#neverending fucking trash no matter how much i pick up there's still more and more and more

[daedrabela]

SO ALL NIGHT FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS I KEEP FLICKING LITTLE ANTS OFF OF ME WHILE I'M GAMING AND I KEEP THINKING IT'S JUST THE SAME ONES OVER AND OVER

WELL I JUST FUCKING LOOKED OVER AT MY TOMIE LAMP AND THESE FUCKERS HAVE THE THING COLONIZED THEY'VE GOT EGGS AND SHIT AND THEY'RE ALL BUNCHED TOGETHER

SO I FREAK OUT BECAUSE THERE'S TOO MANY BUGS IN ONE SMALL PLACE FOR MY LIKING AND WE GET THEM VACUUMED UP

I'M SNIPPY WITH HIM BECAUSE HE'S SLACKING ON GETTING THE VACUUM TO ME QUICKLY BECAUSE AS SOON AS I TURNED THE LAMP OFF THEY STARTED TO SCATTER

AND I'M ALREADY SPIRALING BECAUSE THE SPARE ROOM IS FULL OF SHIT AND I'M SICK OF LIVING LIKE THIS AND THEN!!!!

THEN!!!!!! THIS GUY ASKS ME "you know what bugs me?" BITCH IT'S TAKING EVERYTHING I HAVE NOT TO THROW HANDS WITH ANYTHING IN SIGHT RIGHT NOW YOU CAN'T JUST SAY SHIT

#tw bugs #bugs tw #i hate this place so fucking much i hate it #i can't take baths because the tub has these grody strips in it #and we can't peel them off because the building management put this cheap enamel shit over the tub that's peeling off and it'll strip it #the bathroom is so tiny it feels smaller than my old bathroom even though they're the same size and my old one had a slanted ceiling #the cat stinks the whole place up #it's so dark in here always because there's these cheap paper blackout panels on the windows #the living room is a disaster because of how they decided to arrange it it's so weird the tv is like right in front of the sofa #and not against a wall so it's just in the middle of the room #there's junk mail everywhere #neverending fucking trash no matter how much i pick up there's still more and more and more #we fill three fucking trashbags a week #i used to fill a single trash bag every two weeks #i hate living here so goddamn much #i wish i could go live on my own again so bad #i can't just break up with my boyfriend everyone will make me feel guilty for it #he'll probably cry and i can't deal with seeing people cry because of me i feel so guilty for everything all the time #i hate my fucking life #i want to fucking die #🥀

[vindictivegrace]

Set It All on Fire

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word Count: 2208

Notes: One shot, no smut, established relationship, domestic AU, no powers, moving out, moving is annoying as fuck, rage quit, Bucky is a grouch, Steve is kind of a nag, I basically wrote this to unload my own IRL moving stress Summary: Steve and Bucky are moving to a new rental house. Bucky hates the hassles of moving. To make matters worse, Bucky has been left to deal with the bulk of their last minute packing. The house is full of excess junk, Steve is constantly on his case about what to do next, and Bucky is sick of it all. Finally, something happens and it’s the last straw for Bucky. A/N: Originally posted March 25, 2017 on AO3 here. I wrote this while I was in the middle of preparing to move a couple weeks ago. Holy fuck do I hate moving. I have since made it to my new destination, but not without wishing once or twice (or every single day) that I could do what Bucky did in this fic. Let me know what you think. Enjoy ^_^ ****************

“Bucky, did you hear what I said?”

“Hm, what?” Bucky blinked to rid himself of his glazed over stare.

His boyfriend huffed, clearly annoyed. “I said…”

And there Steve went again about this and that and whatever else Bucky had to do. The two were moving out of their rental home to a nicer one on the other side of the city. Steve was counting on Bucky to get as much packing done as possible. Bucky had the time. After serving the past four years in the military, he decided to use the GI Bill to take himself to school. He was a part-time student at one of the local universities, and school was on break for the week. Bucky also worked part-time for the university, and luckily his office was closed for the break as well.

“Bucky! You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, Steve. I heard ya this time.” Bucky really didn’t, but he didn’t have to. Steve was on him for the past few days about everything that had to be done, there was no way Bucky could forget even if he wanted to. Every day before he left and every night before they slept, Steve repeated their endless to-do list. Steve helped when he could, but his long hours at the office meant he wasn’t able to contribute as much as he would like. With such a short deadline to be out of the house—the end of the week—the majority of the work fell on Bucky’s shoulders. He would have to spend his entire break packing up.

“Well okay, Buck. I’m off.” Steve leaned in to give Bucky a warm, lingering kiss. He pulled away, adding, “Look, I know you hate moving, Bucky. Don’t worry—It’ll be over before you know it and we’ll be in our new house.”

“Honestly, it would be over a lot sooner if we didn’t have so much crap laying around Stevie. Seriously, we don’t need all this junk!” Bucky gestured behind himself. It was true the house was cluttered with everything imaginable, but Steve always freaked out and put his foot down when Bucky as much as hinted at getting rid of their stuff.

Steve didn’t have time to freak out this morning, so he quickly cut down Bucky’s protest. “We can deal with the extra junk later. Right now we need to focus on getting out of here.” Bucky heard the finality in his voice. “Okay, I’m off for real now, Bucky.” Steve gave Bucky a quick smooch this time and left out the door.

Bucky closed the door and turned around to face the behemoth of a task in front of him: All the shit in their house.

He ran a hand through his long brown hair and sighed.

“Fuck me.”

-----

In one of Steve’s earlier nightly recitals of their to-do list, he had recommended Bucky start in one room and work his way to the living room and kitchen. Having a system for tackling all their junk would keep the frustration at bay. It would also make it easier for Steve to figure out where he could jump in and help when he came home.

Bucky was having none of that. If he had to do most of the packing, he would do it his way. Which meant random anger-inducing chaos. He started in the kitchen, tackling random cabinets as he saw fit. He opened one above and was instantly flooded by Tupperware, like he was part of a goddamn infomercial. Afterwards, he moved to the partially finished basement, looked around at the mess, told himself “NOPE,” and went back upstairs. He boxed up the books in Steve’s home office and left it at that, knowing that his lover would prefer to go through the rest of the room’s contents on his own. He went back to the kitchen to load the dishwasher and do the rest by hand. They were always leaving huge piles of dishes in the sink. He skipped the bathroom for now. He could clean that towards the end of their stay.

Later, in their bedroom, Bucky worked on their clothes. His were easy. Bucky kept a simple utilitarian wardrobe that still flattered his muscular physique. He usually stuck to henleys, jeans, and boots. He had enough clothes to add or remove layers as needed, and a jacket and a coat to accommodate the predominant seasons of the region. He had a set of workout clothes, as well, and he saved on pajamas by sleeping in an undershirt and his boxer briefs, or in the nude.

Steve was a different story. For a guy who was modest and bashful about how ridiculously hot he actually was, Steve had no problem showing himself off in as many clothes as possible. He had t-shirts, tank tops, button down flannel, basic longsleeves, sweaters, hoodies, dress shirts for work, dress shirts for going out, his workout clothes; tons of jeans in various ass-hugging, junk framing shades and cuts (okay, Bucky liked those); sooooo many shoes; jackets for warm weather; jackets for cooler weather; jackets for when the weather couldn’t decide what it was doing; five heavy winter coats (what person needed FIVE winter coats???); underwear in all shades, cuts, and materials imaginable (okay, Bucky liked those too, especially the lacey boyshorts and thongs); and more. Bucky had never seen anyone, man or woman, own so many clothes. The sight of their overrun closet alone was mind-boggling. Steve could at least cut down on the shirts. Half of his stash could restock all the clothing stores downtown for a month!

Bucky put his face in his hands and groaned loudly. The frustration was building fast.

-----

Of course when Steve came home he threw a fit at Bucky’s randomness. Now they were both climbing over boxes and bags and stacks of junk like they were moving through a homemade obstacle course.

Of course Steve’s annoyance fed into Bucky’s.

“Well maybe we wouldn’t have to climb over everything if we didn’t have so much stuff! Why don’t we get rid of all of this crap? We could donate it or give it away. Hell, we could even do a last minute garage sale. I’d be willing whip that together.”

“No, Bucky!”

“Or we could set it all on fire and be done with it.”

“NO.”

Of course, when the night was over, Steve was running through their to-do list. They still had to transfer their utility services, transfer their internet service, change their mailing address, change their address at the bank, send out their final rent, give a parting gift to the neighbors (‘Fuck the neighbors,’ Bucky thought to himself. ‘Their tiny dog always poops on our porch!’), get their lawnmower back from Sam who had borrowed it after his broke, mow the lawn, take out the trash and recycling, take the designated box of food to the food bank, on top of everything else they had to do at home still. Which included...

And Steve just kept rattling off the neverending, damn it all to hell, to-do list. Bucky had already fallen asleep. Steve didn’t notice until the familiar light snoring started. He sighed, turned out the light, and snuggled himself under Bucky’s arm, allowing the gentle rise and fall of Bucky’s chest to lull him to sleep.

-----

Days later, after more packing and more of Steve’s lists, and more problems coming up, and more things to do, Bucky just about had it. Maybe he really would set everything on fire. The illicit desire was growing each minute. There was no point in keeping any of this junk around anymore. He and Steve would have to unpack it all in the new house, and deal with it again when they moved once more later on, and again, and again! Bucky wished he could squeeze his eyes shut and magically time travel to one month later when they would be settled down in their now home and all their packing woes were far behind them. He was so sick of this shit. He was barely holding on. If anything set him off now, he knew he would lose it.

He opened the front door to get the mail for the last time when he felt something squish under his boot. He didn’t need to look down to know what it was—the smell alone was enough to tell.

Bucky stepped in dog shit.

THAT’S. IT.

-----

Steve was packing up for the day when his phone vibrated. He let it go to voicemail. He just wanted to leave the office and get home so he could help Bucky. He knew Bucky was getting more tense and fed up with packing. It was already late, the sun having set an hour ago. The phone vibrated again—short pulses this time. A text message. Then a longer set of vibrations for a phone call. Then short pulsing. A voicemail. Followed by more vibrations. Steve started getting nervous. This wasn’t good. He looked at the phone. All the missed phone calls, voicemails, and texts were coming from Natasha. When the phone vibrated again, Steve picked up.

“Rogers.”

“Steve, it’s Nat!” she was frantic. “Where are you?”

“I’m still at work trying to leave. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m calling to ask you that! Didn’t you hear?”

------

Steve rushed home just in time to see the spectacle. There were fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances everywhere. Emergency personnel were running back and forth. Everyone in the neighborhood and the surrounding area gathered around to see the biggest tower of fire he had ever seen. There were so many phones out, no doubt recording the drama and posting it online. The local news stations were off to the side reporting live. The view almost reminded Steve of the massive bonfires the city puts on during the summer. Except this wasn’t a bonfire—it was whatever was left of his rental house.

Where was Bucky? Steve worked his way through the crowd. His eyes darted this way and that looking for Bucky, hoping, begging, pleading that Bucky was okay. That was all he cared about. Panic was flooding through his entire body. No, no! If Bucky was in the house, there was no way he could have survived a blaze this big. Steve couldn’t lose his Bucky. Not like this, please! Steve reached the front of the crowd, where caution tape and police officers kept the crowd back and firefighters rushed by to kill the fire. The heat was overwhelming.

“Sir, please stay back. It isn’t safe here!” an officer warned him.

“But that’s my house!” Steve yelled back while pointing at the blaze. “Please, Officer, have you seen a man about my height and age, with shoulder length brown hair, muscular build, and an endless scowl???” Steve’s eyes were stinging from the smoke and his own fears playing out in his mind.

“Oh, that guy…Yeah, he’s over there,” the officer replied, thumbing over his shoulder in a general direction behind them.

Bucky was leaning against an ambulance. He refused medical care. His arms were crossed and his scowl was deep, so the paramedics let him be.

Steve ran to him. “Bucky! Oh thank god you’re okay!” Steve threw his arms around Bucky and hugged him hard, effectively killing Bucky’s customary stress glare. The hug didn’t last long. Steve pulled himself back at arm's length to look at Bucky head on. “What happened here? What happened to you? How did this happen? Did you see anything?”

Bucky’s eyes shifted—right, left, lower corner—and settled on Steve’s. “I stepped out of the house for a little bit. Went to grab the mail. Turned around and saw smoke. I ran inside to save the important stuff. I ran out. The whole place went up in flames.”

Steve knew that look and tone. Bucky always acted this way when something was off.

Then it instantly clicked in Steve’s mind.

The panic Steve felt earlier transformed into stomach sinking dread. His eyes widened, the whites standing out in the blaze-hued smoky night. He stepped closer to whisper, his grip on Bucky’s shoulders tightening.

“Bucky...What did you DO?”

Bucky gave Steve a small smirk. The night, the ongoing fire, and the spinning lights from all the emergency workers’ vehicles played off Bucky’s visage, leaving him unnaturally darkened by shadows, like an everyday man who finally gave in to his most sinister carnal desire.

“What we should have done in the first place. Now Steve, the story is ‘I stepped out of the house for a little bit. Went to grab the mail. Turned around and saw smoke. I ran inside to save the important stuff. I ran out. The whole place went up in flames.’” He emphasized each sentence to cement the “facts” into Steve’s mind and the unspoken message: WE’RE IN THIS TOGETHER.

“Bucky…” Steve was horrified. Was this really happening?

“I’m an idiot Steve,” Bucky continued in that tone. “I shouldn’t have risked my life like that for paper, right? Documents can be replaced. A life can’t. You’re just happy that I’m safe and sound. RIGHT, Stevie?”

“Oh my god, Bucky.”

“You shouldn’t buy so many of those damn shirts, Stevie. They’re basically kindling.”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stevebucky #stucky #marvel #fanfic #fanfiction #moving #packing #I fucking hate moving #vindictivegracefanfic #set it all on fire #au domestic life #au no powers #rage quit #established relationship #one shot