#okayyy this was the final one this is the last one ill be quiet now 😁 (🤞)

[lichtbrenger]

Charlie Morningstar and fixing the world <3

Anna Badkhen, to see beyond: a hoping in three pictures | Darren Aronofsky, Mother! | Jose Saramago, Cain | uncredited | Baldwin in conversation with Giovanni | Assata Shakur, Affirmations | Sung Hwa Kim (@_sunghwa_), It's not just a city | Mary Oliver, For Example

[thedeviljudges]

omg please write the angry dog harringrove au, I love it already!

Okayyy, so I finally wrote that drabble based off my tags for this wallpaper. I also took name inspiration from @little-noodle-curl‘s lovely piece of art ft. Billy and his dog Archie because it’s the most adorable name ever, and it fit. But uh, I hope I did my own prompt justice??? lmao. Hope you like it, anon.

Steve’s learned punctuality straight from his father, that a man on time is a man to be trusted. While he’s had qualms with that particular phrase in the past, it sticks to the back of Steve’s mind like gum under a desk – useless, a little gross, and painstakingly obvious.

Though there’s two parts to time Steve can’t quite escape. As mastered as being on time has entrusted his dependability, he’s never figured out how to avoid wrong place, wrong time situations.

Steve’s timing in that regard has always been an empty shell, left filled with echoed footsteps of his demise. He’s found himself in many a situation he shouldn’t be in, doesn’t want to be in, and another moment of ill chance shouldn’t surprise him.

Then again, he hadn’t expected this.

Additionally, Steve’s prided himself on taking advice from others, weighed the options, choosing what parts he should adhere to. Yes, he thought it quite strange that many of his new neighbors told him to avoid apartment 201B, glancing down the hall, glancing at the numbers on the mailbox that sits in the foyer as if it might sprout a head and eat them whole.

Thing is, none of them said why, gave no indication other than the fact that that boy in there… and then they’d go quiet, shake their head while leaving Steve confused, built in questions leading into the precipice of the stairs where his apartment door sits, where 201B resides.

So really, out of propriety he left it alone, heeded the advice full stop just this once because he’s never seen anyone come or go from the apartment.

Often, he thinks its empty, that everyone’s forgotten that the tenant inside left ages ago because Steve never hears anything. Which leaves him up for chow as all eyes are on him, resting inside of the insidious tone the carries over when gossip runs rampant.

Steve smiles, and he’s polite. He goes to work, and he comes back, and as time shifts, his stay grows welcomed, and he’s forgotten about the door, about the warning, about anything other than sweet old women and the college students he passes in the hall who don’t give him the time of day.

He forgets, but his timeliness doesn’t. Steve forgets, and his father’s words stick, but he doesn’t think it applies to this situation.

So, when Steve attempts to wrangle his keys from his pocket to insert them into the lock, grimacing at the heavy weight of the shopping bag in his arms, the last thing he expects is to end up on the floor of the hallway in front of his apartment, breathless and confused from no longer being upright.

Steve hits the floor with a thud after a solid weight knocks him down, the contents of his grocery bag spilling across the thin carpet; the brown paper sack he’d used rips right down the middle. The weight of something moving stays on top of Steve no matter how much he squirms, and when he finally blinks away the stars in his eyes, he comes face to face with a dog.

A large dog.

A very large doberman with teeth and beady brown eyes.

Steve shrinks back despite being on the floor, shuffles his feet across the carpet for leverage. It’s difficult to move from being pinned down, and then suddenly the dog, black and brown and so very intimidating, is licking Steve’s face instead of eating it.

“Oh god,” he gripes, feels saliva drying against his cheek. Steve holds up his hands as a deterrent but not even that tames the obnoxious enthusiasm the dog bestows. “Okay, okay.”

Steve resolves to being pinned under the animal until he grows bored, thinks maybe a new face won’t be so interesting when Steve isn’t doing anything to reciprocate the affection this dog clearly thinks he deserves. He also contemplates whose dog this is as Steve knows his neighbors, knows the other tenants that dwell in the building, and not once has Steve seen a dog - a fucking doberman - this large around the building.

“Archie.”

The dog perks at the voice, turning its head away from Steve, the reprieve welcome and long enough for Steve to slide away from the pet. His back hits the wall, keeps his eyes trained on the animal in case it might attempt a round two, and ignores the distant footfalls that grow louder, closer.

“Are you okay?”

Steve blinks, eyes swinging away from the dog and up, up up until he’s met with bright blue eyes and golden curls. “Uh.”

“Didn’t knock your head too hard, did he?”

There aren’t any words left in his throat, in Steve’s brain, and like a slow motion movie, the man above him gradually sinks down until he’s crouched in front of him. “Archie gets a little enthusiastic around new people.”

As soon as he does it, Steve mentally berates himself from nodding dumbly, mouth parted slightly.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Steve scrunches his brow like he’s finally registering the questions he’s been asked, heat creeping up his cheeks as he flushes from idiocy. The dog had occupied him long enough for him not to notice that it had an owner, a very pretty one, Steve thinks, as soon as his mind snaps back from the fuss.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to alleviate the silence that follows his reply, so he shrugs and attempts to stand up. Steve doesn’t wobble, nor does he catch himself agains the wall, but it doesn’t stop the stranger in front of him from reaching out to grab his elbow, gently helps Steve onto his feet, help he definitely doesn’t need but can’t be bothered to reject.

Steve doesn’t want to admit that his elbow, just like his face, is warm, sending a shiver down his spine and is only interrupted when the man lets him go in favor of hastily picking up Steve’s belongings. There’s a few apples that’ve run away from him, rolled down the hall, and Steve stares dumbly again before he can say anything remotely promising.

Instead, he says, “At least the groceries are safe.”

He’s met with a snort as the stranger sets Steve’s purchases in front of his front door. The paper bag lies on the carpet pathetically, not even enough to convert it into a makeshift brown basket that would, at the very least, hold all the fruits and vegetables Steve bought. So much for being an adult. So much for being healthy.

“And if they’re not, I’ll pay for them. I’m still really sorry.” The man glances behind him where Archie - the black and brown dog Steve now knows the name of - sits patiently waiting for his owner. Steve doesn’t think anything of it until his eyes pass over the front of the door.

201B

“Oh.”

It catches the stranger’s attention, brow arched and confused. Those blue eyes bore into Steve’s, puts him on the spot in a way he doesn’t like - or at least in a way he thinks he doesn’t like. They’re so tepid, bowls of ocean waves that remind Steve of the sun, of the water. “You live here?”

“Yes,” is the answer given, and then a nod down the hall, a glance at Archie who’s ears perk up. “M’name’s Billy.”

He doesn’t offer his hand, and that makes Steve sad, feels like maybe he lost the chance when his brain stalled because he’d been too busy looking instead talking. “Steve,” he gives in reply. “I didn’t think anyone lived there.”

Dipping his head to the side, a little movement that spurs the look of gears turning, Billy goes from thoughtful to mildly surprised to annoyed. “Right. I’ve lived her for four years.”

“Oh.”

“Are they telling you I died?”

“I-” Steve shuts his mouth, shakes his head until a strand of hair falls in front of his face. “They act it, though. I’ve never seen anyone come or go.”

Billy’s shoulders fall in exasperation, looking up at the ceiling like it might sprout a storm cloud with thunder and rain and a lighting bolt that might just burn him into a pile of ash. Steve feels guilty then, not even his fault for the way the tenants talked about a seemingly vacant apartment. Though, he guesses he probably should’ve taken the hint if they weren’t in a rush to lease the place out, and really, it’s not any of Steve’s business.

Well, until-

“I threaten the landlord once, and clearly that means I don’t exist anymore, fuck.”

“You what?” Steve doesn’t take a step back. He really doesn’t. He’s already leaning up against the wall, his groceries in a pile at this feet in front of his apartment, and Billy’s been nothing if not helpful. Really, it’s how bold Billy is, except Steve thinks like owner, like pet.

Billy’s lips thin, eyes falling to the ground as he realizes he’s said too much. “I might’ve suggested Archie would get ‘em, but that’s only because the asshole wouldn’t fix the heater. Or the sink. or the leak in the ceiling, or-”

“Gotcha,” Steve says waving Billy off with a slowly forming smile. “Probably deserved that, then.”

“Maybe,” Billy says sheepishly, shoulder in a half-raise. It’s his turn to fidget, it seems, as Steve notices the way he taps his fingers against his upper thigh, other hand running through his curls. They get stuck on knots along the way, little tangles from a day worn thin, and as unruly as they get the more Billy tries to busy himself, the frizzier they grow.

Steve knows he should excuse himself, thinks he should be the one to call their bluff and go about his day, but somewhere deep down a part of Steve still feels guilty for being so rude, hadn’t exactly hated the dog either. He’d just been caught off guard, and first impressions are clearly not his forte.

So, Steve makes a brash decision in the span of zero seconds because clearly his brain is still foggy from the tumble, and he sure as shit isn’t finding Billy cute or anything.

Steve’s not usually a liar; he knows that much.

“Would you help me bring these inside?” He sorta kicks at his things, not touching them with his foot because of germs - though he internally sorts because they’re already on the floor.

“Sure,” Billy says softly, a pause blooming across his face. He doesn’t move first; he allows Steve to grab a couple of things, hands them off to the other man before grabbing what’s left.

“Archie can come.”

And at the sound of his name, the big ole dog comes running at a gallop until Billy hisses under his breath for him to slow down.

“He doesn’t bite,” Billy says quickly, almost like he thinks the dog might tackle Steve again. He doesn’t, but he does bump his nose against Steve’s thigh, tail wagging as Steve pats him on the head as best as he can with his arms full of slowly warming food.

“That’s very good to know.” He fumbles for his keys in his pocket, produces them, unlocks the door, and stumbles inside with two new guests Steve hadn’t planned on having. “He’s just happy to have a new friend.”

“Is that so?”

Steve motions to the countertop in the kitchen. Small as it is, they set everything down until Billy steps back and lets Steve start putting things away. “He’s probably tired of being with you all day. Needs a reprieve.”

He’s met with a frown, pink lips unhappy until Steve meets Billy’s gaze. As best as he can, Steve holds back his smile, an effort of joking quickly turning sour until Billy catches on, smiling brightly in return. “He’s a pound puppy. Probably misses the attention.”

Archie, who clearly knows he’s being talked about, barks. It makes Steve jump because it’s loud, but he huffs out a laugh anyway. “I think he agrees.”

The silence this time isn’t stiffening nor filled with tension, and that’s maybe to do with Billy’s dog and how he clambers over to Steve like they’ve known each other for longer than ten minutes. Steve, who’s never owned a pet in his life because it’d ruin his parent’s house, quite surprisingly finds the doberman to be the sweetest animal he’s ever met.

“He could come around,” Steve suggests, scratching behind Archie’s ear. He’s a little dopey from the affection, and Billy doesn’t hide his grin, the love that spills across the lines of his face too pure. “To visit. If you want.”

Billy finally tears his eyes away from the dog, glancing up at Steve through the thick of his lashes. Steve would be damned to admit that Billy is soft, too, different than Archie, of course, but gentle in demeanor despite the ruckus he could ensue. “I-” he pauses, throat working for a reply.

It makes Steve hesitate, makes him think maybe he overstepped by asking, that he should learn not to be too friendly with people he does not know. Even if Steve’s a decent judge of character - or so he’d like to believe, and also has nothing to do with the fact that Billy is beautiful - he’d really like to see him again no matter what anyone in the building thinks about 201B.

“Yeah,” Billy says on an exhale, maybe reads something on Steve’s face, the genuine kindness, the lack of reproach at Billy’s insinuation that he’s not always the kindhearted type. “We’d like that.”

Steve doesn’t miss the pronoun. Doesn’t miss the way Billy smiles or how the creases by his eyes deepen. Steve isn’t sure whether he appreciated falling in front of his door if only because he’s sure he’ll feel the ache of it tomorrow, but he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could fall again, only this time, for someone much better.