Down Home 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.
Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers
Note: Because of this.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖
It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller.
Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as.
You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down.
You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen.
You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual.
Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space.
As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer.
A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant.
You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames.
The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal.
“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.”
He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.”
“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble.
He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead.
The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell.
“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?”
The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...”
“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.”
“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer.
“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron.
“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.”
They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job.
“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun.
“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.”
“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks.
“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around.
You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals.
You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you.
“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask.
“Black’s fine,” he assures.
“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.”
“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?”
“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?”
“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?”
He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you.
“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.”
“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.”
“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner.
“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.”
“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.”
He gives a gentle smile.
“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.”
“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.”
You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV.
“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly.
“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.”
“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases.
“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.”
You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.”
“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts.
“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?”
“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.”
“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders.
“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug.
“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.”
You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.”
“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you.
“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself.
“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly.
“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.”
“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.”
“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles.
“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?”
Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.”
You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?”
“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks.
“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?”
“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.”
“Alright,” you back away and turn back.
Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter.
As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself.
The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor.
You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there.
“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him.
“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?”
“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.”
“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.”
“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?”
“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.”
He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own.
“Do you sing?” He asks.
“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter.
“Ah,” Steve nods.
“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.”
“I’ve had worse,” Steve says.
You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place.
“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table.
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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 54 (The Game Tried to Take MY SON!)
cw: toddler peril. I learned a lesson about playing with unpatched mods but I played up a bit of drama despite not accepting what happened as canon. Only shot of Ash is above because more felt gratuitous for something that technically never happened because I reversed it.
The quiet house unnerved him. Conrad knew something wasn't right. He texted Heather, and in less than a minute his phone rang. "I'm sorry I didn't text," she sobbed through the phone. "Ash's daycare called and I...I...I'm at the hospital with him now. Doctors have him sedated."
"What happened?!"
"It was daycare," she repeated. "They said he was on the slide but then they looked away and...and they thought..." She broke down, and Conrad felt her pain through the line. Her fear shook the phone in his grasp.
"It'll be okay. I'm on my way there."
He embraced her when he walked through the door to St. Sims Hospital, and she fell into his arms. "He'll be okay," he assured her, but he didn't know any better.
"How did this happen?" she cried. "What kind of mother lets her son-"
"Stop. This isn't on you."
"If I didn't work so much, I could have been home with him. Maybe I could have..."
He pulled her close, feeling every tense muscle in her rigid body. "This isn't on you," he repeated. "And we're not gonna lose him. We'll all get through this together. We're a team, remember? That means Ash, too."
She was quiet. "Conrad... Do you believe in curses?"
"Like witches?"
She frowned as her thoughts pounded against her skull. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe mermaids? But Mortimer Goth told me a story once about cursed Landgraabs, and I know how it sounds. But when Ash came along I thought about it a lot more than I should, and then I had to give him their last name. After tonight, I feel sick to my stomach. What if I cursed my son by giving him Malcolm Landgraab for a father?"
"There's no way Ash is cursed," he said quickly. "I know you're scared for him, but curses aren't real and Ash is one of the luckiest kids in the world. He'll get a Landgraab trust fund and he's got you for a mom."
She managed a smile, but when the doctor emerged from the pediatric care unit, she raced over to hear word of her son. "How is he? Oh, Watcher, please let him be okay..."
Dr. Serra smiled. "He hit his head pretty hard, but other than a headache for a few days, we think he's going to be fine. We want to keep him overnight for observation, but he's awake and he's asking for you."
Heather's whole body breathed with relief as she embraced her son's doctor. "Thank you!" she sobbed. "Thank you so much!"
Behind her, Conrad felt his muscles loosen. He'd been so focused on Heather, he didn't even notice his own fear at the thought of Ash in peril. "Thank you, Doctor. We're so grateful."
Dr. Serra smiled. "You must be Conrad. Ash asked for you, too."
Ash would recover quickly, but Heather wasn't so sure about herself. Even with Conrad's unflinching support, she felt torn apart by guilt over her son's near-fatal accident while she'd been working.
She was always working, trying so hard to earn enough to buy out her clinic from Ash's other family. ->
<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start
WCIF St. Sims Hospital? Sims 4 Gallery build by @pihe89/pihe89. Stunning build, simply put, and very popular (so many copycats). And it comes with a science lab and alien wormhole nbd. Two floors, so many varieties for rooms. Why would I build when people are this talented? It's in a second save and I'll use it again for babies, but hopefully we're not back here for any tragedies anytime soon.
How did this happen?!? Needless to say, Heather's guilt is also mine. I had too many mods and tested fate playing before updating them all! I played some Ultimate Decades Challenge generations and still have the Children and Toddlers Can Die mod installed (I like having options, I guess?), which only kills toddlers with hunger if I'm not mistaken. I was also having some mod issues after the Lovestruck update and didn't realize it until this happened, but the toddler needs bars stayed in the green while their needs deteriorated and I didn't know. Only the toddlers!
So I followed Conrad to work and when he came home Ash was gone and Heather had the 'lost a child' grief moodlet. Cue my internal scream! I revived him instantly with MCCC because this is not UDC and I have plans for this kid! I was so shocked I didn't take any screenshots of the whole disastrous event, but I couldn't pretend it absolutely didn't happen. And honestly the accident ties in with Heather's nagging fears the curse could be real, which is the one unintended benefit of this whole thing.
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I think I remember seeing someone submit him but I Love This Man A Lot and want to share my thoughts
I'd like to submit Demoman from TF2!!
Real name Tavish Finnegan DeGroot. He's a Black Scot mercenary who comes from a long, long lineage of demolitionists, and out of the main cast, he's one of the ones with the most known backstory. Canon contradicts itself about it, but the gist of it is: he was an orphan, and an attempt to blow up the Loch Ness Monster when he was six accidentally killed his adoptive parents. He's later taken in by his bio parents, and to quote canon, "who lovingly explained that all Demomen are abandoned at birth until their skills manifest themselves, a long-standing, cruel, and wholly unnecessary tradition among the Highland Demolition Men. His unhappy childhood had ended, but his training had just begun." His eye got stolen by a wizard when he was seven, and his missing eye has become some eldritch monster called MONOCULUS! that the mercs have to fight every Halloween. He currently lives in a mansion with his bio mother and looks after her. And makes 5 million per year. %_% rich boye. Very energetic and lively, bombastic if you will, but also very chill and sweet with a melancholic sad streak.
He has a lot of cool voice lines and aooguh his accent's so cute. I've heard it's not the most accurate and I'm not Scottish nor do I live anywhere in the UK so I dunno myself... but his voice is still really good. He could read the phone book and I'd be intently listening.
Some of his lines are weirdly dramatic too, it's cute lol. Like,
Shoutout to this render on his update page
Demo's also really really fun to play as (I personally have almost 400 hours on him alone.... ajkdfjk) and very versatile, there's a lot of different playstyles for him. You could spam stickies/pipes and get a LOT of DPS, you could set traps and be a little doorway troll, you could ditch the explosives entirely and run around with a big ass sword. Or do both the sword and explosives gaming. And more.
Because of his high burst DPS and ability to control space with stickies (little manually detonated mines that stick into most map geometry) he's also really important in the two main competitive formats of the game. In a lot of scenarios, a team's Demo going down is grounds for them to back up, since holding a point without em is going to be a lot more difficult. I'm not as familiar with other formats, but from what I know, formats that include him in the standard team comp are similar.
He does get a decent amount of screen time in the main comics. I don't have many pictures from them saved cause most if not all of the 6 issues whitewash him. >_> I'll spare you from looking at that.
There's also a lot of really really good cosmetics for him, including a few hairstyles. I've seen some really cute ones on the workshop too, one of my favorites was this awesome loc bun hairstyle. I can't find it though :(
One of his aforementioned swords is the Eyelander, an old claymore haunted by a sentient, bloodthirsty malevolent spirit. It's fully capable of speech. He watches corny ghost drama shows with it. In-game you get a cool glowing effect once you get on a killstreak with it. (No other weapon in the game does this!! Which makes it really stand out. It's SO cool.)
I think he's a really interesting character with a lot of potential, but neither canon or a lot of fanon really explores his character. gee I wonder why 🙄🙄 (sarcasm)
This ask got long and I might have left sentences unfinished, sorry about that, I'm very tired right nwo but I hope I got the gist across
TAVISH FINNEGAN DEGROOT. oh I love the existence of Black Scots. "Wholly unnecessary tradition" is crazy lmaoo but I guess they came back for him! Sometimes I feel like it's pure racism in games like this when people don't pick the Black player. Bc... Why not?
Hot Chocolate: I had no idea TF2 had lore like this, WTF?? Abandoned as a baby, Eldritch monster eye, haunted sword??? This sounds like a d&d character transported to another world! Actually... The captain of my crew is missing an eye and he's a warlock 🤔🤔. Time to ask him about his eye again! Make sure it hasn't turned into an Abyssal creature. Anywho, Black man with crazy lore! We love it, need it! Everyone play more Tavish!
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Come Out and Play 2
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, age gap, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your mom welcomes an old friend back into her life that brings chaos with him.
Characters: Thor, Loki
Note: Two silverfoxes for the price of one
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Thor loves thunder. Take care. 💖
You hide away in the room that was once your own. You’re dressed and ready to go but waiting for the chance to flit out. You have a fib ready to go. You’ll tell your mom the landlord called and you had to leave quickly.
The opportunity hasn’t come yet as the house is lively with noise. You didn’t wake up early enough to get ahead of your mother and her friend. You know he stayed the night; you can see his car through the window. A steel grey SUV with a boxy build.
As you build your courage, bag in hand, with a plan to dart down and grab your shoes and coat, there’s a knock at the door. Dang. You drop your bag as you mother calls through to you.
“Honey boo,” she trills, “are you hungry?”
You huff and cross the room. You open the door only a few inches to see her. You stare back at her blankly.
“Thor cooked some breakfast for us? Isn’t that lovely?” She preens.
You weigh your options. There’s not really more than one. If you say no and rush out now, that would be rude. And a free meal isn’t something you should pass up. Not with your rent due.
You nod and come out into the hallway, “okay, thanks.”
“Oh, don’t thank me. I know you’ll be polite and let Thor know you appreciate it,” she steps back and waits for you to go ahead of her. “I’m so lucky to have such a good daughter.”
“Mom,” you grumble.
“Sorry, I’m just so... happy. I miss you,” she tugs your hair playfully from behind. You feel a little icky as you suspect the true reason for her good mood. Not that she isn’t always chipper.
“Miss you too, mom,” you throw over your shoulder as you come down the stairs.
You slow as you near the kitchen, hearing the subtle clinking of dishes. Your mom points you into the dining room and you gratefully accept the detour.
“I’ll check in on him. I know he was wrestling the coffee machine.”
You sit at the table as she tromps off into the kitchen. You hear Thor’s timbre and her singsong replies. You can’t make out the words, not until the last.
“Go, sit,” Thor insists. “I’ve got it all figured out, Seli.”
Your mother giggles before she appears again. She sits across from you. She’s always been bubbly but she seems bouncier. You’re happy for her. She deserves someone. It’s been so long since your father passed. You always felt a bit guilty for how much she put into raising you.
“Ah, ladies,” Thor pops in just behind her, “coffee for both? I can always put on tea.”
You nod and your mom turns, “yes, both of us. Thank you.”
“Of course,” he grins and your eyes meet for a startling second.
He stalks back to the kitchen. You wonder if a man his size ever does anything quietly. You tap your fingers on the table as you wait.
“Hon,” your mom reaches across, “thanks.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” you insist as you still your hands.
“I know it’s a lot.”
“He’s nice,” you say.
She smiles even bigger, “he is, isn’t he?”
You nod again. You can’t say you really know him. You just love seeing her so excited.
“Ah coffee,” Thor declares as he sweeps in, “did we require sugar, dairy?”
“Black,” you confirm, “thank you.”
“Just some almond milk for me, please,” your mother replies.
“As you wish,” he bows his head and backs out.
It’s awkward. Almost as if you’re at a restaurant. It’s a bit too much but you suppose he feels just as weird staying in someone else’s house. Especially with their daughter crashing on the fun.
He dips out once more and you squirm in your seat. You just need to get through this and you can go home. It might not be very warm there but it’s your own.
Thor returns with two plates in hand and the cart of almond milk under his elbow. He sets a plate by your mom, and the milk, then reaches across to put the other before you. You chew your lip sheepishly.
“Oh, thank you, this is so amazing,” your mother squeals, “and it smells delicious.”
“Thank you,” you echo softly.
“Full Norwegian. Smoked salmon, scrambled eggs with my secret ingredient, Jarlsberg cheese, and some oat bread toasted.” He announces proudly.
“Wow, oh my god,” your mom touches her cheeks. “I never knew you could cook.”
“Well, I had a few kids, had to learn,” he chuckles boisterously. “Now, please, dig in. I’ll just go get my plate.”
“We can wait--”
“No, no, it’s best to have it hot,” he insists, “please.”
You pick up your fork only as your mother does the same. You use the fork and knife to pick apart the salmon. It really is tasty. You take small bites as your stomach swirls uneasily.
Thor sits by your mother and wiggles as settles into the seat, “so, literature? What year?” He asks.
“Oh, um...” you peek at your mom, “I finished last year.”
“Ah, sorry. I think I misheard. That’s great. All set then. And are we going for another degree or out there is the wonderful world of employment?”
“Erm, well, I work right now at a temp agency. Desk jobs, mostly.”
“Oh, very interesting. You probably meet all sorts. See different places,” he remarks.
“When there’s work,” you shrug.
“Of course. That’s the catch then,” he says.
“Mhmm,” you hum.
“She’ll get there. Remember when we were in school and I worked at that pop up shop? Oof. They had me selling overpriced anti-aging cream. I was nineteen. Imagine.” She chirps.
“Oh yes, I was lucky enough to work for my father’s firm. Well, luck being a relative term. He is a hard ass but I suppose I turned out alright. Now my brother for the matter,” he chortles and shakes his head. “So, just the one then, Seli?”
“Just my precious bean,” your mom grins and you cringe. She can be so embarrassing.
“Ah, I always wondered what it would be like to be an only child. You must be spoiled, especially with her as your mother. She’s always been a horrible enabler,” he nudges her and she guffaws.
“Me? I would day you are a bad influence,” she pushes back on him.
You muster a smile. Just to be nice. Then you focus on your plate and the food. The quicker you finish, the sooner you can be gone. Alone.
💜
“I hope I haven’t run you out,” Thor catches you off-guard as you sit to pull on your boots. You pop your head up and wince. You were going to say bye to your mom before you fled but you just can’t seem to summon your usual invisibility.
“Um, no, I gotta get back. See if they can fix the radiator.”
“Radiator? Hm, I used to have a fussy one back in college. Actually, my first home was built at the turn of the century, not this one, and it had some rattly ones as well,” he rambles, much like your mother. You see why they get along. “I could have a look. It’s rather cold out, you wouldn’t mind the ride, eh?”
“Oh, well, that’s fine. My landlord can fix it,” you tie your boots as you mutter at the carpet.
“That is so sweet,” your mom strides in and you sit up in surprise. It’s almost as if she was waiting to sneak up on you. “Oh, Thor, would you mind? I really hate her on the bus. Did you hear about last week with that woman and her purse?”
“Mom,” you drone.
“I don’t mind at all. I’ve got some running around to do. Can’t be too far out of the way. Besides, I can see you’re keen to have me out of your hair already, Seli,” he chortles.
“No, no, oh it’s been so nice to have you. Both of you! Have you found a place yet?” She asks.
“Still nothing,” he answers with a tut. “Mother’s a lot like you though. She likes having me around, better when the kids chance to visit.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to meet them. Won’t that be nice, honey? I think his daughter’s about your age,” she says around him.
“She’s a year or two back. Still in school,” he intones, “close enough then, eh?”
“It’s really not...” you begin but see your mom’s smile falter. “Oh, well, thanks, sure. It’s really nice to offer.”
You stand and both of them smile. “I’ll just get my coat and that,” Thor says.
He moves around you in the entry way and your mom flutters closer, “oh, honey bun, I’m going to miss you!” She hugs you and rocks you. You’ve never lived in a different city but she acts like she never sees you. “Don’t get in trouble, alright?”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Thor jibes as he pulls on his thick flannel coat.
“Love you, mom,” you murmur quietly.
“Love you!” She lets you go and pats your head. “You call. Let me know about the heat. Don’t you dare stay if it’s freezing. You’ll catch cold.”
“Nothing I can’t fix, I’m sure,” Thor insist, “come, I’ve still got a whole list I should’ve done yesterday.”
You give a wistful look to your mom and a small ‘bye’ before you reluctantly follow after the large man. He holds the door and you step out into the frigid air. You approach the steps warily. He’s still only a stranger to you.
He frightens you as he puts his hand on your back and dips around you. He reaches the SUV first and opens the passenger door. You look over your shoulder as your mom waves giddily.
“Drive safe!” She calls out.
You turn and grab onto the door. You haul yourself up with your bag, an extra push from Thor along your lower back. You quickly swing into the seat and hug your knapsack. He closes the door without comment.
You buckle your seat belt as he gets in the other side. You stare ahead as your mom gives one last wave and goes inside. You look down at your lap and pick at the zipper of your bag. The engine rumbles to life and you jolt as he reverses out of the driveway.
He asks for your address as he idles in the middle of the street. You give it and he keys it into the GPS built into the dash.
As he drives, you watch the houses pass outside the window. The cold makes the silence crisper. The heater blows warmth over you but you feel a shiver creeping nonetheless.
“Mm, don’t take much after Selina. Quiet...” he muses.
You nod. It’s the truth you can’t dispute that.
“That’s not so bad though,” he says. “It means you put more thought into what you say. My brother can be the same way. Yet, he’ll often say too much.”
You sniff and wiggle your foot impatiently. You’re burnt out from all the social interaction. You can handle your mom, but with his unannounced visit, you’re feeling yourself wear thin.
He doesn’t say anything else, almost as if he can sense your reticence. You shrink down next to him. Your eyes threaten to close. You feel the how little sleep you truly got. Maybe you would’ve been better off sleeping in the cold.
Finally, you get to your building. It would be a solace if he didn’t get out with you. You point him ahead to the building as you fish out your keys.
You show him inside. You’re not used to the company. You’re always alone. Even your mom’s only been there a few times. You don’t like having her over because she just complains about it being too small. You tell her you don’t want to crowd her but she’s just wants to make sure you’re okay.
“Brisk,” he says as he follows you down the hall.
“If you can’t fix it, I’ll be okay,” you say.
“Of course, but if I can, I’d hate to not look,” he assures.
You unlock your door and let him in. He enters and stops to pull untie his boots. You do the same before you lead him further in. It feels like a violation to have him in your space. You’ve always been very protective of your bubble.
He finds the radiator without direction. He grunts as he gets to his knees bracing his lower back, “never get old, mouse, or at least stretch,” he chuckles. “It isn’t fun.”
He takes out his phone and shines it between the slats and bends further to see. He reaches underneath as you shiver behind him. He feels along and lets out an aha!
“I think we only need to bleed the radiator,” he twists and something creaks loudly. “Just so.”
He sits up and looks at you, “may be some trapped air. Easy repair but if you don’t know the little tricks, an easy miss,” he explains, “come, let me show you.”
He beckons you over and flashes the light toward the small red knob, “this is the bleed. You can twist to release then close it back up.”
“Okay,” you lean in and squint to see it.
You lift your head, nearly brushing him with your nose and back up.
“I’ll close it and give it a bit. Do you have the thermostat here? Or is it central control?” He asks.
“Um just... on the radiator.”
“Ah,” he cranks the knob tight then moves to the end of the metal heater. He moves the gauge and the radiator rattles. He puts his hands up. “Think I’ve done it.”
“Thanks,” you wring your hands in front of you. “That’s... thanks.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” He gets up with another grinding grunt and some popping in his knees. “Anything else before I go? Maybe a leaky faucet?”
“No, no, that’s it,” you say but wince. Your mom would be disappointed in your lack of hospitality. Besides, he did help and he’s her friend. You can’t just kick him out. “Do you like tea?”
“I love tea,” he smiles, “but let me not presume on you.”
“It is cold in here. I was gonna make it anyway.”
“Well, then, if it isn’t any trouble, how could I deny the little mouse?”
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