#patterned shingles

[sykesassist]

Idea for a large, three-story, conventional yellow vinyl home with a tile roof.

[der-gorgonaut]

// dächer //

web instagram

by Georg Nickolaus

[the-trans-dragon]

.

[unravelingwires]

Imbrication

Raine was never sloppy enough to embroider runes. Loose threads, stains, and bleached patches could all shift the enchantment. Embroidery was fine for something quick, but Raine was never pleased with lazy, short-term effects. Knitting and crochet patterns were better so long as none of the half-made designs had meaning in themselves. Sewn patches were functional, but they looked ugly.

Even Raine was aware this was probably overkill. They had soaked the scales they were using in a potion Lilith made them, dyed them all black, and carved runes into each individually. Now, they were attaching the scales to already-engraved leather, careful to attach them in a neutral pattern while the piece was still incomplete. It didn’t look resilient—the scales were too small, the fabric too malleable, the pattern all wrong—but if Raine pulled this off, it would be stronger than anything made since the war with the Scotts.

Jaya needed something that would protect her properly.

---

Jaya opened the box. It contained a masquerade mask, but without the showy elements that made such a thing ubiquitous. It was plain and black. It had no strap or stick to hold it up. Jaya could feel the grooves of scales under her fingertips, but the mask was too dark to see their outlines. It was clearly heavily enchanted.

Jaya was looking in the mirror when she put the mask on, so she saw the exact moment when the fabric started shifting. The mask expanded, the scales visible where they reached across her face and down her neck. Jaya grabbed at their outline automatically, but she felt her magic sucked into the scales uselessly. As though in response, the areas she was touching turned a shimmering gold under her fingertips. Before she could do anything else, the scales stopped moving.

Jaya was wearing armor. It was too fashionable to really look historical, paired with boots and the facsimile of a hooded half-cape, but between the empty weapons holsters, apparent padding around the ribs and neck, and resilience to magic, it was pretty inarguable what this was. Jaya reached up to pull down the hood, and she watched the mask fade with it, the armor inexplicably remaining. Experimentally, Jaya twitched a finger to lift a lipstick tube to the side of the mirror, and watched misty gold creep over the hand she was using. Her lips twitched. Even when they were trying to be practical, Raine’s designs ended up ludicrously ornamental. Jaya pulled the hood back up and grabbed where the mask was before, and the scales retracted until she was wearing her former outfit.

[scottdisickfashionstyle]

Traditional Exterior - Siding Inspiration for a huge timeless gray three-story mixed siding exterior home remodel with a mixed material roof

[dinahjane97]

Porch Backyard San Francisco Ideas for a sizable, classic stone back porch renovation that includes a fire pit and a roof extension

[hxcgirl666]

Transitional Bedroom

[hairbymetalmoose]

Porch - Traditional Porch

[6esiree]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫

It wasn’t often the two of you found yourselves tangled underneath the sheets in a mess of limbs, the mattress softly creaking amidst a series of stifled grunts and breathy moans. While Alastor’s sex drive was practically nonexistent, that didn’t mean he didn’t like indulging you, his wife, every now and then. It simply became a difficult task when you expanded your family and welcomed a precious little girl four years ago.

Tonight, however, he had his hips pressed firmly against yours, his cock gliding in and out of your slick cunt in slow, deep thrusts, mindful of your sleeping daughter despite the rain pelting down on the wooden shingles of your home and drowning out your passionate affair. But she always kept her door slightly ajar, the nightlight in her room illuminating the hallway.

“Hush now, darling, or else you’ll wake our little doe from her slumber,” Alastor’s words caressed the crook of your neck, the sensation of his hot breath making your walls clench around him in a warm, wet, tight embrace, and oh did that make him pick up the pace.

“I’m trying, Al—I’m trying,” You arched up into him with a whine, his pelvis rubbing up against your clit with every kiss the head of his cock gave to your cervix, his grip on your waist tightening, “It’s just been so long since you’ve—mm, fuck!—taken me like this.”

You clutched at Alastor’s back, one hand leisurely traveling down his sweat-stricken spine, the other threading into his hair and tilting his head back so your supple lips could litter the expanse of his throat with sloppy kisses. It was all too much for him, his brows knitting together and his mouth falling open with a rare moan that almost got lost with the thunderstorm raging outside.

Boom, Crack!

That was a lightning strike, the wooden foundation of your home shaking with a force that the two of you knew would have your daughter up and running to your room for comfort. And as if on cue, a gentle series of knocks sounded at your door, a disappointed ‘Fuck,’ seeping past Alastor’s lips as he hastily pulled his cock out of you and scrambled for his clothes in the darkness.

“Mommy? Daddy? I’m scared,” You heard her little voice penetrate the wood, her words laced with fear. The doorknob tentatively twisted, but she knew better than to let herself in without your permission. “Can I come in and sleep with you?”

Fortunately, you still had your nightgown on, so all you had to do was pull up your underwear and fix your tousled hair as you made your way towards the door, giving Alastor enough time to make himself presentable. But you didn’t want your daughter to sleep in the same bed you had just soiled with your sweat and your bodily fluids, motioning for him to follow you with your hand.

“How about we go sleep in your room, hm?” You suggested as you opened the door, knowing damn well that the three of you would hardly fit in her twin-sized bed, but she beamed at the idea anyway. “Come on, baby, let’s go.”

What a terrible idea, Alastor thought, but he couldn’t help but chuckle as the pitter-pattering of your daughter’s tiny feet echoed throughout the hallway, a squeal following right after she crawled underneath her floral-patterned sheets. ‘Sleepover!’ She exclaimed, but then the excited expression on her face quickly contorted into one of fear at the sound of another lightning strike.

“Now, now, no need to be afraid, my little doe,” Alastor whispered, plopping down on the edge of the bed. “Your mother and I are here for you,” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, shooting her a comforting smile.

“Yes, now…” You started, “…move aside and make some space for me!” She giggled, shuffling back to the corner where her bed met the wall. You situated yourself in the middle, leaving your poor husband on the edge.

“Ah, yes, I’m feeling snug as a bug in a rug between you two,” Your silly commentary soothed your daughter’s phobia of the thunderstorm raging outside, eliciting a chuckle from Alastor as he settled himself behind you.

And while he found himself aching for you with your ass plastered right against his crotch, your nightgown riding up and revealing the tantalizing sight of your lacey underwear, he accepted that your rare session of lovemaking had been postponed. He removed his glasses and put them on your daughter’s nightstand, allowing both of your soft snores to lull him to sleep with his slender legs dangling off the edge of the bed.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I was fascinated by this dome home, b/c it looks like someone doesn't know what a dome is, and made a ball. It also has a belvedere, which is usually on a Victorian roof. But, the 1984 Montauk, NY home is surprisingly nice inside. It has 3bds, 2.5ba, and they're asking $2.1M, reduced by $490K.

The large entrance hall fits a baby grand piano with room to spare.

It's an interesting home and like a giant piece of art. Notice the planter on the right is set into a square hole in the floor.

Look at the ceiling. It reminds me of some sort of DaVinci contraption. And, look at the angled wall held up by a column. It's really a work of art. The belvedere looks like the bottom of a hot air balloon.

This is quite nice- speakers on the ceiling aimed at the sofa and two big windows.

The French stove is gorgeous and I would move the table and chair over to make it a focal point.

Surprisingly, the kitchen is huge. Look at the size of it. So many cabinets. The drawback is that it's so spread out, but the actual work triangle is contained in a nook.

Here's Bd. #1- look at the floor. That's a lovely nautical touch.

In Bd. #2 there's another inlaid pattern, but the bed is over it.

Nice shower room.

Bd. #3 seems to be the primary bedroom b/c it has direct access to the bath.

This is unique.

I'm not sure, but this might be the ladder to the belvedere. It folds and fits neatly into the wall like an attic ladder.

Here we are in the belvedere, a roomy observatory with benches and a table for entertaining or a cozy family space. But, wouldn't it make a great art studio?

I'm surprised that the home has a basement. Look at all the paintings, the owner must be an artist.

Outside there's a nice deck with a built-in bench.

The exterior needs some work- replacement shingles and landscaping.

The price is high, b/c this is Montauk, Long Island in NY (in the posh Hamptons). It's near the Montauk Lighthouse and that must be a community pool. It's on the shores of Lake Montauk, but it flows into the Atlantic Ocean.

Montauk is located at the tip of Long Island.

9,583 sq ft lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/54-E-Lake-Dr-Montauk-NY-11954/32653449_zpid/?

[neotrances]

when a house flipper purchases a 1880s victorian shingles style home with original brick and romantic hand carved arches over the doorways and a wrap around porch with spindles and high cielings adorned with glittering chandeliers and they rip out all that character and paint the walls white and make the floors vinyl and replace the ornate fireplace with a “accent” wall that has a rectangle cut out in the pattern for a wall mounted tv

[brawlingdiscontent]

It's so telling that the Théâtre des Vampires trial skips over the real reason that Claudia and Louis want to kill Lestat. The coven frames Lestat dropping Louis as the motive, but while brutal and the reason for the break up in 1.5, it’s not the trigger for the murder plot, which only emerges at the end of 1.6.

Lestat has to die because of the evil shit he pulls with Claudia—when he essentially kidnaps her and threatens to kill her if she tries to leave again (out of a deranged but not wholly illogical attempt to look after Louis and preserve their relationship). This act is the unforgivable crime, or, depending on how you look at it, the action that cements the pattern by which the only way out is to kill Lestat. Louis would never have agreed to kill Lestat for himself, he only is willing to do it for Claudia’s sake. 

And this fact is especially why Lestat's apology during the trial really doesn't cut it. He's ready to apologize to Louis (for something that he likely already apologized for—albeit probably not satisfactorily—during his six years of groveling), but refuses to address or apologize to Claudia, when his negation of Claudia’s needs/autonomy/existence in service of his and Louis’ relationship is exactly what launched the murder plot in the first place. Similarly, it’s devastating that for whatever reason while Claudia is Louis’ staunch defender at the trial, Louis can’t pull it together to stand up for her in the moment. Perhaps he thinks their only chance for survival lies in silence, or is simply too stunned by Armand's betrayal and Lestat, but for Claudia it just marks a familiar pattern of parental/brotherly neglect. The scene fully exemplifies why Claudia feels like the shingle that flew off the roof in the stormy romance of Louis and Lestat.

While it makes sense that the coven wouldn’t want to feature the actual motivation for the murder attempt at the trial, I really hope that the writers don’t forget this as-yet-unaddressed point in future seasons.

[girlkisser13]

zeus cabin headcanons

children of zeus

• over time, they develop lightning scars on their body from the sheer amount of electricity that passes through them whenever they summon lightning.

• the mortals call these "stretch marks".

• they have a hard time holding their breath for longer than a minute due to their father’s air-based nature.

• eventually, someone sets up a tent inside to make it feel less empty and uncomfortable.

• they have an intrinsic understanding of the law wherever they are and could pass a bar exam with no preparation.

• they can play electric guitars and basses without using an amp.

• they give off little shocks when they're happy.

• they have a natural charisma that draws others to them, coupled with an authoritative aura that commands respect.

• they are immune to static electricity.

• their personalities are intense, mirroring their father’s own mood swings. they are passionate and driven, but are also prone to sudden bursts of anger if things don't go their way.

• when chiron decided that the electricity bill was getting too expensive, he had the hephaestus cabin set up underground wires so they could extract electricity from their cabin.

• due to their strong personalities, they have a complex relationship with authority figures, sometimes clashing with them or struggling to fit into conventional roles.

• they’re extremely impulsive and quick to act, especially when they sense injustice or danger. their actions are often driven by a strong sense of urgency.

• a lot of them grow up to become pilots or meteorologists.

• the statue of zeus is constantly covered with blankets to prevent anyone from seeing his "hippie" face glaring down at them.

• they can move lightning-fast over short distances, becoming electricity in the process.

cabin exterior

• the cabin resembles a large, imposing greek temple. it is made of solid white marble, giving it a regal and timeless appearance. the building has a rectangular shape with a peaked roof, and it's elevated slightly above the ground, with steps leading up to the entrance, similar to ancient greek temples.

• the front of the cabin is lined with impressive, thick columns that support a triangular pediment. these columns are doric in style, which are simple yet strong, symbolizing zeus's power and authority.

• the triangular pediment above the entrance often has carvings depicting scenes associated with zeus. these include lightning bolts, eagles, and scenes of zeus sitting on his throne. the frieze running along the top of the cabin is decorated with intricate designs of mythological scenes involving zeus.

• the roof is tiled with golden shingles that catch the light, making the cabin gleam and stand out, even from a distance. it has a weather vane shaped like a lightning bolt at the top.

cabin interior

• the doorway of the their cabin is grand and imposing, with a large wooden door inlaid with lightning bolt designs. it has a high, arched entrance that makes every camper feel small as they walk in.

• the ceiling is a high dome with a large skylight in the center. the skylight is magically enchanted to always show the sky outside, whether it's day or night. during thunderstorms, the skylight shows the storm directly above, with lightning occasionally flashing across it.

• lightning bolt patterns are carved into the walls and furniture. the bedposts, chairs, and even the table have intricate designs that resemble streaks of lightning. these designs occasionally glow with a faint blue or gold light, especially during storms.

• the interior is primarily made of white marble and stone, giving the cabin a clean, powerful, and timeless feel. the floors are polished marble, and the walls have stone columns reminiscent of ancient greek temples.

• the cabin is never completely silent. there is a low, almost imperceptible rumble of thunder that can be heard, especially during quiet moments. it feels like the power of the sky is always present.

• the cabin is illuminated by electric lanterns that mimic the look of ancient greek torches. these lanterns have a bluish-white flame that flickers like lightning. they provide a soft, but sufficient light for the entire cabin.

• each bed has dark blue bedding, with gold trim and embroidery. the pillows are soft, and the headboards are engraved with thundercloud patterns. each bed is spacious and sturdy, resembling a king's bed, giving a sense of royalty.

cabin traditions

• whenever something bad happens to one of them, they kick the statue of zeus in the balls.

• to start each day with energy, the head counselor has a morning routine where they produce a loud clap of thunder to wake everyone up. it eventually becomes a competition to see who can make the loudest or most impressive thunderclap each morning.

• they take it upon themselves to predict the weather for the day, using their natural instincts and connection to the sky. they could even post a daily weather forecast outside their cabin door, which would often be surprisingly accurate and trusted by other campers..

• on the nights when the sky is clear, they hold a tradition called "sky bridge," where they create a makeshift bridge with ropes and wooden planks, connecting the cabin to a nearby high tree or structure. they use this bridge to sit and stargaze, feeling as if they're closer to the heavens.

divider by @plutism

[kassiekole22]

At First Sight

Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: On a mission to cause a great diversion, Syzoth gets distracted when he lays eyes on a gorgeous woman who sits all alone at one of her family's biggest festivals.  Warnings: None... Word Count: 508 A/N: I'm sorry this turned out so short. I didn't know how far I could go with this, especially since I wrote the first fic before watching the game. So I tried to keep the reason he was there discreet so it would make sense for both my story and the canon story. But I'd be willing to do a part two where it fits in with the canon storyline, if that's what you guys want. Anyway, more Syzoth x Fem!Reader requests are coming soon. 💚 Main MasterList: 🖤 Kassie's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @bihansthot, @katiralovely, @queenkhepri, @blackbunnymayw, @simpforhotmaskedmen, @theleftkittycollection, @kiashines. (If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

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As soon as my feet touched the shingles of the roof, I was on the run. I scurried across as fast as I could before stopping at the very edge and looking below to see if I had been noticed. Fortunately, everyone was too busy enjoying their time at some festival the royals had thrown. Everyone danced and mingled with each other without a single care disturbing their perfect night. For a moment, I pondered what it would be like if I was able to do that with my people — to be one with them once again — but I knew that would never happen; that was just the sad truth.

I shook myself out of my moment of reflection before turning back to my mission, since this was clearly no time to be taking my mind away from it. So I waited and watched on the rooftop, studying everything below me and trying to decide where and when it would be best to cause my diversion. Everybody was heavily distracted with dancing and talking with their friends and family so I decided that now was the best time to make my first move, but then my eyes landed upon someone different.

A young girl — dressed in a beautiful (favorite color) dress with her hair done all up — sat alone with a rather melancholy expression etched on her features. In fact, she seemed to have no desire to participate in her people's antics at all. She looked too rich to be a normal lower-class person like the others surrounding her, so I figured she was a part of the royal family. But what I didn't understand was why she seemed so down and... Alone.

It was a moment that I was grateful that one of my Zaterran abilities was brilliant sight, so I could see every detail of her — the way her eyebrows turned up due to sorrow, her pink lips forming a straight line until she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, her beautiful (E/C) eyes twinkling under the lanterns' light — she truly was a sight to behold.

I watched her patterns for a moment — watched how she slowly brought her drink to her lips every minute or so and how she nervously played with the few strains of hair that fell gracefully over her shoulder. It was as if everything she did — even the most natural things known to her kind — were done in the most beautiful way. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster by the second and then when I got that burning desire to be near her and never far from her presence, I realized that she was the one. I just had to have her all to myself.

I wanted to learn more about her; I had to… Soon. But for the time being, I had to finish my mission. It was too important to let anything distract me from it, no matter how beautiful the distraction may be. Maybe once the fire is out and the smoke is cleared, I'll see the beauty once again.

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[sweetsweetjellybean]

If Tomorrow Never Comes | Part 4 | The Reason

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Adapted from As The World Burns by @myeuphoricmindset

TW: FemReader, Angst, Smut WC:11038 Masterlist Here

The nights are louder than he remembers. Full of the songs of the cicadas and peepers. The occasional croak of a bullfrog or the hoot of an owl. The distance sounds of traffic from streets away. Somehow it all seems much louder than the Upside-Down. Between the booms of thunder and howls of creatures, there were hours of absolute silence. It’s been six weeks, and Steve hasn’t forgotten how the silence made him feel. Anxious and defensive, like an itch he could never scratch. 

Returning to his dark empty house, the quiet is more than he can stand. It’s become routine for him to sit outside on one of the loungers, watching the last rays of gold sink beneath the treeline, waiting for the sky to cycle through the palette of sunset until darkness finally gives way to the burst of stars. The nighttime sounds calm his worries. This is home. Sitting there, he tries to remember every detail so that it can never be taken from him again. Focusing on the pattern of shadows woven across the moon, he can’t help thinking about you. Are you looking up at the same sky? 

“I thought I’d find you out here,” Nancy’s voice pulls him from his thoughts as she steps out of the house from the sliding glass door. “You didn’t answer when I knocked. I hope you don’t mind. I let myself in.”

“Of course not,” Steve says, twisting to look at her over his shoulder, “Come have a seat,” he gestures to the chaise beside him. 

She moves into the space between the two loungers sitting down sideways so she can face him, folding her dainty hands in her lap. “I heard you were at Dustin’s all day today.”

“I put some shingles on that spot on the roof where the tree fell. They don’t need it leaking when it rains.” Construction is underway all over town. Minor projects are getting pushed down the waitlist as tradesmen try to complete the most lucrative jobs first, so Steve has been doing what he can to help his friends and neighbors.

“Well, that was nice of you,” she comments with a smile.

“Well, if you haven’t heard, I’m a nice guy,” he says with smug charm, his lips quirking on one side, aiming to pull an incredulous laugh from her. 

“I think I may have heard that somewhere before,” she giggles, rolling her eyes before continuing, “You must be hungry. Do you want to get something to eat?” 

“Nah, Mrs. Henderson made pot roast. She wouldn’t let me leave until I ate two helpings.” He rubs his flat stomach, smiling. Dustin’s mom always makes him feel like family. 

“How about a movie then?” she asks, hope filling her voice. 

“I’m exhausted, Nance.” He reaches out, patting her hand, “It’s a nice night. Stay here with me for a while.”

“You’ve been sitting out here a lot lately.” She looks down to where his hand covers hers.

“I never realized what I had until I almost lost it,” he says, pulling away from her and looking back towards the horizon. “I like it out here. It helps me think.”

“Think about what?”

“Everything…nothing. I don’t know.” The longer he looks, the more stars come into view. Simple truths are relieved by just taking the time to look.

“You’ve been so distant.”

Her words have him turning towards her again. She’s still looking down, wrapping her arms around herself, her small hands disappearing into the sleeves of her sweater.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be,” he frowns, watching how she’s trying to protect herself, “Are you cold?” He sits up, unzipping his jacket and pulling it off his shoulders. “Here. Sit back.” He stands and waits for her to swing her legs onto the lounger before tucking his coat over her like a blanket.

“Thanks,” she pauses, settling into the leftover warmth, “I thought this would be our time, and I’ve hardly seen you. We haven’t… we’re barely ever alone together.”

He runs a hand through his hair before sitting sideways on the lounger, taking up her position from earlier. “I guess we haven’t,” he says, knowing he’s been neglecting her, but there’s not much left of himself to give, “Work is keeping me busy, and the kids–”

“Steve,” she cuts him off, frustrated by his excuses, “Volunteering at the shelter and doing odd jobs for free doesn’t count as work. And the kids don’t need you to babysit them anymore. Robin’s been back at Family Video for a few weeks now. She told me that Keith has called you.”

“I don’t want to go back to Family Video,” he says, looking away. He’s been over all this before with Robin. “I’m not ready.”

“I know it’s been hard. We’ve all been through so much, but Max is healing. The kids are fine. Everyone is moving on. It’s time for you to start your life.”

His mouth opens with surprise. “Nance, the kids aren’t fine. Have you seen them? Max is struggling.”

“She’s getting better.”

“Nancy, she’s blind. And it’s not just her. Haven’t you seen the way Lucas panics every time he has to leave her side, even for a few minutes?”

“Steve,” she sits up, his jacket slipping down around her waist as she swings her legs to the side, reaching across the space between them to take his hand, “Nothing you can do is gonna fix that.”

“I know that,” he mumbles, but even acknowledging it stirs his guilt. 

“I think you should come with me to Boston.” her fingers tighten around his as if she can already sense his reluctance.

“Boston? For school?”

“I think you’ll really like it there. It’s smaller than Indianapolis, and there are all these great old buildings. I called Emerson, and I’ve got it all figured out. It’s not too late to get the money back from my room and board. We can get an apartment, and I can get a job on the weekends.”

“I don’t know. You’re supposed to be studying, not working,” he shakes his head, looking away, “I don’t even know what I’d do in Boston.”

“It’s a city. I’m sure you can find some job that you’d like. Anything is better than Scoops, right? Maybe you can even go to school?”

“Sure, Nance, I didn’t get in at Hawkin’s Community, but I’ll pull out that acceptance letter I got from Harvard.” his eyes roll. 

“Then just be with me, Steve. Let’s try and make it work this time,” she moves her head, seeking his eyes, trying to break through the wall between them ever since he’s been back.

He swallows hard and meets her eyes. “I want to, but I can’t leave them.”

She blows out a deep breath and lets go of his hand.

“What if something happens? What if it starts again?”

“It’s not going to, Steve. It’s over,” she emphasizes, like it's something she’s explained before. “Why can’t anyone accept that?” Her question makes him realize maybe she has just not to him. He may not be the only one thinking of someone else. Steve has only seen Will a few times since he’s been home. The boy’s clothes were even looser on his slight frame, and purple skin circled his sunken eyes, and Jonathan wasn’t leaving for school in the fall.

“That’s what we thought the last time, Nance. That’s what we’ve thought every time,” he says, his voice quiet but resolved, “I need to stay until they graduate–”

“That’s three more years,” she complains.

“They need me.”

“I need you.”

“No, you don’t.” he gives her a soft smile, reaching for her again, “You never have, not even once.” 

She swipes at the tears forming in her eyes before they can fall. There isn’t anything else she can say.

“Come’er,” he tugs her off her seat, pulling her into his side as he settles back onto his lounger. Her arm wraps around him as she rests her head on his chest, the worry coming off her in waves. “It’s going to be alright, he smooths his hand over her hair, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, snuggling closer, “Just don’t take too long.”

He holds her tightly as he looks back toward the darkened sky, the endless stars glinting as brightly as the moon. He tries to imagine his life with her in Boston, sitting on the rooftop of their tiny apartment. Would the stars shine as vividly with all the city lights? Would he still be thinking of you?

“Double check for any loose nails,” Steve instructs Dustin as he climbs down the ladder, his white t-shirt covered in sweat and dirt.

“Sure thing, Dad,” Dustin says smartly as he picks up the discarded singles that Steve had tossed down from the roof and throws them into the trash barrel. 

“You don’t want one of those shooting out of the lawn mower,” he points his finger at the boy before picking up a bottle of water and taking a long pull. Despite the cool nights, the heat during the day still felt oppressive, and he could feel the tenderness of a burn beginning on the back of his neck.

“You don’t want one of those shooting out of the mower,” the boy mimics in a mocking voice before adding, “What an asshole.”

“Hey!” Steve fumes, settling his hands on his hips just as Mrs. Henderson comes toddling out of the house holding two glasses of lemonade.

“Oh boys, you finished! It looks so nice,” she says, handing the boys the lemonade and stepping back to admire the view, “You two did a great job.”

“You can’t even see it from down here, Mom,” Dustin scoffs. Earning a warning glance from Steve.

“Well, I can just tell,” Claudia Henderson informs her son, “It’s going to be such a relief not to worry every time it rains,” she says, turning her attention to the other boy, “I can’t thank you enough, Steven. I know you said I couldn’t pay you but here,” she pulls some folded bills from her pocket trying to hand them to Steve.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve waves his palms in front of his chest, “The pot roast was thanks enough. It’s been a while since I had a meal like that.”

“Well, you’re welcome anytime. Isn’t that right, Dusty?” She looks for confirmation from her son. When Dustins folds his arms across his chest with a mumble of ‘son of a bitch’, her face goes red with embarrassment. She recovers quickly, smiling at Steve, “Would you like to stay tonight? I’ve got a casserole already to go in the oven.”

“Well–”

“Not tonight, Mom,” Dustin cuts in before Steve can finish, “I’m going to Gareth’s for Hellfire.”

“Dusty, We’ve talked about this. I don’t think that’s safe after everything that’s happened,” Claudia says, her fingers clutching the front of her shirt.

“Jesus Christ, Mom. Eddie’s dead. What more do you want?”

“Watch it, Henderson,” Steve says, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you fuck off, Steven,” Dustin says, shrugging him off.

“Dusty!“

“Excuse us,” Steve says to Mrs. Henderson as he grabs Dustin by the collar and yanks him around the corner of the house.

“Since when do you talk to your mother like that?” Steve asks the boy as he releases him against the side of the house. “I know you’ve been feeling bad since Eddie, but you need to get this attitude in check. She doesn’t deserve that, and neither does anyone else.”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Dustin says, his voice rising in anger as he puts both hands on Steve’s chest and shoves him away. “You didn’t know him or care about him. Just do me a favor and add his name to the list of people you don’t give a shit about and forget you ever met him.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks, confused. “Wait. Are you mad at me?”

“Ding ding ding. Good detective work, Sherlock Holmes,” Dustin says, trying to walk away until Steve stops him, grabbing the front of his shirt. 

“So help me, I may not win many fights, but I know I can kick your ass, you little shit,” he pushes Dustin back against the house. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Like you care,” the boy spits, his face red with anger. 

“Of course I care!” Steve yells, waving his hands. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Dustin challenges.

“What?”

“Just until you get to play the hero again. Right, Steve?” he asks sarcastically. 

“Are you kidding me, dude?” Steve asks, catching on. How can he actually think that? “That’s what this is all about because I pushed you through the gate? I did that for you. So you wouldn’t get stuck there. Someone had to stay-“

“Don’t give me that. You did it to be the hero. I begged Eddie not to go back,” Dustin yells, his voice cracking, nose beginning to run, “He just wouldn’t listen, and neither would you. I don’t need another dead friend, Steve. I need you here.”

“I am here!” 

“I heard you,” he says, swiping at his eyes, “When El found you, screaming for her not to take you. You don’t know what it took to get you out. To get that gate back open. What we risked. Tell me again how much you care about us.”

“You got this all wrong. I care about you. All of you,” Steve shakes his head and pulls the boy into a reluctant hug, “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere, you understand?” 

Dustin nods into Steve’s chest, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, and Steve recognizes the gesture as his own. He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out thick with emotion. “All I thought about was getting home, man. I just couldn’t leave her behind.”

Dustin sniffs, one arm reluctantly landing on Steve’s back. “There’s one thing I don’t get, Steve. If she was so important, then where is she?”

The polished silverware slides against each other, hitting the back of the drawer with a loud clank when Steve yanks it open with more force than necessary. He pulls out a fork and retrieves the open can of SpaghettiOs before heading outside through the slider of the sunroom. The conversation with Dustin plays on a loop in his mind. It’s clear the scars that they all bear are more than skin deep. How do you rejoin a life that doesn’t belong to you anymore? 

He sits on the lounger stirring the tomatoey contents of the can. It’s later than usual. The sun has long since dipped below the horizon. A light mist hangs over the pool's surface, its blue-green light brightening the dark corners of the yard. With the thick clouds obscuring the waning moon and stars, the woods surrounding the yards stay shrouded in shadows. Decisions hang over his head like a knife about to drop, hurting the people he cares about. It’s not the past that’s hard to let go. It’s the future that was never supposed to be.

“I don’t know how you can stand that stuff cold,” Hopper’s voice comes from beside Steve just as the first bite passes his lips. 

“I guess it’s just a habit now,” Steve replies as Hopper eases himself down on the chair beside him, a six-pack in his hand. He pulls one from the plastic ring, handing it to Steve before taking one for himself. 

“Hmm,” Hopper cracks the tab of the Schlitz and takes a loud slurp, “Habits can be hard to break.”

Hopper had been dropping by Steve’s a couple of times a week since he had been home. Steve isn’t sure if this is Hopper’s way of checking up on him or if he just wants an hour of quiet before returning to the full house he shares with Joyce. Hopper has as much on his mind as Steve. Some nights they don’t exchange more than a few words. Whatever his reasoning for stopping by, Steve welcomes the company.

“So,” Steve says after washing down a couple more mouthfuls of Spaghettios with the cold beer, “If I needed to find the address for someone outside of town, is that something you could help me with?”

Hopper’s answer comes in the form of a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulls a slip of paper from his breast pocket, holding it out to Steve in between two fingers.

There’s a skeptical look on Steve’s face as he takes the paper from the older man. Hopper picks up his beer, going in for another sip as Steve unfolds the note, his eyes widening. 

“You’re a damn good cop. You know that, right?” Steve asks, stuffing the paper into the pocket of his jeans. 

“You’re not the first one to tell me, kid,” Hopper says, settling back into his lounge and looking to the sky where the clouds have shifted and thinned. Beams of light push through the thin wisps, brightening the darkness. “Whatta ya know?” Hopper says, pulling a cigar from the same pocket, “Looks like it might be a clear night after all.”

A light breeze blows the gauzy material of your sundress around your bare legs as you walk down the street toward your apartment. As you hitch your tote higher, the sun warms your shoulders, and a smile plays at your lips. The pieces of your life always find their way together like a jigsaw puzzle without the bigger picture. Forcing them into what you want never works, but eventually, they fit, a new section more beautiful than you imagined is laid out before you.

Your eyes lift from the sidewalk as a car speeds past, Higher Love blasting out of its open windows. The notes blend with the rush of wind through the trees that line your street. One yellow leaf flutters to the ground, an unmistakable sign that the end of summer is near. You watch the car cruise down the road until it passes the stone steps of your apartment. Your stomach and heart turn somersaults when you see him sitting there watching you from behind a pair of dark avatars, a million-dollar smile gracing his handsome face. Your pulse quickens as you approach, wondering if he will always have this effect on you. 

“Hi,” he says, pulling off his glasses and tucking them into the collar of his white tee just as the car turns the corner and the music fades away.

“Hi yourself,” you say, stopping in front of him. “This is a surprise.”

“I thought it was fair,” he shrugs, squinting up at you with one eye slightly closed. “We have unfinished business.” He moves his coat and an empty soda can to his other side, inviting you to join him on the steps.

Climbing a few, you sit next to him, letting the bag fall from your shoulder to rest beside you. “What’s this business?” you ask, your arms circling your knees.

He smirks in response, turning to pull something from his jacket. Returning with a cellophane packet of Twinkies in his hand. “The other pack got a little squished,” he explains as his long fingers tear open the packaging, “These are fresher. I checked the date.” He hands you one of the yellow cakes before taking the other for himself. 

“Thanks,” you laugh, taking the slightly sticky treat from his hand. He brings his to his mouth but pauses, wanting to watch you take your first bite, and you oblige him. One hand hovering under your mouth to catch the crumbs as your teeth breach the soft cake. The sweetness is overwhelming you as much as his gesture. “Mmmm, that’s good,” you say with your mouth still full. 

“Yeah?” He asks, smiling, taking pleasure in your reaction, at how it feels just being near you again like no time has passed.

“Mmmhmm.” Your tongue darts out, licking the filling from your lips, missing a tiny glob in the corner. Before you can make a second pass, he swipes it away with the pad of his thumb, bringing it to his mouth to taste. Behind you, the apartment door opens, and your neighbor from upstairs is maneuvering around you with a heavy box in his arms. Steve’s arm is around your waist, pulling you closer to his side, giving your neighbor more room to get by. It happens quick enough for you to feel dizzy. Five minutes ago, you didn’t think you’d see him again, and now he’s surrounding you, heat lingering like a ghost every place he touches you. The thin material of your skirt barely separates your skin from his Levi-covered legs, his mouth just inches from yours as he bites into his Twinkie. 

Your hand shakes as you turn away from him to pull a bottle of water from your bag. Twisting the lid, you take a few gulps to give yourself a moment to regroup.

“Are you alright?” He eyes you with a curious expression. He knows you too well. “Is it okay that I’m here?” He asks, his voice dropping, turning serious.

“I’m always glad to see you, Steve,” you answer honestly. It’s the goodbyes that you can’t bear.

He takes a moment, looking down at the cracked sidewalk. “You look really pretty,” the corners of his mouth lift but not with charm or arrogance, with something much softer. “I mean, you’re always pretty, but when I saw you coming down the street, you looked happy. I didn’t get to see that when we were…there.”

“Thank you. So do you, but I kind of miss the axe.”

A laugh bursts from deep in his chest, “Yeah? Did that do it for you?”

“Definitely,” you giggle, nudging him with your shoulder, “Want some?” You tip your bottle towards him. 

“Sure,” he takes it from you.

“It’s my new habit,” you nod toward the bottle, “I get a bit panicked if I don’t have water with me. Kinda crazy, right?”

“Nah,” he takes a sip before replacing the cap and handing it back to you, “That’s not so bad as far as habits go. It’s kind of a smart one, actually. I keep eating Chef Boyardee cold.”

“Eww.” Your nose scrunches.

“Right out of the can,” he chuckles, his fingers circling your wrist, gently pulling your arm into his lap, turning it to reveal the healing scar running down the inside of your arm. “I can’t stand the quiet at night,” he says without looking up from your arm. “I sit outside on my back deck for the noise. It’s where I think about you.” His long fingers trace the raised skin with the softest pressure. “I fall asleep out there most nights.”

“I sleep with the lights on,” you admit in a quieter voice, loving and hating how he touches you like you belong to him-like you’ll always belong to him. “And I stuff a couple of pillows behind me, so it feels like yo–like I’m not alone.” 

His eyes lock with yours, and his fingers still. An ache that dulled over the past few weeks but never disappeared completely, crashes over you like a wave. You belong to him, but he’ll never be yours. Not here. Only in another world. Pulling your arm back, you wrap it back around your knees.

He frowns, sensing the shift between you, and changes the subject. “Were you coming from school?” he nods in the direction you came from. 

“Oh. Um, yeah,” you say, following his eyes. The center of campus is a few blocks away from your apartment.

“Have classes started?” he asks, thinking about the answer he owes Nancy.

“No. Not for a few more weeks. I-uhh…I was changing my schedule. I’m not going to do fieldwork anymore. I’m going to teach instead. Maybe high school,” you explain.

“But you loved it,” his eyebrows pull together in a straight line. 

The same expression your advisor gave you when you told him. “I know, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

His Adam’s apple bobs, an expression of guilt washing over his face.

“Hey, don’t feel bad for me. Teaching’s a good gig. Great hours. Summers off. There are worse jobs.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he says, recovering. “You can force all those kids to listen to your bad jokes.”

“Exactly,” you laugh, squeezing your knees tighter, “What about you? Have you figured out what you want to do yet?”

“No, not yet,” his head turns away, looking down the other side street, “Nancy wants me to come with her to Boston.”

Your heart cracks open even though you knew this was coming. “So you’re together again?”

He turns, shaking his head, “No. Not really. She wants to be.”

“And what do you want?” you ask, but your heart already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” both hands card through his thick hair, pulling on the ends, “I don’t know. It’s not that easy. The kids….Nothing makes sense to me anymore. Nothing’s made sense since the last time I was with you. That’s why I had to see you.”

“I think you know exactly what you want.” You place your hand on his knee, a gesture meant to comfort, but he takes full advantage, covering your hand with his, lacing his fingers through yours. You should pull away, but your heart pleads to take what you can. Goodbye is just on the horizon. 

“You’ve loved her for so long.”

“It doesn’t feel right anymore,” he argues, leaning closer, his forehead brushing yours.

“I think,” you pause, wetting your lips, and his eyes track the movement. “I think you’ve been making decisions thinking of everyone else for so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to choose something that will make you happy.”

“What if the right thing,” his voice has dropped to just louder than a whisper as his nose runs along your cheek, “and what I want is the same thing?”

“Steve,” your breaths are coming in shudders from deep in your chest. Tears sting behind your eyes as a cruel voice repeats from the back of your mind. He’ll never choose you. 

“Can we go inside?” his lips touch yours with the barest of brushes.

His question is a jolt of ice water up your spine. You’ve indulged yourself too long. If you let him in now, tomorrow when he’s gone, you won’t recover. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, pulling back. You let your resolve steel your spine as you stand. Climbing a few steps, putting distance between you. 

He stands, trying to follow. Sadness and confusion marring his pretty face. “Honey– "

You stop him with a hand held out in front of you. “All of this. Everything we’ve been through. It happened so you can get what you’ve always wanted. So she can see you. Don’t throw it away, Steve. You’re going to thank me someday.”

His mouth opens, but he can’t find the words. Stepping forward, you throw your arms around him in a hug too quick for him to return before you step back. “I’m so happy to have seen you again.” you smile, working hard to keep your tone enthusiastic, promising yourself you will not fall apart despite the pain. Not this time. “Send me a postcard from Boston, okay?” you ask, but you’re already turning away, pulling your keys from your tote, and moving to the door.

“I miss you,” he says. The pain in his voice makes you pause and close your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone before, not the way I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you turn back to him. You know he’s trying, but it’s not enough, not after having him. He’s still not choosing you, and you deserve someone who will, even though it’s so tempting to give in to him.

“Maybe I’ll surprise you next time,” you keep it light, “I’ll show up in Boston when I need someone to share a Twinkie. Take care of yourself, Steve,” you push your key into the lock.

“Wait. Wait, he says, waving his hands before they settle on his hips, “If you’re so sure I’m supposed to be with her, then what’s your reason? Why were you there? Why did we even meet?”

Your eyes shift to your shoes, trying to find an answer that isn’t a lie, reasoning that it’s okay to lie if it’s for his own good. “I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

The lock clicks before he can say anything else, and you quickly seal yourself on the other side. You wait until you see him walking down the steps to let yourself into your apartment. Immediately dropping your bag and leaning your back against the door. Your hand moves to your stomach as you silently apologize for your lie. Pushing away, you walk through your tiny kitchen to the refrigerator. Rubbing your eyes, you refuse to let a tear fall. You won’t regret doing the right thing. Your hand wraps around the handle before you yank it open and pull out a juice container. “It was the right thing,” you whisper, letting the door swing closed, revealing the black and white strip of photos of a small blurry shape taped to the other side. “For all of us.”

The buzzing from the cars zooming past in a haphazard flow does nothing to calm Steve’s nerves as he makes the long drive back to Hawkins.

“Fuck,” he slams his hand against the wheel as the memory of you closing that door, shutting him out of your life, replays in his mind. He shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. He shouldn’t have pushed. After being apart for so long, he should have known better. But seeing you come down the street, having you so close–it was like no time had passed. It felt natural to touch you. He had just wanted to talk. Just wanted to see that you were alright, but the feel of your soft skin under his fingertips had only made him want more. And then, just like before, it was over before it really began.  

Steve snaps off the radio, cutting off Lindesy’s pleas. One thing had come out of it, though. He had gone to you looking for clarity, and you had given it to him. You were right. He does know what he wants. He keeps the radio off, rolling down the window, listening to the sounds of life around him. Watching the highways turn into towns and more familiar roads until he was crossing the Hawkins town line. Passing the turn for Cornwallis, he heads north toward Maple. The house is dark when he pulls into the driveway, his lights bouncing off the second-story window he had climbed through more than a few times before. But not tonight. He turns the key, pulling it from the ignition, the leather creaking as he leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. The light’s still low, just breaking, when the knock on his window wakes him. The blue of Nancy’s eyes is brighter than the sky as she stands barefoot, freezing her nightgown. She takes his hand as they walk inside.

“I’m working on it, Flo,” Hopper yells in response to the knock at his closed office door. He scrambles for the empty file folder stuck between his booted feet and the desk that they are resting on. He wraps the folder around the copy of Car and Driver that he’s been reading and quickly shoves the half-eaten donut into his top drawer. Replacing it with a red apple that he takes a big bite of just as his door swings open. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he says as Steve wanders into his office, shutting the door behind him and sitting heavily in the chair in front of Hopper’s desk.

“What do you want?” Hopper asks as he settles back further in his chair, his eyes moving back to the file folder he’s holding up in front of him.

“How about a job?” Steve asks, his eyes roving around the small office.

“Ha, good one,” Hopper chuckles, pulling out a camel from his breast pocket.

“I’m serious, Hop.” 

Hopper narrows his eyes as he lights his cigarette. “What’s gotten into you, kid? Having regrets about not leaving with Nancy a few weeks ago?”

“No. Nothing like that. It was never gonna work out,” Steve says, shaking his head. He said goodbye to Nancy the morning she found him outside her house. He loved her, but they weren’t right for each other. It would have left them both broken if they’d forced their lives to fit together. So, he let her go like you had let him go with affection and without regrets. Another chapter closed. 

“I’m ready to figure out what to do with my life.”

Hopper stays quiet, taking another drag from his smoke.

“I figure I’m pretty good at helping people, so that’s what I want to do,” Steve shrugs.

“This isn’t just helping old ladies across the street, Harrington,” Hopper says, sitting up in his chair and blowing out a steady stream of smoke, “It’s hard work.”

“Yeah, I can eat donuts and read Car and Driver, too, Chief,” Steve says, waving a hand toward Hopper.

“Watch it, kid,” Hopper says, slamming the magazine on his desk and stubbing out his cigarette, “What happened with the girl?”

“The girl?” Steve questions

“You went to see her, right?” Hopper asks, leaning forward on his elbows. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Steve says, looking away.

Hopper’s jaw tightens as his eyes turn to slits under thick eyebrows.

“What do you want me to say?” Steve asks, crossing one leg over the other. “She wasn’t interested.”

“Let me get this straight. You went there?”

“Yup.”

“Knocked on her door?”

“Waited for her to get home half the day.”

“Then you told her you weren’t going with Nancy?”

“Well–“

“And that you’re in love with her.”

“Not exactly.”

“You are in love with her?”

“I–”

“What’s wrong with you, Harrington?” Hopper asks, gripping the edge of his desk, “Are you stupid or something?”

“Jesus, Hop,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Have you seen them out there?” Hopper’s uniform-covered elbow slams down on the desk as he points to the closed door, “I’m full up on stupid. Now,” he says, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest, “I might have something for someone who’s got their shit together, but right now that aint you, Harrington. So, come back and talk to me when you do.” 

“Hop, I–“

“I don’t want to hear it, Harrington. You might be able to do some real good someday, but right now, I’m busy. Important police business to take care of,” Hopper says, propping his feet back up on the desk and burying his face in the magazine.

Steve isn’t sure if it’s sentimentality or sheer curiosity that drew him here, but he did know as soon as he saw the stack of folded afghans being placed in a box at the shelter that this is where he’d end up. On first approach, the cottage doesn’t appear much different than the one in the Upside-down. The tiny home still remained obscured by tall sugar maples and eastern white pines. White curls of paint still clinging to the old timber walls next to sturdy black shutters. But the well-tended beds of colorful flowers that line the walkways and front of the cottage give it a more inviting feel. 

His shoes scrape up the stone steps, where he stops to take a fortifying breath preparing to see the woman that used to haunt his bad dreams. His knuckles wrap against the door while flashes of himself cutting away vines play in his mind.

“Mrs. Willard,” he calls after hearing a series of loud coughs on the other side of the door. 

“Just a minute. Just a minute,” Her voice gets closer as he hears the locks being worked before the door swings open, “Jesum crow, give an old lady a minute to get to the door.” 

Anne Willard’s full height barely put her at the center of Steve’s chest. Her poof of white curls gave her an extra few inches, as well as the sensible black shoes that adorned her feet. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any,” she huffs, ready to slam the door.

“I’m not selling anything, ma’am,” Steve says, giving her one of his best smiles, “I’m Steve Harrington, a volunteer from the shelter over at the middle school. I don’t think anyone thanked you for donating all those blankets, so I wanted to stop by and ask if there was anything I could help you with around your property.”

“Help me?” She takes a step forward, her balled hands landing on her hips, head tipped up to look Steve in the eye, “Do you think I’m senile? Can’t take care of myself?”

“No, ma’am. I know you’re alone out here, and I thought I could be useful.”

“Humph. Well, I guess we’ll have just to wait and see about that,” she says, her clear blue eyes as sharp as a woman half her age, “You better come inside then.”

She turns on her heel, leaving the door open, and Steve with no choice but to follow her. His eyes roam the familiar space. She must not have changed a thing in her home since time stopped in the Upside-down. He feels like he’s lived a lifetime here instead of only a few days. 

“Tea,” Mrs. Willard says, raising her finger as she starts down the hall leading to the kitchen. Steve follows her, ghosts echoing in his heart as he passes the closed door of the bedroom where he made love to you. 

The kitchen is the same, with brighter sunlight pouring through the windows and backdoor. Fresh flowers stuffed in pitchers dot surfaces between the knit-covered crockery. The older woman stops in front of the butcher block countertop, pushing up on her toes to reach for two mugs from the open shelving. 

“Let me do that, Mrs. Willard,” Steve says, reaching beside her and retrieving the mugs.

“Enough with the Missus stuff. Anyone who makes tea in my kitchen calls me Anne,” she says, shuffling to the table and sitting, “The kettle is right there on the–” 

But Steve already has the kettle filling. The knited cozy folded neatly near the stove.

“Well, you certainly know your way around a kitchen,” she says, looking at him with a curious eye as he starts the kettle boiling and drops the teabags into the cups. 

“I remember you,” she says when he turns and leans against the counter, “I know your mother. You used to run around town with your little gang like you were the Prince of Hawkins. So tell me, have you done any growing up since then?”

“I’d like to think so,” he says as the kettle starts to sing. He pulls it from the stove, pouring water into each mug, and brings both cups to the table.

“Now,” she says, folding her hands in her lap while waiting for the tea to steep, “Is there anything I need doin’? Let’s see, I had the gutters cleaned a few months back. I mow my own lawn and tend to the garden. Besides that, there’s not much else to do. My Jacob built this whole place himself, and it’s just as sturdy as the day we moved in.”

“You have a beautiful home, Anne,” he comments, trying out her first name. “You don’t see places built this solid.” The cottage was the only house they came across in the Upside-Down that was mainly untouched by the decay.

“He built it as a wedding gift. He knew I loved the lake. I just wish we had more years here together. So much wasted time.”

“How long were you married?”

“Forty-three wonderful years. Not enough,” she smiles sadly, sorting through her memories. “We got married at nineteen, but that was considered late at the time. We met when I was sixteen, and everyone knew Jacob was sweet on me right from the start. Walking me home, and bringing me flowers, but every time he asked to take me out, I turned him down flat. I thought he was too good for me. You see, Jacob was from a very well-to-do family. Things like that mattered so much more back then. I told him he shoulda been courting Ellen-Mae Sattler. Her family owned the quarry and half the town. It was no secret she had her sights set on him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Every time I sent him away, he’d just come right back.”

“How did he finally convince you,” Steve asks, completely wrapped up in her story.

“Well, one day he just showed up with a ring and said, ‘I love you, Annie, and if you turn me down, it’s not going to make one lick of difference cause I’m just gonna keep on loving you anyway.’ We got married three days later." Her lip quivers as her eyes turn glossy. "The Lord knows I miss that man every day. Suppose I’ll be joining him soon enough.”

“I know he’ll be waiting, Anne,” Steve says, covering her hand with his.

“Oh well, now I’ve gotten all weepy,” she says, picking up a napkin to dab at her eyes. “Now, what about you, young man? Do you got a girl out there that you love like that?”

“Yeah,” he says, a smile ghosting his lips, “I definitely do.”

A bright flash lights up your small living room, follows a round of thunder rattling the rain-streaked windows. Wrapping your arms tighter around yourself as you sit on your worn couch with your knees pulled up, tucked under your oversized Perdue sweatshirt, you take deep soothing breaths. There have been storms since you’ve returned, but not like this. Not the kind that has the entire sky dark and purple with near-constant thunder. Not the kind with so much lighting, the hair on your arms stands up straight, and you can feel electricity buzzing in the air. It’s taken you right back there, and this time you’re alone. 

With another loud boom, the lamp in the corner of the room cuts out, and the room falls into near darkness. “One-two-three,” you count, trying to keep your voice steady and breathing even. As suddenly as it turned off, the light flares on, and the display on your VCR flashes zeros. A deep sigh escapes your chest just as the door buzzer sounds.

Your muscles are stiff with tension as you stand up, moving towards the intercom, “Who is it?”

“It’s Steve.” The sound of his voice is barely audible over the pouring rain. One hand moves to your mouth while your thumb punches the button, unlocking the door. Here he is, saving you again.

Your fingers shake as you work the locks as quickly as you can, opening the door to him standing there half-drenched, hair dripping onto the collar of his soaked gray jacket, a wet crumpled bag in his right hand. He hasn’t taken a full step over the threshold when you are crushing yourself into his chest, your arms going around his middle. Stiffening, he swallows hard before dropping the bag, his arms wrapping tightly around you. He’s freezing but somehow still filling you with warmth.

“I’m sorry,” you say against his chest, “The storm.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures, pulling you closer, letting his hands trail up and down your back, “you’re alright.”

The feel of his lips ghosting at your temple brings you back to awareness, and you step away from him, heat rising from your chest to your cheeks. “Sorry,” you say again, yanking on the cuffs of your sweatshirt, “You picked a good time to drop by,” you chuckle, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Yeah?” he laughs with you, “Would you mind if I come in then?”

“Ohmygod,” you cover your face with your hands, “Of course.” 

Your eyes shift around your kitchen, trying to remember what you might have left out as he picks up his bag and follows you through your apartment into your living room. A small one-bedroom subsidized by the university, is a step up from the dorms you were lucky to get. The galley kitchen leads into the small living room, big enough for a sofa and a desk, that surface overflows with books and papers. 

“Nice place,” he says, concern filling him as he watches you flinch with the next flash of lightning.

“Thanks.” You stand in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do now, watching as he unzips his wet jacket revealing a crisp Polo. He carefully folds it, trying to avoid tracking more water through your apartment, and looks around for somewhere he can put it down.

“Let me get you a towel,” you say, rushing from the room down the narrow hallway, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. The wind picks up outside. The storm is right over you now. Branches of the tree outside your bedroom sway back and forth, scraping against your windows. The bi-fold doors of the overstuffed closet stick when you try to pull them open. 

“Shit,” you cry when they won’t budge more than an inch.

“Everything okay?” Steve’s worried voice calls from the living room.

The lights flicker as quick snaps of lightning flash like a strobe while you tug harder on the handles. Thunderclaps roar loud enough to shake the entire building as the doors burst open with one last tug that sends you falling backward onto your butt as half your closet empties onto the floor. 

“No,” you press your hands to your cheeks, overwhelmed as panic and frustration claw their way up inside you. Ignoring how your head swims, you move to your knees, chasing loose geodes scattered across the floor, when you feel his hands on your shoulders. 

“Leave it for now,” he says, his warm hands covering your shaking ones as he helps you to your feet. “It’s not important. We’ll get it cleaned up in a minute.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you nod, trying to slow your breathing.

“It’s okay.” He cups your jaw, tipping your head back so you’re focused on him. The deep hazel of his eyes pulls you in. “Stay with me. I’ve got you, okay? It’s you and me.” 

Your hands move to his chest, bunching the fabric into your fists, bringing him closer. Despite the questions that swirl lost somewhere in your mind, you can’t deny yourself the comfort he offers. 

“I won’t leave you.” His chest tightens, hoping this is a promise he’s allowed to keep. 

“Why aren’t you in Boston?” you ask as a tear spills over your lash line.

“Honey,” his eyes soften as his thumb strokes your cheek, “I was never going to Boston.”

As his arms move around you, bringing you close, you let out a breath that you feel you’ve been holding since you woke up in the hospital. One that has been keeping you from falling to pieces because now you can—he’s holding you together. 

Without leaving the safety of his arms, you let him lead you to the couch. Your head finds a home on his chest, and you bring your legs up, curling into him. Something warm gets tucked around you. He holds you close as the storm rages outside, his heartbeat lulling you into calm. At some point, your eyes must have closed because the sound of light rain is the next thing you remember.

“It passed,” Steve says, tightening his hold on you when he feels you stirring, hoping he doesn’t have to let you go yet. Content to stay, you snuggle in deeper, tugging the afghan tighter around you both. The familiar softness of the downy yarn catches your attention. 

“Wait, where did you get this?” you ask, sitting up, the scalloped edges running between your fingers, give way to a pattern of multicolored flowers. 

“I went to the cottage. Mrs. Willard gave it to me, but I knew right away that it belonged with you.” His arm slides from your shoulder, traveling the length of your back.

“You went there?” An ache runs rampant through your chest. As the sensible voice inside you begs you not to let him climb through the cracks into your heart.

“I needed to see it,” he takes your hand, eager to keep the connection, “it was exactly the same. She hasn’t changed a thing. I asked if she needed any help, but as it turned out, the only thing she needed was someone to listen.”

"And what did she say?"

“She just talked,” he shrugs. “She told me about her husband and their life together. It made me realize how much time I’ve wasted,” he lifts his eyes to yours, “You were right, I know what I want. I want you. You’re the one I can’t live without.”

After all these weeks, the words you didn't dare dream of fall easily from his lips. Leaving what was left of your battered armor to shatter and fall away.  

“I should never have left you in the hospital, and I should never have said goodbye. I should have fought for you like I did there. I know you don’t think we belong together, but you loved me. Is there any part of you that still does?”

“I never stopped.” The tears run down your face faster than you can wipe them away. “I can’t. I love you, Steve.”

His eyes light up at your confession. His lips pull tight into a smile as he leans forward, dipping his head, but you stop him with a hand on his chest.

“I love you,” you start again, choking on the words, “But there are things you don’t know about. Things that could change your mind.”

The secret you’ve been keeping is a band on your heart, constricting its beats. One that you know will change everything.

“Honey, whatever it is…I love you. We survived the world burning down around us. We can make it through anything.” 

His hand moves to your neck, but you push him away, “No, Steve, you don’t understand,” you hiccup as the tears blur your vision. “I should have told you.”

“It’s okay. I promise,” His thumbs wipe away your tears, “Let me get you some water, and you can tell me.” He stands, leaving you for the kitchen while you try to find a way to tell him. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that Steve would do the right thing, and that’s exactly why you couldn’t tell him. He would stay with you out of obligation, and one morning you’d wake up to resentment written all over his face as he trudges through the day instead of living out his dreams. You won’t take that from him. So you’ll tell him, and then you’ll let him go for the last time taking your heart with him. The cabinet bumping closed reminds you of what's pinned on your fridge.

“Steve, wait!” you scramble toward the kitchen, but you're too late. He turns the corner, his eyes lowered to the ultrasound photos he’s carrying in his hands.

You stand still, quiet sobs wracking your chest, like a chess piece on a board waiting to see if his next move will knock you down. 

His eyes finally rise, full of hurt and shock. "You're having my baby."

You owe him so much more than the nod of your head, but the words stay lodged in your throat. The sound of soft rain hitting the windows fills the silence between you. He carefully sets the strip of scans on your desk, making sure they have their own spot like they’re something precious. He staggers toward you, moving slowly like he’s afraid to frighten you, his face still in a daze.

“I’m sorry,” you manage as he stops before you. He shakes his head from side to side, keeping his eyes lowered. 

“You don’t have to…”

Your words trail off as he sinks to his knees. Placing a gentle hand on your belly, he leans forward until his forehead rests softly beside it.

“Hi,” he whispers, “I’m your dad.”

His fingers stroke feather light where his child is growing inside you. He’s never imagined anything more beautiful.

“You want us?” you ask in whispered tones, “Are you sure?”

“Honey, you’re giving me family. It’s all I have ever wanted.” His lips press softly against your belly.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a whoosh taking your fears with it. The love you feel for him—him and the part of him inside you, cracks open your heart until it’s filling every part of you with such a force you’re surprised you can’t see it glowing under your skin.

“Are they okay?” he asks, lifting his head, keeping his hand where it is, his eyes glossy as he looks up at you, “Is the baby okay? The Upside-down..”

“Yes,” you say, interrupting, not wanting him to worry for a second, “The baby’s fine. Developing normally. I had the ultrasound early, to be sure.” You cover his hand with yours, and he sighs in clear relief, his other hand grabbing your hip.

“You're my reason. Both of you,” he says, pulling you closer, “I’ve never been more sure.”

“You’re mine too,” you say, dropping to the floor to join him, your hand moving to his stubbled cheek, “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter anymore,” his hand cradles the back of your head, “I love you, and I’m going to take care of you if you’ll let me?”

“How about we take care of each other?”

His lips stretch into a smile before he leans forward, and they close over yours. "Deal," he agrees, going back for another kiss. 

Your arms wind around his neck as he pulls you tightly against him. The plush of his lips working lazily around yours. Steve was right. He had held you like this while the world burned around you, expecting your last act to be loving each other. A love that is rare and true and written in the stars. A love that will survive the test of time. Time that neither one of you will take for granted. Living fully in each minute, watching your love grow into a family. You can feel all this in the press of his lips. The stories of your future are printed there. 

"I love you," he says again because he wants you to know loving you was never a choice. His fingers move under the edge of your sweatshirt lighting trails of fire along your skin as his kiss changes from slow to hungry. 

"Can I touch you?" He asks. Even though his hands are already on you, he wants your permission to go further. 

"Please," you pant, already on the edge of being consumed with want, "I need you, Steve."

"I need you too, honey. Need to know you're mine." His hands lift the edge of your sweatshirt, and you raise your arms, helping him rid you of it. He barely glimpses what he's uncovered before you pull at his Polo, stretching the fabric in your greed to feel his skin against yours. He takes you back in his arms, and it feels like home. Your soft skin a contrast to the thatch of hair on his chest as you feel the rapid beat of his heart against your own. The wet slide of his kiss only makes you want more. Want all of him. 

Your whimpers drive his urgency as he lets you go to retrieve a pillow from the couch and carefully lays you back on it. His fingers grip the waistband of shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs. 

"You look so pretty all laid out for me," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before sitting back on his heels, his big hand landing where your knees are pushed together, "but I want to see all of you."

Your fingers trace your kiss-bitten lips, feeling the ghost of his as your thighs fall open, revealing the glossy evidence of exactly what he does to you. His fingers run absently up and down your inner thigh as he looks his fill wearing the expression of a man about to take what's his. 

"Steve," you whine, feeling impatient while your hands move to your breasts adding a graceful slow roll of your hips to remind him he can do more than just look. 

"Fuck, honey. How did I ever stay away from you?" he asks, crawling over to place a kiss just above your belly button, the first in a slow trail ending at the top of your pussy. His hands wrap around your thighs, holding you open for his first slow lick up your center that sends your back arching off the floor.

“You taste so good. I’m already addicted,” he says, eyes catching yours before his mouth closes over you in a wet assault, tongue swirling through your folds, drawing circles around your clit.

“No one,” you gasp, clawing at the carpet while your hips fight against the press of his hands, “No one has ever made me feel this way.”

You can feel him smile against you as he slides two fingers inside your velvety heat moving in and out of you steadily, curling upward to brush against the spot that adds a new layer of euphoria radiating through you.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making you feel like this,” he pauses to kiss the plush of your thigh. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he returns his attention back to your pleasure. He groans with your gentle tugs, the vibrations rippling against your core. 

“Need to get you ready for me, honey,” he says, adding a third finger. Biting down on your lip, you hiss through your teeth at the slight sting of the stretch. He gives you time to adjust, waiting until your slick soaks his fingers.

His pace quickens, changing those quick jolts of lighting into a blur of rapture. Your walls tighten as your body tenses. Your chorus of desperate moans his new favorite tune. 

"That's it, give it all to me. Cum for me, beautiful." His lips close over your clit, sucking in short bursts. Your blood sings with the new sensations rushing through you, turning molten as you rise like a fiery star.

Calling his name, you fall over the edge into bliss, the world ceasing to exist beyond your connection. He helps you float down with gentle touches and light kisses placed on your belly. He can’t fight back his smile as he looks down at you. A face that he memorized every detail of, now glowing with his love and his child. He didn’t have to die to become the man he wanted to be. He just had to open his heart.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s there, deep moss swirling with amber and gold filled with love. From the first moment you met, you placed your faith in him, and fate has led you to a love you never thought you’d find. After the uncertainty, the struggles, and the fears have fallen away, love is all that is left between you.

He’s chosen you, and you, him. Once in another world and again in this one. A life together that was fought for and hard-won. As the page turns, you’re no longer fearful of what's next, knowing you’ll be together. Whatever lies ahead, you’ll take his hand and welcome the adventure.

Epilogue 

"And that's why you don’t take life for granite."

A chorus of groans erupts as the students gather their books and papers when the shrill bell sounds over the loudspeaker.

"Hey, I better start getting some more laughs out of you all, or I'll be forced to assign more homework," you call out over your shoulder as you erase the formulas you had written on the blackboard.

"Will we see you later, Mrs. Harrington?" says the ringleader of a group of four boys lingering around your desk. 

"Sorry, guys. No AV club tonight," you tell them as you settle into the creaking chair behind your wooden desk, "I've got plans. Next week, alright?"

"I bet you're going to be busy getting set up to watch the Perseid meteor shower?" questions Travis, the overly enthusiastic one. With a mouth full of braces and a head full of curls, he reminds you of someone else you know. 

"Something like that," you smile, thinking about your plans as you tidy the papers on your desk, adjusting the large geode next to your nameplate. 

"Alright, see you tomorrow," they concede, shuffling out, their disappointment already forgotten by the time they make it to the door. 

"See you tomorrow," you call after them as Tina, an 8th grader with hearts in her eyes, squeezes past them into the doorway.

"A policeman in the office is asking to see you, Mrs. Harrington."

"Thank you, Tina. Can you please tell him I'll meet him outside?" you can barely hide your smile, knowing exactly why he’s here.

"Sure," she says, leaning her head against the edge of the door frame, "He's really dreamy."

“Alright, Tina,” your eyes roll, “Get to where you're supposed to be.”

She’s quick to follow instruction as you finish preparing for your next class. Leaving your room, you walk through the quiet halls and across the empty gym, the sound of your heels clicking against polished floors. Pushing open the set of double doors at the far end, a warm hand wraps around your bicep, pulling you outside into the shade of the building and maneuvers you up against the hard brick wall.

“Mmm,” you whine as Steve pulls away the collar of your blouse and attaches his lips to the spot where your pulse is speeding up, “You're going to get me in trouble,” your voice already breathless, as your hands move to his head holding him there.

“I can’t help it,” he says, running his hands along your sides, “I’ve been thinking about you all day. You’ve got me so distracted.”

“Is that so?” you ask as his lips brush over yours.

“That’s so.” His thumb tugs at your chin, coaxing you to open so he can take the kiss deeper. “I can’t even concentrate..” His words trail off as his mouth takes yours, kissing you like he did that very first time. Like you’re the only woman in the world. Like he adores you.

“Steve,” you mumble against his lip as your hands smooth up the front of the crisp tight-fitting blue button-up. Seeing him in uniform never fails to make you ache with need. The top two buttons are always undone, revealing the white shirt he wears underneath with just a glimpse of the hair on his chest showing and a shiny silver badge pinned just left of his heart. Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck that he still wears too long to be regulation.

“What did the doctor say this morning?” He asks as one of his hands slides lower on your hip, down the side of your skirt, dipping just under the hem.

“He gave me the all clear,” you breathe out, pulling his mouth back to yours as his hand continues to climb until it finds the lacy edge of your stocking and the garter it’s attached to. 

"Are you wearing lingerie?" His fingers get bolder seeking out more of the lace. 

"It's new," you answer, grinding yourself against his hardening length, “I thought you deserved it. You’ve been taking such good care of everything since the baby.”

“Jesus, honey,” he groans, tipping his head back and slapping his hand against the rough wall of the building, “How am I going to wait until the kids are in bed?”

“You won’t have to. Hopper is picking up the boys after hockey, and Joyce already has the baby,”  two of your fingers start walking down the front of his shirt, brushing against the leather of his belt, heading lower to the flat front of his tight black pants. “We’ll have the house to ourselves until tomorrow.” 

“What about Fate?” He asks, his eyebrows pulling together, always the protector of his other favorite girl.

“She’s having a girl's night with El and Max.” you smile, knowing he would ask about your oldest. You set up this plan weeks ago. Waiting to be together after the birth of your babies is just as hard on you as it is on him.

“You’re sneaky.” His hand reaches around you to give your ass a little squeeze.

“You love it,” you admit pressing a small kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” he says as the bell rings again, projected through the speaker over your heads. 

“I’ve got to go,” you swat his hand away so you can straighten your skirt.

“Not yet,” he pouts, using a finger to trace your neckline, pulling it away from your body, “Just let me have a little peek,” he tries looking down the front of your blouse.

“Get out of here,” you laugh, giving him a gentle push.

“Fine,” he grumbles with a smile, turning to walk back to where his cruiser is parked. 

“Tonight,” you call, making him turn and look back at you.

“Tonight,” he says, raising the fingers of his left hand to his lips, the sun glinting off the gold band on his fourth finger, “and forever.”

The End

AN: Thank you so much for sticking with this little series. It challenged me in ways that I never expected, but I learned a lot writing it.

[cityof2morrow]

280+ Niche/Repo Pack Recolors (Maxis-Match)

Published: 1-24-2024 | Updated: 8-21-2024 SUMMARY 280+ maxis-matching recolors for the Repository Pack (Simmons, 2023), taken from Sims 2! This collection includes swatches from build mode and neighborhood terrains/deco. They will show up on all objects reposited to the original meshes. When re-organizing my game folders, I decided to divide the recolors/repo’d items for BuggyBooz’s (2012) niches by type….and the “repo pack” was born. It has been a convenient way for me to manage custom content while reducing file sizes and folder bloat. I hope it helps some simmers out there as well – especially fellow build CC hoarders. Read more about the repo pack in the original post. DETAILS Cost: §0 | 0 poly (BBNiche1Master) Surfaces > Shelves | (All Others) Build > Misc > Columns You’ll need the Repository Pack (Simmons, 2023) to use these textures in-game. I’ve included a compact version of the red “London Chimney bricks” wallpaper from Basegame. I’s called “LondonRedChimneyBricksX4.” and comes in handy on larger meshes. Note that depending on the mesh, some textures may not apply well because of their unique pattern/design….but there are hundreds to choose from! ITEMS & DOWNLOAD LINKS (choose one link per item)

Brick from SFS | from MEGA Masonry from SFS | from MEGA

Paneling from SFS | from MEGA Siding from SFS | from MEGA

38 select swatches for Element from SFS | from MEGA

9 select swatches for Rock (earthen rock and stone) from SFS | from MEGA

32 select swatches for Roofing (shingles, tiles, plates, etc.) from SFS | from MEGA

To date, there are over 60 MORE recolors available for the repo pack on this site, including swatches for both the plain and graphic glass repositories. Find them using the #ts2recolors, #co2recolors, and #co2repopack tags. CREDITS Thanks: All simmers who have contributed to our collective knowledge re: repository content. Sources: Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik), Textures (EA/Maxis via Simsample, 2023; S1indle/Sindle, 2022).