#same w folding laundry nicely like…. it’s better to have it in the drawers than in the baskets so i can just drop it in there . so freeing

[heartshapedbisexual]

journaling got soooo much less intimidating when i decided to let myself do really short entries instead of page-long ones this is actually so nice . once or twice a week i write 2-3 sentences abt my day or my feelings & that’s it . im literally a genius this is so nice

#getting rid of the rules !!!!! my beloved !!!!!! #same w folding laundry nicely like…. it’s better to have it in the drawers than in the baskets so i can just drop it in there . so freeing #🤍

[argylemikewheeler]

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he  wished  some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift.  Fucking off  and  being a better piece of shit son  just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So  don’t  call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was  sure  his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be  cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um,  puzzles  to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He  failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we  can’t  . So,  that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over  one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w  eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is  more  than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially  his  familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green  dash  barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded  cool  in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like  everyone  was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an  obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I  have  to show you all my inventions! Camp was the  best  four weeks  of  my  life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa!  Girlfriend  ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just  Steve  that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s  super  smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she���s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I  just  saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s  crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the  Chief  now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not...  looking  at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car  could  speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was  upset  that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.”  Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since  no one else  in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright--  Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they  weren’t  dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected:  his  sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike--  just  Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he  really  was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re  not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly:  do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for  damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re  never  early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s  not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t  have  to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s  not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy.  Doctor  doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t  too  comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just  was  . Rather than being  cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in:  In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole…  thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it  cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything  to  forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but  instead  seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to  obscure  the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well   are  you seeing someone, Jonathan?  -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will  needed  to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels  boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t  care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little  understanding  between  best  friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an  I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too  everything  to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but  blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the  disgusting  amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress.  Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No--  no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s  nothing  . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even  see  us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I  meant  what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my  mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I  meant  because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your  dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just  disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

[wlntrsldler]

Falling (Bucky Barnes Series)

PROMPT: Bucky has been distant lately. Y/N doesn’t know why.

WARNINGS: ANGST, tears? sadness? 

Song Inspiration: Falling by Harry Styles

FALLING | FINE LINE | SHE

SERIES MASTERLIST

-

You couldn’t pin-point exactly when Bucky started becoming distant. One day you just realized his lips no longer lingered on your temple, his hand stopped finding yours in the crowd, and his eyes avoided yours in conversation. Maybe you were too blinded, too naive, to see it. You lost him slowly.. and then all at once. 

You didn’t think about it at first. He’s just busy, you told yourself, he’s an Avenger now, he has other things to worry about besides what dinner will be for tonight. You tried to pretend that you didn’t stay up until past 2AM, waiting for him to stumble into your shared bedroom. You tried to act like you didn’t notice that he barely looked up from his tablet while you talked about your day. You tried to push past the hurt that you felt when he stopped kissing you good morning. You tried, you really did. 

You spend most of your days wrapped in a blanket, in one of his old sweaters, alone on your couch. You lost hope on him coming home for dinner... or even coming home at all. These days were all the same. Everyday felt like it never ended- there was no sunrise, there was no sunset. It was just everyday, over and over again. 

The team would call you sometimes to check-in, saying how much they missed you and how you should come with Bucky to the Tower sometimes. You’d just laugh it off knowing that Bucky would insist that you not go. For your own safety, he’d always say. It was starting to sound like an excuse. Truth be told, it probably is one. 

Nat came to visit. She brought you a pound of that Argentinian coffee that you loved the last time you visited them. You went through three cups, buzzed and hyper, with Bucky’s metal arm slung across your waist. Nat knew something was wrong the minute she saw you. Honestly, she didn’t need to be a trained agent to figure it out. It was obvious, anyone could see it. 

She didn’t ask though, knowing that you’re not one to talk about things. But you knew she knew. It was in her mannerisms, her words, her comfort. She held onto you for a hug a bit longer than usual and she avoided the topic of Bucky the whole time she was over. When Bucky got home he was surprised to see you and Nat nursing glasses of wine. You were surprised that he was even home.

“Hey, Barnes,” Nat cleared her throat, refilling her glass. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Hey, Nat.” Bucky’s eyes flickered to you for a second. His eyes were empty. Since when were the bags under his eyes so dark? “What are you doing here?”

“Came to visit, Y/N.” She shrugged, shooting you a comforting smile. She placed a hand on top of yours, giving it a light squeeze. “You’ve been hiding her from us. I missed her.”

“I missed you too, Nat.” You replied, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. “Babe, you want a glass?”

He gulped, looking at you and Nat. “Sure.”

The hour that Nat stayed after Bucky showed up was nice. The air in the room felt lighter. You saw quick glimpses of your Bucky during the short hour. He was always like this. Around other people, he was the same, like nothing was different between you two. He replies like how he used to, not his one word, dismissive sentences that seemed like he only reserved for you.

Nat said goodbye at around 10PM, kissing your cheek and mumbling an, “I love you,” to you. You almost didn’t want her to go because you knew Bucky would go back to acting like he didn’t know you. But you knew it’s bound to happen. 

Once you shut the door, you saw Bucky get up from the couch, wiping his hands on his jeans. He started to pick up the wine glasses to take them to the kitchen. You stood by the door, listening to the sound of the kitchen faucet running. You leaned against it, taking a deep breath once you heard him shut it off. What happens next?

“Y/N,” Bucky started, coming back into the living room. “I’m gonna get ready to sleep.”

You noticed his choice of words. You didn’t know if he did it on purpose or if the words just rolled off his tongue as easily as they pierced through your heart. To sleep. Not to go to bed. Maybe you were overthinking but you always associated “going to bed” with the thought of you both going to bed together and the fact that he didn’t use those words just reiterated a fact that you knew too well: You wouldn’t be in the same bed tonight. 

“Okay.” You managed to squeak out. 

“Goodnight,” He said, awkwardly shifting his weight from his toes and his heels. “I already washed the glasses so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky nodded, giving you one last look before he disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. His face looked tired. You wondered if it was because of you. 

You began cleaning up around the living room- picking up cushions, throwing scraps of trash away, and folding the blanket you always covered your legs with. It smelled like Bucky. It was the closest thing you had of him, nowadays. 

You heard him enter your bedroom, shutting the door behind him completely. You felt a drop hit your thigh. You didn’t realize that you were crying. 

How did you get here? 

You leaned back on the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself and let the tears fall until you fell asleep. 

-

You woke up to the sound of plates being placed on the coffee table. Your eyes fluttered open, catching a glimpse of Bucky’s metal arm putting breakfast on the table. You whispered, your voice cracking, “Buck?”

“Shit, sorry, Y/N.” He apologized, rubbing the back of his neck with the same hand. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You waved him off, sitting up on the couch. You blinked a few times to focus your vision on the scene in front of you. Did he make you breakfast? “What’s this?”

“Breakfast. I figured you were tired.” He replied. Bucky studied your face, eyebrows furrowing. You suddenly became self-conscious, no longer used to his eyes on you. You gulped, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. “Have you been crying?”

Your eyes widened, completely forgetting about last night. You nodded, trying to come up with a quick lie. “Oh, yeah... I watched a sad movie and I guess I passed out on the couch.”

Bucky nodded, accepting your sentence. “I gotta go. I’ll probably be home late, don’t wait up.”

“Okay.” 

Your eyes followed him as he walked out of the door, leaving you by yourself once again. You reached over for the coffee Bucky prepared. It smelled exactly like your favorite. You knew he opened the pack Nat brought with her. 

You took small bites of your food, not trusting yourself to eat the entire plate. You felt sick to your stomach. Since when did you lie to Bucky? That wasn’t like you. You sighed, putting the warm cup down. You looked around the room, eyes landing on the many pictures of you and Bucky. 

The pictures were mocking you, you were sure of it. Those pictures were a constant reminder of what you had. The Bucky and Y/N that the two of you are now are just ghosts of who you used to be. The tears started to form in your eyes once again, having to blink them away to stop yourself from crying. 

You started to tear down the pictures, placing them in a box for safekeeping. You wanted the memories, you just didn’t want them staring at you to remind you of what you lost. You began to put up the art pieces you bought from a local gallery a few months ago. The colors clashed with your furniture but it would have to do while you looked for replacements. 

You spent the rest of your day in your home office, working away and finishing projects that weren’t due for a few more weeks. You kept yourself busy to forget about everything else that was going on in your life. You looked at your clock, 11:37PM, and still no sign of Bucky. You placed your arms flat on your desk, pushing your laptop to the side, and fell asleep. 

-

Your slumber was interrupted by sudden movement. You rubbed your eyes, unaware of what was going on. 

“It’s okay, go back to sleep.” 

I must be dreaming.

You looked up and saw Bucky. He was carrying you in his arms, still in the same clothes he left the house in. He must’ve just gotten home. He looked down at you. For a quick second you could’ve swore that his lips curled up to a small smile. You missed that smile. “What time is it?”

“1:54.” He responded, opening your bedroom door and placing you on your side of the bed. “Been looking for you. Should’ve figured you were in your office.”

“You just got home?”

“Yeah, I’m about to head back out though.” 

“Oh,” The disappointment was evident in your voice. You pulled the blankets to cover your body, getting cozy in the cold sheets. “Where are you going?”

“Mission.” He started to dig through his drawers, pulling out a pair of jeans. “Just needed to get some clothes before I go.”

“Oh,” You repeated. “Be safe.”

“Thank you.”

That was all that was said. 

You faced away from the door, holding in your tears again. Once you heard his footsteps fade into the silence of the night, you let out a choking sob. 

Bucky was never around. 

-

“Y/N?” Bucky called out. “I’m home.”

The apartment was unusually quiet. He’d been gone for three days and he missed you. Things were finally in place and everything was just right. He saw the walls for the first time, confused when he didn’t see your pictures on the wall. 

“Y/N?” He tried again, walking over to the box on top of the coffee table. He dug through it, seeing the pictures he was looking for. Once he reached the bottom of the box, he left it alone, thinking that you just put them away to hang them up somewhere better. “Y/N?”

He checked the kitchen, the bathroom, the dining room- nothing. He walked into your bedroom, seeing it spotless, like it hasn’t been used in a while. It smelled of fresh laundry, untouched and brand new. It didn’t smell like you. Bucky didn’t like it. 

“Y/N? Are you in here?”

He was about to leave the room when he saw the white paper in the middle of the bed. It almost blended in with the empty sheets. It was addressed to him. 

Bucky ripped open the envelope, nearly tearing the letter in half. He frantically unfolded it, hands shaking with every word that he read. 

“Bucky-

I love you. You know I do. I’m scared that a part of me always will. I’m bound to you... but I can’t do this anymore. 

The past few months, I’ve been alone. You’re not here anymore, Buck. I’m not mad at you, don’t worry. I get it. Sometimes people drift apart, that’s life. The thing is, I’m still here. I haven’t moved from where I started. I’m still hopelessly in love with you, watching you stray further and further away from me everyday. 

I don’t think you have the strength to let go. Honestly, I don’t even know if I do either but one of us has to. 

I love you, Buck.

- Y/N.”

Bucky shook his head, chest rising up and down. You wouldn’t leave him. You wouldn’t. 

He ran to your office, nearly tripping over his own feet. The door swung open and Bucky’s face paled at the sight. Everything was gone. Your bookshelf littered with books and random things you picked up from target- gone. Your fuzzy slippers that you only wear in your office- gone. Your laptop- gone. 

The only thing left was picture of the two of you from your first Christmas together, kissing under the mistletoe, on your desk. 

He looked down at the letter in his hands, his eyes re-reading the words “I’ve been alone. You’re not here anymore.” He thought about the past few months and all the secrets he kept from you. 

Bucky started treatment. It was a risk, Tony continuously reminded him of it every time he showed up for the next dosage. But it was a risk Bucky was willing to take. 

He wanted to be free from the Winter Soldier. He didn’t want those words to have a hold on him anymore. He wanted a shot at life, to grow old, to experience things, to live, to love- all with you. 

He wasn’t allowed to tell you. He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. Only Tony, Shuri and T’Challa knew about it. 

For months Bucky would go see the three of them to get injected by a reversal serum created in Wakanda. He offered to be the guinea pig of the experiment. “If there’s a chance of this working, I’ll take it.”

He endured painful trials, some days he even stayed in the lab because he couldn’t move. Sometimes the serum made him physically stronger and he couldn’t control himself. His arm would touch something and destroy it, even if he didn’t want to. He had to stop himself from touching you, afraid that he’ll hurt you. He distanced himself away from you because he had to. 

He just wished he could’ve told you that. 

But this last mission was the final treatment. After trial and error, the serum finally worked. It was over. He was finally free.

Bucky couldn’t wait to get back home to you- to kiss you, hug you, love you, and murmur sweet nothings in your ear. He would be able to tell you everything that happened in his life and how it killed him to not wrap his arms around your waist or cuddle you in your sleep. He was so excited to spin you around in circles, your beautiful smile that he so dearly missed, finally making its way to your face again. 

He didn’t expect to come back to an empty home. 

Is it even a home anymore?

Bucky reached down for his phone in his pocket, his heart stopping when his finger grazed over the velvet box instead. He almost forgot. 

He pulled out the box, opening it. The ring sparkled against the rays of sun peeking through the curtains of your bare office. 

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #winter soldier #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier one shot #winter soldier angst #winter soldier smut #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x yn #marvel #marvel imagine #the avengers #frances song fics #frances writes #falling fic

[moonah-rose]

Eavesdrop

A quick alternate to Earshot, but set in canon S2 rather than NPL, where the demons focus on Michael for their taunting.

*

Second book in on the top shelf. That’s the one to pull to unlock the secret door hidden in the wall behind Michael’s desk. She’s supposedly the only other being, besides Janet, in this micro-universe privy to that bit of info. It leads to a hallway that extends to a secret chamber filled with a bunch of Earth collectables along with, recently added on her suggestion, a mini-arcade with classic game machines and a karaoke stand. The walls were sound proof, obviously.

She’s not here to escape a lecture from Chidi about messing up the laundry by hanging out in her demon pal’s very own ‘bud hole’ this time. Her ear is pressed to the closed panel after sealing herself in, waiting for the big Satanic tree to arrive.

To her surprise, and slight annoyance, he hadn’t arrived alone.

“You shouldn’t be getting drunk like this. What if the humans saw you? Everyone here is supposed to be abstinent of all vices!” Michael had grumbled, a ruckus of giggles behind him.

“That’s the point, dummy! It’s a ‘Purge’ night!” Vicky cackled; “Tell ‘im again, Gunner!”

“I got the idea off this human movie - one night, we’re allowed to do any shirt we wanted without consequence! We can drink, smoke, do drugs, stab and bite to our black hearts content!”

“NO! Definitely no stabbing! Or hurting any of them...Physically!” He’d struggled to make that last detail sound natural.

Good save, bud, Eleanor had thought.

Another demon, Petra, Eleanor thinks, had groaned; “Ugh, you are such a buzzkill lately. Can’t you see how awesome this idea is? Think about how wasted Eleanor is gonna let herself get! That dork, Jason, is gonna be high as a kite and it will make Chidi and Tahani wanna cower inside their homes! It’s genius!” 

Eleanor had almost let herself be excited for the idea of trying to make the most of this supposed ‘torture’, similar to the one at Tahani’s party, which even Michael had said she hadn’t done too bad at acting and preparing the chaos sequence the next morning. She could hear the worry in Michael’s response though, being surrounded by three hundred demons, losing their inhibitions and wanting to let off steam in the most ‘passionate’ way possible, had the potential to go very wrong. For all of them.

As she listened, Michael’s attempts to reign in his rogue employees soon descended into outright pleading, which only gave him more scorn in return.

“Look just...remember what our goal is here. I get that you’re all frustrated but we’re doing so well and all I ask is that you don’t go too far on the humans, please.” He’d tried to ask, nicely. Wrong move.

The laughter nearly shook the building.

“Jeez! If you love these humans so much, why don’t you fork them?” Bambadjan teased.

“Nah, let’s face it, not even those cockroaches would wanna go near that disgusting skin suit with all it’s musty folds.” Vicky responded; “...Oh, what’s wrong, Mikey? It’s not like we’re insulting ‘you’ after all...Unless you’re starting to feel a little too cosy in that costume of yours.”

Eleanor’s stomach twisted on his behalf. She knew how much he loved that suit; he was so forking vain, after all. But then again, is it vanity if it’s not really his body? He just wishes it was.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Michael responded, quietly.

“Then prove it, dude! Take it off! Strip! Todd goes streaking every night.” Gunner encouraged.

“You know I can’t! It’s not the same for me.”

“Maybe I’ll take mine off tonight. Imagine how much Mendoza will freak out when he sees a giant acid snake coming for him after too many mushrooms!” Vicky joked; “It’s still ten times better than any torture method you’ve come up with for them, Mike. Maybe melting their brains by revealing your demon form will provide us some results.”

Is it really that bad? Eleanor was naively hoping there was some sexy bald goat-man underneath that suit. Dude was so shifty about it, like he didn’t wanna spoil the mystery. Was it more than that? Was he ashamed?

“You’ve all made your point, have your Purge and I’ll clean up the mess tomorrow. Just go easy on the humans - I insist.” Michael sounded so tired.

“Oh he ‘insists’!? Did you hear that guys? Mikey, who failed his own experiment over eight hundred times, wants to ‘insist’!” Vicky sneers.

“Well I insist that he shuts his fugly food hole and leave the masters to our job!” Petra cackled; “And he gets back to trying to fork his paperclips or whatever shirt you get up to here.”

That sounded painful, Eleanor couldn’t stop herself picturing it.

“Jeez, Mike, you always were a loser but there’s really no hope for you, is there. Before you were just the quiet nerd no one wanted to hang out with because of your weird fixation with Earth-people. Soon you’re gonna be known as the idiot who failed his first experiment; even if the rest of us do manage to salvage it for Shawn, we’ll all know the truth about how badly you suuucked!”

It took all of Eleanor’s strength not to shove the panel open, stomp over and grab Vicky’s hair to slam her face into the desk. They all just followed him in there to bully him?! They were the losers.

“C’mon, guys! We should have known he wouldn’t have wanted to join our party, it’s not like he’s used to being invited to any.” Bambadjan added, inciting more giggles.

“See you in the morning, dumb-ash. Be up bright and early to clean up our shirt, as you say, chop chop!”

Counting to ten to contain her rage luckily meets up with the sound of the door closing, the demons exiting the building.

She carefully opens the secret door, seeing Michael sat in his chair, hands folded on his lap, eyes cast down. When he hears her soft footsteps, his head turns, expression shifting to try to cover the wobbling lip she’d briefly caught sight of. He sniffs and rubs his upper lip with his hand.

“Eleanor!” Michael straightens up; “Were you there the whole time? What if they’d seen you or...sensed you were there?”

“Relax, man, they didn’t see shirt, it’s cool.” She puts her hand up; “...You okay?”

He looks to the side, forcing his ‘superior’ smirk, “Uhh, yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be? Just...having a bit of workplace banter, as they say.”

“Didn’t sound like ‘banter’ to me, dude.” She edges closer, slowly, knowing that if he’s as much like her as she knows, he’s gonna be like a wounded tiger right now.

Getting too close, too quick, is gonna get her eyes clawed out. She would know, she’s swung a few claws herself.

Michael sniffs, struggling to keep his mask on; “M’fine, Eleanor, really. You better go prepare for this Purge or whatever they were talking about, go enjoy yourself or...make sure the others are safe-.”

His words are cut off by her weight falling down onto his lap, arms looping around his neck as she embraces him. Fork it. Screw being slow and steady; the demon was about ready to cry.

“Wha....What are you doing?” Michael stutters, stiffening.

“Hugging you, idiot...Sorry, I mean that affectionately,” She says against his ear.

“W-why?”

She shrugs, still hugging him tight, shuffling on his knees; “’Cause you need it. ‘Cause it’s the quickest way to let you know that all those things those demons said was garbage. Fork, have they always talked to you like that?”

His silence answers her question.

She squeezes him again; “Damn, no wonder you’re as new to this whole friend thing as me.”

“Demons insult each other all the time, Eleanor, it’s how we compliment each other. We’re meant to enjoy it.”

That made zero sense. 

“But you don’t....do you?”

Michael breaths in deep against her. Then she shakes her head, leaning into her shoulder.

“That’s ‘cause I’m a freak...I’m wrong, just like they say...like Shawn says...I’m just a failure of a demon.”

“That’s a good thing in my books, man.” Eleanor pulls back, looking at him, admiringly; “You might be failing as a demon but, I have it on good authority, you are rocking it as a newbie human. And I know you think we’re all gross and stupid but...I know you love us.”

He wrinkles his nose, trying to look as though he denied it, yet refusing to. His eyes gaze into hers, a rush of color brightening his cheeks.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to say it, I know you’re not quite ready there yet.” She knows herself how difficult it is to say those three words, to anyone; “But we’re your friends. We want you on our team, Michael, not just ‘cause it stops you torturing us but...Because you’re a cool guy to be around, when you’re not giving paperclip showers or putting us in purple space bubbles.”

A smile threatened to crack on Michael’s face as he squirmed beneath her. Was it really this easy to make an all-powerful being look so shy and bashful? It was adorable.

She moves her hand up to his cheek, thumb stroking below his eye, reddened with unshed tears.

“Also...I feel kinda obliged to confess something.” She says, “This skin-suit? Your skin-suit? What Vicky said was bull-shirt. All of it. Not only is this suit as much you as whatever demony essence you got going on underneath...But it’s also not bad looking either. I might even go as far to say ‘handsome’. In like a Richard Gere in Pretty Woman way.”

“R-really?” He looks hopeful for a second; “I mean...I know it’s gorgeous, but I wouldn’t expect...I mean I wouldn’t want you - or any human - to ever wanna-.”

She cuts his babbling off again with a kiss on the cheek.

He’s frozen now.

Eleanor grins; “That prove it for you? You know me, I don’t give out pity kisses.”

Michael squirmed again, biting his lip, mumbling something which might have been ‘gross’ or ‘weird food holes’, but he doesn’t move his hands away from where they’ve found the small of her back.

“Hey...how about we do one quick bit of karaoke before we go brief the others on tonight. You can pick the song.” She says, giving his bow-tie the smallest tug.

He smiles, touched, then nods; “Sounds good...”

“Cool. Also, don’t open that drawer on your desk until you’ve properly cheered up - I rigged it with a pie to get thrown in your face as revenge for cheating off my paper earlier!”

“Oh, pies are the best prank! I wish you hadn’t told me now, you’ve spoiled the surprise.”

Eleanor giggles as she takes his hand, leading him to his bud-hole; “You know me, demon buddy. I’m always full of surprises.”

His fingers squeezed hers; “That you are.”

#hellstrop minific #michael x eleanor #fluff #emotional hurt/comfort

[rimmers-swimming-certificate]

Red Dwarf fanfic - Comatose 10/16

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 |  part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

“Look at this place, Lister,” Rimmer said appreciatively, as he jogged into their quarters in sportswear, and glanced at the hologramatic watch strapped to his wrists as though he was checking his time. He tapped it a few times, then nodded in apparent satisfaction.

Somehow, Lister doubted he had actually run very far. From the top bunk where he had been laying, Lister glanced around the room. Nothing seemed particularly unusual. He frowned. “What?”

“It’s never been tidier,” Rimmer told him. “Holly, a clean uniform please.”

The jogging bottoms and t-shirt disappeared to reveal Rimmer’s usual uniform. He glanced in the mirror to check his appearance, then sat down on the bottom bunk.

“I mean, look at it,” he continued, addressing Lister again. “Your dirty laundry basket is completely empty, your clean clothes put away neatly, not hanging out of the tops of your drawers like they’re trying to escape. The ashtrays are empty and clean, there are no half-empty lager cans laying around the place, no remnants of last night’s dinner. I almost feel like I live with an adult.”

Lister rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well don’t get used to it. It’s only like this because I can’t do any of those things. Soon as I get my body back, I’m sure I’ll be back to driving you crazy in no time.”

From the bunk below him, Rimmer made a sound that Lister couldn’t quite identify, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

Lister frowned again. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rimmer told him.

It hadn’t been nothing. Lister rolled over onto his side and peered over the side of the bunk to look at Rimmer. “What?”

Rimmer shook his head. “You won’t appreciate it,” he said.

“Try me.”

Rimmer sighed. He got to his feet, walked a few paces, turned around, and then walked back again. “Fine. You sound like me,” he said. “Like I used to. Obsessed with getting my body back, convinced that it was going to happen…”

“It is going to happen,” Lister told him. “My body’s still alive in the medical unit, yours got turned into radioactive dust three million years ago. Not the same thing.” It had better happen, anyway. The only thing that was keeping him from going crazy was the thought that there would, eventually, be a resolution to the situation, that he could be downloaded back into his waiting body and resume life as normal.

Rimmer nodded. “I hope you’re right,” he said.

I am right,” Lister told him. “The results of the more detailed scan came back, and whatever caused it, it’s not done any more damage at least.”

“Whatever caused it?” asked Rimmer. “So you don’t know, then?”

Lister shook his head. That was the worrying thing, apparently it just sometimes happened, and when it did, sometimes it happened again. “It’s totally normal,” he said, “Nothing to worry about. In fact, Kryten reckons I’m doing better than the medicomp predicted.”

“That’s the way it goes sometimes though, Lister,” Rimmer told him. He paced the room again. “One brief push toward life, like they put all their strength into getting better, and for a moment it works, until it doesn’t. One day the doctor’s telling you things are improving, and you’re convinced Great Uncle Ernest is going to pull through, the next you’re making an appointment at the funeral home and trying to decide what music to play as he disappears behind the big curtain.”

Lister lay back down. “Great, thanks a lot.”

Rimmer nodded. “Just trying to prepare you for the possibility,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed if you wake up dead tomorrow.”

Lister folded his arms. He couldn’t work Rimmer out sometimes. One minute he almost seemed like he was trying to be nice, the next, he came out with something like this. Lister ignored him.

“It’s not all bad though,” Rimmer added. “Like I said, the place has never been tidier.”

One of two things was happening here. Either Rimmer was trying to upset him -- possible but somehow it didn’t feel likely, or Rimmer was genuinely trying to help, but in such a Rimmer way that it felt as though he was trying to upset him.

“And you know, holograms can theoretically continue forever, they don't die. Not to mention being intangible makes you de facto indestructible.”

“Oh yeah?” Lister asked. “So that’s why you’re the first one to go charging headfirst into danger, is it?”

“Of course I don’t endanger myself unnecessarily,” Rimmer told him. “I’m the highest ranking crew member on this ship. You’d be lost without me.”

Lister rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Absolutely.”

“But you, Lister. Think about it. No more getting whacked on the head by psychotic droids, no more worrying about what might happen to you when we encounter the next horrible thing. In fact, maybe you should just opt to stay as you are regardless of what happens to your body.”

“I don’t think so,” Lister told him. “Why are you bringing this up, anyway?”

Rimmer shrugged. “No reason. Just making conversation. I thought you might be bored, so I decided to come up with something to occupy your mind.”

“You thought I might want to occupy my mind with the thought of dying and being a hologram for the rest of eternity?”

Rimmer shrugged again. “Everybody dies, Lister. Wouldn’t it be better that it happened now, while you’re prepared for it? And while you’re already in a hologram body; while you’re actually yourself rather than the most recent backup of your personality and memories?”

Lister thought about it. “No,” he said. “Smeg off.”

And you’d get to attend your own funeral,” Rimmer added. That’s always been a dream of mine, you know. Right from being a boy. I always thought that if I died -- or rather if I faked my own death -- I could attend my own funeral in disguise and hear what people said about me. Talk about an ego boost! And I bet Frank would have cried too, the big sissy.”

Lister shook his head. “You’re a very strange guy, Rimmer. You’d really have wanted to put your family through that?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Rimmer didn’t even hesitate before he responded. He sat down on the bottom bunk and sighed. “I bet I never even had a funeral,” he said. “I mean, circumstances being what they were. It’s not like they had a body to bury, so they probably just shrugged their shoulders and got on with their lives.”

Lister sighed. Laying on his bunk, he stared upward at the space above his head. “I’m sure they didn’t,” he said. “I’m sure they were really broken up.”

“Doubtful,” Rimmer told him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a party. A ‘Hurray! Thank smeg we don’t have to think about that embarrassment Arnold anymore’ party.”

Lister shook his head.

“I bet they had party hats. And those noise-maker things that you blow through. And party poppers too.”

“Rimmer, come on, stop it. What’s the point in torturing yourself like this?”

A pause from the bunk below him, and then, “Well, excuse me. You’ve seemed a bit down the past couple of days, even before the whole seizure thing. I’m sorry for trying to cheer you up.”

“By talking about your funeral?”

“No, by talking about yours… Oh. Yes, I see your point.”

Sometimes Lister wondered how Rimmer had managed to function on a ship surrounded by normal people. And then he remembered, he hadn’t. “I don’t need cheering up, anyway, What I need is something to do.” It was strange, Lister had always thought that he was good at doing nothing. Being lazy was one of his best talents. If he really set his mind to it, he would have no problem laying in bed for a week, as long as he had a steady supply of television and curry. He supposed maybe the fact that he couldn’t eat might be getting in his way.

“Do something, then,” Rimmer suggested.

He would, only he couldn’t think of anything. “Great. Helpful. Any suggestions?”

“Not really,” Rimmer told him. “Why would I have any suggestions?”

Lister sighed. “Doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

“Oh,” said Rimmer. “Because everything you like to do is off limits right now. I see. Well…” He made an exaggerated ‘thinking about it’ face. “The scanner needs recalibrating. The one that didn’t detect the droid when we went over to the ship where you got whacked on the head. You never know when you’re going to need to scan something, and as you’ve proven, it’s better if the results are accurate.”

“What?” Lister got down from his bunk and sat at the table. Where his still unfinished jigsaw taunted him. “You mean you haven’t done it yet? It’s been nearly eight months.”

“It’s been on my list for a while now,” Rimmer told him. “I was going to get to it.”

Lister shook his head. “We’ve been using that,” he said. “Remember last week we passed that moon with the breathable atmosphere and we decided to leave it because it was infested with shapeshifting GELFs? Well what if they weren’t GELFs? What if in reality it was a planet filled with beautiful women just desperate for some company?”

Rimmer shrugged. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Listy, but you’re about as much use to a woman right now as a vibrator with the batteries missing. Less, actually.”

“Oh, great, thanks a lot!”

“Sorry. It’s true though.”

Rimmer wasn’t wrong, actually. Lister sighed slowly through pursed lips and drummed his fingers thoughtfully on one leg. “I could find a nice hologram girl,” he said.

Rimmer shook his head. “Two problems with that, Lister. Firstly, Holly can barely support the two of us. We’ve had to shut down life support to most of the ship just to keep you up and running, so the chances of us being able to support another one are slim to none. Secondly, if we did meet a female hologram, I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs?” Lister eyed him scornfully. “You can’t call dibs, Rimmer. We’re talking about a person with thoughts and feelings of her own. It’s not up to you who she falls in love with.”

Rimmer shook his head. “And you think that given a choice between the two of us, she’d pick you?”

“Maybe. More likely than her picking you anyway,” Lister told him. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it? She doesn’t exist, we made her up.”

“Yes, well if she’s made up, that means I can imagine her wanting to go out with me, doesn’t it?”

Lister folded his arms defensively. “No, it doesn’t. I made her up.”

“Yes, but you said yourself, you can’t call dibs, therefore you can’t do anything to stop me imagining myself charming her into leaving you, and the two of us living happily ever after. Anyway, if she did end up with you, what would happen to your so-called ‘relationship’ when you moved back into your body? That’d throw an ice cold bucket of water over your passions, wouldn’t it?”

Lister sighed. “What are we doing?” he said. “We’re arguing over nothing. Literally.”

“Well, that might be what you’re doing, Lister, but what I’m doing is giving you something to do. You said you were bored, didn’t you?”

Rimmer gave a smug smile. Lister glared at him. “I can hit you now, you know that, right?”

“Okay, okay,” Rimmer said. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “So you don’t want to recalibrate the sensor, probably for the best; you’d need help from the skutters, and honestly they seem to listen to you even less than me, if that’s possible.”

“Yeah,” said Lister, “what’s with that anyway? I’ve always been tight with the skutters. While you were yelling at them for spending two hours cleaning the cinema while a movie was on, I was covering for them, and they knew it.”

“It’s about respect,” Rimmer told him. “They respect me, they don’t respect you. Besides, they know I’d make good on my threat to eject them out of the nearest airlock if they didn’t do what I asked.”

No he wouldn’t. Rimmer needed the skutters. Lister didn’t bother to point that out; Rimmer was already aware.

“What would you be doing right now if you weren’t a hologram?” Rimmer asked. “If we’d never gone to explore that ship, you hadn’t been whacked over the head by a psychotic simulant and none of this had happened, how would you be wasting your time this afternoon?”

Lister thought about it. Honestly, he didn’t know. If he’d been able to touch it, the jigsaw puzzle would have been finished months earlier, and he wasn’t going to put himself through working on it right now.

He had been trying knitting again. Nothing fancy. Nothing with any shape to it at all, actually. A cobbled together mismatch of different colours and types of wool that he had managed to find around the ship, left behind by various members of the crew. He wasn’t very good at it, but he thought he’d been doing okay. Especially considering all he had to go on was a single, half remembered lesson from his grandmother one rainy Sunday afternoon when he hadn’t been able to play out.

Like the jigsaw though, he hadn’t been doing that because he wanted to do it, he had been doing it because there wasn’t a lot to do three million years into deep space when you were the only human in a vast, lonely universe. It definitely wasn’t something he was interested in trying to teach the skutters to do for him.

“So, nothing?” Rimmer said. He looked at him scornfully. “You can’t think of a single thing you would be doing?”

Lister shrugged. “Can you?”

The look on Rimmer’s face told him that no, he couldn’t. Rimmer got to his feet, walked across the room and back, then looked at Lister, triumphant. “Why don’t you educate yourself?” he said.

Lister scowled. “Hey! I’m educated.”

“Debatable, but that’s not what I meant. Holly had every book ever written on any subject ever. They’re all just stored in the database. Why don’t you crack one open and learn something new?”

Lister raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. “I can’t turn the pages.”

Rimmer rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t be a physical book, you gimboid. It would be on a computer screen. Instead of pressing a button to turn the page, you just ask Holly to do it for you. It’s easy.”

“Oh.” Lister shook his head. “Well, maybe later. I’m not really in the mood for reading right now.”

He was rarely in the mood for reading, if he was honest. And Rimmer knew it.

“Okay,” said Rimmer. “Okay…” He paced the room a couple more times before he sat back down on the bed. “Forget what you would normally be doing. If you could be doing anything right now, what would it be?”

“Does it matter?” Lister asked. After all, if it was something he couldn’t have, what would be the point in torturing himself by thinking about it?

Rimmer didn’t reply. He simply let the question hang in the air.

Lister sighed. He was tempted to go for the flippant answer. He would be laying in bed in his house on Fiji with Kochanski by his side. The two of them would be basking in post-coital afterglow, staring into each other’s eyes, their legs still entwined under the thin, cotton sheet that covered them, while a gentle breeze floated in through the open window. From the next room, he would be able to hear the sound of Jim and Bexley beginning to wake up.

But realistically, because although he wasn’t willing to give up on that particular dream just yet, he had to concede that it wasn’t exactly plausible for the time being, he supposed there was only one thing he really wanted to be doing.

“Eating a curry,” he said.

“That’s it?” Rimmer sounded disappointed.

“No,” Lister assured him. “That’s not ‘it’. Not just any old curry. We’re talking a really good curry. The kind that’s so hot it burns the skin off the roof of your mouth and blunts your taste buds so much you can’t taste anything else for a week, you know? A vindaloo, or maybe even a phall. Oh, and I’d have poppadoms for a starter, huge ones, just the right amount of crunch, piled high with lime pickle, chutney, and a bit of raita. And I’d wash the whole thing down with an ice cold lager or seven.”

“Holly can simulate food,” Rimmer told him. “After a fashion.”

Lister shook his head. “Rimmer, Holly can’t simulate food that she can’t project into your hand or straight down your gob. Call me crazy, but I don’t much fancy being force-fed an entire chicken vindaloo with all the sides.”

“Well, you can still have the lager.” Rimmer tried.

Lister shook his head. “But I don’t want to.”

“I’m just saying, you could, if you wanted to.”

“Have you tasted those hologramatic drinks, Rimmer? They’re so thin and flavourless they might as well be American beer.” Honestly, it was probably a good thing Holly couldn’t recreate a curry; he was sure it would have been a big disappointment. It would have been like one of the microwave meals you got in the freezer aisle at the supermarket. The kind advertised as ‘healthy’, filled with peas and green beans, and all kinds of other things that didn’t belong in a curry. It would maybe have one or two pieces of meat suspended in the most flavourless curry sauce it had ever been his misfortune to try.

“Fine,” Rimmer told him. “You just carry on moping. You just get back on your bunk and stare at the ceiling and look forward to your body healing so you can get transferred back into it and tuck into that curry. Just remember, some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us died three million years ago and don’t have a body to move back into. So maybe think about that the next time you want to complain.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Lister told him. “I didn’t say a word ‘til you came in here and started trying to cheer me up. I mean, I was a bit bored, but I was reasonably happy.”

He hadn’t been. Not really. But then, Rimmer hadn’t known that.

“Fine,” Rimmer told him. “I was just trying help, but I’ll just smeg off then, shall I?” He got to his feet and headed for the door.

Lister sighed. “Rimmer, wait.”

The hologram stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I was moping. But come on, man. You've got to let me mope. I mean, you did enough of it back when Holly first switched you on...”

“With good reason,” Rimmer interjected.

“Well, yeah. Maybe. Look, it’s scary, okay? My body’s down there hooked up to all those machines, being looked after, and there’s still a chance I’m not going to make it, and I can’t… I don’t want to…” he stopped, giving up. He didn’t want to be a hologram forever, but he couldn’t say that. Not to Rimmer. There was nothing wrong with being a hologram, he firmly believed that; always had. That didn’t mean it was easy. Some people just couldn’t hack it, and he was beginning to suspect that he might be one of them.

Rimmer turned. His expression had softened. “Okay,” he said. “So the lager’s not great. Why not try something else. It’s Saturday night, why don’t we go to the bar and get a hologramatic one of those weird cocktails you used to have sometimes?”

Lister thought about it. “I’m not really in the mood,” he said.

“But, it’s Saturday night. That used to be important to you, as I remember. As I’m physically incapable of forgetting, actually. Thanks to the learning drugs I’d taken, that conversation is still rattling around in the back of my mind.”

“Used to be, yeah,” Lister agreed. “What difference does it make now though? If it’s Saturday, or Friday, or some random Tuesday the first week of January? When’s the last time we bothered about it being the weekend?”

Rimmer shrugged. “Well, okay. So it’s a random night. It happens to be a Saturday, but that’s not relevant. Let’s go for a drink.”

Lister closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. The guy was really trying. It didn’t seem fair to give him nothing in return. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s get drunk.”

He got up and walked through the door, leaving Rimmer staring after him. “Er… I never said ‘drunk’ he called. “I said ‘drink’ singular. Lister? Lis… fine. Wait for me.”

(next)

(Thanks to @norwegianpornfaerie for beta-ing)

#red dwarf #red dwarf fanfic #dave lister #arnold rimmer #my fic

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTE: ¥100 is roughly $0.90 US, for Americans who don't want to have to stop reading and google, which I totally understand. Just approximate ¥100 =$1 for somewhat close conversion purposes.

Also, this is where the story really begins to take off. The setup is complete: let the yuri begin!

CHAPTER FOUR

                                                 ~ x The Priestess x ~

Less than two hours later, I was sitting nervously on a bed in Dogenzaka. Love Hotel Hill. The last place I ever expected to find myself.

Just in case you don't know about it - which I doubt, Sis - that's where all young couples go when they need a night to themselves. Or just a few hours. Maybe the problem is a messy apartment, maybe it's parents… maybe it's just very thin walls in their building. Either way, love hotels do a lot of business - and that little corner of Shibuya plays host to the highest concentration of them in Tokyo. Finding one that would rent to me for a couple of hours without me already having the second person in tow was the easy part, and only cost me ¥3000.

Especially easy considering my disguise.

The hardest part was actually making the phone call. It took every ounce of courage I had, especially because I would be disguising my voice - which was something I didn't have a lot of experience doing. The memory of the call was still fresh in my mind…

"Housekeeping Service Victoria! What can we do for you today, sir?"

"Um… can I have… a maid?" Did I mention I was also the most nervous I had ever been in my life?

"Sure," the woman on the other end giggled. "That's what we're here for! Do you have a special request, or would you like me to describe a few of our top-rated maids and what services they can help you with?"

"I want Miss K-" That had been a close one. "W-what I mean is, do you have a maid named Becky?"

"Oh! I can certainly transfer you to Becky and see if she's available! One moment please."

Some pleasant, inoffensive harpsichord music played in the background until the transfer connected. The entire time, I had been sweating bullets, practicing making my voice even deeper.

"Hiiii! You've reached Becky! How may I help you today, meow?"

"Two hours. How much?" The less I said, the better.

"That will be ¥10000! Are you sure you need me for two hours, Master? I might be able to get all my work done in half that time!"

"Yes." Her calling me 'master' was already giving me nausea. But I tried to power through; I had to know what she was doing. After all, sweet Ann had given me half the money to request her, so the least I could do was follow through. "Hotel Juliet. Here is the address…"

And that was that. She didn't even waste a second hesitating when I gave her the address of a love hotel; just took it in stride. Which already seemed to be confirming my worst fears, but I told myself that I wouldn't back down or make any more assumptions; that would be even worse than confirming the truth.

So I made the room the tiniest bit messy while I waited for her. Then I sat on the bed, shaking like a leaf and sweating bullets. Right up until I heard the knock at the door.

"Housekeeping!" she called in a sing-song.

"Come in!" She came in. And already, I really wished she hadn't.

My Japanese language teacher stood before me wearing the same frilly black-and-white French maid outfit. What parallel universe did I step into?! Her hair was up in pigtails that hung down to her shoulders - or rather, it was a wig. No way her natural hair was long enough for that. A layer of foundation helped to conceal the very slight signs of ageing, making her passable for 21 or similar. Not that I knew how old she really was.

"It is nice to meet you, Master," she said with a playful curtsy. Really, I didn't think curtsies could be playful, but she did it.

"Good evening," I attempted in my best impression of a male voice.

"My my myyyeeow, but you're so handsome," she buttered me up with a flutter of her mascaraed eyelashes. "I'm such a lucky girl that you'll let me get covered in dust for you!"

"Th-thank you." Was I really handsome, though? My disguise was pretty believable. Ann helped me a lot with it, especially doing the stage makeup that made me look like I had a five o'clock shadow. But it was the big bushy mustache and having my shoulder-length hair stuffed up into fedora that made me look different enough that my teacher might not notice.

She stepped out of her Mary Janes and paced a little closer away from the door. "So! Let's just take care of that silly fee and we can get started right away! Victoria said you would pay in person?"

"Oh! Right, um…" Quick as I could, I fished out ¥10000 and handed it over. A double-shift for her. She pocketed it immediately, not even batting an eye. How many times had she done this?

"Thanks sooooo much! You're the best, Master! What can Becky do for you today?"

"U-um, well… get started on this mess. Then we can relax." That sounded really cheesy and sleazy, but it was the best I could do.

"Of course," she said with a huge wink as she fished a laminated card out of her apron pocket. "You can check this out while I get started! Should only take me a few minutes!"

I accepted it without really thinking, then watched numbly for a moment as she began to tidy up the pillows and sheets I had strewn around the floor. Humming a little tune as she worked. Finally, I decided the card might actually be important and took a look.

Hello, Master! Thank you for using Victoria Housekeeping Service! My name is BECKY ! I'm happy to do whatever you need!

Standard services include:

-Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, dusting -Making beds/Airing out futons -Laundry -Light cooking -Conversation

Premium services (additional charge):

-Dancing alone ¥500 -Dancing together ¥500 -Lap kitten ¥1000 -Lap pillow ¥1000 -Tucking you in ¥1000 -Stocking removal ¥1000 -Keep stockings ¥5000 -Foot/neck massage ¥1000 -Deep back massage ¥2000 -Health Massage ¥5000 (Note: maid may refuse at any time) -Health Kiss ¥10000 (Note: maid may refuse at any time)

Prohibited requests:

-Pictures -Kissing the maid -Touching the maid without explicit permission, with any part of the client's body or objects under their control

Our maids are very important to Victoria! Please treat me with kindness and care! ❤

That had me reeling. Just that Miss Kawakami had to specify that nobody was allowed to touch her without her permission… this was her life after school was out. Being constantly hit on by men who had her all alone in their houses. She must have spent a lot of time hating herself on the inside. I had to wonder if that contributed to how weary she always looked, beyond simply being tired. But then I saw the fine print at the bottom of the card:

Our employees (maids) are not prostitutes and are not allowed to participate in sexual intercourse with unspecified persons. Violators of this policy will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. All names and locations of clients are noted in our records and employees who do not report in are treated as victims of crime and the clients as the responsible parties until proven otherwise.

Well… at least there was that.

"Soooo," my temporary maid asked as she picked up the condoms I had dumped out of the bedside table drawer - which I now was horrified about since I hadn't even noticed what they were before, "my master seems to have been very messy just for meeee. Was there another reason you called our service?"

The twinkle in her eye when she winked at me said it all: this was a love hotel. Even if I somehow partied so hard in two hours that I trashed the room, no way would I need to call a separate maid when the hotel staff would take care of that.

"L-lonely," I grumbled, trying to seem standoffish.

"Awwww, that's okay. I offer a lot of premium services, but… if you just wanna talk, we can talk. Becky doesn't mind at all." She finished putting them away, then straightened and folded her hands in front of her lap, waiting patiently for my response. Obediently.

"Um…" Glancing back down at the card, I looked up and asked, "K-keep stockings?"

Only when her eyebrows went up did I realise what that meant. But she was already recovering from her brief surprise and saying, "Master, you really want to keep my stockings? I'm so honoured!"

"W-wait, no, I…" Clearing my throat, desperately trying to deepen my voice again, I tried to play it off. "Maybe later. First… what is 'dancing alone'?"

"Ohhh. Oh, I see - you're just trying to decide what you like on the menu. Do you want a little sample?"

At first, I thought she meant a sample of the stockings. Was she going to cut off a piece?! But then she started doing a little sexy dance - nothing extremely lewd, but it definitely made my pulse speed up slightly. Was this really happening? My teacher was dancing for me - like a stripper without the stripping part! But it was over after only about ten seconds, and then she was giggling and covering her mouth.

"Dancing alone… got it. Very nice." As she bowed, an idea suddenly occurred to me. "Tell me about Becky." Maybe if I asked, she would reveal a little bit about herself. Or I would get some made-up story about this character she had invented. Either way, at least she wouldn't be sitting in my lap or any of those things.

"Sure! May I sit here?" When I nodded, she sank down onto the bed next to me, hands folded neatly on her lap. "Do you like Japanese maids, or Western maids?"

"Japanese?"

"Alrighty. So, Becky used to be a little girl whose father liked Western movies. That's how she got such a funny name! And she always dreamed of serving others, making them feel good. She didn't always know how she wanted to do that, but…" She leaned a little closer, and my heart pounded louder in my chest. "Then she one day realised that if she took this job, she would meet Master someday."

"Huh?" Her face was even closer, and my fingers gripped the bedsheet tightly as I fought the instinct to back up. "Me?"

Her nod was completely sure. "My master was going to be the best master. And he would take care of me like I take care of him. That's all Becky ever wanted out of life." Similarly, her smile was warm, and kind. "And I will do whatever I can to make him happy. Okay?"

"Okay. I m-mean… yeah."

"Good!" she sat back with a wider smile, and I let out a sigh of relief. Definitely a made-up story, just to make the client feel gratified in some way. How different listening to that had been from listening to one of her lectures in class; it was like she really was a completely different person.

"Becky," I began as I thought about the list. What was something I could order? I already booked her for two hours, so now I had to find something to do that would fill that time. "What is, um… Health Kiss?"

This shift was obvious, and I could almost reach out and touch the change in atmosphere. Miss Kawakami's eyes dulled for a moment, and she looked through me rather than at me. She took a couple of little breaths. Then a much less genuine smile reappeared on her face - though it might have fooled most of her hornier, less perceptive clientele.

"It's something very special. Becky only gives that to her best Masters, if she can. Sometimes she can't. Is… is that alright with Master?"

"Yes!" I told her right away, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I… it's okay. I just was curious." Definitely something sexual. That was as much as I really needed to find out, but now I felt awful for asking. My teacher was a Delivery Health professional, even if those services were limited to two sexual acts, apparently.

"Of course. Master can ask whatever he wants!" A little of the genuine cheer started to come back, but she was still shaken. "Well, what can we do? I like talking with Master, but it's okay if Master wants something more from Becky. Even just…" She gestured around. "You don't happen to have a broom, do you?"

"No." I thought frantically. Literally everything on the list of special services intimidated me; how was I supposed to let her sit on my lap? Or massage me?! She would feel my curves underneath the random boy clothes! My finger tapped the stockings. "Are you hot in those?"

Kawakami shrugged a tiny bit. "A little, but I want to look nice for Master. Unless… Master wouldn't mind seeing me without them…?"

"Yes. I… wait." I glanced at the card again, then nodded to myself and fished out another bill. There went my allowance… "Here."

She took it and put it with the rest. None of the standard services besides talking were open to me in a random hotel room, and I was running out of things to say. This was the lesser of the evils; taking off her stockings and the sexy dancing were the only premium ones that didn't involve me, so I thought one of those was probably the smartest move. And at least all this would mean was seeing her legs, and I had seen plenty of girl-legs. It wasn't going to matter to me.

How wrong I was.

"Oooh, I really am hot," she giggled as she began running her hands up and down the outsides of her thighs. "Master had me work so hard to clean the room that now… Becky's so warm…" She bit her bottom lip as she slid her hands up her skirt…

This was unbelievable. Both that I was watching Miss Kawakami strip for me, and that it was affecting me. My heart rate was up, my palms tingling, my head buzzing like it was full of bees. She was a woman! She was my teacher! What on earth was wrong with me?!

Barely an inch of skin became visible beneath the hem of the skirt where it rested above her knees when she fixed me with a level stare. "Master…"

"Huh? What?!" Then I cleared my throat, made my voice more 'butch' again. "I mean… is there a problem?"

"You paid to take them off," she breathed throatily, fluttering her lashes again. "Don't you want to?"

Oh no. I thought I was just paying for her not to be wearing tights anymore. Not for the 'pleasure' of taking them off myself.

"It's alright? I mean… I'll be touching you."

"It's what my Master wants, so of course it is. But I trust you not to let those greedy hands go anywhere!" She admonished me with a wagging finger and a big grin, as if we were joking around; we both knew I wasn't going to do any such things. How laughable!

But there was a pinprick of fear in her eye. She was probably always worried she would get a client who didn't understand the way things worked.

"N-no, ma'am," I said automatically. That did get her blinking a few times, but I quickly followed up with, "This is all I want."

And I leaned down and began to push them off. At first, I tried to do it without really touching her, but I looked stupid and she chuckled a little. It was probably 'cute'. So then I pet along her legs a little before trying again, my grip firmer as I began to pull them down.

"Careful!" she warned me. "You'll tear them if you go too fast. Besides… this is all for you. Take your time! I want Master to have as much fun as he wants with my stockings."

Would this nightmare never end?! Not only did I have to do this now that I paid for it, or else she would figure out something was up, but I had to take my time and 'enjoy myself' - even though what I really wanted was to run screaming from Hotel Juliet as fast as my legs could carry me. Trying to take the safe option, I had gone from watching my teacher strip to stripping my teacher in a matter of seconds. Whoops.

Kawakami did have great legs; clean-shaven and smooth, like she spent a lot of time moisturising. It was easier than I expected to whisper, "Very nice."

"Thank you, Master." She scooted back a little further on the bed as I sat back to get the opaque white fabric moving down along her calves. They were heavily-perfumed, probably just for this reason. And the perfume was nice… but I could catch the vaguest hint of something else underneath the floral scent. Probably her natural scent.

Not that I wanted to think about it. Not that I wanted to do this at all.

"Silly Master," she giggled as I teased the fabric back and forth around her ankles, milking the moment. Now it was more because I didn't know what I was going to do once it was over. Rub my face on them? Pet her legs? Just put them on the bed and lock myself in the bathroom? The last one sounded fantastic at this point.

"Am I?"

"Yes." She booped my nose with her big toe and I couldn't help smiling. Why was that so cute? Why was any of this cute?! "Becky's happy you're having fun with her!"

Though I didn't forget to pitch my voice low, I ended up telling her very honestly, "I guess I am. Wow." Then I refocused and slid the stockings the rest of the way off.

"Oh myyyyy. I guess Master has to see Becky's feet now." Somehow, the tone of her voice made it very clear that she was fishing… because she was. Did she think I had a thing? Her little toes began to 'walk' up the front of my button-up and blazer, heading for my neck, but at a snail's pace. I could stop her very easily. She just wanted to find out what I was curious about and if she could cater to those needs in small ways.

"Guess so." I caught them and held on to keep them from moving higher. "I don't mind at all."

Again, she blinked in surprise, her mood shifting. But she seemed a lot more flattered than fearful this time. "You know… if Master decided he wants a Health Massage after all, Becky could use these…" Her toes flexed in my hands. "If you're patient with me. Becky hasn't tried that before."

"I'll keep that in mind," I hedged, trying not to mentally picture whatever that would be. The idea of sitting here, helping my teacher take off her clothes while she called me 'Master' was already enough to short-circuit my brain; I didn't need additional elements.

But then I was distracted for a second. Kawakami was calculating. I knew that look from you, Sis; when you have a case weighing heavy on your mind, it always happens before you either come up with a new angle for a lead, or work through a puzzle that had been giving you a hard time. Then…

Then she knelt down on the floor, suddenly filling my vision. Glancing down, I could see her cleavage — and forced myself to look back into her chocolatey eyes instead.

"M-miss… Becky…"

"Becky will stop if you want," she whispered very quietly. "But if you can pay the fee… Becky thinks she would like to help her master be more healthy. Take care of… whatever he needs." Her hand fell to pet up and down my side…

That was how the game changed. Suddenly it wasn't just about her body being real, and sensual, in a way no one else's had ever been in my eyes - despite my efforts to prevent that. Now she had awakened mine. And even knowing that it was a specific, intentional, targeted attempt to make me give in and pay her that ¥5000… well, I had never been in a position like this before.

"I don't know," I managed to get out, trying to back up but failing to do it well enough - or quickly enough - to convince her. "I might not… be ready."

"I think you're ready," she whispered as her hand slid up the inside of my thigh. "But don't worry. Becky will do whatever it takes to make you… feel…"

Her hand went higher than I expected that soon after she started. And this, more than anything else, sent pure shock into her wide eyes.

"…healthy?"

                                              To Be Continued…

#Queen Of Temperance #forkanna writes #niijima makoto #kawakami sadayo #persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 #p5 #p5 fanfic #jess the writer

[noraspaulding]

Location/Price/Size:

Of course when you’re moving, you’ll have an idea of why and where you want or need to be living. Location is most important factor when choosing a new apartment because you’ll be there for at least 6-12 months or longer if you choose to re-sign.  Price is also going to be one of the major key elements; maybe there’s a strict budget or you have some wiggle room. Either way you need to be diligent about price and discuss with your partner/spouse or roommates about finances. It's important to be up front and very honest about it. You have to be realistic about square footage, number of rooms, how many bathrooms, amount of closet space, as well as storage spaces like cabinets and drawers and storage closet (if available) you’ll truly need.  Know what you have and if anything downsize & declutter before moving-it will help you a TON. A lot of new tenants aren't allowed to make many adjustments to the space however it's a great practice to be smart with organizing clutter and also using wall space in a tactful way(vertical not just horizontal). 

Applications/fee, Deposit-first last month’s/credit check, Pet fees, utilities:

Step one in moving is taking tours and physically seeing the space. If and when you like an apartment (or condo/house etc) then you have to apply for it. Put in your application ASAP! Applicants are vicious at some nicer complexes and will snatch a unit from under you without a deposit down or unit being held (this happened in my experience twice). When you fill out the application, make sure you print neatly and if you mess up; either A) very carefully use white out and write clearly over or to the side of the mistake or B) start over on a fresh application  if it can’t be fixed.

DO NOT PUT YOUR IDENTIFYING INFORMATION on it until the end especially YOUR SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER! For fear of it falling into the wrong hands besides your hands or your managers hands…BE CAREFUL! 

But also don’t forget to sign the bottom and bring with you any needed documents like bills for identification, pay stubs or bank statements for income verification and an ID (of some sort). Usually application fees are no more than 20-40$ a piece, if at all. Have an idea of your credit score beforehand- you don’t need to know this particularly but you’ll have a deposit based on credit so be realistic about what that number may be. They can run anywhere from like 300$- 2x the full rent amount (is what I’ve seen on Oregon applications). Sometimes it’s one full month rent or even first and last months rent OR a flat rate deposit based on your credit. Pet fees are a big part too when you have a kitty or your best friend fido, you’ll want to bring them with you. These days it is expensive to bring your buddies along with you to a new place-I don’t know if every state has "pet rent" but usually you’ll at least be hit with a not-so-friendly deposit for your furry pal too. I know most major cities are initiating these fees, especially in big time NYC or Seattle.  Utilities are another monthly expense (most places don’t cover for W/S/G (water, sewer, garbage), so if anything one maybe comped but don’t go in expecting anything. Count these in addition to your rent and pet fees expenses could be upwards of 50$ or more depending on where you live.

Quiet community V.S louder kid friendly complex:

As far as this goes- you need to know what type of person you are. You may not have all the control in the world over this but, to an extent you do. If you are a family of four, you won’t mind having lots of kids and a more active community around you. But if you are a single adult, a quiet older couple or a pair who just isn’t about kids then you’ll want a much quieter complex. In your search be mindful of places that are loud and active versus more quiet and reserved. We personally don’t like to hear  screaming, some badly behaved kids constantly and have to deal with many families in the pool for instance but you don’t have much control over it. So I always just ask what the manager thinks and if we can get a unit in a quieter building.

Hard floors/Laminate V.S Carpet:

This is a main point of a residence and he floors you have really set the stage for your apartment. If you have kids then you’ll want more carpet for falls and playtime. If you have dogs or cats then maybe hard floors might be a better option. There are often many options in an apartment and this may play more into what you’re looking for in a place. I find hard floors a little more difficult to clean the dust bunnies and get the corners spic and span but also impossible to keep nice clean carpets with dogs- so weigh your options and take it into account while visiting spaces. I love using Swiffer products on my floors and Dyson vacuum for carpet. I would highly recommend a Dyson vacuum, they are worth the money and you'll want to use it for everything. 

In Unity Laundry OR Laundry Room separate outside space: 

I always prefer having my own laundry in unit. Sometimes it’s not possible and having a laundry room outdoors is usually what people would get stuck with. The moving of everyone’s clothes, having to pay coins for it, and going up and down floors with your laundry is a hassle. Having an in hall laundry area is somewhat of the same problem. It’s always in the way, you’ll have clothes everywhere and moving them up and down (usually in a stack able version) isn’t the best for your back. But those who can be blessed with an in-unit laundry room (small or large) will certainly appreciate some place to get rid of those stinky clothes, somewhere to get those spots out and a place to fold and sort. Handy too when you can do laundry in your own space at any hour. Do your best to also keep your laundry space clean and maintain as pests can get in through walls or where the connections come through. Wipe down your appliances every week or two in order to keep them looking nice and clean and working properly. You can also do a vinegar and hot water rinse cycle to "disinfect" your machine. 

Renters insurance, Mold/Mildew/Pests, Late Fees etc:

Important things you need to know before moving into a new place. Renters insurance is required everywhere and there’s no need to have an over expensive coverage usually it’s required for 100K worth of renters insurance for a year time span. I go through Assurant and they have me on a plan that’s about $15 a month (which is normal for Oregon state) around $180 for the whole year to cover costs if any damages should occur. Believe me if a fire or something does happen you’ll be thankful that you had that coverage. Mold/Mildew and Pests will and do often happen. Just ask your manager and go over these points in your rental contract. Usually it states that they will come and clean mold as it occurs and because it can make you very sick- it needs to be carefully cleaned with bleach and blocked from more moisture getting inside to create moldy areas (door seals, windows, bathtubs etc.). Pests are another story- I would think that a maintenance person or manager would cover that as well but I can’t speak for all properties. I know our complex here has a “pests day” where you can make appointments with an outside company if such a need occurs. The penalty for not paying rent on time or past the rent pay days usually the 1st-the 5th. Late fees are usually anywhere between $50-150.

Gated V.S Non-gated: 

Gated and non-gated complexes, these are also nice to take into account. Honestly especially in a sketchy neighborhood- I’d rather be a little more protected from the outside population. Having a key card or gate key is nice and also a bother, if lost or stolen you’ll be paying for a 30-40$ key, because they are specially cut at the key maker. Unlike a normal door key lock they are more intricate and therefore cost more. But not gated can sometimes be more dangerous and strangers being even more loud and obnoxious.

Security number, access code to pool/office/bunkhouse, newsletter/special events and maintenance number:

Things you should know that you may not think about, make sure you get the number for security company if they have it or local police/non emergency line. You’ll need pool access codes or key/key-card if needed and knowledge about who can and can’t come into the pool area. Some complexes do not allow guests or limit to one per resident. Pets are not allowed in pool and clubhouse areas. Knowing the hours of when the pool is open and exactly when it closes is good to know. Office hours are a need to know basis and you should memorize them so you’ll know when you can get help to a problem or concern. Know who is the manager and what the policies are for living in that complex. A newsletter goes around in some complexes to let you know what the happenings are- special days of the month, holidays, closed office days or events like Taco Tuesday! Having the maintenance number is crucial because you’ll have accidents and things will happen in your new apartment. And although it looks shiny and new- it’s been lived in before, so truth is it has previous dents and dings. Don’t be scared to live in your space though despite breaking in your own apartment. I love to be in new shiny spaces but a cozy lived in place is just as nice too. I hope that this is super helpful information! If any of this helped you or you want to pass onto someone else, I would really appreciate it.  *This is all information I have learned over the years and is based on my knowledge in Oregon.*

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