and a backache," I smiled, scooting over to make some room for Sam.

"No problem, not like we had anything better to do than argue which part of the Lord of the Rings is the best," Wilson rolled his eyes, elbowing Bucky none-too-gently.

Bucky elbowed back, thus starting a horsing war between the two, causing me to scoot closer to Stephen as I attempted to avoid any flailing limbs; the sorcerer and I shared an identical, perplexed sigh as to how two grown men could easily bait each other into such juvenile behaviour.

Whatever. It was kind of endearing.

Steve emerged from the kitchen dusty but smiling, having heard the commotion, and quickly herded his guys into a semblance of decent behaviour before all of three of them left, leaving me and Stephen to go back to my old apartment and give the keys to it to the guard. That was done, too, and a portal from an alley behind my old building straight into my living room had me and Strange awkwardly hovering, saying out goodbyes and waving to each other as the golden circle rapidly shrunk in size and disappeared, golden sparks scattering across my living room carpet for a short second before they fizzled out, too.

I used the brief moment of respite to find the small piece of paper containing the rules Porter had insisted I read and take seriously; figuring it might be a good idea to give them a read before beginning to unpack, I popped open a bottle of soda, holding the itemized list written in neat cursive to my face.

The further I read, the further my eyebrows rose:

"1. Keep your door locked at all times.

2. If a person knocks on your door claiming to be the mail man, do not open the door under any circumstances. You are free to ignore the knocking - it only lasts a minute or so. After the person has left, you may open the door and check for any packages.

3. If Samantha from 3B visits you and asks you to babysit, you may do so at your personal discretion. Her twins are a handful and their daily habits are not for the ones with a weak stomach, however, they mean nothin ill and will not harm you in any way.

4. Do not use the elevator between the hours of 1 and 4 AM.

5. There are no apartments under number "7". If someone claiming to be from those apartments knocks on your door and requests entry, come up with a polite excuse to decline and send me a text message. I will take care of it.

6. There is no garden on the premises of this building. If a man approaches you, claiming to be a gardener, don't interact with him and simply walk away. He will leave you alone.

7. You may meet a girl in a polka-dot dress playing in the hallways or in the stairwell. This is Lucy. Always be polite to Lucy - you won't like what will happen if you're rude to her. She does not talk but she knows limited ASL and may request to visit you. Allow her in ONLY if you have fresh meat in your fridge (beef or mutton, preferably bloody). You might want to avoid seeing her eat, however, it might be very beneficial to make friends with Lucy. She knows a lot of things.

8. If, when taking the stairs, you encounter inconsistent numeration of the floors, such as floor 2 followed by floor 5 and etc, simply walk a flight back. It will sort itself out. The building is old and sometimes it gets confused.

Important notice: these rules apply to your guests as well. Please make sure to introduce and educate them on these matters. We will help as much as we can should a situation arise but ultimately, there are fates far worse than an untimely, however swift, death.

- Porter and Lance."

A slow, creeping dread began to gnaw at my nape, curling on like a cold snake deep in chest. As if laughing at me, the warm, welcoming embrace of the green walls and the toothy, wide smiles my landlords had given me encouraged my recently found sense of adventure, all of it mixing into a cacophony of exhilaration and unease, equally steadily driving my running brain insane.

I sighed again, immediately going to the box containing my altar and the rest of the protective items. So much for peace.

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